After Nico tried several methods to revive Cohen, Cohen felt it was time to let his own "approach" take effect.
"It worked!" Edward exclaimed softly, barely containing his joy. "Look at Cohen's hand!"
Cohen first moved his hand—just like they do in TV dramas—then slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times for good measure.
Cohen sucked in a sharp breath, perfectly mimicking someone whose soul had just returned to their body.
He was extremely satisfied with his acting skills, as he didn't sense even a hint of suspicion from those around him.
Suddenly, Cohen felt a wave of "happiness" rushing toward him—
"Cohen!" Rose yanked him up from the bed and pulled him into a tight hug, holding him as if she feared he might slip away again.
"Mom, you're strangling me…" Cohen wheezed.
"Oh—" Rose quickly let go, tenderly rubbing his neck with a pang of guilt.
Compared to Rose, Edward seemed much calmer, though his clasped hands were trembling at a high frequency.
"Thank you, thank you so much…" Edward said nervously to Nico Flamel. "I don't know what we would've done without you…"
"Ah…" Nico glanced at Cohen, then at Edward. "Honestly, I didn't do much—it was mostly this kid pulling himself back."
"I'm just glad to see it turn out this way," Dumbledore said with a sigh of relief. With Cohen alive, he wouldn't have to wrestle with his conscience.
Perhaps later he'd ask Nico which spell had done the trick, but for now, it was best to let this boy—who'd just faced death—reunite with his parents.
"I think we should give Cohen and his family some space," Dumbledore suggested to Nico.
"Of course, of course," Nico replied. Though he was curious about Cohen, he was never one to rush. "Maybe later I could have a private chat with him? I'm intrigued by some things about him—never before has a 'homunculus' lived this long…"
Edward and Rose had no objections, and Cohen was happy to chat with this ghostly, shriveled old man. From any perspective, the Philosopher's Stone Cohen had consumed was worth far more than Nico's simple request.
Dumbledore and Nico stepped out of the room for the time being. Outside, they ran into Harry, who peeked inside as the door opened and saw Cohen alive, much to his own relief.
After soaking in everyone's concern, Cohen had to face some heavier matters.
Like the "truth" his adoptive parents could no longer keep buried.
"Cohen, we need to be honest with you about some things," Edward said.
He exchanged a glance with Rose, and since Edward usually bonded with Cohen through play while Rose handled discipline and care, it fell to him to explain.
"About your origins—you probably overheard earlier, right? That…"
"The 'I'm a mix of lots of creatures' thing? Yeah, I heard. Otherwise, I wouldn't have patted your shoulders," Cohen nodded. "Is there anything you don't understand? I can explain it to you."
"Well—hold on—" Edward started to launch into a full explanation but then registered what Cohen had said: *"If there's anything you don't understand, you can ask me."*
"I've always felt a little different since I was a kid…" Cohen admitted with childlike honesty. "So after coming to school, I kept digging into stuff about myself—especially after Professor Quirrell forced me to help him steal the Philosopher's Stone. He said I was some dark magic experiment…"
"Don't listen to that bastard's nonsense!" Rose sat on the bed and pulled Cohen close, her voice thick with heartache. "You're our son, always will be—not some experiment!"
"I'm eleven, not one, Mom," Cohen continued. "And because I love you both, I had to figure out what I really am—so I wouldn't end up hurting you."
"I've more or less pieced together what happened at Borgin Manor—and the fact that I've got some Dementor traits."
"Are you scared?" Edward asked, his voice laced with worry.
"Huh? Of me?" Cohen pointed at himself. "What would I be scared of?"
"Being different from everyone else?" Edward clarified, clearly concerned that this might weigh on Cohen's mind.
"Nah, not scared. I just see it as learning some unique magic," Cohen said sincerely. With a normal human appearance, he could easily blend into any crowd—there was no need to let it eat at him.
"Good…" Edward let out a breath. "I was worried you might…"
Rose shot Edward a stern look, stopping him mid-sentence to spare Cohen any discomfort.
"…have some bad thoughts," Edward quickly corrected himself.
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly healthy—mind and body. And before Quirrell ambushed me, I was working with Hagrid on a big breeding project with some magical creatures," Cohen reassured them. "I even got pretty tight with a herd of unicorns—they keep showing up at Hagrid's to beg for food."
He conveniently left out the part about sneaking into the Forbidden Forest, knowing Rose would flip if she caught wind of it.
The reassurance worked wonders. Edward and Rose seemed genuinely happy that Cohen had found a healthy hobby.
Of course, if they knew this "magical creature breeding hobby" involved illegal dragons and the forbidden dark magic creature known as a "Nightmare," their smiles would likely vanish in an instant.
The conversation shifted from Cohen's studies to the Dungeons & Dragons sandbox Edward had gifted him. ("What? You didn't fall in love in there? I made a ton of gorgeous female characters just for you!" Edward asked in disbelief. "I even wrote all these romance storylines—don't tell me you spent the whole time leveling up and fighting monsters!")
