HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

Professor McGonagall watched Fred and George disappear down the corridor and let out a soft sigh.

"Those two boys…" she murmured, shaking her head.

Dumbledore, still standing serenely in the hall, turned his gaze toward Penelope Clearwater.

"Headmaster, shall I take Vizet back now?" Penelope asked tentatively. Given everything that had happened, escaping without a points deduction already felt like a small miracle.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Clearwater." Dumbledore gave her a gentle wave of dismissal. "I still have some matters to discuss with Mr. Lovegood."

He then turned to Professor Flitwick. "Filius, would you be so kind as to escort him to my office? The password is 'Jelly Slug.'"

The group continued to thin as students and staff departed, leaving only a few behind. Dumbledore then turned his attention to Quirrell, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Professor Quirrell, I noticed you were absent earlier. Where exactly were you?" His voice was soft, but the weight behind the question was unmistakable.

Quirrell flinched, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Ah… I-I just woke up!" He stammered, his voice quivering. "Then I l-left! Heard… something later… and came — came to see!"

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to Snape.

"Severus," he said, his tone unreadable, "I saw you arriving with him just now."

Quirrell's fingers twitched as he shot Snape a nervous glance, barely masking his anxiety.

Snape, unimpressed, merely curled his lips in a smirk. "It happened," he replied curtly.

"Y-Yes… it happened," Quirrell echoed hastily, nodding far too eagerly. "I-I was a bit disoriented… but I'm feeling much better now!"

"That is most fortunate," Dumbledore said lightly. "In that case, let us all retire for the night. It has been quite an eventful evening."

With that, the professors took their leave one by one, until only Dumbledore remained in the dimly lit hall.

He turned on his heel and strolled towards the corridor beyond, where the aftermath of the battle lay in disarray — broken stone, shattered debris, and the lingering scent of burnt magic.

Raising his wand, he murmured, "Appare Vestigium."

Golden mist poured from the tip of his wand, swirling into the air like a living entity. The mist coalesced into tiny, flickering embers, which then expanded into glowing, spectral figures — echoes of the past, playing out the night's events as if projected onto an invisible screen.

Dumbledore reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bag of lemon sherbets, and popped one into his mouth as he watched the shimmering memories unfold before him.

"Hmm… firework spells — ah, Fred and George's handiwork, no doubt. Their talent has certainly improved. Could it be with a little help from Vizet?"

His gaze flickered across the glowing images.

"A summoning spell? Minerva mentioned something peculiar about that… fascinating."

"Ah, knowledge of the troll's weaknesses… coupled with an unusually advanced mastery of the Levitation Charm…" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "And there's something more… an additional force interwoven within the magic."

Then, the final and most unsettling scene played out. The dark energy that had radiated from Vizet. The way the Sickness Curse had unraveled the troll's body, rotting it from the inside out like an accelerated disease.

Dumbledore's chewing slowed. His expression darkened with realization.

"This… this is what Voldemort is after."

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What is his purpose?"

Snape emerged from the shadows, his usual scowl in place, his gait uneven as he limped toward Dumbledore.

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Dumbledore's sharp eyes flickered with something almost like guilt as he observed Snape's unsteady posture.

"You are in a poor state, Severus," he said quietly. "Let me call Fawkes —"

"No need," Snape cut in coldly. "If, as you suspect, Quirrell is the Dark Lord's pawn, then I would be wise to keep my distance."

His voice remained measured, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. "Phoenix tears may heal wounds, but too quick a recovery will only make me a target."

Dumbledore let out a soft sigh. "Your leg… was it Quirrell? His magic is stronger than we anticipated —"

"I was bitten by the Cerberus," Snape interrupted, his irritation flaring. "You failed to mention it was lurking behind that door. Why is that creature not in the Forbidden Forest where it belongs?"

Dumbledore blinked, then gave a small chuckle. "Ah, but I did mention it — at the Start-of-Term Feast, in fact."

Snape's glare darkened.

Dumbledore continued, unfazed. "The room is warded with containment charms, tied to the door itself. Fluffy would never have attacked had the entrance remained undisturbed. I had not expected anyone to go in."

Snape's lips curled. "Quirrell disguised himself well. He is highly skilled in nonverbal casting. He blasted the door with fire — it was sheer chance that he triggered the beast's rage."

Dumbledore exhaled through his nose. "A shame… he was a talented wizard."

Snape scoffed. "Talented at crawling to the Dark Lord, perhaps. You were about to explain his true purpose, were you not?"

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn. "Voldemort seeks to stir the Obscurus within Vizet." His fingers tightened slightly around his wand. "He wants its power for himself."

At this, Snape's narrowed eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "The Dark Lord's plan, or Quirrell's?"

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. He studied Snape, then asked instead, "What else happened between you and Quirrell tonight?"

Snape's jaw tensed as he recalled the moment. "When Quirrell heard Vizet's voice, he froze. He was afraid, truly afraid. Then he… he begged me, Dumbledore. He turned his back to me — willingly — and fled down the stairs like a man possessed."

Dumbledore's thoughtful frown eased slightly. He stroked his beard. "That is… interesting."

"Interesting?" Snape crossed his arms. "You think Quirrell's sudden interest in Vizet is a good thing?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said simply.

Snape let out a derisive snort. "I suppose next you'll tell me he should be sent to St. Mungo's for examination. Half his soul fawns over the boy, the other half obeys the Dark Lord. Maybe I should brew him a Calming Draught — or better yet, a poison and be done with it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Conflict can be a turning point. If Vizet is influencing him, even in the slightest, there may yet be hope."

Snape's lip curled. "So, you want me to keep engaging with him? Continue prying for scraps of information while he scuttles around in Voldemort's shadow?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It is necessary. We must learn of Voldemort's condition. His reach. His weaknesses."

Snape let out a dark, humorless laugh. "And you wonder why I refuse Phoenix tears. I'll visit him again tonight."

Dumbledore looked at him with quiet gratitude. "Severus… thank you."

Snape stiffened. "No need for that," he muttered, his voice like steel. "If it means killing the Dark Lord, I will do anything."

Dumbledore exhaled softly, shaking his head with wry amusement. "You know, I haven't sighed this often in quite some time." Then, brightening slightly, he gestured toward the hall. "Shall we continue? Would you like my assistance?"

Snape said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward, his actions answering for him.

They returned to the Grand Hall, while the golden remnants of Dumbledore's tracking spell followed them, the scene frozen, shimmering in the air. The ethereal Vizet stood in the center of the vision, but his form was slightly distorted, as if surrounded by a restless aura.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "The Obscurus is agitated… This is not a good sign."

He watched intently. "By the time I found him, he had already returned to normal. The question is… how?"

The golden illusion continued its playback. Then, they saw it — Vizet, gripping his wand tightly, casting a spell upon himself.

Snape's brows twitched as recognition dawned. His voice was oddly quiet.

"That motion… Exupurgare. A purification spell. One of the strongest cleansing charms I've seen. Created by himself — but…" He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. "...different."

The golden wand in the vision traced a fluid arc — one resembling the elegant spiral of a yin-yang symbol. As it did, a swirling cyclone of silver mist rose from the floor, carrying specks of darkness away.

And then, the vision faded.

Snape's fingers curled slightly. "He modified the spell… and strengthened it."

Dumbledore's blue eyes shone with quiet intrigue.

"Indeed," he murmured. "It would seem that Vizet Lovegood is far more than meets the eye."