Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 530 Pensieve

On Saturday evening, Cohen and Harry waited in the common room until 7:50 before heading to Dumbledore's office.

Harry noticed that Dumbledore was not on the Marauder's Map, which meant that Dumbledore had not returned to the school yet, at least not before 7:50.

“If he stands us up, it means we can stand him up too,” Cohen said.

"How can we stand the headmaster up?" Harry asked, puzzled.

“Skipping school,” Cohen said logically. “We have reasons to say that—even the principal skips class—”

"Password, you little rascals planning to skip school," said the gargoyle at the principal's office door.

“I’m hungry,” Cohen said.

The gargoyle jumped to the side.

"Professor Dumbledore wrote down the password for you?" Harry said with a hint of envy.

“No, I’m really hungry,” Cohen said, rubbing his stomach.

The wall in front of them split in two, revealing a movable spiral staircase behind it. They climbed up and rose higher as the staircase rotated, until they arrived at Dumbledore's wooden door with brass knockers.

"Boom boom boom!"

Cohen knocked three times symbolically, because he could already see the soul strength label of 99 through the door.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice came from behind the door.

"He's back!" Harry's eyes lit up, and he immediately pushed open the door.

“Boring, Mr. Saint,” Cohen said disappointedly.

“It sounds like Cohen isn’t very interested in this course,” Dumbledore said, sitting behind the long table and smiling at the two of them. “I haven’t even said what I’m going to teach yet.”

“It’s not about the class itself, it’s just that we didn’t see what we wanted to see,” Cohen said. “So, are we going to study spells or history tonight?”

“A kind of history.” Dumbledore stroked his beard. “I believe you all heard what was in that prophecy orb from last semester…”

“‘Born in the seventh month,’ ‘One of them must die’…” Harry said, “Is this it? Does the prophecy refer to me and Voldemort?”

“It’s not just you, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “The prophecy refers to ‘they,’ and there were quite a few wizarding offspring born that July, but of course, the prophecy doesn’t refer to all children born in July.”

“He had to be special enough to threaten Voldemort’s rule, so he chose you first, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Your parents escaped from him many times, which made Voldemort believe you were the one prophesied to be.”

"But in reality, there was a child who was not directly related to him, but was also 'born' in July. He was an insurmountable achievement in alchemy, and also the final chapter of a tragedy—"

“That sounds a bit boastful, but it really is me,” Cohen said. “I’ve omitted a few qualifiers: ‘Nicolas Flamel’s heir, ‘the Dementor’s darling,’ ‘the prospective Minister of Magic,’ ‘a livestock tycoon with eleven dragons and countless magical creatures,’ and…”

“There’s not enough room for all of us, Cohen…” Harry said, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

“Voldemort has chosen an enemy for himself, while ignoring another potential enemy he has now,” Dumbledore said. “But yes, Harry, one of you will die, and I believe it will be Voldemort.”

“Because if it were me or Harry who died, this fight would never stop.” Cohen raised his eyebrows.

Harry chuckled softly. Cohen was right; they were all locked in a life-or-death struggle with Voldemort. If only one person could die, it could only be Voldemort…

But Harry remembered that there was a second part to the prophecy.

“‘Then one of them will bring even greater darkness upon the sky,’” Harry said. “And what does that mean, Professor?”

"This means that one of us will go to the climate bureau to organize artificial rainmaking," Cohen said.

“It’s a very convincing possibility, Cohen,” Dumbledore laughed, “but to be honest, I can’t be sure.”

"Will one of us turn bad?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Don't jump to conclusions too quickly, Harry. The future described in the prophecy is dialectical and abstract. The more you try to interpret it, the more likely you are to encounter the outcome you least want to see," Dumbledore said. "Look at Voldemort. If he had never believed in the prophecy, he wouldn't have created you as an enemy he couldn't defeat. If he hadn't disappeared, he would have discovered what was happening at Burke Manor sooner, and Cohen might not have been able to grow up normally."

Cohen understood Dumbledore's meaning—if Voldemort discovered what had happened at Burke Manor, he would definitely try to kidnap Cohen.

Perhaps the goal was to turn Cohen into their weapon, but in reality, Cohen would simply die because his soul wasn't sewn up by Edward and the others, ending up like the previous experimenters in bottles.

“I want to show you a few memories first, which may help you survive the inevitable war in the future,” Dumbledore said. “Know yourself, know your enemy.”

"But before that, we need Cohen's approval."

"Hmm?" Cohen tilted his head and asked in confusion, "Are you vampires? Do you need permission to enter my house?"

“The first few memories are about you.” Dumbledore looked at Cohen. “About your past… Of course, if the past involves privacy you don’t want to reveal, we can move on to the next stage without much impact.”

"Just release it. You can't exactly release a video of me stealing the neighbor's kid's lollipop, can you?" Cohen said nonchalantly.

But Dumbledore wore a strange expression, as if Cohen had guessed correctly.

"Wait a minute, you didn't actually save some embarrassing video of me from when I was a kid, did you?" Cohen said, his eyes wide. "How could you be so wicked, old man!"

“Not all,” Dumbledore replied selectively.

However, despite saying that, Cohen was actually quite curious to see what Dumbledore's treasured "Cohen's Memoirs" looked like.

Dumbledore placed a shallow stone basin from his cabinet onto his desk, whereupon some silvery, silky substance began to swirl.

“The Pensieve,” Dumbledore explained to them, “allows us to enter a memory, or as Muggle would say, like watching a movie.”

Then, Dumbledore took out a small glass bottle containing the same substance as the Pensieve.

"Whose memories are these?" Cohen asked.

“Herbert Burke’s,” Dumbledore said. “Before he took his lost little fellow on his travels, he was willing to entrust this memory to us, and…”

Dumbledore looked at Cohen.

“Okay, if that’s what he wants me to see…” Cohen said.

As the memories were poured into the basin, Dumbledore pulled Cohen and Harry together and leaned down to immerse themselves in them.

(End of this chapter)