Cohen had originally thought that Lucius would spill the beans about him taking the diary—but when Voldemort suddenly asked about it, Lucius instead claimed that the diary had been placed in Gringotts.
It was clear now—Lucius had finally made a decision about which side his family was standing on.
Due to his current... bodily inconvenience, Voldemort didn't ask Lucius to retrieve the diary for him—much to Lucius' relief.
As far as Voldemort knew, all his Horcruxes were still safe—except for the one at Hogwarts.
The diadem he'd gone looking for with Cohen seemed to have been discovered by Dumbledore, but thankfully, he'd made quite a few Horcruxes. There was no way Dumbledore, who was always glued to the school, could sneak into a Death Eater's vault to steal the cup or the diary...
---
"Sirius said the other two schools in the Triwizard Tournament are Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but Durmstrang doesn't sound like a great place..." Harry and the others had shifted their conversation to the reputation of Durmstrang.
Cohen drifted back from Voldemort's perspective to the train compartment—things had quieted down on the dark lord's end, and since his betrayal hadn't been discovered, Voldemort could still serve as Cohen's favorite XP farm.
"Durmstrang has a terrible reputation," Hermione said, shaking her head. "According to the European Magical Education Review, that school places a strong emphasis on the Dark Arts."
"What, thinking of transferring?" Cohen asked curiously.
"I'm just really interested in how other schools' curricula compare to Hogwarts. They probably teach all kinds of things we don't even touch," Hermione explained. "But competition between schools is so intense we can't even find their addresses—"
"If it's Dark Arts they're teaching, I'd rather never go," Harry said firmly. "Just imagine—an entire school full of kids learning how to torture people..."
"If you swapped the students with Dementors, that description kinda sounds like Azkaban," Cohen commented logically. "Huge fortress, torturing people, dark and damp..."
patreon\:belamy20
"Wait, Cohen, have you ever been to Azkaban?" Ron asked, hesitantly. "I mean, you... uh..."
He didn't dare say it outright—even though everyone in the compartment already knew about Cohen being part-Dementor.
"Never been, but I've heard stories from the Dementors." Cohen lied with a straight face—he technically wasn't supposed to go to Azkaban anyway.
"How do Dementors even talk?" Ron's eyes lit up with rare curiosity—especially for someone who usually zoned out in class. "I've never heard one make a sound..."
Harry and Hermione also looked intrigued. No one had ever heard a Dementor speak before—Cohen might be the only person alive who could communicate with them.
"They howl like wolves," Cohen joked solemnly. "Azkaban's filled with howling Dementors every day, so loud the prisoners can't sleep. Eventually, they just go mad."
"No way..." Ron murmured in disbelief.
"Don't tell me—" Harry was already laughing. His image of Dementors was completely warped by this quirky alternative one sitting beside him.
"You're kidding, right?" Hermione said, incredulous.
"Of course I'm kidding," Cohen said. "They communicate mentally. Not sure it even counts as 'thinking' per se, but at least I can understand them."
"Then why do they hurt people?" Harry asked. "I mean, if they really do think—Dementors just suck out people's happiness and souls as soon as they get close..."
"Having thoughts doesn't mean they side with wizards, Harry. That's way too naive," Cohen replied. "To a Dementor, humans are basically walking food dispensers—like how we don't stop eating meat just because we know cows and chickens can think."
"So to you... we're like...?" Ron inhaled sharply.
"Exactly. You're all my little snacks. Now hand over your cash, or I'll make you tonight's dinner," Cohen said in a mock-threatening tone. "Served with a nice glass of pumpkin juice."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Ron said. "I'm totally broke. Spent my last Knut at the Quidditch match."
No one looked the slightest bit scared—because to them, the odds of Cohen attacking a fellow student were lower than Voldemort getting married.
---
The train rolled northward. Rain poured down in sheets as the sky darkened—Cohen swore it never wasn't raining when they traveled to Hogwarts.
Plenty of familiar classmates stopped by their compartment that afternoon. Most conversations revolved around the Quidditch Cup and the recent attack on the Minister of Magic.
"My gran didn't want to go," Neville said gloomily, reaching peak sadness as Ron described the epic highlights of the match. "She wouldn't buy tickets—man, it sounded so exciting."
"There were tons of souvenirs too," Ron added. "Check this out..."
He rummaged through his trunk and pulled out a gloomy little Viktor Krum figurine.
"Wow\..." Neville's eyes sparkled with envy.
"Here, you can have one." Ron handed him a Krum—thanks to Edward buying a truckload of them, Ron had spares to give away.
Harry and Cohen gave Neville a few of their own souvenirs too—their trunks were overflowing with them. Most of it would probably sink to the bottom and never see daylight again until graduation.
Souvenirs only mattered in the moment you bought them—just like fireworks are only beautiful when they explode. Afterward, all that's left is ash and confetti... destined for the trash heap.
Neville thanked them repeatedly. Cohen didn't really care—he wasn't that into Quidditch anyway, and most of the stuff had been dumped on him by Edward.
---
When the train arrived, the rain showed no signs of letting up. Thunder boomed overhead. Cohen cast a waterproofing charm on his cloak early—he didn't want to arrive at the castle soaked.
