Vison wasn't opposed to the idea; his student life at Hogwarts had been generally satisfactory.
Perhaps, becoming a Professor wouldn't be so bad?
Besides, if everything went as expected, Harry would be attending Hogwarts soon.
If he considered this as a way to nurture the growth of the Tree of Wisdom, taking a position at Hogwarts seemed like a good choice.
"I can give it a try, Professor," Vison said.
"Excellent!" Professor Kettleburn beamed with satisfaction. "I'll contact Dumbledore. You might receive a letter from Hogwarts in a few days."
When Vison agreed to consider the position, Professor Kettleburn's mood brightened considerably, and he downed several glasses of mead in celebration.
"Oh, right," Kettleburn added, tearing off the bandage wrapped around his arm. "Almost forgot about this."
Vison's eyes flickered to Kettleburn's arm. The prosthetic limb was battered beyond belief, covered in scratches of varying depths, with several prominent burn marks scorched across its surface.
He could guess the cause—those burns were likely the handiwork of dragons. After all, Kettleburn was known for frequenting dragon reserves.
"This prosthetic you made for me won't last much longer," Kettleburn said, clearly regretful.
Vison rubbed his forehead. "Professor, can't you go a little easier on it?"
"You should say that to the dragons—they're the ones who can't take it easy," Kettleburn quipped with a hearty laugh. He removed the arm and handed it over. "Sorry, Archer. Any chance you can fix this?"
Vison took the prosthetic and examined it carefully.
He remembered when he first crafted it—using a self-repairing wood, a product of his unique "Diversification" ability.
But the damage before him had clearly surpassed the limb's regenerative capacity.
He tapped it lightly and heard a faint echo from within—hollow and fragile.
"It's beyond saving, Professor," Vison said with a frown. "What exactly did you do to it?"
"Well..." Kettleburn scratched his chin thoughtfully. "First, it got bitten by a Norwegian Ridgeback. Then, while I was taming a Hungarian Horntail, it caught some flames... Oh, and that Ridgeback? It's the one that hatched from the dragon egg you gave me."
Listening to Kettleburn's excited recounting, Vison's forehead twitched. He couldn't help but sigh. "You're using it like armor, aren't you?"
"Haha, well, your craftsmanship is top-notch!" Kettleburn bellowed with laughter.
Vison shook his head in resignation and handed the prosthetic back.
"This one's done for, Professor. You'll have to make do for now. I'll craft you a new one, but it'll take a little time."
Kettleburn reattached the worn limb, flexing his arm. "That's fine. It's not the first time I've worked with one hand. You go handle Hogwarts first—fix this whenever you've got time."
Vison wasn't sure why Kettleburn was so enthusiastic about him taking a post at Hogwarts.
Still, it was kindness on the Professor's part, and Vison accepted it.
By the time he returned home, night had fully fallen.
Vison stepped into his sanctuary—Vinson's—and gestured for the Devil's Snare guarding the entrance to return to its post.
As his primary security measure, the Devil's Snare was essential. Frankly, bringing it out had been a risk.
After all, this wasn't an independent dimension. Vison's box merely served as a portal.
His magic was enough to keep this vast space concealed, but occasionally, odd creatures still found their way in.
Like last year, when a Graphorn had quietly slipped inside.
A hulking creature, armored with spikes and a towering back—
Luckily, the Devil's Snare had subdued it.
Vison still kept the Graphorn's horn as part of his collection.
He passed through the first greenhouse, crossed a soft meadow, and arrived at the second greenhouse.
This one was special. Thanks to the Undetectable Extension Charm, its space stretched absurdly large—like several basketball courts merged into one, fading into darkness at the edges.
Here, he grew his larger plants.
As he reached the center, a towering tree came into view—the Ebony.
Unlike ordinary Ebony, this one was the product of Vison's "Diversification."
Its branches shimmered a strange, dark purple hue—almost metallic.
With a thought, information about the tree flashed in his mind:
Species: Ebony
Level: 3
Characteristics: Regeneration, Lightweight
Status: Growing (12%)
Ebony was known for its resilience to wear and heat—ideal for crafting wands.
Naturally, it also made excellent material for prosthetics.
The prosthetic limb he had given Kettleburn had come from this very tree.
Its regenerative and lightweight properties made it perfect for that purpose.
But its growth was painfully slow. Even after years, its progress sat at just 12%.
As Vison walked beneath its boughs, he paused—something about the Ebony's aura felt... different today.
He tapped lightly on the trunk.
From between the branches, a tiny head popped out, crowned with leaf-like tufts—
A Bowtruckle.
But this was no ordinary Bowtruckle.
Larger than usual, its dark green skin shimmered faintly with purple highlights—matching the Ebony's hue.
The creature blinked its dark eyes at Vison, clutching a small branch like a prized treasure.
"When did you sneak in?" Vison arched a brow.
The Bowtruckle squeaked twice, clearly irritated at having its rest disturbed.
Vison noticed the branch in its grasp—an Ebony twig, dry but still pulsing faintly with magical residue.
"This tree is mine, you know." Vison chuckled, reaching for the branch.
Instantly, the Bowtruckle recoiled, clutching it tighter and glaring fiercely.
Vison sighed. "Alright, you win. Keep it."
It seemed this Bowtruckle had claimed the Ebony as its home.
As long as it didn't gnaw the tree to bits, Vison had no objections.
Turning back toward his storage, Vison fetched a small jar—Fairy Eggs—a delicacy Bowtruckles adored.
Returning, he shook the jar gently.
The Bowtruckle peeked out again, eyes fixed hungrily on the treat, its leafy antennae trembling.
"Want some?" Vison grinned, shaking the jar again.
The Bowtruckle nodded eagerly.
"Then let's strike a deal."
Vison crouched, poking its tiny head.
"You can stay here, but you have to protect this Ebony tree. No harm must come to it. Deal?"
The Bowtruckle tilted its head, thinking.
After a pause, it nodded solemnly and opened its little claws in agreement.
"Good." Vison poured a handful of eggs onto the tree trunk.
The Bowtruckle pounced, hugging the morsels and munching happily, gurgling with delight.
Vison smiled, placing the open jar by the tree roots before turning his attention back to the Ebony.
Drawing his wand, he muttered:
"Sectumsempra."
A silver flash sliced through the air, and one of the Ebony's side branches fell cleanly to the ground.
Vison bent to examine the cut—smooth and flawless.
"The Sectumsempra Curse really is perfect for pruning," he mused. "Professor Snape is a genius."
The Bowtruckle looked up, alarmed at the fallen branch.
"Relax," Vison reassured it. "I'm just taking a small piece. See? The tree's already healing."
Sure enough, the tree's regenerative ability activated—fresh bark quickly covered the wound.
The Bowtruckle observed closely. Once it confirmed no lasting harm, it relaxed and returned to its feast.
Vison picked up the severed branch, weighing it in his hand.
"Not bad," he muttered, satisfied. "This batch is even better quality than before."
He smiled to himself.
"Kettleburn's going to love his new limb."