Hogwarts: Don't Starve in the Forbidden Forest Chapter 48 48: Grave Robbing is Illegal

Hermione's face was set in a tight, frustrated mask. She was currently harboring a massive grudge against Professor Quirrell because she had read the exact sa book on Swamp Magic that Kane had been looking at in the library.

The entire book was pure theory—not a single lick of practical instruction. Quirrell's lecture had been nothing more than breaking that theory down into smaller pieces.

The knowledge slid into her brain easily enough—like knowing 1 1—but without the "equals sign," she couldn't get to 2.

If she hadn't read the book beforehand, she might have been fooled by his performance. But seeing Kane called up to the stage gave her a small, dark hope: once he failed to cast the spell and reported back to Dumbledore (or his "Celestial Dragon" family), Quirrell's "half-asure" teaching style would surely be sanctioned.

It was a slightly petty thought, but she was at her wits' end. Ugh...

Kane, anwhile, was wearing a "mask of pain." He didn't care about showing off magic; he cared about the abstract, soul-crushing stench wafting off Quirrell at close range.

However, if Quirrell could maintain this level of instruction every lesson, Kane was willing to endure it. Standing on the stage, he instinctively kept his distance.

He flicked his wand, emitting a grey-white light. Instantly, a patch of dark grey, bubbling marsh with eerie, shifting patterns appeared on the floor.

Quirrell stared, stunned. To satisfy his Master's orders—demonstrating authority to bait Kane into private lessons—he had intentionally held back the key to the spell so that Kane wouldn't be able to cast it.

But this?

Was the script even right anymore?

"Master, perhaps I should just give him detention?" Quirrell whispered in his mind.

"Find another opportunity. Forcing him to stay now might draw Dumbledore's attention too early."

And so, Quirrell felt miserable inside but forced a joyful expression onto his face, leading the class in applause and awarding Kane five points.

Hermione's applause was a beat late. She was dazed.

Hermione: ???

She fell silent. She pondered. She realized. She reached a state of zen-like acceptance.

She felt she had discovered a hard-to-swallow truth: Quirrell wasn't a bad teacher by accident or lack of skill; he was doing it on purpose.

Creating an artificial gap between "regular" students and "elite" ones like Kane. Tsk—this class-based ga... is this how people play it?

Returning to his seat, Kane scratched his head. Why did Hermione look like she had a case of "Red-Eye Syndro" (jealousy)? Had she been crying? No, probably just the jealousy.

As the bell rang, Kane asked Harry and Ron to grab him so food later and bolted for the eighth floor. He needed that Mandrake from Dumbledore.

He knocked and entered the office to find Dumbledore awkwardly shoving a crystal ball under his desk. The Headmaster looked up. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem. You asked to convert fifteen Mandrakes for you every month; I just want one extra for myself," Kane said.

"That's fine, provided you don't use that 'Pan Flute' of yours for anything too nefarious," Dumbledore smiled, leading Kane to the balcony where fifteen pots sat. "Take one. Sotis, insomnia is a blessing; it lets think clearly."

"Thanks." Kane set to work, using his Shadows to convert the Mandrakes. Once finished, he unceremoniously yanked one out. The plant kicked its legs twice in the air and died.

As he shoved it into his pocket, Dumbledore spoke first: "What do you think of Professor Quirrell?"

"He slls terrible, his lectures are sticky, and I don't know why he was so sloppy in the first lesson but suddenly a genius in the last one. He's definitely holding back. I feel like he's stealing his paycheck from Hogwarts."

Kane dumped his thoughts out in one go.

"Ah, simple. He gave you a lot of vague theory but skipped the essence. Perhaps he wants talented students to co to him with questions," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

"Can we stop being a 'Riddle-Man' for five minutes? Just say what you want to say," Kane said, annoyed. The world moved slowly because of people who spoke in circles.

"Very well. I personally distrust Professor Quirrell. I believe he is not a 'good man,' and therefore, I must place him under appropriate surveillance."

Dumbledore pulled a fiery red feather from his desk. "Find a way to leave this in his office. I'm sure he would be delighted to receive a gift from a gifted young wizard."

Kane took the feather. "Is your monitoring magic on this? If I change its shape with Shadows, will the magic stay?"

"Why don't you try?"

Kane nodded. Under the erosion of his Shadows, the feather transford into a jagged, "Constant-style" shape.

"The magic remains," Dumbledore noted.

"Good." Kane pocketed it. "I need one more red feather like that, three black feathers, and a real swamp."

Dumbledore handed over the feathers and thought for a mont. "There is a patch of marsh deep in the Forbidden Forest." He reached out a hand. "Prepare yourself. Side-along Apparition. You know the drill."

In a blink, they were in the forest. A step away was the swamp. Kane stomped his foot, and as the Shadows seeped forward, the marsh turned a sickly grey-white, bubbling with malice.

He stepped onto it. Almost instantly, a horrific Tentacle whipped out of the mud. Before it could strike, a Shadow Tentacle manifested and coiled around it. The two limbs twisted together like a macabre braid, locked in a stalemate.

"Oh... so that's how it works? I assu a swamp you summon yourself would function similarly? An area that attacks enemies indiscriminately..." Dumbledore marveled. "Remarkable magic."

"Yes." Kane retracted his Shadows, letting the swamp return to normal. He was now holding two pieces of Tentacle Spots (skin). Combined with the five feathers, he hand-crafted an Individually Styled Feather Hat—a 180-degree wrap-around Indian-style headdress.

Truthfully, besides restoring a tiny bit of Sanity and attracting birds to poop on the wearer's head, it was useless.

"Maybe Quirrell wants to try a different 'ethnic' look after wearing that turban for so long?" Kane shoved the headdress into his pocket.

"Since I've helped you, I assu you'll find it hard to refuse helping in return?" Kane looked at Dumbledore.

"Naturally."

"Do you have any Purple Gems? Red or Blue would work too."

"Quite the appetite. But that is beyond my current reach. I could give you the key to my vault, but you won't find any there." Dumbledore actually offered the key.

"Forget it then." Kane sighed. He paused. "Then... do you know where there are any graves? Nearby?"

Dumbledore blinked. "Kane, grave robbing is illegal."

"I know. But as far as I know, robbery is also illegal, so... where are the graves?"

"...Wizard or Muggle?" Dumbledore finally decided to nudge his moral compass aside.

"Either, but I need a lot of them. My luck isn't great. If there aren't many graves, I might not dig up any gems."

"Little Hangleton churchyard. It's been abandoned for a long ti. There are many graves there. You could visit during the Christmas holidays." Dumbledore wanted to ask what digging graves had to do with gemstones, but he decided against it.

If Kane's shadows could make a swamp sprout tentacles, why couldn't a grave produce a gemstone? It was "very magical."

Kane noted the address, planning to craft a Shovel and head out for Christmas.

Soon, they were back at the castle. Kane stood before Quirrell's office door, clutching the Feather Hat. He should like this gift... and I can ask for so 'tutoring' while I'm at it.

🌟 The story is already written… waiting to be unleashed. Claim early access on Patreon: Patreon/kazama677

🔓 You hold the keys to bonus chapters:💬 10 reviews ignite 1 bonus chapter🔷 200 Power Stones summon another

🔥 Your power determines how fast the tale unfolds.