Chapter 14: Surely No Little Sorcerer Would Dare Avoid the Forbidden Forest?

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Asking further about the soul seemed a bit too suspicious. Before Cohen thanked Professor McGonagall and prepared to leave with Hermione, the professor handed each of them a little bird that had transformed from a teacup.

“The magic imbued in these will last until lunchtime, Mr. Norton, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall reminded them. “Perhaps observing how they gradually return to their original form over time will help you better understand the principles of Transfiguration.”

Cohen wasn’t sure if Hermione would spend the entire morning studying the teacup bird, but his own certainly didn’t require that much observation.

Hermione was heading to the library, so they parted ways on the second floor.

Cohen climbed the stairs—not toward the Gryffindor common room on the eighth floor, but toward a seldom-used corridor on the same level.

There hung a massive tapestry, depicting trolls beating a foolish wizard with wooden sticks—on the east side was the hopelessly out-of-tune Gongminyi; here was Barnabas trying to teach the trolls how to dance.

Opposite the tapestry was an empty castle wall—but not for long.

Cohen paced before the wall three times, silently repeating to himself:

“I need a room where I can isolate and observe.”

“I need a room where I can isolate and observe.”

“I need a—”

It felt like he didn’t need to repeat it so many times...

Before he could say the third time, the door to the Room of Requirement appeared.

Glancing around to make sure no sentient beings were nearby, Cohen pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The space transformed into a small room, its walls carved with intricate runes—appearing to be magical inscriptions etched into the stone. There were no sparkling effects, but the atmosphere was solemn and dignified.

Cohen couldn’t understand the runes but was deeply impressed.

In the center stood a round table with lion-paw feet, surrounded by several armchairs cushioned in red velvet. A warm fireplace crackled softly, and the entire room felt... “safe.”

Somehow, there was even a single bed tucked in the corner—if it weren’t for the strict curfew and the threat of detention for staying out all night, Cohen might actually consider living here.

He tossed his backpack aside, pulled an armchair to the table, and set the teacup bird Professor McGonagall had given him onto the surface.

This bird was much quieter than the Count; it hadn’t made a sound in Cohen’s pocket the entire way.

[Soul Strength: 3]

All creatures casually transfigured by Professor McGonagall bore a soul strength of three points, and Cohen figured this was a perfect opportunity to test whether a soul composed of magical energy could serve as a viable snack for him.

If it worked... perhaps he could free up the “sin points” he usually had to spend entirely on soul fragments, and use them to purchase other “black market” items.

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“Sluurp~”

The soul was so small that Cohen felt like he’d just sucked in a noodle half the length of a finger.

The teacup bird successfully transformed back into an ordinary teacup ahead of schedule, without a trace of magical aura.

[Cohen Norton]

[Species: Dementor/Human/?/?/?]

[Soul Integrity: 11.6%]

[Special Ability Unlocked: Ghost Form (1/10)]

[Soul Strength: 11.6]

[Current Goodwill: 1107]

[Current Sin: 477]

After taking a bite of Nearly Headless Nick, Cohen had noticed his soul integrity flicker briefly but showed no change.

Now, after consuming this magically composed soul, Cohen’s soul integrity had changed!

Though only by 0.1%, it was still remarkable—this was just a teacup bird casually conjured by Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration!

Could magical energy count as soul? Or was there some underlying connection between a wizard’s magic and their soul?

Or perhaps... Cohen wasn’t really a “soul monster,” but simply a “magical monster”?

Whatever the case, it was good news. Cohen now had a bright idea—he would transfigure small objects, absorb their souls, then transfigure again, absorb again—

Trading magic for soul integrity was just like grinding levels in a game by spending time.

But Cohen was clearly too optimistic about his own Transfiguration skills.

He tried to replicate Professor McGonagall’s teacup bird using the spells and gestures from his copy of The Comprehensive Guide to Positive Magic. Without a doubt, Cohen could produce a bird that looked exactly like the previous one.

However, even though this bird could hop around and emit clear chirps, Cohen could see no trace of any soul within it.

“Even if the soul existed for just a second or two...” Cohen sighed in disappointment and dispelled the magic.

Encountering a master Transfiguration expert like Professor McGonagall, who could casually create creatures with soul strength rivaling monsters, was impossible to overcome no matter how hard he tried.

Would he really have to beg Professor McGonagall for a whole menagerie of small animals?

Judging by how a shard of Nick’s soul plus one teacup bird increased his soul integrity by 0.1%, McGonagall would need to provide him with eight or nine hundred such creatures—if the soul integrity required for each subsequent increase didn’t rise gradually.

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Imagine Cohen returning once more to Professor McGonagall’s office and asking:

“Professor, could I have some more transfigured animals?”

“Oh? Some? How many do you need?”

“Not too many, maybe eight or nine hundred to start—”

“Eight or nine hundred? What, do you plan to eat them?!”

No need to imagine further—he’d definitely be kicked out of her office.

But making frequent requests wouldn’t be good either; it would make Cohen look like some kind of small animal addict...

When God opens a window for someone, He always locks both the window and door when that person tries to step outside into fresh air.

But Cohen didn’t care.jpg

He refused to slink back and waste his life indulging in games with Harry and Ron. Since using Transfiguration to farm souls was temporarily off the table, he decided to visit a place teeming with magical creatures—where he could justify drawing the souls of dangerous creatures as “self-defense.”

“Cohen, where are you going?” Harry asked as he happened upon Cohen leaving the Gryffindor common room.

“To the Forbidden Forest. Want to come?”

Harry—Harry the troublemaker, the magnet for dark forces—had sought Cohen out himself. Cohen felt bringing Harry along wouldn’t hurt; maybe in the forest Harry could attract some higher-quality creatures.

“Oh, the Forbidden Forest...” Harry didn’t register the meaning of the phrase at first—

“What! The Forbidd—”

“Shh!” Cohen clapped a hand over Harry’s suddenly raised voice, as a student was just rounding the corridor’s end.

“But the headmaster said we aren’t allowed there—” The newly arrived Harry still held a shred of respect for school rules. “Breaking rules on your first day...”

“Spending all day cooped up in the castle like you’re at work—that’s how you become a bore,” Cohen shrugged. “I’ll go on my own this time. There’ll be plenty of chances to go together later.”

Surely, no Gryffindor wizard truly feared the Forbidden Forest?

Everyone knew that in the fifty years before Harry’s arrival, Hogwarts students’ mortality rate was under one percent. Though officially off-limits, the forest posed little real threat to young witches and wizards—most benevolent or neutral magical creatures would come to their aid in dangerous moments, like unicorns and centaurs.

Still, Cohen felt he couldn’t count on help from such creatures—imagining such a scene felt as absurd as Voldemort falling and being kindly helped up by Dumbledore.