At least now this Muggle corpse, dug up after who-knows-how-long death, won't be desecrated by wizards anymore—Cohen was still kind at heart.
This lesson in Dark Magic was a great success; Quirrell even shed tears of emotion.
After all, an eleven-year-old had placed an "Avada Kedavra" spell in front of him that could cause a massive explosion even if it hit a corpse. If Cohen's target had shifted even slightly, it wouldn't have been the corpse that had ascended to heaven, but Quirrell himself.
Sure enough, the Dark Lord's targets were no ordinary people…
"How about learning the Imperius Curse next class? Can you prepare some test subjects?" Cohen asked expectantly, "And…"
"Of course… of course…" Quirrell seemed to be stuttering again, "Is there anything else you'd like to learn… Mr. Norton—"
"And… can I skip next week's Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment?"
…
"Yes, yes… you don't have to write next week's paper—or the paper the week after…"
How could Quirrell disagree?
It's like seeing a tiny kid holding a Glock pistol and asking, "Can I have your Coke?", with a mob boss standing behind him saying, "Go teach him how to shoot"—Quirok
bets Cohen won't graduate normally. It would be a miracle if Dumbledore was blind if this wicked brat stayed at Hogwarts for seven years.
Just as Quirrell was about to send this little devil away, Cohen suddenly remembered something:
"Wait a minute—"
Quirrell broke out in a cold sweat.
"Didn't your boss ask me to steal that thing hidden in the fourth-floor corridor last time?" Cohen asked.
"Well… I'll figure something out—at least find an opportunity…" Quirrell seemed a little embarrassed, because he couldn't think of any good ideas right now; the professors at Hogwarts had such packed schedules.
"Last time I suggested letting a dragon into the school to attract the attention of teachers and students…" Cohen reminded him.
"A dragon is a bit too—"
"Later I reflected on it, and a dragon really isn't easy to squeeze in," Cohen said seriously.
"So, what about the trolls—there's a troll cave over there in the mountains. When there's a big party in the school hall, I'll lure the trolls away from the fourth-floor corridor…"
Cohen meticulously explained his plan—of course, copied from the original work. This was the only relatively safe method Cohen could think of; at least no students would get hurt.
If Dumbledore asked later, Cohen would say that Quirrell had threatened him to do it all.
(Quirok and Voldemort also did it)
"Yes, indeed a good idea…"
Quirrell was almost used to Cohen's even greater enthusiasm for stealing the Philosopher's Stone than his own.
"Perhaps you should go back, Mr. Norton… if Dumbledore finds out—"
"I won't let him know, I'm tight-lipped,"
Cohen said confidently.
—In the end, Cohen finished his homework on Sunday night.
Cohen now realized that procrastination solved nothing. Homework was the most evil thing in the world; it infringed on the most precious playtime of student life, and…
"Homework is important! Cohen! You have to do it yourself next time. I won't lend it to you to copy a second time."
In the empty classroom, Hermione warned Cohen very seriously.
"Don't waste your time playing around with those boys—you're clearly very familiar with the theory and practice of these spells…"
"Some things don't need to be practiced repeatedly once you've learned them."
Cohen knew that Hermione was all talk and no action; once he copied her homework, he would definitely borrow it every time afterward—Cohen declared Hermione the goddess of homework.
"Besides, I have my own things to do…"
"…"
Hermione pursed her lips helplessly, an expression quite similar to Professor McGonagall's.
She clearly didn't believe Cohen's story, because she had heard that Filch was out hunting down a student named "Colson Golden" all day because of the dung ball incident—a name that was obviously a pseudonym Cohen had deliberately left on the wall, and the Weasley brothers had been praising Cohen all day in the lounge (Fred: "Did you see that? Filch's face has been as red as a baboon's ass all day.").
"Sigh, boys…"
Luckily, Cohen managed to catch Hermione studying in the Charms classroom; otherwise, four papers wouldn't have been possible in an hour—Hermione's lectures took up a significant portion of that time.
When Cohen returned to the common room, only Harry and Ron, his two best buddies who had just realized they needed to catch up on their homework, remained.
"Cohen! You must have finished your homework!" Ron rushed over, his eyes lighting up, as he saw Cohen enter.
"Cohen, help!" Harry chimed in.
…
Good news: Harry and Ron, under Cohen's supervision, finally finished copying their homework, albeit incompletely.
The second piece of good news: they could have their flying lesson on Thursday of the following week.
No bad news for now; on Thursday morning, Cohen listened to Ron's eighteenth "thrilling flying experience" in its entirety, and was even dragged by Hermione to listen to her explain the flying instructions from *Quidditch*.
"It's just riding a broomstick, like driving a car," Cohen reassured her. "At most, you might crash, but nothing will happen."
"But it doesn't have a seatbelt!" Hermione scratched her messy hair anxiously, clearly feeling extremely uncertain about this kind of lesson that couldn't be prepared for in advance.
"Good heavens, you're a witch…" Cohen sighed, "The seatbelt is the wand in your hand, not an actual strap tied to the flying broomstick."
The arrival of the owl messengers interrupted Hermione's almost tangible anxiety, and the surrounding young wizards all showed expressions of relief.
Cohen didn't like anxiety either—because it tasted sour.
For some reason (perhaps Cohen knew why), the owls always took a long detour when passing by Cohen, only the Earl dared to stop next to him and grab a chicken leg as a snack.
"Your mother's letter," the Earl mumbled, tossing a thick letter and a package full of candy to Cohen's side, "and some snacks your father sent."
Harry glanced at him enviously, but quickly looked away.
Cohen unfolded the letter; it was full of Rose's instructions, and she told him he might have to stay at school for Christmas—because she and Edward planned to go back to see Edward's father, Cohen's grandfather, who was dying.
"It's only September…" Cohen's lips twitched, "It shouldn't be this early…"
The reason for not taking Cohen was unknown; perhaps it was Cohen's status? Or some other reason.
Staying at school was fine; spending all his time in the dorms wasn't unacceptable.
Meanwhile, Neville also received a gift: a memory orb (filled with white smoke; it would turn red if you forgot something).
Cohen remembered that this ball would trigger a series of events, such as Malfoy provoking Harry and getting slapped in the face, and Professor McGonagall discovering his Quidditch genius...
However, none of these had anything to do with Neville Longbottom, the owner of the ball, who was spending the entire class in the infirmary today.
But when the flying lesson began, Cohen realized that this lesson also had nothing to do with him.
Not because he scared away the flying broomstick, but because...
"Is Cohen Norton here?" An older student barged into the flying lesson area.
"Huh? Me?" Cohen pointed to himself, somewhat confused.
Had Filch finally discovered that Cohen was the one who threw that dung ball? Or was the Earl bullying the other owls?
"It's class time now, Mr. Smith." Madam Hooch frowned at the older student.
"Uh—it's Professor Dumbledore's request—"
The older student named Smith quickly pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to Madam Hooch. A few words were written in thin, concentric circles above.
Cohen secretly peeked over with half his soul. The words were
: [Please invite Gryffindor student Cohen Norton to the Headmaster's office for tea.
—Due to his parents' special request, he is exempt from Hogwarts' flying lessons.]
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(End of Chapter)