There was no need to wait for Edward to return—or rather, Edward likely didn't even know there was such a law concerning owls.
Cohen had already found this passage in his newly purchased “History of Magic”.
Due to the proliferation and uncontrollability of owl post, after the “International Statute of Secrecy” was enacted in 1692, owls were also categorized within the scope of easily exposed magical creatures.
At the same time, the “Owl Purchase Contract” emerged, which required owl trainers and those involved in selling owls to ensure that every owl in circulation was bound by a contract spell, to prevent abnormal escapes, disappearances, or betrayals by owls.
And Cohen’s attempt was a great success; by simply thinking “forbid” the Earl from speaking in his mind, the Earl genuinely couldn't utter a single word—
“Congratulations, you can live to be my messenger.”
Cohen announced to the Earl cheerfully, silently forbidding the Earl from saying anything about Cohen being a Dementor.
Perhaps the Earl had no such thoughts to begin with, but Cohen still chose to play it safe. This way, he not only had a talking owl but also ensured his identity wouldn’t be inexplicably exposed.
In the days that followed, Cohen asked the Earl more than once why he could speak.
But the Earl’s answer was always the same story.
In the story, he and an old man named John (Earl: Every street has an old man named John) lived in a dilapidated lighthouse with an attic. Old John carved wood sculptures year after year, and the Earl would fly out with the wood sculptures, dropping them into the forest—
“John carved at least a few hundred wood sculptures. I had to fly out several times a day, but unfortunately, although my original intention was to make a more spacious nest, those wood sculptures would always be picked up by people lost in the forest—lost people could always find the lighthouse.”
The Earl smacked his beak. He had just flown back from outside the window, and the bright moonlight shone on his wings.
It sounded like something out of a fairy tale: a lighthouse guiding people lost in the forest, a silent old man carving wood, a talking owl…
“Do I look like a gullible little kid?” Cohen looked at the Earl on the windowsill with a deadpan expression. He was enjoying a field mouse he had brought from who-knows-where.
“No—I mean, hoot hoot—a bird talking is inherently fairy-tale-like. This story is very fitting.” The Earl made the windowsill bloody.
“If you don’t want to say, then don’t. There are plenty of talking things in the magic world.”
Cohen waved his wand casually.
“Scourgify.”
“My supper!” The Earl let out an indescribable shriek.
【Ding! Sin Value +1】
Looking at the clean windowsill and the Earl, who had flown out again and decided to get his supper on the spot from now on, Cohen contentedly climbed into bed to sleep.
In the more than a month before school started, Cohen had already previewed all the spells in “Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1”.
Most of the spells these young Wizards learned were elementary ones like fire-making spells, cutting spells, and Levitation Charm. The more practical ones were only the Mending Charm and the Scouring Charm.
These had almost no difficulty. Although the book indicated the magical digital model behind each spell, it was clear that this was not something normal students would study. No eleven-year-old would learn three-dimensional function models, and neither would Cohen.
“Just imagine, someone finally transmigrates to the magic world, excitedly steps through the gates of Hogwarts, then a student passing by on the left says: ‘Hey, did you understand today’s class? I didn’t quite get polynomial fitting,’ and a student passing by on the right replies: ‘I understood that. Assuming your initial magic consumption is x, and the final stepped magic output is y, then use y = a + bx + cx + dx…’, how desperate would that transmigrator be…”
Cohen told himself a joke.
This was definitely not an excuse for him not to study diligently.
Anyway, while these spells had scientific theories, their casting methods were idealistic.
You just needed to wave the wand according to the gestures specified in the textbook, recite the incantation, and think about the spell's effect—snap! The spell would work!
The only difficulty might be memorizing the incantations and their corresponding gestures.
Perhaps with more casting experience in the future, he could even omit the incantation and gestures—or even the wand itself.
However, Cohen could currently only openly self-study “Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1” because Edward and Rose jointly emphasized that young Wizards should not learn too many spells ahead of time—without a teacher’s guidance and supervision, young Wizards could easily cause big trouble with a simple spell.
Even adult Wizards made mistakes; there was once a Wizard named Baruffio who said ‘f’ instead of ‘s’ and ended up lying on the floor with a wild ox standing on his chest.
So Cohen only practiced this ordinary textbook during the day, and at night…
Of course, Cohen practiced “Complete Book of Positive Spells,” which he bought from the Benevolent Store for 250 Benevolence Points.
