Vale's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the shopkeeper's skepticism. The woman's fingers had paused mid-sort, her attention caught despite her professional wariness.
He recognised that look—the intellectual curiosity warring with business sense. In his past life, he'd closed enough deals to know exactly how to leverage that tension.
"I've had the privilege of studying under rather... specialised tutelage," Vale said, his voice soft but precise. "You see, I've been examining the annotated margins of The Echoing Soul: Fractures in Magical Consciousness."
The shopkeeper's eyebrows rose slightly. Good. The book was obscure enough to be intriguing.
This was where Vale's analytical BS began.
"The notes detail how parasitic magical manifestations—like an Obscurus—might be theoretically contained through conscious partition rather than suppression."
Vale leaned in conspiratorially.
"The author suggests that what wizards have long classified as a parasitic force might instead be viewed as a potential symbiotic relationship."
Vale reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial of ash he'd collected from the burned child's sketch at Thistlecroft. He'd noticed how the dark lines had crept from the edges like vines—reminiscent of his own condition.
"This residual essence," he said, holding it up to catch the light, "exhibits properties similar to what the Department of Mysteries classifies as something along the liens of 'unknown anomaly, class X.' When exposed to certain magical frequencies, it doesn't consume magic—it amplifies it."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the Department of Mysteries.
"The Latin inscription Refletio animi non corporis—reflection of the soul, not the body—isn't merely philosophical," Vale continued, his tone measured and academic. "It's the fundamental principle behind a theoretical branch of magic that could revolutionise how we understand magical cores."
…Or whatever that meant.
Vale placed the vial back in his pocket and tapped the book cover gently.
"I believe The Unwritten Arts might contain complementary theories. A fair exchange of knowledge, wouldn't you agree?"
A flash of devious light streaked past Vale's eyes.
"After all, the annotated book had been given to me by none other than Professor Dumbledore himself."
Vale was now sure that he was going to succeed. Despite being spoken by an 11-year-old, the words themselves carried weight.
Especially for those who were familiar with what each term meant individually — yet unfamiliar when they were combined in this specific sequence.
So, Vale waited with silent anticipation.
Seconds of silence passed by, and during this time, Vale flashed a pleasing smile. Studious, pure, and clearly engrossed with knowledge.
He was like a cat asking for treats.
The shopkeeper's expression shifted from skepticism to calculated interest. She tapped her fingers against the counter, eyes never leaving Vale's face.
Luckily, Vale was able to maintain his posturing. The witch, despite his own two life times, was still older than him.
Much older than him — therefore eliciting a small twang of anxiety behind his smiling face.
"That's quite the proposition from such a young scholar," she said, her voice carrying the warm rasp of someone who'd spent decades among dusty tomes.
"Especially one mentioning Albus Dumbledore so... casually."
Vale maintained his innocent smile, though internally he tensed even further. Had he overplayed his hand?
"I don't doubt you've encountered fascinating theories," she continued, "but knowledge is worthless until properly recorded."
She pulled a sheet of parchment from beneath the counter along with a quill and inkwell. "If your insights are as valuable as you claim, you won't mind documenting them."
She pushed the writing materials toward him. "Write down your observations on this… Obscurus theory — with specific notes on the symbiotic relationship you mentioned. I want diagrams, theoretical magical equations, and precise citations of where your ideas originated."
Vale's smile faltered slightly. He'd hoped to trade vague theories for the book, not produce actual academic work. His knowledge was pieced together from fragments of overheard conversations, stolen glances at Snape's notes, and his own experience—hardly the coherent research she expected.
Furthermore, weren't wizard tomes usually more… roundabout? What was this about citations?!
'Shit…' Vale inwardly cursed.
He was clearly being played.
"I can see you reconsidering," she said, a knowing gleam in her eye. "Perhaps your... specialised tutelage wasn't quite as thorough as suggested?"
