Chapter 47: Psychological Torment! Deranged Headmaster Stalks First-Year Little Wizard on Night Wander

Cohen didn't know either.

There were hundreds of empty classrooms at Hogwarts; heaven knew where Dumbledore had stashed the mirror.

Yet Harry was certain the location was not far from the library. The place he had wandered into on a whim last night was the Restricted Section.

"Didn't I already tell you and the others about Nicolas Flamel and the Sorcerer's Stone?" Cohen whispered to Harry.

"But the things inside the Restricted Section are genuinely intriguing..." Harry replied earnestly.

Fine. Anyone who reduced Gryffindor to a house of total reckless fools came from the exact same mold.

Cohen felt certain that Dumbledore still had millions of ways to nudge Harry directly into the training plan he had meticulously designed.

Furthermore, Cohen suspected Dumbledore was undoubtedly plotting a "Cohen Growth Plan" as well.

Damn it, has the game of wits begun?

*The Art of Reading People*, *The Mechanics of Socializing*, *Dark Psychology*...

Well, let them play their games. Dumbledore's ultimate goal was to completely finish off Voldemort before kicking the bucket himself, which had very little to do with Cohen, especially since Cohen's name wasn't even mentioned in the prophecy...

As long as Cohen didn't turn into a serial killer at school, everything would be fine.

"Right here!" Harry suddenly pointed a direction for Cohen from beneath the Invisibility Cloak.

They were currently in a secluded corridor flanking the library—a dead end where almost nobody ever came.

At the very end of the corridor stood a small classroom, its dilapidated wooden door unable to even latch shut.

If Harry had bolted hurriedly from the library back then, it made complete sense that he would instinctively flee toward such a secluded spot. Logically speaking, Filch ought to prioritize blocking the library exits rather than a dead end.

This abandoned classroom was piled high with desks and chairs against the walls, casting massive, murky shadows in the dimness, alongside an overturned wastepaper basket.

There was one object in this room that clashed utterly with its surroundings—positioned directly opposite the doorway.

It was an exceedingly magnificent mirror, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, supported by clawed feet beneath a gilded frame, with an inscription carved along the top.

*Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi*

Read in a reflection, it meant, "I show not your face but your heart's desire."

"This is the mirror!" Harry happily tossed off the Invisibility Cloak and scurried right up to the glass.

His family members were smiling down at him from within the mirror.

"Cohen?" Harry turned his head to call out to Cohen, who was still standing his ground. "Don't you want to come and see my parents?"

"Oh—"

Cohen's gaze wasn't fixed on the mirror or on Harry at all.

Because he had just heard the squeak of the wooden door being nudged by the "wind." Harry assumed it was merely a passing draft—but Cohen knew better.

[Soul Strength: 99]

What kind of wind has a soul strength of 99?

Ah yes, just the wind. And here I thought it was a centenarian, psychologically twisted, lifelong bachelor, sweet-toothed weirdo headmaster who also enjoyed stalking eleven-year-old students in the middle of the night.

Dumbledore's Disillusionment Charm was indeed impressively powerful—practically on par with Harry's Invisibility Cloak, one of the Deathly Hallows.

If Cohen hadn't possessed the ability to perceive souls, he genuinely wouldn't have noticed Dumbledore slipping inside.

To prevent Dumbledore from realizing that "Cohen had spotted him," Cohen merely cast a curious glance toward the doorway before turning and hurrying over to Harry's side.

"Can you see my family?"

Harry pointed excitedly at the figures in the mirror—though from Cohen's perspective, the mirror reflected nothing more than Harry's own lonely shadow.

"Harry, I don't see a thing," Cohen confessed honestly. "There's only you in the mirror."

"Why don't you stand right here—come on, right here." Thinking it might be a matter of positioning, Harry stepped aside and motioned for Cohen to stand directly in front of the mirror.

Within the few seconds it took to walk over, Cohen had already anticipated various scenes that might appear in the glass, such as Voldemort's corpse, a scene of Cohen sharing a meal with Rose and Edward, or perhaps even including Aaliyah and Herbert at the table...

Yet the mirror remained completely blank.

Cohen frowned, but the realization hit him moments later.

The alchemical runes inscribed on this mirror were clearly designed to probe the mind—yet mental magic seemingly failed to lock onto Cohen.

"What's wrong?" Harry looked back and forth between Cohen and the mirror.

Cohen could sense that Dumbledore's stare from behind had grown significantly sharper—the old man was probably eager to figure out Cohen's deepest desires in order to determine whether Cohen had strayed down the wrong path...

"Still can't see anything, but I think I know what needs to be done—" Cohen had an inexplicable intuition that he merely needed to make physical contact with the glass surface...

Cohen reached out a single finger toward the Mirror of Erised, his fingertip gently brushing against the cold glass plane.

It felt rather like the pop-up warning on a smartphone asking, "Risky application, proceed with installation?"

In his past life at age fourteen, Cohen had already mastered the art of "ignoring risks and proceeding with installation"—and life had grown brilliantly colorful ever since, especially regarding adult content.

Harry didn't quite understand, but he waited quietly for Cohen to finish.

A change finally occurred upon the mirror's surface before Cohen's eyes.

"Do you see anything?" Seeing Cohen's previously calm expression soften, Harry asked hastily.

"Edward and Rose, they've prepared a lavish dinner for me—" Cohen replied, "though clearly they're making eyes at each other in the kitchen, completely ignoring the fact that I'm standing right beside them as a lonely single third wheel."

"Ha!" Hearing that Cohen had also beheld his own parents, Harry felt something heavy lift from his chest. "Maybe this mirror really can let you see your loved ones—"

Yet Cohen's adoptive parents were still alive.

A sudden wave of sorrow washed over Harry; his own parents could only ever be witnessed within the confines of this glass.

"It looks wonderful, Harry," Cohen stepped aside. "Though I think we ought to bring our focus back to reality—"

"But it's the holidays." Harry sat down right in front of the mirror, his eyes never leaving the family within it. "At least I get to look at them."

Harry refused to leave, and Cohen wasn't particularly eager to depart either—since Dumbledore was still lingering nearby, and the old man genuinely seemed unafraid of dropping dead from a night of sleep deprivation.

Leaving right now would make Cohen feel like a cold-blooded friend-abandoner. Insisting on acting meant committing to the bit thoroughly and perfectly cultivating the image of a good person—no wait, Cohen *was* a good person.

Bored out of his mind, Cohen dragged a chair over and began practicing magic quietly in the corner.

Naturally, spells like the Killing Curse couldn't be practiced right under Dumbledore's nose; Cohen needed to practice a spell that would serve as definitive proof of his innocence.

*"Expecto Patronum."*

A wisp of silver vapor billowed from the tip of Cohen's wand. The presence of mist meant the first step of the spell was a success.

Harry was too engrossed in the mirror to notice, but Dumbledore was a different story—Cohen could glimpse the soul of the old man not far away, shifting his gaze away from Harry and fixing it directly upon him.