Chapter 17: You’ve Taken Your Pants Off—Are You Really Going to Read to Me?

The creepy professor led Cohen out of the auditorium, climbed two flights of stairs, and brought him to an office on the third floor. Leaving Cohen behind, the professor retreated toward a bookshelf. He began to undress—

"Hmm?" Cohen blinked a few times.

"No, you don't like it? Mr. Norton..." Quirrell’s restless hands twisted into a knot in front of his throat, and he waited for Cohen’s reply in visible distress. If the person standing before him were a two-dimensional loli with white hair and red eyes, Cohen would have felt much more normal.

"Is this it?" Cohen looked at the book Quirrell had placed on the desk, *Advanced Metamorphic Transformation*, along with a stack of recent issues of *Today’s Transfiguration*.

Where was the evil plan to subvert Hogwarts? Where was the order to assassinate Harry Potter? Where was the map to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone? At the very least, couldn't he provide some Dark Arts indoctrination?

This was no different from finally succeeding on a date, getting into the room, and having your girlfriend hand you a Kevin Durant basketball poster instead of a condom! Was he supposed to discuss which player had the coolest steals with her?

"Ah, I love it. I love it so much," Cohen said dryly.

"Haha, g-glad you like it," Quirrell stammered, laughing nervously.

Shortly after, Quirrell used the excuse that it was getting late to usher Cohen out of the office—even though it wasn't yet curfew.

"M-Mr. Norton... please, d-don't open this book in front of your friends," Quirrell stuttered. "I’m afraid... afraid your friends might be j-jealous."

It seemed that Voldemort, even in his shattered state, wasn't so dense as to be completely straightforward. He was playing a game of "hard to get"—the contents of the book were certainly nothing wholesome.

***

"Don't worry, I'll keep it a secret."

Then, Cohen opened *Advanced Metamorphic Transformation* openly in the common room. Aside from Hermione and Percy, no other Gryffindor would be curious about a book, even if it were titled *Secret Affairs Between the Pink Swamp Witch and the Minister for Magic*. Since Hermione was likely self-studying in an empty classroom and Percy was on patrol, the only familiar faces in the common room were Harry and his friends.

The fireplace crackled with warmth, and Cohen curled up comfortably in an armchair near the hearth—if the book were cursed, he could simply toss it into the fire.

"Cohen, what book did Professor Quirrell give you?" Ron, who was playing chess with Harry, leaned over to peek. But as soon as he saw the dense, tiny print, he immediately looked away, as if the words were demons capable of corrupting his soul.

"*Advanced Metamorphic Transformation*. He clearly has some misunderstandings about me," Cohen replied as he flipped through the pages.

Quirrell hadn't cast any obvious dark curses on the book; Cohen felt perfectly fine. However, Quirrell hadn't put the real *Advanced Metamorphic Transformation* under the cover, either. This was a book of Dark Magic, detailing evil spells like Necromancy and Fiendfyre.

Cohen finally understood why Dark Magic was so reviled by the magical world—the barrier to entry was almost nonexistent. Even an illiterate blockhead like Crabbe could cast these spells; their lethality depended only on the amount of magical power input and the intensity of negative emotions. In other words, these were deadly firearms that even a child could use, and every wizard carried the bullets.

Great power combined with extreme negative emotions could cloud a person's mind, turning them step-by-step into a heartless demon.

So, Cohen immediately began to study the spells inside with fervor. What did clouding the mind have to do with him? Cohen wasn't even human—what evil power could be more wicked than a Dementor?

( `・ω・´ )

He’d saved a fortune in "Sin Points" usually required to buy spells from the shop. Thanks for the rocket, Professor Quirrell.

However, the book was incomplete—the final page cut off right in the middle of describing the method and effect of a spell called the "Soul-Driving Curse."

(╬☉д⊙)

Not cool. Of all the things to learn, he had to learn the art of the "cliffhanger" from web novels. Cohen closed the book and stuffed it back into his bag. Quirrell’s intention was clear: he was playing a game of cat and mouse.

Once Cohen got hooked on these Dark Arts, he’d hit a cliffhanger, and a desperate Cohen would be forced to go to Quirrell to beg for the rest. By then, Quirrell would know if Cohen had the potential to join the ranks of the Dark Arts.

Quirrell, or rather Voldemort, may have sensed the evil aura or soul within Cohen, but they clearly hadn't considered one thing: Cohen’s body wasn't inhabited by a confused child’s soul. He wouldn't be so easily bewitched by Dark Magic, nor would he start shouting "Heil Voldemort" and declare war on the entire magical world just because he’d received a starter guide to the Dark Arts.

By ten o'clock, the young wizards in the common room were yawning. Hermione climbed through the portrait hole, arms laden with a stack of books from the library, and Harry and Ron finished their final game of chess.

Back in the dormitory, Cohen curled up under his covers. He hadn't gone out in his soul form to snoop tonight; he was feeling troubled that his soul integrity was stuck at 15%. Perhaps after reaching 15%, the weak souls of fire-ash snakes were no longer providing much help—which made sense; after all, you couldn't piece together a human soul just by using the fragments of fragile, small animals.

It seemed Cohen needed to find some stronger, gregarious souls to grind for levels. Or, he could stir up trouble in the castle—as long as he didn't cross Dumbledore’s bottom line, pulling pranks like the Weasley twins should be fine, allowing him to earn Sin Points and buy soul fragments. The latter was less efficient, but stable—1,000 points for 1%.

If he did both, Cohen preferred to grind in the Forbidden Forest first. Only when there were no animal souls left to help him improve would he spend his saved-up Sin Points for a big boost.

Drifting into a deep sleep, Cohen had a dream. It was a strange dream; he dreamt he was inside a smooth, round bottle filled with the shrieks of souls and a mist so thick he could barely see anything else. He was feasting inside the bottle until all the shrieks vanished, the bottle shattered, and Cohen woke up.

The content of the dream distorted rapidly upon waking, leaving him with only a few lingering concepts.

"Bottle... soul..."

It felt like a memory of his own origin, that Dark Magic laboratory that created "Cohen"... Should he find an opportunity to go and take a look?

"Cohen, hurry up! I have to get to breakfast today!" Harry urged. He and Ron were up unusually early, perhaps because they’d been scolded by Professor McGonagall yesterday.

However, there was no class with Professor McGonagall this morning. The first period on Tuesday was Quirrell’s Defense Against the Dark Arts.