HP: Transmigrating as an Obscurial

"It's okay," Ollivander said softly, his tone like that of a kindly elder comforting a younger one. "Perhaps it will become a key — one to help nurture the Eye of Insight."

Vizet looked down at his hands, where the first wand had vanished moments before, leaving behind an almost imperceptible hum in his chest. The idea that the wand might serve as a key made something stir within him.

Ollivander smiled gently. "Let's try choosing wands again. This time, who knows what might happen? Tell me, what wand do you like? Do you have any preferences for the wand core?"

Vizet tilted his head, puzzled. "But didn't you say wands and wizards choose each other? Can I really make requests?"

"Well..." Ollivander murmured thoughtfully, "That's usually true. But you, my boy, have the Eye of Insight! Let's hear about your preference."

After a moment of thought, Vizet recalled the wands he had tried earlier. He hesitated before answering, as though the words themselves might be too bold. "Elderwood, fire dragon heartstring, thirteen inches... and I think I'd like it to be on the harder side."

"Interesting!" Ollivander beamed, his expression bright like a sunflower basking in sunlight. His enthusiasm was contagious, and Vizet felt his own lips twitch upward in response.

"To carry the power of an Obscurus, you'll indeed need an extraordinary wand configuration."

With a wave of his wand, Ollivander summoned a wooden box from the deepest part of the shelf. It flew gracefully into Vizet's hands. He could feel the weight of expectation in the simple, polished wood of the box before he even opened it.

Inside, nestled in the box, lay a jet-black wand. Its design was minimal—straight, sharp, and as cold as a blade. Vizet's fingers brushed the surface of the wand, and a shiver of recognition ran through him. It was understated, but it felt like it belonged.

Activating the Eye of Insight, Vizet observed the wand's intricate magic circuits. He marveled at their precision, yet a flaw at the wand's tip caught his attention—a tangle in the circuit, like a knotted thread.

He hesitated. Was this a mistake? The thought was fleeting. Deep down, he knew it wasn't. The Eye of Insight didn't lie.

Curious, Vizet held the wand. Its handle fit his palm perfectly, as though it had been shaped just for him. A warmth spread through his hand, followed by a surge of ancient magic, which coursed through the wand and focused on the tangled circuit.

The process of untangling the circuit felt like playing a delicate game of untying a tightly knotted rope. Time blurred, and Vizet lost himself in the rhythm of his work, as if the wand and its magic were guiding him.

When the knot finally smoothed out, spiral-like patterns emerged along the wand's surface. The wood glowed faintly, and the wand grew warm, as if it were alive.

Vizet released the wand instinctively. It floated in mid-air, humming softly, as though singing a song of newfound freedom. The sound resonated through the shop, and he startled as all the wands on the shelves joined in with harmonious hums of their own.

He stood there, awestruck, his chest tight with emotion.

"Marvelous! It's become even more perfect," Ollivander said with pride, his voice filled with awe. "Do you see now? The wand chooses the wizard. And with your Eye of Insight, you can elevate the wand itself. No wand can resist that!"

Vizet grinned, his heart lightening. "These wands are quite interesting," he said, recalling a quote from his past life: Today you ignore me, but tomorrow you won't be able to look away.

"Vizet," Ollivander began earnestly, "I hope that after you graduate, you'll consider studying wand-making under me."

He leaned forward, his voice filled with excitement. "I'll pay you a salary equal to that of an Auror's! You won't be treated unfairly!"

Vizet hesitated, taken aback by the offer. Wand-making? Me? His mind spun with possibilities. "Do you think I can do it?" he asked hesitantly. "Wand-making must be an incredibly profound craft... and part of your family's secrets."

"You have the Eye of Insight! That alone makes you capable," Ollivander said passionately. "Take your time to think it over. Just give me your answer before graduation."

He disappeared momentarily into the shadows and returned holding a notebook covered in dragon hide, its scales glinting faintly in the light.

"This is made from Hungarian Horntail dragon skin," Ollivander explained. "It's been specially treated to stay warm, even in winter."

Vizet accepted the notebook, its warmth reminding him of a hand warmer on a frosty day.

"It contains basic wand-making techniques and some of my personal insights," Ollivander continued. "Take it, and read it when you have time."

Vizet hesitated again. "Isn't this part of your family's legacy? It's too valuable. I don't feel right accepting it."

