Asking more about souls would've seed way too suspicious. Before leaving with Hermione, Cohen thanked Professor McGonagall, who handed each of them a little bird transford from a teacup.
"The magic on them will last until lunchti, Mr. Norton, Miss Granger," McGonagall reminded them. "Observing how they gradually revert to their original form might help you better understand the principles of Transfiguration."
Cohen wasn't sure if Hermione would spend all morning studying her teacup bird, but he knew his wouldn't need that long.
Hermione was off to the library, so she and Cohen parted ways on the second floor.
Cohen climbed the stairs—but his destination wasn't the eighth-floor Gryffindor common room. Instead, it was a rarely traveled corridor, also on the eighth floor.
There hung a massive tapestry depicting trolls clubbing a foolish wizard with wooden sticks. In the East, there's Duke Mu playing the zither to cows; here, there's Barnabas trying to teach trolls to dance.
Across from the tapestry was a blank castle wall—but not for long.
Cohen paced back and forth in front of it three tis, silently repeating in his mind:
"I need a room that blocks all surveillance."
"I need a room that blocks all surveillance."
"I need a room that blocks—"
Okay, maybe he didn't need to think it *that* many tis…
Before he finished the third round, the door to the Room of Requirent appeared.
Glancing left and right to ensure no soul-bearing beings were nearby, Cohen pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room had morphed into a small space with intricately carved walls—barely half the size of his dorm.
Complex runes lined the walls like so kind of engraved spellwork. There were no glowing effects, yet the room exuded a solemn, dignified aura.
Cohen couldn't read them, but he was thoroughly impressed.
In the center stood a round table with lion-claw feet, surrounded by a few cushioned armchairs upholstered in red. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, making the whole room feel… "safe."
For so reason, there was also a single bed in the corner. If getting caught sneaking out at night didn't an serious detention, Cohen might've seriously considered crashing here.
Tossing his bag aside, he pulled an armchair up to the table and set the teacup bird McGonagall had given him on the surface.
This bird was way quieter than Earl. It hadn't made a peep the whole way, nestled in Cohen's pocket.
[*Soul Strength: 3*]
A casual creation of McGonagall's Transfiguration had a soul strength of 3—perfect for Cohen to test whether a magically constructed soul could serve as a viable snack.
If it worked… he could redirect the Sin Points he'd been saving for soul fragnts toward other "black market" goodies instead.
*Slurp~*
The soul was tiny—Cohen felt like he'd sucked down a noodle half the length of his finger.
The teacup bird reverted to a plain teacup ahead of schedule, devoid of any magical trace.
[*Cohen Norton*]
[*Race: Dentor/Human/?/?/?*]
[*Soul Integrity: 11.6%*]
[*Special Ability Unlocked: Spirit Shaping (1/10)*]
[*Soul Strength: 11.6*]
[*Current Kindness Points: 1107*]
[*Current Sin Points: 477*]
When he'd taken a bite of Nearly Headless Nick before, his soul integrity had flickered but hadn't budged.
Now, after eating this magically ford soul, it had gone up!
Only by 0.1%, sure, but this was just a teacup bird McGonagall had whipped up on a whim!
Did magic count as a soul? Or… was there so overlap between a wizard's magic and their soul?
Or maybe… Cohen wasn't a "soul monster" at all, but a plain old "magic monster"?
Either way, this was good news. Cohen had an idea—transform small objects himself, suck out their souls, transform them again, rinse, repeat—
Turning magic into soul integrity, like grinding levels with ti in a ga.
But he'd clearly overestimated his Transfiguration skills.
Using the incantations and wand movents from his *Encyclopedia of Positive Spells*, he tried to replicate McGonagall's teacup bird. Sure enough, he managed to create a bird that looked identical to the original.
It even hopped around and chirped crisply—but Cohen couldn't detect a shred of soul in it.
"Even just a second or two of soul would've been nice…" Cohen sighed, dispelling the magic in disappointnt.
eting a Transfiguration master like McGonagall, who could casually imbue creations with monstrously strong souls, only to realize he couldn't co close despite his best efforts.
Was he supposed to beg McGonagall for a pile of little critters?
Based on Nick's soul scraps plus one teacup bird boosting his integrity by 0.1%, she'd only need to give him eight or nine hundred of them—assuming the soul requirent didn't scale up later.
Picture it: Cohen strolling back to McGonagall's office and asking,
"Professor, could you make so more transford critters?"
"Oh? So? How many do you want?"
"Not too many—just eight or nine hundred to start—"
"Eight or nine hundred? What, are you eating them for dinner?!"
No need to imagine further—he'd definitely get booted out of her office.
But asking too often wouldn't work either. It'd make him look like so kind of critter-soul addict…
When God opens a window for soone, He always locks the window *and* the door just as they're about to enjoy the fresh air.
But Cohen didn't care.jpg
He wasn't about to slink back to Harry and Ron to waste his life gaming. Since grinding souls through Transfiguration was off the table for now, he'd head sowhere with a variety of magical creatures—where he could use "self-defense" as a guilt-free excuse to suck up dangerous souls.
"Cohen, where're you going?" Harry asked, stepping out of the Gryffindor common room just as Cohen passed by.
"The Forbidden Forest. Wanna co?"
Harry "Trouble Magnet" Potter had walked right into it. Cohen figured bringing him along couldn't hurt—maybe Harry's knack for chaos would lure in so higher-quality critters.
"Oh, the Forbidden Forest…" Harry didn't catch the aning at first—
"Wait, what! The For—"
"Shh!" Cohen clapped a hand over Harry's suddenly loud mouth as a student rounded the corner at the end of the hall.
"But didn't the headmaster say we can't go there—" Harry, still new to Hogwarts, clung to a shred of respect for the rules. "Breaking them right after starting school…"
"Sitting in the castle all day is like being stuck at a desk job—you'll turn into a zombie," Cohen said, throwing up his hands. "Guess I'll go alone then. Plenty of chances to drag you along later."
No way, no way—there couldn't *really* be a Gryffindor wizard scared of the Forbidden Forest, right?
Everyone knew Hogwarts' student death rate hadn't exceeded 1% in the fifty years before Harry arrived. Sure, the forest was "strictly forbidden," but there was hardly anything in there that could genuinely threaten a young wizard. Kind or neutral magical creatures—like unicorns or centaurs—would usually step in to help in a pinch.
Though Cohen figured he probably wouldn't get any help from sothing like a unicorn. That'd be like Voldemort tripping and Dumbledore sweetly helping him up—absurd.
(*End of Chapter*)
Reviews
All reviews (0)