Chapter 38: Oh No, I Think the Person I Just Knocked Out Is a Relative-Quem deixou esse Dementador entrar em Hogwarts!(Não busques a montanha espiritual ao longe.)

The three-kilometer distance was not a particularly long journey, neither for the Earl nor for Cohen.

The monster and the bird flew into the clouds, ensuring that Cohen would not be spotted by wizards—Dementors were centrally controlled at Azkaban, and the sudden appearance of a stray one would surely attract a team from the Ministry of Magic.

During these past few days, Cohen had also modified the Graphorn-hide pouch Hagrid had given him, expanding its capacity—the inventor of the Undetectable Extension Charm was truly a genius.

Cohen planned to study some new magic himself later on. He felt that the wizarding world's magic was not modern enough; the spells still maintained the basic, medieval characteristics of "shooting fire," "sprinkling water," or "blocking arrows." It was as if human technology had only managed to produce nails, planks, and wheels, without ever assembling them into a vehicle.

However, those were not things for Cohen to worry about right now—he and the Earl were almost at the manor.

The once-magnificent main house of the Burke estate was now reduced to fragmented stone corners and scattered, charred wooden beams, its foundation buried deep under stones and accumulated snow. The estate was surrounded by a circle of magically accelerated evergreen trees, which had been placed under a Muggle-Repelling Charm to prevent any thrill-seeking Muggles from stumbling upon the site.

Even after ten years, Cohen could still see the varying depths of spell remnants across the ruins through his magical vision. Some influences left behind by Dark Magic were difficult for even time to erase.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Cohen floated above the clouds, looking down at the ruins. "These spells look like they could still kill even after ten years."

"It's quite hard to guess who cast these spells, isn't it?" the Earl said dryly. "No wonder you hairless wizards have to station a guard here—"

"A guard? Who?"

Hearing the Earl's remark, Cohen scanned his surroundings, searching for the person "guarding" these ruins. If not for the wisps of smoke that had suddenly begun to rise, Cohen would never have spotted the silhouette of the house against the nearly identical color of the woods. Its roof was piled high with snow, making it almost blend into the snowy landscape from above.

Whoever lived in this inner circle had to be a wizard, isolated from the world. Perhaps this wizard even had to periodically renew the surrounding Muggle-Repelling Charms—this job was either a civil service post or a prison sentence.

After confirming that no one was around to see them, Cohen and the Earl descended into the woods together.

"I bet you're going to kill him. I'll wager a field mouse." The Earl perched on a tree branch, making his bet. "You can't possibly scour those ruins without making a scene, so in my opinion, someone like you—that kind of bad thing—"

"That’s racial profiling. Be careful, or I’ll go around saying you discriminate against non-human species." Cohen raised his middle finger at the Earl. "Although, theoretically, Dementors aren't exactly 'good things,' that doesn't stop me from being a good person—or rather, a good monster."

Cohen arrived at the door of the wooden hut. From inside came the sound of water boiling, accompanied by a man humming.

The fellow inside was still humming the Scottish folk song "Loch Lomond." He was quite cultured.

"Knock, knock, knock—"

Cohen, pulling his hood low, knocked on the door, intending to prove to the Earl that he was a reasonable person.

"Who is it?" the voice inside asked, alert.

Then, the wooden door creaked open—

"Stupefy!"

Cohen and the man inside had cast their spells almost simultaneously. The trust between individuals had ended before it had even begun.

"Fine, you win," Cohen conceded to the Earl. "I started it."

The man inside lay stiffly on the floor. In truth, both his and Cohen's spells had hit their marks; the man's spell had even struck Cohen squarely in the head—because he never expected the stranger at his door to be an eleven-year-old child.

"I suppose he also didn't expect the person knocking to be a Dementor," Cohen said with a hint of regret.

If it had been a Patronus Charm, it might have actually hurt Cohen, but a Stupefy... has anyone ever seen a Dementor knocked unconscious by a Stunning Spell?

Cohen walked inside. Lying on the floor was a gaunt middle-aged man in old, patched clothing, his unkempt black hair streaked with significant amounts of white.

The interior of the hut was simple: a small bed filled with old bedding, a wooden table against the wall scarred with knife marks, a wobbly chair, and an iron pot suspended over a fire. Something that looked like rabbit was boiling in the pot; Cohen had roasted rabbit before, so he recognized it well.

"Did he forget he lives in a wooden house?" The Earl landed on the table, tilting his head to look at the roaring fire. A normal hearth would be surrounded by stones, but this fire was just a few pieces of wood stacked together. It was a miracle the wooden floor underneath hadn't caught fire.

"Magic. Isn't it wonderful?" Cohen replied dismissively.

He was searching the clothes of the unconscious prisoner—the reason Cohen was certain he was a prisoner was the shackle on the man's right wrist; only a prisoner would have such a cuff with a dangling piece of iron chain attached. Moreover, the shackle bore magical traces similar to a Tracking Charm; there was no need to guess the man's status any further.

"Are you trying to find tits on a man?" the Earl asked, looking at Cohen in disbelief.

"If you can't speak properly, you can shut up. Don't make me feel the urge to kill you." Cohen glared at the Earl with a terrifying look.

He had just found a stack of items in the prisoner's coat pocket: many crumpled slips of paper, a broken quill, and a few Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts. Cohen swept them all onto the wooden table.

"He really is poor..."

Cohen felt embarrassed to even take the money. Sweeping the pitiful coins to the corner of the table, he began to unfold the slips of paper, flipping through them to see what was written.

"Participation in inhumane and evil Dark Magic experiments... Participation in the trade of prohibited creatures of danger level XXXX and above..."

What Cohen was looking at was a verdict from a long, long time ago.

"Joint sentencing decision... Guard the ruins of the Burke estate, which still harbor numerous dangerous magical remnants, for life... Wizengamot Courtroom..."

The name of the prisoner written on it was—

"Herbert Burke?"

Cohen turned his head to look at the prisoner lying on the floor, then back at the name on the verdict. The Burke family... the Burke estate...

Before, when Edward had sent him to Diagon Alley to buy things, he had mentioned that his foster mother Rose's family was the "Burke family."

"No way, is this guy my uncle?"