Harry, Ron, and Hermione's initial excitement about the dragon egg quickly faded, and they soon remembered their purpose for being there.
"Hagrid,"
Harry called to Hagrid, who was adding firewood.
"Clang, clang, clang... Hmm?" Hagrid was humming an off-key lullaby to the dragon egg when Harry suddenly called his name, assuming Harry wanted to ask about it.
"We think Snape is plotting to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
"I told you, you don't need to worry about that at all. Snape would never try to steal it—wait…" Hagrid suddenly realized something. "Where did you hear about the Philosopher's Stone?!"
"It was—"
"Cohen said it." Cohen prematurely revealed his disappointment. "I've seen through it all. There are no secrets here—you're all suicide bombers."
"What are suicide bombers?" Ron asked curiously.
"We don't know if you can tell us… what other mechanisms guard the Philosopher's Stone besides Fluffy?" Hermione asked cautiously.
"Of course I can't tell you." Hagrid frowned. "First, I don't know myself. Second, you know too much, so even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. The stone is perfectly safe here…"
"Oh, Hagrid, you probably don't want to tell us, but you definitely know—nothing that happens here escapes your notice," Hermione said in a sweet, flattering tone.
The charm of a little girl like this was undeniable—Cohen saw a barely suppressed smile creeping across Hagrid's lips beneath his mustache.
"Actually, we just want to know who designed those mechanisms," Hermione continued. "We want to know, besides you, who else does Dumbledore believe can help him?"
Hagrid couldn't resist Hermione's sweet pleading.
"Well… I might as well tell you—let me think—he borrowed Fluffy from me, and then asked a few other teachers to cast spells… Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall…"
Hagrid counted on his fingers.
"Professor Quirrell—of course, Dumbledore himself cast a spell, oh wait, and one more person, right—Professor Snape was also involved in the protection plan."
Horrible!
Cohen realized that Hermione was only an eleven-year-old girl, yet she already knew how to manipulate men's hearts at such a young age—women were truly terrifying.
Fortunately, he didn't need to rely on these scheming tactics; Dementors didn't need these social methods.
The Imperius Curse, the Avada Kedavra Curse, or a Dementor's Kiss—each one could make someone obedient—or he could use something more cruel, like smearing his own liquid, cursed blood on the other person's face or summoning Ariel for a motherly assault.
Thankfully, the Earl wasn't here; otherwise, he'd probably be complaining about Cohen being a...
"Thump, thump, thump—"
A hard object struck the window of the cottage, and a brown owl perched on the windowsill.
"It's your talking owl, Cohen," Hagrid reminded him, but then he remembered that Cohen's owl could talk—and was quite talkative at that. "It shouldn't tell anyone about the dragon egg, right?"
"It can still strike a balance between keeping a secret and losing its feathers and cloaca," Cohen assured him confidently, slightly opening the window—
"Watch out!" The moment the cold air rushed in, Hagrid quickly stepped in front of the fire, afraid the cold wind would chill the dragon egg.
"Easy! You're going to break my feathers!"
The Earl cried out as Cohen dragged him into the house.
"Don't you know how to take care of your pets! I run around for you every day—it's exhausting!"
"You spend 99% of your time sleeping and chasing Hedwig—but not a single owl egg has appeared yet." Cohen ruthlessly exposed the Earl's lie. "And the owl food I buy for you costs a Galleon a bag. Don't forget your worth—ten Sickles for a lowly owl."
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"One Galleon, one bag…" Ron groaned in despair, as if he were about to faint.
Cohen pulled a rolled-up piece of paper from under the Earl's paw.
It was Quirrell's handwriting.
[Come to the office]
It seemed Quirrell wanted to move forward with his plan—Cohen did need to go with Quirrell to get the Philosopher's Stone in a logical way. After all, under Dumbledore's observation, Cohen was "a good student being threatened by Quirrell with an unknown evil curse."
After saying goodbye to Hagrid and Harry, Cohen left first.
When Cohen pushed open the door to Quirrell's office, he saw Quirrell pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.
"Ah—Cohen, Cohen…" Quirrell greeted him, still not quite getting into his proper way of speaking.
"Now we can talk normally." Cohen cast a room-sealing charm toward the office door. "Did you find it using the three-headed dog's method?"
"Yes." But Quirrell's expression didn't seem good. "The Dark Lord is in a hurry… He wants me to act quickly. The power I regained with unicorn blood is almost gone—but Dumbledore is always at the school… I'm afraid…"
"Fool…" Voldemort's voice roared from behind Quirrell's head. "Are you that afraid of that old man!"
But you're the one most afraid of Dumbledore, Mr. Voldemort.
Cohen didn't know how to comment on Voldemort's behavior—maybe he was too eager for the Philosopher's Stone and couldn't wait for a new body.
"Perhaps… perhaps I can get you some more unicorn blood… those centaurs… let's wait a little longer…" Quirrell pleaded, his actions appearing as if he were talking to himself because Voldemort was behind him.
"You want unicorn blood?" Cohen suddenly asked.
[Nightmares can blend into unicorn flocks—because unicorns can't distinguish between curses; their own blood is cursed, and to them, nightmares are just other unicorns of a different color.]
This passage was from The Origin of Evil Creatures, which Cohen had read before.
Looking at it this way, getting normal unicorn blood didn't seem too difficult—at the very least, he could ask Ari for help.
"What, Cohen, do you have another way?"
Quirrell asked eagerly, as if clutching a lifeline. This evil dark magic experiment subject always provided many "surprises," although these "surprises" often turned into frights.
"I know the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest well too. I'm the purest; I can get you unicorn blood," Cohen agreed. "Guaranteed pure."
"Great!"
Quirrell didn't even doubt whether Cohen really had a way—who cared? A child trusted by the Dark Lord couldn't be bad, especially one who threw out all sorts of Unforgivable Curses like fireworks.
"Unicorns possess powerful magic… You managed to do this… I'm very pleased… child…" Voldemort's attitude toward Cohen was noticeably better than his attitude toward Quirrell.
"You're celebrating too soon."
Cohen wasn't planning on letting Voldemort get away with it for free—his work had requirements.
"This is a deal; I help you, and you have to give me something in return."
"Very reasonable…" Voldemort was satisfied with Cohen's character. "Only intelligent people can see through the true nature of human relationships… Between people, there is only self-interest…"
Author here's
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(End of Chapter)