Chapter 20: Brother, I’ve Never Asked You for Anything in This Life

In the end, Cohen had to empty his schoolbag so the Earl could climb inside, before rushing him off to Professor Kettleburn. As the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures and a man who doted on small animals, Professor Kettleburn sternly reprimanded Cohen for casting spells on an owl so recklessly.

"Which house are you in?"

Professor Kettleburn’s grizzled, salt-and-pepper beard twitched with annoyance, shaking like a sieve. The eccentric but usually kind-hearted old professor wore an expression of extreme severity.

"I’m in Slytherin..."

Cohen replied without batting an eye—it wasn't as if he had Care of Magical Creatures classes anyway, and he wasn't even wearing his school uniform today.

"Ten points from Slytherin! Naughty child, if I catch you doing this again..."

[Sin Value +10]

The tug-of-war for house points was often that simple, straightforward, and effective.

Professor Kettleburn carefully picked up the bald Earl and placed him into a soft, plush nest—the Earl took the opportunity to glare fiercely at Cohen. After rummaging through his medicine box, the professor dripped a drop of a rather grimy-looking potion onto the Earl’s head.

With just that single drop, the Earl’s feathers began to grow back rapidly. Within seconds, he was restored to his original, glossy, and fluffy self.

Cohen didn't know how many times he had to promise Professor Kettleburn he wouldn't repeat his actions before he was finally released from the office. By the time he rushed back to the Room of Requirement to grab his textbooks and hurried to the History of Magic classroom, Professor Binns had already begun lulling the young wizards to sleep with his monotonous drone.

Cohen hunched over and tiptoed along the side of the classroom to the back row, where Harry and Ron were fast asleep—as expected, academic slackers were birds of a feather.

Hermione was different; even though Professor Binns sounded like a droning vacuum cleaner, she sat in the front row, listening with rapt attention.

Cohen had no time for such nonsense (referring to listening to History of Magic lessons). To him, the subject was useless—he didn't think knowing the dates of goblin rebellions or the reasons behind the failure of the "Werewolf Code of Conduct" would help his future in any way.

Therefore, he spent the entire class studying that library book, *The Power of Sorrow*. Many of the theories within it were quite interesting.

The book argued that a wizard's emotions were the most important source of magic. The more intense the emotion, the wilder and more violent the magic unleashed—conversely, the "less" emotion a wizard possessed, the more peaceful and weak their magic would be.

Longing is an emotion, hatred is an emotion, anger is an emotion, fear is an emotion...

And "love."

[Even the most indifferent wizard is like an orchestra conductor pouring their entire soul into a performance when they cast a spell.]

There was one exception, however: the prisoners of Azkaban.

Their emotions were all sucked dry by the Dementors, leaving only despair. As a result, most prisoners struggled to cast even the most basic "Alohomora" charm. Even after returning to the normal world, they required a period of recovery to regain their former strength—and one could not rule out permanent, organic brain damage. In fact, such "accidents" were not uncommon.

"That powerful?"

Cohen hadn't realized he was so formidable. Come to think of it, he hadn't really tried consuming others' emotions before. After all, with the "delicacy" of a soul placed right in front of him, it was hard to notice anything else one could "eat" on a person.

It was like forcing someone to lick the frosting off a Christmas pudding while forbidding them from taking even a single bite of the cake itself...

Heart pounding, Cohen secretly glanced at his two sleeping "good brothers" beside him.

Trying a bite of emotion shouldn't hurt, right? After all, Harry had been tasted by Dementors so many times in his third year without any lasting impact...

After careful observation, Cohen noticed that the soul was indeed surrounded by many ethereal, fluid-like mysterious substances—these were visualized "emotions." And Cohen could extract these "emotional" substances at will, without even having to open his mouth.

The further away the target, the weaker the extraction effect, but the range already covered almost the entire History of Magic classroom.

Cohen didn't immediately go after all the students in the room—he felt that Dumbledore might just burst in, use a phoenix-shaped Patronus to ram him, and then fiercely attempt every spell designed to deal with dark creatures.

He chose between Harry and Ron—but clearly, Ron’s emotions were more intense right now, probably because he was having a vivid dream.

"..."

Cohen sucked in a small wisp of Ron’s emotions. It was probably "Joy+." Regardless, Cohen felt quite happy after consuming it.

He shivered, his whole body tingling.

Ron was different; he was trembling slightly, his sleeping expression looking as if he were having a nightmare.

*Hehe*, this emotion actually felt... quite stimulating.

No wonder other Dementors ate emotions before the soul; it was the proficiency and composure of veteran artists.

"..."

Cohen couldn't help but draw another wisp—after all, Ron was in the middle of a dream, and various emotions were bubbling up from him continuously.

Ron trembled more violently.

"..."

Sorry, Ron, I couldn't help it, had another sip.

[Sin Value +30]

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"

Ron jolted awake from his nightmare, then hurriedly covered his mouth under the confused gazes of the entire class.

"Mr. Fabre, is there a problem?"

Professor Binns, on the podium, wobbled his head up and looked toward Ron, who had just cried out. However, due to his poor memory, he didn't even get Ron's name right.

"No, nothing, Professor..."

With his ears burning red, Ron tried to shove himself under the desk.

The momentary liveliness in the classroom lasted less than a few seconds before Professor Binns returned to his dry, droning lecture.

"Ron? What's wrong?" Harry asked curiously, noting that Ron was clutching his own upper body, looking as if he were freezing.

Then, Harry looked past Ron and saw Cohen, who was acting as if nothing had happened.

"Cohen? When did you get here? We almost thought you'd skipped class—"

"How could I skip class in the first week? I just accidentally lost some of the Earl's feathers..." Cohen explained with a slight embellishment, then "concernedly" joined Harry in asking about Ron's condition.

"It was terrifying..." Ron felt as if he were still in that nightmare. "I was dreaming that I had become a Gryffindor prefect and had joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team..."

"And then?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Isn't that good news?"

"I don't know what happened, but the dream suddenly turned weird—it was as if all the joy in the dream had suddenly vanished. The prefect's badge turned into a spider covered in thorns—even the broomstick under my butt turned into a twitching spider leg..." Ron said, still shaken. "And..."

"I have a feeling that I'm still in that dream..."

Ron shivered with cold.

[Ding! Special ability unlocked: Emotional Extraction (1/10)]

Good brother, your sacrifice was not in vain.

Cohen patted Ron’s back along with Harry to comfort him. Although it wasn't the time to laugh, his lips seemed a bit difficult to control.

Well, he would reward Ron with a new set of Wizard's Chess for Christmas as compensation.