HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

Ominis spoke gently, his voice soft and measured. "Anne and I are old friends. Once, when we went foraging for mushrooms in the mountains, she happened to see a magical creature."

He paused, the memory seeming to linger in the air. "It let out a long, low cry… then slowly removed its horn. Only after that did it notice us. Startled, it vanished deep into the forest — leaving just this behind."

He carefully lifted the object.

It was a long, spiraled horn, roughly the shape of a rhinoceros's, but with a smooth, gemstone-like surface. Its ruby-red gleam shimmered faintly in the light, like a piece of enchanted crystal sculpted by nature itself.

Xenophilius stepped forward reverently, his fingers brushing delicately along the grooves. He drew his wand and whispered Lumos, holding the glow near the horn to observe the clarity of its inner layers.

Vizet stood beside him, quietly flipping through the mental catalog of every magical creature he'd read about. But no entry matched this horn — not in the books from the Hogwarts library, nor from his own study.

The Crumple-Horned Snorkack remained as elusive and enigmatic as ever.

Perhaps it truly was a creature so rare and shy that even the most exhaustive wizarding references failed to include it.

He looked again at the horn — strange, beautiful, and faintly humming with residual magic.

If it truly belonged to the Snorkack, the creature itself must be breathtaking.

Xenophilius clearly thought the same. His expression softened, his usual eccentric air now overtaken by awe and a childlike wonder.

"This... this could really be from a Snorkack," he murmured, eyes fixed on the spiraled horn. "They're timid, reclusive... but that long snoring call — yes, that's just what I've always said!"

He looked up at Ominis, his voice rising with anticipation. "Can you take us there? To where it dropped the horn?"

"Of course," Ominis said with a small, pleasant smile. "Shall we leave now?"

Without hesitation, they set off.

The group moved quickly beyond the edge of the village. Ominis walked slightly ahead, sweeping his wand from side to side in gentle arcs as if tracing unseen threads.

His pace was unhurried, but each of his steps was confident and sure.

Despite the calm, Vizet, Luna, and Xenophilius instinctively formed a protective triangle around him — ready for anything.

Noticing the formation, Ominis gave a small chuckle. "Three kind-hearted companions," he said warmly, "but do not worry for me. I've lived this way for many, many years — and nothing ever happens to me."

He tilted his wand slightly.

"This wand is my sight," he explained. "It reveals the path ahead. It won't let me stray. Nor be deceived. It shows me the truth beneath appearances."

"That's incredible," Xenophilius said. "Are you a permanent resident of Midgard? Our guide mentioned this is his first time seeing you."

"I've returned only recently," Ominis replied calmly. "A longing to remember the past brought me back. But I'm no stranger to the island — its history is quite dear to me. Would you like to hear one of its legends?"

The trio looked at one another. Luna's eyes lit up immediately, and Vizet gave a small nod.

"We'd love to," Xenophilius answered.

Ominis's voice dropped into a rhythmic cadence, almost like a spell of its own.

"Long ago, there lived a wizard unlike any other. His power was unmatched. He could command the storms and speak to the sea."

"He was also a visionary. To spread magic far and wide, to share it with those who could wield it with care, he rode a blazing red horse to this island…"

"At that time, a massive tree already grew at Midgard's heart. But under the wizard's presence, it rose taller and taller — as though drawn upward by his very magic."

"With time, his powers grew so intense that the air around the island began to crackle with lightning, and the oceans thrashed with waves. Other wizards, curious but cautious, dared not approach."

"But one day... everything stopped. The lightning vanished. The ocean calmed. And the towering tree disappeared without a trace."

"The surrounding wizards finally dared to land. They found no trace of the wizard. Only a few magical artifacts remained — and a single scroll, inscribed in brilliant red text."

"They stayed," Ominis continued. "They built homes. Developed new spells. Crafted tools. Do you know what language that scroll was written in?"

