"Bock Manor?" Ern asked, sounding puzzled.
"I've got a distant cousin locked up there. Thought I'd drop by and see him," Cohen said. "Pretty humane of me, right?"
"Well, yeah—" Ern replied, relaxing a bit. "Hardly anyone ever goes there. Last time was some Ministry employee doing a routine check…"
After the bus lurched into motion, Cohen couldn't help but think it wasn't just the ticket collector who needed replacing.
The driver, Ern Prang, was about the same age as the ticket guy, Tuck. With his thick glasses and a face like a shriveled walnut, he looked like he could barely see the road. And honestly, he couldn't drive worth a damn—because this bus was careening all over the place with no rhyme or reason. If it weren't for the magic keeping Muggle buildings out of its path, everyone on board would've been toast ages ago.
The jerky, stop-and-go pace turned the trip into a nauseating rollercoaster. No matter how much Cohen prided himself on a strong stomach, this ride was doing a number on him.
He felt like he was about to puke up his soul and every ounce of happiness along with it—
And the worst part? He'd have to take this damn bus back too.
After what felt like forever, the bus screeched to a halt, and Cohen stumbled off, his face a sickly shade of green.
The Knight Bus had stopped at the edge of the woods surrounding Bock Manor.
Cohen shook his head, savoring the solid ground under his feet again.
This bus had pulled off something nothing else ever had—it managed to dizzy up a freaking Dementor.
Lugging his suitcase through the trees, Cohen spotted that familiar wooden cabin again. Why did it feel like the wizarding world was obsessed with cabins? His suitcase had a cabin folded up inside it, his dad's place was a cabin, Hagrid lived in a cabin too.
Was the whole world just one giant cabin convention?
The vibe suddenly got all philosophical.
This time, though, Cohen didn't have to cover his tracks after the visit. In Dumbledore's and Edward's eyes, he already knew his origins, so popping in to see family was totally aboveboard.
But before he could fully step out of the inner circle of trees, he froze.
Two unfamiliar wizards emerged from Herbert's cabin. With a loud crack, they Disapparated.
Routine inspectors, maybe?
He wondered if there'd been any follow-up on those two dead Aurors from before. The Ministry probably couldn't track them down—most likely just slapped "missing" labels on them and called it a day. They hadn't been there for an official check anyway; they'd only dropped in after spotting the cleared snow around the ruins while passing overhead.
Once the strangers were gone, Cohen stepped out of the woods and knocked on Herbert's door.
"What, humiliating me once wasn't enough? Now you're here to steal my dinner too—" Herbert flung the door open, fuming.
"Someone's been picking on you?" Cohen asked, genuinely curious.
Herbert looked the same as he had at Christmas—no real change. He stared at Cohen like he'd suddenly forgotten how to talk.
"Who were those guys? What'd they say to you?" Cohen squeezed past him into the cabin. "Want me to go settle the score for you—"
"You're here—uh, no, don't—don't bother—" Herbert waved his hands frantically. "Leave them alone… I don't want you getting mixed up because of me…"
He shut the door, the shackles and chains on his wrists clanking loudly.
"Why'd you… come back all of a sudden? I wasn't ready—" Herbert said, flustered. The place was exactly as it had been last time—everything unchanged, right down to the fact that he still hadn't prepared anything for his son.
"Oh! Wait a sec—" Herbert's eyes suddenly lit up. "I made you a birthday gift—"
He rummaged under his rickety wooden bed, fishing around until he pulled something out from the pile of junk—a small figurine.
A little wooden carving of a boy, rough and simple. It was all Herbert had to work with.
"Didn't want to mess it up and make you sad if I carved it ugly…" Herbert handed it to Cohen carefully. "So I left it blank…"
"It's cute. I'll put it on my nightstand," Cohen said cheerfully, accepting the gift.
"I came here just to check on you—and to share some stuff. It makes me feel more… human, I guess."
"You *are* human," Herbert corrected him. "The best kid in the world."
"All parents say that about their kids," Cohen shot back.
Herbert cracked a smile, and it shaved years off his face. He was only forty-nine, but he'd looked sixty-something before.
"So, you want the good news or the bad news from my life?" Cohen asked, slipping the carving into his coat pocket. Stashing it there instead of his suitcase or the niffler pouch on his belt showed Herbert it meant something to him.
It'd touch the old man's heart.
Cohen wasn't a huge fan of how his mind worked sometimes—like everything he did was a calculated move, instinctively playing people's emotions.
It made "love" and "humanity" feel kinda hollow.
"Bad news?" Herbert asked, tensing up.
"End of the term, I ran into Voldemort," Cohen said. "He wanted me to help him steal the Philosopher's Stone. Everyone else knows about it by now, but you've been stuck here, so I figured you hadn't heard."
Herbert shivered at Voldemort's name, too rattled to even care why the Philosopher's Stone was at Hogwarts.
"Did he hurt you?" Herbert leaned in, anxious, checking Cohen for injuries or dark magic marks—forgetting for a moment that Cohen was a dark magic creation himself.
"Not really. He hit me with a Killing Curse, but it didn't do anything," Cohen said. "You know Dementors can't die—so no need to worry about me."
"Good…" Herbert let out a relieved breath. "So… any good news?"
"Yeah. My soul floated out of my body when the curse hit," Cohen said. "Then Dumbledore brought in Nicolas Flamel to help. Guess what? The Philosopher's Stone's mine now, and Flamel's gonna teach me some alchemy stuff."
"He told me something else too—about why that 'homunculus in a bottle' experiment worked with me, unlike all the others in history." Cohen studied Herbert, trying to piece together what Flamel had said about the key factor in the experiment's success.
"He said I had something extra."
"Extra what?" Herbert's eyes locked with Cohen's.
Cohen continued, "During that experiment, only one person felt that for me."
He'd never found any memory of a crucial spell in Herbert's mind, but Cohen didn't buy that "love" alone could sway alchemy.
Even Lily's love for Harry needed that "sacrificial protection" spell to kick in.
So there was only one explanation: Herbert was hiding that memory.
Herbert looked like he knew something.
"I just wanted you to live."