Thursday was the day students hated most, because it was packed with classes.
Their resentment ran as deep as the sexy witches in the Daily Prophet's trending section, because most young wizards couldn't take their coveted flying lessons until next week.
Friday was different—at least not for the Gryffindors. They only had Potions in the morning, which meant their weekend arrived early after Potions.
Harry received a letter from Hagrid at breakfast, inviting him, Ron, and Cohen to spend the afternoon at the cabin.
"No, I can't go," Cohen said, throwing up his hands. "I have to return Quirrell's book—he's been teasing me. It's only halfway through, and it's missing somewhere important."
The afternoon was Cohen's social time, and his social partner was Lord Voldemort, the great sin-value piggy bank.
By now, Cohen felt well-trained. No matter how amusing the situation, he wouldn't laugh. Previously, every time he thought of Quirrell's old dandruff clinging to his scarf and getting rubbed into Voldemort's mouth, Cohen couldn't help but laugh.
In Potions class, Cohen watched Snape's bullying of Harry unfold. Asking a newly enrolled wizard to answer questions for the next semester so early in the class was a bit too obvious.
Snape's targeting of Harry was palpable.
Especially after Neville exploded the cauldron, it was obvious to almost everyone in the class ("Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the porcupine quills? You think his mistake makes you any better? Gryffindor lost another point because of you!").
"He hates me, I can see it," Harry said glumly after Potions class.
"He hates you, why did he give me extra homework... I was laughing at you." Cohen was equally puzzled.
Was Snape a protective child, allowing him to bully Harry alone?
Merlin's mink underwear! What a terrifying British guy!
"How dare you mention that!" Harry immediately grabbed Cohen's neck. "You laughed the loudest at me in class!"
"I thought you couldn't hear anything with your ears so red—"
"I heard it! With both ears!"
—In
the afternoon, Harry and Ron set out to find Hagrid, and Cohen arrived at Quirrell's office with the half-completed Dark Arts primer.
Strange noises were heard from inside.
"Master… please…"
"Can we… have a better… way…"
Was there some new play going on inside?
Although he knew it was Quirrell talking to Voldemort in his head, Cohen still felt it was inappropriate to go in now.
But suddenly, the noise died down, as if the person inside knew someone was eavesdropping.
Cohen felt it would be rude if he didn't knock.
"Knock, knock!"
Cohen knocked.
"Please, come in…"
Quirrell replied weakly, pretending to stutter again.
Cohen pushed open the door, just in time to see Quirrell frantically tucking the large purple scarf around his head.
"Yes, Mr. Norton..." Quirrell forced a twitchy smile at Cohen, his acting increasingly adept at being neurotic. "Yes, do you have any questions?"
"Ah, I read the book you gave me—though it has nothing to do with Transfiguration—but I still really liked the spells in it," Cohen said bluntly.
"Really?" Quirrell stammered happily. "Then—" "
What about the second half? Do you have the second half?" Cohen said. "The last paragraph of this one is about the Exorcism Charm—I specifically looked for some other books for reference, but since I can't borrow books from the restricted section, I can only find a few old newspapers that mention it—it's about the creation of Inferi, right?"
"Hah, yes, Mr. Norton, I'm not sure about you, a young wizard like you..." Quirrell tried to show his integrity, half-heartedly.
"Isn't this the book you wanted me to read?" Cohen looked at Quirrell sincerely, "I thought you would be more open to the dark arts—"
"Let me talk to him..." Voldemort's voice sounded slowly.
"But Master..."
Cohen could not hear Voldemort's subsequent whispers.
"Alright..."
Quirrell cast a spell at the office door, slowly turned his back, and turned the back of his head towards Cohen, peeling off his scarf one circle at a time.
Cohen understood Voldemort's plan: to win him over, or perhaps to Obliviate him—after all, under Dumbledore's watch, he wouldn't dare actually lay a hand on his student.
The long purple scarf fell to the ground, and Quirrell's head was completely exposed to the air.
Where Quirrell's head should have been, a pale human face appeared, with glowing red eyes, and two slender, snake-like nostrils below.
Voldemort moved his stiff face and looked at Cohen.
But Voldemort was surprised to see no fear on Cohen's face.
However, Voldemort believed that this was because Cohen's desire for power had overcome his fear of the terrible, which was very helpful to his plan—trust was not the basis for cooperation, but profit was.
"Very courageous... child..." Voldemort said in a hoarse voice, "I have always admired courage. You want to learn more powerful magic, right..."
"Are you Professor Quirrell? Or..."
Cohen tilted his head and pretended not to know him - after all, "Voldemort" had been dead for ten years, and an eleven-year-old child would only know the name, not his appearance.
"It doesn't matter who I am..." Voldemort tempted, "but I can teach you knowledge... the knowledge that Hogwarts dare not teach you... powerful knowledge..."
"Oh? How powerful?" Cohen expressed reasonable doubt. "
I have killed hundreds of people with my own hands... In front of me, each of them was powerless to resist..."
Voldemort hissed:
"I can give you power over everyone, lead you to power... even defeat death..."
"Hundreds..." Cohen thought about his record, "What about the next day?" "
???"
Voldemort said nothing for several seconds, and the scene was silent and a little awkward.
"I mean, you killed hundreds of people in one day, so what about the next day?" Cohen asked seriously. "After all, Dumbledore said that when I was one year old, I killed over three hundred people in a flash—" "
Lying is not a request for instruction—"
"Master... what he said is true..." Quirrell, with his back to Cohen, reminded Voldemort in a trembling voice, "It was a test subject of the Burke family... Ten years ago, it went out of control... Over three hundred people in the laboratory had their souls sucked out of them..." "
..."
Does a monster like this even need to learn the Dark Arts?!
It itself is the most vicious spell, isn't it?
Voldemort wanted to scold Quirrell for not telling him about this sooner. Ten years ago, he must have been wandering around in spirit form, unaware of this.
"Well, it's understandable that you haven't killed many people. After all, there aren't many people in the wizarding world..." Cohen said regretfully. "How about this, you teach me more magic, and I'll grant you a wish, how about that?"
Whenever Voldemort needed help to fulfill his wishes—it was always those timid wizards who asked him for help.
I felt like Cohen's words had made me look a bit undervalued.
"Do you have a wish you want fulfilled?"
Cohen urged, seeing Voldemort remained silent. It wasn't like he was actually going to help him fulfill his wish.
"Rob a bunch of Galleons?"
"Steal Hogwarts treasures?"
"Or maybe help you kill a few thousand more people—from what you just said, killing people seems to give you a lot of pleasure—after all, Hogwarts is short of everything except living people..."
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