Hogwarts, i am Dementor

At breakfast the next day, Harry and Ron started openly speculating about what might be hidden beneath the trapdoor.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," Ron said.

"Or both," Harry deduced, sounding like a detective.

Hermione, who'd narrowly escaped the clutches of a three-headed dog alongside them last night, had already distanced herself from the duo. At breakfast, she sat miles away from them.

Cohen wasn't interested in goofing off with Harry and Ron either. After this morning's Transfiguration class, he had plans to head to the Room of Requirement to test some magic.

Earlier that morning, he'd tried a few advanced spells he hadn't managed before—and at least the Bubble-Head Charm worked.

It seemed that boosting his soul strength also improved his magical ability. Unlike other young wizards, he wouldn't have to wait until he got older to master tricky spells.

Armed with a hefty pile of homework from Professor McGonagall, Cohen returned to the Room of Requirement.

Spreading out his copy of *A Compendium of Positive Charms*, Cohen began testing spells he'd failed at before.

"Apparate!"

"**!" Earl, dozing by the fireplace, let out an owl profanity as his body jolted uncontrollably.

"Silencio!"

Earl's profanity was reduced to silent mouthing.

…

After some trial and error, it seemed most spells in the book posed no casting difficulty for Cohen anymore. The only thing he wasn't thrilled about was their power—his magic output seemed capped at a fixed limit. No matter how much emotion he poured in, it wouldn't budge.

Some trickier, more complex spells—like Fiendfyre or the Hour-Reversal Charm—were still out of reach.

From the testing, Cohen pieced together what soul strength meant for him: unlocking stronger spells and boosting his magical power.

Now he was increasingly curious about what he actually *was*. A "weapon" forged by dark wizards with their lives and blood couldn't just be a human-bodied, spell-casting, trash-talking Dementor, right?

It sounded like something out of alchemy—unless the wizarding world had a field like hybridology.

"Do you *have* to use me as your damn target every time?"

Cohen only remembered to lift the spells from Earl when he was about to leave.

"Bloody hell…"

Earl's vocabulary was always laced with heavy "motherf***er" vibes, but Cohen didn't mind.

Once you accepted your birth mom might be a Dementor, a dark wizard, or some unknown species, even the world's greatest mom-roaster couldn't faze you.

In a way, Cohen was the perfect wizard to keep Earl. Most other kids actually *had* moms.

His school life had settled into a predictable rhythm.

During class, he'd pop up in the classroom. Outside of that, he'd randomly appear in the Great Hall, the Room of Requirement, the library, Quirrell's office, the Forbidden Forest, or the dorms.

Hermione, a frequent library lurker, had developed a new attitude toward Cohen—a classmate who didn't sink to Harry and Ron's level of degeneracy. Sadly, he only showed up in front of her on weekends to copy her homework.

"What are you even studying?!"

The weekend before Halloween, Hermione confronted Cohen with exasperation.

"Homework's the biggest waste of time in the world. I don't like wasting time," Cohen said, slurping a cream stick while single-handedly copying her work.

Weeks of school had taught him the bare minimum each professor expected from submitted assignments—so he aimed for that. As long as it had words and didn't look AI-generated, it was fine…

"Wait, there's no AI yet…" Cohen suddenly remembered it was 1991.

"You—ugh…"

Hermione wanted to lecture him but couldn't figure out how.

Cohen *was* gifted at charms—she often picked up insights from him. The problem was, he'd finish copying her homework and vanish again.

This time was no different. After leaving Hermione with a stash of Honeydukes candy, he bolted—completely oblivious to the fact that, as a dentist's daughter, she avoided sweets so sugary they'd rot your teeth even after brushing.

Cohen dashed straight to the library. He'd been staking it out for weeks, but books like *The Alchemy Codex* and *Souls in the Urn* were always "checked out."

If he couldn't get those books, Cohen felt he'd lose something precious—like his patience, kindness, and love for this school.

"You're in luck, Mr. Norton. These were just returned."

Madam Pince emerged from the stacks with a few thick tomes and headed to the checkout desk.

After borrowing them, Cohen sneaked a peek at the last person to check them out. Per library rules, you couldn't hog a book for weeks—except for one person at this school.

Dumbledore.

Seriously, old man, you're an alchemy master—do you *really* need *The Alchemy Codex*?!

Was he just stalling to keep Cohen from reading about his origins?

If Dumbledore truly didn't want him to see them, he could've removed the books from the library entirely—a headmaster could do whatever he wanted.

Yet he'd returned them. Cohen didn't get it, but it didn't matter—he had them now.

Eagerly, he hauled the books back to his claimed Room of Requirement.

Thanks to Earl, the room was usually "guarded" by one of them, turning it into "Cohen's Secret Base." Having a talking bird was undeniably cool—no arguments there.

Plus, Earl was here willingly. The room even catered to his needs, sprouting owl perches and an owl bed…

"I've never seen an owl sleep in a bed," Cohen said, deadpan, upon returning. "You're not gonna turn human one day, are you?"

"Hm?" Earl lounged in a weird pose by the fireplace nest, cracking open one eye. "Don't you like animals turning human? I heard you telling a stray tabby to 'turn into a cat girl quick' last time—"

"There's a *huge* difference between a cute cat girl and a creepy shirtless owl uncle," Cohen replied stiffly. "If the latter showed up in front of me…"

"Relax," Earl yawned. "Even if I turned into something else, I wouldn't pick you upright apes."

(End of Chapter)