HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

The Hogwarts Welcoming Feast was, without a doubt, a grand spectacle of culinary excellence.

The meats were cooked to perfection — succulent, tender, and bursting with flavor. The careful balance of black pepper, rosemary, and other spices enhanced the richness of the dishes, drawing out the natural depth of their taste.

Savory gravies and tangy tomato sauces complemented the roasted sausages and golden potatoes. A simple drizzle could elevate an ordinary bite into something truly delightful.

Vizet reached for another lamb chop, letting a spoonful of thick, aromatic gravy cascade over the meat. Around him, the lively atmosphere of the Great Hall grew even more spirited.

Students engaged in animated discussions, their voices blending into a vibrant symphony of chatter and laughter. Conversations ranged from the latest headlines to gossip about magical celebrities, from spellcasting techniques to entertaining anecdotes about Hogwarts professors.

Though Vizet had yet to formally study magic, he absorbed valuable insights simply by listening.

He quickly gathered that Professor McGonagall was widely respected — known for her unwavering dedication to both her students and her work. As the head of Gryffindor, she maintained a strict yet fair approach, enforcing discipline without hesitation.

In contrast, Professor Snape, the enigmatic Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, was a figure of intense debate.

While Slytherins spoke of him with admiration, students from other houses — particularly Gryffindor — described him as openly biased. He was notorious for his relentless favoritism towards his own house and his ruthless treatment of others.

Gryffindor, it seemed, suffered the most under his scrutiny, often losing house points for the smallest infractions.

Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw, was beloved among his students. As the Charms professor, he fostered an engaging and enjoyable classroom environment, making learning both accessible and exciting.

Professor Sprout, the warm and cheerful Herbology professor, was well-regarded for her kindness. Her work with magical plants fascinated many students, especially those from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

After the main course, desserts appeared — lavish and abundant.

Towering sponge cakes, golden pies, shimmering puddings, and vibrant jellies filled the tables, while tubs of ice cream glowed under the enchanted candlelight.

However, the syrup glazes were overly thick, and the pastries exuded an intense sweetness. Vizet, preferring something lighter, opted for a small spoonful of ice cream. The cold, creamy texture melted on his tongue, leaving behind a rich, milky aftertaste.

As students indulged in their desserts, the conversation shifted once again.

This time, the topic at hand was Gringotts — and the recent break-in that had made headlines across the wizarding world.

"Did you read the Daily Prophet? They've been covering the Gringotts robbery for days."

"Breaking into an underground vault? And not just any vault — the highest-security level. No wizard would be reckless enough to attempt something so foolish."

"Unless," another student interjected, lowering his voice, "it wasn't a wizard at all. Maybe it was staged. A show of 'security measures' — just to impress the old pure-blood families."

"Or… it could've been another goblin rebellion."

At this, a student from Ravenclaw perked up. "I actually visited the Eye of the Mine over the summer. Some of the artifacts from past goblin rebellions are still preserved there. Their metalwork is incredible — you can still see the precision in their old smelting techniques."

Vizet listened intently. The Gringotts break-in was an event of great significance, yet opinions on it varied widely. What truly happened remained a mystery.

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As the last of the desserts vanished from the golden plates, it became clear that the grand Welcoming Feast was drawing to a close.

Dumbledore rose once more and approached the enchanted owl-shaped podium. The room fell into a natural hush as he spread his arms, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.

"Now that everyone has eaten their fill," he said, his voice carrying a touch of amusement, "perhaps you'll indulge this old man for just a moment longer."

A ripple of light laughter spread across the hall.

"First," Dumbledore continued, "I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor — Quirinus Quirrell."

At the far end of the staff table, a nervous-looking man in a thick purple turban and Indian-style robes stood up.

His movements were awkward, his arms flailing slightly as he attempted a feeble wave.

"H-Hello… e-everyone!" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I am Quirinus Quirrell! I am… v-very happy to be… t-teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

A few students exchanged skeptical glances. Was this timid man really capable of teaching them how to fend off dark creatures and dangerous spells?

Dumbledore, however, offered him a reassuring nod before gesturing for him to sit down.

"Thank you, Professor Quirrell."

With that, he turned back to the students.

"Now, onto some important reminders…"

His tone, though still lighthearted, carried an underlying authority.

"First-year students, please note that the Forbidden Forest at the edge of the grounds is strictly off-limits. It is a dangerous place, and under no circumstances should you venture inside."

A few first-years shifted uncomfortably.

"If you have any doubts about the school rules, or wish to familiarize yourselves with the more intricate reasons for point deductions, you may consult our esteemed caretaker, Mr. Filch, who has generously compiled a comprehensive list of offenses."

Some older students chuckled at this, well aware of Filch's fondness for enforcing discipline.

"In addition," Dumbledore continued, "for those interested in Quidditch, team trials will be held next week. Keep an eye on your common room bulletin boards for further details."

