The strange uncle took Cohen out of the auditorium.
The strange uncle took Cohen up two flights of stairs.
The strange uncle took Cohen to the office on the third floor.
The strange uncle left Cohen and went to the bookshelf.
The strange uncle took off his clothes -
"Huh?"
Cohen blinked a few times.
"No, don't you like it, Mr. Norton..."
Quirrell's hands, which had nowhere to go, rubbed into a fist in front of his throat, and he waited awkwardly for Cohen's response.
If it was a white-haired, red-eyed, two-dimensional little girl in front of him, Cohen would feel more normal...
"That's it?"
Cohen looked at the "Theory of Transfiguration" and a stack of "Transfiguration Today" magazines that Quirrell had placed on the table.
What about the evil plan to subvert Hogwarts?
What about the assassination instructions for Harry Potter? What about the map to steal the Philosopher's Stone?
At the very least, some dark magic training!
How was this any different from finally getting a date, only to have a Kevin Durant basketball poster slipped to his girlfriend instead of Durex?
Planning on discussing which basketball player's steals were the coolest?
"Ah, I like it. I like it so much," Cohen said dryly. "
Haha, I like it. As long as you like it," Quirrell said nervously, laughing nervously.
Then, Quirrell kicked Cohen out of the office, claiming it was too late—even though it wasn't even curfew yet.
"No, Mr. Norton... don't open this book in front of your friends," Quirrell stammered. "I'm afraid, I'm afraid your friends will be jealous."
It seemed that Voldemort, even though he was shattered into pieces, wasn't quite that straight. He was trying to play hard to get—the book he gave Cohen couldn't possibly contain anything serious.
"Don't worry, I'll keep it a secret."
And then... Cohen openly opened "Theory of Metamorphosis" in the common room.
Aside from Hermione and Percy, no one else in Gryffindor would be curious about a book, even if it was titled "The Secret History of the Witch of the Pink Swamp and the Minister of Magic."
Hermione and Percy were probably studying in an empty classroom, one while the other was patrolling. The only people he knew in the common room were Harry and his friends.
A warm fire flickered in the fireplace, and Cohen nestled comfortably in an armchair near it—if the book was enchanted, Cohen could just throw it in the fire.
"Cohen, what book did Professor Quirrell give you?"
Ron, who was playing chess with Harry, leaned over, but immediately looked away after seeing the densely packed words inside, as if words were some demonic thing that could corrupt the soul.
"A Theory of Transfiguration. He's obviously got some misunderstanding about me," Cohen replied as he flipped through the pages.
It seemed Quirrell hadn't cast any dark spell on the book, and Cohen was fine.
But Quirrell hadn't tucked the real "Theory of Transfiguration" under this cover either.
This was a book on dark magic, documenting numerous evil spells like Necromancy and Fiendfyre.
Cohen also understood why dark magic was so repelled by the wizarding world—the barrier to entry was practically nonexistent; even an illiterate person like Crabbe could unleash it. Its lethality depended solely on the amount of magical power input and the intensity of negative emotions.
In other words, this was a bunch of deadly firearms that even a child could use, and every wizard had bullets on him.
Powerful forces and extreme negative emotions could cloud one's mind, gradually transforming one into a dehumanized demon—
so Cohen immediately began frantically studying the spells within.
What did clouding one's mind have to do with Cohen? He wasn't human—what evil force could be more sinister than the Dementors?
(`ω)
I saved a ton of sin points buying spells from the store. Thank you, Professor Quirrell, for the rockets.
But the book Quirrell sent was incomplete—even the fragment at the end was stuck right between the method and effect of a spell called the "Exorcist Curse."
(╬☉д⊙)
No, hehe, why not learn something else? Learn online literature.
Cohen closed the book and stuffed it back into his bag.
Quirrell's intention in sending this book was obvious: he was playing hard to get.
When Cohen was in the thick of learning the Dark Arts, a chapter would be interrupted. Then, anxiously awaiting the rest, Cohen would eagerly seek out Quirrell for the rest. Quirrell would then know if Cohen truly had the potential to join the ranks of the Dark Arts…
Quirrell, or rather, Voldemort, might have sensed some evil aura or spirit within Cohen, but they clearly hadn't considered one thing:
Cohen wasn't the soul of a lost child. He wouldn't be easily seduced by the Dark Arts, nor would he, simply by receiving a beginner's guide to the Dark Arts, scream "Heil Voldemort" and begin his struggle against the entire wizarding world. It was almost ten o'clock, and the young wizards in the common room yawned. Hermione had just crawled in through the picture frame, clutching a stack of books from the library. Harry and Ron had finished their last game of chess.
Back in the dormitory, Cohen curled up in his bed.
Tonight, Cohen didn't go out in spirit form to spy. He was troubled by the fact that his soul integrity was stuck at 15%.
Perhaps after reaching 15%, the weak souls of the Fire Ash Snakes could no longer provide Cohen with much help—which made sense, considering the souls of fragile critters alone couldn't create a human.
Therefore, Cohen needed to seek out stronger, more social souls to level up.
Or he could stir up trouble in the castle—as long as it didn't cross Dumbledore's line, pulling pranks like the Weasley twins should be acceptable—earn Sin Points and buy Soul Fragments.
The latter method was somewhat inefficient, but reliable: 1,000 points for 1%.
If he were to pursue both simultaneously, Cohen preferred to farm in the Forbidden Forest first, waiting until there were no more animal souls to help him level up, then spend the Sin Points he'd saved on a grand scale.
Falling into a deep sleep, Cohen had a dream.
A strange dream: Cohen dreamed of himself in a smooth, round bottle, filled with the shrieking sounds of souls and a cloud so thick that he could barely discern anything else around him.
He feasted on the bottle until the screams of the souls disappeared, the bottle shattered, and Cohen woke up.
The content of the dream was distorted rapidly after waking up, and in the end he could only remember a few concepts.
"Bottle, soul..."
It was like his own life experience, the dark magic laboratory that created "Cohen"... Should he find a chance to take a look?
"Cohen, hurry up! I must go to breakfast today!"
Harry urged. He and Ron got up very early today, probably because they were scolded by Professor McGonagall yesterday.
But there was no class with Professor McGonagall this morning.
The first class on Tuesday morning was Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts.
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(End of this chapter)