The train rumbled forward, and before long, a boy with fiery red hair and a face full of freckles pushed open the compartment's sliding door.
There was a smudge on the tip of his nose—but he didn't seem to notice it himself.
"Is anyone sitting here?" he asked Harry and Cohen, pointing to the seat next to Harry, because Cohen had Count's birdcage next to him.
"Everywhere else is full."
"Uh—" Harry was unsure what Cohen meant and looked towards Cohen.
Cohen spread his hands.
"No one, have a seat."
【Ding! Goodwill +1】
Too kind.
Cohen felt his self-assessment had always been correct.
Ron sat down, glanced at Harry, but quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened.
"Looks like a crush…"
Cohen clicked his tongue, not speaking aloud, and decided to open his "Encyclopedia of Good Spells."
Honestly, the title of this book was so cheesy; which genius came up with "Encyclopedia of Good Spells"? If he took this book out in public, others would surely laugh their heads off…
However, Cohen felt that the two eleven-year-old Wizards in front of him probably couldn't even distinguish between stalactite and stalagmite, so they probably wouldn't carefully identify the title of the book in Cohen's hand.
And indeed, Ron and Harry were both looking at Cohen as if he were Superman—anyone at that age who could give up chatting and playing to bury themselves in a book was a formidable person.
After the Weasley twins, Fred and George, visited, Ron seized the opportunity to initiate the typical eleven-year-old's friendship campaign with the opening line, "Are you really Harry Potter?"—the kind where once you're friends, you're friends for life.
They talked about everything from Harry's fame to Wizarding families, and finally, they noticed there was another person in the compartment—
"Cohen, Cohen Norton," Cohen replied, looking up when Ron asked for his name.
Of course, Cohen looked up not to see Ron or Harry, but to try and spot the snack trolley through the window.
Grandma's, why isn't the food here yet! I'm starving!
This is the downside of being in the last carriage; the snack trolley is always the last to arrive here.
If Cohen got any hungrier, he might just start eating people.
Finally, amidst Cohen's silent anticipation, the snack saleswoman pushed open the compartment door:
"Anything off the trolley, dears?"
Harry immediately jumped up, as he hadn't eaten anything all morning.
Cohen sat steadily in his seat, knowing he wouldn't need to pay for food at all—Harry would soon unleash his money power:
"I'll take the lot."
Ron stared intently as Harry carried the purchased food into the compartment, dumping it all onto the small table in front of them.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving," Harry grabbed the nearest pumpkin pasty and took a big bite.
Ron, meanwhile, pulled out his sandwich—and after Harry's repeated insistence, Ron set aside his reserve and began to enjoy Harry's snacks.
"Cohen, do you want some too?" Harry's mouth was full, and he was about to turn and invite Cohen.
But Cohen was already one step ahead, having stuffed himself into the pile of snacks.
"What?"
_( :3」∠ )_
Cohen, emerging from the pile of snacks, bit off the heads of two Chocolate Frogs at once.
It felt strangely like swallowing a live frog whole, but the taste of the chocolate sauce exploding in his mouth was truly wonderful.
Once full and satisfied, most people would start thinking about carnal desires.
But here, there were only two eleven-year-old Wizards, and one half-Dementor with an eleven-year-old body, so they would have other recreational activities.
Like watching Ron perform magic.
The moment Peter Pettigrew, transformed into the rat Scabbers, was held up by Ron, Count let out an urgent hoot, as if he had spotted dinner.
Clearly, the magical owl that could even discern Cohen's true identity could also see through an Animagus's disguise.
However, Cohen didn't plan to capture Peter Pettigrew now, even though Peter's soul was already as weak as 11 points.
Exposing him now wouldn't earn Cohen much goodwill, because he was just a guy fleeing from Black.
But if Cohen reported a villain attempting to resurrect Lord Voldemort, then the goodwill this matter could provide would surely be sky-high.
Plus, if Cohen was actually the mastermind behind Voldemort's resurrection but then defected midway…
Tsk tsk tsk, Cohen couldn't imagine how many sin points and goodwill points he would gain.
At worst, he could wait until Sirius Black escaped Azkaban and gained Dumbledore's trust before capturing Peter, which would at least allow him to challenge the cowardly Minister for Magic—after all, the current Minister for Magic, Fudge, would absolutely refuse to admit that the Ministry of Magic had wrongly imprisoned a criminal for ten years.
"Squeak—"
Just as Ron raised his wand, the compartment door opened.
Neville came before them—this was the second time; a round-faced boy with tear-filled eyes had already visited once to look for his toad before Cohen had even finished eating.
This time, however, Neville was accompanied by a girl with thick brown hair and a pair of prominent front teeth, Hermione Granger.
After again inquiring about his toad's whereabouts to no avail, Hermione noticed Ron performing magic and stayed to watch the entire ineffective performance.
