It's probably some news about the Order of the Phoenix…
When Edward and Dobby opened the kitchen door and stepped into the living room, Cohen tucked the letter away.
"Did Harry send you a letter?" Edward asked, noticing Hedwig still lingering in the living room.
"Harry invited me to hang out at his place for a few days," Cohen replied. "Haven't you and Mum heard anything?"
"Heard what?" Edward muttered. "I mean, Dumbledore's been talking about restarting the Order of the Phoenix for ages, but there's been no word yet… If I didn't know he was one of the Secret-Keepers, I'd almost think he was the one left out by the Fidelius Charm…"
"I know what's going on now," Cohen said, shaking his head.
It seemed Dumbledore had no intention of pulling Edward and Rose into the fold—likely because he knew it was best to leave Cohen's side of things undisturbed, avoiding any complications that could lead to outcomes nobody wanted.
Dobby set some fried chicken on the table, and Edward walked over, playfully ruffling Cohen's hair.
"Why do you sound like Dumbledore, always saying things halfway? What do you know?"
"You and Mum have been left out by Dumbledore," Cohen said. "This Order of the Phoenix meeting? You're not invited."
"That's not exactly being left out," Edward said with a无奈 sigh, nudging Cohen toward a chair by the dining table. "It's probably just them looking out for people who aren't in top shape. The letter said you're going? You're not even of age yet—I need to write to Dumbledore about this."
"No, it's just Harry inviting me to see the 'secret underground organization' for myself," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. "Just wait, this year we're starting our own resistance group at school…"
"Good luck getting Dumbledore's approval for that," Edward said with a chuckle, pulling out the chair next to Cohen and sitting down. "Come on, eat. And while you're at it, tell me about what happened in Greece—and, uh, your Dementor… friend. Is it going to keep floating there watching us eat?"
Since Cohen had promised to take the Dementor out for a "meal" that night, it had settled into a quiet, black-cloaked figure hovering by his side.
But once Edward realized this Dementor wasn't "Cohen transformed into a Dementor but stuck due to some mishap," he suddenly felt uneasy about its presence.
So Cohen gave it a quick nudge, suggesting it head back upstairs until they went out later.
Then, while munching on a chicken leg, Cohen gave Edward a rundown of his adventures in Greece, picking and choosing what to share.
Naturally, he skipped the part about riding a griffin around and causing chaos. Instead, he focused on the temple, where he'd met Freak, the old chief of SnakeTV, and heard tales of the old water snake, the Greek wizards' festival, and the rare golden ram that Sissoko and the others had caught.
He also mentioned the handful of baby magical creatures the griffin family had brought along.
"I bet Newt took those little ones back with him," Edward said.
Cohen already had a menagerie of strange creatures, which made Edward reluctant to visit his son's secret base. He'd heard that Newt, despite his age, was still obsessed with magical creatures and wouldn't pass up the chance to take in orphaned kneazle cubs, baby manticores, or two-headed lynxes…
"Impressive, you got the second half right," Cohen said with a grin.
"So you brought them back, didn't you?" Edward said, his expression stiffening.
"Don't worry, I won't make you look after them," Cohen reassured him.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Edward said, exasperated. "The ones related to you are one thing—they can stay in your suitcase. But these ones that aren't related to you… ugh…"
Edward trailed off, deciding not to press the issue. Looking at Cohen's face, he often forgot that his son was, in fact, a far more dangerous creature than any of them.
When had their lives gotten so weird?
"Most creatures are pretty chill as long as you feed them and give them a place to stay," Cohen said. "Well, except for some nasty kneazles."
"Sounds like Mr. Fluffy," Edward remarked.
"Did he hiss at you?" Cohen asked.
"He never shuts up," Edward said with a sigh. "Your mum and I decided to send him back to Martha's. Mental attacks are way worse than physical ones."
---
That night, Cohen sneaked out the window with the Dementor that had taken a liking to him. Under the cover of darkness, the two glided toward Belmarsh Prison, the closest prison to Surrey.
Cohen only knew of Belmarsh because Rose had reported on it once. The prison had a reputation for excessive force and a grim, oppressive environment, which had sparked complaints from human rights groups.
But for a Dementor, that wasn't bad news. Unhappy prisoners here couldn't be much worse off than those in Azkaban.
With Cohen's magical Dementor skills, the pair slipped into the prison cells without a hitch. The sleeping inmates had no idea about the "extra punishment" they were in for that night.
By the time Cohen and the well-fed Dementor were ready to leave, all 687 prisoners were drenched in cold sweat, trapped in nightmares.
[Full yet?] Cohen asked the Dementor.
It responded with a deep sense of satisfaction, making Cohen feel like he'd just had a feast himself.
No wonder Dementors stuck together…
A shared stomach—what species wouldn't bond over that?
[Where are the others?] Cohen asked.
The Dementor shared its memories: Voldemort and the Death Eaters had taken them to an abandoned castle. Judging by the path from Azkaban, it was somewhere in the southern Scottish Highlands—not too far from Hogwarts, but not too close either. A suspiciously convenient distance.
It seemed like Voldemort was keeping the Dementors as a backup force for an attack on Hogwarts…
So, Voldemort's primary target was clear: Hogwarts mattered more to him than the Ministry of Magic.
Before heading home, Cohen sent the Dementor back to its kind. Taking it out for "meals" every night was too much hassle. Better to let it tag along with Voldemort for now and get its fill.
Keeping it at home would annoy Edward, and keeping it in the suitcase would upset the other creatures. Sure, everyone was used to Mick, but Mick was different—it didn't suck out happiness or radiate bone-chilling cold. In fact, it often brought little gifts for the other animals.
"Your letter."
Cohen had just climbed back through his bedroom window when Earl, his owl, swooped in after him.
"It's from Voldemort," Earl added with a grumpy tone.