The train rumbled forward, and soon a boy with fiery red hair and a face covered in freckles pushed open the sliding door of the compartment. There was a piece of dirt on the tip of his nose—though he seemed unaware of it.
"Is anyone here?" He pointed to the seat next to Harry, asking Harry and Cohen, who had the Count's birdcage next to him. "Everywhere else is full."
"Uh—" Harry, unsure of what Cohen meant, glanced at him.
Cohen spread his hands.
"No one, take a seat."
[Ding! Kindness Points +1]
So kind.
Cohen felt his self-assessment had always been correct.
Ron sat down, glanced at Harry, but quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened.
"Looks like a secret crush..."
Cohen smacked his lips, saying nothing, deciding to open his "Compendium of Positive Spells."
Honestly, the title of this book is incredibly corny. Who could have come up with "Encyclopedia of Good Spells"? If you flipped through it in public, you'd be met with laughter.
But Cohen suspected the two eleven-year-old wizards before him couldn't even tell the difference between stalactites and stalagmites, let alone the title of the book he was holding.
Indeed, Ron and Harry looked at Cohen like he was Superman—anyone at that age who gave up chatting and playing to pore over a book was a true hero.
After the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had visited, Ron seized the opportunity to initiate the conversation with the question, "Are you really Harry Potter?" He began with the typical eleven-year-old "once we meet, we're friends for life" approach.
They chatted from Harry's fame to wizarding families, and finally, they noticed another person in the carriage—
"Cohen, Cohen Norton," Cohen looked up and replied when Ron asked his name.
Of course, Cohen looked up not to see Ron or Harry, but to try to spot the snack cart through the window.
Oh my god, why hasn't the food arrived yet? I'm starving!
The bad thing about the last car is that the snack cart is always the last to arrive.
If Cohen continues to starve, he might turn to cannibalism.
Finally, amid Cohen's silent anticipation, the snack woman pushed open the compartment door.
"Honey, would you like to buy any food from the train?"
Harry jumped up, having eaten nothing this morning.
Cohen sat calmly in his seat, knowing he wouldn't have to pay for the food—Harry would soon activate his money powers.
"I'll take it all,"
Ron watched intently as Harry hugged the food he'd bought into the train and dumped it on the small table in front of them.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving." Harry grabbed the nearest pumpkin pie and took a big bite.
Ron pulled out his sandwich—after Harry's repeated attempts to refrain, Ron finally let go of his reserve and began to enjoy Harry's snack.
"Cohen, you want one too?" Harry's mouth was full, and he was about to turn and invite Cohen.
But Cohen had already jumped ahead, shoving himself into the snack pile.
"What?"
_(:3」∠)_
Cohen emerged from the snack pile and bit off the heads of two Chocolate Frogs.
It felt odd, like swallowing a live frog, but the chocolate sauce exploding in his mouth was truly delicious.
After a full stomach, most people would start to lust.
But there were only two eleven-year-old wizards and an eleven-year-old half-Dementor here, so they had other amusements.
Like watching Ron perform magic.
The moment Ron brought out Scabbers, the mouse transformed by Peter Pettigrew, the Cohen cooed eagerly, as if he had just seen his dinner.
Apparently, the magical owl that could see Cohen's true identity could also see through an Animagus disguise. But
Cohen had no intention of catching Peter Pettigrew just yet, even though his soul was already at its most fragile.
Exposing him now wouldn't earn Cohen much goodwill, as he was just a fugitive trying to avoid Black.
But if Cohen were reporting a villain attempting to resurrect Voldemort, the goodwill he'd earn would be sky-high.
And if Cohen were actually the mastermind behind Voldemort's resurrection, only to betray him mid-flight...
Tsk, tsk, tsk, Cohen couldn't imagine the amount of badwill and goodwill he'd earn.
Worst case scenario, he could wait until Sirius Black escaped prison and earned Dumbledore's trust before catching him. At least he could have a chance with the cowardly Minister of Magic—after all, the current Minister of Magic, Fudge, would absolutely refuse to admit that the Ministry had wrongly detained a prisoner for ten years.
"Squeak—"
Just as Ron raised his wand, the door to the compartment opened.
Neville had arrived—this was the second time this round-faced, tearful-eyed boy had come looking for his toad, before Cohen had finished his meal.
This time, however, Neville was accompanied by a girl with thick brown hair and large front teeth: Hermione Granger.
After inquiring about the Toad's whereabouts again to no avail, Hermione discovered Ron casting a spell and stayed to watch the entire ineffective display.
