Hogwarts: Don't Starve in the Forbidden Forest Chapter 49 49: Kane’s Wonderful Magical Tentacle Room

Dumbledore reached out and stopped Kane just as his hand was about to rap against the door.

"Aren't you going to prepare so insurance? I an, just in case Professor Quirrell doesn't plan on letting you leave so easily?"

Kane's hand froze mid-air. "So, you brought all the way here just to tell to hurry up and then warned to be careful?"

"I'm just showing you the door. While I doubt Professor Quirrell would risk an open confrontation, one must always account for the 'what if'."

With that, Dumbledore turned and vanished, leaving the choice entirely to Kane.

Kane... was never one to ignore a sensible warning. He bolted back to the Gryffindor dorms and used the newly acquired Mandrake to hand-craft a Pan Flute.

However, this flute turned out to be a bit different than he expected—or rather, it ca with a special "user manual." Along with the physical flute, the Prestigahatitator had spat out a magical to.

The mont Kane opened it, his head was flooded with complex, surreal knowledge. He realized he didn't even need the physical flute to induce sleep; he could use his wand and magic to mimic the exact sa hypnotic frequency.

He waved his wand to test it. As the tip glided through the air like a conductor's baton, an absurd, eerie sound drifted from the corners of the room.

On the windowsill, Kane's crow Hugin and Harry's owl Hedwig imdiately tucked their heads under their wings, falling into a deep, blissful slumber.

Ron's owl, however, was spared—mostly because it was currently out delivering a letter to the Weasleys.

"Surprisingly practical," Kane muttered, stuffing both the flute and his wand into his pockets. He grabbed the Feather Hat and marched back to Quirrell's office.

Inside the office, Quirrell was facing a mirror. Reflected back at him was the pale, lipless, hideous face of Voldemort.

This was his daily routine. Voldemort would lecture him on advanced magic, outline his grand vision for the future, and then detail the plans for stealing the Philosopher's Stone. Finally, the session would end with a ten-minute "Voldemort Exclusive PUA Package."

But today, the atmosphere was tense. Voldemort was not a patient master, and he frequently took out his frustrations on the only servant he had left.

Poor Quirrell. Because Kane was "too talented," Quirrell had failed to bait the boy into the office earlier to study his unique shadow magic, and now he was being scolded for a failure that wasn't entirely his fault.

Knock, knock, knock.

Quirrell jumped, startled out of his lecture.

"Go open the door," Voldemort hissed. His face vanished from the mirror, returning Quirrell's own reflection to him.

Kane looked at the professor as the door opened. Having heard the confirmation from Dumbledore that Quirrell was "not a good man," Kane's primary emotion was now curiosity. What kind of fascinating villain could persuade Dumbledore to let him stay in the school?

Quirrell, on the other hand, began to tremble with excitent the mont he saw Kane.

"Q-quick, co in, child!" Quirrell practically dragged Kane into the office and slamd the door shut. With a flick of his wand, the room rearranged itself into a tidy, welcoming space.

"Quirinus, do not forget your task," Voldemort's voice rasped inside Quirrell's skull. "Find out where that shadow magic cos from. Make him use that Swamp Spell again; I must sense its essence."

Quirrell ntally agreed, his hands shaking slightly as he poured tea. "I-is there a p-problem with the magic? The S-swamp Charm?"

Kane, oblivious to the master-servant telepathy, pulled the Feather Hat from his pocket. "I just ca to bring you a gift. I thought you might want a change of headwear."

Quirrell's excitent dipped. He wanted the boy's magic, not a ridiculous, oversized headdress.

But the voice in his head scread: "Accept the hat! I feel it... there is an incredibly strange magic woven into it!"

Quirrell's face, which had been about to fall, instantly snapped back into a grin. He looked like a Venus Flytrap in a turban as he snatched the hat up.

Unlike the emotional rollercoaster Quirrell was riding, Kane was currently riding a wave of regret. The sll of garlic mixed with heavy office incense was unbearable. His original plan to ask for "advanced tips" evaporated. I'll just ask Flitwick or McGonagall. Why suffer here?

"Professor," Kane said, standing up. "Now that the gift is delivered, I think it's ti I... painfully take my leave. Bye~"

But before he could finish the "bye," Quirrell—threatened by a ntal Cruciatus Curse from his master—grabbed Kane's arm.

"D-don't go! In exchange for your g-gift, let t-teach you. Are there any spells you f-find... difficult?"

Kane turned back with a smile that was more of a grimace. "It's not that I want to leave, Professor, but I feel like my nose is about to give birth."

As Quirrell pondered what kind of magical symptom "a nose giving birth" was and whether St. Mungo's was required, Voldemort snapped: "Your scent, Quirinus. It's too much."

Quirrell quickly waved his wand. The windows flew open, and a cool breeze swept through, carrying away the worst of the stench.

Kane's "mask of pain" relaxed slightly. Fine. Before the sll cos back, I do have a question about that swamp.

"About the Swamp Spell," Kane began.

"U-use it first! Let s-see it again," Quirrell urged. Even Voldemort pulled his focus away from the Feather Hat to study the boy.

Kane didn't hesitate. He flicked his wand, and a patch of bubbling, grey-white marsh manifested on the office floor. While Quirrell wondered why it was the "wrong" color, Voldemort saw deeper.

"I feel it... this swamp has a life force. Ask him, Quirinus. Ask him what this is."

"T-this swamp... it has a l-life of its own?" Quirrell parroted.

Kane looked at him, impressed. This guy actually knows his stuff. Or the guy behind him does.

"It does," Kane admitted. As he spoke, two jagged, purple Tentacles erupted from the mud, lashing out at the air. "My problem is that I can only summon it on the floor. I want to summon the swamp on the walls and the ceiling. I want to create a true 'Swamp Space' where any enemy inside is thrashed from all directions by tentacles..."

Kane stopped mid-sentence because he saw the look on Quirrell's face. It was... complicated.

"Er... never mind. Bye, Professor!" Kane tried to leave again, but once more, Quirrell caught his arm.

"W-wait! Your idea... it can be d-done. Take this b-book list. It will h-help you." Quirrell scribbled nas onto parchnt.

But as he moved to hand it over, Voldemort—having finally deciphered the nature of the shadow-swamp and the "bugged" hat—scread in his mind:

"KEEP HIM HERE! DO NOT LET HIM LEAVE!"

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