Chapter 127: Nick: Regret, Just Pure Regret Back Then  

Cohen caught a flicker of surprise in Dumbledore's eyes. 

Wait a sec—didn't Mundungus hand over the stuff he swiped from the lab to Dumbledore? 

Cohen had assumed Dumbledore knew the rundown on his bloodline origins. But now, it seemed like Mundungus—that shady old thief—never gave Dumbledore the stolen books or journals. Probably sold them off instead. 

Did Dumbledore really not know? Or did someone outbid him for it? 

"Do you think it's hostile toward you?" Dumbledore asked. 

"Hostile?" Cohen shook his head. "Nah, I doubt anything with bad vibes would sneak into my bed while I'm sleeping just to coo 'son, my son' at me instead of, y'know, chomping my head off…" 

"It called you 'son'?" Dumbledore's beard twitched. 

You're laughing, aren't you? I can totally see it! 

Cohen clenched his little fists. 

Nope, he had to mess with this old geezer somehow. Maybe sneak in tonight and sprinkle some mustard into Dumbledore's candy stash with his grubby hands. 

"It said it's in the Chamber," Cohen said. "Think it could be the one who attacked Colin?" 

"I don't believe so, Cohen," Dumbledore replied. "It sounds more like a visitor who came to Hogwarts looking for someone, not some thousand-year-old Slytherin monster holed up in the Chamber." 

"Sweet, guess I can land a cushy government job after graduation," Cohen quipped. 

"The Ministry doesn't usually screen employees based on their background," Dumbledore reassured him. "What you've told me has a key detail—Voldemort. It reminds me of something similar from fifty years ago. Back then, there were several petrification incidents too, and a poor girl ended up dead. Coincidentally, that was right when Voldemort was a student here." 

"He went by Voldemort back then?" 

"No, he was Tom Riddle then," Dumbledore said. "He changed his name after leaving school—he hated his old one. But that's not the point right now. The point is the Chamber was opened by the same person." 

"Except this time, it's a little different." 

"Because of the weirdo calling me 'son'?" Cohen asked. 

"Cohen, I hope this doesn't upset you," Dumbledore said gently, looking at him. 

"Nah, it's fine. It's been calling me 'son'—I've pretty much figured out what's up," Cohen muttered. "Biological dad, I guess. As long as Edward's cool with it, whatever." 

"Since it's been staying in the Chamber this whole time without causing trouble, it must be the same kind of creature as whatever's in there," Dumbledore concluded lightning-fast. "Its goal is to find you—like a lonely father scouring the world for his kid." 

He was close to the truth, just off by a hair. It wasn't loneliness driving this thing—it just wanted a free meal and a roof over its head. 

But Dumbledore probably couldn't imagine a basilisk being *that* lazy. Fair enough—basilisks don't exactly hold lifestyle seminars for wizards. 

Cohen's respect for Dumbledore's deduction skills ticked up a notch. 

This old guy was like a walking cheat code. If he hadn't chosen to stick around Hogwarts, he'd probably have flipped the wizarding world upside down by now. 

"Its endgame isn't just to catch a glimpse of you—it wants to reunite," Dumbledore went on. "That's something Voldemort could never wrap his head around. He might not even know about this new Chamber tenant. The key to stopping a repeat of fifty years ago lies right here." 

"So I go find the Chamber?" Cohen asked. "And then—" 

"No," Dumbledore cut him off flat. 

Cohen knew why. That whole "Cohen got killed" fiasco last semester left too deep a mark. Dumbledore probably wasn't keen on reliving that rollercoaster. 

But Cohen wasn't planning to pull the same old trick… 

This time, he had a fresher way to "die"—guaranteed to send Dumbledore's heart on another wild ride. 

"This is my job, not yours," Dumbledore said. "That goes for your friends too—they shouldn't keep poking around the Chamber. It's too dangerous for students." 

But just right for a Dementor. 

"It'll keep looking for you. I just hope you'll let me know the next time it finds you—or if you hear its voice," Dumbledore said. "That way, we can pin down its species and figure out how to handle it." 

"And after that? Will it get killed?" Cohen shot Dumbledore a pitiful, pleading look. 

