Hogwarts: Don't Starve in the Forbidden Forest Chapter 66 66: You’ll Have to Pay Extra

Kane handed the Pan Flute to Professor Quirrell.

"I put so real work into this one. It can be played ten tis. I assu that should be enough for your needs?"

Hearing that the flute could be used ten tis, Quirrell looked like he was about to float away with joy. "Th-thank you! You've done a m-marvelous job."

"So, the F-Forbidden Forest? Do you wish to c-co? I could help you secure so r-rare materials."

Kane raised an eyebrow. While his current inventory was sufficient, if it was Quirrell—and by extension, the passenger on the back of his head—extending the invitation, there was no harm in accepting.

Dumbledore was right; whether it was stealing the Stone or seizing Kane's Shadow Magic, the commotion would be massive.

Quirrell couldn't afford to do it in stages because that would alert the Headmaster. Therefore, at least until the night of the heist, Kane was safe.

Going to the Forest today was the perfect opportunity to gauge the quality of Quirrell and the "Voldemort" backing him.

Know thy enemy, and all that.

"Would you mind waiting a mont? I need to send a note to my friends."

Quirrell nodded. "O-of course."

Kane tore off a piece of parchnt and scribbled a note stating he likely wouldn't be back for bed tonight. He summoned a small bird to deliver it to the Headmaster's office before turning back to Quirrell.

"We can head out now."

"Ex-excellent! Let us g-go!"

The two wizards, one tall and one short, slowly left the castle and trekked toward the dark expanse of the Forbidden Forest.

They walked in silence until they reached the edge of the dense trees, where Quirrell finally spoke.

"Kane, aren't you c-curious why I co to the F-Forbidden Forest?"

Kane glanced at him oddly. "Not really. Every professor has so weird hobby they indulge in under the cover of the Forest. Also, why aren't you stuttering anymore?"

Quirrell ignored the last question, letting out a soft chuckle. "To be honest, Kane, I think you have talent."

"So? In what area?" Kane pouted. He was starting to regret coming. Either Quirrell's stutter was a complete act, or Voldemort had taken the wheel.

Either way, Quirrell had evolved into "Riddle Mode." Talking to people like this was as exhausting as forty-five minutes of fasted cardio.

"In many areas. Kane, do you know? I am d-dying." Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—stopped suddenly and turned to look at him.

The Dark Lord had thought about this for a long ti and decided to trust his gut. The aura of Dark Magic clinging to this boy was so thick he could sll it from a mile away.

Soone like this would never truly earn Dumbledore's trust, and Kane likely looked at Dumbledore with the sa mutual distaste.

More importantly, the body he was currently inhabiting was pathetic. Without Voldemort taking over at key monts and Kane's Pan Flute, Quirrell couldn't even handle a single unicorn.

With Kane's help—and his mastery over shadows—his remaining ti undercover at Hogwarts would be much smoother.

He needed to offer an "honest" trade. He would offer chips he could provide now in exchange for Kane's assistance. As for whether those chips would ever be cashed... he could let the magic-transfer altar explain that later.

And if negotiations failed? The Imperius Curse was always an option.

Voldemort looked at Kane's confused face with what passed for an expectant gaze.

"Looking at our complexions," Kane answered with a frown, "it feels like I'm the one who's about to run out of ti."

Voldemort felt as if he had just swallowed a Bezoar. Kane's abstract response was like being given a 'Yes or No' question and choosing 'Or.' It gave him a sudden urge to pull out his wand and cast the Killing Curse.

Voldemort continued leading Kane deeper into the forest, guiding the conversation. "Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

"Everyone has secrets..." Kane started, but he felt the atmosphere around Voldemort grow noticeably colder. Fine, fine, I'll play along. "You said you're dying. So, is there sothing in the Forest that can extend your life?"

Kane wrote the "standard answer" on the exam paper. Finally, Voldemort felt the situation returning to his control.

"You are clever, Kane. I am here for sothing to sustain : unicorn blood. Though, sadly, it is only a temporary fix."

Kane nodded chanically as Voldemort spoke, but he quickly realized he needed to stay in character. "Unicorn blood is just a stopgap? Is there sothing that can solve your problem permanently?"

The wind howled through the trees. Kane subtly increased the fla in the Thermal Stone in his pocket.

Voldemort felt a surge of satisfaction. He's taken the bait!

"Have you heard of the Philosopher's Stone?" Voldemort asked silkily.

Kane scratched his chin awkwardly. He knew about the Stone—it was currently hanging under his shirt. But to keep the play going, he shook his head. "Never heard of it."

Having received the full script from Dumbledore beforehand, Kane's "high emotional intelligence" performance had Voldemort hook, line, and sinker. The Dark Lord was delighted to find such a perfect "straight man" for his act.

Voldemort then launched into a carefully crafted sob story: how Dumbledore was a miser, hiding a miracle cure like the Stone away instead of using it to save a dying professor.

Dumbledore? A miser?

Kane thought about the Headmaster who handed out legendary artifacts like candy and couldn't bridge the gap between the two descriptions. On the surface, however, he gave the "Triple-A" response: a nod, a gasp, and a hum of agreent.

"Dumbledore is truly terrible!"

Luckily, the forest was pitch black and Quirrell was walking ahead; otherwise, Kane was afraid Voldemort would see him struggling to suppress a grin.

"Do not speak so of your Headmaster, Kane. Perhaps he has his reasons? We cannot judge him from our level. Of course, Death is knocking at my door, so I have reasons for what I must do. They cannot judge , either. So, Kane... would you be willing to help ?" Voldemort stopped.

He crouched down, pointing toward a creature nearby—a unicorn, so white it looked like a painting co to life.

"For the sake of my life... use your Shadows on it."

Kane pulled out his wand but made no move to cast a spell. "Professor, I'd love to help extend your life. But as far as I know, wizards who harm unicorns never co to a good end."

"And your point is?" Voldemort asked coldly.

"You'll have to pay extra!"

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