Cohen hadn't exactly written "Let's go take down the Ministry of Magic" in the letter he sent to Voldemort and Lucius. After all, Voldemort still had no real power to speak of, and Lucius was still sitting on the fence.
Instead, he subtly expressed how "sumr break is so boring, I wonder if there's anything thrilling and a little violent I could get involved in."
Voldemort, true to form, didn't disappoint. The very next day after the Earl delivered the letter, a reply ca back.
"Bloody hell, I don't even know if I'm a good Dentor or a bad one anymore!"
The Earl, visibly uneasy, muttered upon his return.
"I just delivered a letter to Voldemort!"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it—you're Voldemort's mailman now," Cohen said casually. "No need to brag."
"Who's bragging?!" the Earl shot back. "I set out to raise you into a wholeso, upstanding Dentor—but look at you now…"
"Now I am wholeso and upstanding," Cohen nodded seriously. "Voldemort asked to et him at the far north end of the Quidditch World Cup campsite once the finals are over…"
"et up for what?" The Earl had a bad feeling. "Don't tell … a massacre?"
"He's not that bold," Cohen sighed.
"So you would be up for a massacre?!" The Earl's eyes widened.
"You were cheering on to burn down the Ministry just last night," Cohen retorted. "Hypocrite."
"I was cheering for you to replace that idiot Fudge," the Earl corrected. "Not to replace everyone in the wizarding world with Dentors!"
"Killing is way easier than governing," Cohen shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not that eager to be Minister for Magic anymore—having Edward take the job sounds a lot more comfortable. Sa result, less effort. I still get to be the rich, well-connected kid…"
—
After burning Voldemort's letter, Cohen packed a few things—Harry had invited him over to 12 Grimmauld Place.
But it quickly beca clear this wasn't going to be a normal visit.
The inside of 12 Grimmauld Place was… a disaster. Filthy, chaotic, and clearly beyond salvation.
"Filth! Scum! Stains of evil!"
The mont Cohen stepped inside, the heavy velvet curtains lining the entrance hall suddenly flew open, revealing a massive portrait.
It was of an old witch in a black bonnet, screaming at the top of her lungs:
"Half-breeds! Freaks! Abominations! Get out of my house! How dare you defile the noble ho of my ancestors—"
Harry imdiately rushed to the fra, trying to yank the curtains closed again—but they wouldn't budge.
The portrait had been enchanted with all sorts of protective spells. Neither Harry's nor Cohen's magic could do a thing.
In the end, they had to settle for silencing charms around the painting.
But that portrait wasn't even the worst part of the house. As soon as they stepped into the drawing room, the ominous shapes hanging from the ceiling and the strange things writhing behind the curtains were enough to send most sane people running for the door.
"That's Sirius's mum," Harry said miserably after letting Cohen in. "She's horrible. We've tried everything. I swear, just cleaning up the things behind the curtains would take and Sirius a whole term…"
"At least the bedrooms are a little cleaner now," Sirius said, erging from a side room, covered in dust and wearing a worn robe. "Oh hey, Cohen—did you like the birthday gift I sent?"
After months of recovery, Sirius seed much better ntally.
At the very least, he no longer treated Cohen like a soul-sucking nace.
Which made things a bit more tolerable between them.
"It was cool," Cohen said. "But honestly, I probably won't use the 'interchangeable black hood.' When I transform, the Dentor robes are made of magical material. They don't collect dust."
"Fair enough. I didn't do a full study on Dentors," Sirius joked. "I've only ever seen them from afar—or way too up close."
"Cohen, I cleaned your room last night," Harry said, helpfully grabbing Cohen's trunk. "But I might not be able to show you around the place today—it's massive, and I still need to prep Ron and Hermione's rooms."
"No worries," Cohen waved him off.
He hadn't co here to chit-chat with Harry anyway—Cohen had a more important objective in mind.
Sure, he'd just agreed to a new "partnership" with Voldemort that morning, but betrayal was always on the table.
Especially when it ca to the Slytherin's Locket hidden sowhere in this house.
If Cohen rembered correctly, this Horcrux—once a magical heirloom—had been stolen from Voldemort by Sirius's younger brother, Regulus Black, and left in the care of the Black family's house-elf, Kreacher.
As Harry led Cohen down a hallway toward the guest room, they ran into Kreacher.
He was an old, swollen-nosed house-elf who looked like he'd gone slightly mad.
"…slls like the filth of the sewers. Blood traitors. Dirty little half-blood monsters. That disgraceful runaway dragging these brats in to defile my mistress's noble house… Oh, my poor mistress, if only she knew what garbage was being let in…"
"Kreacher!" Harry snapped—usually he let the house-elf rant, but calling Cohen a "dirty half-blood monster" right to his face was too much.
Kreacher froze—deliberately putting on an exaggerated expression of surprise.
"Kreacher did not see the young master," he said with a deep bow toward Harry. "This is the nasty little orphan adopted by that disgraceful runaway."
"Have you considered replacing your house-elf?" Cohen muttered.
"Just ignore him…" Harry hurriedly pulled Cohen away. "At least he helps clean a bit. This place is massive. Sirius wants to chuck him out, though. Every ti we try to throw sothing away, Kreacher sneaks it into his room."
"His room?" Cohen latched onto that keyword. "The house-elf has a room?"
"The cupboard next to the kitchen," Harry replied. "It's just a heap of junk in there—you probably don't want to go…"
Don't want to go?
That cupboard might just be the only place in this house worth Cohen's attention—the likely hiding place of Slytherin's Locket.
"What's this? Slytherin's Locket? Gotta take a bite first."
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