HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

In the dimly lit storage room, Dumbledore moved carefully through a clutter of forgotten objects and discarded artifacts. The air smelled faintly of dust and aged parchment.

He walked to the farthest corner, where a towering object lay concealed beneath a heavy gray cloth.

With a swift motion, Dumbledore grasped the cloth and pulled it away. Dust erupted into the air, swirling in chaotic plumes.

"Expurgare."

With a wave of his wand, the dust vanished, and the once-dingy cloth brightened to a pristine white.

"What a useful bit of magic," Dumbledore murmured with a faint smile. His eyes turned to the uncovered object.

It was an imposing mirror, its frame gilded in elaborate serpentine designs. The top bore a line of flowing script:

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Two curling serpents arched from the sides of the base, their heads poised as though to strike. The mirror's glass was dark and still, yet it seemed to pulse faintly in the low light.

Dumbledore stood silently before it, his fingers tracing the delicate carvings along the frame. His eyes, usually sharp and twinkling, softened with the haze of memory.

From behind him, a surge of silvery light filled the room. A horse-shaped figure — ethereal and water-like — emerged, its mane rippling like flowing streams.

"Newt," Dumbledore said softly, turning to the kelpie Patronus. "Any news?"

The spectral creature's voice came, warm yet worn with age.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, your memory never fails. Yes... I did once save an Obscurus."

The kelpie paused as though recalling something painful.

"When I visited New York, MACUSA had to detained it. I tried to retrieve the Obscurus on your request, but they claimed it had... vanished."

His voice grew heavier.

"If I had to guess... Grindelwald likely took it. I'm sorry, Albus. Tina and I are well — I hope you are too."

The kelpie dissolved into ripples of silver light, fading into nothingness.

"It's as I feared..." Dumbledore sighed deeply, his fingers still resting on the mirror's cold frame. The weight of unspoken thoughts lingered in the air.

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Vizet slept soundly through the afternoon, and when he awoke, the dull ache in his head had finally faded.

He blinked, adjusting to the dim light outside. Two identical figures appeared at the foot of his bed — familiar faces with mischievous grins.

"Ah, our dear material consultant awakens!" Fred greeted him cheerfully.

Vizet chuckled. "If you'd kindly stop spreading rumors about me, I might feel even better."

"Rumors?" George wagged his finger dramatically. "We're simply singing the praises of our great savior — like medieval bards!"

"Exactly!" Fred chimed in. "Since you're still joking, I take that as a sign you're back to normal."

"It's midnight, isn't it?" Vizet murmured, rolling his neck with an audible crack.

"Spot on!" George replied, feigning disappointment. "What a shame — you missed out on a whole weekend's worth of fun."

Vizet stretched lazily beneath the blankets. "Honestly, sleeping like this wasn't half bad. Professor Flitwick always tells me I need to balance work with rest."

Fred tapped his chin thoughtfully. "When you say it, it actually sounds convincing!"

Suddenly, faint footsteps echoed from outside.

Fred and George's expressions turned serious in an instant.

"That's our cue," Fred whispered, giving Vizet a quick wave. "We'll see you in the Great Hall tomorrow!"

"I hope so too!" Vizet grinned. "Goodnight!"

The twins vanished into the shadows just as the soft footsteps drew closer.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey entered the hospital wing. She paused, scanning the room carefully, then let out a quiet breath of relief when she saw no one disturbing her patient.

Satisfied, she turned and left the ward, her footsteps fading into the silence of the castle.

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Once Madam Pomfrey's footsteps faded into silence, Vizet opened his eyes.

He activated his magic eyes, and the world around him shifted — a delicate web of leyline magic spread throughout the hospital wing, glowing faintly like threads of silver mist.

"Lumos."

As expected, the leyline magic here was abundant — a result of countless years of healing spells and enchantments woven into the very walls.

Under normal circumstances, entering the hospital wing without permission was difficult. Madam Pomfrey often resolved most cases outside the door, only admitting patients inside when absolutely necessary.

Taking advantage of this rare opportunity, Vizet quietly moved through the ward. He mapped every corner of the hospital in his mind, tracing the magical currents that flowed through the room.

Step by step, he explored until the unseen pathways of leyline magic were fully illuminated in his mental map. Only then did he pause, satisfied.

With a deep breath, Vizet focused inward and gathered the collected leyline magic into himself.

Now was the time to act.

He activated Primordial Magic: Augment, channeling the newfound magic power into his transfiguration spell — the very one he had used to morph the Flitterbloom into a Devil's Snare.

He wondered what effect this ancient magic might have on transfiguration. Would the properties of Primordial Magic alter the spell's nature?

Vizet didn't hesitate — indecision wasn't in his character. He poured all the accumulated primordial magic power into his transformation spell.

The pages of A Wizard's Practical Guide began to turn before him.

This time, something remarkable happened — the book revealed deeper insights into transfiguration, unlocking passages he hadn't seen before.

These revelations were complex, dense with theory and layers of meaning. Only with the guidance of Theory of Metamorphosis and Transformation could Vizet begin to grasp fragments of their wisdom.

Time slipped away unnoticed as he absorbed the knowledge.

Finally, new words emerged on the page:

Primordial Magic: Self-Shaping (Devil's Snare)

Guide primordial magic power to perform transfiguration... transform one's fingers into a Devil's Snare...

Based on what he had just learned, Vizet instinctively knew his wand wasn't necessary for this.

He stretched out his hand.

Primordial Magic: Self-Shaping

A silver-blue glow enveloped his fingers. A tingling sensation — sharp yet oddly numbing — coursed from his fingertips and spread through his entire body.

His fingers elongated, their bones seeming to soften like warmed wax. His will felt disconnected from his hand — as though his mind had become the true hand, and his physical hand had turned to pliable clay.

Under his guidance, his fingers twisted and stretched, transforming into dark green vines patterned with the distinctive ridges of the Devil's Snare.

"Nox."

The wand's light extinguished, and darkness swallowed the room. Vizet closed his eyes, relying only on his transfigured fingers.

His vine-like appendages slithered across the floor, weaving smoothly between hospital beds and cabinets. Each motion felt natural, instinctive — as if he knew the room's layout in perfect detail.

Through this transformation, he sensed the world as a Devil's Snare would — the vibrations in the air, the faintest shift in temperature, the presence of every object nearby.

It was a remarkable sensation — one that reminded him of Animagus transformations.

Perhaps, with further understanding, this form of self-shaping could mimic an Animagus's abilities, granting him the instincts and traits of magical creatures.

As he pondered this, a sudden surge of heat cut through the cold air — and in the darkness before him, a ball of fire burst to life...