Chapter 106: The First Victim-Meow

To throw a wrench into Voldemort's weirdly straightforward and sloppy frame-up scheme, Cohen decided it was time to bust out the reward he'd earned last year.

**[Death Tracker Cloak]** 

**[Description: Turns hills and valleys into doorways to endless screams.]** 

**[Passive - Shadow Itself: When you consume a creature's soul, you and your belongings turn invisible for 20 minutes.]**

An invisible Dementor! 

Cohen just needed to keep a few small animals in his pocket, and he could vanish whenever he wanted. Normal Dementors didn't mess with little critters, so Mick, the tiny Dementor stashed in his pocket, probably wouldn't snatch them either. 

He'd already transfigured the cloak to look like a school robe—perfect for disappearing in a pinch. 

For the next few days, Cohen kept tabs on Lockhart, waiting for him to make his move so he could swoop in and derail it. 

His soul drifted back to the third floor. Lockhart was still there, and in broad daylight, he'd taken down a picture frame. 

"You didn't tell me that Frenzy Charm would make them attack *me* too…" Lockhart whined. "That class could've gotten me dozens more fans!" 

"It's got nothing to do with the spell I taught you," Voldemort snapped. "You can't handle pixies because you're useless, you idiot!" 

"Don't you have any other spells? I've got a third-year class tomorrow—I need to show them something real, or my reputation's toast!" Lockhart said, sounding desperate. He completely ignored Voldemort calling him a waste. "Ugh, I should've never come to teach at Hogwarts. I thought I'd rack up some fame, but then Dumbledore starts going on about combining theory and practice…" 

"I can teach you…" Voldemort said, his tone dangling like bait. "But we'll need to speed up our plan a bit… Don't let Cohen catch on…" 

"Tomorrow?" Lockhart jumped in eagerly. "You help me get through that class, and I'll start your plan tomorrow—wait, hold up. That basilisk you mentioned won't hurt me, right?" 

"Moron," Voldemort muttered, his patience wearing thin with Lockhart's stupidity. "If you die, I'd just have to find another stooge… It's not worth the hassle…" 

Lockhart nodded like a bobblehead, then sneakily hung the portrait back up with all the grace of a thief. 

Cohen lingered a bit longer, but Lockhart didn't spill who their first target was. 

One thing was clear, though: the basilisk showing up today was definitely after Cohen—not because Voldemort sent it. 

But Cohen didn't feel any connection to it—not like when he first met Aria. He was certain he had no blood tie to this basilisk, yet it was *definitely* hunting for someone… 

Weird. Things were getting weirder by the minute. 

Pushing the confusion aside, Cohen knew Lockhart and Voldemort were planning to act tomorrow. Time to cook up a sabotage plan. 

Last time he'd eavesdropped, Voldemort wanted to scribble Cohen's name on the wall to frame him as "Slytherin's Heir" and get him ostracized. 

Cohen couldn't imagine getting the Harry Potter treatment himself. 

Voldemort's game was too obvious—Cohen was sure he wanted to drive a permanent wedge between him and the good guys. Nothing twists things like misunderstandings and false accusations. And if that didn't work? Well, just pile on more misunderstandings and accusations until it did. 

What a jerk! 

If Voldemort was plotting to swap out the goldfish in Cohen's tank, then Cohen wasn't above pouring boiling water on Voldemort's money tree… 

Soul back in his body, Cohen calmly ate dinner, then just as calmly headed to the Room of Requirement to hash things out with Earl. 

"What?" Earl's eyes bulged after Cohen dropped a totally outrageous request. "What the heck did you just say?" 

"Is it that hard?" Cohen raised an eyebrow, giving Earl a look that screamed, *"You're not saying you can't do it, are you?"* 

"How do you—wait, no, I mean…" Earl stammered, scratching at his head—if his claws could even reach that far. "Why do you always come up with stuff I'd never see coming? Making me do your homework was bad enough—now you're stealing my midnight snacks too?!" 

"I need live field mice," Cohen clarified. "Not dead ones." 

"Live ones…" Earl muttered, trying to figure out what Cohen wanted with mice. "Wait, you're not gonna… ew~" 

"…" 

Cohen silently pulled out his wand. 

"How many do you need?" Earl backtracked fast. "I'm a pro at catching mice—you know that. One swoop, bam, got 'em. I'll even wash their little mouths for you." 

"Say one more dumb thing, and I'll shove your beak up your own butt," Cohen growled. "Go get to work!" 

Earl flew off, grumbling under his breath. 

Cohen's plan was simple: use the live mice to go invisible. Suck out one mouse soul, and he'd get 20 minutes of cloak-powered invisibility—plenty of time to tail Lockhart and mess with him. 

Lockhart would probably strike when Cohen wasn't in class—perfect for framing him. If Cohen had an alibi, the whole plan would flop. 

And what would Cohen be doing when he wasn't in class? Oh, just following Lockhart and screwing things up, naturally! 

Compared to first year, second-year Thursdays had a lighter schedule—giving Cohen plenty of time to track Lockhart's moves. 

But Lockhart waited until after the feast to act. He sent Cohen an anonymous letter. 

"Wow, real original," Cohen muttered, clicking his tongue. Luring someone with a letter was a trick *Cohen* had suggested to Voldemort last term—only back then, the target was Dumbledore. Now it was Cohen himself. 

"Who's that letter from?" Harry asked, noticing Cohen staring at it for a while before dinner. 

"Professor Lockhart," Cohen lied smoothly, secretly using his wand under his robe to scribble a fake signature. Thanks to Hermione getting Lockhart to sign a book, Cohen could mimic his handwriting perfectly. "He wants me to meet him on the third-floor corridor before the feast ends. Says it's some secret mission." 

"Secret mission?" Harry frowned, suspicious. "Are you two close or something?" 

"Nope." 

Cohen shook his head and handed the letter to Harry. 

"But I'm gonna head over early and see what he's up to." 

Before the feast wrapped up, Lockhart slipped out of the Great Hall first. 

The big dummy actually thought Cohen wouldn't know who sent the letter. 

It even hinted at Voldemort's involvement—meaning if Cohen used it to clear his name, Dumbledore might still think he was tangled up with Voldemort. 

Too bad Lockhart overestimated Cohen's morals. Even if Cohen *didn't* know it was him, he'd still slap Lockhart's name on it. 

Drag everyone down with him!!! 

The second he left the hall, Cohen sucked the soul out of a mouse in his pocket. The Death Tracker Cloak kicked in perfectly—he was invisible now. 

It didn't take long to find Lockhart. He was outside the third-floor bathroom. Voldemort had taught him a ghost-repelling spell, so Moaning Myrtle couldn't meddle. 

Lockhart stepped inside the bathroom—and not long after, he came out, the basilisk trailing him from within the walls. 

Lockhart left the bathroom, and the basilisk slithered along inside the pipes, right behind him. 

*["Kill… kill…"]* 

Cohen stuck close, tailing Lockhart. 

Their target turned out to be… a creature that had already spotted Lockhart. 

Lockhart let out a relieved breath—he didn't have the guts to actually attack a student. 

"Hiss—no, wait, it's like this, right? Hiss—hiss-hiss… (*Kill it!*)" Lockhart fumbled, trying to recall the second Parseltongue phrase Voldemort had taught him. 

Cohen glanced at the only other living thing in the corridor besides him and Lockhart, and his mouth twitched. 

Great. The first victim was none other than Mrs. Norris. 

(*End of Chapter*)