HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

Vizet stood up calmly, meeting Snape's cold gaze without a hint of nervousness.

"Professor Snape, my scholarship is only thirty Galleons," he explained evenly. "If I used it to buy new books, I wouldn't have enough left for the other supplies on the list, so I copied all the textbooks myself."

A few students exchanged glances. Some looked impressed. Others just gawked at him like he was mad.

Snape's expression remained unreadable, but there was a glint of something — mockery, perhaps — in his dark eyes. "Touching," he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate. "Like listening to a third-rate inspirational tale."

Then, with a sharp turn, he fixed his gaze on Vizet again. "Since you've taken such pains to write your own textbooks…" His lips curled into something that was almost a sneer. "You must be very familiar with the contents, yes? Tell me — what ingredients are used in a Boil-Curing Potion? And what is its primary function?"

The room tensed. Students scrambled to open their books, flipping frantically to the correct page.

Vizet didn't even hesitate.

"Half a crucible of water, six ground snake fangs, four steamed horned slugs, and two porcupine quills," he listed smoothly.

"The Boil-Curing Potion is primarily used to treat common pustules, measles, and boils. It also has medicinal effects on certain symptoms of lymph tuberculosis. As long as the affliction isn't caused by magical damage, it is considered an effective remedy."

He paused, then added, "If the brewing temperature is correct before adding the porcupine quills, the potion will emit pink smoke. The purer the color, the more precise the potion-making process."

A tense silence followed.

Snape's expression barely changed, but the corner of his lip curled slightly — perhaps in approval, or perhaps in amusement at the rest of the class's wide-eyed expressions. Then his cold gaze swept across the room.

"Why are you all staring?" he snapped. "Get to work! Or do you expect me to brew the potion for you?"

The entire class jolted into motion, scrambling to gather their materials.

Snape wasn't idle either. With a flick of his wand, various ingredients floated onto his desk, and instructions appeared on the blackboard in spidery handwriting:

Grind the snake fangs as finely as possible.

Check the horned slugs frequently while steaming.

The outer membrane should be translucent, with a blackened core.

Remove from heat before adding porcupine quills.

Stir exactly five times clockwise.

The process wasn't particularly difficult, but it was precise. Preparing the ingredients alone took a great deal of time, and any mistakes in measurement could ruin the entire potion.

Not to mention, Snape hovered like a shadow, his robes billowing as he stalked through the classroom. His presence alone was enough to make some students' hands shake.

Hannah Abbott, seated next to Vizet, was frozen in place. She gripped a pair of tweezers, staring at the slimy horned slugs with visible horror.

Her hands trembled.

Vizet glanced at her, then wordlessly slid his finely ground snake fangs toward her. "You can handle this part," he said quietly. "Don't worry — we've got enough time."

Hannah shot him a grateful look and quickly turned her attention to grinding the fangs, relieved to have an excuse to avoid touching the slugs.

Vizet, meanwhile, took the tweezers and carefully placed six horned slugs into the steamer.

Under the high heat, the thick mucus coating their bodies hardened, turning gelatinous as they shrank.

His fingers twitched slightly.

Something felt… off.

Activating the Eye of Insight, Vizet focused on the slugs within the steamer. His vision sharpened, and suddenly, he could see the magic at work —

The natural magical circuits within the slugs were shifting, compressing as they shriveled in the heat.

And then, for the briefest moment, those chaotic circuits aligned.

A symbol emerged.

A distinct, intricate mark woven into the structure of the slugs, forming the precise moment they reached peak preparation.

So that's why the steaming process was necessary. Fascinating.

Vizet didn't open the lid, didn't disturb the process. Instead, he simply watched, observing the formation of the magical symbol with quiet intensity.

His mind was already racing with possibilities.

And Snape, who had paused mid-stride to glance in his direction, narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

------------------------------

"Why don't you open the lid?"

A low, cutting voice sliced through the air.

Snape had appeared behind Vizet without a sound, his presence coiling like a shadow. "Or do you intend to steam the slugs for a full ten minutes, as written in the book?"

Hannah flinched. The stone mortar nearly slipped from her hands.

Around them, the other students barely dared to breathe. No one spoke. No one moved.

