HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking the eerie silence.

"George, did you hear something?"

"Won't know till we check. Probably just Ravenclaws reading ancient texts before breakfast."

As the steps drew closer, Vizet looked up to see two familiar faces — the infamous Weasley twins, Fred and George.

"Vizet?" Fred smirked. "First day, and you're already up at the crack of dawn? You're embracing the fine Ravenclaw tradition of sacrificing sleep for knowledge."

"Though," George added, pretending to inspect him closely, "it doesn't seem like you got up voluntarily…" His eyes flicked toward the frozen woman. "Professor Trelawney must've been eager to perform the most ancient form of divination…"

"Got it!" Fred snapped his fingers. "She randomly picked a first-year, performed a blood sacrifice, and received a divine revelation."

Vizet didn't know whether to laugh or roll his eyes. Their ability to spin nonsense was terrifying.

"Wait, hold on." George tilted his head. "Is she… drunk?"

"First thing in the morning?" Fred whistled. "Now that's dedication to the craft."

Vizet, still processing the bizarre encounter, asked, "She's a professor?"

"Professor Trelawney," George confirmed, helping himself to a dramatic bow. "Hogwarts' very own Divination teacher. Supposedly the great-great-granddaughter of a famous Seer. But between you and me, she seems more like a practitioner of the dark arts."

Fred nodded solemnly. "Indeed! She specializes in death prophecies… and she really wants them to come true."

"Which," George added, "is a little concerning, considering that death prophecies only come true if a bit of dark magic is involved."

Before Vizet could respond, a dull thud echoed through the corridor.

Professor Trelawney had collapsed.

Her head smacked the floor with a sharp crack, and for a moment, all three boys stood frozen.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, then sighed in unison, shaking their heads as though admiring a work of art.

"That," Fred mused, "was an exquisite sound."

Vizet had no experience dealing with unconscious, possibly drunken professors — especially ones who spoke in cryptic prophecies — so he looked at the twins. "What now?"

Fred crouched beside Trelawney and nudged her shoulder. She remained completely unresponsive. "Huh. As expected of our esteemed Divination professor — always keeping us on our toes."

Then, as if remembering something important, he turned back to Vizet. "Which class do you have first?"

"Potions," Vizet replied.

"Perfect." Fred grinned.

"Then this is the best possible scenario," George declared.

Before Vizet could question them, the twins each grabbed one of Trelawney's arms and hauled her up.

"You see," Fred explained, "your first class is with Professor Snape. And it's crucial you learn the route to the hospital wing early."

"Yes, consider this a survival exercise," George agreed, his tone deadly serious. "If Professor Snape ever tells you to drink something and you feel even slightly off—run straight to the hospital."

Vizet's eyebrow twitched. "…Poisoning students is part of Potions class?"

"No, no," the twins said together, shaking their heads.

"It's just part of Snape's class," George clarified.

"And his terrible sense of humor," Fred added. "But in all fairness, he's a genius in his own way. Some of our best prank inventions are inspired by his… experiments."

"As long as he doesn't test them on us."

"Exactly! What starts as a poison… becomes a profit!"

Vizet couldn't help but be intrigued. "What do pranks have to do with potions?"

Fred's eyes gleamed. "Oh, you really are a Ravenclaw."

"You're asking the right questions!" George beamed. "You're new to the magical world, yeah? Never seen a real prank product in action?"

Vizet shook his head.

Fred threw an arm around his shoulder like they were longtime friends. "Then you, my dear Vizet, are in for a treat. Imagine this — potions and creativity collide. Magic and alchemy combine. And thus, the great field of prank products is born!"

George clapped a hand over his heart, as if moved to tears by the sheer beauty of their craft.

Before they could launch into a full-blown business pitch, Vizet turned his attention to a tapestry on the wall.

It was moving.

The animated scene depicted a troll in a frilly tutu swinging a club at a scrawny wizard who kept dodging out of the way. But that wasn't what caught his attention.

Something else was there—an invisible presence.

He narrowed his eyes, activating his magical sight.

On the opposite wall, right across from the tapestry, raw magic was gathering. The energy outlined the shape of an arched door, though there was no physical entrance.

Could it be… that Professor Trelawney came from there?

The magical world never ceased to surprise him.

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The school hospital was located on the second floor of the castle. Before even stepping inside, a strong wave of herbal scents filled the air, a mix of bitter potions and disinfecting charms.

Madam Pomfrey, the formidable caretaker of the hospital wing, ran a tightly controlled infirmary stocked with potions and remedies for every imaginable magical ailment — from dragon pox to vanishing limb syndrome.

Before Vizet could knock on the door, a sharp voice rang out.

"Trelawney! Drunk again this early in the morning?"

The door swung open, and a tall, thin woman stepped out, exuding an air of strict authority. Her expression bore a resemblance to Professor McGonagall, though there was an added layer of exasperation.

Her attire was distinct — similar to a medieval nun's robe, but with a more practical twist. Her skirt had countless deep pockets, stuffed with potions and medical tools peeking out from the fabric.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softer now. "Carrying her all the way down again… School has only just started, and we already a drunkard sprawled out in the corridor. Honestly."

Fred nudged Vizet with his elbow, leaning in. "This is Madam Pomfrey," he whispered, as if introducing a legendary figure.

Vizet gave a small nod, watching closely as she began treating Trelawney.

"Episkey!"

With a flick of her wand, the bruise on Trelawney's forehead faded instantly.

Then, with practiced efficiency, she pulled out a small test tube from her pocket, pried open Trelawney's mouth, and poured the contents inside.

The reaction was immediate — Trelawney coughed violently, expelling puffs of amber-colored smoke that reeked of alcohol.

"Depulso!"

With a frown, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand once more, and the unpleasant mist vanished into thin air.

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing at the Divination professor. "Professor Trelawney, I suggest you control yourself. This is no way to present yourself — especially in front of the new students!"

At the word new student, Trelawney froze.

Then, like a startled cat whose tail had been stepped on, she clutched her shawl dramatically and — despite her earlier state — bolted down the corridor at an impressive speed.

Fred and George let out appreciative whistles.

"If this whole fortune-telling gig doesn't work out," Fred mused, "she should consider becoming a Seeker."

"She's got the reflexes for it," George agreed. "She dodged reality real quick."

Vizet, still processing everything, turned to Madam Pomfrey. "That was… incredible."

Fred grinned. "Of course! Madam Pomfrey has to be amazing. It's just a shame she leaves the castle over the summer. Otherwise, we'd never have to go home!"

"You would be thinking of that."

Before they could continue, Madam Pomfrey reappeared, fixing them with a sharp glare.

"This is not your personal clinic! Try to avoid ending up here, will you? I'd appreciate fewer disasters."

Fred and George snapped to attention, raising their right hands in mock solemnity.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey! We will absolutely, definitely remember your wise words!"

Vizet wasn't sure whether that was reassuring or a hidden promise of more chaos to come.