Those two "flesh puppets," though? They were different—at least they had some use.
When Cohen first got them, they were just vague human shapes, covered head to toe in soft, grayish gunk. They looked like mannequins you'd see in a store.
Depending on what Cohen needed, they could morph into all sorts of forms. But puppets are puppets—no AI brains, no fancy features. They were like non-automated robots: Cohen gave a command, they followed it. That's it.
One thing set them apart from regular dolls, though—they could block certain spells. Stuff like destructive dark magic or curses would damage their bodies, but the flesh puppets could heal themselves. Super energy-efficient and eco-friendly.
For most people, a puppet that could take a hit like that might actually come in handy.
Not for Cohen, though.
Most curses and hexes didn't even work on him—he didn't need anything to play shield. The only thing he might want to block was a Patronus Charm… but a physical flesh puppet couldn't stop something as intangible as a Patronus.
"What the heck did you whip up this time?"
The Count poked his head out of his nook just in time to see Cohen shaping one of the puppets into Dumbledore's likeness.
"Holy—coo! You made yourself a couple of *sex dolls*!"
"Who makes a sex doll with *Dumbledore's face*?!" Cohen snapped, exasperated.
"Grindelwald," the Count shot back, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So, what're you planning to do with them? If you're gonna get freaky in here, I can pretend to be asleep—"
"They're part of my next evil scheme," Cohen said, dropping his voice to a creepy whisper. "I'm gonna use these to destroy the entire wizarding world—and take out every owl on the planet while I'm at it."
"See, this is why you kids need to stick to homework every day," the Count said, clicking his tongue. "The second you skip class or assignments, you start messing with dangerous stuff."
Of course, the flesh puppets weren't actually a threat to the wizarding world. After fiddling with them for a bit, Cohen tossed them into his suitcase.
The little basilisk, Sophia, loved them—mostly because Cohen had shaped both puppets to look like himself. Finally, she could slither all over "Cohen" to her heart's content.
Sisko and the old basilisk had settled on the name "Sophia" for her. Sisko bragged to the old basilisk that he could read English, but in reality, he'd secretly asked Cohen how to pronounce it.
The name came from the Greek word for "wisdom." Cohen didn't think Sophia had much to do with wisdom—Sisko probably just picked it because the "S" looked snakey, and it happened to be smack in the middle of the "S" section of the name list. Easy to spot at a glance.
But that's how naming goes. A lot of names come from snap decisions. What matters isn't the literal meaning—it's what the name ends up tying together.
The old basilisk, though, still didn't have a name. Sisko had tried more than once to give it one, but it kept turning him down.
According to the old basilisk, it might eventually want to roam the world, like Sisko had suggested—find a mate, lay a clutch of eggs, then settle down somewhere to wait for the end.
"Why are you all such slackers?"
Cohen had always thought Sisko was an oddball among basilisks, but now it seemed like laziness might just be a species trait.
Snakes are chill.
"Sophia's different, though. She looks like she wants to swallow the whole planet," Cohen said, watching her stretch her jaws wide to chomp down on a puppet's head. He was starting to think turning the puppets into mini-Cohens might be a bad influence. "Maybe we should've named her Jörmungandr."
"She's probably just hitting puberty," Sisko guessed. "When I was young, I had a huge appetite too. Wanted to eat everything—cows, sheep, whatever wizards were raising."
"And then what?"
"Got zapped by a few spells and chased around by wizards," Sisko reminisced. "But once I ducked into my burrow, the guy still tried to blast it open. Rude much?"
"I think I can guess how that wizard ended up," Cohen said, figuring there was no need to hear the rest.
On the last day of the Easter holidays, Cohen ran into Luna on his way back to the eighth floor after lunch.
"Hi, Cohen," Luna said in her airy, dreamy voice. "Thanks for saving my dad. He told me about what happened in the cave."
"Huh—oh, right, Mr. Lovegood."
Cohen remembered now. He *had* run into Luna's dad in that cave with the silver key.
But the fact that he'd told Luna he was "saved by Cohen" instead of just "ran into Cohen" was a little surprising.
"I brought you a gift," Luna said, rummaging through the little pouch at her waist. She pulled out something that looked like a ticket, labeled "Felix Fly Tracking Expedition Entry Voucher."
"What's a Felix Fly?" Cohen asked, frowning.
He'd read his fair share of books—flipped through *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* and *A Thousand Not-Yet-Extinct Legendary Creatures*, at least.
Maybe it was another made-up thing, like the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
"It's a big fly that follows vultures around. They don't eat carrion, though—they eat berries and peaches," Luna explained, clearly thrilled. "They can mimic vulture calls by rubbing their hands together, and they refract light with their eyes…"
Cohen wasn't exactly sold on this fictional, berry-munching fly, but he thanked her politely anyway.
"The expedition's heading out over the summer. Dad and I are both going—destination Peru," Luna said eagerly. "If we find a Felix Fly, *The Quibbler* can publish their picture. Then we'd have enough funds to go to Sweden and look for the Snorkack."
"But you've got stuff to do over the summer, so you can't come along with the Felix Fly Tracking Expedition," she added.
"How'd you know that?" Cohen asked.
He hadn't even come up with an excuse yet—how'd Luna beat him to it?
This was getting awkward…
"I asked a bunch of friends, and everyone's busy over the summer. I figured you would be too," Luna said breezily. "But you can keep the voucher. Later on, you could trade it with the expedition for a Felix Fly larva—if we manage to track them down, that is."
"Sounds pretty cool," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, by the way, your dad didn't keep hanging out with those silver key people afterward, right?"
"No, we both heard about what happened with the silver key later," Luna said, shaking her head. "Dad apologized to me. Said he shouldn't have gone off with them to catch Diricawls…"
"Mr. Norton."
Suddenly, a middle-aged voice called up from the stairwell below.
"Professor von Braun, what's up?"
Cohen glanced down and saw the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Philipp von Braun.
(End of Chapter)