Vale stared at the blank parchment. This was indeed unexpected. He couldn't possibly fake the depth of knowledge she wanted—not convincingly. Yet the book called to him, its presence a tangible weight in his awareness.
"I'll need time," Vale said finally. "These theories aren't simple to transcribe."
"You have until closing," she replied, glancing at an ornate clock on the wall. "Two hours. The shop's back table is yours to use."
She tapped the book. "Meanwhile, this stays with me."
Vale nodded, accepting the challenge. He would have to craft something convincing enough to satisfy her curiosity without revealing his true nature.
* * *
A good woodcutter spends more time sharpening his axe than cutting a tree down.
With this thought in mind, Vale decided that he would spend at least thirty minutes brainstorming and sorting out his thoughts.
What did he learn throughout his house arrest in Thistlecroft Hollow?
The numbers and the equations were there.
The concepts and an expert's conjectures were also shadowing his every thought.
"Hooo…"
Vale allowed himself to breathe. Two hours? It was doable. Although he didn't have access to any magic spells that would allow him to automate his work, he was still an experienced procrastinator.
Thus.
Vale's hand hovered over the blank parchment, quill trembling. His mind—once so precise and calculating—had descended into a swirling vortex of panic. The shopkeeper's challenge had seemed reasonable at first, but now the enormity of faking academic brilliance crashed down on him.
"I'm not a researcher," he muttered, dragging fingers through his hair. "I'm an impostor wearing a child's skin."
The clock ticked mercilessly. One hour and forty-five minutes remained.
Vale stared at the ceiling, desperation clawing at his throat. What would the creator of this world do? The irony wasn't lost on him—a fictional character trying to channel the thought process of the author who'd dreamed up this entire universe.
"There are no rules," he whispered suddenly, straightening. "This isn't peer-reviewed science. It's magic."
Something clicked. The Obscurus wasn't just darkness—it was possibility unbound by conventional limitations. If he could make a bold assumption, it was magic before it was tamed by Latin incantations and precise wand movements.
Vale dipped his quill and began writing with feverish intensity. He didn't need to create legitimate research—he needed to create believable fiction dressed as academia.
"The Obscurus exists at the intersection of consciousness and raw magical potential," he wrote, the words flowing faster now. "When consciousness fractures but magic remains, the resulting entity exists in quantumsuperposition—neither fully separate nor fully integrated."
Goodluck, wizards. Now you have to figure out Muggle science as well.
He sketched diagrams showing overlapping circles, added arrows and annotations with confident strokes. The terms grew increasingly complex—"thaumaturgical resonance," "consciousness tethering," "magical entanglement."
What did this all truly mean? Even the maker himself wasn't sure. However, they at least meant something. That was all that mattered.
Vale's eyes gleamed with a strange light as he worked. This wasn't research—it was storytelling. And in a world built from an author's imagination, perhaps that made it more real than any fact.
"The symbiotic relationship between host and Obscurus creates a feedback loop of magical amplification..." he continued, his handwriting growing more elegant, more assured.
"Historically, achieving symbiosis had been impossible. However, nature has shown that parasitic relationships aren't necessarily as destructive as the relationship between an Obscurial and Obscurus. In fact, a parasite requires the host being to survive for its own sake. The parasite and host must evolve together…"
"Our theories, therefore, propose to the world of a nonzero probability that a symbiotic Obscurial can be born through special modifications to the soul during the birth of the Obscurus. The ritual depicted in Figure 32 accounts for the emotional weakness of an Obscurial during this process. Furthermore, Albus Dumbledore's studies on love will prove to be a sufficient foundational source for further growth…"
"However, as per Appendix C, there is a high likelihood that side effects are to develop should standardized procedures be utilised. We must therefore adjust the spells in Section 4, 12, and 42 to match the rituals in Figure 7 for every…"
"Now, only human trials can prove…"
The clock slowly approached the two-hour time limit. And when it was done, Vale lifted his quill as if a bell had just signified the end of the examination.
"Done..!"
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