HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

The moment Vizet caught the words Obscurus and Auror, his focus sharpened at once.

Whether for the sake of safety or ensuring a smooth journey, knowing critical news about their destination could only be an advantage.

He tilted his head slightly, trying to better catch the conversation drifting in from the next table.

Luna, ever sensitive, paused mid-bite. She gently set down her cutlery and turned her head toward him, her pale brows faintly raised in curiosity.

At the next table, the voices continued in hushed but urgent tones.

"Where did you get that information? It better not be from some rubbish tabloid."

"Please. The Odin Daily — Sweden's largest magical newspaper."

"Oh! Then that's solid. I think there's a real Seer stationed in Sweden... a proper one, not like the ones in the joke shops."

"There is. And it gets worse — they found one of the dark wizards responsible, floating face-down in a river."

Gasps followed.

"Wait — he was drowned?"

"That's not even the worst of it. The Aurors found signs of the Imperius Curse on him."

"…What?! He was under control?"

"Exactly. That's why everyone's tense. Some say it's the Saints again. Their leader was tried, sure — but none of the followers got punished."

"Could it be Voldemort? There were those whispers he'd gone into hiding somewhere in the Black Forest of Albania. Maybe he's resurfaced in Sweden."

"Entirely possible. The pure-blood families that survived the last war — well, most of them supported him."

"Right? They're the ones holding onto all kinds of obscure, ancient magic. Who's to say he didn't use some dark method to stay alive?"

"Honestly, do you really believe a baby killed Voldemort? I never bought that for a second. Total fabrication by the British Ministry."

"Exactly! Just a way to keep the public calm. What's Fudge ever done, anyway? No real policy — just floats along claiming it's all peaceful thanks to him."

The voices dissolved into scoffing laughter, turning from alarm to derision — mostly aimed at the British Ministry of Magic, and particularly Cornelius Fudge.

From the sound of it, the two wizards weren't from Britain. Their accents were foreign, and their cynicism sharpened by distance.

Back at their table, Vizet straightened slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. Luna had resumed eating, but she glanced at him now and then, sensing his concern.

They didn't discuss the overheard conversation — not yet.

Once they finished, they packed several portions of food — seafood rolls, smoked fish, grilled meat — and brought it back to their cabin.

Xenophilius had just woken, his eyes bleary but his spirits lifted at the sight of the food.

He devoured the meal in minutes, pausing only to give a sleepy thumbs-up. "Good children. Excellent decision. Mmm… perfect prawns."

While Luna sketched quietly by the window, Vizet took the opportunity to approach a crew member and request the latest issues of Daily Odin.

Sure enough, everything those two wizards had said was printed in black and white across the front pages.

He even tracked down editions from a month earlier to compare the dark wizard reports.

Back then, the Swedish Ministry of Magic had a reputation for efficiency. No matter whether the criminals used stealth potions or obscure magic, as long as they remained within Sweden's borders, the Aurors would catch them — usually within a week.

But after the recent Obscurus attack on the Ministry itself, that swift response had vanished. Even the dark wizard currently in the headlines had only been found after he'd died — his whereabouts exposed too late to act.

Staring at the headlines, Vizet felt an eerie familiarity creep in.

It reminded him uncomfortably of last year's Gringotts break-in.

Except this time, the Obscurus had succeeded.

Not only had it stolen something important from the Swedish Ministry of Magic, but the aftershocks had clearly disrupted the Ministry's operations — its famed speed reduced to a crawl.

After gathering all the information he needed, Vizet carefully returned the newspapers and leaned back in his seat, a troubled expression on his face.

There was something disquieting about all this.

Both Gringotts and the Ministry were considered near-impenetrable. Yet, in reality, neither had proven invulnerable.

In a world where magic could bypass stone walls and iron locks, the term 'safest place in the wizarding world' seemed more like a comforting illusion than a fact.

A powerful wizard could easily shatter that illusion.

Even the less powerful ones — those hiding in alleys and shadows — could evade justice for years using nothing more than potions, enchantments, and a deep knowledge of how to disappear.

