Vizet felt it the moment it began — a sensation like invisible eyes peeling back his thoughts, layer by layer.
Before he could even respond, the parchment spoke again, in that eerie, genderless voice:"Ottery St. Catchpole Village, black castle, right?"
Vizet instinctively rolled his shoulders and turned his neck, unsettled."There it is again... that same feeling. Like I've been seen through."
He remembered it clearly — Snape had made him feel the same way in the first month of term, as though his mind were a door left ajar.
"A very accurate reaction," Aberforth remarked, his tone unreadable. "That parchment is imbued with Legilimency. Now… keep your eyes on it. Watch the eye."
Vizet frowned. Instead of obeying, he tilted his head down, gaze averted.
Aberforth let out a gravelly laugh. "Good! Resistance is exactly what we want to see."He paused, then added, "But don't get cocky. Against a skilled Legilimens, resisting like that won't count for much."
That invasive feeling returned with a vengeance — sharp, probing. Vizet clenched his fists and reflexively activated the Guardian Meditation Technique, trying to seal off the sense of exposure, the intrusion clawing at the edge of his mind.
The eye on the parchment blinked erratically, as though annoyed. Even the parchment itself began to tremble, edges rippling unnaturally.
Aberforth watched, smiling with odd satisfaction. "Yes... I see it now. Albus wasn't exaggerating — there's real talent here. You actually know how to block a mental probe. Impressive."
The eye began to writhe. "Look at me. Look at me!" the voice hissed, more insistent now.
But Vizet didn't budge. He kept his focus internal, resisting the command with everything he had.
Then suddenly — whoosh — flames burst from the base of the scroll. Silver light erupted from the parchment, flooding the side hall with a blinding brilliance.
Even though Vizet had already shut his eyes, it didn't matter.
In the mind's eye, an image forced its way in:
The rook castle — his home — was engulfed in flames. The gardens, once peaceful and alive, now writhed under fire, turning into a roaring inferno. Everything was burning. Everything was being destroyed.
"Enough!"
For the first time, Vizet screamed in fury.
The core of the Obscurus inside him erupted. A Wizard's Practical Guide fluttered open of its own accord, pages turning wildly, releasing its reservoir of primordial magical power.
Silver-blue chains of magic spiraled outward, trying to contain the surge — too late.
From the gaps between the chains, a dense fog of black and red mist poured out, swarming over Vizet's body like a sentient brand, scarring him with strange and wicked patterns.
The Obscurus surged forth.
It coalesced, tendrils writhing like monstrous limbs, and in a violent lash, it snatched Aberforth, slammed him into the wall with a sound like a thunderclap.
Boom!
The wall cracked and caved where he hit, as though struck by a giant's fist. The impact swallowed even Aberforth's groan of pain.
Vizet stood breathing heavily, his brows drawn together in fury. His pupils had turned a fierce scarlet, and his voice thundered like a curse:
"Do you want to die?"
Aberforth looked a wreck — covered in plaster dust, hair tangled, and blood trickling from the side of his mouth.
But he smiled. Genuinely.
"Good," he croaked, still coughing. "You're already better than Albus."
He dragged in a shaky breath, leaned against the wall, and continued, "That's all I wanted. To see your real face."
"At least you know how to let it out. Albus never did. Not even when we were kids. He could hide anything… secrets, pain, power. Like he was born understanding magical contracts."
"He vanished behind his secrets." Aberforth coughed again. "You didn't. That means you're better than him. You let the truth out."
His eyes glinted with interest. "Tell me… what did you see just now? I'm curious."
Vizet stared, disgusted, and muttered, "Madman."
"No," Aberforth grinned, wiping blood from his mouth. "Voldemort is a madman. I'm just good at pretending."
He leaned back with a grunt. "And you should be very worried. Voldemort has his eye on you now."
"You're not far from madness yourself. That parchment… I don't even know what it showed for you."
"But if Voldemort is coming back — whatever it shows you — it might not remain as just an imagination."
It might happen.
At those words, Vizet's hand pulsed with warmth.
He looked down. The phoenix feather — it was responding, radiating quiet, steady heat.
A reminder.
He tightened his grip, refocused, and drew a deep breath. Then, activated the Guardian Meditation Technique once more, he pushed inward, corralling the black-red mist, forcing it back into the core.
Aberforth slipped down the wall with a grunt, his body slumping to the floor. He coughed again, harder this time — red streaks glinting in the saliva he wiped away with his sleeve.
It took a long moment, but eventually, he managed to drag himself back to his feet, muttering under his breath as he swayed.
"No wonder Albus said you had talent…" Aberforth muttered, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "You truly might share the same abilities… as Credence."
Vizet's expression shifted. That name — Credence — he'd heard it before.
"Credence?" he echoed, frowning.
At the end of Fantastic Beasts, Credence had vanished — reduced to a mere wisp of Obscurial smoke, dissipating into the shattered ruins. Newt Scamander had noticed, of course, but made no move to stop it.
A foreshadowing — obvious to anyone paying attention — that Credence's story was far from over. And now, Aberforth was invoking that very name.
"Yes… Credence," Aberforth rasped, coughing again. He spat a thick glob of bloody phlegm to the side. "My son."
Vizet blinked, stunned.
Aberforth gave a grim smile. "That's the difference between Albus and me. I'm willing to speak of pain."
His voice lowered, rougher now. "Since you've chosen to stay, perhaps you'll come to know another side of the Dumbledore family — through me. Not the 'greatest wizard of the age'... but a different Dumbledore. A real one."
With a flick of his wand, Aberforth set about restoring the side hall. Cracked stones knitted back into place, scorched candleholders righted themselves. Angry, frightened mutters floated in from the main bar — but with a few fierce magical thumps, Aberforth silenced them.
He repaired the two damaged stools and gestured for Vizet to sit once more.
"Let's begin the real lesson," he said gruffly. "Let me ask you something: What is a wizard? And what is magic?"
The questions hung in the air, deceptively simple. But Vizet paused, caught off guard.
What was a wizard?
What was magic?
In his past life, he might've dismissed both as literary devices — fantasy novel tropes, or movie special effects. But now, here he was: a wizard in truth. Studying at a school of real magic. He could sweep away dirt with a wand. Face down monsters. Shape the elements with a word.
And yet... he didn't know the answer.
He stared down at his hands, unsure. "I…"
"Can't think of an answer?" Aberforth grinned knowingly. "Good. That means you're actually thinking."
He leaned back on his stool. "The truth is, it's a trick question. No one really has a clear answer."
Vizet stayed quiet, sensing there was more.
Aberforth sighed. "What a boring kid. You could at least pretend to be curious. Say something like, 'Then why ask the question, Aberforth?'" he said, mimicking a high, overly polite tone.
Vizet raised an eyebrow. Still silent.
"Tch. Fine, I'll talk anyway." Aberforth crossed his arms. "Before Albus found you, you'd never truly been exposed to magic. Right?"
"You were just a boy. Tormented by some bastard who made you believe magic was something evil. You were taught to fear it — fear yourself."
Vizet nodded. "Yes."
Aberforth tilted his head. "Then let me put it differently. Have you ever thought about this: Why can a Muggle — an ordinary person — pick up a cup and drink water?"
Vizet blinked. "I've never really thought about it."
Aberforth arched an eyebrow. "Come on, take a shot."
Vizet hesitated, then answered slowly, "Because he or she is … human? They have muscles... Strength?"
He paused, replaying the earlier question in his head — what is magic?
Then his eyes lit up. "Oh... It's the same idea, isn't it? I can do magic because I am a wizard."