HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

The sun was gradually setting as two professors walked side by side toward the greenhouse.

Professor Sprout's face was lined with concern as she turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, are you sure it's alright for me to have left the Devil's Snare there?"

Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses, her expression carefully neutral. "At least, that's what Headmaster Dumbledore instructed..." She paused briefly, then added in a reassuring tone, "After all, he asked you to teach the students how to handle the Devil's Snare's weaknesses."

Professor Sprout sighed, her worry persisting. "I still can't help feeling uneasy... because of you-know-who."

"This isn't meant for him," Professor McGonagall replied, her tone firmer. "It's... an additional test. A precaution, should certain students need to prove themselves."

Professor Sprout eyed her curiously. "If that's true, those students are rather unfortunate... Even seasoned wizards would find facing so many challenges at once overwhelming."

"Since this is Dumbledore's plan, we need to trust his judgment," Professor McGonagall said with quiet conviction. "He's guided Hogwarts through countless dangers before."

"Of course, I trust Dumbledore." Professor Sprout managed a smile. "Speaking of which, he's been working himself even harder lately — constantly visiting me for fresh white honey."

She sighed and shook her head. "I had prepared a whole jar just for you, but now there's only half left…"

"It's the thought that counts," Professor McGonagall chuckled. "Besides, if it helps him manage the pressure he's under, sweets are a small price to pay. Although…" She paused, amused. "He has been unusually fond of sweets lately."

They both laughed, but the mood shifted when Professor McGonagall's gaze fell on the greenhouse ahead. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh! Merlin's beard! Why is there a Devil's Snare in there?"

"Impossible!" Professor Sprout gasped. "I only brought one here — and I took it away! I even told Vizet…"

"Vizet?" Professor McGonagall's expression darkened, and she quickly scanned the greenhouse.

Through the open doorway, she could clearly see it — dark green vines writhing like a nest of serpents, twisting and slithering.

Before Professor Sprout could react, Professor McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat and bolted toward the greenhouse. In mere moments, she reached the door.

Her heart leapt — the Devil's Snare was wrapped tightly around a figure inside, its tendrils constricting like a living noose. Through a small gap between the vines, she glimpsed a familiar face — Vizet.

"Incendio!"

With a commanding cry, Professor McGonagall's wand erupted in flame, forming a blazing lion that roared and leapt forward. The fiery beast struck the Devil's Snare head-on, reducing it to ash in an instant.

"Professor McGonagall…" Vizet's muffled voice emerged from the smoke. "It's me…"

"Mr. Lovegood!" McGonagall's voice was sharp with relief, but her expression quickly hardened. "What happened just now?"

Professor Sprout arrived moments later, breathless. "Minerva… Vizet… Are you both alright?"

"I was practicing transfiguration," Vizet explained awkwardly. "I had been observing the Devil's Snare's disguise process and... well, I had an idea."

Professor McGonagall blinked in disbelief. "You were practicing transfiguration?" Her voice rose. "Pomona and I thought you were being attacked!"

"I'm very sorry," Vizet murmured, lowering his head. "I should have explained beforehand."

"It's not your fault," Professor McGonagall said after a pause, noting his downcast expression. "We should have been more mindful."

She deliberately shifted the conversation. "You mean to say... you transfigured a Flitterbloom into a Devil's Snare?"

"Yes!" Vizet's face lit up, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. "I've been studying The Theory of Metamorphosis and Transformation — the one you recommended — and combined what I've learned with my observations. That's how I managed it!"

Excitedly, he raised his wand and aimed at a nearby Flitterbloom.

"Botanomorphis!"

The Flitterbloom's soft emerald tendrils darkened, taking on the deep green hue of the Devil's Snare. Its vines twisted and curled in serpentine motion before rising — not to attack, but to lift Vizet gently off the ground.

McGonagall and Sprout instinctively reached for their wands, but the scene unfolding before them gave them pause.

The vines wrapped around Vizet's feet, forming a sturdy platform. With his wand raised high, he guided the tendrils like a conductor commanding an orchestra.

The vines snaked upward, encasing Vizet's body in a protective armor of foliage. Around his cuffs, the vines sharpened into thorned tendrils, which converged into a spear-like shape. With a flick of his wrist, the sharpened vines lunged forward, piercing the air with a sharp crack.

"Minerva…" Professor Sprout whispered in disbelief. "You're teaching first-years this now?"

"Of course not!" Professor McGonagall's stern façade cracked, her cheeks flushing with astonishment. "He worked this out himself!"

"I only gave him one piece of advice… I told him to read The Theory of Metamorphosis and Transformation. Who could have imagined he'd actually do this?"

