Chapter 7: The Hogwarts Express!

There was no need to wait for Edward to return—moreover, Edward most likely wasn’t even aware of this particular law regarding owls.

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

Due to the uncontrollable proliferation of owl post, after the International Secrecy Act was enacted in 1692, owls were classified among magical creatures prone to exposure.

At the same time, the Owl Purchase Contract came into being, requiring owl trainers and sellers to ensure that every owl circulating in the market was bound by a contract curse to prevent abnormal escapes, disappearances, or betrayals.

Cohen’s experiment was a great success; simply by thinking “forbid” toward the Count, the owl genuinely could not utter a single word.

“Congratulations, you can live as my messenger now,” Cohen announced cheerfully to the Count, silently forbidding any mention of Cohen being a Dementor.

Perhaps the Count never had such intentions in the first place, but Cohen chose to act cautiously—this way, he not only had a talking owl but also ensured his identity wouldn’t be inadvertently revealed.

In the days that followed, Cohen asked the Count more than once why it could speak.

But the Count's answer was always the same story.

In the tale, it lived with an old man named John (the Count said, every street has an old man named John) in a dilapidated lighthouse with an attic. Year after year, Old John carved wooden sculptures, and the Count would fly out with the wooden carvings, dropping them into the forest—

“John carved at least hundreds of them. I have to fly out several times a day. Unfortunately, even though my intention was to make a slightly larger nest, those wooden sculptures always got picked up by some people lost in the forest—lost people always find the lighthouse.”

The Count tapped its beak, having just flown back through the window, moonlight shining on its wings.

It all sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale—a guiding lighthouse for those lost in the forest, a silent old man carving wood, and a talking owl...

“Do I look like a gullible kid to you?” Cohen gave the Count a deadpan look as it enjoyed a field mouse it had no idea where it caught.

“Isn’t it? I mean, coo coo—the fact that birds can talk is already fairy tale enough. This story fits the mood.” The Count left the windowsill stained with blood.

“If you don’t want to say, fine. There are plenty of talking things in the magical world anyway.”

Cohen waved his wand casually.

“Clean as new.”

“My midnight snack!” The Count let out an indescribable shriek.

[Beep! Sin value +1]

Watching the spotless windowsill and the Count fly away again, deciding to find its midnight snack elsewhere, Cohen climbed into bed satisfied.

In the month before enrollment, Cohen had already previewed all the spells in Standard Spells, Beginner level.

Most of these wizards’ spells were simple ones like fire-starting, cutting, floating, with the more practical ones being repair and cleaning spells.

They were hardly difficult. Although the book showed the magical digital models behind each spell, it was obvious that this wasn’t something a normal student would study—no eleven-year-old would learn three-dimensional function models, and Cohen wouldn’t either.

“Imagine someone crossing into the magical world, excitedly stepping through Hogwarts’ gates, then hearing a student on the left say, ‘Hey, did you understand today’s lesson? I didn’t quite get polynomial fitting,’ and a student on the right reply, ‘I got it. Suppose your initial magical power consumption is x, and the final stepped output is y, then y = a + bx + cx² + dx³...’ How despairing that would be for a newcomer...” Cohen told himself a joke.

That was definitely not an excuse for not studying seriously.

Anyway, although the magic’s theory was scientific, its practice was quite idealistic.

You just had to wave your wand with the prescribed gestures, say the incantation, and think of the spell’s effect—and snap! The spell was cast!

The only real difficulty was memorizing the words and the corresponding hand movements.

Maybe once he gained more experience, he could dispense with the incantations and gestures altogether—even the wand.

But for now, Cohen could only openly self-study this Standard Spells, Beginner book, because Edward and Rose had jointly emphasized that young wizards shouldn’t learn too many advanced spells ahead of time—without a teacher’s guidance and supervision, young wizards easily caused major trouble with a simple phrase.

Even adult wizards made mistakes; once, a wizard named Baruffio mispronounced an ‘f’ as an ‘s’ and found himself lying on the floor with a wild bull standing on his chest.

