"Finite Incantatem."
Cohen pointed his wand at Hermione and muttered the spell.
A flash of white light later, Hermione jolted awake, like she'd been out of it for days.
"Basilisk!"
She yelped, "I saw a basilisk—Harry? Ron? Cohen? How are you—"
Only then did she realize they were at the end of a long, dark pipe, surrounded by the rotten stench of the sewers.
She quickly lowered her voice, but then she spotted the stunning red phoenix nearby—and Lockhart, sprawled unconscious on the ground.
"Are we in the basilisk's lair?" she asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Harry said. "But it's okay now. The basilisk was being forced. The real bad guy's Voldemort—"
"And Lockhart," Ron added, fuming.
"But we're planning to tell everyone we killed the basilisk," Harry said. "Because Cohen's got a…"
Harry shot Cohen a questioning look, got a nod in return, and explained everything to Hermione.
"Of course we're still friends, Cohen," Hermione said firmly, brushing off his identity crisis. "You don't need to stress about your bloodline. Actually, according to books I've read on wizard origins, witches and wizards first got their magic from magical creatures' blood anyway. It's not that big a deal."
"Thanks," Cohen said. "Though, honestly, I didn't stress about it for long… I just thought the vibe was right to pull a dramatic moment like in comics or TV shows."
"That's so cool," Ron said, jealous. "Being different is tough—especially with bloodlines. Can you turn into a basilisk? Or maybe a unicorn?"
"Even Animagi can't turn into magical creatures, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh.
"Anim-what now?" Ron asked.
"People who can turn into animals. It's hard and dangerous. There've only been seven registered Animagi this century," Hermione explained. "Ron, Professor McGonagall's mentioned it in class like twenty times. If you don't want to flunk finals—"
"We've got your notes," Ron said breezily. "We'll cram them before the test. Besides, I think they should cancel exams this term—or at least exempt us. We solved the attack problem!"
"That'd be amazing…" Harry said, liking the sound of that.
"That'd be awful," Hermione said glumly.
"Do you guys really have to debate whether skipping exams is 'amazing' or 'awful' at the bottom of a sewer in a girls' bathroom?" Cohen said, rubbing his face.
"Fawkes' tail is getting tired from all the wagging."
…
In the end, they linked up, and Fawkes flew them out of the pipe one by one. Cohen wished the Count could do that too—every time the Count delivered a big package, it griped for ages about how "it's too heavy, pay me extra," even though it didn't get paid at all.
Sometimes, Cohen felt like the Count was a person who couldn't adjust to being a bird. Other times, its snarky tone made it seem more like a bird who couldn't stand human life.
It was always complaining about humans as a species.
That made it feel straight out of a fairy tale—only fairy-tale creatures could be so human-like yet fiercely cling to their own identity. Plus, most animals in fairy tales could talk.
It matched the backstory the Count had cooked up for itself.
There wasn't a bird like that in *Harry Potter*—or a fairy tale quite like it.
But who knows? There's no Cohen Norton in the books either. Maybe in the book's world, the one where Cohen didn't cross over, "Cohen Norton" never existed. Or maybe he died in that experiment—a pitiful failure.
Or maybe Edward and Rose, just like in this world, tried to save "Cohen" but failed even after giving up their souls. Maybe that left Number 5 Privet Drive with Muggles, and Little Whinging with just Harry as its only wizard.
Fawkes didn't just get them back to the surface—it kept soaring, bringing them straight to the headmaster's office.
The office was packed today. The Grangers, the Weasleys, and the Nortons were all there.
Theodore Nott huddled in a corner chair, staring blankly at the leg of Dumbledore's desk.
Dumbledore stood by the fireplace with a warm smile, McGonagall beside him.
"Again?" McGonagall clutched her chest, taking sharp breaths.
"Hermione!" Mr. Granger pulled his daughter into a hug. "Oh my God, we were terrified—we heard you'd been kidnapped—"
"Mom, Dad, I'm fine now—I won't rush into danger again…" Hermione said, soothing them.
"You're the ones who saved Hermione, right?" Mrs. Granger said gratefully, looking at Cohen, Harry, and Ron. She remembered Cohen—Rose had once done a story on the Granger dental practice.
"Maybe you could tell us how you pulled this off?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. "It must've been a tough, brave feat. No second-year's ever done anything like this before."
Since Hogwarts technically only had one basilisk…
Cohen felt the praise was kind of hollow.
"Cohen, your mom nearly blew up the school," Edward said, pulling Cohen over. "Why are you always in the middle of these big messes every year?"
"There's an even bigger surprise," Cohen whispered in Edward's ear. "I'll tell you over break."
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Edward got a bad feeling.
"You don't mean…"
"Pretty much what you're thinking," Cohen said.
"What's with the whispering I can't hear?" Rose shot a stern look at the father-son duo.
They didn't have time to explain, though. Harry, Cohen, and Ron, as the key players, had to recount what happened and how they found the Chamber's entrance.
They tweaked the ending, though—Harry stabbed the lone basilisk, and Voldemort fled.
"Like a lingering ghost…" Edward said, worried.
"But he didn't win, Mr. Norton," Harry said reassuringly.
At least no one was permanently hurt—except maybe Filch. Students were loudly demanding the new caretaker, Mr. Von Braun, stick around, so Filch might be out of a job.
"Could I keep Cohen back for a chat?" Dumbledore asked Edward and Rose as the parents started heading out with their kids.
Cohen stayed behind in Dumbledore's office. The parents would stick around for a feast since the basilisk was dealt with, and the term wouldn't end early.
"Anything you'd like to tell me, Cohen?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
"Actually, yeah," Cohen said, fishing around in his pocket. Under Dumbledore's expectant gaze…
He pulled out his wand—snapped in two.
Cohen noticed the core wasn't the usual white unicorn hair. It was pitch black, radiating a familiar magical vibe—
Those lab folks must've sold Ari's fur on the side for cash.
And Ollivander? He'd shove anything into a wand…
"Can you fix my wand?" Cohen asked Dumbledore.
"That's… unlikely," Dumbledore said, examining the broken pieces. "With this much damage… maybe try Ollivander in Diagon Alley?"
(End of Chapter)