Cohen smoothly flew back to the Forbidden Forest, though he got lost once along the way—directions were hard to discern in the thick clouds.
As dawn faintly broke in the winter sky, Cohen stopped by to check on the Acromantulas.
Unfortunately, there was hardly a trace of them left on the surface. Due to Cohen's oppressive evil and ruthless slaughter, Aragog had taken his few remaining offspring and retreated deep into their burrows. Cohen wasn't keen on crawling into spider holes—his earlier actions might've been a bit excessive.
But it wasn't a big deal. The younger spiders, too weak to satisfy Cohen's 27.2% soul completion, offered souls worth a asly dozen points at most—not enough to nudge his progress up by even 0.1%.
At this point, only middle-aged or elderly spiders with soul strengths above 15, or Aragog himself with his 20-point soul, would be of any use to Cohen.
He'd let them fester a while longer and check back at the end of the term. Cohen knew spider eggs took about nine weeks to hatch, but how long it took for the little ones to mature remained a question.
The Forbidden Forest was as peaceful as ever. The centaurs kept their distance, watching Cohen after he landed. They'd clearly learned what not to ss with in this forest—Cohen had single-handedly curbed the spider expansion they'd once fought desperately to stop, all in just three months. They ought to thank him, really.
Leaving the forest, Cohen passed Hagrid's hut and caught the lingering scent of Christmas—Hagrid must've brought so food out from the castle.
Damn it, all Cohen had eaten for Christmas was a single rabbit!
He slipped back into the castle with ease. Thanks to his ability to see soul strength labels through walls, dodging Filch had beco a breeze—Cohen wouldn't repeat the mistake of getting caught like he had the first ti. Now, whenever evasion was needed, he'd preemptively switch on his soul vision to avoid anyone who might spot him.
Hogwarts Castle was decked out for Christmas with cozy wreaths made of holly and mistletoe.
For so reason, as he passed the corridor outside the Great Hall, Cohen noticed faint souls hovering near the wreaths—entities that didn't seem to have physical forms…
"Bowtruckles?" Cohen recalled a creature not acknowledged by most wizards.
Too bad their souls were so weak—barely worth eating.
Like other small, ordinary creatures, they were tagged with a soul strength of 1 simply because that was the system's minimum value.
Cohen climbed the stairs to the eighth floor but didn't head straight to the Gryffindor Tower. As usual, he made a detour to the Room of Requirent first.
He needed to settle Yali from the leather pouch. The Room of Requirent should be able to whip up an outdoor-like space for him to keep animals.
Upon returning to the Room, Cohen spotted Earl sprawled exhausted on an owl-cushioned bed.
"Your whole family owes shipping fees for this trip—I swear your dad's trying to kill . He made haul at least fifty pounds of stuff!"
Earl started griping the mont he saw Cohen:
"He sent you a bomb—"
"Don't exaggerate. If a bomb could kill , I'd have died at age one. Edward's clumsy, but he's not *that* dumb."
Cohen eyed the pile of gifts stacked in the Room of Requirent. Besides Rose's box of candies and Edward's mysterious oversized square gift box, there was another heap of bulging paper packages.
Inside were Hagrid's rock cakes—Cohen regretted pretending to like them so much in front of Hagrid.
There was also a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley, plus a full box of homade fudge.
It seed Ron had ntioned Cohen in letters to his parents—or maybe the Weasleys and Nortons were on good terms. Both families were from the sa era, after all, and had stood with Dumbledore during those chaotic tis.
Cohen's sweater was white, with a deep blue "C" for his initial woven into it.
Receiving a big haul of Christmas gifts did feel pretty great—no wonder kids loved the holiday.
"Let's see what ridiculous thing Edward cooked up for …" Cohen tore into Edward's package.
The mysterious rectangular gift, asuring 1×1×2 ters, turned out to be… a transparent display case.
"Is Edward buying a real estate plot?"
Cohen examined the castle and village inside the transparent case, quickly realizing it wasn't anything like a sales office model.
On the backside of the mountain was a deep mine, where a fire-breathing dragon guarded a pile of gleaming treasure.
A team of animated clay figurines set out from the castle, trekking through forest swamps and rugged terrain, step by step toward the cave.
It was a living Dungeons & Dragons board.
"Not surprising at all…"
Cohen's mouth twitched. While it was useless to him, it could at least serve as decor.
The wizarding world didn't play gas like this, so Edward had probably handmade everything himself—definitely a labor of love. Cohen decided to praise him in his next letter to cheer him up.
Keep the emotional support flowing, and the family stays harmonious.
The plan to house Yali went smoothly too. At Cohen's request, a new door appeared in the room.
Behind it was a "fake outdoor" space with a night sky, complete with grass, a stream, trees, and even a crescent moon hanging high amid a starry expanse—proof the sky was artificial, since a moon that bright would drown out the stars in reality.
Cohen released Yali, who curled up tiredly on the ground. He figured it was drained from using curses on those two Aurors earlier—
"Friendly reminder: magical creatures aren't inflatable dolls. They don't need batteries to move," Earl sharply corrected Cohen's assumption.
[*You flew too shakily. I'm dizzy now,*]
Yali's voice explained in Cohen's mind.
Then it fell asleep in this safe environnt.
"Fair enough."
Cohen had planned to study what special traits he'd inherited from this creature's bloodline, but that clearly wasn't happening now.
He organized the scavenged books onto the room's shelves and headed out.
Ti to check the common room—see if Harry and the others had gotten up to anything wild, or if they'd stuck to the original plot and found the Mirror of Erised.
Cohen leaned toward the latter. Dumbledore would surely find a way to get Harry in front of that mirror—first, to teach him to look forward instead of dwelling on rosy mories, and second, to set up the "protect the Philosopher's Stone" plan.
Cohen slipped through the round opening behind the Fat Lady's portrait and imdiately spotted Harry, sporting dark circles under his eyes.
Harry sat by the fireplace, lost in thought—looking like he hadn't slept all night.
But despite that, he seed excited.
"Cohen?! How'd you get back so fast? It's only the second day of break—anyway, I've got to show you sothing—you won't believe it…"
(End of Chapter)
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