Chapter 27: Cohen Did It Too

By the time I left the depths of the Forbidden Forest, night had fully descended. A plump, round moon hung in the clouds, and the distant, faint howls of werewolves drifted on the air—but tonight, I, Cohen, had no desire to fly that far.

At a time like this, one should be back in bed.

Watching my soul integrity reach 19%, I felt a surge of satisfaction and dropped my Dementor form on the outskirts of the forest. Had I flown back to Gryffindor Tower in that state, I suspected Dumbledore would have blasted me into oblivion on the spot. Heaven only knows if his phoenix Patronus could peck my soul to pieces, especially with the Elder Wand in his hand.

"It’s made of elder wood, too. Why can't you learn a thing or two from that one?" I muttered to my wand’s core.

The wand’s soul remained curled up inside, refusing to show itself—I had begun to suspect it might actually be dead.

Darkness blanketed the castle and the grounds. On the way back to the dormitory, I figured I wouldn't be spotted—most of the torches and candles in the castle were extinguished, save for a few lingering lights in the towers.

But just as I sneaked into the castle to return...

"Ha! Caught you!"

Filch’s voice rang out, grating like teeth on metal. He popped out from a corner like a ghost, brandishing a yellow lantern.

"I knew it was you Gryffindor brats... Was it you who dropped that Dungbomb last time—"

"Obliviate!"

I immediately cast a Memory Charm at his back. Morality is for students serving detention; I had no intention of wasting my time scrubbing the castle or skinning Flobberworms. Taking advantage of Filch’s dazed state, I darted away.

It was fortunate I could navigate those dark staircases—though I couldn't explain how, given that pure-blooded Dementors have no eyes—otherwise, I felt I might have been trapped for hours by those treacherous stairs that liked to snag a person's legs. After all, one could handle a Squib like Filch with a spell, but the school's staircases were another matter. Damaging them meant a weekend of detention at the very least, or worse, having your parents called in. I certainly didn't want to see an infuriated Rose in the Headmaster’s office.

Before the Fat Lady’s portrait, I was surprised to find her still awake at such a late hour.

"Oh, were you all off holding some secret meeting tonight?" she asked, quite curious.

"Pig snout—is anyone else out?" I asked after reciting the password.

"You’ll see when you get inside; they were in a much bigger hurry than you—running until they were drenched in sweat." The Fat Lady yawned as the frame swung forward, revealing the hole leading to the common room. "You don't have any companions still out, do you? I’m going to sleep..."

The moment I crawled inside, I knew who else had been breaking school rules tonight.

"You, you lot, what are your eyes for?" Hermione’s voice sounded furious. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry’s voice replied. "I didn't look at its feet, I was too busy looking at its heads..."

"No, not the floor," Hermione said indignantly. "It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s clearly guarding something."

"I hope you’re proud of yourselves, we could have all been killed—or worse—"

Hermione’s tirade was interrupted by my arrival. I had intended to wait for them to finish, but crawling on all fours in a narrow tunnel for too long... it really does a number on your lower back.

There were four people in the common room: Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville, who looked as though he had sworn off speaking for the rest of his life. Now, there was one more: me, covered in a fair amount of dirt from my crawl.

"Perhaps I’ve come at a bad time—"

"Cohen did it too!" Harry pointed at me.

"Huh?" I widened my eyes. "Wait—I didn't provoke any of you—"

"I meant the night-wandering, Hermione," Harry explained to her. "You’re taking the rule-breaking a bit too seriously..."

"At least Cohen didn't go to the third-floor corridor," Hermione said, enunciating every word, casting a look of disappointment at me—entirely oblivious to the fact that she was one of the worst rule-breakers of them all. "If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed."

Ron stared at her retreating back, his mouth agape in shock.

"Go to bed, we won't excuse you," he muttered. "What’s that about? It’s as if we dragged her along."

"Never mind that, where did you go?" I asked. It sounded exactly like they had gone to see that three-headed dog on the third floor.

I remembered that the day after the flying lesson, Harry had received a broomstick from Professor McGonagall and joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But Malfoy, who was supposed to have lured Harry and Ron into a midnight duel, hadn't shown up. I had thought I misremembered, but it seemed Malfoy had simply picked a time when I wasn't around.

"It was Malfoy," Ron said viciously. "He tricked us. He said at dinner he wanted to duel at midnight, but he’s a total coward!"

"And Cohen—why weren't you at dinner?" Harry was also curious about my whereabouts. "And..." He looked at the dirt on my robes. "Were you in the Forbidden Forest again?"

"The Forbidden Forest is still better than going to the third-floor corridor with her," Ron pouted, though he was clearly curious about my trip. "What did you see in there, Cohen? Fred told me there are all sorts of Dark creatures..."

"Maybe..." I raised my eyebrows cautiously. "I didn't see much that was alive, just some spiders and a few Fire-Crabs."

At the mention of spiders, Ron shuddered. "Then I hope I never have to go there in my life..."

The three of them returned to the dormitory, and Harry couldn't wait to tell me about the "three-headed dog" and the "trapdoor" Hermione had mentioned. He even brought up the small package Hagrid had retrieved from Gringotts and the fact that the vault had been broken into on the same day.

I decided to crown Harry the second "Information Vault" of Hogwarts; the first, of course, was Hagrid.

"Cohen, what do you think is hidden under that trapdoor?" Harry asked, lying in bed, unable to sleep. "That thing Hagrid brought out of Gringotts..."

"Maybe a magical potion that turns everything into candy," I mumbled from beneath my covers.

I definitely had to get my hands on the Philosopher's Stone. Who knew? Perhaps a single stone could restore a huge chunk of my soul integrity. But how was I supposed to get it safely?

Should I let Quirrell threaten me into testing the stone for poison? If Dumbledore believed that, he’d truly be senile. Or should I swallow it to keep it from the bad guys?

"What did you even protect!"—I suffered a strange auditory hallucination of that very line.

It was a headache... I couldn't figure it out tonight. As it stood, I’d better just get some sleep.