What followed got a bit too risqué, earning Edward a scolding from Rose. And with that, the family dynamic returned to normal.
Cohen's "death" turned out to be a false alarm, and Edward and Rose didn't linger at the school. Dumbledore reassured them again that Cohen would be "absolutely safe" there, and Rose apologized for some harsh words she'd thrown at him that morning.
Dumbledore, however, waved off the apology, insisting her reaction was justified and that he owed *her* an apology instead.
Everything seemed back to normal. The only changes at the school were Quirrell's death and the Philosopher's Stone Cohen had eaten.
After dinner, Nico Flamel came to Cohen's room alone.
"Mr. Flamel—" Cohen sat up to greet him. "Thank you for saving me."
It was the polite thing to say.
"Ha, honestly, I'm not even sure which spell did it," Nico replied.
Far from acting like a lofty elder, Nico shuffled over to the bed next to Cohen's with surprising effort, sitting down so they could talk eye-to-eye.
"I suspect you might've been able to return to your body on your own. It's just that people's usual ideas about 'death' keep them from trying… But that doesn't matter—the outcome's what counts."
"I asked your parents and Albus earlier—you've already learned a bit about your origins, haven't you?" Nico asked gently.
"Yeah, I've read some alchemy books that mentioned 'homunculi,'" Cohen replied.
"You're special, Cohen," Nico said. "That's not a joke. I've seen plenty of similar alchemy studies—though I'd never conduct such morally dubious experiments myself—and those 'homunculi' never survived past three years."
"The materials and methods in those studies were mostly the same, just varying in the choice of raw biomass. But the biomass was always the least important part," Nico continued. "Do you know what that means, kid?"
"Uh… that the Borgin family rolled a 'critical success'?" (Referring to rolling a 20 on a 20-sided die.)
Cohen didn't quite catch Nico's drift at first.
"When materials from different species are mixed, they reject each other. Only immense magical power can bind them together—but even then, it's just a patch job. Broken things tend to break again easily."
"You've got something those failed 'homunculi' didn't," Nico went on. "Something no other 'test subject' could ever have."
"That miraculous force Albus believes in—'love.'"
"Isn't that a stretch? I was adopted by Edward and Rose after I was born…" Cohen felt this didn't quite add up. "Unless it's…"
"Cohen" hadn't started being "loved" only after his adoption.
Someone had already poured their hopes, love, and sorrow into "Cohen"—Herbert Borgin, still "imprisoned" near the ruins of Borgin Manor.
Did "love" really hold magic?
Cohen had suspected it before—and still wasn't entirely convinced.
"Of course, that's just one theory," Nico shook his head. "Three hundred years ago, I might've wanted to study you thoroughly. Back then, I was young, brimming with curiosity about everything…"
Three hundred years ago, Nico Flamel was already over three hundred years old. No matter how you sliced it, that wasn't "young"…
Cohen figured time had warped Nico's sense of it.
"But now? I'd rather see kids like you grow up healthy and carefree," Nico said with a laugh.
"I thought you wanted to study me or something…" Cohen was puzzled that Nico's request for a private chat was just that—a chat. "Like, ask about my weird abilities or the Philosopher's Stone…"
"The Stone doesn't mean that much to me anymore," Nico replied casually. "The fact that it fused with you shows the 'Great Work' in the Emerald Tablet isn't just about the Stone. Alchemy's endgame is still out of sight—but that's not important to me now. My wife and I are planning to pick a date, tidy things up, and head off on our next journey. That question's for the next generation to tackle."
"…" Cohen knew what Nico meant.
"The next journey is death, Cohen," Nico said plainly, no evasion in his tone. "To a clear mind, death is just another grand adventure. My wife and I have lived too long—it's time for new horizons."
"But you? You've just arrived in this world. There's so much you haven't seen, so many emotions you haven't felt. Your adventure shouldn't end before it's even begun—that's why Dumbledore fought so hard to bring you back."
Nico reached out a thin, withered hand and ruffled Cohen's hair.
"Cherish the ones you love while you still can."
Before leaving, he placed a letter on Cohen's bedside table. By the time Cohen picked it up and looked up to ask something, Nico Flamel was gone.
"Did it have to be *this* fairy-tale-like…" Cohen muttered, clicking his tongue.
The guy could teleport, yet he'd hobbled around on his old legs like that earlier.
Opening the letter, Cohen found a sheet of paper with a few lines and an ornate brass key, its surface etched with intricate patterns. Nothing Nico made was ever ordinary.
The note was brief but significant:
**[Cohen, are you interested in alchemy? If so, come to my workshop in two years—there'll be some things there to help you learn.]**
**[Attached is a key to the workshop. Insert it into any door, and that door will lead you there. But please wait two years—it's just a dusty junk heap now. I'll clean it up before I go.]**
The last line was in fresher ink, like an afterthought Nico had scribbled in:
**[I suspect you'll need help with alchemy's roots, since I noticed your soul isn't whole. So, interested or not, come by in two years.]**