The birthday party turned out to be unusually quiet.
Dudley hadn't come. From next door, the muffled sounds of the Dursleys arguing still drifted through the walls. Cohen knew exactly why.
There had never been any real friendship between Dudley and him. Especially not after Cohen invited Harry. To Dudley, that alone turned the gathering into some kind of "freak show," and there was no way he would risk being mocked by his gang for attending.
As for Mr. Dursley's booming voice, it was most likely fueled by frustration. He had probably hoped to use this opportunity to leave a good impression on Cohen's mother, Rose. After all, public image mattered a great deal for business.
In Mr. Dursley's mind, there was only one reliable way to prevent Harry from causing trouble in the Norton household—send Dudley along to keep an eye on him. Of course, he conveniently ignored the fact that most of Harry's "trouble" started with Dudley bullying him.
For Harry, however, this small and quiet gathering was perhaps the only genuinely happy moment he would experience in the entire month of July.
For Cohen, though, the real excitement lay in tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he would finally be able to visit Diagon Alley. He could observe other adult wizards, compare their soul strength, and—most importantly—get his very first wand.
That thought alone filled him with anticipation.
Having a wand… it had to feel different.
Whenever Cohen attempted magic before, something always felt off, as if his power wasn't being directed properly. True wizards, casting spells the correct way, surely didn't experience that awkward disconnect.
After escorting Harry home, Cohen returned to his room early. He lay down, eager to rest and prepare for the next day.
But as always, his thoughts wandered.
Which wand would choose him? Wands chose wizards, after all… but did that mean there were souls inside them? Could those souls be extracted? Were they similar to human souls? Could they nourish him if consumed?
If he drained every wand in Ollivander's shop… would Ollivander be furious?
His thoughts spiraled until they gradually dissolved into sleep.
Soon, the room was filled with the soft, steady breathing of a child. Cohen looked completely ordinary—so much so that when Rose quietly opened the door and stepped inside, he didn't stir.
She placed a large, beautifully wrapped box beside his bed.
Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before slipping out as silently as she had entered.
Outside the window, a shadow darted away from the sill.
Under the dim glow of a streetlamp, its form briefly became clear—a tabby cat, its face marked with patterns resembling spectacles.
The cat padded forward until it reached an elderly man with long white hair.
With a soft whoosh, the streetlights began to dim.
One by one, their light seemed to be drawn away, sucked into an old-fashioned silver device in the man's hand.
"Albus," the cat said, its body elongating and shifting. Within moments, it transformed into a stern-looking woman. "I must admit, placing Cohen with the Norton family was an excellent decision."
"Minerva," Albus Dumbledore replied with a light chuckle, his robes shimmering faintly under the night sky. "That choice belonged to Edward and Rose, not me. Still, I am pleased to see a child growing up surrounded by love."
"If only Harry had the same," Professor McGonagall said, her tone edged with disapproval. "His situation is… deeply unfair. I still don't understand why you insisted the Nortons limit their contact with him. Even something as simple as a weekly visit would make a difference."
"Different flowers require different methods of care," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "But all of them, in time, will bloom."
McGonagall hesitated.
"There is something else… about Cohen."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's expression remained relaxed.
"He often appears kind," she began. "I once saw him helping an elderly man cross the street."
"Yes, I remember," Dumbledore nodded. "A good-hearted boy, despite his unusual beginnings."
"He gave another child a lollipop today."
"That sounds admirable."
McGonagall's lips tightened. "He used magic to take it back when the child wasn't looking. The boy cried for nearly fifteen minutes."
Dumbledore fell silent.
"And that old man he helped?" she continued. "Cohen deliberately directed him along a path that added an extra mile to his journey… while taking a shortcut himself."
She rubbed her temples. "I worry about what he'll become—especially after he meets the Weasley twins."
"Young minds are… inventive," Dumbledore said slowly. "Mischief does not necessarily mean malice."
"Even grown wizards can lose themselves to power," McGonagall pressed. "But Cohen… at such a young age…"
Dumbledore's voice softened.
"He has already resisted darker impulses. He is not like Tom Riddle."
At the mention of that name, McGonagall shuddered.
"Do you remember where we found him?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"The laboratory," she replied, her expression grim. "A dark wizard's facility. Over three hundred bodies… all with empty eyes. It looked as though they had all been struck by the Killing Curse."
She paused.
"I still struggle to believe that an infant could have caused something like that."
"Roses grow thorns to protect themselves," Dumbledore said gently. "We cannot reject their beauty simply because they are capable of harm."
"Cohen! Wake up!"
"Cohen!"
The urgent shouting dragged him out of sleep.
"I want to sleep…" Cohen groaned, eyes still closed. "Children shouldn't wake up this early… it's how you turn them into workhorses…"
Fragments of his dream lingered.
His mother placing the gift. The kiss on his forehead.
And the two figures outside—Dumbledore and McGonagall.
The memory felt far too vivid to be just a dream.
"Cohen! We're going to Diagon Alley today! Hurry up, or I'll be late for my game this afternoon!"
Cohen sighed.
Why was a grown wizard so obsessed with role-playing games?
If Edward truly loved dragons, he could go challenge a real one.
Grumbling, Cohen dragged himself out of bed—and froze.
The gift.
It was exactly the same as in his dream.
Slowly, he moved to the mirror.
A faint lipstick mark still lingered on his forehead.
So it had been real.
Which meant…
Dumbledore had been right outside his house.
And Cohen had somehow witnessed everything.
His attention sharpened.
How had he done that?
Simple observation spells were one thing—but remaining completely undetected by Dumbledore was something else entirely.
That wasn't ordinary magic.
Closing his eyes, Cohen focused.
Immediately, he felt something strange.
A sensation of division.
His consciousness… splitting.
One part remained anchored within his body. The other drifted outward.
He could see.
Not through his eyes—but from somewhere else entirely.
Looking down, he saw his own body lying on the bed.
His soul had left.
Experimentally, he shifted its shape.
It stretched, twisted, flattened—malleable, like clay.
Then, instinctively, he formed it into a cloak-like shape.
He paused.
"…Isn't this a Dementor?"
The resemblance was uncanny.
Dark, tattered, vaguely humanoid.
All it needed were skeletal hands and a hood, and it would fit right into Azkaban.
After further testing, he discovered something even more useful.
He didn't need to fully separate.
By leaving half his soul inside his body and extending the rest outward, he could move and observe simultaneously.
The only limitation was distance.
The connection between the two halves could only stretch so far—about fifteen meters.
Which explained everything.
That was exactly the distance from his room to the street.
So last night… he hadn't been dreaming.
He had been watching.
[Ding! Special Ability Unlocked: Spirit Form Shaping (1/10)]
Cohen blinked.
So abilities weren't given—they were discovered.
"…Great," he muttered. "I'm already behind every transmigrator ever."
Still, there was no time to dwell on it.
After washing up, he headed downstairs.
Before leaving, he unwrapped his gift.
Inside was a large snow globe.
Within it, three tiny clay figures moved about in a snowy village. As he watched, they entered a small house—and faint laughter echoed from within.
Cohen raised an eyebrow.
"…Do they sleep at night?"
Despite the oddity, he smiled.
It was warm.
Genuine.
Something he hadn't experienced much in his previous life.
Carefully setting it aside, he joined Edward at the table.
"How are we getting to Diagon Alley?" Cohen asked after finishing his breakfast.
"By car," Edward replied, counting coins. "What else, a flying carpet?"
Cohen stared at him.
…That didn't sound entirely impossible.
But for now, he simply nodded.
Today, he would step into the wizarding world for the first time.
And everything was about to change.