Hogwarts, i am Dementor

There was no need to wait for Edward to return—besides, Edward probably didn't even know about this owl-related law anyway.

Cohen had already found the relevant passage in his newly purchased *A History of Magic*.

Due to the widespread and uncontrollable nature of owl communication, after the enactment of the *International Statute of Secrecy* in 1692, owls were classified under the category of magical creatures prone to exposure and thus subject to regulation.

At the same time, the *Owl Purchase Contract* was introduced. It required owl trainers and vendors to ensure that every owl entering the market was bound by a contractual spell, preventing abnormal behaviors such as escaping, going missing, or betraying their owners.

Cohen's experiment had been a resounding success. All he had to do was think "forbid" in his mind, and Earl—the owl—truly couldn't utter a single word.

"Congratulations, you get to live and be my messenger," Cohen announced cheerfully to Earl, silently forbidding the owl from saying anything about Cohen being a Dementor.

Earl might not have had any intention of saying it in the first place, but Cohen opted for caution. This way, he'd have a talking owl while ensuring his identity wouldn't be inexplicably exposed.

In the days that followed, Cohen asked Earl more than once why it could talk.

But Earl's answer was always the same story.

In the tale, Earl lived with an old man named John (Earl: "There's an old guy named John on every street") in a rundown lighthouse with an attic. Old John carved wooden figurines year after year, and Earl would fly out with them, dropping them into the forest.

"John carved at least a few hundred figurines. I had to fly out several times a day. Sadly, though I meant to make a roomier nest, those figurines always ended up being picked up by people lost in the forest—and those lost folks always managed to find the lighthouse."

Earl smacked its beak. It had just flown back in through the window, the bright moonlight glinting off its wings.

It sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale—a lighthouse guiding lost souls in the forest, a silent old woodcarver, and a talking owl…

"What am I, some gullible little kid?" Cohen deadpanned, giving Earl a flat stare as it perched on the windowsill, munching on a field mouse it had snatched from somewhere.

"Aren't you—er, I mean, coo coo—birds talking is already pretty fairy-tale-like. The story fits," Earl replied, splattering the windowsill with blood.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine. The magical world's full of talking things anyway."

Cohen waved his wand casually.

"*Scourgify.*"

"My midnight snack!" Earl let out an indescribable screech.

[*Ding! Sin Points +1*]

Looking at the spotless windowsill and Earl—who flew off, deciding to eat future snacks elsewhere—Cohen climbed into bed, satisfied.

In the month or so before school started, Cohen had already previewed all the spells in *Standard Spells, Grade 1*. 

The spells young witches and wizards learned were mostly beginner-level ones like fire-starting charms, cutting spells, and levitation charms. The more practical ones included repair charms and cleaning spells.

They weren't particularly difficult. Though the book included the magical numerical models behind each spell, it was obvious that wasn't something normal students would bother with—no eleven-year-old was going to study three-dimensional function models, and neither was Cohen.

"Imagine this: someone finally crosses into a magical world, steps excitedly through Hogwarts' gates, and then a passing student on the left says, 'Hey, did you catch today's lecture? I didn't really get polynomial fitting.' Another student on the right replies, 'Oh, I got that. If your initial magic output is x and your final tiered magic output is y, then it's y = a + bx + cx + dx…' How desperate would that poor穿越者穿越者 (transmigrator) feel?"

Cohen told himself a little joke.

This absolutely wasn't an excuse for not studying hard.

Anyway, while the theory behind these spells was scientific, casting them was all about intent.

Just wave your wand with the prescribed gestures, say the incantation, and picture the spell's effect in your mind—snap! The spell works!

The only tricky part might be memorizing the incantations and their corresponding movements.

Maybe with more casting experience later, he could skip the incantations and gestures altogether—or even the wand.

For now, though, Cohen could only openly self-study *Standard Spells, Grade 1*. Edward and Rose had jointly stressed that young witches and wizards shouldn't leap too far ahead with spells—without a teacher's guidance and supervision, it was easy for a kid to turn a simple spell into a big mess.

Even adult wizards messed up sometimes. There was once a wizard named Baruffio who said "s" instead of "f" and ended up flat on the floor with a buffalo standing on his chest.

