HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

Vizet didn't cast healing magic immediately. Instead, he recalled the techniques Snape had taught him in their private lessons — methods designed to classify and analyze toxins before attempting treatment.

"Lumos Purgo!"

A warm, golden light bloomed from the tip of Vizet's wand, casting a soft glow that was gentle yet potent — like sunlight filtering through a canopy of leaves.

This was no ordinary illumination spell. It was a specialized variant Snape had taught him, crafted specifically to reveal traces of dark magic hidden within living tissues.

The diricawl — Barry, as Hagrid called him — let out a sharp, pained squawk, its quivering wings convulsing as the flesh around its wound shuddered violently.

Alarmed, Hagrid fumbled in his pocket, retrieving a few morsels of food. He pressed them gently into Barry's beak, murmuring softly as if comforting a frightened child.

"There, there... It's alright now... Good lad, Barry..."

Under the spell's warm light, thin wisps of black smoke curled up from the wound — unmistakable traces of dark magic.

"Nox." Vizet extinguished the light and turned to Hagrid.

"Hagrid, are there many dark magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest?"

Hagrid's face darkened, his usually kind expression turning grim.

"Aye... Plenty," he said gravely. "That's why Hogwarts has strict rules about students enterin' the forest. It's dangerous enough on a normal day, but winter's the worst... When ordinary animals hibernate or go quiet, the nastier creatures start hunting whatever they can find — magical or not."

Before Vizet could respond, a sudden rustle sounded from the corner of the room. Two more diricawls appeared — feathers ruffled and wings trembling.

Both birds bore similar injuries, their wounds oozing the same unsettling mixture of blood and greenish fluid.

Hagrid's gaze narrowed.

"Magical creatures that can hurt diricawls..." He muttered, his face growing more serious by the second. "That's bad... Real bad."

Without another word, Hagrid strode to the wall, snatching down his battered leather jacket, umbrella, and the heavy crossbow that rarely left its place.

Once clad in his gear, he reached into a drawer, producing a small pouch of feed. He pressed it into Vizet's hand.

"If more diricawls show up, give 'em this," Hagrid instructed. "They'll know yer safe if you've got that feed."

"Are you sure you should go alone?" Vizet asked, concern evident in his voice.

Hagrid grunted, adjusting the strap of his crossbow.

"Don't you worry, I'll be fine." He gave Fang a firm pat on the head. "You two stay here. Keep an eye on things."

With that, Hagrid stepped out into the biting cold, trudging towards the Forbidden Forest — his towering frame gradually swallowed by the shadows beneath the trees.

Fang, as loyal as ever, pressed his face against the window, watching Hagrid disappear deeper into the darkened woods, his tail wagging anxiously.

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Several more diricawls appeared at Hagrid's hut, each one looking frightened and disoriented. Their feathers were ruffled, their wings drooped weakly, and faint traces of green-tinged blood stained their bodies. Fortunately, they gradually calmed down after feeding on the special grains Hagrid had left behind.

Vizet exhaled softly, relieved that the birds were no longer panicked. Turning his attention back to the injured diricawls, he began methodically cleaning their wounds, recalling Snape's precise instructions for handling magical toxins.

At first, the diricawls trembled beneath his touch — soft feathers quivering as if a chill had burrowed deep into their bones. But as the venom gradually seeped from their wounds, the trembling subsided. Their breathing slowed, and the frantic look in their eyes eased into something closer to calm.

Vizet held his wand steady, carefully levitating a droplet of extracted venom.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The dark green liquid hovered in mid-air, swirling lazily as though reluctant to leave its host. Vizet narrowed his eyes, focusing with the Eye of Insight to analyze its properties.

A faint magical symbol flickered within the suspended venom — intricate and web-like in structure.

"This pattern..." Vizet muttered, recognition dawning. "Acromantula venom...?"

The realization unsettled him. Acromantulas were not native to Scotland. As a XXXXX-level magical beast, these eight-eyed giant spiders were more commonly found in tropical rainforests, particularly the dense jungles of Borneo.

The biting chill of the Scottish Highlands should have made this climate inhospitable for such creatures. Yet here was clear evidence that Acromantulas had ventured deep enough into the Forbidden Forest to attack magical creatures.

"So they're hunting to survive the cold..." Vizet murmured, recalling what he'd read in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Acromantulas, notorious for their aggression and cunning, were believed to have been bred by wizards to guard valuable property. Unfortunately, this made them highly territorial — and prone to attacking humans.

Their venom, however, was remarkably potent and highly prized in potion-making. It was used to neutralize armadillo bile's corrosive properties, a crucial step in brewing intelligence-enhancing potions. Diluted forms of Acromantula venom also served as effective potion stabilizers.

Snape had once mentioned that the highest-quality Acromantula venom sold for a staggering one hundred Galleons per pint. Yet the venom dried rapidly after the creature's death, forcing collectors to extract it while the beast was still barely clinging to life — a task as dangerous as it was lucrative.

Vizet continued his work, meticulously extracting a small vial of venom — roughly fifty milliliters. Unfortunately, some of it had mingled with blood, lowering its purity and reducing its potential value.

"Episkey!"

He moved on to healing the diricawls, his wand emitting a soothing emerald glow that enveloped their wounds. Torn flesh knitted itself back together, muscles mending beneath the light.

But just when the injuries seemed to be closing, a thin wisp of black smoke curled upward from the wound, dissipating the magic's healing effects.

Vizet's brow furrowed.

"A venomous curse..." he muttered grimly. "No wonder they're rated XXXXX."

The Acromantula's venom wasn't just toxic — it carried a layer of lingering dark magic, designed to resist ordinary healing spells.

Determined, Vizet raised his wand again.

"Let's try something else..."

Tracing a slow, deliberate yin-yang symbol in the air, Vizet summoned the primordial magic he'd learned.

Primordial Magic: Purification

A spiraling gust of energy swept across the injured diricawl like a cleansing wind. The bird twitched briefly but trusted Vizet enough to remain still. The spell swirled around it, scrubbing away the residual curse like sand washing ink from parchment.

Moments later, the bird's wound closed fully, its feathers fluffing back into place. The diricawl let out a soft, grateful coo, then stretched its long beak to nuzzle Vizet's arm affectionately.

One by one, Vizet treated the remaining birds, each one showing similar signs of relief and gratitude. Soon enough, the diricawls were playing together — vanishing and reappearing with bursts of soft pops, occasionally bumping into each other with playful chirps.

Vizet, still using the Eye of Insight, noticed something curious. Each time a diricawl disappeared, its internal magic circuit flickered, shifting in a complex pattern.

Grabbing his notebook, he hurriedly sketched out the intricate weave of magical energy, recording each flicker and pulse. While he didn't yet fully understand the significance of the patterns, he knew the details might prove invaluable in the future.

Just as Vizet finished jotting down his observations, the door to Hagrid's hut swung open.

"It seems those birds are fond of yeh!" Hagrid chuckled, shaking off snow from his fur coat.

"Hagrid, you're back safely!" Vizet stood up, relieved. "There are Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest, and these birds were attacked by them."

At the mention of the spiders, Hagrid's smile faltered, replaced by a flash of panic.

"You..." he asked nervously, "How do you know that it was Acromantula that attacked them?"