"What?"
The three stared blankly at each other after Cohen was taken away by the new professor. Harry and Hermione looked confused, but Ron seemed to realize something—his face went pale instantly.
Once Cohen and Moody disappeared around the corner on the second floor, Ron turned anxiously to Harry.
"Harry, we need to go find another professor, quickly—"
"What did he take Cohen for?" Harry asked.
Cohen had just arrived at school. Was he caught just for stepping in with the wrong foot?
"My dad told me… Moody absolutely loathes Dark Magic," Ron swallowed nervously. "What if… what if he found out about Cohen's background? That magic eye of his might have seen right through him…"
"But Cohen didn't choose how he was born, did he?" Harry said, distressed. "He has nothing to do with Dark Magic—"
"Maybe not in the eyes of an Auror," Hermione said sharply. "Stop standing around—let's get back to the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore might still be downstairs—we have to tell him!"
Meanwhile, Cohen had already been brought to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office by Moody.
"Seriously, this happens every year…" Cohen muttered.
Every single year, he'd get dragged into the DADA professor's office at least once.
Though this time it was a bit early—usually it didn't happen on the first night of the school year.
Moody's office was filled with bizarre-looking devices for detecting Dark Magic. A large spinning foe-glass sat on the desk, a golden secrecy sensor stood in the corner, and a long mirror with faint, shadowy figures hung on the wall…
But none of the instruments reacted, even with Cohen in the room.
"Did the previous professors take an interest in you, too?" Moody limped into the office, shutting the door behind them and pushing Cohen into the armchair in front of his desk. "Voldemort and Quirrell, Lockhart the author, Philip—Joshua's brother, Lupin…"
He really knew them all. Then again, Cohen's older brother had worked with the Aurors, too.
"Don't be nervous, kid. Just because they call me Mad-Eye Moody doesn't mean I hex everyone I touch," Moody said with a dry laugh. But coming from a scar-covered face like his, it wasn't particularly reassuring—most students would've confessed every rule they ever broke on the spot.
But Cohen wasn't too worried—at least, for now, it didn't seem like Moody was there to interrogate him over his "Dark Magic experiment" past.
"So what's this about, then?" Cohen asked.
Surely he wasn't brought in just to gawk at a rare magical species?
"Dumbledore asked me to explain a few things to you," Moody said, adjusting his wooden leg. "He thinks you've already learned what happened at the Burke Manor."
"Pretty hard not to," Cohen said. "My parents told me too… is there something new? Don't tell me something happened with Herbert—"
"No, nothing like that." Moody grinned, making his face look even more twisted. "What Dumbledore wants to clear up is… how did he put it… 'I retired before you were born'—you're not holding a grudge against every ex-Auror, are you?"
"I'm not some maniac who hears the word 'Auror' and starts throwing curses at random people," Cohen replied, using the same tone Moody had introduced himself with.
"Well, that's a relief," Moody clapped his hands. "At least we won't be at odds. Wouldn't want Dumbledore lecturing me again about my 'temper.' Honestly, I've had enough chaos in my life. I just want to enjoy retirement quietly—teaching sounded easy enough, but Lupin wrote me a warning to brace myself…"
"Alright, let's move on." Moody circled back. "This isn't about classes—the term hasn't even started yet. It's about you, the Ministry of Magic, and Voldemort."
Moody suddenly grew serious.
"First, there's some activity from the Ministry you should know about," he said. "Even though I've been retired for years, I still have friends in the Auror Office. I've heard rumors—Fudge is panicking. He's desperate for a distraction to divert the public's attention, and you're a prime candidate for a sensational scandal."
Moody looked hard at Cohen.
"Both Dumbledore and I think it's best if you lay low this term—especially no leaving school grounds."
He was referring to the incident where Cohen had gone to the lakeside inn to deal with remnants of the Silver Key group.
"As long as no one kidnaps my parents or my pets," Cohen replied calmly.
"That's part of why Dumbledore brought me back to teach," Moody said gruffly. "And don't worry about Edward and Rose's safety—there's a Fidelius Charm…"
"So you're here to protect my cat?" Cohen raised an eyebrow.
"…."
Moody's face froze.
Conversation. Terminated. A few words were all it took.
"Alright, I get it. You're not just here for the cat," Cohen said tactfully.
"Second topic—Voldemort's Horcruxes," Moody said. "Dumbledore doesn't want this getting around—it's too risky."
"I haven't told anyone," Cohen nodded. "Though honestly, Dumbledore's the one leaking it—look at you, you already know…"
"…."
So he was an outsider now, was he?
Moody was mentally revising his impression of Cohen—clearly the boy's earlier obedient act had just been a warm-up. Now the real chatterbox was coming out.
"It's fine. You're not that excluded…" Cohen added helpfully. "You just haven't kept in touch with Dumbledore. He's been stuck at school, and you weren't exactly helping him with the whole 'can't find a professor' issue…"
"Third topic." Moody clearly wanted to wrap this conversation up—no wonder Dumbledore had warned him not to chat too long with Cohen.
He'd thought Dumbledore meant Cohen might feel interrogated. Turns out, Cohen's elite conversational skills just needed a bit of warm-up.
"This one's just something I want to ask."
