Chapter 56: "The Pure Unicorn Is Your Lie"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione's excitement over the dragon egg faded quickly, and soon they remembered why they had come here in the first place.

"Hagrid," Harry called out to Hagrid, who was busy adding firewood to the hearth.

"Da-da-da… hm?" Hagrid was humming an off-key lullaby to the dragon egg when Harry's voice interrupted him. He assumed Harry had a question about the egg.

"We think Snape is plotting to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Harry said.

"I've told you, there's no need to worry about that. Snape would never try to steal—wait…" Hagrid suddenly paused as something dawned on him. "How do you even know about the Philosopher's Stone?!"

"It's—" Harry began.

"It was me," Cohen cut in, disappointedly confessing before anyone else could. "I've given up on it. There are no secrets here—every one of you is a self-detonating soldier."

"A self-detonating soldier?" Ron asked curiously.

"We were wondering if you could tell us… besides Fluffy, what else is guarding the Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Of course I can't tell you," Hagrid said, his brow furrowing. "First, I don't even know myself. Second, you lot already know too much. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. That stone is perfectly safe here…"

"Oh, Hagrid, you probably just don't *want* to tell us. You must know something—nothing that happens here ever escapes your notice," Hermione said in a sweet, flattering tone.

The charm of a little girl acting this way was undeniably powerful—Cohen noticed Hagrid's mouth twitching into a smile beneath his beard, despite his efforts to hide it.

"Actually, we just want to know who designed the protections," Hermione continued. "We're curious who, besides you, Dumbledore trusts to help him."

Hagrid couldn't resist Hermione's wheedling.

"Alright… I suppose it's fine to tell you a little—let me think. He borrowed Fluffy from me, then got a few other teachers to cast spells… Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall…"

Hagrid counted them off on his fingers.

"Professor Quirrell—of course, Dumbledore cast some spells himself too. Oh, wait, there's one more—yes, Professor Snape was part of the protection plan as well."

Terrifying! Cohen suddenly realized that Hermione, an eleven-year-old girl, was already skilled at manipulating people's hearts—women were truly frightening.

Good thing he didn't need to rely on such scheming. Dementors didn't require these social tactics.

The Imperius Curse, the Killing Curse, or a Dementor's Kiss—any one of them could make someone obey. Or, for something crueler, he could smear his liquid-curse blood on their face or summon Allie for a "mama charge."

Thank goodness Earl wasn't here, or he'd probably tease Cohen again for being such a…

*Knock, knock, knock—*

A sharp tapping came from the window. A brown screech owl stood on the sill.

"It's your talking owl, Cohen," Hagrid pointed out, then remembered that Cohen's owl could speak—and was quite the chatterbox. "It won't blab about the dragon egg, will it?"

"It knows the difference between keeping a secret and losing its feathers—or worse," Cohen assured him confidently, cracking the window slightly.

"Careful!" Hagrid exclaimed as cold air rushed in, quickly stepping in front of the fire to shield the dragon egg from the chill.

"Easy! You're gonna snap my feathers off!" Earl squawked, struggling as Cohen pulled him inside.

"Don't you know how to treat a pet? I'm out there running around for you every day—it's exhausting!"

"You spend 99% of your time sleeping or chasing Hedwig—and still no owl eggs to show for it," Cohen retorted, ruthlessly exposing Earl's lies. "Plus, I buy you owl feed that costs a Galleon a bag. Don't forget your worth—a measly ten-Sickle street owl."

"A Galleon a bag…" Ron let out a despairing groan, looking like he might faint.

Cohen pulled a small rolled-up note from Earl's claw.

It was in Quirrell's handwriting: 

*[Come to my office.]*

It seemed Quirrell was ready to move the plan forward. To get the Philosopher's Stone without raising suspicion, Cohen needed to play along with Quirrell. After all, under Dumbledore's watchful eye, Cohen was currently "the innocent student threatened by Quirrell's unknown dark curse."

Bidding farewell to Hagrid, Harry, and the others, Cohen left first.

When Cohen pushed open the door to Quirrell's office, he found Quirrell pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath.

"Ah—Co-Cohen…" Quirrell greeted, still not fully adjusted to speaking normally.

"You can talk normally now," Cohen said, casting a sealing charm on the office door. "Have you found a way past that three-headed dog?"

"I have," Quirrell replied, though his expression was grim. "The Dark Lord is impatient… He wants me to act quickly. The strength he regained from the unicorn blood is fading fast—but Dumbledore's always at the school… I don't dare…"

"Fool…" Voldemort's voice roared from the back of Quirrell's head. "Are you that afraid of that old man?!"

But the one most afraid of Dumbledore is you, Mr. Voldemort.

Cohen didn't comment on Voldemort's behavior—perhaps he was just too desperate for the Philosopher's Stone, eager for a new body.

"P-perhaps… perhaps I could get more unicorn blood for you… those centaurs… we could wait a little longer…" Quirrell pleaded, his words sounding like self-talk since Voldemort was attached to the back of his head.

"You need unicorn blood?" Cohen asked suddenly.

[*Nightmares can blend into unicorn herds—unicorns can't distinguish between curses. Their own blood already carries a curse, so to them, a Nightmare is just a differently colored kin.*] 

That was a passage Cohen had read in *Origins of Wicked Creatures* earlier.

If that was the case, getting normal unicorn blood didn't seem too hard—worst case, he could ask Allie for help.

"What, Cohen, do you have another way?" Quirrell asked eagerly, clinging to the idea like a lifeline. This twisted dark magic experiment of a boy always brought "surprises," even if those surprises often turned into scares.

"I'm on good terms with the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. I'm the purest, after all. I can get you unicorn blood—guaranteed pure," Cohen promised.

"Wonderful!" 

Quirrell didn't even question whether Cohen could actually do it—why would he? If the Dark Lord trusted this kid, he must be capable, especially a kid who tossed Unforgivable Curses around like fireworks.

"Unicorns possess powerful magic… If you can manage this… I'm pleased… child…" Voldemort's tone toward Cohen was noticeably kinder than it was toward Quirrell.

"You're getting happy too soon," Cohen replied. He wasn't about to let Voldemort freeload—his services came with conditions.

"This is a deal. I help you, and you give me something in return."

"Very reasonable…" Voldemort approved of Cohen's nature. "Only the clever see through the façade of human kindness… Between people, there's only profit…"

(End of Chapter)