What? When did Rose and Edward say they wouldn't be taking flight lessons?
Cohen didn't remember any mention of skipping flight lessons in the letter he received this morning.
It seemed to be some old trick by Nantong. As a child, he had to protect himself—especially in front of that very old white-bearded man…
especially since this old man was the head of the school…
Cohen followed this senior, surnamed Smith, into the castle, up the stairs to a gargoyle on the eighth floor.
Along the way, Cohen tried to build a friendship with the senior—but the senior seemed somewhat introverted, giving vague answers to many of Cohen's questions.
"Senior, do you have a girlfriend?"
"Senior, why are you with Professor Dumbledore?"
"Senior, do you prefer older or younger women?"
"Senior, I'll secretly tell you, Professor Dumbledore is single now—"
"Lemon Olaf…" a livid Smith said to the gargoyle watching the show, his fist already clenched.
"If you like ice cream, that's fine too…"
Cohen analyzed seriously,
"After all, it's icy cold and can cool you down, I feel it's at least better than an attack helicopter and a Walmart shopping bag—mmm!"
Smith covered Cohen's mouth and forcefully shoved the chattering freshman onto the spiral staircase behind the gargoyles.
Cohen wiped his mouth; this senior had almost taken a wrong turn. Cohen had almost had Smith's soul sucked out of him.
Reaching the door of the headmaster's office, Cohen paused for a moment—the spell Quirrell had cast on him was still there, Cohen could feel it.
And Cohen actually knew there was no "delayed Avada Kedavra" spell, but "Cohen" could pretend not to know—that way he would have a reason to do bad things in Quirrell's name.
Who would blame a poor, newly enrolled Dementor who was threatened with death?
"Knock knock knock—"
Cohen knocked politely on the door.
"Come in."
Dumbledore's aged voice sounded steadily, as if he were sitting behind his desk.
Cohen slowly pushed open the door, first peeking into the headmaster's office—though he'd already seen it in spirit form last time.
On the walls of the round office, the former headmasters were all snoring—but Cohen clearly saw a few of them peek out from under their eyes.
Was he really that scary? These paintings had no souls; he couldn't absorb them even if he wanted to…
"Cohen, come, sit down."
Dumbledore used magic to drag a chair over, looking at Cohen kindly.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore." Cohen took small steps to the chair and plopped down.
Cohen saw the large, fiery red bird beside him—the phoenix Fawkes.
Damn it, other people's birds are so big and beautiful!
Why is his bird so perverted and lewd!
[Maybe birds resemble their owners.]
Cohen felt like he was starting to hallucinate the Earl's voice.
"The phoenix is indeed a peculiar and fascinating creature, Cohen," Dumbledore introduced to Cohen. "I have a copy of 'The Complete Book of Mythical Creatures' here, which you can borrow if you wish—of course, unlike in the library, you can borrow it for a long time—I remember the last student who borrowed a book from me didn't return it for over twenty years because his bookshelf needed to be fitted with a set of Gilderoy Lockhart's bestsellers…"
Dumbledore chuckled, stroking his long beard.
"Oh, almost forgot, would you like some tea?"
The tea set on Dumbledore's table began to bounce towards Cohen.
"Milk? Or pumpkin juice?"
"I'd like milk tea—" Cohen thought for a moment, still preferring something sweet, "you know, that mixture of milk and tea, there are many in the Muggle world."
"Oh, of course." Dumbledore was delighted that Cohen liked Muggle drinks. "I also love this beverage, but it's a pity that other wizards don't seem to be able to let go of their prejudices against Muggles and enjoy the simple pleasures of life."
The teapot poured out a full cup of light brown milk tea, which looked like a mixture of black tea and fresh milk.
There was also a stack of sugar cubes on the coffee table—Cohen had poured in quite a few.
People who share similar tastes always get along well—Dumbledore's diet was also high in sugar, so the more he looked at Cohen, the more he thought Cohen was a good kid.
But necessary education still needed to be done.
"Let's get straight to the point, Cohen." Dumbledore clapped his hands after Cohen took a big gulp of milk tea. "First, regarding flying lessons, I need to explain to you that your mother, Rose, wrote to me requesting that you be exempted from flying lessons."
"Huh?"
Really?
Cohen's surprise was genuine.
Why was he suddenly not allowed to take flying lessons? Had Rose discovered that he could transform into a flying Dementor, meaning he wouldn't have to take flying lessons?
That was a bit too far-fetched!
"Rose mentioned in her letter that you have a fear of heights. Hogwarts won't force students to do things they can't do," Dumbledore explained. "As for whether or not you should take flying lessons, that's up to you—perhaps in a mother's eyes, a child is always just a child..." Dumbledore
winked at Cohen through the top of his half-moon lenses.
Meaning, Rose was just worried that Cohen, being so small, would fall off the flying broomstick...
Wait, did Dumbledore really say all that just about not taking flying lessons?!
"And another thing, I heard you went to see Professor Quirrell twice in the past week. Did you encounter some difficulties with Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Dumbledore's azure eyes pierced Cohen like X-rays—but Cohen was completely unaffected.
A minor Legilimency, and Cohen was unaffected!
"Ah?" Cohen said fearfully, head bowed. "Professor Quirrell called me…he…he…"
"What did he say to you?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"Um…I…he gave me a book, *The Theory of Metamorphosis*…" Cohen replied, "and then the second time I went to return it…"
"Cohen, don't be afraid," Dumbledore comforted him. "Nothing can hurt you at Hogwarts."
"But I must ask you, Cohen, is there anything you would like to tell me?" Dumbledore said gently. "Anything."
Cohen tried to tremble—but it seemed he had overdone it, and he accidentally dropped and shattered his teacup on the floor.
"No, Professor." Cohen wrote a word on the table with the spilled tea.
"Well, Cohen, perhaps you should go outside and enjoy the afternoon sun with your classmates." Dumbledore waved his wand, and the door to the Headmaster's office opened.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore, thank you for the tea."
—
"That little thing is lying!" Phineas Black's portrait clamored after Cohen left.
"I know, Phineas," Dumbledore said calmly, walking around the table to where Cohen had just been sitting. "But he's just a child. Fear and anxiety can make him make some bad judgments…"
Cohen smeared a word from the spilled milk tea on the table.
Threaten.
"Looks like Tom's interested in Cohen too,"
Dumbledore muttered to himself.
"He left a tracking spell on Cohen—maybe he tricked Cohen into thinking the spell would harm him if he revealed his secret…"
"Aren't you going to explain this to the boy?" Headmaster Black's portrait snorted. "What if he really is with that Dark Lord—"
"Cohen is a good boy," Dumbledore shook his head. "He won't really side with Quirrell. As an eleven-year-old, he risked his life to leave this word here; that already shows him courage beyond death." "Your
plan needs to be moved up—?" Headmaster Black asked.
"Sometimes, excessive protection only breeds complacency; only storms can make trees stand taller."
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(End of Chapter)