Vizet, however, remained unfazed. He kept his gaze fixed on the slugs, watching the intricate shifts in their magical circuits. "Of course not, Professor Snape," he answered calmly. "Opening the lid too often disrupts the process and affects the final quality."

Snape's thin lips pressed together, but he gave a slow nod. "Correct."

He folded his arms and lingered behind Vizet, occasionally glancing at the timer beside him.

Seven minutes passed.

Without hesitation, Vizet picked up the tweezers, removed two slugs, and immediately closed the lid again. He jotted down the time in his notes.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly.

The two slugs were perfectly translucent, their gelatinous outer layers revealing a deep blackened core.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

Seven minutes and forty seconds.

Vizet opened the lid again, retrieved the remaining slugs, and recorded the time once more.

All six slugs — identical in size, uniform in color, flawlessly prepared.

Snape studied them for a long moment. Then, with the faintest shift in expression — perhaps approval, perhaps something else entirely — he murmured, "Acceptable."

Without another word, he turned and strode off, his robes billowing as he resumed his silent patrol of the room.

The oppressive atmosphere in the Potions classroom remained, but Vizet was unaffected. If anything, he thrived in this kind of quiet focus.

Every material — whether it was horned slugs, snake fangs, dried nettles, or porcupine quills — contained its own hidden magic, woven into symbols that only he could see.

Activating the Eye of Insight, he carefully added the ingredients one by one, watching as the magic sigils of each element dissolved and reformed in the bubbling liquid.

It was mesmerizing. Like painting with invisible ink, sketching intricate patterns from raw magic.

The potion shifted from deep green to murky blue. Bubbles began to surface, bursting softly at the edges of the crucible.

Vizet glanced to the side. "Hannah, it's bubbling. Stir it five times clockwise."

"O-Okay!"

Hannah grabbed the long-handled spoon, her grip a little uncertain at first. But she followed his instructions, stirring carefully.

As the mixture swirled, the large bubbles shrank into smaller, uniform beads. The cloudy blue gradually cleared, and tiny flecks of impurities gathered in the center.

Then, suddenly —

A plume of soft pink smoke rose gracefully from the crucible.

Hannah gasped, eyes wide with wonder. "It looks amazing!"

Her excitement got the better of her — she reached for the porcupine quills, ready to toss them in immediately.

Vizet's voice cut in just in time. "Hannah — remove the heat first."

She froze. "Oh! Right!"

Quickly, she grabbed a cloth, lifted the crucible off the burner, and only then added the porcupine quills.

The quills melted slowly in the residual heat, dissolving like tiny sparks, scattering star-like flecks throughout the potion.

Snape reappeared beside them, moving so quietly that neither had noticed his approach.

He dipped a spoon into the mixture, lifted a sample, and examined it against the dim light. His expression betrayed nothing.

"Is this truly your first time brewing a potion?" His voice was unreadable, but the question carried weight.

Vizet tilted his head slightly. "Does helping Mr. Lovegood squeeze Gurdyroot for tea count?"

For the first time, Snape's hand twitched.

His grip tightened ever so slightly on the spoon.

"Making tea with Gurdyroot?" His gaze sharpened as he studied Vizet with new intensity. "Do not let yourself be swayed by those absurd theories."

Vizet blinked. "Are you referring to Mr. Lovegood? I think what he tells Luna makes sense."

There was a flicker of something in Snape's eyes — something rare.

But just as it appeared, it vanished, though not before Vizet noticed it.

"You have some sense in that head of yours," he muttered dryly, as if reluctant to admit it.

But before the conversation could go any further, he shifted topics.

"Since you've completed your potion, why aren't you assisting your classmates?" His voice was back to its usual sharpness. "Do you intend to stand apart from the rest?"

Vizet met Snape's gaze without hesitation. "Understood, Professor."

He moved to help, and Hannah quickly followed.

Unlike Snape, whose very presence sent a chill through the students, Vizet's assistance was met with quiet relief.

One by one, he observed their mixtures, using his Eye of Insight to identify where the magic circuits faltered and how to adjust them. Small corrections — stirring more evenly, adjusting the heat, modifying ingredient ratios — made all the difference.

By the end of class, every student Vizet had helped successfully completed their potion.

The once daunting, bubbling crucibles now looked… inviting.

Even the pink smoke, which had seemed ominous before, now felt celebratory — like a festival of tiny fireworks rising above their workstations.