After severely wounding Ron's pride, Hermione launched into a rapid-fire speech about sorting and changing clothes, then led Neville away.
"No matter which house I'm sorted into, I don't want to be sorted with her..." Ron grumbled, throwing his wand onto his suitcase.
Harry inquired about Ron's two older brothers' houses, expressing a pessimistic view of his own future.
When Ron asked Cohen about this topic—
"Me?" Cohen thought of what Rose had said before he boarded the bus, and twitched his lips. "My mother said she'd kill me if I went to Slytherin—I saw her mouth say that, so Gryffindor is best..."
Speaking of which... the Sorting Hat would recognize him, right? There is a clear difference between the soul of a Dementor and the soul of a little wizard, especially when Cohen looks at himself, the image of his soul is so typical.
Dumbledore must have warned it, otherwise the Sorting Hat would have yelled "Azkaban!" instead of some other house during sorting.
"Your mom?!" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "Your mom's a wizard too?!"
"Actually, my dad is too," Cohen said nonchalantly. "But they kept it a secret from me until I got my acceptance letter—because I was adopted, and they thought I was a Muggle."
"If only I were Mr. Norton's adopted child..." Harry sighed.
There was indeed a difference between people. Cohen was able to grow up freely, doted on by his adoptive parents, while Harry was forced to spend his childhood in a closet.
This heavy topic didn't last long, as the two people in front of Cohen quickly turned to other topics.
Ron and Harry chatted about everything from their colleges to Charles in Romania, from the Gringotts vault to Quidditch, fully demonstrating their breadth of knowledge.
Of course, there were some minor frictions along the way.
"Is that true?" Draco Malfoy asked, standing at the compartment door. "Everyone on the train is talking about Harry Potter being in this compartment. So that's it, isn't it?"
"Yes." Harry clearly disliked the man.
Ron chuckled, then was criticized by Malfoy by name.
After a few rounds of "I, Draco Malfoy, a nobleman, want to be your friend, so please agree" and "Sorry, Harry Potter loves nothing more than saying no to those who are self-righteous"...
"You want a fight?" Malfoy sneered.
"Unless you leave right now," Harry said, unsure but decisive.
When Malfoy's henchman, Goyle, reached out his fat hand to the pile of snacks in front of Cohen, Cohen couldn't help himself.
"Go! Earl!" Cohen chose to open the birdcage.
The entire area erupted in chaos. The Earl, with wings powerful enough to slap three brats in the face, charged forward. Startled by the sudden oncoming owl, the Malfoys and their companions fled in panic, knocking each other over.
The Earl even secretly pooped a few times on their heads.
Harry and Ron laughed heartily.
"If you don't run, I'll scratch your eyes out," the Earl declared fiercely.
A moment of silence fell after the Earl's words.
Even Harry and Ron, who had been laughing just moments before, froze in their seats.
It was the Malfoys and their companions who were the first to flee, screaming—no one wanted to lose their eyes, especially not from an owl.
The Earl, after his threats, flew back to his cage with a haughty air, glancing particularly towards Harry's Hedwig.
"An owl... can... can... talk?" Harry's eyes widened.
"Something's wrong..." Ron said suddenly, alert. "Even in the wizarding world, it's rare for owls to talk. Cohen - my father once said, if you don't see where its brain is hidden, you should never trust what you think -"
"How about I spread my feathers and let you peer through my ears to see where my fucking brain is?"
The Earl angrily rejected Ron's definition.
"Owls have brains, Ron," Cohen said, rubbing his forehead. "And there's a magical contract between owls and wizards. It's just..."
Cohen was trying to figure out how to define the Earl.
"It's probably just an owl hybridized with some other magical creature."
"You're a fucking bastard! Your whole family is a *****!"
The Earl was furious, jumping up and down in his cage. This only reassured Harry and Ron a little. After all,
even in his rage, he hadn't come out to hurt them.
As the train approached Hogwarts, Harry and Ron changed into their school robes.
The temperature in the Scottish Highlands was much lower than in London, and many young wizards sneezed the moment they stepped off the train due to the sudden chill.
Cohen didn't feel anything; he was only afraid of the heat, not the cold.
Following Hagrid on a boat across the Black Lake, Cohen spotted a massive creature beneath the surface.
[Soul Strength: 50]
Bushmen? You're the boss?
Even Voldemort's soul fragments only have a Soul Strength of 40!
Clearly, there's something secret about Hogwarts' giant squid.
But it's certainly beyond Cohen's current ability to investigate; the squid is so massive he can't swallow it in one gulp.