So during the day, Cohen only practiced from this ordinary textbook, but at night...

Of course, Cohen practiced the Comprehensive Book of Positive Spells he had bought from the Goodwill Shop for 250 goodwill points.

The first three chapters of this spell compendium were a breeze for Cohen, but when he reached advanced spells like the Existence Spell and Head Bubble Spell at the start of chapter four, he could not manage to cast them properly.

Perhaps they required a higher level of magical power; Cohen just skimmed through the book, enjoying the pictures (to help young wizards better understand the effects, the textbook included animated illustrations showing testers repeating the casting or being affected by the spells).

During the following month, Cohen had planned to reveal to Harry, after meeting him, that he too was a new Hogwarts student—to cheer him up.

But ever since Harry moved back from the island with the Dursleys, he never came to find Cohen. Once, when they did run into each other, Harry awkwardly said hello and hurried away.

It almost made Cohen suspect Harry knew about his Dementor identity.

And so, the holiday passed in the blink of an eye, and Cohen was woken at dawn by Rose.

“Today is your first day of school! Mom is definitely going to dress you up beautifully—”

Rose lovingly fussed over Cohen’s hair and clothes.

“Mom, that’s something you say when dressing girls up,” Cohen said embarrassedly but didn’t pull away even when Rose tried to pin a pink bow tie on his collar.

“That doesn’t match your hair...” Rose sighed, tossing the bow aside.

“Those things will be replaced at school anyway, with the uniform.” Edward leaned against the door, speaking wisely.

“Hm?” Rose shot Edward a look that silenced him, and he went downstairs to prepare breakfast.

On the way, Cohen was wrapped in the discomfort of the constricting formal wear, watching Rose in the passenger seat occasionally wipe tears caused by the thought of her child leaving for at least a term.

“Hogwarts will take good care of you. We went through the same thing!” Edward reassured him.

The scene made Cohen feel as if he were not going to school but getting married.

At King’s Cross Station, Cohen followed Edward and Rose through the brick wall between platforms nine and ten, reaching platform nine and three-quarters.

The crimson steam train stood in the foggy mist, surrounded by the bustling crowd; children’s noisy chatter and some anxious parents’ shouts filled the air.

“Remember to obey school rules, don’t go to dangerous places, don’t argue with professors, study hard, eat well, drink plenty, write us a letter from the Count every week, and you must be sorted into Gryffindor. If you dare go to Slytherin, I’ll—”

“Alright, Rose, aren’t you afraid Cohen might jump off the train and run away? It’s the same no matter which house he’s sorted into,” Edward interrupted his anxious wife.

Then he squatted down to ruffle Cohen’s hair.

“Cohen, just enjoy school life, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Hogwarts’ courses are fairly easy—at least easier than Beauxbatons.”

“Got it. I’ll dress myself, use the bathroom, eat, and glue things myself. Don’t worry, Mom and Dad.”

Cohen quietly tugged at his nearly suffocating collar and hurried into the train.

Outside, Rose leaned against Edward’s shoulder, watching Cohen speed along inside the train window, her expression both relieved and teary.

“Edward, remember when we first met on the train?”

“I remember.” Edward stiffened. “I was being bullied by some bad kids.”

“They were just cowards,” Rose recalled fondly.

“After you chased them away, you beat me up,” Edward twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s because you were a whiny coward. I can’t stand cowards,” Rose moved closer to Edward’s face. “But... you’re a little different.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a coward who dared to raise Dementors with me.” Rose kissed Edward. “Cohen will be fine, right?”

“Of course. He’s a good kid.” Edward blushed where she kissed him. “There’s Dumbledore at Hogwarts, and when we bought school supplies, he said I was a good dad.”

“Evil Dementors don’t have ‘love,’ do they?”

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

Meanwhile, before leaving, Harry wanted to stall Uncle Vernon for a moment.

