After breakfast, Cohen headed to Quirrell's office. The garlic stench was stronger than ever, a clear sign that Voldemort's grip on Quirrell's body was tightening.
[Soul Strength: 5 (Damaged) / 25]
[Soul Strength: 40 + 10]
Quirrell's soul strength had been sapped by 20 points courtesy of Voldemort, while Voldemort's own soul only gained a temporary 10-point boost.
Once Voldemort ditched Quirrell's body, that extra chunk would vanish—Cohen didn't have much to worry about.
"N-Norton, come, come in—" Quirrell stammered, ushering Cohen inside. He poked his head out to glance around nervously before locking the door and adding a spell for good measure.
"C-Cohen, the Dark Lord really needs that Philosopher's Stone now. I've got to pick up the pace…" Quirrell said, his face pale as a ghost.
Voldemort must've been riding him hard—like a dead teammate in a video game nagging the last survivor from the black screen.
"Then go steal it already. You've been yapping about it for half a year," Cohen said, his expression drooping. "That big dog you saw last Halloween—"
"It's a protection set up by Hagrid, the groundskeeper," Quirrell cut in quickly. "I've already got a plan to trick him into spilling how to deal with it…"
A Cerberus—a magical three-headed hellhound—wasn't something most spells could threaten directly. Wizards back in the day thought it was a guard straight from the underworld.
Its one weakness? Music puts it to sleep. Cohen had been about to blurt that out.
But then Quirrell pulled a massive, pitch-black egg from his desk.
"You told me I couldn't sneak a dragon into the castle, and here you are with one?" Cohen shot Quirrell a stiff glare.
"It's for tricking Hagrid into giving up info," Quirrell explained hurriedly. "Dragon eggs are still gettable on the black market—but full-grown dragons are… tricky to transport."
"Grab me a few too?" Cohen asked. "I could test tons of spells on them. You know, snagging live people gets Dumbledore's attention fast, but pets are different. I could practice my spell ideas—like a chained Avada Kedavra or something."
"Dragons have decent magic resistance, after all—"
"Dragon eggs are expensive," Quirrell said awkwardly. "I've already burned through my savings. Those egg smugglers are nuts…"
"Fine…" Cohen grumbled. "When are you asking him? Hurry it up—I want to get moving before finals. Don't mess with my studies."
"The Dark Lord thinks you'll study under him after we succeed…" Quirrell said, puzzled by Cohen's priorities.
"Knowledge and credentials aren't the same," Cohen lectured earnestly. "You're too stuck in your academic bubble. I don't just want knowledge—I want *power*."
"With a diploma, I can infiltrate the Ministry, then climb the ranks with Imperius Curses and assassinations. Call it a peaceful coup—I've studied both Dark Lords' track records. They were too brutal. People prefer gentler change. Once I'm running the Ministry, I'll spend a few years stirring up Muggle-wizard conflicts…"
Quirrell gaped as Cohen rattled off his multi-phase plan.
"Good child… your plan does have merit…" Voldemort's voice slithered lazily from under Quirrell's turban. "But it's full of holes… Detecting dark wizards isn't just about behavior…"
"Oh?" Cohen raised an eyebrow and whipped out his wand. "What if I pull this off?"
A thick plume of white mist burst from the tip of his wand.
"No way!" Quirrell's voice jumped an octave, staring in disbelief at Cohen's Patronus Charm.
It didn't take shape, but it was definitely there—
And yet, Cohen had cast dark magic hundreds of times in the past six months! The critters he'd offed in Quirrell's office could've carpeted Hogwarts' Great Hall!
"Magic's pretty wild, huh?" Cohen grinned.
"But you… you're not…" Quirrell recalled the Borgin manor experiment—a fusion of dark creatures…
"I took a trip there the other day," Cohen said. "Bit of a mess, but I mostly figured out what that experiment was about. Probably tossed in some weird critters or something."
Quirrell plugged "Cohen can pass as a normal wizard" into the plan Cohen had just laid out.
Wait… could this kid actually pull it off?
How would the Ministry prove Cohen was evil? Call him a Dementor? A wicked dark creature?
What kind of Dementor summons a Patronus?!
Heck, most Ministry folks couldn't even cast that spell!
Quirrell and the Voldemort in his head went quiet for a while.
"So, if you guys mess up my plan, I'll flip sides without a second thought to protect my cover," Cohen warned. "But you're solid partners, and our goals align."
He meant Voldemort's aim to sow chaos and seize power.
"Of course… we'll have plenty of chances to work together in the future…" Voldemort's voice hissed like a snake flicking its tongue. For now, he seemed to buy Cohen's terms.
"So how're you meeting Hagrid? You can't just waltz up to him as yourself to peddle a dragon egg," Cohen said, steering the convo back to Quirrell.
"Maybe a bar in Hogsmeade?" Quirrell suggested. "I know he hits the Three Broomsticks a lot…"
"You're doing shady deals at the Three Broomsticks?" Cohen sighed at Quirrell's lackluster scheme. "At least go to the Hog's Head. Look, I'll tell Hagrid I'm craving some Hog's Head butterbeer. You wait there, then rope him into a card game or something—bet the dragon egg. He won't resist…"
"But how—how do you get Hagrid to fetch butterbeer for you?" Quirrell sounded skeptical.
"I've been tight with Hagrid for ages. You think I'm darting around school all day for exercise? It's networking. The future of Britain's wizarding world is all here at Hogwarts," Cohen said, waving a hand. "Plus, I've got an offer he can't refuse…"
Besides Cohen, there was only one person at Hogwarts who wouldn't freak out or chase off a Nightmare unicorn—
Hagrid would be hooked by a creature he'd never seen before. No way he'd say no to its request.
Like, say, wanting some Hog's Head butterbeer.