Chapter 23: Homework Is Truly an Evil Invention

It is well known that if something looks like a Dementor, acts like a Dementor, and identifies as a Dementor in its heart, then it is, for all intents and purposes, a Dementor.

Cohen had purchased this necklace, which, while appearing useless, was in fact entirely useless. It wasn't about power; it was simply cool.

Cohen couldn't wait to grab his homework-filled bag and bolt toward the Room of Requirement to experiment. Though he was currently in a playful mood, if he didn't finish his assignments, he would be looking at at least two detentions tomorrow: one for Transfiguration and one for Herbology.

"Coo-coo!"

The Earl, who had been dozing, was startled by the sudden appearance of a black-cloaked creature that seemed to fill the entire room. The owl let out a shrill cry and began frantically crashing against the still-closed window, desperate to escape.

"It’s just me..."

Cohen canceled his transformation. It seemed the primary Dementor-disguise device worked remarkably well.

"Does scaring a bird make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?!"

Seeing the massive Dementor suddenly shrink into the form of an insufferable child, the Earl chirped indignantly at Cohen. "My patience has its limits!"

"..."

Cohen transformed back into a Dementor.

Even though the Earl now knew it was Cohen and had already experienced the scare once, the silent, sudden transformation startled him a second time. As the Earl instinctively hopped backward and nearly tumbled off the table, Cohen shifted back to his human form.

"You—"

The Earl desperately wanted to nip Cohen on the nose.

"Hehe," Cohen said, trying to look innocent.

"What the hell is 'hehe' supposed to mean!"

The Earl decided to abandon the cozy room and head back to the Owlery—at least there, a Dementor wouldn't suddenly pop out of thin air.

[Ding! Sin points +1]
[Note: Are you completely incapable of behaving like a decent human being?]

Cohen enthusiastically helped the Earl open the window, watched him fly off toward the Owlery, and then sat down comfortably by the fireplace, spreading his homework across the table where the Earl had just been perched.

Cohen had originally intended to work in the common room, but after discovering Cohen's talent for mischief, George had insisted on taking him along to steal things from Filch. According to George, there were many treasures among Filch's confiscated items; the Marauder's Map that he and Fred used constantly had been swiped from a drawer labeled "Confiscated, Highly Dangerous."

Cohen was certainly tempted—if only tomorrow weren't Monday.

"Right, let's start by catching up on Transfiguration!"

Cohen rubbed his hands together, dipped his quill in ink, and wrote a title on the spread-out parchment: *The Influence of Magical Input Volume on Transfiguration Results.*

...

"Should I write to Rose? I think she asked me to write once a week..."

Cohen thought of this just as he set down the first letter, 'M'. Compared to homework, family seemed... well, rather more important.

"Dearest Rose... and Edward... if you are there too..."

Cohen pulled over another sheet of parchment and chewed on the end of his quill as he wrote.

"I am doing very well at Hogwarts... the teachers and classmates are very kind... I've also made many animal friends... but they don't seem to want to talk to me..."

...

Ten minutes later, Cohen had filled ten inches of parchment with his "family letter." After folding it and tucking it into an envelope, his gaze lingered for a moment on the essay, which still lacked a single complete word.

"Forget it, I'll just send the letter first."

He decided he would write the essay when he got back. He shouldn't have scared the Earl away; now he had to trek halfway across the castle to the Owlery in the West Tower.

After half an hour spent delivering the letter and another ten minutes coaxing the Earl back into a good mood, Cohen stood in the cold wind atop the castle, watching the Earl fly away with a sense of relief.

It seemed all his excuses for procrastination had finally been exhausted.

Cohen dragged his feet downstairs toward the main castle—

"Mr... Mr. Norton..."

As Cohen passed the second floor, Quirrell’s stuttering voice drifted from behind him.

"Almost forgot!"

Cohen suddenly remembered he had his one-on-one Dark Arts tutoring session this afternoon. "Thank God!"

Without further ado, he pushed the bewildered Quirrell into his office, eager to begin the lesson. Quirrell watched helplessly as Cohen scurried about, using Quirrell’s own tools to tidy up Quirrell’s own desk, before firmly nudging his "teacher" into a chair.

Quirrell had the distinct feeling that it wasn't him teaching Cohen, but rather the other way around.

"Come on, let's get started!" Cohen asked, brimming with anticipation. "What should we learn first? The Imperius Curse? The Cruciatus Curse? Never mind the Killing Curse—I already know that one..."

"..."

Quirrell adjusted his tone; there was no need to keep stuttering in front of Cohen.

According to the Dark Lord, he should try to get closer to this child—Cohen was a prime candidate for a Death Eater, someone the Dark Lord favored. He was power-hungry, evil at heart, and possessed a soul composed of a chaotic mix of various dark magical entities.

"I recall you initially wanted to learn... Necromancy? Is that correct?"

Quirrell watched Cohen’s expression carefully. The Dark Lord’s orders were simple: teach him what you can, and do everything in your power to win him over. Then, lead Cohen to kill—to let him lose himself completely in the Dark Arts.

After all, the "delayed Killing Curse" excuse wouldn't fool the boy for long; in reality, the spell Quirrell had cast on Cohen last time was merely a tracking charm.

"Oh..." Cohen looked visibly disappointed. "That’s fine, I suppose. Do you have a corpse here? It’s hard to practice without one. Should we go—"

"I have one, I have one!" Quirrell interrupted quickly.

"What about the guy with no nose on the back of your head?" Cohen leaned in, peering toward the back of Quirrell's head. "I thought he would be the one to teach me."

"The current spells are not yet too profound; I am sufficient to teach you..." Quirrell did not reveal the fact that Voldemort was currently weak, needing to maintain the illusion that the Dark Lord was powerful and simply choosing to remain hidden.

Unfortunately, Cohen already knew everything.

Necromancy was the dark art of reanimating corpses—not true resurrection, but using magic to drive a dead body to serve the caster. Such magic was nearly impossible for a young wizard to perform successfully.

Yet, Cohen seemed to have a terrifying talent for the Dark Arts—a stark contrast to his repeated failures when attempting advanced spells from *The Compendium of Positive Magic*.

"Am I truly a natural-born villain?"

Cohen raised an eyebrow as he watched the nameless Muggle corpse slowly crawl to its feet under his control.

"A very successful spell, Mr. Norton—"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Cohen cast the Killing Curse directly at the newly revived corpse. A flash of green light erupted, and the expression on the watching Quirrell’s face became identical to that of the wide-eyed, lifeless corpse.

Since the reanimated body was merely a dead object, the Killing Curse exploded upon contact, instantly reducing the corpse to dust.

"Pity it’s too weak. I cannot have trash among my subordinates." Cohen’s brow furrowed.

The Inferius was not as strong as he had imagined. If this was a piece of dark magic that gave the Ministry of Magic headaches, shouldn't it have some special abilities?

As it turned out, the Inferius only had a bit of extra strength; otherwise, it was no different from an ordinary person—and they were even afraid of light and fire.

*Cohen’s garden has no room for trash.*