By the time the train pulled into the station, night had already fallen, with only faint traces of twilight left.
From outside, Hagrid's booming voice called out, "First years! First years over here! Harry, over here, how are you?"
Vison stirred from his light nap, blinking at the chattering noise filtering through the window. Students had already gathered on the platform in clusters, while Hagrid stood before them, his voice echoing against the darkening sky.
Stretching out his stiff arms and shoulders, Vison stood up and glanced around. Riding the Hogwarts Express again after so many years had been oddly nostalgic. He waited until the last student had stepped off the train before he finally made his move.
"Whoosh—"
Vison let out a sharp whistle, the sound crisp and cutting through the night air. A few moments later, another whistle answered from above. A dark figure swooped down from the sky, landing softly before him.
It was a Thestral—its broad wings folded at its sides, skeletal yet imposing, with empty, pupil-less eyes that gleamed faintly in the dark. To most, they appeared terrifying, but Vison had long since grown fond of them.
"Thanks for coming to get me," Vison murmured, reaching out to stroke the Thestral's bony neck. The creature sniffed his palm, confirming his scent, and then let out a gentle snort, a sign of recognition.
Vison mounted the Thestral with practiced ease, though he grimaced slightly as he settled in. The creature's protruding bones made for an uncomfortable seat—perhaps why Hogwarts only employed them to pull carriages rather than for direct riding.
With a powerful leap, the Thestral took off, wings slicing through the cool evening air. Vison's black robe billowed behind him, merging with the shadows as they ascended. The wind bit at his face and whipped through his hair, but the sensation was exhilarating.
They soared over the Black Lake and the forest below, making their way to the castle's towering silhouette. When they finally descended at the grand entrance, Vison sneezed sharply. Flying in the chill night air had left him colder than expected.
Vison dismounted just as the faint glow of lanterns approached in the distance—the first years were still crossing the lake, while older students were boarding the Thestral-drawn carriages.
Pushing open the heavy main doors of Hogwarts Castle, Vison stepped inside and immediately spotted Professor McGonagall waiting in the entrance hall. She stood tall and regal in her dark green robes, her hair perfectly styled, her face composed in its usual stern expression. It was clear she was preparing to receive the new first years.
The sight of Vison, however, caught her off guard. Her face froze for a split second.
"Why are you here, Professor Vison?" she asked, glancing behind him. "Where are the students?"
"They're still on their way," Vison replied with a shrug. "I took the Hogwarts Express with them but got here a bit early. I didn't miss the Welcome Feast, did I?"
Professor McGonagall's lips thinned, a flicker of exasperation passing through her eyes before her mask of composure returned. "Professor Vison," she said, her voice tight with restraint, "the other Professors are already assembled. You're the last."
Vison, unbothered, offered a lopsided grin. "Need a hand welcoming the first years?"
McGonagall's gaze flickered to his wind-mussed hair, which now resembled a wild bird's nest, and she fought the urge to sigh. "No, thank you, Professor Vison. Please go inside."
"Alright, alright."
Vison made his way to the Great Hall. As he entered, he could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him. The Professors and the Headmaster were already seated, awaiting the new students' arrival.
Professor Sprout, seated near the end of the table, caught sight of him first. Her face lit up with a warm smile as she waved him over. "Professor Vison, come quickly!"
Vison smiled back, his steps light despite the scrutiny he could sense from the other staff. Among those watching, some gazes held curiosity, while others, like Severus Snape's, brimmed with thinly veiled impatience.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed as Vison passed by. The tension between them was no secret. Vison still remembered the bitter days back in his fifth year. Snape had disliked him then, and time hadn't softened that animosity. The feeling was mutual—Vison had never trusted the man, even after his supposed return to Dumbledore's fold.
But tonight wasn't the time for old rivalries.
Sliding into the empty seat beside Professor Sprout, Vison felt a flicker of comfort in her familiar presence.
"It really is you," Sprout murmured in disbelief, her eyes twinkling. "I thought Kettleburn was joking when he said he recommended you to take over his Care of Magical Creatures class."
Vison chuckled lightly. "I didn't expect it either. But the Headmaster trusts me, and I do love teaching. Plus, magical creatures are a passion of mine."
Sprout's grin widened. "I always thought you'd end up teaching Herbology, not creatures. You were my brightest student back then."
Vison smirked. "If I taught Herbology, you'd be out of a job, Professor. I can't have that."
Their shared laughter was a pleasant contrast to the stiff formality elsewhere at the table. Snape, sitting nearby, let out a sharp scoff at their exchange.
Vison glanced sideways, frowning. What are you laughing at, Snape?
He considered making a snide remark but thought better of it. Even if he provoked Snape, the odds of winning that argument—or duel—weren't in his favor. He settled for a glare, though Snape had already turned away, disinterested.
Just then, Dumbledore clapped his hands, his familiar twinkling eyes surveying the hall. His gentle smile urged the staff to settle down.
"Everyone, please quiet down," Dumbledore's calm voice echoed. "The first years are about to arrive. Let's ensure we maintain an air of grace and solemnity."
His gaze paused on Vison, his smile deepening with a hint of mischief. "And I see our new Care of Magical Creatures professor has chosen an... innovative hairstyle for the occasion."
Vison's hand flew up to his head, feeling the chaotic mess the wind had left. He hastily tried to smooth it down with his fingers.
From somewhere down the table, Professor Flitwick's small voice piped up, "I thought that was the latest trend among Archers."
The hall chuckled quietly at the jest, the tension easing just a bit.
Vison leaned back in his chair, finally letting himself relax. He was home, in a strange and familiar way. And tonight marked the beginning of a new chapter—not just for the first years entering Hogwarts, but for himself as well.
As the heavy doors opened and the faint echo of footsteps signaled the arrival of the new students, Vison straightened, smoothing his robes and composing his expression.
Let the ceremony begin.
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