Hogwarts, i am Dementor

"He didn't catch the Snitch! He nearly swallowed it!" 

Even though most people had already left the pitch, Flint from the Slytherin team was still bellowing furiously. 

But no one paid him any attention. Even if Harry had caught the Snitch with his butt cheeks, the 150 points would still go to Gryffindor. 

"He looks like a baboon whose banana got snatched," Cohen remarked as the group trudged toward Hagrid's hut. 

"It was Snape," Ron explained to Harry. "We all saw it—he was jinxing your broom. If Cohen hadn't been countering it and Hermione hadn't set Snape's robes on fire, you might've been dead!" 

"Nonsense," Hagrid said, unconvinced. "Why would Snape do something like that?" 

"Maybe he had a grudge against Harry's dad?" Cohen chimed in, relieved no one suspected him. He couldn't imagine how Harry would react if Quirrell later told him, "Cohen was in on it too…" 

"I think I heard my dad say—" 

"What? Your dad knew my dad?" Harry cut in, forgetting all about Snape nearly killing him. He was desperate for any scrap of info about his parents. 

"They were friends, probably—you know, there's only one school in Britain, Hogwarts, and each house only has about ten kids per year. Hard not to be friends," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. 

The afternoon tea wasn't exactly warm and cozy. Under their relentless questioning, Hagrid accidentally let two things slip: the three-headed dog was his, and a name tied to the situation—Nicolas Flamel. 

That left Hagrid sulking, mad at himself the whole time. 

"We need to look up that name in the library," Hermione said as they headed back to the castle. "Maybe we can figure out what that dog's guarding—" 

"Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist," Cohen said abruptly. 

"?" Hermione turned to him. 

"You didn't ask me," Cohen shrugged innocently. "He created the Philosopher's Stone—a tool that turns stone into gold. It can also make an elixir of life." 

"The Philosopher's Stone is the ultimate goal of ancient alchemy, since their whole deal was making gold and living forever—I read it in *The Detailed Guide to Alchemy*." 

"Next time, I'm never complaining about you reading in the common room," Ron said, gaping. "Alchemy—is that really something we should be reading at our age?" 

"That's not the point, Ron," Hermione said, worried. "That kind of alchemical artifact must be incredibly valuable. No one would pass up the chance to steal something that tempting." 

"We've got to stop them," Harry declared, sounding every bit the protagonist. 

"+1," Cohen nodded. He did want to stop anyone else from stealing the Stone—because he wanted it for himself. 

A perfectly reasonable plan to nab the Philosopher's Stone was already forming in his head—if Dumbledore played along, that is. 

Since they'd learned about the Stone, they didn't press Hagrid further, leaving him thinking they'd dropped the matter. 

Until December, Harry and Cohen kept up a front of perfect obedience. 

In that time, Cohen had whittled down the Forbidden Forest's eight-eyed giant spider population to just a handful of young adults. Aragog had taken his descendants underground, and every time Cohen visited, he'd hear Aragog's furious cursing from below. 

"Kill, kill, kill—someone's got to die, so why not spiders?" 

In the Room of Requirement, the Earl lounged lazily by the fire. The weather had grown bitterly cold, and it rarely left the hearth anymore. 

"Killing spiders is getting boring," Cohen said, making a dangerous statement. 

"Oh, are you moving on to little wizards and centaurs now? Great—Dumbledore will definitely take you on," the Earl cheered. "Don't worry, you and Dumbledore are evenly matched." 

"Yeah, I solo him in my dreams all the time, right?" Cohen shot the Earl a glare. 

"No, I meant he'd solo you five times in five seconds," the Earl clarified. "When are you getting me that wand you promised? Hedwig's getting harder to pin down—I saw her sneaking off with some dung-yellow owl from the owlery—" 

"Do you *have* to use a word like 'sneaking off' in front of a kid?" Cohen grumbled. "Before Christmas, alright? I'll write to Ollivander to order one, so you can come with me to that manor ruin to visit relatives. Otherwise—" 

"Can an orphan even use the word 'visit relatives'?" the Earl asked, feigning curiosity. "I mean, you don't even know what you're made of—" 

"Looks like your feathers need plucking," Cohen said icily. 

--- 

By mid-December, they just had to get through one more day before the holidays. Many students had already packed their bags. 

Malfoy almost never bothered Harry when Cohen was around—Cohen was sure Lucius Malfoy had sent him a letter warning him off. 

It seemed plenty of people knew Cohen's identity, yet he couldn't find a single record about himself anywhere. 

Fudge must really be terrified of headlines like "Shocking! A Deathless Dark Magic Experiment Monster Appears in the Wizarding World!" 

Outside the castle, snow had piled up several feet high. The lake was frozen solid, and the giant squid lurked faintly beneath the ice of the Black Lake. Walking out there at night would feel straight out of a horror movie. 

After surviving their last Potions class, the young witches and wizards' cheers nearly blew the roof off once Snape left—holidays were here! 

Cohen's "family visit" plan officially kicked off. 

The Earl took just one day to speed-deliver Cohen's long-distance wand order to Ollivander and return to Hogwarts with a shiny new wand. It was obvious how badly it wanted it. 

"You're never this quick when delivering my other letters," Cohen said, smirking. 

"Delivering your mail is work. Buying myself a wand is life," the Earl said philosophically. "I deserve this." 

Cohen let the Earl mess around with its new wand in the Room of Requirement all night, making sure to take all his important stuff out beforehand to avoid stray spells hitting them. 

The next morning, Cohen grabbed the sleepy Earl and blended into the crowd of young witches and wizards heading home for Christmas—since the stay-or-go form was self-reported anyway. 

Cohen hadn't signed up to stay at school; he wanted plenty of time to explore that abandoned manor. 

Halfway along, after passing an arched bridge, Cohen slipped into a nearby grove, parting ways with the group heading to the train platform. 

The manor in Northumberland… 

Would he really find any records from ten years ago? 

(*End of Chapter*)