"Alright, alright," Hopkins nodded so quickly it was like his head was on a spring.
"Now that the serious stuff is out of the way, you were about to explain something earlier. Just say it," Cohen said. "And stop shaking—I promise I won't be handing out any little 'gifts'... for now."
"I…" Hopkins looked like he'd just swallowed a Bludger. "I was just… caught up in the moment. I didn't mean to accuse you or anything…"
"I get it. I understand human emotions," Cohen replied. "Your outburst earlier? That just proves that deep down, you know joining the Death Eaters goes against your moral compass. That internal conflict makes you look to others to judge whether what you did was right or wrong."
"But in truth, no matter what others say—whether they support or criticize your decision—you'd be angry either way. Because the real anger, the real regret, is all aimed at your own choice."
Hopkins stared at Cohen in stunned silence.
Wasn't he a Dementor? How could he…
No, wait. Dementors are connected to emotions… That actually made a strange kind of sense.
"So… now do you know the answer that's been in your heart all along?" Cohen asked.
Hopkins lowered his head, emotions all tangled up.
"*Confundo!*" Cohen raised his wand and cast the Confundus Charm without hesitation.
After sending Hopkins off with the note that had "Harry Potter" and "Azkaban – Cohen Norton" written on it, the Count, who had been silently observing, followed Cohen into the cabin.
"When did you become so… emotionally perceptive?" the Count asked with amused curiosity.
"You mean when I was talking Hopkins down?" Cohen's expression was far from pleased. "It was obvious—I wanted his mind to relax. That way, the Confundus Charm would work more effectively. If I'd cast it in front of him while he was tense and suspicious—especially of me—his mental defenses would've been much stronger."
"Terrifying," the Count said, looking at him.
"Terrifying," Cohen repeated. "It's even worse than I thought. The 'human nature' I've been collecting still needs a few more months to fully mature… but I can already tell something's off. Especially when he was yelling at me just now—I had a very clear urge to kill him. Just because he was loud."
"Well, considering he is a Death Eater, it wouldn't exactly be a crime. At least you haven't turned on us," the Count mused. "Though I'm just a bird, so I'm not really qualified to say what's right or wrong. To me, all wizards look the same."
[Need my help?] huffed Sissoko, slithering out of the study, his yellow eyes glowing like twin bulbs.
"You're a snake. Do snakes have humanity?" Cohen asked uncertainly.
[No idea. I've never been human.] Sissoko coiled closer. [But if you need to take something, just let me know.]
"I'll ask Nico about it later," Cohen muttered before turning to the Count. "Who's the letter from?"
"Dumbledore," the Count replied, tossing the envelope to Cohen. "Looks like he's found out about your connection to that 'Hufflepuff student.'"
"I wasn't exactly hiding from him." Cohen tore the letter open. "He should know about this. And I'm pretty sure he'll approve."
"He'll approve you putting Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire?" the Count said skeptically.
"I meant he'll approve me putting my own name in the Goblet," Cohen corrected. "Not that it matters much. Because…"
[Cohen, please come to my office before lunch tomorrow. I have a new kind of fig nougat from Honeydukes. — Dumbledore]
"By the time I go see him, it'll already be over," Cohen said with a sigh. "Fig nougat? Is that what counts as a treat in Britain?" Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novᴇlfire.net
"Enjoy this year's French food while you can," the Count said wistfully. "Shame you don't eat field mice…"
"They taste like dirt," Cohen wrinkled his nose. "I don't like it. Human souls taste best."
[Then I'll go fetch a few students for you.] Sissoko offered.
"Don't tempt me like that," Cohen warned. "It's dangerous—because I did feel a little tempted just now."
Half an hour later, Hopkins completed his task. He'd actually come back once in between, and Cohen had refreshed the Confundus Charm so he could submit a second entry.
Once everything was settled, Cohen returned to the common room with his suitcase—just in time to run into a very sulky-looking Ron.
"You went too?" Ron asked, surprised to see Cohen just getting back like himself.
"Nope," Cohen lied smoothly. "Just went to the Owlery to find the Count."
"If you put stones in my owl's food again, I'll write your mum," the Count scolded as he swooped in through the window, playing along perfectly.
Ron was clutching a crumpled piece of parchment, the back covered in soot—clearly a failed attempt to enter the Goblet.
"Well… I'm heading to bed," Ron mumbled, ears turning the same color as his hair as he hurried upstairs.
The next morning, Cohen arrived outside the Headmaster's office right on time.
"Why is it always you…" the stone gargoyle muttered as it stepped aside. Cohen never needed a password—one of the reasons Dumbledore hadn't bothered giving him one.
Riding the spiral staircase up, Cohen pushed open the wooden door to Dumbledore's office.
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"Ah, Cohen," Dumbledore greeted him with a twinkle in his eye. "Take a seat. Have you had the chance to make friends with any of the visiting students? Beauxbatons has quite a few exceptional ones—"
"Did I hear that right? The Headmaster encouraging students to fall in love early?" Cohen raised an eyebrow. "I'll write to my mum at once."
"Interacting, Cohen. It's called cultural exchange," Dumbledore corrected with a chuckle.
This troublesome child… Always finding new ways to mess with him. Did tormenting old men bring him some kind of joy?
"Voldemort wants Harry to enter the Triwizard Tournament," Cohen said as he sat down in the armchair across from Dumbledore's desk.
"Not unexpected," Dumbledore replied calmly. "The news may have come late, but at least it came."
"I had my own methods. Not that you asked," Cohen said.
"I'm not blaming you," Dumbledore said gently. "Cohen, have you noticed any… changes in yourself lately? I mean from yesterday to today."
"I have," Cohen admitted. "But Nico's potion won't be ready until Christmas. There's still time."
"I can help," Dumbledore offered.
"I have a big family," Cohen replied.
"Even better," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, would you mind sharing your thoughts on Voldemort's plan?"
"I told you before—Voldemort's fourth Horcrux is gone. The locket," Cohen said.
"Thanks to the Black family," came a proud voice from Phineas Nigellus's portrait on the wall.
"No one's denying Regulus made a huge contribution, Phineas," Dumbledore replied kindly, then turned back to Cohen. "I received your letter. It means we're getting closer to dismantling Voldemort's final defenses. But I also have a worrying suspicion… and the stronger Harry grows, the more it seems I might be right."
"Harry is a Horcrux," Cohen said. "And I can't destroy him like the others. He's protected by the same magic that protects him as a person."