After covering several more announcements, his expression suddenly shifted. He cleared his throat, his usual warm demeanor fading into unexpected seriousness.

"Now… there is one more thing."

A hush fell over the hall.

"This is of the utmost importance," Dumbledore said, his voice firm. "If you wish to avoid a most unfortunate accident — do not enter the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.

"Unless, of course, you have a particular desire to die a most painful death."

A wave of uneasy silence washed over the Great Hall.

Some students looked at each other in confusion, while others glanced nervously toward the staff table.

Then, as suddenly as the grim warning had come, Dumbledore's cheerful demeanor returned.

"Now then!" he exclaimed, pulling out his wand. "Before we all retire to our common rooms, let us sing the school song!"

With a sharp flick, a long golden ribbon shot from the tip of his wand, twisting and coiling through the air like an enchanted serpent. As it unraveled, shimmering words formed along its surface.

Dumbledore raised his wand like a conductor's baton.

"Sing to whatever tune you like!" he encouraged. "And — begin!"

The hall erupted into chaotic and wildly off-key singing.

Gryffindor's voices boomed the loudest, enthusiastic yet utterly disorganized. Hufflepuff followed with equal enthusiasm, though their harmonization was slightly better. Ravenclaw and Slytherin, in contrast, showed far less enthusiasm — with most students merely mouthing the words rather than actually singing.

Despite the cacophony of mismatched melodies, Dumbledore beamed as though it were the most beautiful symphony he had ever heard.

As the last note — drawn out painfully slow by a group of particularly determined Gryffindors — finally faded, the golden ribbon vanished in a burst of light.

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The slightly awkward yet spirited school song session came to an end, and the prefects began leading the students out of the Great Hall toward their respective house common rooms.

Vizet followed the Ravenclaw group, stepping onto the grand marble staircase. As they ascended, whispers rippled through the portraits lining the walls. Some figures peered curiously at the first-years, while others exchanged hushed remarks, their painted eyes tracking the newcomers.

Rumble… Rumble…

A heavy, mechanical sound echoed ahead.

Vizet looked up to see the magic staircases shifting before them — lengthening, retracting, twisting unpredictably. Some staircases extended to doorways, while others pivoted against walls, blocking certain paths and opening new ones.

At the front of the group, Penelope Clearwater turned toward the first-years with a proud smile.

"The moving staircases were designed by none other than Rowena Ravenclaw herself," she announced.

"As a school of magic, Hogwarts cannot have ordinary staircases. Rowena believed that staircases should reflect the freedom of thought and fluidity of knowledge — just like a true Ravenclaw."

The students marveled as the staircases adjusted themselves again.

"Alright," Penelope said, motioning for them to follow. "Time to go up!"

As the group ascended, she continued, "Ravenclaw House is as boundless as the sky. Our common room is located high in the Ravenclaw Tower, offering the best view of Hogwarts.

"Our house colors — blue and bronze — symbolize the endless sky and the wisdom of the eagle, our house emblem."

She paused for effect before adding, "Unlike other houses, Ravenclaw has its own private library in the common room. While it's not as extensive as the main Hogwarts Library, it contains many rare and advanced magical texts. It's a place of absolute freedom for the mind."

Their journey to the Ravenclaw Tower was long, requiring them to traverse multiple staircases. The constant shifting of the stairways made the route disorienting, and fatigue soon set in.

Several first-years began nodding off mid-step, their eyes drooping as they trudged forward.

Vizet, however, remained wide awake, his gaze darting from moving portraits to animated suits of armor that clanked their gauntlets and sparred playfully with each other.

Noticing his fascination, Cho Chang chuckled.

"You're adjusting well," she remarked. "Most first-years get completely lost on the way up."

Vizet nodded, his eyes still scanning the ancient stone corridors.

"This place is incredible," he admitted. "There's so much to take in… I just hope I'll be able to sleep tonight."

Cho laughed. "You'd better. Classes start tomorrow, and first impressions matter."

At last, they reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room — a tall bronze door embedded in the curved stone wall of the tower.

At the center of the door sat a bronze eagle statue, its wings elegantly folded against its body.

The eagle's eyes gleamed, and as Penelope approached, the copper ring beneath it quivered.

A smooth, melodious voice emerged from the statue:

"I am here, yet I do not know it. If left alone, I will perish. What am I?"

Penelope turned to the first-years with an encouraging smile.

"Unlike other houses, Ravenclaw doesn't use passwords to enter the common room," she explained. "Instead, the door poses a riddle. If you answer correctly, you may enter."

She glanced at the group expectantly.

"Tonight's question isn't too difficult. Let's see if any of our new students can solve it."

The first-years exchanged nervous glances, some furrowing their brows, others looking completely lost.

Sensing their hesitation, Penelope offered a small hint.

"Remember," she said, "there is not just one correct answer. As long as your reasoning is sound, the eagle will let you through."