"No need to be that impatient…" Cohen said. "It's not like this is your first time delivering a message to Voldemort…"
"I was patient," Earl snapped, "but you lot fly off on a plane one way and then Apparate back, don't you? I had to soar all the way to Greece and back to England! When I think about how you wizards could send messages way more efficiently yourselves but still make owls flap around, it feels like the world's gone to absolute rubbish…"
"Stop talking nonsense. No way you flew two thousand kilometers like some daft bird," Cohen said. "And you're lying. I came back on a plane with Newt."
"I flew, alright? I've got professional pride," Earl muttered, turning his head away. "It's just… Muggle planes are too bloody fast. I only made it halfway before turning back. Don't you think I deserve a bit of compensation for that?"
"You're showing your true colors way too quickly. That's just tacky," Cohen said with a yawn, unfolding Voldemort's letter.
It was a short note asking when Cohen would show up for their meeting. No signature, but the handwriting was surprisingly neat.
On the Hogwarts Express, Cohen had asked Malfoy to pass along a message to Voldemort: "Cohen will visit Malfoy Manor in August." It was only August 1st, and Voldemort was already pestering him for details?
Might as well make him wait a bit longer.
Cohen scribbled a quick reply and shoved it under Earl's talons.
"There you go. Off to deliver it."
"I just got back!" Earl's eyes widened. "I need a break—"
"It's nighttime. Owls are supposed to be as lively as folks at a wild party, not dragging like they've just left one," Cohen said, slipping into his pajamas and diving into bed. "But suit yourself. Tomorrow's fine too. I'm not going to Voldemort's this week anyway."
"You don't want to go?" Earl tilted his head.
"Just keeping him on his toes," Cohen mumbled from under the covers. "There's a few Galleons in the left drawer of my desk. Take 'em."
"What for?" Earl asked warily.
"Your reward," Cohen said. "Go to the owl shop, see if there's a nice lady owl who catches your eye. Get yourself a wife."
"What's with the sudden—" Earl started.
"I'm just worried if you keep bottling things up, you'll start getting weird ideas about me," Cohen said. "Plus, if I pick one for you, I might accidentally get you a bird you already know…"
Earl still looked suspicious.
"I still think you're up to no good," he said, tilting his head again.
"Mate, I'm overflowing with good intentions," Cohen said, making a little tent with the blanket and gesturing. "Nothing but kindness here. Go find a wife, have some chicks. You're getting on in years with no little owlets of your own…"
---
The next morning, Cohen was jolted awake by Edward's shouting.
"What's that racket?" Cohen poked his head out of his bedroom door. "That Dementor back again?"
"A body!" Edward stumbled out of the guest room, wide-eyed. "And it's half-naked!"
"What body?" Cohen frowned. If there was a living person nearby, he'd have seen their soul right away. Wait a second…
A dead person?
That Dementor's prisoner it brought as a snack?
Bloody hell, Cohen had been so caught up taking the Dementor for a buffet that he'd forgotten about the prisoner. He'd assumed the Dementor was still carrying them around…
"Half-naked, you say…" Cohen stepped into the hallway, ready to peek into the guest room, but Edward blocked him.
"It's a woman. You can't look," Edward said, covering Cohen's eyes. "I've got to call the Aurors…"
"Call the Aurors and get pegged as a murderer? You're not that thick, are you?" Cohen slipped out from under Edward's grip. "That's probably an Azkaban prisoner. The Dementor brought it."
"Why would they bring a prisoner here?!" Edward said, shocked.
"Because the Dementors quit," Cohen explained. "Yesterday, it told me they all left Azkaban. The Ministry's been starving them."
"That happened yesterday?" Edward said, incredulous. "I didn't see anything in the Daily Prophet."
"It's been going on for a while. I reckon the Ministry's trying to keep it hushed up," Cohen said, peering past Edward's elbow at the "body" on the guest room floor. "They can't exactly admit they've lost control or that Voldemort's pulling strings behind hypothalamus."
Edward's "half-naked" description wasn't quite right. The body was clothed, but the rags were so tattered that filthy skin showed through.
Cohen didn't care about the state of the clothes. He was more interested in who this was—because the woman looked eerily familiar.
That wild, tangled hair. The gaunt frame. Those claw-like hands…
"Bellatrix Lestrange," Cohen said, squinting.
"What? That's her?" Edward frowned. "How do you know a Death Eater like her?"
"Dark Mark on her arm," Cohen said, pointing. "And I saw her picture in old school newspapers when she was arrested."
Sure, there were photos of Bellatrix in old papers, but Cohen hadn't exactly studied them. He recognized the madwoman because he'd dug into Horcrux intel at Azkaban.
But for a Dementor to snatch Voldemort's right-hand Death Eater from under his nose and bring her here…
The Dementors had, in a completely unexpected way, taken care of a major problem for Cohen.
If Bellatrix had tipped off Voldemort, he'd have quickly realized Cohen had nicked his golden cup Horcrux. That would've blown open all sorts of suspicions—like the missing diadem from the Room of Requirement or questions about Lucius's diary.
Then they'd really be proper enemies.
"She's dead. Let's deal with the body," Cohen said. "Come on, we'll move it to my trunk. And don't ask why I'm so good at this—I learned it at Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore wouldn't teach you how to handle corpses…" Edward took a deep breath.
"Move any slower, and it'll start to stink," Cohen said, pressing his lips together. "You don't want Mum coming home to a house reeking of corpse, do you?"
Edward's face paled like he'd just imagined something worse. He sprang into action.
In seconds, he'd conjured ropes with a spell to bind Bellatrix's body tightly, levitated it with a Hover Charm, and scoured the surrounding floor with a Cleaning Charm.
"You're even better at this than I am!" Cohen said, staring.