The books in Professor McGonagall's arms clattered to the floor, but she didn't bother to pick them up.
Professor McGonagall fixed Harry with a gaze that mingled shock and suspicion.
"Professor—I think Snap—someone's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone—this has to get to Professor Dumbledore—" Harry wasn't sure how to make his explanation sound more convincing.
But Professor McGonagall clearly wasn't buying it.
"Professor Dumbledore is on his way to London by broomstick. He received an urgent letter from the Ministry of Magic." Her gaze lingered on Cohen for a moment longer.
Cohen knew the letter was a forgery from Quirrell, supposedly about tracking and observing him as a dark magic experiment.
"He'll be back tomorrow. I don't know how you heard about the Philosopher's Stone, but you should focus on preparing for your exams. No one can steal it—it's under tight protection, foolproof."
Professor McGonagall picked up her books and left, but her words were useless to Harry.
And to Cohen as well.
If the protections were the same as in the original story, those obstacles would barely slow Cohen down.
"Even Dumbledore's gone…" Harry hadn't slept all night, and his mind was still buzzing with restless energy. "Looks is our only option, right?"
"You look more excited than Snape," Cohen said, starting to wonder whether he or Harry was the one actually planning to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
"Tonight, I'm going to the fourth-floor corridor to get the Philosopher's Stone before Snape does," Harry said firmly.
"You're crazy!" Ron exclaimed.
"You'll get expelled!" Hermione added. "You can't do this—"
"So what if I get expelled!" Harry didn't care that he was in the hallway; his voice was loud.
Luckily, the other students were either in class, studying in the library, or relaxing in the common room—no one was around to hear.
"Don't you get it? If Snape gets the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort will come back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he ruled everything back then? If he succeeds, this place will turn into a school for teaching dark magic!"
"Points or expulsion don't matter anymore! If I don't stop him, once he's back, none of us will have a future!" Harry said, fuming. "I'll have to go back to the Dursleys! Waiting for him to come kill me—just like he killed my parents! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight, and nothing you say will stop me."
Harry's words silenced Ron and Hermione's attempts to dissuade him.
"I've got the Invisibility Cloak. I can use it to get to the fourth-floor corridor tonight."
"You're not planning to go alone, are you?"
Ron made up his mind. "I'm coming with you."
"Me too," Hermione said without hesitation. "I can look through the books I've read—maybe there's a spell in there that'll help."
"But you could get expelled too…" Harry hadn't expected them to risk it with him, especially Hermione.
"Don't be ridiculous. We're not letting you go alone," Hermione said. "We're friends, remember?"
Cohen stayed quiet off to the side—he was supposed to go in with Quirrell tonight.
Finally, night fell, and both sides sprang into action.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered in the common room.
"Where's Cohen?" Harry couldn't find him anywhere.
"I think he didn't come back this afternoon—did he bail at the last second?" Ron asked.
"No way. He's braver than all of us," Hermione said, puzzled.
There was one other thing in the common room that could talk and might know where Cohen went.
"Why are you all looking at me?" The Earl was busy stealing a midnight snack the Weasley twins had brought from the kitchen. "It's not like I kidnapped the kid."
"Kidnapped?" Harry latched onto the Earl's choice of words. "Cohen's been kidnapped?"
"Taken by some professor," the Earl said, following Cohen's script as it addressed the trio. "Said they were going to 'deal with him.' Guess I'll be a stray owl soon—can I crash here with you guys? I'll tell you jokes every day; all you have to do is feed me."
"This is bad! Snape must've grabbed Cohen!" Hermione said anxiously.
"What do we do? Should we rescue him?" Ron asked, flustered.
"We'll rescue him—no, wait…" Harry faltered for a moment, but then a lightbulb went off. "No, Snape's going to steal the Philosopher's Stone. He's either got Cohen with him or locked him up somewhere…"
"If we go after him, we'll fall right into Snape's trap!" Harry's eyes lit up. "He's trying to stall us!"
"You're so clever," the Earl said, barely holding back a smirk.
In truth, Cohen *was* with a professor.
But it wasn't Snape—though, with all the blame he already carried, one more wouldn't hurt.
At the entrance to the fourth-floor corridor, Cohen and Quirrell had already met up.
"Time to play some music, huh?" Cohen expertly slipped on a pair of gloves.
"Why are you wearing gloves?" Quirrell, holding a magical harp, looked at Cohen in confusion.
"Oh, sorry, force of habit. We're not here to kill anyone," Cohen said, catching himself. "You know, I don't like getting blood on my hands. Plus, gloves keep you from leaving traces—like fingerprints or other evidence."
Quirrell fell silent.
He was starting to question whether he was even qualified to be the Dark Lord's lackey.
He quietly stepped forward and opened the door. The three-headed dog immediately perked up at the noise, ready to lunge—
But the next second, the harp began playing under a magical charm. It was like someone hit the sleep button—the beast wobbled and collapsed, its triple snores mixing with the music.
"Not as impressive as the unicorn I raised," Cohen remarked.
Sure, Arly's heart could be swayed by butterbeer, but at least she didn't pass out at the mere smell of booze.
The obstacles that followed matched Cohen's memory perfectly.
After jumping through the trapdoor, they landed in a tangled mass of dark Devil's Snare. Naturally, neither Quirrell nor Cohen got caught—before it could tighten its grip, they slipped free.
The next challenge was Flitwick's "flying keys." Quirrell chased after the big key for ages—Cohen got impatient waiting, so he shifted into his Dementor form and swiftly snatched the oversized, ancient-looking key.
Quirrell, climbing off the broom, stared wide-eyed at Cohen, who had already reverted to normal.
"What was that—a vampire bat? Animagus? Or…?"
Quirrell felt like Cohen's transformation resembled…
No, that couldn't be right. No one would turn into a Dementor—it was impossible. Those things—no, Dementors weren't even creatures. They weren't even part of the material world (a Non-being).
"Don't ask too many questions about things you don't understand. Your boss is the one I'm working with, not you. Just know we're on the same side," Cohen said.
His days teaming up with Quirrell were nearly over, and he had no intention of explaining much.
"Don't worry, I'm plenty loyal."