The first three chapters of this spell compendium were a piece of cake for Cohen, but when he got to the advanced spells at the beginning of the fourth chapter, such as the Existence Charm and the Bubblehead Charm, Cohen couldn't manage to cast them.
Perhaps it required a higher level of magic power, so Cohen's attempts were superficial, and he could only flip through the book to satisfy his eyes (to help young Wizards understand the effects of spells more intuitively, the textbook recorded dynamic illustrations next to the spells, where spell testers would repeatedly cast or be subjected to the corresponding spells).
In the following month, Cohen had originally planned to reveal that he was also a new student at Hogwarts after meeting Harry, to make Harry happy.
But Harry hadn't come to look for Cohen since moving back from the island with the Dursleys. There was even one time he ran into Cohen, but he only awkwardly said hello and then frantically ran away.
It made Cohen almost think that Harry had found out about him being a Dementor.
Just like that, the holiday passed in a flash, and Cohen was pulled out of bed by Rose in the early morning.
“Today is your first day of school, Mom definitely wants to dress you up beautifully—”
Rose lovingly tidied Cohen’s hair and clothes.
“Mom, that’s what you say when you’re dressing up a girl.”
Cohen said, embarrassed, but he didn’t pull away from Rose’s hands, even when Rose tried to pin a pink bow tie to Cohen’s collar.
“It doesn’t look good with your hair…”
Rose disappointedly threw the pink bow tie aside.
“Cohen will have to change all these things when he gets to school, into his uniform,” Edward said, leaning against the door with a wise tone.
“Hmm?” Rose silenced Edward with just one look, sending him downstairs to prepare breakfast.
All the way, Cohen was enveloped by the discomfort of the tight formal wear, watching Rose in the passenger seat occasionally wipe away tears with a handkerchief, tears brought on by her child leaving her side for at least a semester.
“Hogwarts will take good care of the children, didn’t we go through the same thing back then!” Edward comforted her.
This scene made Cohen feel for a moment that he wasn't going to school, but getting married.
Upon arriving at King’s Cross Station, Cohen followed Edward and Rose through the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten, arriving at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
A scarlet steam train stood at the platform, surrounded by a dreamy mist. Amidst the bustling crowd, the shouts of children and the calls of some reckless parents could be heard everywhere.
“When you get to school, you must obey the school rules. Never go to dangerous places, don’t go against the Professors, study hard, eat more, drink more water, write to us once a week with the Earl, and when you’re sorted, you must be sorted into Gryffindor. If you dare to go to Slytherin, I’ll—”
“Alright, Rose, aren’t you afraid Cohen will jump off the train halfway and run away—isn’t it the same no matter which house he goes to?” Edward quickly stopped the anxious and unrestrained Rose.
Then, Edward squatted down and ruffled Cohen’s head.
“Cohen, just enjoy school life. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. The courses at Hogwarts are quite relaxed—at least easier than Smelting’s.”
“Got it, I’ll dress myself, go to the bathroom, eat, and take care of myself. Don’t worry, Mom and Dad.”
Cohen secretly tugged at his collar, which was almost suffocating him, and quickly scurried into the train.
Outside, Rose was leaning on Edward’s shoulder, watching Cohen rapidly moving through the train window, her expression one of relief and tearfulness.
“Edward, do you remember the first time we met on the train?”
“I remember.” Edward stiffened. “I was being bullied by some bad kids back then.”
“Those were just wimps,” Rose recalled fondly.
“You chased them away and then beat me up,” Edward said, his mouth twitching.
“It’s because you were a crybaby wimp back then. I can’t stand wimps,” Rose leaned closer to Edward’s face. “But… you’re a little different.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re a wimp who dared to raise a Dementor with me.” Rose kissed Edward. “Cohen will be fine, right?”
“Of course he will. He’s a good kid.” The spot where Edward was kissed turned crimson. “Hogwarts has Dumbledore, and… when we went to buy school supplies, he said I was a good dad.”
“Evil Dementors don’t have ‘love,’ do they?”
—
On the other side, Harry wanted to ask Uncle Vernon to wait for a moment before leaving.
“Boy, I don’t have time for your nonsense.” Uncle Vernon waited by the car, grumbling, “Dudley still has to go to the hospital. You only have two minutes—”
Given permission, Harry darted to Cohen’s doorstep and urgently knocked on the door.
