HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

As Vizet slowly opened his eyes, a soft sandalwood scent lingered in the air.

In his hand, a slender branch had formed, a single mistletoe leaf clinging to it like a final touch of artistry. It was an odd fusion — something entirely magical yet carrying an undeniable sense of natural beauty.

Anthony leaned in, eyes filled with curiosity. "Why are you holding a branch?"

Vizet smiled, tapping it lightly with his wand. The branch shrank in an instant, curling in on itself until it transformed into a mistletoe-leaf bookmark, still carrying that delicate sandalwood aroma.

"Because I want to borrow this book," he said, slipping the bookmark into Theory of Metamorphosis and Deformation.

The book had proven to be an unexpected treasure, filling his mind with new possibilities. Even as they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, Vizet found himself lost in thought, absentmindedly twirling his wand. With each flick, the grass beneath his feet shimmered and shifted — wherever he stepped, delicate white primroses sprouted in his wake.

The sight amused him. Every step he took left behind a tiny bloom, creating a path of flowers as if he were some mythical figure walking through a dream.

Theory of Metamorphosis and Deformation had detailed countless transformation diagrams, from plants to animals, each representing different levels of difficulty. The primrose was among the simplest, making it the perfect practice.

Michael had noticed almost immediately. He lagged behind, watching the small flowers emerge with each of Vizet's steps, his jaw slowly dropping. Eventually, he bent down, plucking one of the blossoms with cautious fingers.

The moment he touched it, the petals shuddered, disintegrating into thin air — leaving behind nothing but an ordinary blade of grass.

Michael yelped. "Wait — what?!"

Anthony, who had been observing quietly, smirked. "It's basic transfiguration. Turning grass into flowers isn't too difficult… but Vizet is just really good at it." His voice trailed off in resignation. "No — scratch that. He's ridiculously good at it."

Michael turned to Vizet, frustration evident on his face. "How are you this skilled already?! You make it look effortless! At this point, first-year Transfiguration must feel pointless to you."

Vizet chuckled, twirling his wand once more. At his command, the petals behind him scattered into the air, the primroses fading back into simple blades of grass as if they had never been there.

"Nothing special," he said modestly. "Just practice. A lot of it."

He lifted Theory of Metamorphosis and Deformation with a slight grin. "This book gave me a lot of inspiration. If you're interested, I can lend you my notes."

Anthony eyed the massive tome, easily ten centimeters thick, and swallowed hard. "Uh… maybe later. Today's supposed to be about relaxing."

"Exactly!" Michael chimed in eagerly. "And look — the selection's starting!"

Their attention snapped toward the Quidditch pitch, where players were already mounting their brooms. The air buzzed with excitement.

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Until now, Vizet had only ever seen the Quidditch pitch from the windows of Ravenclaw Tower. It had always seemed distant, a blur of gold-painted goalposts and emerald-green grass. But now, as he stepped into the open air, the vast field stretched before him in all its grandeur.

The oval stadium was enormous, roughly the size of a football field, with towering stands surrounding it like the pillars of an ancient Greek temple. The air carried the scent of fresh grass and polished broomsticks, mingling with the distant hum of excited chatter.

At the center of the pitch, a large white circle marked the starting position for play. At either end, three golden goalposts rose high, each topped with a vertical hoop.

Vizet had never paid much attention to Quidditch before. But today, Anthony and Michael were all too eager to educate him.

"This," Anthony declared, puffing out his chest with pride, "is the greatest sport in the wizarding world."

They launched into an animated explanation, describing the four enchanted balls used in the game.

"The Quaffle," Anthony said, "is the main scoring ball. Three Chasers on each team pass it around and try to throw it through the hoops — each goal is worth ten points."

Michael took over, practically bouncing with excitement. "Then there are two Bludgers! These nasty things fly around trying to knock players off their brooms. That's where the Beaters come in — they use bats to whack the Bludgers away from their teammates and, ideally, toward the other team."

"The Keeper," Anthony continued, "guards the hoops, blocking goals like a football goalie."

"And then there's the Golden Snitch," Michael added, lowering his voice as if discussing something sacred. "Tiny. Fast. Nearly impossible to catch. But if the Seeker catches it, their team gets one hundred and fifty points."

Vizet raised an eyebrow. "So if you catch it right away, you basically win?"

Anthony grinned. "Not necessarily! That's what makes Quidditch so intense. A team could be way behind, but if their Seeker snatches the Snitch at the last second, bam — instant comeback!"

Vizet hummed in thought. It did seem like a game full of unpredictability. The Snitch wasn't just a ball; it was a game-changer.

As they neared the pitch, a familiar voice called out.

"Vizet! Over here!"

Cho Chang stood near the team benches, waving them over.

Around her, players were scattered — some polishing their personal broomsticks, others nervously gripping the school's standard-issue models. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Cho Chang was hurriedly wiping down her broom, her expression both focused and tense. "I thought you forgot!" she said as Vizet approached.

"Almost did," he admitted, dropping onto the bench beside her. "Anthony reminded me."

Cho turned toward Anthony and Michael with a bright smile. "Thanks for bringing him!"

Anthony, who had been so confident moments ago, suddenly seemed to forget how to function. His ears turned red, and he quickly looked away.

"Uh — um — yeah, no problem," he mumbled into his collar.

Michael wasn't faring any better. "Yes! Exactly! Anthony is… very correct!" His voice cracked, and his ears burned like he'd been scalded with hot water.

Vizet barely held back a laugh. Just minutes ago, these two had been rattling off Quidditch facts like experts. Now? Reduced to awkward, tongue-tied messes in the presence of Cho Chang.

Cho, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. She was still adjusting the grip on her broom, mentally preparing for the trials ahead. To distract herself, she launched into a discussion about the state of the Ravenclaw team.

"The team's in bad shape," she sighed. "We lost a lot of players — Seeker, Beaters, even a Chaser. The captain's been desperate to find replacements."

Vizet raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

Cho nodded. "They've already screened out twenty people before you got here."

"How?" Vizet asked, genuinely curious.

"Basic flying drills," Cho said, counting on her fingers. "Hovering, acceleration, sharp turns, dodging… The captain just calls out a move, and if you can't keep up, you're out."