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The time should be about right."
Suddenly, all the windows of the Great Hall swung open, and hundreds of owls swooped in, carrying packages and letters. They circled over the students' heads, searching for their recipients.
Owls were always especially busy during the first days of term. Some young wizards inevitably left something at home and then hurriedly wrote to their families as soon as they arrived at school.
A large eagle owl landed steadily on Vison's desk, dropping off a copy of The Daily Prophet and a letter addressed to him. Vison picked up the newspaper and saw the headline in bold letters:
"Savior Harry Potter Has Entered Hogwarts."
"I already know that," Vison muttered, tossing the paper aside without bothering to read further.
Next, he picked up the letter. As expected, it was from Roskin — the owner of the Magical Creature Shop in Diagon Alley. The letter was brief and to the point:
Mr. Eldrein Vissen, the magical creatures you requested are ready. Please meet us at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade at 1:00 PM on the day you receive this letter to collect them. If you wish to postpone, please reply at your earliest convenience.
Vison nodded in satisfaction.
Finally here.
He hadn't expected Roskin to prepare everything so quickly.
Of course, he wasn't actually buying these magical creatures — he was leasing them. After all, he only needed them to show his students during lessons. He had no intention of keeping them long-term. Even so, leasing rare magical creatures still cost a hefty pile of Galleons. Thankfully, Hogwarts had provided a generous budget for his teaching.
At precisely one o'clock that afternoon, Vison appeared at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.
Every Hogwarts student knew the Three Broomsticks, and Vison was no exception. Like many before him, he'd always loved the butterbeer here. But it had been a while since he last visited — years spent traveling the world left little time for such pleasures.
He pushed open the door. Inside, the scene was just as he remembered: the noisy chatter, the bustling crowd, the bar full of customers, and Madam Rosmerta laughing brightly with a group of wizards.
"Here! Mr. Vison!"
A young voice called out the moment he stepped in.
Vison turned and spotted a familiar face: Roskin herself, sitting by the window, smiling and waving.
He raised an eyebrow.
Didn't expect her to come personally.
He assumed she'd send an assistant. Roskin was the owner of a successful shop — busy the last time he visited.
Still, he walked over and sat down across from her.
"Good afternoon, Madam," he greeted, watching her expression carefully. "I didn't expect you to make the trip yourself."
Roskin smiled, flicking back her hair.
"Well, you're an important guest, after all."
Vison's eyes dropped to the suitcase on the table. From its appearance — reinforced with enchanted locks — he guessed there was a concealed space inside.
Typical magical creature storage.
"You brought them?" Vison asked quietly.
Roskin patted the box with a sly grin.
"Of course. And… there are a few extras not on your list."
Vison frowned.
"Extras? I don't think I need—"
"Don't be so quick to refuse," Roskin interrupted, propping her chin on her hand, confidence flashing in her eyes. "I think you'll like this."
Her certainty piqued his curiosity.
He hadn't planned to take more creatures, but now he was genuinely intrigued.
Roskin downed the rest of her butterbeer, grabbed the suitcase, and stood up.
"Let's find somewhere quieter. This place isn't ideal for… certain little ones."
Vison glanced around at the crowded bar. She was right — magical creature deals, especially involving rare beasts, were sensitive business. Many creatures were under Ministry restrictions.
"Follow me," Roskin said, heading toward the back door.
Vison stood and followed without hesitation.
They weaved past the tables and pushed through a discreet wooden door into a narrow back alley. It was empty except for a few rats scuttling in the corners.
At the alley's end, Roskin set down the suitcase, checked the surroundings, and whispered a spell while tapping the box's lid.
The suitcase clicked open on its own.
A moment later, a small head poked out — feathers shimmering silver-white. It resembled an eagle, but its beak was softer, less hooked.
Vison gasped the instant recognition hit him.
"Thunderbird!"
"Shh—" Roskin hissed, pressing a finger to her lips. "It's still a baby. Don't frighten it."
Vison lowered his voice.
"Where did you get this? Is this… legal?"
Roskin didn't answer right away. Instead, she asked:
"Mr. Eldrein Vissen, do you remember the paper you published years ago on Thunderbirds?"
Vison blinked, thinking back.
'The Possibility of Artificially Raising Thunderbirds'?
"That's the one," Roskin nodded, a spark of pride in her eyes. "It inspired me. And now… I believe I'm the first witch in the world to successfully breed them."
Vison's heart skipped.
When he wrote that paper, it was just theory. He'd experimented a little, but raising Thunderbirds was considered nearly impossible. The creatures were highly sensitive to danger and notoriously difficult to approach. Only under specific conditions — in the eye of a thunderstorm, free of ill intent — could one hope to connect with them.
Few wizards survived that ordeal, let alone gained the Thunderbird's trust.
Yet Roskin had done it.
Vison couldn't help but feel a deep surge of admiration — and a little envy.
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