After crushing Ron's self-esteem, Hermione rattled off a long speech about Sorting and changing robes, then led Neville away.
"No matter which house I'm sorted into, I hope I'm not with her…" Ron grumbled, tossing his wand onto his trunk.
Harry asked Ron which house his two brothers were in and expressed some pessimistic views about the house he would be going to.
When Ron asked Cohen about the topic—
"Me?" Cohen thought of what Rose had said just before he got on the train, and his mouth twitched.
"My mom said she'd kill me if I went to Slytherin—I saw her lips move that way, so Gryffindor is probably best…"
Speaking of which… the Sorting Hat should recognize me, right?
A Dementor's soul and a young Wizard's soul are still very distinct, especially when Cohen looks at himself; that soul image is simply too typical.
However, Dumbledore must have warned it, otherwise the Sorting Hat would have shouted "Azkaban!" during the Sorting instead of some other common house.
"Your mom?!" Harry exclaimed, "Your mom's a Wizard too?!"
"Actually, my dad is too," Cohen said nonchalantly.
"But they kept it from me until I received my acceptance letter—because I'm adopted, and they thought I was a Muggle kid."
"If only I were Mr. Norton's adopted child too…" Harry sighed.
Indeed, the disparity was stark; Cohen could grow up freely, pampered by his adoptive parents, while Harry could only spend his childhood in a cupboard.
This heavy topic didn't last long, and the two people in front of Cohen quickly turned their attention to other subjects.
Ron and Harry talked about everything from houses to Charlie in Romania, and from the Gringotts vaults to Quidditch, fully demonstrating the breadth of their knowledge.
Of course, there was a little friction during this time.
"Is it true?" Draco Malfoy asked, standing at the compartment door, "Everyone on the train is buzzing that Harry Potter is in this compartment, so it's true, right?"
"Yes," Harry clearly disliked this person.
Ron let out a slight laugh, and then Malfoy singled him out for criticism.
After several rounds of "I, Draco Malfoy, a noble scion, want to be friends with you, so hurry up and agree" and "Sorry, the thing I, Harry Potter, like most is saying No to conceited people"…
"Do you want to fight?" Malfoy sneered.
"Unless you leave now," Harry said, standing up resolutely, though with little confidence.
When Goyle, Malfoy's crony, reached his fat hand towards the pile of snacks in front of Cohen, Cohen couldn't hold back.
“Go, Earl!” Cohen chose to open the birdcage directly.
Suddenly, the entire area descended into chaos. Earl immediately spread his wings, large enough to swat three little brats’ faces at once, and charged upwards. Malfoy and his two companions were so startled by the sudden onslaught of the owl that they fled in a panic, only to trip over each other.
Earl even secretly dropped a few loads on the trio’s heads.
Harry and Ron burst into happy laughter.
“If you don’t run, I’ll scratch out the eyeballs of you little brats,” Earl said viciously.
After Earl spoke human words, the air became silent for a moment.
Even Harry and Ron, who had just been laughing, froze in their seats.
It was Malfoy and his two companions who screamed and ran first—no one wanted to lose their eyeballs, especially when the threat came from an owl.
After delivering his harsh words, Earl flew back into his cage haughtily—and specifically glanced at Harry’s Hedwig.
“Owls… can… can… talk?” Harry’s eyes widened.
“Something’s not right…” Ron suddenly said, alertly, “Even in the magic world, talking owls are rare, Cohen—my dad said, if you haven’t seen where its brain is hidden, never trust anything that seems to think on its own—”
“Do you want me to pull open my feathers and let you look through my ear hole to see where my damn magical brain is?”
Earl expressed his angry denial of Ron’s definition.
“Owls naturally have brains, Ron,” Cohen said, rubbing his forehead. “And there’s a magic contract between owls and Wizards. It’s just that…”
Cohen was considering how to define Earl.
“Perhaps it’s just an owl born from crossbreeding with other magical creatures.”
“You’re the hybrid! Your whole family!”
Earl hopped and flapped around in the cage in a fit of rage, which finally put Harry and Ron slightly at ease.
After all, even though it was so angry, it didn’t come out to harm them.
As the train was about to arrive at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron also changed into their school robes.
The temperature in the Scottish Highlands was much lower than in London, and many young Wizards sneezed the moment they got off the train due to the sudden cold snap.
Cohen didn’t feel much; he only feared heat, not cold.
Following Hagrid across the Black Lake by boat, Cohen saw a Giant creature beneath the surface of the lake.
【Soul Strength: 50】
A Bushyger? Are you a boss?
Lord Voldemort’s soul fragments only had forty points of Soul Strength!
Clearly, the Giant squid of Hogwarts had some secrets.
But it was certainly not something Cohen could investigate now; the squid was so large, he couldn’t swallow it in one gulp.
