Chapter 11: The Earl Called In for a Meeting

In the blink of an eye, accompanied by a flash of firelight, the Earl found himself in a spacious circular room. The walls were adorned with portraits of men and women, old and young, all former headmasters.

He was seated at a massive table, facing a smiling old man with a white beard.

Nearby, on a bird perch, rested a phoenix with vivid red feathers. Unfortunately, the Earl preferred birds smaller than himself—how did the upright ape put it? A lolicon?

“You know I don’t accept beastly relations—” the Earl reminded the old man.

“Ho, getting old makes it hard to keep up with young people’s newfangled terms,” Dumbledore replied, unfazed by the Earl’s blunt remark, instead laughing warmly like Santa Claus.

“Sorry to interrupt your date.”

“How sorry?” the Earl tilted his head and asked.

“...”

Even Dumbledore was momentarily at a loss for how to answer.

“Get on with it. If you have questions, ask them quickly. That way, I still have time to catch a field mouse—wizards are always dragging their feet, so they never manage to catch any mice.”

“Even in the magical world, talking owls are not common,” Dumbledore said through his half-moon spectacles, locking eyes with the Earl. “May I know your name? Perhaps I should introduce myself first. Albus Dumbledore.”

“Earl ‘Very Hungry, Wants to Eat Field Mouse,’” the Earl replied dryly.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a lively gray rat appeared on the table.

The Earl’s eyes immediately sharpened. He seized the rat’s neck in one bite, blood splattering everywhere.

But Dumbledore paid no mind to the blood staining his desk and expensive silverware.

“Hmm—you’re much better than those little wizards who just say ‘love you’ with their mouths,” the Earl said with satisfaction as he feasted. “Since you’re so sensible, I’ll grant you a wish. I can help you steal the old man Gellert Grindelwald’s underwear—”

“Actually, my wish might be a bit simpler than that,” Dumbledore interrupted before the Earl finished.

The Earl’s keen eyes couldn’t hide his suspicion, but he was not very perceptive.

This owl knew a little too much.jpg

“Oh?” The Earl’s head spun another turn. “You wouldn’t... oh—”

A look of sudden understanding crossed his face.

“I want to ask you three questions,” Dumbledore said calmly, unfazed by the Earl’s teasing.

“Ask away. You still owe me two field mice.”

“Where do you come from?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

“Of course, from a damn egg. Back then, I wasn’t even as big as a field mouse,” the Earl answered. “Then the tree I lived in was cut down by some old guy named John, so I ended up staying at his place—he’s a lot like you, but better suited to be the main character, because he doesn’t talk.”

“Why did you come looking for Cohen?” Dumbledore continued.

“Are you that brat’s father?” The Earl’s enormous eyes filled with awe. “Coo-coo—not, you already—coo-coo— you’re...”

The Earl couldn’t find the right adjective and finally blurted out:

“People can’t, or at least shouldn’t...”

“Ten years ago, some wizards and I found Cohen in a dark magic laboratory,” Dumbledore leaned back in his armchair. His robe was embroidered with stars and moons, making him look like an ordinary, weary old man. “This child is a w... experiment.”

“You meant weapon, right? That little brat really is bad news!”

The Earl instantly became alert.

“People say you’re an awesome wizard—can you break the ‘Owl Purchase Contract’? I want to leave the Scottish Highlands—no, Britain—no, Europe—right now!”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know that spell,” Dumbledore shook his head slightly. “But don’t be so pessimistic about a child.”

“A person’s origin doesn’t matter; what matters is who they grow up to be.”

“Provided they’re human,” the Earl flapped his wings uneasily. Unnoticed, the mouse bones and dried blood on the table had already been cleaned away. “You shouldn’t have—”

The Earl made a throat-slitting gesture with his wing.

“Aurors from the Ministry of Magic tried,” Dumbledore sighed. “A terrible decision, but the good news is Cohen survived.”

“Good heavens, I must see if I can apply for the Owl Moon Landing Program,” the Earl muttered. “Dementors probably wouldn’t venture into outer space—there’s no memory or soul up there.”

“Cohen is a good child,” Dumbledore said earnestly. “I hope you can help him.”

“Thank heavens. I’ll soon teach him how to catch field mice,” the Earl pecked at his own wing. “Once he learns to catch mice, I’ll teach him letter delivery. He’ll surely become an excellent owl—if he ever grows wings and claws.”

“Helping others doesn’t always require waving a wand or casting spells,” Dumbledore winked at the Earl. “Sometimes, help means simply keeping someone company or offering comforting words between friends.”

“Thank you for listening to an old man ramble in the middle of the night.”

Dumbledore waved his wand again, and the headmaster’s office window opened.

“Wait—”

The Earl was about to fly away but suddenly turned back and perched on Dumbledore’s windowsill.

“You traded those three questions for one more. You haven’t asked the last one yet.”

He had a feeling this man would try to make something of that third question—the Earl swore never to eat any field mouse gifted by a smiling old man again.

“Oh, I forgot to ask the third question.”

Dumbledore’s expression showed he had just remembered.

“Do you want woolen socks for Christmas?”

“...”

The Earl stared stiffly at the grinning Dumbledore.

“You better be serious.”

The Earl puckered his tail and flew into the night sky.

-----------------

“Dumbledore seems like a good person...”

In spectral form, Cohen had watched the entire scene outside the headmaster’s office.

It was possible that Dumbledore knew Cohen was watching and had staged the whole thing for him—if so, this old man was a bit too bored.

Cohen felt he probably wouldn’t turn into some undead Dementor slaughtering the world—wait...

Didn’t Dumbledore say... many Aurors had tried to kill Cohen but failed?!

Or was it that...

Cohen suddenly understood why his fragmented soul was so intact.

No wonder, as a child, Cohen had absorbed the souls of over three hundred people, yet his soul’s integrity remained so low!