Just how many little secrets do you guys still have that I don't know about?

Before leaving, Cohen picked up the two wands from the ground (adding Herbert's wand from the wooden cabin earlier, this made it the third wand Cohen had confiscated) and disposed of the bodies of the two Aurors. He wanted to eliminate these malicious threats, but that did not mean he had to declare outright war on the Ministry of Magic.

Those harboring malice toward Cohen would undoubtedly hide in the shadows like cowards once they realized his danger, using their authority to send innocent wizards to their deaths—that was simply how high-ranking Ministry officials operated.

By then, countless families would be shattered by the conflict, and the media channels controlled by those in power could easily shape Cohen, the "Dark Magic experimental subject," into a vicious dark lord, severely disrupting Cohen's peaceful life.

The key was a peaceful life. Cohen felt that attending school, fighting Voldemort, and occasionally exchanging letters with his adoptive parents was already more than enough.

Disgusting bastards deserved to be killed in a disgusting way, rather than leaving them around to continue being a nuisance.

Cohen had two methods for dealing with Fudge and the Aurors who were still plotting to take him out.

The first was assassination—as long as the target's soul strength was lower than his, dealing with them was practically effortless. Perhaps the condition of "getting within two meters of the target" posed a slight challenge, but once Cohen learned Apparition, he wouldn't even need to worry about that.

This method just lacked a certain satisfying filthiness; after all, instant death wasn't thrilling enough.

"I have a feeling you're concocting some evil scheme," the Count perched on Cohen's shoulder said. "Can't you be serious for once? You're scaring me."

"I'll take you to a nightclub tonight," Cohen said casually. "I'll tell Mom you were the one who dragged me there. Does that make you feel better?"

"Then you'd better keep working on your evil scheme," the Count said dryly.

The second plan was to seize power from behind the scenes—Hermione became Minister of Magic after the war against Voldemort, and Cohen certainly could too.

Once Cohen's level developed past forty points, he could begin the process of resurrecting Voldemort—the already deceased object of fear in the magical world—secretly creating a dragon, and then personally playing the hero who slayed it. There would be no need for sacrifices (perhaps just "sacrificing" a Cornelius Fudge)—he would simply borrow the reputation Voldemort had previously forged in the magical world.

Holding power meant having the ability to disgust people.

*So you call me the Dark Lord, do you? How does that feel now? How does it feel, huh?*

The first five-year plan to subvert the magical world would begin with continuing to commit misdeeds.

Cohen made Aria crawl into the leather pouch of the Erumpent; after all, bringing a Nightmare into the school was going a bit too far—Dumbledore had definitely read *Secrets of the Darkest Art* and would certainly never allow a Nightmare inside.

Cohen had checked the other rooms in the underground corridor as well, but they were completely empty, probably completely ransacked by that thief Mundungus.

However, Mundungus hadn't taken the books on the bookshelves in the main study, which probably had something to do with the runes carved into those shelves—perhaps they were still in a hidden state at the time.

After leaving the basement, the sky outside seemed to grow gloomy once more.

*If you are well, then it's a sunny day*—two people had just died, so it was only natural for it to snow here.

Cohen didn't even know their names, but that wasn't particularly important; they would appear in the papers soon enough: *Certain Ministry Aurors mysteriously vanish, suspected resurgence of dark wizard activity.*

Yet when Cohen came out and looked toward the wooden cabin, he saw that Herbert seemed to have woken up—and he had broken Cohen's bindings without a wand. Of course, it was more likely the help of the two Aurors who had just died.

[Soul Strength: 22]

No big deal.

The man stood at the doorway of the wooden cabin, quietly watching the spot where Cohen stood—after all, Cohen had cleared away the surrounding snow, making him quite conspicuous.

Herbert seemed to be waiting for Cohen; he didn't run away, simply continuing to stand in the doorway.

"Your uncle looks like he wants to have a word with you," the Count reminded him.

"No, he wants his wand back—as if a wand were more important than his life," Cohen wagered. "He doesn't even know me; I've never come here with Rose to visit him."

To test this little wager, Cohen walked toward Herbert.

The Count, meanwhile, clutched its own wand while hovering in the air, on guard against any sudden developments—it didn't actually worry about Cohen's safety; what was there to worry about with a Dementor whose safety remained unaffected even by a direct hit from the Killing Curse?

It was only worried about its own safety, seeing as it was Cohen's accomplice.

"You're here," gray-haired Herbert rasped in a hoarse voice.

"I'm here."

"You shouldn't have come." Herbert looked at Cohen with a complex gaze.

"I'm already here—and besides, even if you finish reciting the entire collection of Gu Long novels in front of me right now, I still won't just hand the wand back to you like that." Cohen gave Herbert a deadpan stare.

"Those two Aurors are dead?" Herbert glanced toward the direction of the ruins, which Cohen had already magically restored to their snow-covered state.

"Dead," Cohen said flatly. Without a wand, this Herbert had no way to Apparate away, and Cohen could take care of him at any moment, or hit him with a Memory Modification Charm.

Yet as the sole surviving "criminal" of this manor, Herbert was someone Cohen wanted to extract more information from—he certainly knew more than Aria the unicorn, who had been locked in a cage all this time.

Upon hearing the news of the two Aurors' deaths, Herbert seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

"Come inside and sit... let me—take a good look at you."

Herbert seemed certain that Cohen would follow him in, turning and walking into the cabin on his own accord, leaving behind a profoundly eerie statement.

Damn it, he had a rather bad feeling about this—specifically concerning identity.

Just how many little secrets did this group of people harbor?

There were no hiding Aurors inside the cabin, nor were any curses suddenly hurled at Cohen.

Herbert arranged the chairs and sat down on the bed so that Cohen could sit facing him.

"What is our relationship?" Cohen sat down in the chair and asked directly.

"I... we have no relation." Herbert stared at Cohen's face as if gazing at a work of art. "Rose adopted you, didn't she?"

"Oh?" Cohen raised an eyebrow. "Why ask that?"

"She is my sister."

"Oh, my dad said someone from the Burke family threatened to throw her into a pile of Inferi—that person wouldn't happen to be you, would they?" Cohen tilted his head and asked. "Well, your lucky day, I just learned the Cruciatus Curse last week."

"As you like... but I never made a threat like that—Rose is my favorite sister, and I would never harm her." Herbert was as calm as a dying old man. "Do they treat you well?"

"Who are you talking about? Rose and Edward? Or the teachers at Hogwarts?"

"Your family now." A hint of a sob crept into Herbert's voice.

"Pretty good—or rather, amazingly good. Can you speed things up? I'm starving. If there's still time, I can even head back to Hogwarts early for dinner tonight," Cohen frowned and said. "And there's no need to keep using these deceptive little tricks. Betting with my experience of having watched over a thousand cheesy soap operas, you're about to tell me you're my biological father."

Herbert averted his gaze from Cohen and swallowed hard.

"So your son died, and those people happened to be doing experiments, promising they could resurrect your son, so you handed your son's corpse over to them, right?" Cohen deduced.

"They were right. You really are a genius after all, ever since the resurrection—"

"Genius my foot! Hurry up and spit out what you're here for; I eat souls when I'm hungry."

Cohen was losing his patience; this man was still beating around the bush and talking nonsense.

"Can you stay here for the night? Just one night," Herbert pleaded. "Then you can devour my soul, or kill me outright, at least..."