Chapter 25: Cohen the Good Boy

What? Since when did Rose and Edward say they weren't taking flying lessons?

Cohen didn't recall any mention of skipping flying class in the letter from home this morning. It seemed like a little trick from the "Old Nantong"—a child must learn to protect themselves, especially when facing a very old man with a long white beard... especially when that man happens to be the head of the school.

Cohen followed the senior, a student named Smith, into the castle and up the stairs until they reached a gargoyle on the eighth floor. Along the way, Cohen had tried to build a friendship with the senior, but Smith seemed rather introverted, remaining vague in response to most of Cohen's questions.

"Senior, do you have a girlfriend?"
"Senior, why are you with Professor Dumbledore?"
"Senior, do you prefer older ones or younger ones?"
"Senior, I'll tell you a secret: Professor Dumbledore is single right now—"

"Lemon sherbet..." the ashen-faced Smith said to the gargoyle, which was watching the spectacle with amusement. His knuckles were white from clenching his fists.

"If you like ice cream, that's not bad either," Cohen analyzed earnestly. "After all, it's cool and refreshing, which helps lower internal heat. I feel it's at least better than an attack helicopter or a Walmart shopping bag—mmph!"

Smith clamped a hand over Cohen's mouth and shoved the chatty first-year onto the rotating staircase behind the gargoyle. Cohen wiped his mouth. That senior had almost walked a narrow path; Cohen had nearly sucked the soul right out of Smith just then.

Arriving at the door to the headmaster's office, Cohen paused. The curse Quirrell had placed on him was still there; Cohen could feel it. He also knew that there was no such thing as a "Delayed Avada Kedavra," but "Cohen" could pretend not to know—that gave him a perfect excuse to stir up trouble under Quirrell's name. Who would blame a poor, death-threatened, newly enrolled little Dementor?

"Knock, knock, knock—" Cohen tapped politely.

"Come in." Dumbledore’s aged voice sounded steady, as if he were sitting right behind his desk.

Cohen pushed the door open slowly, peeking inside—though he had already seen it once in his soul form. On the walls of the circular office, the portraits of former headmasters were all snoring, though Cohen clearly saw a few of them peek open an eye. Was he really that scary? These paintings didn't even have souls; even if he wanted to feed, he couldn't.

"Cohen, come, sit down." Dumbledore conjured a chair with a wave of his wand and looked at Cohen kindly.

***

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Cohen took small steps to the chair and sat down. He noticed the large, fiery-red bird nearby—Fawkes the phoenix. Damn, other people's birds were always so big and majestic! Why was his own bird so perverted and sleazy?

*[Perhaps the bird takes after its master.]*

Cohen felt the Count's voice already whispering in his ears.

"Phoenixes are indeed fascinating creatures, Cohen," Dumbledore said. "I have a book here, 'A Detailed Guide to Existing Mythical Creatures.' If you'd like to read it, you may borrow it—unlike the library, you can keep it for a long time. I remember the last student who borrowed it didn't return it for over twenty years, simply because he needed the space on his shelf for a set of Gilderoy Lockhart’s bestsellers..." Dumbledore chuckled, stroking his long beard. "Oh, nearly forgot, would you like some tea?"

The tea set on Dumbledore’s desk hopped over to Cohen. "Milk? Or pumpkin juice?"

"I'd like milk tea," Cohen thought for a moment; he wanted something sweet. "The kind that's a mix of milk and tea. There's plenty of that in the Muggle world."

"Oh, certainly." Dumbledore was delighted that Cohen enjoyed Muggle drinks. "I am quite fond of such drinks myself. It is a pity that other wizards cannot seem to set aside their prejudices against Muggles to enjoy the simple pleasures found everywhere in life."

The teapot poured a cup of light brown milk tea, looking like a blend of black tea and fresh milk. A small stack of sugar cubes also appeared on the table—Cohen dropped quite a few into his cup. Like-minded people always seemed to see eye-to-eye; Dumbledore’s own diet was quite high in sugar, so the more he looked at Cohen, the more he felt the boy was a good child.

Still, the necessary guidance had to be provided.

"Let us get to the point, Cohen," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands after Cohen had taken a large gulp of tea. "First, regarding flying lessons. I must inform you that your mother, Rose, has written to me to request an exemption for you."

"Ah?" Was that for real? Cohen’s surprise was genuine. Why suddenly cancel flying lessons? Had Rose discovered he could transform into a flying Dementor? That seemed too ridiculous!

"Rose’s letter mentioned that you have a fear of heights. Hogwarts does not force students to do things they are not capable of," Dumbledore explained. "As for whether you take the lessons, it is up to your own wishes. Perhaps in a mother’s eyes, a child is always just a child..." Dumbledore winked over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

So, Rose really just thought the tiny Cohen was afraid of heights and worried he might fall off a broomstick? Wait, did Dumbledore really go through all that just to talk about flying lessons?!

"And another point: I hear you visited Professor Quirrell twice this week. Did you encounter any difficulties with Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

***

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes shone like X-rays toward Cohen—but Cohen defended against it perfectly. A little Legilimency? Cohen was unaffected!

"Ah?" Cohen lowered his head, acting frightened. "Professor Quirrell asked me to come... he... he..."

"What did he say to you?" Dumbledore asked with concern.

"Um... I... he gave me a book, 'Theory of Transmutation'..." Cohen replied. "And the second time, I went to return it..."

"Cohen, do not be afraid," Dumbledore comforted him. "At Hogwarts, nothing will harm you."

"But I must ask you, Cohen, is there anything you wish to tell me?" Dumbledore said gently. "Anything at all."

Cohen tried to look like he was trembling—but he overdid it, and his teacup accidentally shattered on the floor.

"No, Professor," Cohen said, using the spilled tea to trace a word on the table.

"Very well, Cohen. Perhaps you should return outdoors and enjoy the afternoon sun with your classmates." Dumbledore waved his wand, and the office door opened.

"All right, Professor Dumbledore. Thank you for the milk tea."

***

"That little thing is lying!" the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked after Cohen left.

"I know, Phineas," Dumbledore said calmly, walking around the desk to where Cohen had been sitting. "But he is only a child. Fear and anxiety can lead to poor judgment..."

In the spilled tea on the table, Cohen had traced a single word: *Threaten*.

"It seems Tom has taken an interest in Cohen," Dumbledore mused to himself. "He placed a tracking curse on Cohen—perhaps he lied to the boy, making him believe the curse would harm him if he revealed any secrets..."

"Then why not explain it to the child?" the portrait of Headmaster Black snorted. "What if he actually sides with the Dark Lord—"

"Cohen is a good child," Dumbledore shook his head. "He will not truly stand with Quirrell. As an eleven-year-old, the fact that he risked 'his life' to leave this word for me shows he possesses a courage that transcends death itself."

"Is your plan moving ahead, then?" Headmaster Black asked.

"Sometimes, constant protection only leaves one trapped in a cradle. Only the raging storm can make a tree grow tall and sturdy."