The Daily Prophet's reporting speed was always swift. Cohen offed Barty Jr. in the middle of Christmas night, and by the next morning's paper, the headline was "Minister Crouch Once Again Shows Great Self-Sacrifice."
"How can he show great self-sacrifice twice?"
Edward nearly choked on his milk while reading the newspaper at breakfast.
"I feel like the last time I saw old Crouch 'show great self-sacrifice,' the Daily Prophet had the exact same headline—wasn't Barty Jr. supposed to be dead already?"
"Those who play politics like to use their strengths to win people over, over and over again," Cohen said while eating his fried eggs, looking like a seasoned pro. "Watch closely, learn well, Minister Norton."
"Learn a lot, Ed, prepare yourself well for becoming Minister of Magic in the future," Martha agreed with Cohen.
"If it means offing your own son twice, then it's best to never learn something like that," Edward said, pulling a face. "Even if Cohen was wanted by the law, I wouldn't think about sending him to prison—if I were old Barty, I'd definitely take my son and run far, far away—"
"Do you really have to start considering family plans after Cohen becomes a wanted criminal?" Rose said sternly. "Don't assign any evil goals to Cohen."
"Listen to Rose, Ed, don't assign any evil goals to Cohen," Martha also reminded Edward sternly.
"Listen to your wife and mom, Ed, don't assign any evil goals to Cohen," Cohen chimed in.
"You think you can call me Ed?" Edward retorted to Cohen, pretending to be angry.
Considering Dumbledore's previous reminder about "Nicolas Flamel having a gift," Cohen had been carrying the key Nicolas gave him throughout the rest of the Christmas holiday. This way, he could feel any changes in the key immediately and rush over to receive Nicolas' inheritance in time.
On the last day of the Christmas break, the key changed.
The old key, which had been somewhat dull, started to become shiny, gleaming with a brassy metallic luster.
According to Nicolas' description, as long as this key was inserted into any door, it would open a passage leading to Nicolas' workshop.
"Can you really stick it into any door?"
Earl stood at the edge of Cohen's bed, watching Cohen fiddling with the magical key at the bedroom door with great curiosity.
"I know what you're about to say," Cohen said without turning his head. "But you're not allowed to say it, and don't you dare interrupt my newfound interest in alchemy."
Cohen's bedroom had a lock, but Cohen never locked it. Edward and Rose also hadn't suddenly barged into Cohen's room except when they were secretly delivering Christmas presents.
Cohen began his first attempt.
The key inserted itself into the completely mismatched keyhole in a very bizarre way, as if the keyhole it touched had lost some of its material "rules."
With a slight turn, the lock clicked open.
When the door was opened again, Cohen was no longer facing the hallway outside his bedroom.
This was a quite spacious round room, and its appearance was extremely peculiar.
The ceiling was inlaid with a self-rotating orrery. The stars emitted a soft glow, projecting faintly blue magical star trails.
Many round glass jars burning with what looked like magical blue fire were scattered irregularly around the edge of the dome, revolving with the constellations—as if the entire universe had been stuffed into this rooftop.
The air was filled with a strange scent, a mix of sulfur, ambergris, and mint. Compared to Cohen's bedroom, it was much warmer here.
Bronze gears clicked and whirred within the walls, and occasionally, there was a woodpecker-like tapping sound from what looked like a runic inscribing machine. Around the walls were some curved tables, most of them piled with small bottles containing ingredients.
Unlike the alchemists' laboratories in other books, Nicolas Flamel's workshop didn't have stacks upon stacks of bookshelves—he himself was the most knowledgeable encyclopedia.
The shelves here displayed all sorts of strange-looking gadgets: gold wriggling in transparent boxes, emerald-colored stone slabs, potions in purple solutions...
In the center of the room were a few more prominent pieces of alchemical equipment.
Although Cohen had never seen them before, he seemed to instinctively know what they were.
A half-person-high object resembling a giant bronze tortoise, spouting golden-blue flames from its mouth—the Athanor Eternal (Philosopher's Furnace), capable of melting Thunderbird feathers, Goblin silver, and even the sand from an hourglass.
And a round platform with metal discs corresponding to the seven planets inlaid on its surface, and a slightly deeper groove in the center, with some remaining scarlet crystal fragments—the Transmutation Table, used to change the properties of real substances.
Besides these, there was also an inverted cone-shaped crystal container hanging in the air, which still had half a bottle of pale golden liquid left—this was the container for making the Elixir of Life. Nicolas Flamel hadn't even finished using it, and there was even a line inscribed on it:
[Don't let the cat touch it—1642, Perenelle]
"So, where's Nicolas Flamel?" Cohen looked around. He didn't see any other exits, nor did he see Nicolas Flamel himself.
"Maybe he hasn't gotten up yet," Earl, who had followed him in, stopped at a table with a little space.
"Maybe he's grabbing a bite," Cohen guessed. "Old people usually get up early."
"Maybe he's already dead," an old voice said playfully.
"So soon?" Cohen asked. "Without even saying a proper goodbye or anything..."
"Farewells are always sad, child," Nicolas' voice said. "Young people don't need to experience this pain too early."
Following the direction of the voice, Cohen found a thick book. The cover of this book had been replaced by a framed photograph.
Nicolas Flamel was waving hello to Cohen on the cover.
"This book is the gift I'm leaving for you," Nicolas said with a chuckle. "Compared to a boring alchemical notebook, I think leaving behind my memories will be much more effective than those words."
"Then can you visit the portraits at Hogwarts?" Cohen asked curiously. "If I take you to Hogwarts, you can still chat with Dumbledore often..."
"Unfortunately, no," Nicolas shook his head. "I'm not exactly a portrait. Portraits are a mixture of paint and memories—I'm pure memory, without paint as a medium, so I can't leave this book."
"But I think following you, my life shouldn't be too boring," Nicolas added. "As long as you don't stuff me in a trunk for a year without taking me out once..."
"If you're also going to chat with Cohen, then won't I be useless?" Earl said warily.
"I won't let you talk about yourself like that," Cohen said to Earl.
"Touched," Earl said, although he didn't know what Cohen was going to say next, nothing good ever came out of that kid's mouth.
Earl had waited a long time for Cohen's next words. It seemed a little incredulous.
"Are you actually comforting me?"
"Huh? No," Cohen said. "What I mean is you've always been pretty useless, so Nicolas showing up won't make your value any lower..."