HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

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Hey everyone, LuxRadium here! Thanks for your patience during the hiatus. As promised, I'm dropping four extra chapters along with this one today—plus, there will be four more tomorrow! I really appreciate your support. Happy reading!

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Snape took a slow sip from his teacup, his expression unreadable. "Occlumency?"

Dumbledore stirred his own tea, adding sugar one cube at a time. "According to the Sorting Hat, Occlumency is crucial for Vizet. If he can learn to control his emotions — truly master them — then the so-called 'silent rampage' of an Obscurial might become something he can command rather than fear."

Before he even finished, Snape cut him off. "Don't ask me."

Dumbledore chuckled, as if he'd expected this. "I wouldn't dream of it. I have someone else in mind."

Snape didn't press further. Instead, his sharp eyes flickered toward another matter. "And the intruder?" He leaned forward slightly. "The corridor on the right of the third floor… What exactly is hidden there? Or should I ask — has the Dark Lord returned?"

Dumbledore sighed, a rare shadow crossing his face. "That remains uncertain. There are rumors, whispers of movement. Clues, but no proof. Not yet."

"Proof?" Snape mused, tapping a finger against his cup. "Is this related to the Gringotts break-in? What was in that vault?"

Dumbledore hesitated for only a moment before answering. "Something that would be more than enough to draw Voldemort's interest. Something worth the risk."

Snape stiffened, his mind racing through possibilities. And then it clicked. "The Philosopher's Stone." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore smiled, though there was no real humor in it. "You are far too perceptive, Severus. It makes it difficult to keep up a good conversation."

"That's your choice," Snape replied coolly. "But my concern remains — how 'safe' is Hogwarts, really?"

Dumbledore chuckled, but his eyes twinkled with something else entirely. "As safe as we make it. And that, my dear friend, requires your help."

Snape scowled, realizing too late that he'd been drawn into Dumbledore's web yet again. "Perhaps coming here tonight was a mistake," he muttered. "From the moment I knocked on your door, I should have known better."

"You came at exactly the right time," Dumbledore countered smoothly. "Even if you hadn't, I would have come to you."

Snape stiffened, sensing there was more. "What else do you have planned? Have you confirmed the identity of the intruder?"

"Not yet," Dumbledore admitted. "But whoever it is… they will reveal themselves soon enough."

The fire in Dumbledore's office crackled softly as he continued working, quill scratching against parchment. The night was deep, the castle quiet — until a voice broke the silence.

"Just as you predicted," said a woman's voice from one of the portraits. "Someone went to that room tonight."

Dumbledore looked up from his desk. "Ms. Wilkins, who was it?"

"Quirinus Quirrell," she answered. "He didn't try to open the door — only tested it with magic. Probing, analyzing, careful."

Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "A Ravenclaw's approach," he murmured. Though his words carried admiration, there was unmistakable disappointment in his voice.

"This isn't like him," he continued, half to himself. "Something is wrong. Things are progressing… faster than I had hoped."

He reached for the quill once more, his hand steady as he wrote the final name onto the list.

It was already filled with others — Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Rubeus Hagrid. Now, at last, the final name was there: Quirinus Quirrell.

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Morning light filtered through the dormitory window, painting the stone walls with a soft golden glow. Vizet blinked awake, the muffled sounds of snoring and murmured sleep-talk filling the air. His mind felt… hollow, like he had processed too much information overnight, yet retained none of it.

"One, two, three…" He silently counted his breaths, gathering his thoughts.

He had maintained the Guardian Meditation Method for nearly five hours last night — his longest session yet. It had been a strange, exhilarating experience. Through the meditation, he had immersed himself in the very essence of Hogwarts, sensing its magic, its history, its quiet hum beneath the surface.

The technique worked in two ways — internally, it stabilized his emotions, reinforcing his control over the Obscurus lurking within him. Externally, it heightened his perception, even accelerating spellcasting. It felt like wielding both a shield and a blade at the same time.

But five hours was his limit for now. Any longer, and the strain would have been too much.

Yet something else had happened during those hours of focus — something far more important.

He had been absorbing as much of the leyline magic of Hogwarts as he could.

It was a slow, grueling process, requiring patience and absolute concentration. But eventually, he had drawn in just enough leyline energy to unlock another page in A Wizard's Practical Guide.

His heart had pounded as he watched the words reveal themselves:

Primordial Magic: Augment (Elementary)

Guide primordial magic to improve spells… enhance power… increase spell special effects…

Augmentation magic.

It wasn't a separate spell, nor a shield — it was a modifier, meant to be woven into other spells. It could enhance their power, amplify their effects, even alter them in unique ways.

A small smirk tugged at Vizet's lips.

Thank you Hogwarts. I will use this gift very nicely.

