On Friday afternoon, Cohen found an empty classroom to tell Harry and Ron today's "good news."

"Got Scabbers." Cohen shook the rat cage he was holding. The fake Scabbers was frantically scurrying around inside, looking like it was about to escape.

"That fast?!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"..." Ron really didn't want to get close to that rat again. He couldn't stop thinking about how he'd been sharing a bed with an Animagus for so long.

It was disgusting.

"The old Basilisk said it was hiding in a pipe on the fifth floor," Cohen made up.

"Are you guys really going to take it to Hogsmeade?" Hermione suggested another idea. "What if—I mean, what if we just hand it over to the Ministry of Magic?"

"Right now, Peter Pettigrew is the victim, and Sirius is the murderer," Harry shook his head. "Sirius said he can force Peter to transform back into human form—that way, we can make him confess."

"What if he keeps his mouth shut?" Hermione worried.

"Veritaserum," Cohen reminded them. "The Ministry of Magic can use it when investigating major criminal cases after special approval from the Wizengamot, and the suspects involved can also voluntarily take it to prove their innocence. When Sirius was imprisoned last time, he was sentenced directly without even a trial, otherwise the truth wouldn't have been hidden for so long."

"Will he escape? From that cage?" Ron looked at the squeaking rat in the cage with distaste—especially since the rat was now standing on its hind legs, begging like a person.

This made Ron even more convinced that his old rat was actually a wizard. How hadn't he noticed before? No rat could live for twelve years and not die...

"I put a Locking Charm on the cage, unless he wants to be crushed to death in a small box," Cohen said. "In that case, we wouldn't even need to buy a coffin, just bury him directly."

"Squeak squeak!" The fake Scabbers let out anxious cries under Cohen's control.

"As long as this works... I can have a home..." Harry murmured. "A real home..."

Seeing Harry talking to himself, Hermione gently patted his shoulder.

"We'll all help you, Harry—"

"Once we hand him over to Sirius, everything will be alright," Ron said. "It sounds really weird, we're going to hand a murderer over to another murderer..."

"Sirius isn't a murderer," Harry said confidently.

Creak—

Just as they were about to leave, the door of the empty classroom opened.

The person who came in was someone they would never have expected...

Snape.

"It seems our Mr. Savior enjoys sneaking into hidden corners... Does it make you feel special, Potter?" Snape said aggressively, his black robes casting a bat-like shadow on the open wooden door of the classroom.

"We were just talking, sir," Harry said, suppressing his anger. "There's no school rule that says we can't talk in an empty classroom."

"Talking while carrying a rat," Snape said coldly, his gaze lingering on the rat cage in Cohen's hand for a moment. "It seems you're eager to contribute to Hogwarts' rat infestation—ten points from Gryffindor for your little secret."

"That's completely unreasonable!" Ron said loudly. "Cohen was just helping me find my pet—"

"Silence, Weasley," Snape said. "I don't have time for your fanciful ideas. If it weren't for the Headmaster's request, I wouldn't have any curiosity about your foolish little plans—Mr. Norton, the Headmaster wants to see you in his office at three o'clock this afternoon, and bring 'the thing he instructed you about last time'."

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"Got it," Cohen said.

"Now, get out," Snape waved his wand, driving the four of them out. "I need this classroom for my next class."

With a bang as the door closed, they exchanged puzzled glances.

"Potions class doesn't even use a Charms classroom," Ron said fiercely on the way back to the eighth floor. "He's definitely in there trying to find something to deduct points for."

"Do you think he heard what we were talking about?" Hermione was more worried about Snape hearing about Sirius—as students, they shouldn't be involved with an escaped convict.

"Snape might have heard, but it's unlikely Snape heard," Cohen said. "If he really did hear, he would have deducted at least fifty points and reported us to the Headmaster, not just ten."

Cohen was so certain mainly because Snape had indeed arrived at the door right as their conversation was ending—Cohen, who could see souls through walls, had a clear view inside the empty classroom.

"But what does Professor Dumbledore want you for again?" Harry asked Cohen, puzzled. "And what's 'the thing he instructed you about last time'..."

"Did you forget? He called me last time because of Nicolas Flamel's business," Cohen raised his eyebrows. "I went to Nicolas Flamel's place during the Christmas holidays, and he left me an inheritance."

