Hogwarts, i am Dementor

Midnight, twelve o'clock sharp. 

Coombe Village, dubbed Britain's "most historic" little hamlet, didn't have a single streetlamp. Once night fell, the only thing lighting the way was the faint glow of the stars. 

That also meant everything under the cover of darkness turned into vague, shadowy blobs—no wonder Mrs. Morlick and those two kids all claimed they'd seen some giant black figure. 

"Wake up!" 

The Earl swooped back in through the window, a dead mouse dangling from his claws. 

"It's time. And get this—the mayor's still awake." 

"What?" Cohen bolted upright in bed. "What time is it?" 

"About midnight," the Earl replied, gnawing on the field mouse while perched on the windowsill. "I saw the big clock on the church tower. Does a chubby human mayor really stay up this late?" 

"Not a normal one," Cohen said, rolling out of bed, practically buzzing with excitement. "I'll figure out quick if he's been sneaking over to the widow's place—" 

"You just can't let go of that twisted little theory, can you…" the Earl sighed. "The mayor's house is south of that park we were at today. It's the only place with a light on upstairs." 

"Good owl. You've earned yourself a Mr. Frondo," Cohen said with a grin, swiftly vaulting out the window. 

"You little born-evil Dementor wannabe, I oughta shove these mouse bones up your—" 

The Earl growled, but Cohen was already too far to hear the rest. 

Cohen darted through the garden, weaving through the darkness toward the mayor's house as the Earl had described. It was on the south side of town, just like the old Norton estate. 

And sure enough, as the Earl had said, it stood out like a sore thumb—the only house in the area with a light glowing from the second-floor bedroom. 

As he approached the two-story building, Cohen slowed his pace. The front door was wide open, and the plump mayor was chatting with a woman right there on the doorstep. 

That woman? None other than Marjorie Morlick, the widow Cohen had questioned earlier today about the disappearance case. 

Aha! Up in the middle of the night—definitely up to no good! 

While the mayor was busy flirting with Mrs. Morlick, Cohen seized the chance to slip inside the house. 

No surprise, it screamed "rich Muggle vibes." The place oozed a kind of lavishness you'd never find in a wizarding home like the Nortons'—think gem-encrusted ebony cabinets, curtains trimmed with ostrich feathers, and a massive, ancient-looking mahogany bookshelf. 

If it were just Muggle trinkets, Cohen wouldn't have batted an eye. 

But there was one thing here that absolutely didn't belong in a Muggle house. 

A wand. Locked away in the lower compartment of the bookshelf. Most wizards might've missed it, tucked away like that—but not Cohen. 

Cohen could see its soul, unmarked by any strength rating. 

The wand wasn't the main issue, though. The real question was: why the heck did a Muggle mayor have a hidden wand in his house? 

The biggest suspect had to be the Silver Key gang. Maybe they were cutting some deal with the mayor—a deal that almost certainly involved magic. 

"Alohomora." 

Cohen quickly unlocked the cabinet and snatched the wand. Outside, the mayor was still sweet-talking Mrs. Morlick—plenty of time, no worries. 

It was an old, worn-out wand, scratched up and battered. Either its original owner had been dead for ages, or they'd ditched it for a shiny new one. 

Ugh, why am I feeling sorry for a wand now? 

Aside from the wand, the cabinet didn't hold anything useful. Cohen decided to take it with him and check upstairs next. 

Up on the second floor, the mayor's bedroom door was half-open, a dim yellow light spilling out through the crack. 

But… 

Why were there two familiar soul tags in there? 

[Soul Strength: 3] 

[Soul Strength: 3] 

Tom and Jerry? 

Looks like Cohen wasn't the only one playing detective tonight. 

He crept silently to the doorway. 

"There's got to be some record—photos, letters, something…" Tom's voice sounded urgent. 

"Brother, these letters are all addressed to the Wiltshire government…" Jerry replied. 

*Creak—* 

Cohen pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

"Hide, quick!" Tom instinctively yanked Jerry toward the bed, aiming to duck underneath. The mayor's bed had plenty of space below, perfectly concealed by the hanging sheets. 

"Ah!" Jerry let out a small yelp. 

"You're too slow—I already saw you," Cohen pointed out. "Fail." 

"It's you?!" Tom froze mid-shove as he recognized who'd walked in. "What are you doing here?" 

"Same as you," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door behind him. "I noticed earlier when you two were being dragged off—you saw something odd behind the mayor, didn't you? What's the deal?" 

"It's okay, Jerry, it's Cohen—the guy we met in the park today," Tom said, pulling Jerry out from under the bed. He looked up at Cohen. "The mayor might be tied to our dad's disappearance. There was this shiny chain behind him. Three days ago, before Dad went missing, someone knocked on our door and called him out. We were just coming downstairs and caught a glimpse of that chain glinting." 

"The mayor dragged your dad off in the middle of the night?" Cohen frowned. "Why does this keep turning into some British mystery drama…" 

"What are you talking about?" Tom asked, confused. 

"Not important," Cohen said, shaking his head. He walked over to the desk Tom and Jerry had been rummaging through. "But you're half-right. This mayor's definitely mixed up with a crime group. No wonder the case hasn't been solved in a month. The guy handing stuff over to the Wiltshire cops is the criminal—of course they're not gonna crack it. They'll probably just write it off as a wild animal attack and call it a day…" 

"Do you know where they took our dad?" Jerry asked, his voice trembling with fear and worry. "Why would they take him…?" 

"It's not like your dad's some stunning beauty perfect for a starring role," Cohen quipped, scanning the neatly organized bookshelf. "Smart criminals don't leave evidence lying around on their desk—especially when they know someone might come poking around…" 

Suddenly, heavy, stumbling footsteps echoed from the hallway outside, mixed with ragged breathing. 

"Mmm… oh… not yet… we're not there…" 

"Be good… this is my house, no one's gonna interrupt us…" The mayor's breathless voice rang out. "Even if we do it on the floor…" 

Tom and Jerry exchanged a horrified glance. 

"He's back!" Tom whispered urgently, waving at Cohen. "Quick, under the bed—or out the window—" 

"We're on the second floor, and there's bushes down there!" Cohen stopped them from jumping. Those prickly shrubs could shred two fragile kids—though Cohen wouldn't die. He could probably even fly them out of there. 

But if he wanted the fastest way to figure out where the kidnapped folks and the Silver Key gang were… 

Cohen had a better idea. 

"Don't hide under the bed either—you'll regret it later," he said, roughly dragging them toward the other side of the room—toward the closet. 

"What—" 

"Shut it!" Cohen hissed, yanking the closet door open and shoving them in among the hanging clothes before squeezing in himself. 

Three kids could still fit pretty easily. The moment Cohen slid the door shut, the mayor and Mrs. Morlick stumbled into the room, tangled up and crashing through the doorway.