HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

The moment the bell rang, the entire class let out a collective sigh of relief. A few students instinctively leaned toward Vizet, eager to say something — perhaps gratitude or awe — but before they could, a cold voice cut through the air.

"Do you all intend to stay here and clean the classroom?" Snape's drawl was slow, his eyes half-lidded as he surveyed the room.

It was as if he had unleashed a Stunning Spell — everyone froze, then scrambled to pack up their books and flee, moving so fast that their robes fluttered behind them.

Just as Vizet bent down to gather his things, Snape spoke again.

"Vizet, stay behind to clean up."

Michael and the others shot him sympathetic glances, their expressions practically saying, Better you than us. With half-hearted waves, they bolted.

Hannah hesitated, her face flushed. "Professor, can I stay and help?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Snape let out a derisive sneer but didn't respond.

"It's fine, I can handle it," Vizet reassured her, waving off her concern.

"But if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have finished my potion," she argued. Without waiting for permission, she rolled up her sleeves and started wiping down the tables.

Vizet chuckled softly. "Thanks." He picked up a broom and dustpan from the corner, sweeping up fragments of crushed snake fangs and dried nettles scattered on the floor.

Meanwhile, the rhythmic sound of stone grinding against ingredients echoed through the classroom. Snape, seemingly unbothered by their presence, worked with quiet precision, preparing his own batch of Boil-Curing Potion.

Vizet, having finished cleaning, stood by the podium and observed Snape's technique carefully.

The Potions Master moved with absolute certainty — no wasted effort, no hesitation. With just ten strokes of the pestle, the snake fangs had been ground into an impossibly fine powder. Instead of using tweezers, he picked up the horned slugs directly with his fingers, judging their quality by touch before placing them into the steamer.

Most impressively, he used high heat to accelerate the brewing process without sacrificing quality.

Within ten minutes, a flawless pink smoke unfurled from the cauldron like a blooming flower. The potion was complete.

Snape finally looked up, his cold gaze fixed on Vizet. "What did you see?"

Vizet took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. "Familiarity with the materials. Every motion you made was precise — whether grinding snake fangs or handling dried nettles, everything was deliberate and exact."

"You judged the slugs by touch rather than opening the lid unnecessarily. And before adding porcupine quills, you scraped off the impurities, ensuring the potion remained pure. That level of attention… that's what impressed me the most."

Snape's lips curled ever so slightly. It wasn't quite a smile, but neither was it his usual sneer. "Not entirely hopeless, then," he murmured. His tone was unreadable — neither pleased nor displeased.

"Talent may set the ceiling, but potions is not a subject of mere intuition." He folded his arms, his black robes shifting slightly as he regarded Vizet. "Experience is just as vital. Only by truly understanding your materials can you master this craft…"

A pause. Then, unexpectedly —

"Ravenclaw, five points."

Hannah gasped audibly, her hands flying to her mouth.

"You may go."

Vizet hesitated for half a second, wondering if he had imagined the faintest glimmer of approval in Snape's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Thank you, Professor." With that, he and Hannah left the classroom.

The moment they stepped into the corridor, Hannah was still in shock. "Did that just happen? Did Snape actually say all that… and give you five points?" She clutched her head as if trying to process reality.

Vizet raised an eyebrow. "Every professor has the authority to award and deduct points, don't they?"

"Yes, but Professor Snape is different!" Hannah whispered urgently, glancing over her shoulder as if afraid he might still be listening. "He only ever gives points to Slytherin. Everyone else? He just deducts."

Vizet chuckled. "Guess I got lucky, then."

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After just one morning of Potions, Vizet had already gained a fair bit of goodwill among the first-year Hufflepuffs.

As he passed by their table in the Great Hall, the new students greeted him with warm smiles — a silent nod of appreciation for his help in class.

After lunch, Vizet spent his usual midday meditation session regaining his energy. By the time he arrived at the History of Magic classroom, he was fully refreshed.

Located on the second floor of the castle, the classroom was orderly and well-lit. Large windows let in the afternoon sun, bathing the room in a golden warmth that made the space feel peaceful — almost too peaceful.

Then, right on cue, the class bell rang, and Professor Binns drifted through the wall, his translucent form moving as effortlessly as a wisp of smoke.

"It is time. Let us begin."

Without so much as a glance at the students, he immediately launched into his lecture in the same dull, toneless voice he had likely used for centuries.

"There was a time of stability and cooperation between wizards and Muggles… Wizards lived among Muggle communities, exchanging potions and healing spells for daily necessities…"

"Then came Emeric the Evil in southern England, spreading terror and violence. His rise instilled fear among Muggles, fueling what would become the infamous 'witch hunts'…"

"As tensions escalated, wizards withdrew from Muggle society. Though adult wizards were difficult to capture, their children were vulnerable to Muggle persecution…"

The combination of Binns' droning voice and the golden afternoon sunlight was practically an invitation to sleep.

All around Vizet, his classmates — who had originally planned to take diligent notes — were losing the battle against drowsiness. Their heads bobbed like chicks pecking at grain, some barely keeping their eyes open, others already slumped over their desks.

Before long, the classroom was filled with only two sounds: Professor Binns' unchanging monologue and the quiet scratches of Vizet's quill moving across parchment.

Even though he had copied the History of Magic textbook, the sheer amount of content made it difficult to memorize everything. Binns, for all his monotony, summarized the material concisely — valuable insights buried beneath his dull delivery.

Extracting these nuggets of knowledge felt like panning for gold, and Vizet, ever patient, was more than willing to sift through the gravel.

Binns continued, unbothered by the snoozing students.

"Some wizards, after losing their children to Muggle violence, turned to revenge. They began attacking Muggles, further fueling the cycle of fear and retaliation…"

"The rise of these dark wizards deepened Muggle paranoia, escalating the brutality of the witch hunts… and leading to even more wizarding children being murdered…"

"In response, wizards devised new ways to avoid detection — Muggle-Repelling Charms, enchanted doorknobs that Muggles couldn't grasp… These defenses only widened the divide between the two worlds…"

The phrase "using history as a mirror" came to Vizet's mind.

With each point Binns made, he could see more clearly why the magical world had chosen isolation.

Wizards, by nature, approached problems differently from Muggles. When faced with an obstacle, their first instinct was to use magic to solve it. This reliance on spells had shaped their entire way of thinking.

Yet, in essence, weren't Muggles the same? Instead of magic, they invented tools to solve their problems.

Two different paths, but both leading to the same goal.

With this realization, Vizet found himself drawn even deeper into the subject.

By the time the end-of-class bell rang, his roommates startled awake, wiping away the traces of sleep from their faces.

Terry rubbed his eyes groggily and glanced at Vizet, confused. "Wait… Why do you look so awake?"

"I was taking notes," Vizet replied simply. "History of Magic is fascinating."

Michael stretched, yawning. "This has to be the most Ravenclaw thing I've ever seen. Who actually enjoys Binns' lectures?"

Vizet merely smiled, unconcerned.

As he gazed out the window at the bright blue sky, a thought struck him — writing letters wasn't so difficult after all.

After a day like this, there were plenty of interesting things to share.