Years later, when Hagrid ventured deep into the Forbidden Forest to check on the unicorns' living conditions, he'd always recall that afternoon when Cohen brought that black, butterbeer-loving oddball unicorn to his hut…
But Cohen didn't care. A booze-hound mom, a gambling dad, a brother in Azkaban, and broken little him…
In that light, the world had already twisted into something dark and warped. Cohen was past caring.
Let it rot. You get used to the rot eventually.
After releasing Arya back into the forest, Cohen returned to the castle alone.
Having perfectly missed dinner, he planned to drop off the vial of unicorn blood at Quirrell's office, then sneak into the kitchen to grab some food to take back to the common room.
That way, he wouldn't have to leave again tonight.
Near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor, Cohen noticed Quirrell's office door wide open, voices murmuring inside—
He had Quirrell pinned against the wall, his left hand gripping Quirrell's collar, his right hidden under his robes, likely clutching his wand.
Quirrell, stammering pitifully, looked like a victim of workplace bullying.
"S-Severus…" Quirrell muttered.
"What are you plotting with that student, 'Cohen Norton'?" Snape's voice was icy. "Dumbledore's growing suspicious of you—have you figured out how to get past Hagrid's beast or not?"
"I—I—but…" Quirrell wrung his hands, eyes darting away from Snape's glare.
"I've warned you once already, Quirrell," Snape stepped closer. "This concerns the Dark Lord—"
Snape whipped around toward the door.
"Hey, professors! Having a chat?" Cohen greeted them casually, as if nothing was amiss.
"How long have you been eavesdropping out there?" Snape swooped toward Cohen like a giant bat. "If I recall correctly, you weren't at the feast, Mr. Norton."
"That's 'cause I was helping Hagrid tend to the unicorns," Cohen said honestly, giving Snape a little wink. He knew Snape would report this to Dumbledore.
Getting chummy with unicorns was yet another solid proof of Cohen's "good nature."
"Unicorns typically don't let male wizards near them," Snape drawled, eyeing Cohen. "I assume you're aware of what harming a unicorn entails, yes?"
"Don't make stuff up. I get along great with them."
Cohen pulled out the pink flower the unicorn foal had given him, along with a tuft of golden fuzz—probably from that foal shedding after eating Hagrid's toffee.
Snape's hollow gaze bored into Cohen for a long moment. Cohen couldn't read his intent—Snape buried his emotions so deep even the usual wisps of feeling swirling around people gave nothing away.
But the evidence was undeniable. Snape couldn't exactly tell Dumbledore that Cohen had gone after a unicorn foal, could he?
Snape said nothing more to Cohen. He shot Quirrell a deep, piercing look, then swept out of the room, robes billowing.
But after a few steps, he paused—
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said, turning back. "Students are forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest."
"I was helping Hagrid with the unicorns!" Cohen protested.
"Hagrid isn't a professor."
Snape had clearly prepared that deduction excuse in advance—probably for Harry.
Cohen was certain Snape had a whole list of point-docking reasons ready, starting the moment Harry stepped into Potions class with his left foot.
"Put my points back."
After Snape left, Cohen slammed the vial of unicorn blood onto Quirrell's desk, demanding it.
"You—you actually—" Quirrell stared in disbelief at the fresh unicorn blood Cohen produced.
The silvery liquid swirled slowly in the vial, like a piece of art—but how had Cohen managed it?
Unicorns let a young wizard take their blood? Or…
Had Cohen slaughtered a unicorn amidst a crowd of centaurs and unicorns, then walked away unscathed?
The more Quirrell thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.
Under Cohen's insistent pressure, Quirrell restored the points Snape had taken, then added twenty more for "assisting a professor in obtaining rare course materials."
Satisfied, Cohen left the third floor and headed down to the lower level of the Great Hall on the first floor.
If memory served, there was a painting of a bowl of fruit near the corridor to the Hufflepuff common room…
Cohen's memory was spot on. In the brightly lit corridor, a painting hung on the wall, featuring a particularly vivid pear.
He reached out and tickled the pear. It giggled with a scratchy laugh, then transformed into a green doorknob the next second.
Honestly, Hogwarts' house-elves were always warm to students. As long as you knew the way to the kitchen, no one went hungry at Hogwarts—
"You don't have to be *that* scared of me."
Cohen's mouth twitched as he watched the house-elves scatter like mice spotting a cat the moment he stepped in, eventually huddling together in a corner.
A few of the more timid ones let out shrill squeaks before *popping* away with Apparition.
"I'm just here for some food—"
Cohen barely finished before realizing he'd misspoken. To house-elf ears, that sounded like something else entirely.
"The dementor's here to eat the house-elves!"
The kitchen erupted like someone had tossed in a string of firecrackers. After a chaotic burst of pops, nearly all the terrified elves vanished.
Magical creatures were just too cowardly, Cohen thought, disappointed in their lack of guts.
But not every house-elf had fled.
Cohen noticed one still lingering in the corner.
It puffed out its scrawny chest, eyes squeezed shut, standing like a martyr facing death—as if staying meant Cohen would devour its soul.
"Dinky isn't afraid… Dinky is loyal… Dinky will protect Hogwarts' kitchen…"
The elf, apparently named Dinky, muttered to itself as Cohen approached, trying to steel its nerves. But Cohen could still see its trembling legs and the gulp in its throat, like death was inches away.
Dinky cracked one eye open slightly.
It saw the monster with the dark, evil soul drawing near.
The monster was right in front of it!
The monster opened its mouth!
It was going to suck out its soul!
"How about some fried chicken and fries?"