Vale sat cross-legged on the floor of Thistlecroft Hollow, surrounded by tomes and artefacts.
'So far, so good,' he thought, already growing tired of the constant need to act as if he knew nothing and wasn't a threat.
The cracked mirror loomed nearby, its surface reflecting fragments of his own unease. The inscription, "Refletio animi non corporis," whispered to him—a haunting reminder of what he had to deal with.
He flipped through a weathered book, The Echoing Soul: Fractures in Magical Consciousness, feeling the spidery annotations tug at the edges of his memory.
The notes suggested separation between soul and power—words that resonated within him like a distant echo.
'Annoying,'
He had been so sure of who he was before waking up here; now, he grappled with shadows lurking just beyond his grasp.
'Is this book supposed to sow discord in my own thoughts?'
For a moment, Vale was tempted to click his tongue in disdain. However, his façade wouldn't allow for it.
Dumbledore's presence lingered in the back of Vale's mind, an unseen weight pressing down on him as he considered how to play this game.
Each revelation about his new home should deepen the old wizard's wariness.
After all, the more Vale uncovered about Thistlecroft Hollow, the clearer it became how little the so-called greatest wizard actually knew about him.
The jar labeled "Residual Essence – unknown anomaly, class X" sat on a nearby shelf, drawing Vale's attention.
He still felt a chill when he glanced at it—an instinctive recognition mixed with trepidation. What if it contained remnants of his former life? What if it held pieces of that dark magic swirling inside him?
'Hopefully, parts of my Obscurus form don't contain any of my secrets… No, that's an impossible thought to have. Traces are left behind for a reason…'
This time, Vale actually sighed.
'All I have to do is mislead.'
So simple when thought of, yet so complex when put into play.
'I also don't understand the reasoning behind putting an Obscurial in this kind of isolation.'
Though, Snape did often returned to check on him, each time eyeing Vale with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
The Potions Master's questions dripped with suspicion, probing for weaknesses beneath Vale's carefully crafted facade. But every answer Vale provided only seemed to sharpen Snape's focus.
"Do you understand what you're dealing with?" Snape had asked one afternoon, tone laced with thinly veiled contempt.
Vale had merely shrugged in response, forcing a casualness he didn't feel.
"I'm learning," he replied coolly, masking the storm within.
Each encounter felt like stepping into a game where stakes grew higher with every turn — a chessboard filled with hidden traps.
Luckily, Vale had an intuition: Dumbledore's doubts festered in their silence like an unhealed wound, working in Vale's favour.
He couldn't deny the thrill coursing through him as he slowly pieced together snippets of what was once fiction—the way certain spells aligned with his own instincts and desires.
Vale even confirmed how accidental magic had responded to his emotional currents, not just outbursts born from chaos but deliberate acts sparked by intention.
This world was real.
With every secret unearthed from this sanctuary—every fragment pieced together—Vale wove a narrative so intricate it threatened to ensnare Dumbledore himself in a surefire and cruel web of uncertainty.
Honestly?
'This is fun.'
* * *
Vale now sat in a dim corner this time, with time settling around him like a thick fog. Days had blurred into weeks, and the patterns of his life morphed into an odd rhythm.
The sanctuary felt less like a prison and more like a chrysalis.
"This is indeed a sanctuary from my foster parents," he couldn't help but chuckle.
Snape continued his regular visits, scrutinising Vale's every move with a hawk-like intensity.
Yet, Vale had learned to play the role of an eager student. Each inquiry about his control over magic felt like another chance to hone his craft — an opportunity to push against the boundaries of expectation.
One afternoon, as rain drummed softly against the windows, Vale flipped through an old tome on Charms. He leaned closer, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the pages.
"Do you even understand what a Charm is?" Snape's voice cut through the stillness, sharp as a knife.
Vale looked up, masking irritation with curiosity.
"Just trying to understand how it all works," he replied, with his usual fake innocence.
"Understanding is one thing; controlling it is another," Snape snapped back.
Vale absorbed that lesson without flinching. Control was indeed everything, especially without his wand. Each flicker of magic that responded to him whispered promises of power waiting to be claimed.
One wrong move, and it was clear that all those weeks of acting would be put to waste.
The world beyond Thistlecroft remained distant yet tantalisingly close. Thoughts drifted toward Hogwarts—the famed castle filled with laughter and learning—while he mulled over the idea of how he would present himself there when the time came.
'Another Muggle-born wizard entering this space,' he mused, recalling lines from his mental diary entries in vivid detail.
[To say this is strange is an understatement…] The words echoed in his mind, their weight growing heavier with each recollection.
He remembered watching others perform spells in the movies: levitating teapots and conjuring small flames; every display made magic seem almost mundane — a far cry from the chaos brewing within him.
Yet here he sat, still untouched by formal education in this world that once felt fictional. If only they knew who stood behind this façade—a child housing an Obscurus desperate for freedom and understanding.
Vale's thoughts wandered further down dark paths as ideas brewed —stealing certain items or learning certain Unforgivable spells.
The moment would be ripe for deception; all it took was one carefully placed word or action.
'I'm getting more and more excited by the day,'
The door creaked open behind him as Snape entered again, face taut with intent.
Vale inwardly sighed for umpteenth time. His excitement died down.
'Here we go again,'