So, Cohen practiced the basic textbook during the day. At night, though…

Naturally, he worked on *The Complete Guide to Positive Charms*, which he'd bought from the Goodwill Shop for 250 Goodwill Points.

The first three chapters of this spellbook were a breeze for Cohen, but when he hit the advanced spells in Chapter Four—like the Summoning Charm and Bubble-Head Charm—he couldn't get them to work no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe they required a higher level of magical power. Cohen gave up after a few attempts, settling for flipping through the book to satisfy his curiosity. (To help young witches and wizards better understand spell effects, the textbook included animated illustrations next to each spell, showing test subjects repeatedly casting or being affected by them.)

Over the next month, Cohen had planned to reveal to Harry that he was also a Hogwarts newbie after they met up, just to cheer Harry up.

But ever since Harry returned from the island with the Dursleys, he hadn't come looking for Cohen. Once, when they'd bumped into each other, Harry had just awkwardly said hi before bolting off in a panic.

It almost made Cohen wonder if Harry had figured out he was a Dementor.

Just like that, the holidays flew by. Early one morning, Rose dragged Cohen out of bed.

"It's your first day of school today! Mommy's got to make sure you look absolutely perfect—"

Rose fussed over Cohen's hair and clothes with overflowing affection.

"Mom, that's something you say when dressing up a girl."

Cohen sighed, exasperated, but didn't pull away from Rose's hands—even when she tried pinning a pink bow tie to his collar.

"It doesn't match your hair…"

Rose tossed the pink bow tie aside, disappointed.

"He'll have to swap all this out for a uniform at school anyway," Edward said wisely, leaning against the doorway.

"Hm?" Rose shot him a single look, and Edward promptly shut his mouth and went downstairs to prep breakfast.

The whole way there, Cohen was wrapped in the discomfort of his tight formal outfit, watching Rose dab at tears with a handkerchief in the passenger seat—tears born from her child leaving her side for at least a semester.

"Hogwarts will take good care of him. Didn't we make it through just fine back then?" Edward comforted her.

The scene made Cohen feel less like he was heading to school and more like he was being married off.

At King's Cross Station, Cohen followed Edward and Rose through the wall between Platforms 9 and 10, arriving at Platform 9¾.

A scarlet steam train sat at the platform, surrounded by a dreamy mist. The bustling crowd was filled with the chatter of kids and the shouts of some flustered parents.

"When you get to school, follow the rules, don't go anywhere dangerous, don't pick fights with professors, study hard, eat well, drink plenty of water, write us a letter with Earl every week, and you'd better get sorted into Gryffindor. If you dare go to Slytherin, I'll—"

"Okay, Rose, aren't you worried Cohen might jump off the train halfway? Any house is fine, right?" Edward quickly cut off Rose's anxiety-fueled rant.

Then Edward crouched down, ruffling Cohen's hair.

"Just enjoy school life, Cohen. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. Hogwarts' classes are pretty relaxed—at least compared to Smeltings."

"Got it. I'll dress myself, use the bathroom, eat, and… uh, handle things. Don't worry, Mom and Dad."

Cohen discreetly tugged at his suffocating collar and bolted into the train.

Outside, Rose leaned on Edward's shoulder, watching Cohen dart past the train windows, her expression a mix of relief and teary pride.

"Edward, do you remember when we first met on the train?"

"I do," Edward stiffened. "I was being picked on by some mean kids."

"They were just a bunch of wimps," Rose said fondly.

"After you chased them off, you beat me up too," Edward said, his mouth twitching.

"Because you were a sniveling little wimp back then. I can't stand wimps," Rose said, leaning closer to Edward's face. "But… you were different in one way."

"Oh?"

"You were a wimp brave enough to raise a Dementor with me." Rose kissed Edward's cheek. "Cohen'll be fine, right?"

"Of course he will. He's a good kid," Edward said, his kissed cheek flushing red. "Hogwarts has Dumbledore, and… when we went shopping for school supplies, he told me I was a good dad."

"Evil Dementors don't have 'love,' right?"

---

Meanwhile, just before leaving, Harry wanted Uncle Vernon to wait a moment.