In the past few days, Harry had really wanted to share these novel things with Cohen: about owls and letters, gigantic Giants, wonderful magic…
All the magical things that had suddenly appeared on his birthday night.
But Harry had been told by Hagrid not to reveal anything about magic to any Muggle—not even his closest friends.
So Harry had been avoiding Cohen, afraid that he would blurt everything out if Cohen questioned him.
Also, Harry couldn’t imagine the painful feeling of “knowing your friend can do magic but you can’t.”
However, before leaving Privet Drive, Harry finally decided to say goodbye to Cohen.
“Cohen, I’m going to another school, but I’ll definitely come back. We’ll always be good friends, right…?”
Harry kept rehearsing the farewell speech he had prepared while waiting for Cohen to open the door.
Regrettably, no one opened the door.
“Ha, kid, did you think the Nortons’ child would wait for you to say goodbye when school’s starting? No one wants to hang around with someone like you.” Uncle Vernon, from a distance, sneered, taking his anger out on Harry. “If it weren’t for that damned pig’s tail, Dudley wouldn’t have had to delay his enrollment—”
Harry didn’t listen to Uncle Vernon at all. He glumly got into the car, taking one last look in the direction of Cohen’s bedroom, feeling that the joy of starting school couldn’t overcome the feeling of something missing in his heart.
—
On the other end, Cohen, having found an empty compartment at the back of the train, eagerly shoved his trunk beside the seat, slammed the compartment door shut with a bang, and then began to laboriously unbutton his tight collar.
Good heavens, Mom’s love was truly suffocating.
And why did he, a Dementor by species, still need to breathe? Was it truly because flesh and blood were too weak…
“You look like a ‘raging Werewolf’ about to assault me.”
The Earl tilted his head, watching Cohen undress.
“You look like a perverted Alchemist peeking at a child’s body.”
Cohen retorted mercilessly.
Finally, Cohen changed into his school robes ahead of time and decided that before returning to school, he absolutely had to cast a subtle Enlargement Charm on that tight formal wear so he wouldn’t be murdered by a piece of clothing and leave a notorious reputation for all time.
Rose had given him a jingling bag of pocket money before they left, because there was a snack trolley on the train, and children often preferred these magically processed, interesting snacks over the dry packed lunches their parents left in their trunks.
However, Cohen believed he didn’t need to spend this pocket money today, because a rich guy who would just wave his hand and say “I’ll take it all” was about to arrive in this compartment at the end of the train—
“Hello, may I sit—Cohen?!”
Harry pushed open the compartment door and froze in the aisle after seeing who was sitting there.
“Excuse me, we need to get through.” A student from the opposite compartment, who was about to go to the bathroom, saw Harry blocking the way and spoke up with some helplessness.
“Oh—okay—sorry…” Harry quickly turned to apologize, dragging his trunk and squeezing into the compartment, his rough movements causing Hedwig in the cage on top of the trunk to let out a protesting hoot.
Cohen noticed that after Hedwig appeared, the Earl’s eyes hadn’t left the pure white snowy owl.
“No way, I don’t even have a heroine yet, why are you getting ahead of me!” Cohen whispered, threatening the Earl.
The Earl gave Cohen a contemptuous glance, with an expression that seemed to say, “What are you going to do if I go secretly meet up with other birds in the owlery tonight?”
“Cohen! I thought you—no, I thought—” Harry felt like he couldn’t speak properly.
“Wow—what a coincidence, Harry, you’re also coming to Hogwarts.” Cohen said seriously.
“Your reaction is a bit too slow…” Harry felt the expression on his face gradually stiffen. “I’ve been sitting in my seat for thirty seconds.”
“I guess I’m really not good at being dramatic,” Cohen sighed. “You didn’t come to see me last month. I originally wanted to quietly tell you a little about the magic world—”
“But Hagrid said not to tell Muggles—you didn’t know I was a Wizard then, did you?” Harry asked anxiously and confusedly.
“Who is Hagrid?” Cohen asked decisively.
With the topic opened, Harry naturally began to talk at length about his wondrous experiences on his birthday.
Eleven-year-old children were too easy to manipulate; just a little coaxing and they would forget their initial goal.
Cohen also got his wish of not having to say anything himself. Listening was more economical than speaking, especially when the snack trolley hadn’t arrived yet.
