HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

When Vizet regained consciousness, he found himself in the school hospital.

The air lacked the sharp scent of disinfectant that hospitals in his previous life often carried. Instead, a distinct blend of herbal fragrances lingered — a curious mixture of earthy bitterness and floral sweetness. Amid it all, a faint trace of lavender clung stubbornly at the edge of his senses.

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting warm golden patterns across his sheets.

Bright sunshine...

The school hospital?

Memories began piecing themselves together. The last thing he recalled was the dim glow of sunset before losing consciousness. Now, the afternoon light painted the room — meaning he had been here for at least a full day.

Professor Quirrell's lecture...

Panic flickered in his chest. Vizet tried to sit up, but an unseen force — gentle yet firm — kept him in place.

A dull ache throbbed in his forehead, reminiscent of the heavy, numbing fatigue he'd once felt after pulling consecutive all-nighters in his past life.

"Ah, you're awake!"

A weathered yet kind face appeared before him — Madam Pomfrey. She helped him sit up, then handed him a small measuring cup filled with a silvery mist.

"Still feeling the headache?" she asked, her tone brisk yet caring. "Drink this."

Vizet pressed his fingers to his temple as the dull ache sharpened. He winced, then nodded. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"You've overworked yourself," she muttered, half to herself. "I expect this kind of nonsense from fifth or seventh years during their exams — but a first-year? As a Ravenclaw, I know you lot push yourselves, but honestly…"

She shook her head in exasperation.

"Didn't we talk about this last time? I warned you about the Baruffio's Brain Elixer — you haven't been using that again, have you?" Her gaze narrowed in suspicion.

"Of course not," Vizet said quickly, raising the measuring cup to his lips. "I'll be more careful... This was just an accident."

The potion coated his tongue with a thick, syrupy texture — tasteless at first, but quickly followed by the fragrant bitterness of lavender. Gritty particles drifted down his throat like fine sand suspended in paste.

"Alright, now lie back and rest," Madam Pomfrey instructed.

The potion's effects took hold almost immediately. His headache dulled to a faint throb, and a wave of warmth flooded his body. Sleep overtook him before he could fight it.

When Vizet awoke again, the sunlight was bright and unwavering. Judging by the position of the sun, he estimated it was morning of the next day.

Two days...

He groaned inwardly. Not only had he missed Professor Quirrell's class, but was also going to miss Professor Snape's — and that absence weighed on him more than the headache.

He was anxious — anxious about Professor Quirrell's condition and uneasy about what knowledge he was going to miss in Snape's lesson.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his roommates, who filed in with hurried steps and crowded around Madam Pomfrey.

"Is Vizet alright?" one asked."Did the troll give him a head injury?" pressed another."Did he faint from exhaustion?"

At first, Madam Pomfrey answered their rapid-fire questions with forced patience. But her tolerance soon wore thin, and she ushered them out with firm insistence.

"The patient needs rest!" she barked, practically shoving them out the door.

Next came Penelope and a few members of the Quidditch team. Having learned from the previous group's mistakes, they kept their visit brief — barely managing a few words before Madam Pomfrey's stern glare silenced them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived last, speaking in hurried whispers.

"George said you collapsed because of that troll fight," Ron murmured.

Vizet rubbed his temples, sighing. He knew why his friends were so concerned — rumors at Hogwarts tended to snowball.

Hermione stepped forward, her face pink with embarrassment. "I... I just wanted to say thank you," she said softly. "For what you did — standing up for me before... I wouldn't have become friends with Ron and Harry if you hadn't."

Before Vizet could reply, Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out once again.

"That's enough! Out you go!"

"But I didn't even say anything!" Harry protested.

"You've spoken three sentences," Madam Pomfrey retorted. "That's three too many!"

With a defeated sigh, Harry and the others were ushered out — leaving Vizet alone once more, the quiet of the hospital settling around him.

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

Vizet's meal was simple — a bowl of warm pumpkin oatmeal porridge and some stew.

On the table beside him lay several neatly wrapped food bags, their contents spilling inviting aromas: candies, cakes, biscuits, and strips of meat jerky.

Beside them sat a silver vessel, faint wisps of white smoke curling from within, carrying the soothing scent of lavender.

Madam Pomfrey gestured to the table as she approached.

"The snacks are from the Hufflepuff first-years," she said with a smile. "I didn't know you had such good friends among them!"

Her gaze shifted to the silver vessel. "That, however, was sent by Professor Quirrell. He asked me to keep it lit — said it would help ease your headache."

She paused, her tone turning more serious. "Professor Snape examined it first. He added some lavender essential oil before giving me permission to light it."

Just as Snape's name left her lips, the Potions Master himself appeared — his arrival as abrupt as if summoned by the mention of his name.

Snape strode into the hospital wing, silent and severe, carrying a small cup of potion identical to the one Vizet had been given the day before.

Vizet noticed something odd — Snape's steps were slightly uneven, almost as if he were favoring one side. But before he could look closer, Snape set the cup on the bedside table, shot Vizet a brief, scrutinizing glance, and turned to leave.

His gaze lingered for a second longer than usual before he curled his lips — a grimace that could barely pass for concern — and swept from the room without a word.

Vizet reached for his notebook, intent on recording what he had just observed.

"Can you please take a break?" Madam Pomfrey sighed, exasperation laced with concern. "Your diligence... well, it exceeds most Ravenclaws I've seen."

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Vizet replied, retrieving his quill. "But I need to remember the potion's formula before I forget…"

He took the cup of potion in hand, swirling it slightly before taking a sip.

"This scent... definitely lavender," Vizet murmured, scribbling notes. "But is it a tincture or essential oil?"

He took another careful sip.

"It's a tincture," he muttered with certainty. "The alcohol's burned off during the boiling process... and these particles…" He paused, closing his eyes in thought.

"Moonstone powder," he concluded. "And the sticky texture… probably moon nectar mixed with wormwood infusion — that explains the slight sweetness…"

Piece by piece, Vizet reconstructed the potion's recipe, applying the method Snape had once taught him.

The potion in the cup steadily dwindled as his eyelids grew heavier. Fighting the encroaching drowsiness, Vizet scrawled one last note before sleep claimed him.

Later that evening, Madam Pomfrey stormed into Snape's office, her face tight with frustration.

The moment Snape spotted her, his expression darkened.

"Is there something wrong with the potion?" he asked coldly. "Impossible."

"Are you putting too much pressure on that child?" Madam Pomfrey demanded. "The moment you left, he started taking notes!"

Snape's brow furrowed. "Notes? What notes?"

"He was analyzing the potion's formula while tasting it!" she retorted, folding her arms. "Is that one of your assignments?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "He was calculating the formula?" His expression shifted — a flicker of something between surprise and reluctant admiration. "So what? As a student, that's exactly what he should be doing."

"But he's a patient right now!" Madam Pomfrey's voice sharpened. She was a gentle woman by nature, but when it came to her patients, she was unwavering.

Snape's reply was measured, almost indifferent. "Then I'll make another potion... and keep making them until he's well."

With that, he dismissed her with a curt nod.

But after she left, Snape paused in the quiet of his office. His lips moved slightly, forming words too faint to hear. Then, with a faint shake of his head, he muttered to himself:

"This kid…"