Sirius wasn't really bothered about Cohen's idea to "build a castle" right now.
He just wanted to find Regulus's body.
He used to despise his younger brother so much, ever since he joined the Death Eaters at sixteen, just like he despised the rest of his "family" at Black manor.
This "mistake" felt like something was squeezing his heart tight – and Regulus could never explain anything to his older brother now.
"Wait a moment –" Sirius jumped up.
"Master Regulus…"
Almost at the same time, Kreacher jumped up too –
A young wizard's body was stumbling towards the opening of Cohen's box.
Black hair, small in stature, not as handsome as Sirius was when he was young.
Regulus was wearing a long robe with silver clasps that was soaked through. The Black family crest could still be vaguely seen on the silk lining beneath the robe.
Thanks to the protection of the "Inferi Control Spell," the body hadn't been bloated by the lake water, making it look almost indistinguishable from when he was alive.
No wonder Inferi caused so much trouble for wizards when Voldemort was in power – Cohen felt that if someone's closest family member had been turned into an Inferius, that wizard likely wouldn't be able to bring themselves to burn it with a Blasting Curse.
Sirius rushed forward without a word, disregarding the fact that Regulus was just a cold Inferius now, and hugged it tightly.
Kreacher was crying beside him, hugging Regulus's leg, the whole little house-elf trembling like a sieve.
Cohen made this one Inferius stop, and then had the remaining Inferi hurry and jump into the box.
Now that Regulus's body had been found, there was no need for the rest of the Inferi to continue their slow march.
[Remember the fastest novel site on the whole web 101kan.com]
Only…
Cohen watched Sirius hugging Regulus, unwilling to let go – it was a bit touching.
So touching, in fact, that Cohen felt Sirius was about to start going mad again.
To ensure Harry had a relatively normal godfather, Cohen felt things couldn't just develop wildly anymore.
"Want to ask Regulus a few questions?"
Cohen suddenly asked.
"What do you mean?" Sirius turned his head abruptly, his red-rimmed eyes looking at Cohen.
"Talking to the dead, I've learned some rare magic," Cohen lied. "It allows someone to ask a deceased person five questions – but only five. I feel like you'd really want to ask Regulus –"
"Teach me," Sirius said eagerly.
"Teaching isn't really realistic. I'm not an expert specifically researching this; being able to pull it off at all is pretty good," Cohen shook his head.
"Then…"
"If you agree, I'll give it a try – but remember, only five questions," Cohen said. "Make sure you use the questions wisely and don't waste turns on pointless questions like 'Can I ask now?', 'Does that count as a question?', or 'Can you answer when I ask the real questions?'"
"Okay," Sirius propped up Regulus and placed him in front of Cohen – though he didn't actually need to do this, as Regulus, being an Inferius, was completely under Cohen's control now.
Then, Cohen pointed his wand at Regulus's chest, and a dim green light flowed into the body.
Regulus sat up lifelessly, his eyes filled with a dark green glow, looking extremely intimidating.
"Can I ask questions now?" Sirius asked Cohen uncertainly.
"…" Cohen twitched the corner of his mouth and exchanged a silent, deadpan look with Sirius.
Sirius immediately sobered up.
"Yes," Regulus said in a hoarse voice.
"Are you… Regulus?" Sirius asked with difficulty, "Brother."
"Yes," Regulus said.
The green light in the cave reflected on half of Sirius's face, his tear streaks clearly visible.
"Why… why didn't you tell me, tell me about fighting against Voldemort?"
"You had to live," Regulus said. "One of us had to survive."
"You could have left too!" Sirius punched the scattered stones on the ground – something sharp dug into his skin.
He never thought he'd say something so "cowardly," but this time he felt no aversion or disgust towards "cowardice" – he even wished his brother had been a coward just once.
"Why did you have to stick with the Black family? For that rubbish pure-blood glory? For that useless pride?!"
"I wanted you to come back," Regulus said.
"You've used too many questions," Cohen reminded him.
"It's enough," Sirius slumped onto the damp, stony ground, saying distractedly, "I shouldn't have run away – at least I should have dragged him with me – Regulus…"
"Hope you live well."
Sirius suddenly looked up but quickly realised the sentence hadn't come from Regulus, but from Cohen.
"Dumbledore said, 'Do not pity the dead, pity the living.'"
Cohen said,
"You need to live well with Harry, stop living in the past all the time. Your brother would definitely want you to let go of him and live your own life… Oh, and since I've been so kind, could your brother –"
"No," Sirius said, pursing his lips.
But he looked less distressed now.
[Ding! Kindness Value +300]
[Ding! Malice Value +500]
[Note: Almost tricked by your fake move]
Sirius brought Regulus's body back to the old house, and Cohen also helped remove the Inferi Control Spell from Regulus.
Only, neither of them had any appetite for lunch now.
Sirius and Kreacher were about to go to the Black family graveyard to bury Regulus. Harry had also lost his appetite after seeing the wet body.
The only one with an appetite but no desire to cook was Cohen, who had to duck into his box and have a lion or Norbert roast a lamb for him.
While waiting for the roast, Cohen briefly explained what happened in the cave to the curious Count.
"There's talking to the dead in this world too?" The Count looked quite surprised.
"That was obviously a lie I told him. I found the name of this magic from the chess set Edward gave me," Cohen waved his hand. "Controlling a body to say a few words is child's play for me. In situations where someone is full of guilt towards the deceased, the best method is… hold on, did you just say – 'This world'?"
Cohen looked at the Count suspiciously.
"Should I have said 'that world' then?" the Count played dumb.
