"…" Newt let out a relieved sigh. "You don't have to break the rules and use magic outside school during the holidays. I can handle those things."
"Rolf's not of age either, and I bet he's used magic," Cohen shot back.
"Huh?" Rolf blinked, caught off guard as the conversation turned to him. "Me?"
"If you don't get caught, it doesn't count," Cohen said firmly. "And if you do get caught but no one grabs you, it still doesn't count."
"You haven't told your classmates about this, right?" Newt sighed. "The last thing the Ministry needs is underage wizards running wild again…"
Kids were hard enough to manage, but kids with wands? They could spark all sorts of trouble in their neighborhoods.
"Nope," Cohen said. "I'm a good boy."
Privileges were only special if he had them. If everyone else did too, they wouldn't be privileges anymore.
"So, how do we get in? Apparition? Or sneak in invisible like before?" Rolf asked. "This place doesn't look like it could house a full-grown Griffin…"
From the outside, the town hall was divided into small, windowed rooms. A Griffin's size would make turning around in one impossible.
"Maybe it's been chopped up," Cohen mused. "Think about it, what would make it…"
[Grandkid, keep it down. It's about to cry,] the old Horned Serpent interrupted.
The Griffin looked distraught—and it seemed Cohen's words had triggered it.
[Huh? It understands English?] Cohen's eyes widened.
[Maybe?] the serpent said vaguely.
"Or it could be hidden in a larger, concealed room," Newt said. "I once ran into dragon poachers in Romania. They hid dragon corpses in a hollowed-out building. Most magical creatures don't work for Muggle-style dissection anyway. Their magic comes from their living bodies, then intact corpses, and only after that…"
"That's grim," Rolf said, shuddering at the thought of what might've happened to the creatures in Cohen's suitcase if Newt hadn't saved them.
"I get it," Cohen nodded. "Every adventure needs a boss room in a basement, with a treasure chest as a reward for beating the boss."
"Sounds like a Muggle game," Rolf said, curious. "Why do villains always hang out in basements?"
"Because they love dark, damp places and can't afford better rent," Cohen said, rubbing his chin. "Or maybe it's a universal law, like how the ultimate answer to the universe is 42."
"'The end of an adventure is a basement' doesn't sound like a universal answer," Rolf countered.
"It's a metaphor, not literal—"
"Scree!" The Griffin squawked, reminding Cohen they had work to do.
"Oh, right!" Cohen nudged the serpent's belly. "Get to it!"
Going invisible under roadside shade might have loopholes or cause the Greek Ministry some annoying headaches, but that wasn't Cohen's problem. If anyone asked, he'd just say, "Blame that Horned Serpent you worship."
They slipped into the town hall undetected.
"Daddy! A whiny bird stole my ice cream!" a little boy sobbed to his father. "I couldn't see it, and it pecked my hand—look!"
He showed his dad a hand with a vanished red mark and a smudge of melted ice cream.
"Jacob, you think lying like that will get you another ice cream?" his father said sternly. "You got it ten seconds ago. Eating that fast is bad for your stomach."
"My dad would never do me like that," Cohen said, full of pity.
"You told the Griffin to steal that ice cream, didn't you?" Rolf said, his voice tight.
"No clue. The Griffin just felt like repaying me by snatching it from that kid," Cohen replied.
[Sin Value +1]
[Note: Stay True to Your Roots]
Having a pet that understood human speech was always handy—Earl and the Griffin were prime examples. Though Earl wasn't always obedient, so he ranked a notch below the Griffin as a "good pet."
"Scree!" After leading them on a long detour, the Griffin stopped in a corridor at the back of the ground floor.
It had brushed past plenty of people along the way. Every tourist who felt its wings or tail looked at their hands, then at the seemingly empty air, confused.
Newt had to cast minor Obliviation charms on each one to avoid a scene.
"Is it telling us to go down?" Rolf asked, hearing the Griffin tap its beak on the floor. "Is there a way down?"
He crouched, tapping the ground with his wand.
"Hang on," Cohen said. He had a better idea.
He split off half his soul, stretching it downward.
If there was a hidden basement, it'd be deep—Cohen found nothing but foundation in the first three meters.
At four meters, he hit it: a dark, cavernous space lit by two dim incandescent bulbs. The basement was mostly empty, with food bowls in the center and a drain leading to the city sewers, likely for the animals' waste.
No people, just what looked like animal souls huddled in the shadows.
"Found it," Cohen said, pulling his soul back and addressing Rolf and Newt, who were still crouched.
"What?" Rolf asked, shocked. "I didn't even hear a hollow—buried that deep?"
"Probably to avoid wizard detection. Probing spells only reach nine feet through solid material," Cohen said. "No one's down there, just animals. I'll take us down—"
Before Newt or Rolf could react, Cohen grabbed them and flashed into the basement room.
Then he went back for the Griffin and the serpent.
"Roar!"
As soon as they appeared, a deep bellow echoed from the shadows.
"I smell my son. Easy, Leon," a calm male voice said.
A golden Griffin stepped slowly from the darkness, its sharp gaze sweeping over the group.
The old Horned Serpent recognized it and dropped its invisibility.
"Scree!" Cohen's Griffin chirped happily, bounding toward it.
"?" Cohen raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say it was dead?"
"?"
The older Griffin looked at Cohen, then at its son pouncing beside it, and suddenly put it together.
It pinned the younger Griffin's head with a claw.
"So you're the kid spreading rumors I died, huh?!"
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