In comparison, Hagrid's Soul Strength of 30 seems quite normal—perhaps due to his half-giant status, Hagrid's Soul Strength surpasses most ordinary wizards.
Newly enrolled wizards only have 7 or 8 points, while adult wizards range from 15 to 40. And those powerful and impressive wizards...
Cohen soon found his answer.
Professor McGonagall
[Soul Strength: 50]
As expected, sometimes the difference between people is greater than the difference between humans and pigs. This is the composure of the older generation of Hogwarts professors, easily surpassing the Soul Strength ceiling of the second- and third-rate wizards Cohen observed in Diagon Alley.
After Professor McGonagall finished explaining the Sorting and the House Cup, the young wizards were soon led to the Great Hall. While they waited, Ron gave Harry and Cohen an extremely exaggerated description of "what Fred had told him about the Sorting Ceremony," making Harry think he was about to fight a troll—even though Harry had no idea what a troll was.
"Don't stick your wand up a troll's nose. You'll thank me," Cohen kindly warned Harry.
Finally, the Sorting Ceremony began.
At the end of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall gently lowered a four-legged stool and placed a pointed wizard's hat on it.
The hat was tattered, patched, and dirty.
Then, as everyone watched, it twisted, opening a slit that resembled a mouth.
It began to sing:
"You may not think I'm beautiful,
but don't judge me by my appearance.
If you can find a prettier hat than mine,
I'll eat myself.
...
...
...
Come and wear me! Don't be afraid!
Don't panic!"
In my hands (though I don't even have one)
you're perfectly safe,
for I'm a thinking hat!
After the hat finished its song, the room erupted in applause.
It bowed to each of the four tables, then sat motionless on its stool.
Harry and Ron were visibly relieved.
Cohen was relieved too.
The professors in the hall hadn't experienced a surge in Soul Strength to terrifying levels, mostly between 45 and 50. The diminutive Professor Flitwick edged out Professor McGonagall by a mere 1 point—except, of course, for Dumbledore.
He looked like a nerdy old nerd who'd scored 99 out of 100—because Dumbledore's Soul Strength was a glaring 99.
The numbers were a bit out of whack! It felt completely out of the realm of a normal person! Fortunately, Dumbledore wasn't a Dementor; his Soul Strength simply represented the difficulty Cohen would face.
"No, why would I go against Dumbledore? Shouldn't I just stand with the right team and safely gain experience?" Cohen slapped his head in confusion.
But now, Cohen felt he had mastered the distribution of wizarding Soul Strength.
Ordinary wizards typically had a Soul Strength between 15 and 40, with some exceptional wizards reaching 40 or higher, but the highest likely never exceeded 60.
Dumbledore was an exception among exceptions. He didn't know what he did—but the old man, with a terrifying Soul Strength of 99, ranked first.
But no matter how strong his Soul Strength was, it couldn't stop the Killing Curse—in the book, Dumbledore ultimately died from Snape's Avada Kedavra.
"Whoever I call now, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait for the Sorting,"
said Professor McGonagall.
"Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-faced girl with twin golden pigtails.
Unfortunately, Cohen wasn't impressed by foreign children his age—or rather, Cohen felt like he had no feelings for the human race at all.
But Cohen repeatedly convinced himself that it was because of his young age.
He couldn't just marry a beautiful Dementor in the future, could he?
"Hufflepuff!"
Okay, the iron-willed Hannah went to her most loyal Hufflepuff.
"Susan Burns!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Terry Boot!"
"Ravenclaw!"
...
Cohen waited idly for the first letter of the surname to come, N.
He was behind Neville and Malfoy.
With Neville sorted into Gryffindor and Malfoy into Slytherin, the Sorting finally came...
"Cohen Norton!"
Cohen felt that Harry next to him was even more excited than he was, because Harry was almost shaking like a sieve.
Cohen sat down on the chair obediently, and Professor McGonagall pressed the very reluctant Sorting Hat on Cohen's head.
...
...
...
The hall was silent.
The Sorting Hat didn't speak, and neither did Cohen.
There was no sound in Cohen's head or ears.
"Is this some kind of one-two-three statue game?"
Cohen was extremely confused by the Sorting Hat's motionless and dead behavior.
Didn't Dumbledore give the Sorting Hat a heads-up?
Or was the Sorting Hat trying to recall how to spell the word Azkaban?
It's very embarrassing to be in a stalemate with a young wizard who just enrolled in school, Uncle Hat.
Cohen decided to break the silence himself and reminded the Sorting Hat in a low voice.
"You're not broken, are you? I'm good at helping people repair their souls. Do you want to try? I've never received a bad review, dear."
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(End of this chapter)