HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

"Cut! Peel!"

Vizet stood at the kitchen counter, casting household magic with practiced ease.

Though Xenophilius usually only prepared stews, his kitchen boasted an impressive collection of knives — chef's knives, bread knives, paring knives, and even more specialized blades like filleting knives, carving knives, and slender fish knives.

With a swish of magic, one of the fish knives lifted from the rack and glided into action. It slit cleanly into the belly of the fish, scooping out the innards, then expertly removed the head, tail, fins, and skin in one smooth sequence.

That, for now, was the extent of what Vizet could do. Deboning and descaling with true finesse would take more time. Still, he was improving. As with most magic, practice made perfect.

"Pickling!" he called next, tapping the salt shaker with his wand.

Salt poured evenly over the fish slices, which tumbled and rolled in the bowl under a soft levitation charm, absorbing flavor as they turned.

While the fish marinated, Vizet turned his attention to the side dishes. Vegetables levitated onto the chopping board, sliced and diced themselves mid-air, then danced neatly into bowls.

He stepped over to the stove and pointed his wand, "Incendio!"

A flame bloomed beneath the pan. He drizzled in oil and let it heat until it shimmered, then gently dropped in the fish. The sound of sizzling crackled through the air as grey smoke curled upwards.

"Depulso!" Vizet flicked his wand.

The rising smoke was swept aside by an invisible gust and streamed neatly out the open window.

Luna arrived just in time, clapping her hands. "Brilliant… Dad always breaks the fish when he fries it, so he only ever stews it."

Vizet smiled. "You have to fry it slowly. Hot pan, cold oil. Even without magic, it helps keep the fish intact."

"I want to learn this part first!" Luna said eagerly.

"If you already understand the basics of the Levitation Charm, household magic will come much easier. Why don't we start with that this afternoon?"

"Okay, Professor Vizet!" she replied, puffing out her chest playfully.

Once magic is mastered, cooking became less about effort and more about intention. Scrubbing grease, washing dishes — everything could be done with a flick of the wand. It was a matter of mental focus more than manual labour.

Vizet also prepared a pot of noodles, topping it with fluffy scrambled eggs and tomatoes — the finishing touch to a modest but well-rounded lunch.

"Expurgare!" he said, cleaning up the kitchen with a gesture, then levitated the dishes to the table.

He and Luna took their seats, exchanged a glance, and waited quietly.

Not long after, a rush of green flame whooshed through the fireplace.

Xenophilius stepped out of the Floo with a swirl of soot, sniffed the air, and paused. "...Vizet, did you cook this?"

"I'm still learning," Vizet replied modestly. "Just simple dishes for now."

But on the table, the golden, crispy fish fillets glistened invitingly beside three steaming bowls of tomato and egg noodles. Xenophilius stared, wide-eyed, and had to swallow before speaking.

It was simple, yes… but this boy had only been learning for three days.

No wonder, he thought. No wonder Snape was willing to offer him private lessons.

With a quiet breath, Xenophilius sat down — and in that moment, a sudden wave of memory swept over him.

Pandora had been just like this.

Talented. Curious. Brilliant at learning anything she set her mind to.

And, Merlin help him, he missed her.

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After lunch, only a little soup shimmered at the bottom of the dishes, the scent of tomato and fish still lingering faintly in the warm air.

Xenophilius leaned back in his chair, stretching out with a yawn long and drawn-out, like a blanket billowing lazily on a hedge.

Slouched comfortably, his eyelids drooped. "Vizet, make a bit less next time… burp! I'm a little too full… burp!"

"Okay!" Vizet nodded obediently.

He had cooked a full pot of noodles, serving a portion to Luna, some for himself — and then the rest, in its entirety, had gone into Xenophilius's stomach.

For someone who grumbled so much, Xenophilius hadn't left a bite, which was proof enough: the fried fish and tomato-egg noodles had been a success.

"Burp!" Xenophilius staggered upright with effort and slapped a parchment on the table. "The destination of our trip is settled!"

He picked up a quill and began sketching a rough map. Though it was scribbled quickly, the layout clearly showed a route between England and Sweden.

Luna peered at it, her eyes sparkling. She had a natural gift for drawing — likely inherited from her father.

Xenophilius scribbled in several place names, cleared his throat and muttered, "Ahem… I originally wanted to take a Portkey to Sweden. But the agencies' prices — ridiculous!"

He scowled. "With old Fudge still lording about, the wizarding world's corruption is reaching new highs! Sixty Galleons — per person! For a Portkey meant for multiple travelers! They might as well just rob Gringotts at wandpoint."

Portkeys, of course, were among the most convenient forms of magical travel. No special skill needed, just a firm grip — and off you went.

"Anyway, let's not spoil the mood talking about Ministry vultures," he said, waving the quill. With quick strokes, he sketched a small train and a ship beside the map. "Now, there are two routes we can take."

He tapped the train first. "We can head to King's Cross Station, then slip onto Platform 7¼ and ride the wizard express all the way to Stockholm."

"Or —" he circled the ship drawing, "we can board a magic ship, dive under the sea, and sail to Stockholm through the North Sea tunnels."

Xenophilius scratched his head. "The cost is about the same, and the time too. So — your choice!"

Vizet and Luna exchanged a look, then simultaneously pointed to the same place on the parchment: the magic ship.

Xenophilius blinked. "What's this — coordinated rebellion? Why the ship?"

Luna beamed. "It sounds more exciting! We can see the underwater world."

"And since she'll be taking the Hogwarts Express again in September," Vizet added, "this is a chance for something different."

"Wait, wait, slow down — why are you answering together? Start together, end together! You planned this!" Xenophilius wagged his finger, but he was smiling. "Alright, alright, you win."

He stood and stretched again. "I'll head over to the Viking House travel office this afternoon and sign the contract. Once that's sorted, we're ready to go!"

He turned back to Vizet, "Be sure to pack warm clothes. It gets chilly at night in Sweden. I won't need to sort your packing for you, right?"

"I'll manage just fine," Vizet assured him. "Oh — and what about the garden? Are you arranging for someone to look after it?"

"I've got a friend lined up. Everything's under control!"

"Great."

After a brief nap following lunch, Vizet rubbed the sleep from his eyes, gathered two notebooks along with the hand-drawn textbook he'd been working on, and ambled softly into the living room.

Thankfully, he was quiet — Luna had dozed off at the table.

She was curled up like a drowsy kitten, resting against the back of the chair, her arms wrapped around her legs, one cheek pressed lightly against her knees. Her long, pale lashes fluttered faintly with each breath.

Her soft, pale blonde hair spilled around her like sunlight through lace, gently veiling the small sketchbook nestled in her arms.

She had gone to the stream in the morning, fished a while, then spent the afternoon painting here in the living room. No wonder she'd grown tired and dozed off mid-sketch.

Vizet smiled faintly and shook his head. He turned to leave quietly, hoping to let her sleep undisturbed for a little while longer.

But before he could retreat, Luna gave a small, sleepy purr — like a cat stirring in its nap — and rubbed her eyes as she slowly straightened up.

The sketchbook in her arms slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

It fell open to a page.

On it was a tall, straight-backed figure, captured mid-motion, one hand raised and wand extended. Around him, a flurry of knives floated in elegant arcs, held aloft by invisible forces.

His profile was sharply drawn, focused and calm — there was magic in the gesture, and motion in the stillness.

If viewed without context, one might mistake the scene for a battle spell — a wizard brandishing floating blades in preparation for defense or attack.

But Vizet knew better.

He stared, eyes slowly widening, touched in a way he hadn't expected.

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