Nook sat back in her chair, the enchanted quill still hovering attentively beside her. Something shifted in her expression—the skepticism giving way to a measured curiosity that Vale found far more dangerous.
"You know," she said slowly, "your theories are... unconventional. But intriguing." She tapped her fingers against the manuscript.
"There's a gathering I attend. Just a small circle of local wizards who enjoy discussing magical theory outside the... constraints of traditional academia."
Vale's heart skipped. He hadn't expected this development.
"We meet once a month at the Leaky Cauldron's private parlour. Perhaps you might present these ideas there? They'd certainly provoke interesting conversation."
The opportunity dangled before him like a glittering prize. Vale's mind raced through possibilities—connections, knowledge, perhaps even protection if he impressed the right people.
Then Nook's eyes narrowed.
"But first, I'm curious. How does a boy who hasn't even started at Hogwarts know so much about the Killing Curse? The mechanics of Avada Kedavra aren't exactly bedtime reading for children."
The air seemed to still around them. Vale felt the Obscurus within him curl defensively, a cold sensation spreading through his chest.
"I..." Vale began, his carefully constructed persona threatening to crack.
"My guardian has many books. After what happened to my parents, I wanted to understand... dangerous magic."
He lowered his eyes, letting his voice waver just enough. "Sometimes knowledge feels like protection, even when it isn't."
The half-truth hung between them. Vale calculated furiously, wondering if he'd revealed too much. The thought of presenting to a group of adult wizards filled him with contradictory emotions — dread at the scrutiny, yet exhilaration at the challenge.
"These wizards," Vale asked, redirecting, "would they really listen to someone my age?"
Nook studied him, her expression unreadable. "Age is rarely the measure of wisdom in our world, Mr. Windrow. Sometimes the most remarkable insights come from unexpected sources."
"I see… Then,"
There was a moment of hesitation.
Vale weighed his options carefully, sensing both opportunity and danger in Nook's invitation.
The Obscurus version of himself stirred uneasily, a ripple of darkness that he used as a gauge for danger. If it didn't erupt, then there was a high likelihood that he'd be fine.
"I would be... interested," he said finally, measuring each word. "But I have conditions of my own."
Nook's eyebrow arched. "Conditions? You're hardly in a position to negotiate, young man."
"On the contrary." Vale's voice grew firmer, the childish facade slipping momentarily. "What I've written there is merely the surface. I have more to offer, but I need certain assurances."
He leaned forward slightly, brown eyes meeting hers directly. "First, my identity remains concealed. No names, no backgrounds. Present me as your apprentice, your nephew — I don't care. But my connection to Hogwarts stays private."
The quill beside Nook twitched, as if sensing the tension.
"Second," Vale continued, "I want access to your private collection. Books like The Unwritten Arts and others dealing with magical theory beyond what's taught at school."
"That's quite presumptuous—" Nook began.
"Third," Vale pressed on, undeterred, "information. Real information about magical anomalies, particularly those related to consciousness and magical cores. The kind of knowledge the Ministry keeps classified."
Nook stared at him, her expression shifting from surprise to calculation. "You're not what you appear to be, are you, Mr. Windrow?"
Vale allowed himself a small, cold smile. "None of us are, Madam Nook. That's precisely what makes magic so fascinating, isn't it?"
After a long moment, Nook nodded slowly.
"Very well. I'll introduce you as my research assistant. You'll have supervised access to select volumes from my private collection. As for information..." She paused.
"That depends on what you bring to the table."
* * *
Vale wandered away from Flourish and Blotts in a daze, his mind replaying the encounter with Madame Nook.
The cobblestones beneath his feet seemed to shift as he moved through the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley, his thoughts disconnected from his surroundings.
"What have I done?" he muttered under his breath, drawing a curious glance from a passing witch.
He'd fabricated an entire theoretical framework on the spot—weaving together fragments of real magical theory with complete fiction about Obscurials.
And the most unsettling part? He had no idea how much of it might actually be true. Especially because of Nook's reaction to his theories, Vale had a bad nagging feeling.
A wry laugh escaped his lips, drawing another sideways glance from a wizard examining cauldrons outside Potage's shop.
"Brilliant move, Vale. Create a research paper on yourself without actually knowing how you work."
He paused near the entrance to Gringotts, leaning against the white marble exterior.
The irony was there — he'd positioned himself as an expert on a condition he was experiencing firsthand, yet understood almost nothing about. How much had he revealed inadvertently? Had some kernel of truth slipped through his fabrications that might expose him?
Was Dumbledore going to hunt him down?
Vale rubbed his temples. He'd need to revisit every claim, every diagram, every theoretical assertion he'd made. If any of his wild speculations proved accurate, it could draw unwanted attention. Yet, if they were completely wrong, he'd look like a fool in front of Nook's circle of wizards.
"I've trapped myself," he realised. "I'll need to study Obscurials properly now, just to maintain my own lie."
The Obscurus within him stirred, as if recognising itself as the subject of his thoughts. Vale took a deep breath, forcing the other part of himself to settle.
"At least I'll get access to those books," he consoled himself. "And maybe… I'll learn something about what I really am."
Having no need to keep up any form of masquerade, Vale was free to ponder without enforced facial reactions like a puppet on a string. However, deep inside, he felt that all this acting was growing on him.
In a way, he was enjoying what he once thought to be the only way to avoid being chopped up and trapped forever.
An appreciation of one's own shackles.
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