“Kid, I don’t have time to mess around with you,” Uncle Vernon grumbled beside the car. “Dudley still has to go to the hospital, you’ve got two minutes—”

Having gotten permission, Harry dashed to Cohen’s door and knocked urgently.

A few days ago, Harry had wanted to share all the wondrous things—the owls and letters, the giant Hagrid, the marvelous magic—that had flooded his mind on his birthday night.

But Hagrid had warned him not to disclose anything about magic to Muggles—even to his closest friends.

So Harry had been avoiding Cohen, afraid he would blurt everything out if asked.

And he couldn’t bear the thought of how painful it would be to know his friend could do magic while he couldn’t.

Yet, before leaving Privet Drive, Harry ultimately decided to say goodbye to Cohen.

“I’m going to another school, but I’ll definitely come back and we’ll always be good friends, right...”

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

Unfortunately, no one answered.

“Ha, kid, you think the Norton kids wait around to say goodbye at the start of school? No one wants to hang out with someone like you,” Uncle Vernon sneered from afar, venting his anger on Harry. “If it weren’t for that damned pig’s tail, Dudley wouldn’t have delayed enrollment—”

Harry ignored Uncle Vernon’s words, gloomily climbing into the car, glancing once toward Cohen’s bedroom, feeling that the joy of starting school didn’t outweigh the emptiness in his heart.

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

Elsewhere, having found an empty car at the rear of the train, Cohen hastily stuffed his suitcase beside the seat, slammed the door shut, and began struggling to undo the button at his tight collar.

Good heavens, a mother’s love really was suffocating.

And why did someone labeled as a Dementor still have to breathe? Maybe flesh and blood were simply too frail...

“You look like a werewolf in heat about to attack me,” the Count tilted its head, watching Cohen undress.

“You look like a perverted alchemist spying on a child’s body,” Cohen shot back without mercy.

Finally, Cohen changed into his school robe ahead of time, deciding to cast a subtle expansion charm on the tight formal wear before returning to school, so he wouldn’t be killed by a piece of clothing and earn a lifelong bad reputation.

Before leaving, Rose had given him a bag jingling with pocket money, since the train had a snack trolley, and kids usually preferred these magically enhanced treats over the dry lunchboxes their parents packed.

But Cohen felt he had no need to spend that money today, because the rich kid who could wave his hand and “buy everything” was about to arrive in this last car—

“Hello, may I sit—Cohen?!”

Harry pushed open the car door and froze in the aisle upon seeing who was inside.

“Excuse me, we need to get through.” A student from the opposite car was heading to the restroom, sighing at Harry blocking the way.

“Oh—sorry...” Harry quickly turned and squeezed into the car with his suitcase, his rough movement causing the cage atop it to rattle, prompting Hedwig to protest loudly.

Cohen noticed the Count’s eyes never left the pure white snowy owl after Hedwig appeared.

“Don’t even think about it—I haven’t got my leading lady yet, why are you rushing?” Cohen whispered a threat to the Count.

The Count gave him a disdainful glance, as if to say, “I sneak out at night to consort with other birds in the owlery—what are you gonna do about it?”

“Cohen! I thought you—no, I thought—” Harry felt tongue-tied.

“Wow, what a coincidence, Harry, you’re coming to Hogwarts too,” Cohen said seriously.

“Your reaction is a bit slow...” Harry felt his face stiffening. “I’ve been sitting here for thirty seconds.”

“I’m really not good at being sentimental,” Cohen sighed. “You didn’t come find me last month, I was planning to quietly tell you a bit about the magical world—”

“But Hagrid said not to tell Muggles—you didn’t know I was a wizard then, right?” Harry asked anxiously and confused.

“Who’s Hagrid?” Cohen asked decisively.

With the topic opened, Harry began to eagerly recount the strange events of his birthday.

Eleven-year-olds were so easy to manipulate; with just a little coaxing, they forgot their original purpose.

Cohen happily listened without having to say much—a much easier way to conserve energy, especially since the snack trolley hadn’t come by yet.