Out of nowhere, Moody asked:
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
"No," Cohen replied instantly.
It would've been stranger if Moody hadn't asked that kind of question. For Mad-Eye Moody to sit here and not suspect him of being dangerous would've been suspicious. Cohen might have wondered if he'd been replaced by a Death Eater again.
Though Moody's soul signature had confirmed he was legit—no Death Eater around Voldemort right now was this strong.
And sure enough, the foe-glass and secrecy sensor stayed still after Cohen answered.
At that moment, Cohen was the very picture of honesty, kindness, friendliness, and complete harmlessness.
Knock knock knock—
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Moody rasped, reattaching his wooden leg.
In came Dumbledore, followed by the clearly worried trio of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Well, it seems there's been a bit of a misunderstanding," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
"You brought three more?" Moody asked, thinking Dumbledore had more students to chat with.
"The way you took Cohen was a little intense, Alastor," Dumbledore said with amusement. "His friends thought you were going to do something awful to him."
"I said it was just a chat," Moody grumbled, nudging Cohen's chair.
"Off you go, kid. We're done."
"You've got some loyal friends—don't take them for granted…" Moody muttered as Cohen got up. "Also, tell Edward this—fourteen years and not a single bottle of firewhisky from him. After all the favors I did for him…"
"Would you even drink it, or just smash it thinking it was poisoned?" Cohen asked.
"Whether I smash it or not is my business," Moody huffed. "I thought they were dead, you know."
"He really didn't do anything to you?"
On the way back to the common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately hounded Cohen for details.
"What do you want to hear?" Cohen had already figured out what Harry and Ron were like. Hermione, on the other hand, stayed calm—she probably figured it out from Dumbledore and Moody's conversation.
"He thought you were evil and wanted to arrest you," Ron guessed.
"He interrogated you about Voldemort and the Silver Key," Harry added.
"And then we fought," Cohen continued the tale.
"Really?!" ×2
"Fake!" Cohen groaned. "Why do you guys always hope I'm at war with the whole world? One day when I'm Minister for Magic, I'm assigning each of you your own personal Dementor as a bodyguard."
"Ugh." Hermione shook her head at the three of them.
"Don't pretend—you're curious too," Ron said, catching Hermione's expression perfectly. "I bet they talked about the Ministry."
"Maybe it was about Voldemort," Harry added. "He's been active lately—Sirius told Dumbledore about it…"
"Probably both," Cohen said with a yawn.
By the time they reached the Gryffindor common room, Cohen had already told them most of what Moody said.
As for the whole "don't spread the Horcrux info" thing—it was useless. They'd known since third year anyway.
A dreamless night passed.
The next morning, the ever-dreary Scottish Highlands finally calmed down. The sky was still gray and overcast, but at least it wasn't raining or stormy.
At breakfast, they received their schedules for the term.
"Herbology… Care of Magical Creatures…" Ron listed their morning classes. "Not bad—all outdoors. No sitting around in the castle…"
"We've got Divination this afternoon though," Harry said gloomily. "I feel like I've already used up all my dramatic deaths…"
Thanks to Cohen helping them come up with increasingly ridiculous death prophecies to score points with Professor Trelawney, they'd already predicted nearly every possible demise in under a year.
"Guess we'll just have to get more creative," Cohen said thoughtfully. "This weekend, I've decided I'll die… in a woman's arms."
"What about us?" Ron asked, frowning.
"You two can die in each other's arms," Cohen suggested.
"Or you could drop Divination entirely, like I did," Hermione said. "You could study something actually useful, like Arithmancy."
"Too complicated. And hey—your schedule looks normal again," Ron peeked over.
"Because I realized I was about to go mad," Hermione said breezily. "Muggle Studies and Divination don't offer much real knowledge. Especially Divination…"
She still hadn't forgiven Trelawney for being so overly dramatic.
At the other end of the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were discussing how to fake their age to enter the Triwizard Tournament (you had to be of age, and they were a year too young).
"Would be nice if that actually worked," Ron said enviously. "Becoming Hogwarts' champion—that'd be incredible."
"Unlikely," Hermione reminded him. "Dumbledore knows how old we are. You're not fooling anyone…"
Harry didn't say a word, but Cohen could tell he was excited too.
Well then—let the "Great Lord Cohen" and "Slightly Lesser Lord Voldemort" help you out, dear Harry!
After breakfast, they headed to the Herbology greenhouses.
The class was shared with the Hufflepuffs, and Cohen didn't know them too well—they were so well-behaved they rarely turned up anywhere Cohen usually was.
For the first class, Professor Sprout introduced a black, slug-like plant that looked like a giant snot blob.
"Bubotubers," she said. "You'll need to squeeze out the pus. Collect it in bottles—it's extremely valuable. Be sure to wear your dragon-hide gloves. Undiluted Bubotuber pus can cause serious skin damage."
They paired up for the task—one held the bottle, the other squeezed the plant carefully to avoid being sprayed.
Cohen was supposed to pair with Harry, but a not-so-familiar Hufflepuff pulled him aside.
Cohen immediately noticed something was off.
[Soul Strength: 24]
This was someone using Polyjuice Potion. And it wasn't hard to guess who…
A Death Eater—sent by Voldemort.
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