Do they *have* to saddle Cohen with jobs that match his "expertise"?
Looks like Dumbledore's in for a treat—Cohen's about to end up raising *three* basilisks.
Back at school, Cohen barely had a second to breathe before Harry, Ron, and Hermione sward him and dragged him into the girls' bathroom—yep, Moaning Myrtle's haunt again.
"Cohen, we've got a plan," Harry said.
"A real thrilling one," Ron chid in.
"One that breaks a ton of school rules," Hermione added.
"One I'm not joining," Cohen replied dryly, eyeing the trio.
"What is this, a Shakespeare play rehearsal?"
"Aren't you even a little curious?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Did soone spill the beans already?"
"I'm more interested in whether there were any attacks while I was ho," Cohen said, playing dumb. "No word's gotten out—no parents seem to know about students getting hit."
"Dumbledore must've used so magic to keep it under wraps—stop a panic," Hermione said, sharp as ever. "But there haven't been any new attacks lately. Plus, Professor Sprout's Mandrakes are almost ready. The petrified kids will be back to normal soon and can tell us who attacked them."
"If that's the case, why cook up so rule-breaking, heart-pounding ga-plan?" Cohen shot back.
"Because 'soon' ans before the term ends," Hermione explained. "I don't think Voldemort's petrifying students just to give them a sester off."
"He'd do sothing that nice?" Ron said, sounding almost jealous.
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, throwing him a death glare. "This isn't a good thing! Why would a mass-murdering dark wizard only petrify Muggle-borns? Think about it—his goal's gotta be killing them, not helping them skip finals!"
"So what's your plan?" Cohen asked.
"We're gonna question the pri suspect," Hermione said. "Draco Malfoy."
"His moves lately are way too shady," Harry added. "We'll use Polyjuice Potion to turn into Slytherins and get the truth out of him. He'd spill everything to his crew—if I were working with Voldemort, I'd totally tell you guys if you asked."
"But it's a long haul—takes a month to brew," Hermione said, frowning. "And it's tricky. Cohen, I was hoping you'd help make it. If we ss it up, we could die."
"And the ingredients are risky," Ron piped up. "Like Boomslang skin—we'd have to swipe it from Snape's office. That's as deadly as botching the potion."
"So…" Cohen raised an eyebrow.
"If it's that tough to brew and the stuff's that hard to get… why not just buy it?"
"It's a restricted potion, Cohen," Hermione said patiently, like she'd been through this before. "Harry had the sa idea."
"My mom used to be Rose Bork," Cohen said. "Guess where the Bork family business is."
"Bloody hell…" Ron's jaw dropped. "Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley! Fred and George told about that place—it's all dark magic stuff…"
"So keep it quiet," Cohen said. "And don't tell my mom. I'll write Borgin and get so. Saves you the hassle with Snape. Harry's paying, though."
"No problem," Harry said with a casual wave.
Cohen knew a hundred-plus Galleons were pocket change for Harry. The kid had inherited the whole Potter Shampoo fortune last year—couldn't spend it fast enough.
Rich boy, hungry, feed .
A prep plan that'd been stressing them out all break was now neatly tied up. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were practically glowing with relief.
Cohen caught sight of a long, slithery soul lurking under the floor. Sissoko was here for him. With Harry around, it stayed quiet.
Making an excuse to slip away, Cohen headed straight for the Room of Requirent.
Getting the room to open a hole in the wall was easy enough. First, though, he had to deal with Earl, who'd been hiding out since they got back.
"What're you up to now?" Earl asked warily, eyeing the black blindfold in Cohen's hand.
"Just gotta chat with the basilisk. Why so jumpy?" Cohen said.
"Scared half to death—I thought you'd found *another* basilisk," Earl said, relaxing. "You're practically the top basilisk breeder in Britain—no, scratch that, you *are* the top basilisk breeder in Britain."
"Because no one else breeds basilisks," Cohen pointed out.
He decided not to ntion he might soon be raising another baby basilisk. No need to stress Earl into a breakdown.
After tying the blindfold on Earl, Cohen had the Room of Requirent open a hole into the wall's pipes.
"Son!"
Sissoko slithered out, buzzing with excitent and sticking to its usual greeting.
"Was gonna share so good news, but now it's just bad news," Cohen said calmly. "Don't you hibernate?"
"I woke up before the old geezer—couldn't wait to see you!"
Sissoko nudged Cohen's head with its snout. It'd grown again. Used to coil up and take half the room—now it was almost brushing the ceiling.
How'd it even sneak into the Gryffindor dorms back then? Tail hanging out the window, head in Cohen's bed? Or head out, tail snuggled in?
"Old perv," Cohen muttered out of nowhere.
"Huh? ?" Sissoko asked, pointing its tail at itself.
"Nothing, just venting. You go first—why're you here? Then I'll tell you my thing," Cohen said, picking off a scrap of shed skin stuck to Sissoko's forehead.
OCD kicked in—those glossy dark green scales looked wrong with dried-up flakes on them.
"My birthday's coming up!" Sissoko said, practically bouncing. "January 31st! You know what that ans—"
"In human society, only kids get birthday gifts from their parents," Cohen cut in. "No three-hundred-year-old throws a fit for presents."
"I'm not human," Sissoko shot back, suddenly clever as hell.
"So I *can* throw a fit for presents."
"That it?" Cohen asked, already thinking of a gift. "January 31st, right?"
Seed like basilisk birthdays all lined up around then—hatched when Sirius shone brightest.
Sissoko nodded like crazy.
"What're you getting ?"
"A rooster that crows like a champ," Cohen deadpanned.
"?"
Sissoko froze, staring at him.
"Maybe even your long-lost dad," Cohen teased. "Kidding—could be your mom. Hard to tell if a rooster laying eggs should be a dad or a mom…"
Sissoko let out a weird, broken hiss, looking ready to shatter.
"Alright, no more jokes. January 31st night, I'll take you sowhere," Cohen said. "Mystery gift—the kind you've always wanted."
He'd dump the baby basilisk on Sissoko to raise. Save him a ton of ti and effort.
"Sweet!" Sissoko perked up, buzzing again. "Gonna go brag to the old guy—er, tell him about it."
"Don't eat too much on the 31st," Cohen warned. "There's a buffet."
(End of Chapter)
Reviews
All reviews (0)