Hogwarts, i am Dementor

Cohen had no idea. 

Hogwarts had hundreds of empty classrooms—who knew where Dumbledore had stashed that mirror? 

But Harry was certain it wasn't far from the library. Last night, on a whim, he'd wandered into the Restricted Section. 

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

"But there's something in the Restricted Section that's just *so* intriguing…" Harry replied earnestly. 

Fine, turning Gryffindors into Gryffind-idiots must be a family trait. 

Cohen had a hunch Dumbledore had a million ways to nudge Harry right into his carefully crafted grooming plan. 

And Cohen suspected Dumbledore was cooking up a "Cohen Growth Plan" too. 

Damn it, was the game of wits starting already? 

*How to Read People*, *The Art of Social Maneuvering*, *Dark Psychology*… 

Burke vs. Dumbledore. Dumbledore's ultimate goal was to wipe out Voldemort for good before his own death, which didn't have much to do with Cohen—no prophecy mentioned his name, after all… 

As long as Cohen didn't turn into a murderous psycho at school, he'd be fine. 

"Here!" Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak, suddenly pointed Cohen in a direction. 

They were in a secluded corridor beside the library—practically a ghost town since it was a dead end. 

At the corridor's end was a small classroom with a rickety wooden door that didn't even close properly. 

If Harry had bolted from the library in a panic last night, it made sense he'd instinctively duck into a hidden spot like this. Logically, Filch would've blocked the library exit first, not this dead-end nook. 

The abandoned classroom was cluttered with desks and chairs stacked against the walls, casting a mass of dark, shapeless shadows in the dim night. There was also an overturned wastebasket. 

But one thing in the room stood out starkly against the surroundings—right across from the entrance. 

It was an ornate mirror, tall enough to reach the ceiling, with a golden frame supported by two claw-shaped feet. At the top, an inscription read: 

[*Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi*] 

Read as a mirror image, it translated to: "I show not your face but your heart's desire." 

"That's the mirror!" Harry exclaimed gleefully, throwing off the Invisibility Cloak and rushing toward it. 

His family smiled back at him from the glass. 

"Cohen?" Harry turned to call out to Cohen, who was still standing in place. "Want to come see my parents?" 

"Oh—" 

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

He'd just heard the wooden door creak as if moved by the "wind." Harry assumed it was just a draft—but Cohen wasn't buying it. 

[*Soul Strength: 99*] 

What kind of breeze had a soul strength of 99?! 

Oh, just the wind—here I thought it was some century-old, psychologically twisted, perpetually single, sweet-toothed pervert of a headmaster who loved stalking eleven-year-olds at night. 

Dumbledore's Disillusionment Charm was indeed on a whole other level—nearly as flawless as Harry's Invisibility Cloak, one of the Deathly Hallows. 

If Cohen couldn't see souls, he'd never have noticed Dumbledore slipping in. 

To keep Dumbledore from realizing "Cohen had spotted him," Cohen gave the doorway a curious glance before jogging over to Harry's side. 

"Can you see my family?" 

Harry excitedly pointed at the figures in the mirror—but from Cohen's perspective, it showed only Harry's solitary reflection. 

"Harry, I can't see anything," Cohen admitted. "It's just you in there." 

"Maybe it's the position—here, stand here." Harry, thinking it was a matter of angle, stepped aside to let Cohen take the spot directly in front of the mirror. 

In the few seconds it took to walk over, Cohen mentally braced himself for what might appear: Voldemort's corpse, a scene of him eating with Rose and Edward, maybe even one with Alexia and Herbert joining them… 

But the mirror remained blank. 

Cohen frowned, then quickly pieced it together. 

The alchemical runes on this mirror were designed to peer into the mind—but mental attacks didn't seem to lock onto Cohen. 

"What's wrong?" Harry glanced between Cohen and the mirror. 

Cohen could feel Dumbledore's gaze sharpening behind him—probably eager to glimpse Cohen's deepest desire to gauge whether he'd veered onto a dark path… 

"Still nothing, but I think I know what to do—" Cohen had a gut feeling that touching the mirror might do the trick… 

He reached out a finger and lightly brushed the cool glass surface. 

It felt like a phone prompting, "Risky app detected. Install anyway?" 

Back in his last life, fourteen-year-old Cohen had mastered "ignore risk and proceed"—that's when life got colorful, especially the yellow kind. 

Harry didn't get it, but he waited quietly for Cohen to finish. 

The mirror's surface shifted before Cohen's eyes. 

"Did you see something?" Harry asked eagerly, noticing Cohen's once-calm expression soften. 

"Edward and Rose—they're preparing a big dinner for me," Cohen replied. "But they're obviously flirting in the kitchen, completely ignoring me, the lonely third wheel right next to them." 

"Ha!" Harry laughed, relieved that Cohen saw his parents too—something inside him eased up. "Maybe this mirror lets you see family—" 

But Cohen's adoptive parents were still alive. 

Harry's mood dipped suddenly. His own parents could only be seen here, in this mirror. 

"It looks nice, Harry," Cohen said, stepping aside. "But I think we should keep our eyes on reality—" 

"It's the holidays, though," Harry replied, sitting down in front of the mirror, his gaze glued to his family. "I can at least look at them." 

Harry wouldn't budge, and Cohen didn't really want to leave either—not with Dumbledore still watching. That old man really wasn't afraid of dropping dead from pulling an all-nighter. 

Leaving now would feel a bit like abandoning a friend—too heartless. Cohen was committed to playing his role fully, crafting the perfect "good guy" image—no, wait, he *was* a good guy. 

Bored out of his mind, Cohen dragged over a chair and started experimenting with spells in the corner. 

Of course, he wasn't about to practice anything like the Killing Curse under Dumbledore's nose. He needed a spell to prove his innocence. 

"Expecto Patronum." 

A silvery mist burst from the tip of Cohen's wand. The presence of vapor meant the spell's first step had succeeded. 

Harry, engrossed in the mirror, didn't glance over—but Dumbledore did. Cohen caught the old man's soul, previously fixated on Harry, shifting to him. 

(End of Chapter)