Quirrell wasn't one to respond with a "What a coincidence!"
Even as he fled, he drew his wand, ready to cast a Killing Curse on Cohen— "Ava—"
"Stop! Fool!"
Voldemort's growl was so loud that even Cohen heard it, with both ears.
"He'll be of great use... Remember him..."
Cohen had no idea about the Killing Curse—after all, the Killing Curse was supposed to extract the soul from the body, killing both body and soul simultaneously. But Cohen's soul could enter and exit the body at will, and after its departure, Cohen's body would be as good as dead.
Cohen was also prepared for his soul to escape at any time—after all, "you can't kill a dead body.
" "Cohen Is Unaffected"
What did Voldemort mean by "he'll be of great use"? Did he want Cohen, the innately evil Dementor Imp, to help him?
Good!
Good!
Good!
Is it coming?
Cohen was already worried about how slowly he earned sin points for carelessly littering and stealing lollipops from first-year students at Hogwarts.
Pretending to help a doomed villain, then turning against them, he'd finally put his wand to Quirrell's head and say, "Voldemort, stop it, it's all Dumbledore out there!" Just thinking about it was enough to make him chuckle!
Then, in full view of everyone, he'd steal the Philosopher's Stone, beat Quirrell to his knees, and drag him home—
"Whoosh—"
A strange gust of wind, accompanied by the flick of Quirrell's wand beneath his cloak, fiercely blew off Cohen's hood.
Unsurprisingly, Quirrell saw Cohen's face.
But since Cohen hadn't yet taken a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Quirrell couldn't remember who the student was.
But that was enough. As the only living person teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, finding a student based on a face was easy for Quirrell.
The black-hooded figure, having memorized Cohen's appearance, dove into the edge of the Forbidden Forest as they fled side by side towards the exit.
It seemed Quirrell knew that appearing on the Hogwarts grounds in broad daylight in a black robe and hood would be suspicious. He probably slipped away, preparing to cast a Disillusionment Charm before returning to school for class.
"So busy, with classes and helping Voldemort catch unicorns..." Cohen, looking in the direction Quirrell had fled, smacked his lips in pity. "And I have to shave my head off..."
In that case, he might as well give him some relief later. Even though Cohen, who appeared aloof, had a warm and soft stomach—
"Cohen?"
Harry called out softly, spotting Cohen behind Hagrid's hut, his robes stained with fallen leaves and dirt.
What? Three o'clock already?!
"Ding—ding—ding—"
A long chime echoed from the castle bells, signaling that some of the young wizards needed to go to class—but Cohen and his friends only had one Herbology class that afternoon, before dinner, so there was no rush.
"Harry? Why did you go outside?"
Ron poked his head out the back door of Hagrid's hut and saw Cohen, who had just emerged from the Forbidden Forest.
"Is that your friend Cohen?"
Hagrid's grunting voice also came out of the house. Cohen hurried to the vegetable garden and pretended that he was just admiring Hagrid's pumpkin seedlings - instead of having just been driven out of the Forbidden Forest by the centaurs.
After Cohen offered Hagrid a lengthy emotional tribute about his impressive pumpkin patch and the thought of teaching him some gardening tips, Hagrid, initially skeptical, quickly forgot that Cohen might have wandered into the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was a good man.
After Harry reintroduced Cohen to Hagrid, mentioning that he was the "only friend" Harry had previously mentioned to Hagrid, Cohen was rewarded with a pile of rock biscuits and toffee that was practically glue.
Even Hagrid, tearful, gave Cohen a leather satchel to carry these "snacks"—a hide that Cohen couldn't help but think looked like something from Edward's old textbook, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them...
"Is that a horned oxhide, Hagrid?" Cohen felt the small change beckoning him. "I thought they lived in the mountains—"
"Oh... yes," Hagrid said sadly. "Grove used to live in the mountains, but he got too old, so he was driven out..."
"If you don't like horned oxhides, I have a deerskin bag here—"
Hagrid thought Cohen had some objection to horned oxhides, but Cohen wouldn't give up horned oxhide for deerskin.
The material was even stronger than dragon hide, making it impervious to most spells.
Cohen already had an idea of what he wanted to make out of it—he'd go to the kitchen and find the house-elves and have them make a vest out of it, a magical body armor. Perfect!
Afternoon tea always flies by. They reluctantly left the warm little house and arrived at the Herbology greenhouse classroom just in time.
The first Herbology lesson was all theoretical knowledge. The strange and wondrous magical plants in the greenhouse could only be viewed, not even touched ("Watch your wand in your pocket, Mr. Finnigan! It's spewing sparks!" Professor Sprout shouted. "Those dry nettles are afraid of fire!").
Cohen wasn't happy with the class, not because of Professor Sprout or the Herbology class—but because of the magical plants.
Some of them even made sounds and moved around in their pots like animals, but Cohen couldn't see any [Soul Strength: X] labels!
Why don't plants have souls? (Annoyed)
Cohen wanted to speak up for the plants.
"Am I alive? Am I even alive?"
After class, Cohen and the others returned to the castle, drenched in mud. To avoid Filch, who might have come looking for them and seize the opportunity to put them in detention, they had to shower and change clothes.
By the time everything was over and dinner was served, everyone had already finished their meal. Just as Cohen was about to return to his dorm with Harry and the others to relax after a long day,
Quirrell stammered, stopping the three of them. His gaze lingered on Harry for a second longer, but more on Cohen.
Harry and Ron, unsure of what was happening, assumed Cohen had skipped lunch and wandered through the Forbidden Forest, where the professor had spotted him. They quickly backed away from Cohen.
"You don't have to be so quick to disown me," Cohen muttered through gritted teeth. "I heard from Professor McGonagall... you did... you did very well in Transfiguration class..."
Quirrell rubbed his hands together, looking like a shrew apologizing for a mistake.
"I have... a few books on Transfiguration that I thought you might like..."
Quirrell's words made Cohen feel like he could carve a Hogwarts castle out of his feet. Are you just a weird uncle looking at goldfish?
Read 14+ chapters ahead at p4treon
Or support me for my study purpose..
[email protected]/Horizons685
(End of this chapter)