Places like Knockturn Alley were built for such people.

Vizet exhaled slowly.

"The magical world is far more dangerous than it appears... Only by becoming stronger can I truly feel safe — and protect the people around me."

That much was clear.

At the moment, there were two paths open to him for that strength. The first: continuing his education at Hogwarts. The second: the mysterious Wizard's Practical Guide embedded in his mind.

Exploring Hogwarts Castle was one thing. Exploring the world beyond its walls was another. And outside those walls, danger lurked far more frequently.

He'd already learned that even a place as protected as Hogwarts wasn't without its threats — but at least there, he could call on Fawkes for help. That single reassurance gave him confidence he wouldn't find in the outside world.

With those thoughts swirling, Vizet stood and stretched his arms, letting out a quiet sigh.

He had made up his mind.

He would explore the Vasa — not just for curiosity's sake, but to absorb whatever ambient primordial magic might linger in its walls, floors, and hidden compartments.

If he could gather enough, perhaps he could unlock at least two more pages of the Guide. With luck, one of them might offer a form of protection or defense.

Something — anything — to prepare for what lay ahead.

It was, of course, a gamble. The contents of each page were random. There was no way to know what he would receive or whether it could be used immediately.

Even the section titled "Primordial Magic: Augment" had its limits. Since Vizet was not all-knowing, he lacked the knowledge and conceptual understanding required to enhance every spell he knows.

Still... any preparation was better than none.

And Vizet Lovegood had no intention of being caught unprepared again.

After Vizet left, Dumbledore quietly stepped into the same space and approached the reading table where the newspapers lay.

He picked one up and, with a subtle flick of his wand, a pale silver light shimmered at the tip and drifted down like mist across the neatly folded pages.

The runes on the wand's surface pulsed softly as the light touched several articles at once, scanning them silently.

After a moment, he smiled.

"Hm... More alert than before. That's good," he murmured, satisfied.

He lowered the newspaper and spoke again, this time in a softer, more deliberate tone — almost as if reciting.

"The new star with the four-leaf clover in its mouth,

Shall at last reach the ancient altar.

The gears begin to turn, altering destiny's course.

The interweaving of the triangle, shrouding all in mist.

The strange direction of fate becomes increasingly blurred…"

A contemplative silence followed.

"If the new star refers to Vizet," he mused aloud, "what is the 'ancient altar'? Could it be the ruins of some forgotten wizarding site? And the triangle... is it implying some trinity?"

His gaze unfocused slightly, lost in thought.

He remembered clearly the last time he had visited the Department of Mysteries. Quite by chance, he'd arrived as a new prophecy orb was being recorded and added to the Hall of Prophecy.

Those orbs — only captured when true Seer-sight was involved — were rarely created, and even more rarely understood.

But this new orb bore a name etched unmistakably across its surface:

Vizet Lovegood.

That alone had been enough for Dumbledore to act.

He had already entered into a magical confidentiality contract with the Department — something only a handful of living wizards had done. The agreement allowed him to apply for access to certain records, so long as he met the necessary conditions.

And so, as soon as the contract had been magically finalized, he'd submitted an immediate request to study the contents of the prophecy concerning Vizet.

Even now, the phrasing echoed in his thoughts.

He shook his head slightly, lips pressing into a faint frown.

"Prophecies... always so vague. Always so maddeningly difficult to interpret."

His eyes dimmed briefly in thought.

"I never imagined Trelawney would make another true prophecy… and again, about Vizet."

"At this rate... I wonder when I'll finally be able to enjoy retirement like Newt."

The words trailed off into the silence of the ship, where only the faint humming of magical currents and the ever-present heartbeat of the sea surrounded him.

Dumbledore gently set the newspaper back down and walked away — his cloak trailing shadows behind him, as quietly as he had arrived.

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

Please comment and send Powerstones

Support my Patreon @ patreon.com/LuxRadium for additional chapters ahead of latest in WebNovel