Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 411 "If I don't help her, who will?"

What Cohen had to do was not complicated, or rather, whether it was Voldemort or Cohen, what they had to do was very direct and simple.

But Cohen was truly surprised to see Snape here.

Logically speaking, Voldemort shouldn't have believed Snape so quickly... he even directly mentioned his plan to retrieve the Prophecy Orb from the Ministry of Magic.

Was it because of the changes brought about by my appearance?

"Is that all?" Cohen asked. "Actually, you could have just written to me..."

“I don’t trust letters,” Voldemort said coldly. “Some things are more reliable when discussed face to face.”

“Then I’m leaving,” Cohen said.

“Perhaps we’ll have to wait a while,” Voldemort said with amusement. “I remember you once said you could provide me with your blood…”

"Haven't you already gotten your own body?" Cohen said generously. "But we've been working together for so long, a little bit wouldn't hurt—do you have a bottle?"

Voldemort waved his wand gently, and a small silver bottle slowly took shape before Cohen, appearing to be made of flowing silver—Voldemort was displaying his magical skills.

However, Cohen wasn't sure if this magical creation could withstand his liquid curse...

"..."

Unsurprisingly, the bottle dissolved immediately after the cap was put on.

"Replace the glass?" Cohen asked.

The scene was a little awkward—at least Voldemort's expression wasn't too good.

It's unclear whether it was because Cohen's blood was too destructive to be used to create a body, or because his own spell was ruined by a few drops of blood, causing him to lose face.

“Liquid curse…” Voldemort stared at Cohen and hissed.

He had read that book, "Unveiling the Secrets of Cutting-Edge Black Magic," so he naturally knew what this kind of liquid was.

“Slow down, the wound will heal.” Cohen held up his finger and shook it.

"So it seems... it's no use to me anymore." Voldemort's pupils shrank to slits.

Voldemort himself could create the Liquid Curse, and Cohen's blood was no different from the Liquid Curse.

He wouldn't be foolish enough to use a liquid that could harm the soul to create a body.

But... how did a body come to use liquid curse as "blood"?
Or is it that Cohen wasn't even a living "creature" at all?
Voldemort looked at Cohen with a hint of curiosity, but it vanished in an instant, eventually turning back into the "Dark Lord's indifference."

Since there was nothing else to do, Cohen declined Narcissa's invitation to stay; the atmosphere at Malfoy Manor was still not as good as at the Order of the Phoenix.

----------------

After sneaking back to number 12 Grimmauld Place, it was already close to afternoon.

Cohen first discreetly returned to his room and checked the box to see if anyone had entered it.

“No strangers have come in,” said the goat. “Only your friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley have visited you, and I told them you were in the castle tending to the little snake.”

“I bet Harry feels really guilty.” Cohen raised an eyebrow. “What about the basilisk?”

[It was sullen in the castle, so Sissoko went to comfort it.] The water serpent's tail sighed. [If this were my daughter, I'd help it kidnap that wizard—he'd have to come whether he wanted to or not, and I'd have to coax him before he could leave.] "It doesn't really understand emotions. Maybe it's because it doesn't have any other basilisks its age to play with... Speaking of which, snakes aren't supposed to be social animals, are they?" Cohen wondered.

“But chickens are social animals,” the goat cautioned. “The basilisk hatched from an egg.”

To avoid being "accidentally" hurt by the Basilisk because of Harry, Cohen decided to visit it again after some time.

As soon as Cohen stepped out of the box, he heard a knock on the door.

“Cohen! The Earl is back—and he brought with him…emmmm…”

"What?" Cohen opened the door and poked his head out.

"In the living room—" Harry said with a strange expression, "why don't you want to go see?"

There's really no need to look—Cohen had already heard the noise from downstairs.

The constant cooing sounds made it sound like an owl tea party was taking place downstairs.

“How many owls did you fucking buy!” Cohen’s eyes widened as he swore, a rare occurrence for him.

"Their lives are so miserable," the Earl said, embracing one owl with one wing and another leaning against his back, looking quite content. "They've lived in those dark cages since they were little, with missing parents, heartless keepers, and a life that's all about price... If I don't help them, who will?"

"Can you even call them by name?" Cohen scoffed. "You're just trying to satisfy your filthy reproductive desires."

“Making love is the noblest thing in the world,” the count retorted logically. “You little brat wouldn’t understand about birds.”

“Cohen, so many owls…” Ron said enviously, “Can I have one? I’ll give you all my allowance—”

“Go ahead and grab whichever one you like,” Cohen said. “Call the others over and each of them can take one.”

“Really?!” Ron exclaimed with delight.

"Fake!" The earl's hair stood on end. "No way! These are my wives!"

"You've got some nerve, haven't you? What owl keeps twenty-seven wives?" Cohen said viciously. "I don't know which owl shop would dare sell one owl twenty-seven female owls—"

"I told him I was a cursed wizard who could turn back into human form by buying thirty owls," the count said arrogantly. "Unfortunately, there were only twenty-seven left in the shop. The shopkeeper was initially reluctant—but his attitude completely changed when he saw I had money—"

“There’s a reason you’re single for 400 chapters,” Cohen said coldly.

"How about this one?" Ron picked out a brown owl, and for some reason, the more he looked at it, the more it resembled Hermione.

"No!" the count exclaimed, his eyes wide. "She's my woman for tonight—"

“This is the one,” Cohen said, feeling very relieved. “Ron, you can take it; it’s yours.”

“You little brat, you can’t do that—” the count said.

"In the 'Owl Purchase Contract,' am I the client or are you?" Cohen said. "Buying so many female owls, are you opening an owl brothel?"

"Puff—" Crookshan was purring loudly at an owl that had stolen his food bowl.

“What’s going on in the living room—Ron! What’s happening here! Why are there so many owls?!” Mrs. Weasley had just rushed back from outside—she was carrying bags of supplies.

(End of this chapter)