"You're in more of a hurry than I am?" Voldemort asked.
"Harry and the others have already figured out that the creature in the Chamber of Secrets is a giant serpent," Cohen replied. "And just five minutes later they raced to Dumbledore's office to report it—now you only have one shot left at an attack. Who knows if Dumbledore will trace the clues from the last assault back to the Chamber." 😬
"Huh?" Voldemort responded in disbelief.
Everything had happened so fast that Voldemort's next plan was thrown into chaos.
"Let's just go ahead and kidnap Harry," Cohen suggested. "Attack one of his close friends—don't kill them outright; just bring them to the Chamber. Then I'll tip him off about the location, and he'll definitely show up." 😉
"You're right..." Voldemort agreed, finding Cohen's plan perfectly reasonable. "A hot-headed idiot like him would certainly do that. But besides this plan, there's one more thing I need your help with."
"Hey, we're partners—just tell me what you need," Cohen promised with unwavering loyalty.
"I need you to retrieve an important item," Voldemort explained. "It's in the corridor on the eighth floor… in the Room of Requirement…"
Cohen immediately understood what Voldemort meant—the Ravenclaw Diadem.
But then he wondered, what on earth did Voldemort plan to do with his Horcrux?
"I know what you're talking about," Cohen nodded. "I discovered that room last year. It's just an empty space that can transform into any kind of furniture I need—I've been using it as my study room."
"No, no, no…" Voldemort interjected as if revealing a hidden treasure, "that room can take on another form."
"What do you mean?" Cohen asked, frowning. "What else can it do?"
"As long as you enter with the thought 'I need a place to store stuff,' it transforms into a gigantic storage room," Voldemort explained. "Inside, you'll find the gift I'm giving you—the Ravenclaw Diadem."
"I thought that thing was lost forever," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow.
"I found it," Voldemort declared excitedly. "It's useless to me, but it should be incredibly useful to you. Once you wear it, you'll gain wisdom—it'll allow you to absorb all the knowledge Hogwarts has to offer..."
"You should have mentioned that earlier!" Cohen exclaimed in delight.
Little Voldemort's mind was truly wicked...
Now, Cohen understood why Voldemort had previously sent Lockhart to fetch the Ravenclaw Diadem.
Was Voldemort planning to use the Horcrux's cursed magic to kill Cohen? Did he mistakenly believe something about Cohen's Nightmare heritage—or wait, it seems Voldemort didn't even know Cohen had that lineage.
Cohen led Voldemort into the Room of Requirement—the one he actually occupied.
"No, it's the other room—you need to change your intent before you enter," Voldemort explained repeatedly.
"I get what you're saying, but if we switch rooms, shouldn't I move my stuff out first?" Cohen asked, feigning inexperience.
"It won't happen," Voldemort assured him. "The room keeps everything that's already in there, so don't worry..."
"Are you sure?" Cohen asked skeptically. "I've got some valuable things stored here—and if they disappear, it'll be a huge problem for me—"
"I'm sure. Now hurry up and get the diadem," Voldemort urged.
He couldn't wait to see Cohen succumb to the Horcrux's evil curse—then he could easily take over his body, a far superior vessel than any ordinary flesh.
Thanks to that idiot's suggestion earlier—using his blood to create a body for the great Lord Voldemort? What nonsense! I want it all!
---
"Are you sure it's here?" Cohen asked after rummaging through a pile of junk, shooting Voldemort a look of utter distrust.
"It's definitely here," Voldemort insisted. "No one can take it away—I placed a curse on it so that only I can undo it."
Of course, that last part was nothing but a lie to fool Cohen; the Horcrux's curse couldn't be undone—only remorse could erase its traces, and Voldemort would never feel remorse.
"But it's obviously not here," Cohen countered. "Did someone steal it, or has your memory deteriorated from all those years as a wandering spirit?"
"It must be…" Voldemort mused, considering the Horcrux's fate.
It couldn't have been a student—if a student recognized the Diadem, they'd have rushed to try it on, seduced by the legend of this ancient object of wisdom. Their feeble magic would be instantly consumed, leaving them no chance to escape alive.
It had to be taken by a powerful wizard—and most likely destroyed in the process.
At that thought, Voldemort's rage surged.
That was his Horcrux—his precious token of immortality.
"Someone took it—a powerful wizard…"
"Dumbledore?" Cohen asked, frowning. "Dumbledore's office is on the eighth floor—could it have been him?"
Dumbledore had pulled so many outrageous stunts that Cohen figured one more wouldn't hurt.
"Damn it..."
Voldemort's fury simmered down a bit.
The latest gossip, as they say, was first published in that "6-9" book or something like that.
He and Dumbledore had been at each other's throats for ages; no amount of anger would change that.
How could Dumbledore know about his Horcrux? And that its location was at Hogwarts?
Or was it just a terrible coincidence?
"Then I'll just sneak into his office later," Cohen sighed. "I'm a bit disappointed. I'm heading back to bed now—I've got Lockhart's class on Wednesday morning. After class, I'll find a way to have Hermione stay behind. With the classroom empty, the basilisk can strike—and I can drag Hermione into the Chamber."
"I'll have Theodore handle it," Voldemort replied.
——
As for why Voldemort mentioned Wednesday:
Because Cohen planned to spike the old basilisk's drink on Tuesday!
On Tuesday afternoon, Cohen had meticulously mixed the potion according to Sisso's blood proportions.
For some reason, combining various antidote potions with a deadly poison managed to strip the basilisk of its Parseltongue control—a slim hope for the old serpent.
"Long live my grandpa shrimp!" the little snake shouted at Sisso's head.
"Family ties are even weirder..." Sisso admonished. "I'm his brother—at least, that's what we call it..."
"Are you ready?" Cohen rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"Ready…"
The old basilisk lifted its enormous head, rested it on the table, and waited silently for Cohen to inject the syringe filled with the 'possibly deadly' mixed potion.
With a swift motion, Cohen pried open a scale, slid in the syringe, and injected the potion—all in one smooth move.
Cohen looked every bit like a seasoned doctor.
"Seems like you have some experience," Theodore commented approvingly from the sidelines. "Just like those researchers who used to experiment on me—"
"How many times have you done this before?" the old basilisk asked, seeking a bit of reassurance.
"First time."
Cohen then withdrew the syringe and pressed the scale back into place.
"Heals like new—though if you count that last time when I drew your blood, this is technically the second time."
*(The chapter ends here)*