"So this letter is… a threat?"
Hermione's face changed instantly.
"Let's see what it says."
"Do you know the best way to avoid getting scammed by a suspicious letter?" Cohen said. "Simple—don't read it."
He stuffed the letter into his pocket.
This was something Hermione and the others didn't need to get involved in. The Golden Trio should just focus on their Hogwarts experience and playing Dumbledore's little game of mentorship. There was no need for them to get tangled up with the Silver Key gathering—it wasn't even part of the main storyline.
---
By the end of the month, there were no more attacks at school, and most students assumed the crisis had passed.
"Maybe the Heir of Slytherin got scared," Angelina from Gryffindor suggested over breakfast on January 31st.
"The professors have been patrolling every day," someone added.
"Or maybe it's because the Quidditch match is coming up," Fred chimed in. "He needs time to practice."
"Or maybe the attacker just changed tactics. Honestly, we think the real culprit is Wood," George joked. "Feels like he's going to ambush us any second—" He mimicked a strangled choking sound. "'If you don't win the next match, I'll turn you into stone too!'"
The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter.
Harry and his friends, however, weren't in such high spirits.
After breakfast, they walked with Harry to the Quidditch pitch for his training session.
"If it's not Malfoy, then who else could it be?" Harry muttered in frustration.
Thanks to Cohen's connections, they had managed to get their hands on Polyjuice Potion with ease. Earl had even helped them acquire some of Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode's hair.
But even after sneaking into Slytherin's common room, they couldn't get any useful information from Malfoy. According to him, his bad mood lately had nothing to do with the attacks—he was just stressed because his grades weren't good enough to please his father, Lucius.
"What kind of student would even team up with Voldemort—?!"
Harry's words trailed off as he caught sight of Cohen. He quickly shook his head.
"It's not you again, is it… Cohen?" Ron half-joked.
"Cohen's been with me," Hermione pointed out. "There's no way it's him. That day, we were both in detention with Filch."
"I was just trying to make a joke like Fred and George…" Ron mumbled.
"Of course it's not me," Cohen said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "We're best mates. I wouldn't work for Voldemort."
"I never doubted you, Cohen," Harry sighed. "But Voldemort definitely sees you as a major threat now—last year, you stopped him from getting the Sorcerer's Stone. He must be furious."
Well, Harry, this year, you're his only target left.
Cohen shook his head.
His own progress wasn't going too smoothly either. The potion he had been researching—one that could make the basilisk resist Parseltongue control—wasn't showing much promise. That was because, as Cohen recently realized, the whole idea might have been based on an accident.
Sisoko's blood was vastly different from the old basilisk's—like it had been injected with all sorts of mixed potions. It contained resistance to cold, heat, neutralization of toxins, dilution of foreign curses…
There was even rooster blood in there, which should have been deadly to a basilisk. And yet, somehow, Sisoko had survived.
In short, Sisoko was basically a walking cauldron of magic.
Cohen couldn't determine which ingredients were responsible for its resistance since he didn't have another basilisk to experiment on. If he wanted to test it on the old basilisk, he'd have to inject all of Sisoko's blood components in exact proportions.
One mistake, and the old basilisk could die.
Since that would make Sisoko very sad, Cohen—being the considerate guy he was—decided to take his time perfecting the potion before even mentioning it to the old basilisk.
In the end, it would be the basilisk's choice—
Would it rather be tag-teamed by Harry and Dumbledore?
Or take the potion and fight for survival?
---
After dinner, Cohen stuffed Sisoko into a box.
"Stay right by the entrance. When I call you, come out," he instructed.
"And don't go near the sheep pen or the pigsty. If you do, they'll all drop dead, and Norbert will come after you."
"That's where your pet dragon lives?" Sisoko glanced toward the distant mountain peak. "Fine, I'll stay put."
It coiled into a pile.
"This is nice… I could live here forever," Sisoko murmured contentedly. "No wizards, no roosters, and an endless supply of sheep and pigs… I love you so much—"
Cohen got goosebumps.
Leaving the box behind, he grabbed it and prepared to jump from the Room of Requirement straight down to the castle grounds, heading for the location mentioned in the Silver Key's letter.
---
**Cairngorm Mountains. The Cave Beneath Sirius.**
With his Tracker's Cloak making him invisible, Cohen moved through the night undetected. The only issue was that he was running low on field mice—he'd need Earl to catch more when he got back.
Cohen absorbed their souls for stealth, while the bodies became Earl's midnight snacks. A perfect little food chain—just with no one to advocate for the mice.
The Cairngorms were part of the Scottish Highlands, connected to the Grampian Mountain range.
Cohen quickly found the cave. It was easy, thanks to the bright, unmistakable glow of Sirius in the night sky.
At the base of the mountain range, nestled among the trees, a pitch-black cave gaped open. It was massive—almost the size of a troll.
Visibility at night wasn't great, and the Silver Key members were all dressed in black cloaks, but Cohen's soul-vision allowed him to spot them effortlessly.
**[Soul Strength: 17]**
**[Soul Strength: 15]**
Weaklings. Probably just here to raise the alarm if an intruder showed up.
Cohen didn't bother revealing himself. Instead, he ignored the guards and slipped inside.
Since he was invisible, he could take his time and observe.
Moving deeper into the cave, he spotted five or six more figures. They also wore black robes, but their soul strengths were significantly higher—mostly in the twenties. Only one exceeded thirty.
**[Soul Strength: 31]**
Cohen recognized him.
It was the same man who had spied on him through the Hogwarts window when he was pretending to be a ghost.
This was the heart of the cave—a circular chamber with a massive pit in the center, about four people deep. This was probably the so-called "Cave Arena."
Strange symbols, painted in blood, covered the rocky walls. If these people weren't so weak, the atmosphere here could've actually been terrifying—like something straight out of a horror movie.
Several tunnels branched out from the chamber, each leading to a different holding area.
Inside those cells were the unlucky participants of the so-called "arena matches."
Including that poor reporter from the *Daily Prophet*—
Elvis McCoy, the guy who had pissed off Rose.
**(End of Chapter)**