"What?!" Hermione's eyes widened.
"What's Felix Felicis?" Harry and Ron asked, confused.
"It's a luck potion," Hermione explained patiently to Harry and Ron. "It brings good fortune to whoever drinks it—"
"Luck?!" Harry said, surprised, glancing at Hermione and Cohen before eyeing the sheep beside him.
"Baa!" The golden sheep caught Harry's look, which seemed suspiciously like he was planning to stew it into a potion. It huffed and butted his stomach with its horns before scampering a safe distance away.
"Ow…" Harry groaned, rubbing his belly. "Can it understand us?"
"It's just a sheep, Harry. It can't understand you," Hermione said. "It only headbutted you because you looked like you wanted to eat it. And don't get too starry-eyed about Felix Felicis. It's got its downsides—drinking too much can make you dizzy, reckless, or even arrogant…"
"Sounds like you've done your homework," Cohen remarked.
"Sounds like it'd be perfect for final exams," Ron said dreamily. "Pop a bit before the test, and bam—full marks without staying up all night revising…"
"All competitions, exams, and elections ban Felix Felicis," Hermione said, bursting Ron's bubble. "Plus, people under its effects act so obviously that any judge or proctor paying attention would spot it right away…"
"Could be useful in a fight, though," Cohen said. "It won't let some random bloke off the street take down Voldemort single-handedly, but it could tip the scales in a close battle…"
"A fight?" Ron asked, a bit dazed. It took him a second to catch on—but then it clicked for all three of them.
"You mean a war with the Death Eaters?" Hermione said, her voice laced with worry.
"…" Harry didn't say anything, but his expression mirrored Ron's—stunned and a bit lost.
Sure, they'd faced plenty of life-or-death moments, but the word "war" still felt vague and distant to them. Even after Voldemort's return, things hadn't felt that different. For one, Voldemort had been keeping a low profile lately. For another, as teenagers, they didn't have a clear picture of what war really meant.
Hermione and Harry might've seen glimpses of it on TV, but for Ron, it was just stories from older generations—distant tales of a far-off time.
"The recipe's in Advanced Potion-Making," Hermione said uncertainly. "But it's complicated, takes ages, and you can't mess up the measurements or technique even a tiny bit…"
"As long as there's a recipe, we'll figure it out eventually—especially since we've already got the trickiest ingredient right here," Cohen said, nodding at the golden sheep. "Greece keeps a tight lid on golden fleece. You can barely find a seller. If the little basilisk hadn't nabbed three of these, I wouldn't even be thinking about brewing Felix Felicis…"
"If we had Felix Felicis, would it boost our chances against Voldemort?" Harry asked.
"Not likely, or it'd be a must-have before every battle," Cohen said, shaking his head. "The Greek Ministry wouldn't be such a lightweight in Europe if it was that powerful."
Felix Felicis only nudged you toward better choices. If all your options were bad, no amount of "luck" would save you.
Still, having some on hand couldn't hurt. Letting that golden fleece go to waste would be an insult to the sheep's magical wool-growing powers. Freshly sheared fleece packed way more magical punch than old, stored stuff, making the potion far more effective.
Problem was, Advanced Potion-Making was in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, and you couldn't take those books out of the school.
As they prepared to leave Cohen's castle, they ran into the little basilisk slithering back at the entrance.
Harry and the basilisk locked eyes, both frozen like statues.
The tense moment made Hermione and Ron, who were clueless about the situation, nervous—worried the basilisk might suddenly lunge at them.
"Cohen… what's going on?" Hermione whispered, sidling up to him.
"Ex-boyfriend meeting ex-girlfriend," Cohen replied under his breath.
"What?" Hermione thought she must've misheard.
"What's that? What?" Ron leaned in curiously, keeping his voice low.
Without realizing it, they'd backed away from Harry, giving him space to face off with the basilisk.
"Er…" Harry said awkwardly.
"Hmph!" The basilisk turned its head with a haughty hiss.
"Maybe you should, uh, go find another… snake?" Harry mumbled, stumbling over his words.
"The Supreme Serpent King has no interest in talking to you!" the basilisk hissed, slithering past Harry in a huff, its head turned completely away from its path, refusing to even glance at him.
"This…" Harry shot a helpless look at Cohen.
"Ugh, come on, let's go…" Cohen sighed, rubbing his forehead and pulling Harry toward the exit.
Back in Cohen's bedroom after leaving the trunk, he didn't say much more to Hermione and Ron. But the two of them were already whispering excitedly to each other. Harry couldn't quite catch what they were saying—every time he got close, they clammed up, which was both annoying and amusing.
"Sorry—" Ron said, barely holding back a laugh as he looked at Harry.
"Harry, we get it, really…" Hermione said, trying to comfort him.
"What did you tell them, Cohen?!" Harry demanded.
"Nothing!" Cohen said innocently. "It's just your behavior's got a certain… déjà vu vibe."
"Hahahahaha—snake!" Ron finally lost it, cracking up.
"What's so funny?" Harry said, exasperated. "You danced with a snake too, you know!"
"When did I ever dance with a snake?" Ron said, shocked. "Mate, you're losing it—"
"At the Yule Ball, those two girls were actually Cohen's basilisks," Harry said, relishing the look on Ron's face. "The one you danced with, Cathy? That was Cohen's basilisk dad, Sisyphus."
"What?!" Ron's face went pale, and he whipped around to Cohen, desperate for a "Harry's talking nonsense" response.
"Technically, a dance partner like that should cost you," Cohen said matter-of-factly. "I pulled my dad in to save your reputation."