By the time he pulled himself out of bed, most of the other boys were still fast asleep, tangled in their blankets. He grabbed his schedule from the desk, skimming the neatly written grid of subjects.

Morning: Potions.

Afternoon: History of Magic.

After a quick wash, Vizet made his way to the common room, flipping open his textbook as he walked. Old habits from his past life still clung to him — reviewing lessons ahead of time was second nature.

To his mild surprise, the common room was already bustling. Even before seven o'clock, Ravenclaws were deep into their books, engrossed in quiet study. Some sat at desks, others lounged on the window seats, bathed in early morning starlight.

"Good morning!" A gentle voice broke through the quiet.

Vizet glanced up to see Cho Chang sitting in a cozy corner, a book resting on her lap. "Did you sleep well? Still getting used to everything?"

"Morning." He nodded, taking a seat nearby. "I'm adapting well. Actually, I'm looking forward to today's classes — Potions and History of Magic sound interesting."

Cho chuckled. "Oh, you poor soul. I hate to be the one to ruin your excitement, but… you should brace yourself."

Vizet raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She smirked playfully. "Potions means Professor Snape. He has this way of… appearing out of nowhere. You'll look down for one second, and when you look up — boom — he's behind you. But don't worry, just don't let him catch you off guard."

Vizet absorbed that with a thoughtful nod. "And History of Magic?"

At that, Cho let out a small laugh. "Professor Binns is… well, let's just say, if you notice half the class asleep, that's normal."

Vizet tilted his head, intrigued. "Asleep? Why?"

She leaned back. "Professor Binns is the oldest professor at Hogwarts. And I don't mean that as an exaggeration — he's a ghost."

Vizet blinked. "A ghost?"

"Yup. The only ghost professor in the school," she confirmed. "He teaches like he's still alive — droning on in the same slow, monotone voice. And the classroom? It's too comfortable. Even I've dozed off a few times."

Vizet couldn't help but smile. "That's… actually kind of impressive."

Cho grinned. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

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The common room was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and the soft murmur of early risers deep in study. Vizet sat there for a while, absorbed in his thoughts, until a sharp pang of hunger snapped him back to reality. His stomach growled — loudly.

Right. Breakfast.

He stood, stretching slightly, and made his way toward the Great Hall.

The castle corridors were nearly empty at this early hour, the morning light barely spilling in through the tall stained-glass windows. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of parchment and old stone. But just as he rounded a corner, a loud burp echoed through the hallway, followed by the unmistakable stench of alcohol.

Vizet barely had time to react before he nearly collided with a drunken woman.

She was impossibly thin, almost skeletal, with huge black-framed glasses that magnified her already wide eyes to an unsettling degree. A tangled mess of beads and chains clattered around her neck, and her wiry arms were weighed down by bracelets and rings. The sheer number of accessories made her look like some sort of eccentric fortune teller.

Or a fraud, if Vizet were judging by the standards of his past life.

But this wasn't his past life. Magic was real here.

The woman swayed slightly, then let out another drunken burp.

It's barely dawn… how is she even this drunk?

Vizet quickly regained his composure, stepping back. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't see you there."

The woman waved a hand dismissively. "Burp! It's fine… this is… the guidance of fate."

Her voice was soft and slurred, each word dripping with inebriation. "Yes… yes, I knew I would bump into someone this morning. I saw it… in the crystal ball."

Vizet stared.

Who… is this lunatic?

He wasn't sure why she was even here, wandering around Hogwarts like this, but whatever the reason, it wasn't his problem.

"If you're alright, I'll be on my way," Vizet said politely, nodding in farewell.

But just as he turned to leave, the woman froze.

Her huge, magnified eyes darted wildly in their sockets. Her mouth fell open, and for a moment, she looked as though she were on the verge of being sick.

Vizet instinctively took two steps back.

But then — she moved.

Faster than he expected. Too fast.

Before he could react, her spindly, spider-like fingers clamped down hard on his arm.

Then, in a voice that sent chills down his spine, she spoke — but it was not the drunken slurring of before. No, this voice was ancient, hollow, and resounding, like a blade scraping against stone.

"In the age when shadows veil the land, a demon king, clad in the armor of a valiant hero, shall rise to quell the insurrection of the brave. Upon discovering a nascent luminary, memories of bygone days shall stir within him."

"Moved by this awakening, he shall bequeath his armor and sword to another. But the former demon king shall return, and the one who now dons the guise of the demon king must confront this resurrected sovereign. The rising star shall bestow upon the disguised monarch the resolve to break free from binding chains."

"Will the erstwhile demon king rekindle ancient terrors, or will the masked ruler usher in newfound calamities? The path ahead remains shrouded in uncertainty. Yet, as the rising star ascends, its light shall illuminate the journey forward."

And then — just as suddenly as it began — the moment ended.

Vizet stood frozen, his mind racing.

What… the hell… was that?