Chapter 60: The Grand Enterprise of Raising Dragons!

Dinky, the house-elf, hastily covered her eyes, but the next second, she realized she was still alive. Furthermore, the terrifying creature radiating a dark and ominous aura right in front of her had just spoken a sentence Dinky could understand.

"Huh?"

Dinky let out a high-pitched squeak of surprise.

Do Dementors eat fried chicken and french fries?

"Sir, aren't you here to eat Dinky?" Dinky peered fearfully at Cohen through the gaps in her fingers.

This monster didn't have a pitch-black cloak, nor did it swallow Dinky's soul in one bite...

"Have you ever seen a monster that eats house-elves whose first words are 'Get some fried chicken and french fries'?"

Cohen said, looking somewhat strained.

"When I first came through the door, you lot all screamed and ran away on your own."

"Sorry, sir, we were just too frightened—a ghost said the other day that a soul-eating Dementor had come to the school!" Dinky said with a trembling voice. "So everyone was terrified... We are bad elves—bad elves—"

As she spoke, Dinky seemed to start subconsciously searching the surroundings for something to punish herself with.

She found a frying pan heated to a glowing red—

"Stop!"

Cohen immediately intervened.

This was the last house-elf left here; if she burned her hands or something—his dinner would be ruined.

This command proved far more effective than any persuasion. Dinky instantly halted her motion of smashing the frying pan against her own forehead, staring at Cohen with large, bulbous eyes that looked as though they were about to burst into tears.

"Get me something to eat, and then I'll declare you the best house-elf in Hogwarts."

Cohen promised.

This verbal praise acted like a lit fuse, triggering another series of loud, popping sounds—the group of house-elves who had fled earlier popped back into existence one after another.

"Sir! Pooky will make you fried chicken!"

"Sorry, sir! Your fries!"

...

"Sir, sir! Kobe has a lot of freshly fried chicken drumsticks right here!"

Why on earth was there a house-elf named Kobe?!

Cohen had no idea how he managed to escape from the kitchen. In the span of barely a minute, several mountain-like piles of food had materialized around him, and these precariously balanced mounds of food were still being shoved closer toward him—he was almost buried under the fried chicken and french fries.

If they weren't house-elves, Cohen might have started suspecting that someone was trying to force-feed him to death—stuffing a Dementor to death was certainly a worthwhile research direction, though at least no one had ever tried it before.

Upon returning to the common room, Cohen immediately spotted Harry, Hermione, and Ron engaged in a private discussion.

"Cohen! You were nowhere to be seen during dinner..." Harry asked curiously, noticing Cohen stepping back into the common room.

"Hermione even brought some food back for you—" Ron pointed to a large package of food on the table. "And Hagrid said the black unicorn outside his hut was brought to him by you—just how many interesting things did you find in the Forbidden Forest? We should all go together next time."

"The Forbidden Forest is dangerous!" Hermione warned Ron with extreme displeasure. "I don't think we should—"

"Cursing Snape is dangerous too," Ron said, pretending to reminisce.

"That's different, that was to save Harry," Hermione retorted. "Cohen went into the Forbidden Forest because a professor accompanied him. Professor Quirrell didn't attend the feast either, right, Cohen?"

Putting aside the actual facts, Hermione's deduction made a lot of sense.

"Ah, yes."

Cohen went along with this explanation, sitting down at the table and quietly using his system inventory to swap out the cold package of food on the table for a fresh batch of hot fried chicken.

"Anyway, I found that unicorn by the lake. It kept following me around, so I dumped it off at Hagrid's place." Cohen took a large bite of his delayed dinner. "It has already returned to the unicorn herd by now."

It probably even led the herd back to Hagrid's place to beg for butterbeer.

Cohen left the second half unsaid. As long as Hagrid didn't go bankrupt buying booze—newly hatched baby dragons also required chicken blood spiked with brandy every half hour, so Hogsmeade's pubs were soon going to become Hagrid's primary procurement base.

While Cohen was feasting, the trio was busy discussing Hagrid raising a dragon with him. ("Hagrid is going to go to jail for this..." Hermione said worriedly.)

"Cohen, is it true that you know a place where we can raise a dragon?" Harry remembered Cohen mentioning this at Hagrid's hut.

"Of course it's true." Cohen patted his belly with satisfaction after finishing his dinner at lightning speed. "And I've already figured out the food situation."

Judging by the wonderful disposition of Hogwarts house-elves, feeding ten dragons wouldn't be much of a problem at all.

Cohen didn't plan to keep the dragon in his own secret base—having the Room of Requirement specifically transform into a dragon breeding farm should work just as well.

Because Cohen discovered that the Room of Requirement would only maintain the appearance of the "Cohen Base" when he, the Count, or Allie were inside; otherwise, it would transform into something else.

Cohen had tested quite a few other magical creatures, including Puffskeins, Fire-Dwellers, and even a rather reluctant Acromantula.

None of them produced the same effect as the Count and Allie.

Cohen deduced that this room could only detect humans or human-like desires—dragons probably didn't count, as that species leaned much closer to beasts driven by instinct.

Therefore, Cohen could raise the dragon in a "dragon breeding farm," allowing Hagrid and Harry and the others to go in and see it—while simultaneously ensuring the privacy of his own secret base.

However, Cohen had no intention of exposing his base, especially since it contained a massive pile of books related to Dark Magic; that would be far too suspicious.

The only problem might be whether Norbert would be obedient—if this dragon couldn't be tamed, Cohen planned to have Ron write a letter to Charlie, Weasley's brother who was studying dragons in Romania.

"Still, we need a backup plan. If it misbehaves, we'll still have to send it away," Cohen said conservatively. "Or..."

Cohen made a neck-chopping gesture.

"Hagrid would be very sad..." Harry guessed.

"Your first reaction isn't that it's too cruel?" Hermione frowned. "After all..."

"Hey—wait, I have an idea!" Ron's eyes suddenly lit up. "I can write to my brother Charlie! He's studying dragons in Romania, he can definitely help."

Ron's backup plan was extremely solid, but at Cohen's request, they didn't write to Charlie right away.

A backup plan meant that unless an accident occurred, this plan would never be invoked.

Two lazy days of academic life slipped by in a flash. By Thursday noon, Hagrid sent a short note—the edges of the letter still bore scorched marks.

[It's about to hatch]