"Boy, I don't have time for your nonsense," Uncle Vernon grumbled, standing by the car. "Dudley's got to get to the hospital. You've got two minutes—"

With permission granted, Harry dashed to Cohen's front door and knocked urgently.

Over the past few days, Harry had really wanted to share all these amazing things with Cohen—the owls and letters, the giant of a man, the wondrous magic…

All the incredible stuff that had burst into his life on his birthday night.

But Hagrid had told him he couldn't reveal magic to any Muggle—not even his closest friend.

So Harry had been avoiding Cohen, terrified he'd spill everything if Cohen asked him anything.

Plus, Harry couldn't bear to imagine how awful it'd feel to know your friend could do magic while you couldn't.

Still, before leaving Privet Drive, Harry decided he had to say goodbye to Cohen.

"Cohen, I'm going to a different school, but I'll definitely come back, and we'll always be good friends, right…?"

Harry rehearsed his prepared farewell over and over while waiting for Cohen to open the door.

Sadly, no one answered.

"Ha, kid, you think the Norton kid's still around to say goodbye to you on the first day of school? No one wants to hang out with someone like you," Uncle Vernon taunted from afar, venting his frustration on Harry. "If it weren't for that blasted pig tail, Dudley wouldn't have to delay his start—"

Harry didn't even hear Uncle Vernon. He climbed glumly into the car, glancing one last time at Cohen's bedroom window, feeling like the joy of starting school couldn't overcome the hollow ache in his chest.

---

On the other end, Cohen found an empty compartment at the back of the train. He shoved his trunk haphazardly beside the seat, slammed the door shut with a bang, and started wrestling with the buttons on his ridiculously tight collar.

Man, his mom's love was suffocating—literally.

And why did he, a supposed Dementor, even need to breathe? Was this fleshy body just too weak after all…?

"You look like a werewolf in heat about to pounce on me," Earl said, tilting its head as it watched Cohen strip.

"And you look like a creepy alchemist peeping at a kid's body," Cohen shot back without missing a beat.

Finally, Cohen changed into his school robes early, vowing to cast a subtle expansion charm on that stifling formal outfit before returning home—he wasn't about to let a piece of clothing murder him and tarnish his legacy.

Rose had handed him a bag of clinking pocket money before they left, since the train had a snack trolley, and kids usually preferred the fun, magically enhanced treats over the dry packed lunches their parents stuffed in their trunks.

But Cohen figured he wouldn't need to spend a dime today. This compartment at the train's end was about to welcome a loaded guy who'd wave a hand and say, "I'll take it all"—

"Hello, can I sit—Cohen?!"

Harry pushed open the compartment door and froze in the aisle when he saw who was inside.

"Excuse me, we need to get through," students from the opposite compartment said, heading to the bathroom and sounding mildly annoyed at Harry blocking the way.

"Oh—sure—sorry…" Harry hurriedly apologized, dragging his trunk into the compartment with such force that Hedwig, in her cage atop the trunk, let out a protesting squawk.

Cohen noticed that once Hedwig appeared, Earl's eyes never left the pure white snowy owl.

"Don't even think about it. I don't even have a girlfriend yet—you're not getting a head start!" Cohen whispered threateningly to Earl.

Earl shot Cohen a disdainful glance, as if to say, "What're you gonna do if I sneak off to the owlery at night and hook up with the other birds?"

"Cohen! I thought you—wait, I mean, I thought—" Harry stammered, tripping over his words.

"Wow, what a coincidence, Harry! You're going to Hogwarts too," Cohen said earnestly.

"Your reaction's a little slow…" Harry muttered, his expression stiffening. "I've been sitting here for thirty seconds already."

"I guess I'm not great at the emotional stuff," Cohen sighed. "You didn't come see me all last month. I was gonna secretly tell you about the magical world—"

"But Hagrid said we can't tell Muggles—and you didn't know I was a wizard back then, right?" Harry asked, anxious and confused.

"Who's Hagrid?" Cohen asked bluntly.

That opened the floodgates. Harry launched into an excited ramble about his birthday's wild adventures.

Eleven-year-olds were too easy to handle—just a little nudge, and they'd forget their original point entirely.

Cohen got what he wanted: he didn't have to say much himself. Listening was less effort than talking, especially since the snack trolley hadn't arrived yet.

(*End of Chapter*)