*Old Dumbledore's too soft for this.jpg* 

"Of course not," Dumbledore said soothingly. "If it's not a threat to you, maybe you could keep it in that suitcase of yours. Though I think we'd need to check with your parents first." 

"Cool," Cohen nodded obediently. 

Ali and Sisqo would totally be onboard. 

— 

Come Monday, news of Colin's attack spread through the school like wildfire. 

By mid-morning, rumors were flying, and paranoia was in full swing. Kids—first-years to seventh-years—started moving in packs, terrified of being alone and getting nabbed next. 

Somehow, someone sneaked into Filch's office and dug up that he was a Squib. Not exactly comforting news. 

"Remember that pure-blood Slytherin nonsense?" Lee Jordan said over dinner one night. "How he's out to purge anyone 'unworthy' of magic? Filch is a Squib, Colin's Muggle-born—there's a pattern here." 

That theory sent the Muggle-born witches and wizards into a panic. Behind the teachers' backs, they started swapping amulets and charms under the table, whispering about protection. 

Within a week, it was a school-wide craze. Even Neville shelled out for some anti-evil gear. 

"But you're not in danger," Ron told him logically. "You're pure-blood. Should've spent that cash on snacks instead…" 

"They went after Filch first," Neville said, his round face etched with dread. "Everyone knows I'm basically a Squib." 

To Harry and the others, Cohen seemed just as on-edge about the attacks. He was lugging his suitcase around all the time now. 

"It's almost done. I'm pretty sure I'll have a basement as big as a house ready before the Christmas break," Cohen said cheerfully at dinner the last Friday before the holidays. 

"Building stuff's kinda dope—you guys still digging into the Chamber thing?" 

"Yeah, and we've got zilch," Harry said, deflated. "Maybe it's some special ghost—or a giant rat…" 

After dinner, they decided to swing by Cohen's suitcase for a peek, with him tagging along. They picked the boys' dorm as the spot—Dean was busy with his buddies crafting a new batch of anti-attack pendants and wouldn't be back for a while. ("At least with a dragon, I'd know how it's coming for me," Ron had said.) 

On their way to the common room, they ran into Nearly Headless Nick. 

Pretty rare sighting. Cohen couldn't recall bumping into a single ghost since he got to Hogwarts—they all gave him a wide berth. 

"Hello…" Nick greeted them warily, avoiding eye contact with Cohen out of the four. 

"Nick, what's up?" Harry asked. They crossed paths with Nick plenty, but it always seemed to be when Cohen wasn't around. He and Ron even had a theory once that Nick *was* Cohen since they never showed up together. 

"I was wondering if Cohen—uh—could come with me somewhere?" Nick said, fidgeting. "Don't worry—it won't take long, won't hold you up much…" 

The other three turned to Cohen in unison. 

"First Dumbledore, now Nick—Cohen, you break the law or something?" Ron blurted, wide-eyed. 

"Guess I'll turn into Slytherin's Heir then and show you," Cohen snapped back. "First thing I'd do before jail is take out all my big-mouth buddies." 

Cohen agreed to go with Nick anyway. 

What's this ghost want with me? 

Nick led him to a nearby empty classroom, sneaking peeks down the hall like a thief to make sure no one was around. 

"I thought you ghosts were all teaming up to freeze me out," Cohen said, faking a pout. 

"Sorry, it's not on purpose—honest. We're just… scared, y'know? You're…" Nick stammered nervously. "You're not mad about it and gonna—" 

"I don't eat ghosts," Cohen said, shaking his head. "Last year was just you diving into my mouth—I didn't know a chicken leg could come with a ghost inside…" 

"Ha…" Nick looked sheepish. 

"So what's up this time? Someone send you to fetch me?" Cohen asked. 

Nick hesitated, like he wasn't sure how to spit it out. 

"It's… not a big deal, really… You've kinda done it before…" 

"Don't make it sound so sketchy…" Cohen sighed. "It'll get censored." 

"I'd like you to give me a little Dementor's kiss," Nick finally blurted, mustering all his courage. 

"That's *way* sketchier!" Cohen cracked. "Just say you want a bite, dude." 

"Oh—I don't really get what Dementors call that move…" Nick said, spooked. "Last year, that was my plan—you know, with my head half-off, the other ghosts always poke fun at me. Especially around late October, at my deathday party…" 

**(End of Chapter)**