"Runes?" Vizet asked, the answer leaping instinctively to his tongue. "Hogwarts: A History said the earliest magical runes originated in Northern Europe, then spread outward."

"Correct," Ominis said, nodding. "Runes."

"Mr. Ominis," Vizet asked, a thought stirring in his mind, "that wizard pioneer you mentioned — was his name... Odin?"

The mention of a towering tree, of a wizard who could control lightning and storms, and the name of the island — Midgard — had all begun to line up in his thoughts.

Ominis smiled, the corners of his mouth tugging upward like someone amused by a riddle answered too easily. "There's certainly some... resonance, isn't there? The relationship between Muggles and wizards wasn't always so distant."

"In those early days, communication was quite frequent. Wizards shared tales, and Muggles reimagined them. They spun myths out of our legends — Odin, Thor, the Bifrost..." He chuckled softly. "The names may have changed, but many of the stories came from real events, filtered through the lens of awe and time."

He suddenly stopped, raising his wand slightly to gesture at a grove ahead.

"Time flies, doesn't it? It was under that tree that Annie and I saw it — where the Snorkack shed its horn."

Xenophilius parted the dense undergrowth, and the others followed.

There, just beyond the brambles, lay a faint trail — shimmering footprints glinting faintly in the dappled light. They were shaped like softly rounded triangles, pressed lightly into the soil as if from a creature far lighter than its size should allow.

Xenophilius went ahead, carefully following the trail. Vizet stayed close, wand already drawn, his breathing even as he invoked the Guardian's Meditation Technique. His senses stretched outward, tuned to the slightest ripple of danger.

So far, the forest was quieter than expected. The occasional rustle of branches revealed only mundane woodland creatures or magical beasts of no more than XXX classification.

But the footprints led them steadily onward, until they came to a wide, shallow pond nestled in the heart of the grove.

Vizet slowed and narrowed his eyes."Is someone there?" he asked in a low voice.

Across the pond, on the far bank, was a figure crouched low to the ground. His body convulsed violently, as if seized by a fit of coughing. Even at this distance, Vizet could hear the dry, choking sounds — and saw droplets of blood darkening the grass.

Beside him stood another figure. Shrouded entirely in a black cloak, he did not move to assist the first. Instead, his posture was too still... too watchful.

Vizet's fingers tightened slightly around his wand.

The cloaked figure was counting.

Vizet didn't need to see his lips move to know. He could feel it in the air — that cold calculation, the subtle shift of intent.

A spell surged into his mind: the Hanging Neighing Curse.

Snape's voice echoed in his memory: If you want to survive, learn to be cautious.

Luna was beside him.

That thought alone sharpened his focus. He would not let his family come to harm. Not by hesitation. Not by mercy mistaken.

A figure cloaked in darkness, sizing up a group from the shadows, was rarely up to anything good.

But perhaps they thought better of it. Perhaps the presence of four wands was too much. Whatever the reason, the dark figure turned. He grasped the weakened man by the arm, and the two of them slipped into the trees, vanishing like smoke on wind.

Ominis stood still, facing the place where they had disappeared.

His voice was almost a whisper:"Not everything the eye sees... is truth."

The tension eased. No words were spoken. The forest felt untouched again, save for the last lingering hush of what had just passed.

Ominis turned and resumed walking, leading them quietly along the edge of the pond.

"This is where the Snorkack's tracks ended," he said at last. "Anne and I searched the surrounding woods for days, but it vanished completely."

Xenophilius frowned thoughtfully. "Could it have entered the water?"

"A reasonable guess," Ominis replied. "We thought the same. But we found no magical traces."

He raised his wand and gave it a gentle flourish.

The pond responded at once — rising from its bed like a gleaming orb of water, suspended in the air like a vast bubble.

Beneath it, the muddy bottom was laid bare.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. A few darting fish. Tangled aquatic weeds. A pair of frog skeletons half-buried in silt. And silence.

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