"Nicolas Flamel's inheritance!" Ron said enviously. "It must be a lot of money—just the Sorcerer's Stone could turn lead into gold, he must have saved a huge amount of Galleons—"

"Don't be so vulgar, Ron!" Hermione said, rubbing her temples. "What's more valuable must be Nicolas Flamel's alchemical manuscripts. He's the greatest alchemist. Even just one page of his manuscript would be priceless."

"Pretty much. He left me a room and a bunch of props," Cohen parted ways with the three of them on the eighth floor. "You guys go back to the common room first, I'll take the stuff to Dumbledore."

Cohen knew Dumbledore wanted to talk to Nicolas's memory—and also ask about Cohen's "Dementor soul."

But thankfully, he had already reached a united front with Nicolas to "slightly deceive Dumbledore," so it wasn't a big problem.

Cohen first went back to the Room of Requirement, left the fake Scabbers inside, and then took out Nicolas's book.

When he arrived in front of the gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office, Cohen realized that Snape hadn't told him the password to get in.

"Pass—password?" the gargoyle asked.

"Don't know," Cohen said dryly.

"Correct," the gargoyle immediately jumped aside.

"?"

Cohen's eyes widened.

Wasn't it? Huh? There really was a password called "Don't know"?

Dumbledore was always full of whimsy—his passwords were on par with the Fat Lady's "Dragon dung" and "Mimbulus Mimbletonia."

Knock knock—

Walking up the spiral staircase, Cohen knocked on Dumbledore's door.

"Come in."

Dumbledore sounded like he could live for another few decades.

Walking into the Headmaster's office, it looked pretty much the same as before Christmas—the only change was Dumbledore, who was wearing a deep purple robe.

"Sit down, Cohen," Dumbledore conjured an armchair for Cohen and said with a smile, "I really liked the Christmas present you sent me—but I'm a little confused about the message on it... 'If you're bored in prison and have no one to talk to, I can send you a chatty kitten'—what does that mean? Actually, I don't feel like being Headmaster is like being in prison."

"Huh?" Cohen raised his eyebrows. "Was there—oh—that must have been Earl who sent the wrong one. Yours was probably meant for Herbert... But it doesn't matter much. Your gift was a pair of wool socks I bought from a shop. There's no difference except for that note."

Dumbledore suddenly didn't know whether to be happy about his treatment being the same as Cohen's "biological father" or to feel sorry for the marginalized Herbert.

"I've seen Nicolas. He left me a book." Cohen placed the book containing Nicolas Flamel's memory on Dumbledore's desk.

"Albus," Nicolas greeted Dumbledore on the book cover. "I'm very sorry I didn't get to see you one last time—Perenelle and I unanimously decided to choose a slightly quieter occasion to pass away. Farewell is still too sad, both for the living and the dead."

"Ho!" Dumbledore chuckled. "Nicolas, 'pity the living,' you were the one who told me that."

"But saying and doing are always different, aren't they?" Nicolas said easily. "When you die, you can have Cohen make you a picture frame too. Maybe the portraits we leave behind can often visit each other."

"Speaking of Cohen..." Dumbledore paused. "How is the progress on helping Cohen with his soul problem?"

"About another year," Nicolas said. "I've already prepared the Bottle of Hermes for Cohen, but the nurturing of the soul inside the bottle will take some time. With Cohen's current stability, he should be able to last a year without any problems."

Dumbledore looked much more relieved.

After chatting about their holiday life, Cohen left the Headmaster's office with Nicolas.

"You look troubled."

When they returned to the Room of Requirement, Nicolas asked Cohen with concern:

"Is there anything important you need to do recently?"

"Sort of," Cohen replied. "I've just been thinking about a rather unlikely future."

"Oh?" Nicolas asked. "Did you see a prophecy?"

"Yes, and I'm sure that future won't really happen—unless I'm gone," Cohen said.

"There are many influencing factors in prophecies, but wizards often can't resist the outcome of prophecies—because what ultimately leads to the fulfillment of a prophecy are always those inconspicuous little details," Nicolas said. "If you really want to change it, you need to pay more attention to things you have already, or are about to, overlook..."

"Details..."

Cohen thought of Snape he had encountered today.

Snape might have already guessed some secrets—he was now the only variable in the plan.

"And, I have a piece of advice." Nicolas winked on the cover. "The appearance of things is far less important than their essence. What a prophecy represents may not be the result, but the process."

Suddenly, Cohen's eyes lit up.

"Good idea!" Cohen said. "I know what's going to happen."

(End of this chapter)