Seeing Cohen's confident demeanor, Quirrell chose to trust him.
Choose Cohen, choose success—there was no doubt about it.
So Cohen and Quirrell quickly hashed out a plan for tonight. The dragon egg trade needed to happen as soon as possible—Christmas break was one of the few times in Quirrell's teaching career when he could leave the castle. The regular teaching schedule was just too packed.
Every Defense Against the Dark Arts class for all years at the school fell on Quirrell alone. If Dumbledore didn't skip performance reviews for teachers, Quirrell would've cracked long ago.
After wrapping up the planning session, Cohen returned to the Room of Requirement to brief Yali. He'd be taking it to Hagrid's later to pull off a little scam, so they needed to rehearse beforehand.
But the moment Cohen stepped into the Room of Requirement, he heard Earl's loud squawking.
Earl wasn't talking to him, though.
Both Earl and Yali were in the "fake outdoor" room assigned to Yali. The door was ajar, giving Cohen a glimpse of the artificial grass and starry sky inside—
"Coo-coo-coo—You're gesturing with your head? What are you even trying to say?"
"*Snort!*" Yali let out an impatient huff.
"What's that supposed to mean—a tree? No, a rock?"
Earl seemed to be struggling to communicate with Yali:
"Mother of coo… Not a rock? Then a big boob? Wait, no way, boobs that big?!"
The sound was now mixed with hoof stomps and flapping wings.
"What are you two up to?"
Cohen figured it was time to step in.
Pushing the door open, he saw Earl circling overhead while Yali blasted cold air from its nostrils at him. The Room of Requirement was much warmer than the frigid winter outside, even in this "fake outdoor meadow."
"Holy coo, this mute chick's lost it—you deal with her!"
Earl swooped behind Cohen, perching on the owl stand in the room and squawking complaints.
[*I was just trying to ask him where you went. Your absence made me uneasy—I felt like I'd been locked in another cage.*]
Yali's voice explained in Cohen's mind.
[*But he couldn't understand me.*]
"I was off helping a minor villain plot something evil. You know how it is—Hogwarts students are like that," Cohen replied casually. This unicorn seemed to be getting all maternal—though it didn't matter much.
"There's something I need your help with…"
Then Cohen laid out the plan for Yali.
"So, you're saying you want to take a creepy, black unicorn that looks all wrong to a half-giant's hut, tell him it likes drinking butterbeer, and specifically insist on the stuff from Hogsmeade's dingiest, crummiest pub, the Hog's Head…"
Earl calmly recapped Cohen's plan.
"Yeah? What's the problem?" Cohen tilted his head at Earl.
"Don't you get humans at all?" Earl tilted his head back at Cohen.
"No, *you* don't get Hagrid."
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, blanketed in thick snow, inside Hagrid's hut:
Cohen released Yali from his magical pouch.
Hagrid's eyes lit up like a fire had been sparked as he stared at the unicorn covered in jet-black mane.
"Is this… a unicorn and Thestral hybrid? Merlin's beard! I can't even imagine—where did you… how did this happen…"
"I ran into her on my way home. Her name's Alexia—I call her Yali," Cohen lied smoothly. "She said she liked me and insisted on following me. Couldn't shake her off."
Yali mentally refuted Cohen's story.
"What a beautiful unicorn…" Hagrid barely registered Cohen's words. His mind was already racing with thoughts of how to care for this bizarre magical creature. "Look at that mane, that horn… and those hooves and tail…"
[*You're nonsense too.*]
Yali's voice, audible only to Cohen, was clearly directed at Hagrid.
Hagrid had no idea Yali had pegged him as a weirdo. Wiping tears of excitement, he started rummaging through his hut.
"What does she like to eat? I've got plenty of food here—unicorns like fresh forage… no, wait, she's so unique, maybe something else—ant eggs, frog livers… or Flobberworms?"
"She told me she likes the butterbeer from the Hog's Head," Cohen prompted.
Hagrid's shaggy head swiveled toward Cohen, then back to Yali.
Yali nodded at Hagrid as per Cohen's plan, though it was starting to agree with Earl—no sane person would buy that a unicorn liked butterbeer from some rundown pub…
[*This excuse is ridiculous. If he doesn't buy it, it's not my fault.*]
Yali preemptively warned Cohen in his head.
But Cohen just shot it a "wait and see" look.
Hagrid looked even more thrilled than Cohen, whose plan had just clicked into place. He boomed excitedly:
"Graphorns and Runespoors like booze too—can she stay with me for a while? I'll take good care of her—I'll head out tonight to grab her some butterbeer. Did she say Hog's Head or Three Broomsticks?"
"Which pub's butterbeer do you like?" Cohen asked Yali, putting on a show.
"Hog's Head, she says," Cohen answered, turning to an eager Hagrid.
Yali nodded in confirmation for Hagrid's sake, then gave Cohen a skeptical glance:
[*Are you sure about leaving me with this giant? You're not selling me off, are you?*]
"Relax, Hagrid'll take good care of you. He looks after half the creatures in the Forbidden Forest—he's got experience," Cohen reassured.
His words nearly brought Hagrid to tears—finally, a student who shared his tastes.
"Oh, by the way, Hagrid, I looked it up in the library—creatures like Yali… keeping them might be illegal," Cohen added.
"No worries, if no one finds out, it's not illegal," Hagrid thumped his chest confidently.
When it came to raising creatures, he had zero regard for the law—or rather, in Hagrid's mind, "cute" magical animals far outweighed cold, impersonal regulations.
Cohen left Hagrid's hut satisfied, heading back to the castle's eighth floor with a quick detour to Quirrell's office.
When Quirrell learned Cohen had handled Hagrid in under an hour, he got an earful from Voldemort—Cohen, using his soul-through-walls trick, overheard bits of it. Something about how even a kid was more efficient than him, classic PUA manipulation…
People's joys and sorrows don't connect—Cohen just found their bickering noisy.
He needed to get back and keep practicing his Patronus Charm, figure out what was going wrong. As long as he could produce mist, it meant he could definitely cast the spell.
It was like an engine—if it could start, slap some wheels on it, and it'd roll, right?