Chapter 10: A Night with the Lustful Beast

Page 1 of 3

After filling their stomachs, the first-year witches and wizards began searching for all sorts of topics to discuss.

When the conversation turned to their families, everyone seemed to have an endless supply of stories.

Seamus told them how his Muggle father had been thoroughly frightened when his witch mother revealed her true identity. Cohen felt that Edward was probably much the same. After all, his duties consisted of cooking, shopping for groceries, and playing Dungeons and Dragons—there was hardly any difference between him and a Muggle.

The only thing that might distinguish him from a Muggle was that, whenever he rolled a critical failure in a board game—a one—he had to secretly use magic to alter the result. Cohen suddenly seemed to understand why Edward always won whenever they played Chinese checkers.

“What about you, Cohen?” Seamus asked curiously.

“Me?” Cohen raised an eyebrow. “My parents didn’t tell me they were wizards until my birthday. I’m adopted—they originally thought I was a Muggle—”

In truth, Cohen felt certain that Edward and Rose already knew what he was. Dumbledore had said that raising him had been their choice, and caring for a monster carried out of a dark-magic laboratory surely required immense courage.

Cohen cherished this family bond and did not want anyone—or anything—to destroy it.

Now that he had arrived at Hogwarts, it was time to put his original plan into action.

Cohen’s gaze passed over the long House tables and settled on the teachers’ table.

Quirrell, with the purple scarf wrapped around his head, was easy to pick out. He was speaking with Snape, who sat beside him, his back turned toward the students.

Snape’s attention was not on Quirrell at all. He was glaring fixedly at Harry, who sat beside Cohen.

[Spirit Strength: 9 (Incomplete) / 25]

[Spirit Strength: 40 + 8]

Quirrell’s original Spirit Strength had been a full twenty-five points. It appeared that Voldemort, clinging to the back of his head, had absorbed most of it, with half of the stolen strength added to Voldemort’s own.

So, it seemed that Voldemort’s soul fragments and his already-shattered main soul all maintained one remarkably stable value: forty.

What principle governed this? How powerful had Voldemort’s original soul been for even the fragments split from it to possess forty points of Spirit Strength?

Or was the soul divided by a Horcrux not calculated through simple addition and subtraction?

Still, this was not bad news for Cohen. Voldemort had no way to reassemble his soul, so to Cohen he would forever remain either one elite monster with forty points of Spirit Strength—or eight elite monsters with forty points each.

In that case…the plan to earn Evil Points would begin tomorrow!

After eating and drinking his fill, and enjoying dessert, Dumbledore gave the new students a long list of school rules to remember.

“First-year students, please take note. The forested area on the school grounds is forbidden to all students. Some of our older students would do well to pay attention to this rule too.”

Dumbledore’s bright eyes deliberately shifted toward the Weasley twins.

“Furthermore, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind everyone not to use magic in the corridors between classes.”

“Quidditch tryouts will be held during the second week of term…”

“Finally, I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer an accident and die a painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor.”

Harry burst out laughing, but only a few others joined him. He turned toward Cohen and asked, as though seeking confirmation:

Page 2 of 3

“He wasn’t serious, was he?”

“You know, if you want people to go somewhere, the first thing you have to do is declare it off-limits,” Cohen whispered to Harry.

Of course, Cohen knew what was hidden in that fourth-floor corridor—

The Philosopher’s Stone, also known as the Sorcerer’s Stone, an alchemical creation said to turn base metal into gold and grant eternal life.

To put it plainly, Cohen wanted it.

Money was not the main reason.

Nor did he truly need eternal life. Cohen seriously suspected that he was incapable of dying of old age in the first place.

No one had ever heard of Dementors being divided into young and old. After a few brief experiments, Cohen had discovered that even without a body, he could send his entire soul drifting outside himself and find another body to inhabit.

That, however, was rather too sinister an act.

Cohen had always insisted that he was a positive, upward-spirited good monster. In any world, good people tended to live more comfortably during the early stages.

But Cohen desperately needed to know whether the Philosopher’s Stone could repair a soul.

After all, human souls grew old, just as the souls of young witches and wizards continued to mature.

Immortality required more than overcoming the death of the body. One also had to overcome the soul’s eventual disintegration.

If the Philosopher’s Stone could truly mend Cohen’s soul, then he would need to steal far fewer lollipops, and the children of Hogwarts would have much nicer things to say about him.

Once Dumbledore had finished explaining the school rules and led the students through a rather ragged rendition of the school song, it was finally time to return to the dormitories.

Percy led the Gryffindor first-years through a maze of moving staircases and hidden doors concealed behind tapestries. At last, they arrived at the entrance to the common room.

A portrait hung there, depicting an extremely plump woman dressed entirely in pink.

“Password?” the Fat Lady asked.

“Dragon droppings,” Percy replied.

The Fat Lady’s portrait slowly swung open like a door, revealing a round opening behind it.

Cohen suspected that Gryffindor accepted only brave students because brave students liked running around so much that they never became too fat. Otherwise, they would never make it back to the dormitory and would be forced to sleep on the floor outside.

The Gryffindor common room was a comfortable circular chamber filled with soft armchairs. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, crackling merrily.

It was the perfect place to sit and enjoy afternoon tea on a free afternoon—especially in winter.

But Cohen could not worry about such things now. He was exhausted, physically exhausted, his eyelids waging a losing battle against sleep.

All he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep until the world came to an end.

Harry Potter and the Sleepy Dementor — The End

Harry, Cohen, Ron, and Seamus had been assigned to the same dormitory. Their luggage had already been brought inside, including the horned owl that was now biting at the bars of his cage, barely able to contain his excitement.

Page 3 of 3

“Let me out already! The nightlife is about to begin! Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

Earl began urging Cohen on the moment he saw him.

“And that Harry Potter over there—your owl told me she wanted to go admire the Scottish Highlands tonight—”

“Did he fall in love with Hedwig at first sight?” Ron asked Cohen.

“It wasn’t love at first sight. He’s just a horny bird,” Cohen said.

“No! Did you hear that?! The owl talked!” Seamus shrieked, covering his mouth.

“Mm.” Cohen opened Earl’s cage, then burrowed into his blankets with a yawn.

“Mm.” Harry was terribly sleepy too, but he still opened Hedwig’s cage as Earl had requested before climbing into bed.

“Mm.” Ron, taking the whole thing in stride, helped open the window and let the two birds fly out for their date.

Hedwig looked as though she had been deceived by a bad boy. After all, Earl had previously thought of nothing but field mice. Only wild owls hunted field mice, and a wild owl that had lived for more than a century surely had plenty of mates.

-----------------

Earl soared through the night alongside Hedwig, darting up and down beside her while chattering away:

“You smell wonderful. What brand of perfume do you use?”

“Your wings are beautiful. Want to compare their size?”

“Your eyes are gorgeous…”

“Can you stay out tonight?”

“It’s so late, and we’re so far away. How are you going to get back? Why don’t we go to the owlery?”

“Let me touch—”

Suddenly, a red feather followed an eerily crooked path before landing precisely on Earl’s head as he flirted with the coldly expressionless Hedwig.

“Coo—coo!”

Earl’s eyes suddenly sharpened with alarm, as though he understood exactly what had happened.

A flash of fire passed through the air, and the noisy owl vanished without a trace.

Hedwig hovered in confusion for a while, circling several times in place. Unable to find any sign of Earl, she turned and flew back toward the Gryffindor Tower.

At least Harry’s owl nuts tasted better than the field mice favored by that bizarre owl.