"You never tell me where you're from," Cohen narrowed his eyes. "I could tell at a glance you weren't an owl –"
"If I'm not an owl, are you?" The Count retorted mercilessly. "The place I used to live wasn't quite the same as here, but – so what?"
"Tell me about where you used to live," Cohen said.
"Haven't I told you? I used to live with a mute old man in a lighthouse," the Count said slowly. "Those days were quiet and long – the truth of many things is always disappointing. How about it, disappointed?"
"A bit," Cohen said.
"Truth always needs to be revealed before the ending arrives to be truly thought-provoking," the Count said. "Like Minerva's owl only takes flight at dusk – if you really want to know, just use Legilimency."
"I don't use Legilimency on friends," Cohen shook his head. "Like Nicolas said, I need to learn to retain some humanity –"
"You'll tell me eventually," Cohen said. "I have plenty of time."
---
Over the next few days, Hermione and Ron also came to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. With Cohen's help, the cleaning work here didn't progress too badly.
Putting aside the moth-eaten tapestries and sofas, at least there weren't all sorts of pests anymore.
Before the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione and Ron returned to the Burrow – after all, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place only had Harry and Sirius, two men, so it was a bit awkward for Hermione to stay there.
Cohen also returned to his own home because Edward needed someone to accompany him –
"I'm just not too used to Portkeys," Edward whispered a reminder to Cohen at the Ministry of Magic-arranged Portkey point. "It's not as helpless as you make it sound – give your old man some face when we're out, don't tell everyone everything…"
The early morning mist still enveloped the street. A tent had been temporarily set up here. Although it was beside a Muggle road, every passing Muggle would inexplicably walk around it – as if it didn't exist at all.
It was only two streets away from Privet Drive. After picking up Edward and Cohen, this tent would be moved elsewhere.
"I won't tell anyone about you crying and making a fuss with Rose in bed because you didn't want to take the Portkey," Cohen said.
"I told you not to spread it around –" Edward quickly covered Cohen's mouth – to prevent the Portkey administrator, who had come to work early and was still half-asleep, from hearing.
"Norton family… two people," the Portkey administrator yawned, searching for the bag of Portkeys sleepily. "Number seventy-seven… emmmm… five ten…"
"We'll get it ourselves," Cohen felt like the person was about to lie down in the piles of black bags containing Portkeys.
Cohen found the cloth bag marked seventy-seven. Inside was an empty medicine bottle.
He checked his watch, five oh eight, two minutes left.
"How about I Apparate us instead?" Edward said uneasily. "This isn't good –"
"Then you won't have grandchildren," Cohen said. "Don't forget the only Chipmunk you ever side-along Apparated; Rose and Martha will kill you."
"Or we could use Floo powder?" Edward said hopefully.
"No time. You're a grown man, why are you still scared of this –" Cohen pulled out Edward's hand, which was hidden under his robe, and together they pressed it onto the mouth of the empty medicine bottle.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh –"
Edward only let out a short scream, and he and Cohen instantly vanished from the tent.
After experiencing intense spinning and collision – Edward successfully landed in a collapsed position, pinning Cohen into the mud.
"Five ten, from Surrey," a voice sounded from the air, like a magical broadcast.
"Any other child would have been killed by you…," Cohen used his box for support, struggling to move the limp Edward off himself. "Let's just Apparate directly in the future. Actually, I can do it."
"Then why didn't you say so earlier…" Edward shook his head, struggling to stand up. "I'm never touching a Portkey again – it feels like a roller coaster, makes you want to throw up."
"I'm not even an adult yet," Cohen said. "Maybe you should just throw up, you look like you're holding it in…"
"Blech –"
…
Once Edward had finished throwing up, Cohen and Edward started looking for the way to the match.
They were currently in a desolate, foggy swampy area, with two oddly dressed wizards not far away.
Both were trying hard to look like Muggles, but the effect wasn't obvious – and their "Muggle" disguise made them look even stranger.
One was wearing a tweed suit jacket on his upper body, but long rubber waders on his feet.
The other was wearing a South American poncho over a pleated skirt.
It felt like being naked would be better; at least a perverted Muggle is still a Muggle in the eyes of Muggles.
"Morning, Edward," the wizard in the skirt greeted Edward wearily. "You'd better hurry; Arthur and the others left a bit earlier. There's a large group coming from the Black Forest at five fifteen…"
"Morning, Basil. Portkey, Cohen, hand over the Portkey." Edward, who had sobered up considerably, said to Cohen.
Cohen handed the medicine bottle to Basil.
"Ah, so this is your son –" Basil shivered.
But the other wizard looked like he had fallen asleep standing up.
"Where's the campsite?" Edward noticed Basil's state and helped cover for him. "I was hoping to grab some more breakfast – I just threw it all up."
"Campsite… Norton… oh – here –" Basil pointed to a spot on the map for Edward. "Walk a quarter of a mile this way, then turn right at the second campsite. Look for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," Edward said gratefully.
After crossing the swampy ground, Cohen and Edward quickly encountered the Weasley family at the first campsite.
Their tent hadn't been set up yet. Harry and Hermione were helping figure out the correct way to pitch the tent, while Mr. Weasley was excitedly holding a mallet nearby, causing more trouble.
"Edward!" The red-haired, balding Mr. Weasley dropped the mallet he was using to hammer in the tent stakes and walked quickly towards Edward, beaming with joy, and gave Edward a hug.
"And Cohen!" Mr. Weasley also happily hugged Cohen; they often met at the station. "Where's your campsite? We're setting up our tent – we can help you set one up too after we're done here. I feel like I'm about to grasp the essence of tent pitching –"
"Just over there," Edward looked at the map and pointed towards the second campsite not far away.
The two campsites were separated only by a large pyramid-shaped tent.