In comparison, Hagrid’s 30 points of Soul Strength seemed much more normal—perhaps because he was a half-Giant, Hagrid’s Soul Strength already exceeded that of most ordinary Wizards.
Newly admitted young Wizards only had seven or eight points, adult Wizards ranged between 15-40, and those awesome powerful Wizards…
Soon, Cohen got his answer.
Professor McGonagall
【Soul Strength: 50】
Indeed, sometimes the gap between people is greater than the gap between people and pigs. This was the composure of the older generation of Hogwarts Professors, easily refreshing the upper limit of Soul Strength for the second- and third-rate Wizards Cohen had observed in Diagon Alley.
After Professor McGonagall finished explaining the Sorting and the House Cup, it wasn't long before they, the young Wizards, were led into the Great Hall.
During the wait, Ron dramatically described to Harry and Cohen “the contents of the Sorting Ceremony that Fred told him,” making Harry think he had to fight a Troll—even though Harry had no idea what a Troll was.
“Never stick your wand up a Troll’s nostril, you’ll thank me later,” Cohen kindly reminded Harry.
Finally, the Sorting Ceremony began.
At the end of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall gently placed a four-legged stool, and then put a pointed Wizard’s hat on it.
The hat was tattered, patched, and very dirty.
Then, under everyone’s gaze, the hat twisted and a slit opened up like a mouth.
It began to sing:
【You may think I'm not pretty,
But never judge a book by its cover,
If you can find a hat prettier than me,
I'll eat myself.
...
...
...
Come wear me! Don't be afraid!
Don't panic!
In my hands (though I don't even have one)
You are absolutely safe
Because I am a thinking magic hat!】
After the hat finished singing, the Great Hall erupted in thunderous applause.
It bowed to each of the four tables one by one, then sat motionless on the stool.
Harry and Ron clearly breathed a sigh of relief.
Cohen also breathed a sigh of relief.
The Soul Strength of the Professors in the Great Hall didn’t soar to an extremely terrifying level; most were between 45 and 50. The diminutive Professor Flitwick was 1 point slightly higher than Professor McGonagall—of course, Dumbledore was not included.
This person was like an old scholar who scored 99 out of 100 on a test—because Dumbledore’s Soul Strength was a glaring 99.
The value is a bit broken, hey! It feels like it’s completely out of the normal human range!
It can only be said that it’s a good thing Dumbledore isn’t a Dementor; Soul Strength only represents the difficulty Cohen would face in dealing with him.
“No, why would I deal with Dumbledore? Shouldn’t I decisively choose the right side and safely gain experience at a time like this?” Cohen slapped his head in confusion.
However, Cohen now felt that he had figured out the distribution pattern of Wizards’ Soul Strength.
Ordinary Wizards generally range between 15-40, and some more outstanding Wizards will have Soul Strength above 40, but the highest should not exceed 60.
Dumbledore is an exception among exceptions; he did something unknown—anyway, this old man ranks first with a terrifying Soul Strength of 99 points.
But no matter how high the Soul Strength, it cannot stop the Killing Curse—in the original work, Dumbledore ultimately died from Snape's “Avada Kedavra” curse.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat, sit on the stool, and await your Sorting.”
Professor McGonagall said.
“Hannah Abbott!”
It was a rosy-cheeked little girl with golden pigtails.
Unfortunately, Cohen wasn't interested in foreign children of this age—or rather, Cohen felt as if he had no feelings for the human race at all.
But Cohen repeatedly convinced himself it was because he was still young.
He couldn't possibly end up only being able to marry a beautiful Dementor, could he?
“Hufflepuff!”
Good, the steadfast Hannah came to her most loyal Hufflepuff.
“Susan Bones!”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Terry Boot!”
“Ravenclaw!”
...
Cohen waited boredly for the first letter of surnames to reach N.
He was behind Neville and Malfoy.
As Neville was sorted into Gryffindor and Malfoy into Slytherin, the Sorting finally came to…
“Cohen Norton!”
Cohen felt that Harry beside him was even more excited than himself, as Harry was practically shaking like a sieve.
Cohen obediently sat on the chair, and Professor McGonagall pressed the extremely reluctant Sorting Hat onto Cohen’s head.
...
...
...
The Great Hall was silent.
The Sorting Hat didn’t speak, and neither did Cohen.
There was no sound in Cohen’s head or beside his ears.
“Is this some kind of Red Light, Green Light game?”
The Sorting Hat’s motionless feigning of death confused Cohen greatly.
Did Dumbledore not warn the Sorting Hat?
Or was the Sorting Hat currently trying to recall how to spell the word Azkaban?
It’s very awkward to be in a stalemate with a newly admitted young Wizard like this, Uncle Hat.
Cohen decided to break the silence himself, quietly reminding the Sorting Hat.
“Are you broken? I’m very good at mending souls, want to try? Never had a bad review, dear.”
