"Tsundere's gone out of fashion."
Cohen said,
"And by the way, it was Voldemort who started this whole hiding-from-me thing first."
"But you're the one who set it up so he'd come looking for you," the Earl shot back, cutting straight to the point. "That little guy's pretty stubborn—"
"What, you think you're tough now?" Cohen glanced at the Earl with a mild look. "Or is it just too hot lately and your feathers are getting sweaty?"
"Ha, I meant *he's* stubborn," the Earl backtracked. "You know, a hardcore tsundere like him deserves to get absolutely—"
"Can't expect anything classy from a birdbrain," Cohen quipped. "Voldemort's a sixty-something geezer now—don't make me associate him with anything nice. It's nauseating."
Of course, Voldemort couldn't just wait around in the Room of Requirement forever. Cohen headed back to the Gryffindor common room, which was totally deserted—not a soul in sight.
He didn't have to wait long. Around mid-afternoon, a familiar spirit floated into the Gryffindor dorms.
**[Soul Strength: 40+10]**
Malfoy worked fast. Once Voldemort caught wind that Cohen was onto him, he'd scrambled over as quick as he could—
Voldemort's wraith slipped into the book in front of Cohen. Red ink started swirling across the open page, forming words one by one.
**[Find a safe place]**
Cohen's face dropped.
**[I have a plan… I need your help…]**
With a stiff expression, Cohen grabbed the book and hauled it to an empty classroom, then sealed the doors and windows shut.
"Ah… we meet again…" Voldemort's twisted face bulged out from the book's pages. "No need to be scared…"
"Scared of you, my ass!"
Cohen had been holding it in the whole way.
"This is a *library book*! Did you *have* to scribble all over it with red ink?! What am I supposed to say if Madam Pince comes after me? 'Oh, sorry, I'll just borrow books for you next time'? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Back when you were checking out books under your own name, why didn't you doodle all over them then, huh?"
"...?"
Cohen's nonstop rant left Voldemort's ghostly face completely stunned.
He'd braced himself for Cohen to explode over uncovering more "framed" evidence or balk at the next part of the plan—but this?
A freaking *book*?
He was the Dark Lord, feared across the whole wizarding world! And Cohen was just chewing him out like it was nothing?!
Who's the one with no shame here?!
A cold glint flashed across Voldemort's face.
"I'll clean up the mess… don't get mad…" Voldemort muttered.
If it weren't for the fact that this kid could shrug off an Avada Kedavra like it was a mosquito bite, Voldemort would've lost it first.
It was exactly *because* he'd heard Cohen was still bouncing around, alive and well, that he'd doubled down on pulling him over to his side.
The Killing Curse couldn't touch Cohen—not his soul, not even a scratch on his body.
It gave Voldemort a real headache. If he couldn't take Cohen out and Cohen turned against him, how was he supposed to handle this dark magic wildcard?
Borgin and Burkes had really cooked up a mess with this one.
Luckily, last year Cohen had shown some friendliness and willingness to team up, so Voldemort didn't have to stress *too* much.
He'd tried using Lockhart and that Malfoy kid to set Cohen up—get him isolated from the school, from Dumbledore, and cut off any chance of him becoming an enemy.
But Lockhart was a total clown, and Malfoy got caught right away. Useless, the both of them.
After all that circling around, it came back to Cohen. And in the end, Voldemort realized…
"You're still the best ally I could ask for…"
Voldemort said to Cohen.
"These attacks at the school lately…"
"I figured out you're behind them," Cohen replied, eyeing him. "But what I'm really curious about is why Lockhart wrote *my* name."
"That's because…"
Voldemort paused for a split second.
"Because… it was the only way to clear your name. A real culprit wouldn't scribble their own name on the wall…"
"Got it. Next time, I'll sign 'Voldemort' on the wall," Cohen nodded.
The air turned awkward real fast. Voldemort didn't say anything. Neither did Cohen.
But it wasn't like they were openly beefing—it felt more like they'd just traded a couple of jabs.
"So, what's your big plan this time?" Cohen asked. "You didn't come all this way just to slap a 'Slytherin's Heir' title on me, did you?"
"I want to kill Harry Potter," Voldemort tossed out a half-baked excuse.
"Forget it, you can't," Cohen said. "I've tried. His mom hit him with some sacrificial protection charm. As long as it's active, no one can kill him. You felt it last year—your soul can't even touch him without frying itself."
"Maybe we should try the basilisk in the Chamber…" Voldemort suggested. "You know about the Chamber, right?"
"That message you left on the wall?" Cohen asked. "The monster in there's a basilisk?"
"Exactly…" Voldemort's tone picked up a smug edge. "I'm the last descendant of Slytherin… I can control the basilisk in the Chamber, make it kill for me…"
"Uh-huh?"
Cohen let out a little hum.
"Can it take Dumbledore?"
"Nope," Voldemort admitted flat-out. "It couldn't even beat the old me."
*Wow, you really do think Dumbledore's got your number, don't you, little Voldy…*
Cohen pressed his lips together.
"But we could use it to get Dumbledore out of the picture first," Voldemort went on. "If students and teachers keep getting attacked, he won't be able to stay headmaster…"
"Not a bad idea," Cohen raised an eyebrow.
With Dumbledore out of the way, there'd be a lot more room to maneuver.
How could he keep this alliance with Voldemort rolling while still playing the good student for Dumbledore?
Cohen already had a plan brewing.
"Then we lure Harry into the Chamber and let the basilisk finish him off," Cohen picked up the thread for Voldemort. "After that, we pin the attacks on him—say he was behind it all, and once he's dead, the attacks stop. Case closed."
"Sounds familiar…" Voldemort flashed back to framing that big dumb half-giant. "But yeah, it's a solid plan…"
"So, who're we killing next?" Cohen asked.
"...?"
That was the second time Voldemort froze.
"What, right now?"
"Quit dragging your feet, grandma! We didn't snag the Philosopher's Stone last semester because you kept stalling!" Cohen snapped. "I did all that work for you, and what did you do? I had the Stone in my hands, and the second Dumbledore showed up, you bolted. What, is he your dad or something? You that scared of him?"
Voldemort took the scolding, but he didn't argue back.
Because, well… Cohen wasn't wrong.
**(End of Chapter)**