Before leaving, Cohen picked up the two wands on the ground (counting Herbert's from the cabin earlier, this made the third wand he'd claimed). He also disposed of the two Aurors' bodies—he wanted to take out these malicious creeps, but that didn't mean he was ready to declare war on the Ministry of Magic outright.
The people who harbored ill will toward Cohen would, once they realized how dangerous he was, turtle up in the backlines and use their authority to send innocent wizards to their deaths. That's just how the higher-ups at the Ministry operated.
When that happened, countless families would shatter in the conflict, and the powers that be could easily spin Cohen, the "dark magic experiment," into some irredeemable demon king through their control of public opinion. It'd seriously mess up Cohen's nice, comfy life.
And that nice life was the key. Cohen figured going to school, taking down Voldemort, and occasionally exchanging letters with his adoptive parents was already pretty darn great.
Disgusting people deserved disgusting deaths—not a free pass to keep disgusting him.
Cohen had two ways to deal with Fudge and the Aurors still plotting to take him out.
The first was assassination. As long as their soul strength was lower than his, Cohen could handle them with almost no trouble. The only hitch was the "get within two meters" condition, but once he learned to Apparate, that wouldn't be an issue anymore.
Still, this method wasn't disgusting enough. Instant death just didn't feel satisfying.
"I feel like you're cooking up some evil plan," the Earl said, perched on Cohen's shoulder. "Can't you be a little more normal? You're freaking me out."
"How about I take you to a nightclub tonight?" Cohen said offhandedly. "I'll tell Mom you dragged me there—would that make you feel better?"
"On second thought, go ahead with your evil plan," the Earl replied dryly.
The second plan was to seize power from the shadows. If Hermione could become Minister of Magic after the war with Voldemort, Cohen sure as heck could too.
Once his strength hit 40, he could start reviving Voldemort—the wizarding world's dead boogeyman—create a metaphorical dragon in secret, and then play the hero who slays it. No real sacrifices needed (well, maybe "sacrificing" one Cornelius Fudge)—he'd just ride Voldemort's old reputation to the top.
With power, he could really stick it to them.
*"Oh, you think I'm a dark lord, huh? How's it feel now? How's it feel?!"*
The first five-year plan to flip the wizarding world upside down? Start by doing more bad stuff.
Cohen had Alexia hop into the Niffler-hide bag. Bringing a nightmare unicorn to school was a bit much—even Dumbledore, who'd definitely read *Secrets of the Darkest Arts*, wouldn't let a creature like that on campus.
Cohen checked the other rooms in the underground corridor, but they were empty. Probably cleaned out by that thief Mundungus.
The books on the main lab's shelves, though, Mundungus hadn't touched—maybe because of the runes carved into the shelves. They might've been hidden back then.
As Cohen left the basement, the sky outside turned gloomy again.
"If you're safe, it's sunny"—two people just died, so snow made sense.
Cohen didn't even know their names, but that didn't matter much. He'd see them in the papers later anyway—*"Ministry Aurors Mysteriously Vanish, Suspected Dark Wizard Activity Resurfaces"*.
But when he emerged and looked toward the cabin, he saw Herbert was awake—and somehow, he'd undone Cohen's binding spell without a wand. More likely, the two dead Aurors had helped him before they bit it.
Herbert stood at the cabin door, silently watching Cohen's position. The snow around Cohen had been cleared, making him stand out.
Herbert seemed to be waiting for him. He didn't run—just stood there.
"Your uncle looks like he wants to talk," the Earl noted.
"Nah, he wants his wand back—like it's worth more than his life," Cohen bet. "He doesn't even know me. I've never visited him with Rose."
To test this little wager, Cohen started walking toward Herbert.
The Earl, clutching its own wand, circled overhead, wary of surprises. It wasn't worried about Cohen's safety—what's there to fear for a guy who shrugs off an Avada Kedavra like it's a tickle? No, it was worried about itself, being Cohen's accomplice and all.
"You're here," Herbert rasped, his gray hair framing his face.
"You shouldn't have come." Herbert's gaze on Cohen was complicated.
"I'm already here—and no matter how much you act out a whole Gulong novel in front of me, I'm not handing your wand back that easily," Cohen said, giving him a dead-fish stare.
"Those two Aurors are dead?" Herbert glanced toward the ruins, now magically covered in snow again thanks to Cohen.
"Yep," Cohen said flatly. Without a wand, Herbert couldn't Apparate away. Cohen could take him out or hit him with an Obliviate anytime.
But as the last living "criminal" of this manor, Herbert might have info worth digging for—he'd know more than Alexia, who'd been caged up the whole time.
Hearing the Aurors were dead, Herbert seemed to relax a little.
"Come in and sit… let me—take a good look at you."
Herbert acted like he was sure Cohen would follow, turning back into the cabin and leaving behind a super weird comment.
*Damn it, this feels off. Something about my identity.*
Just how many little secrets were these people keeping?
No Aurors were hiding in the cabin, and no curses came flying at Cohen.
Herbert set out a chair and sat on the bed so they could talk face-to-face.
"What's your deal with me?" Cohen asked, plopping into the chair.
"I… don't have one," Herbert said, studying Cohen's face like it was a piece of art. "Rose adopted you, right?"
"Uh-huh?" Cohen raised an eyebrow. "Why ask?"
"Oh. Dad said someone from the Borgin family threatened to toss her into a pile of Inferi—was that you?" Cohen tilted his head. "If so, you're in luck—I just learned the Cruciatus Curse last week."
"Do what you want… but I never made that threat. Rose is my favorite sister—I'd never hurt her," Herbert said calmly, like a man on his deathbed. "Are they good to you?"
"Who? Rose and Edward? Or the Hogwarts teachers?"
"Your family now," Herbert clarified, his voice catching a little.
"They're great—honestly, ridiculously great. Can you speed this up? I'm starving. If I time it right, I could still make it back to Hogwarts for dinner tonight," Cohen said, frowning. "And drop the sneaky guilt trips. With my experience watching thousands of melodramatic TV shows, I'd bet you're about to say you're my biological dad."
Herbert's eyes flicked away from Cohen, and he swallowed hard.
"So your son died, and those guys just happened to need a test subject, promising they'd bring him back. So you handed over his body, right?" Cohen deduced.
"They weren't wrong—revived, you're a genius—"
"Genius my tomato, spit it out already! I'm hungry—I'll start eating souls if I have to."
Cohen was losing patience. This guy was still beating around the bush with useless fluff.
"Could you stay here tonight? Just one night," Herbert pleaded. "Then you can eat my soul or kill me outright, at least…"