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As a master of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall understood far better than Professor Sprout just how extraordinary the magic Vizet had performed truly was.

Among Hogwarts' many subjects, Transfiguration stood out as one of the most demanding and precise branches of magic.

In her lessons, Professor McGonagall had always followed a careful progression — guiding students from simple spells to increasingly complex ones. First-years were taught to transform matchsticks into needles, or iron into files. Mastering such basic transfigurations was no small feat.

These fundamental spells focused solely on transfiguring non-living objects — the simplest form of transformation.

It wasn't until much later — typically in their fourth year — that students were introduced to transfiguring living creatures. Even then, the complexity increased gradually, and the transformation of magical creatures was reserved for the most advanced students.

Yet Vizet had achieved something remarkable — a sophisticated transfiguration that not only altered a magical plant's appearance but also mimicked the properties of a Devil's Snare.

Magical creatures possess an inherent resistance to spells, making them notoriously difficult to manipulate through magic. For a first-year to achieve such a transformation — and with no formal guidance — was nothing short of astounding.

Vizet had pieced this together himself, combining observations from the Devil's Snare and Flitterbloom with theories from The Theory of Metamorphosis and Transformation. He was entirely self-taught in this endeavor — a feat Professor McGonagall still struggled to comprehend.

But what surprised her most was something far greater.

From what Vizet had just explained, she realized that his understanding of magic had begun to take root — an instinctive grasp of magical theory that transcended mere memorization.

This ancient magical concept — often called an 'Vision of Magic' — could not be taught directly. It was a deeply personal insight that only flourished through curiosity, observation, and innate talent.

Wizards who achieved such understanding early in life often left their mark on magical history — legends like Alberta Toothill, the celebrated Champion Duelist; Gifford Ollerton, the infamous Giant-Slayer; and Glanmore Peakes, known for his triumph over the Sea Serpent.

Vizet's wand flicked once more, and the Devil's Snare shrank back, slowly reverting to its original Flitterbloom form.

He stepped down from his vine platform, pointing eagerly at the plant.

"Professor McGonagall, this is the transfiguration technique I developed!"

Professor Sprout broke into a wide smile and clapped enthusiastically. "That's absolutely brilliant!"

But Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze remained fixed on the Flitterbloom.

"It hasn't changed…" she murmured.

Professor Sprout blinked in confusion. "Minerva, what do you mean? The Flitterbloom has changed — hasn't it?"

Vizet, overhearing their exchange, spoke up proudly.

"No, Professor McGonagall's right!" he said, excitement brimming in his voice. "The Flitterbloom itself didn't change — I only altered its appearance."

He paused, searching for the right words to explain.

"It's like… putting on a different set of clothes," he said at last. "The person underneath is still the same — but by changing what they wear, they can seem like someone else entirely."

"I put 'Devil's Snare clothing' on the Flitterbloom," he explained, "so it looked and behaved like a Devil's Snare. But once those 'clothes' were removed, it was just a Flitterbloom again."

"Vizet…" Professor McGonagall exhaled slowly, steadying her tone. "You are, without a doubt, one of the most talented students I have ever met."

Vizet's face flushed at the unexpected praise. "I… I still have a lot to learn," he stammered. "Professor Sprout has been helping me a great deal…"

"And I was lucky," he added with modesty. "Today was the first time I studied the Devil's Snare up close... and I just happened to notice the similarities between it and the Flitterbloom."

Professor McGonagall knew better than anyone that luck alone wasn't enough. Talent was rare, but the ability to build on that talent through relentless learning and experimentation — that was what set great wizards apart.

Vizet gathered his notes, tucking the pages neatly into his notebook. He turned back to the professors with a smile.

"I should head to the Great Hall — I haven't eaten all day."

He canceled the Guardian Meditation Method and deactivated the Eye of Insight. The world around him shifted back to its normal appearance — familiar, yet suddenly less vibrant.

And then it hit him.

His vision blurred, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet. The world spun, and even the two professors appeared to waver and distort.

Before Vizet could react, his legs gave out beneath him.

"Vizet!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out in alarm.

Professor Sprout rushed forward just in time to catch him as he collapsed, his back falling against her arm.

"Merlin's beard…" Professor Sprout muttered anxiously, "He's burning up!"

Professor McGonagall knelt beside him, her face tight with concern.

"He's exhausted," she murmured. "Used far too much magic in too short a time…"

Vizet barely registered their words. Before the haze fully claimed his consciousness, he felt the warmth of a conjured blanket enveloping him — and the comforting sound of Professor McGonagall's voice murmuring a spell.

Then, darkness took him.