"Why don't you look through it first and see if you're interested?" Ollivander coaxed.

Vizet nodded and flipped through the pages. The wealth of knowledge inside was staggering, and as he read, he felt a growing sense of wonder. The words were intricate and detailed, yet his Eye of Insight allowed him to internalize the information with ease.

Once he finished, he handed the notebook back with a soft smile. "I've read it," Vizet said simply. "It was very enlightening."

Ollivander's face fell slightly. "You don't need to comfort me. It seems you aren't interested in wand-making after all."

"No, it's not that!" Vizet clarified quickly. "I read very quickly. While I may not fully understand the content yet, I've memorized it all."

"Really?" Ollivander's eyes brightened again. He began testing Vizet's newfound knowledge.

"Tell me, how does hawthorn wood behave as a wand material?"

Vizet searched his memory. "Hawthorn wood creates wands that are strange and contradictory. It's a niche material, but its existence must serve a purpose. If it can be used as a wand, then it can surely find its rightful owner."

"Excellent! And what about sycamore wood?"

Vizet continued to answer fluently, recounting details from the notebook. With each response, Ollivander's excitement grew.

"Vizet," Ollivander declared, his voice brimming with admiration, "your potential is vast! Perhaps wand-making is only the beginning of what you're capable of."

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The sky was painted with hues of fiery orange as the setting sun cast its warm light over Diagon Alley. Shadows lengthened, and the bustling street began to quieten, the day's liveliness giving way to the calm of evening.

Vizet lingered outside Ollivander's Wand Shop, his newly acquired wand resting snugly in his hand. With the aid of his newly awakened Eye of Insight, Diagon Alley revealed itself in a form beyond ordinary sight. The buildings shimmered like stained glass windows in a cathedral, each pane infused with traces of silver-blue magic. The threads of magic that bound the structures together appeared faint, almost dried out, yet they pulsed faintly with the echo of ancient power.

"So this is the ancient magic that's imbued within Diagon Alley" Vizet thought, his heart swelling with both awe and responsibility. "I consumed part of this ancient power to awaken my magical eye... and now it's up to me to nurture it further." The journey ahead will be long and filled with challenges, but it has begun.

He turned his attention back to the wand in his hand, running his fingers along its sleek, jet-black surface. Its straight, unadorned design exuded strength and simplicity, a reflection of the path Vizet now found himself on. The wand was more than just a tool — it was a symbol of his transformation, his acceptance into the world of magic.

"This isn't just a wand," Vizet mused, a quiet sense of pride welling up in him. "It's proof that I belong here, that I can stand among wizards as one of them."

Ollivander explained that the price of a wand for new students was a discounted seven Galleons. The cost of purchasing additional wands, however, varied depending on the materials used in their construction.

He also mentioned that Vizet's wand could be exchanged later if necessary. This exception was due to the research value inherent in the modifications Vizet made to his wands.

But for Vizet, the idea of parting with this wand was unthinkable. It wasn't just a possession; it was a companion — a bond forged in the heat of his first steps into this world.

After a moment, he carefully slipped the wand into his pocket, patting it gently to ensure it was secure. A soft smile crossed his lips as he gazed around, but the growing twilight brought a twinge of unease. Hagrid had yet to return.

"Where could he be?" Vizet wondered, a knot of worry tightening in his chest. They had parted ways that morning with the intention of reuniting later in the day. Now, with the sun dipping below the horizon, it felt unlike Hagrid — a man of warmth and reliability — to leave without word.

Vizet's mind raced with possibilities. "Did something happen to him? Or maybe he got caught up in one of his usual errands?" The uncertainty gnawed at him, urging him to take action.

He made his way to the apothecary, the scent of dried herbs and pungent potions filling the air. The potion master, whom he had spoken to earlier, glanced up as Vizet approached.

"Excuse me," Vizet began, his voice tinged with concern, "have you seen Hagrid? He was supposed to meet me, but I haven't seen him all day."

The potion master frowned, scratching his chin as he thought. "Hagrid? Ah, yes... I think I saw him heading that way earlier in the day." He gestured toward the far end of Diagon Alley. Then his expression turned stern. "But listen here, lad — don't go wandering too far, and for Merlin's sake, avoid Knockturn Alley. That place is no good, especially for someone like you."

Vizet nodded, though a flicker of unease settled in his heart. Knockturn Alley... what could Hagrid possibly be doing near a place like that?