They met Hagrid at the platform. As always, he was there to ferry the new first-years across the lake.
"If yeh don' drown, I'll see yeh at the feast!" Hagrid bellowed cheerfully.
"Crossing the lake in this weather sounds like a nightmare..." Hermione shivered—rain had already crept down her collar. Her waterproof cloak was proving less than effective.
Thankfully, as returning students, they got to take the Thestral-drawn carriages.
"Hsssss—" As Cohen approached one of the carriages, the Thestral at the front gave a soft hiss and leaned in toward him, almost like it was saying hi.
"I'm not a unicorn. Don't look at me like you want to mate," Cohen said seriously, gripping its long snout as it tried to sneak a lick.
"Back to pulling the carriage, pal—"
It sulked off to its post. Cohen hadn't seen this one before—it was probably just newly grown.
---
At the great oak doors of Hogwarts, Peeves the Poltergeist was pelting soaked students with water balloons.
Professor McGonagall was angrily scolding him, but Peeves couldn't care less.
"I didn't do anything!" he cackled. "They're already wet anyway! Hey! You there, short stuff! Heads up—"
His throat caught mid-yell.
Because the water balloon had hit Cohen.
Cohen glanced down at the one patch of dry clothing he'd worked so hard to keep under his cloak—now soaking wet.
With just one look, Peeves deflated like a popped balloon, spiraling away into the castle walls with a defeated "ppppfttt" sound.
The rest of his water balloons flew out of his arms and rained down like cannonballs on the crowd.
McGonagall waved her wand, freezing them all in mid-air.
"Alright, move along!" she ordered the drenched students. "Into the hall, quickly now!"
---
"I thought Peeves never dared mess with you?" Harry whispered beside Cohen. "What got into him today...?"
"Maybe the match hype?" Cohen replied. "Or maybe he just didn't see me through the rain."
Inside the entrance hall, they returned to the familiar warmth of the Gryffindor table. Everyone was shaking out soaked cloaks. Water hit the marble floor but instantly vanished—probably a similar enchantment to the one on that island with Voldemort's locket.
That island was useless now—not only was the Horcrux gone, but all the Inferi too. Cohen wondered how pissed Voldemort would be if he ever found out...
"Hurry up already..." Ron groaned as he sat, clutching his empty stomach. "I could eat a whole Hungarian Horntail—"
---
The first-years took ages to line up. They looked like they'd swum across the lake. One of them—a scruffy boy with ash-brown hair—stood out because he was wrapped in Hagrid's massive mole-skin coat, looking like a walking duvet.
He made eye contact with Colin Creevey at the Gryffindor table and excitedly mouthed, "I fell in the lake!" while giving two enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Cohen didn't quite understand the excitement—must've been the giant squid. Probably got scooped up by the elderly, friendly sea monster and thought it was amazing.
Cohen had never tried talking to the squid himself. When he first got to Hogwarts, he'd noticed it had a soul strength of fifty. But he had no clue how to chat with aquatic creatures, so he never really tried.
Maybe it had secrets of its own. At Hogwarts, any student not interested in detective work clearly wasn't cut out to be a proper Dark Lord...
---
Meanwhile, the Sorting Hat had been brought out by Professor McGonagall. It sang a brand-new song—rhyme and melody aside, the lyrics fit the Hogwarts spirit quite well.
Honestly, asking a hat to write a new song every year was kind of cruel. Cohen had once told his toilet to try learning to sing, but he quickly gave up on the idea.
A singing toilet is creepy no matter how you spin it—especially when it tried harmonizing Rule Britannia while you're in the middle of using it.
---
Once the Sorting Ceremony ended, Dumbledore made his usual announcements about rules and introduced this year's new professor—Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
After Snape's not-so-subtle leaks, Professor Lupin had resigned before the rumors could spread too far. Sirius had offered to let Lupin live with him, but Lupin had declined—probably didn't want to be a burden, even though Sirius never saw him that way.
And without Barty Jr. to kidnap him, this time it was the real Moody who showed up—no mid-banquet entrance needed.
His scarred, wooden-looking face was terrifying enough, but the constantly spinning magical eye sealed the deal. When Dumbledore introduced him, not a single student dared clap.
He looked like a serial killer ripped from a horror story.
What caught Cohen's attention—besides Moody's impressive soul strength of 50—was that magical eye.
After scanning the whole hall, it locked directly onto him.
Even after Moody sat down, the eye remained fixed on Cohen.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, seeing Cohen staring toward the staff table. "Do you know that professor? He looks scary..."
"Scary?" Ron leaned in and whispered, "He's a legend! Mad-Eye Moody—my dad says he was the best Auror ever. Half of Azkaban's inmates got tossed in there by him!"
"Yeah... coworker, kinda," Cohen replied offhandedly.
Moody finally looked away—his eye spun around and left only the whites showing as he turned to say something to Professor McGonagall.
Being a veteran Auror, Cohen wasn't sure if Moody had taken part in the raid on the Burke Manor back in the day—maybe he was one of those who threw spells at him.
But what Cohen cared about more... was where Moody stood now.
After all, the retired Mad-Eye had some serious paranoia issues...