Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 526 Why isn't your unlock password your wife's name? (No mercy)
"How could this be!" Hermione's eyes widened. "What if these standard school textbooks are fake—"

“It’s not fake, Hermione,” Cohen said. “It’s just not quite real, like how someone always has to be a pharmacist, and pharmacists definitely need to make money—”

“That also includes a small vial of potent restorative potion that requires 170 Galleons as ‘necessary’,” Hermione asked softly.

“That’s right.” Cohen nodded.

“This is insane, Cohen,” Hermione said. “I thought they were expensive because of the difficulty of making them and the materials, not…”

"Not information asymmetry?" Cohen said. "Well, I shouldn't have told you this—"

“I’ll figure something out,” Hermione said stubbornly. “This is clearly a huge mistake. So many people could have been saved—all for a little tax revenue… Sorry, I have to go to the library…”

Immediately afterward, Hermione dashed upstairs like a whirlwind.

“What’s wrong with her now?” Ron asked, his brow furrowed. “Most people don’t even need these potions—I mean, once my dad got bitten by a confiscated Muggle snuff bottle and only spent a few sisks at St. Mungo’s.”

“That’s because your father works for the Ministry of Magic,” Cohen said. “He gets a stipend—I think I’ve caused Edward a bit of trouble.”

“Hermione’s enthusiasm for this stuff is definitely just a passing phase,” Ron reassured her. “If the Ministry of Magic’s revenue drops, my family will be doomed…”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said hesitantly. “Remember what she did to Lockhart?”

"The matter of being captured along with the basilisk?" Cohen asked.

“No, I mean the time she wrote to the Daily Prophet saying Lockhart was a fraud,” Harry said. “Will she write to him this time too?”

“The Daily Prophet is now going to be called the Norton Daily,” Cohen said.

“I mean, write to your father and ask him,” Harry said. “How will Mr. Norton explain this to her?”

“Good question,” Cohen said. “That’s the problem that’s going to give him a headache.”

Hermione was unlikely to get any effective answers from Edward—Edward couldn't possibly give up the hundreds of thousands of Galleons in tax revenue generated annually by the British wizarding community alone, as well as the tacitly agreed-upon system of keeping production materials secret by various countries.

Moving this could lead to some very bad things—and then Cohen would never have a peaceful life again.

The most likely outcome is that Hermione will be utterly defeated, just as the house-elves system will never disappear.

With the wizards' affairs aside, Cohen had more important things to do.

He also had to decipher that damned old textbook that made him embarrass himself in class, and peek into Edward's little secrets from his youth.

Even if the potion business collapses, it doesn't matter; consider it laying the foundation for the establishment of an empire where "all beings are equal except for Dementors".
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"You've been staring at this old textbook for half an hour. Are you expecting it to take off its clothes in front of you?"

The count asked while incubating the eggs.

In the common room, the fireplace blazed with blue flames at night. Cohen sat in an armchair, engrossed in Edward's "Advanced Potions Making," while Harry and Ron played chess at another table. Hermione, meanwhile, was huddled in a corner, engrossed in reading several books she had borrowed from the library.

“Rose Burke,” Cohen read aloud as he wrote a name on the first page with a quill pen.

The ink was absorbed into the book.

At first glance, it seemed as if Riddle's diary had been resurrected—considering that Cohen had long since devoured it.

However, the book did not provide any correct response, and a line of text also appeared.

[A word of advice to Cohen Norton: be careful not to try to snoop on any of my information, or I'll never find a partner. Also, even if we happen to have the same last name, it won't work.]

“You see, it’s Edward who cursed me so I won’t find a partner,” Cohen said, showing the book to the Earl.

"He'd be kicking himself if he knew," the count clicked his tongue, then said to the egg beneath him, "Little count, you'd never do that. You'd be like your father, finding a bunch of girlfriends, and then..."

“You’re so cruel to your son…” Cohen shook his head regretfully. “Just like that, the young count’s life was completely ruined—”

"Shut up!" The Earl glared fiercely at Cohen. "I was fucking blessing it! How was I being malicious!"

Cohen raised his eyebrows and went back to dealing with the old textbooks, which made the Earl even more furious.

"Colin, can I borrow your camera for a moment?" Cohen asked Colin, who had just crawled in through the hole in the lounge, with his ever-present camera hanging around his neck.

“Ah—of course, but I’ve run out of developing solution—” Colin said somewhat embarrassedly, “The next portrait might not be able to be painted…”

It's good that it doesn't move; Cohen doesn't need it to move anyway.

It was just a photo taken as evidence that "Edward cursed his son for not being able to find a wife."

“No need, just keep it still,” Cohen said. “Thank you—”

Colin left the camera there and then dragged his tired body upstairs to sleep. It seemed he had attended quite a few classes today.

"You can't even get your girlfriend's name right?" Cohen said, stroking his chin. "Could it be..."

A terrible idea popped into my head.

Could Edward have used his best friend's name as his password...?

Alas……

In Britain, people dedicate 25 hours a day to protesting customs and traditions.

“Arnold Pisgood,” Cohen wrote down the name.

[Didn't I just say? Stop spying! You little brat who inherited your parents' stupidity, you need to go to the school clinic for some psychological treatment from Mrs. Pomfrey, lest you develop dementia when you're old.]

"How could Rose fall for someone like that?" Cohen said through gritted teeth. "Anyone who didn't know better would think this was Snape's diary!"

"Perhaps the password isn't a person's name," the count said, as if watching a show. "Try something else. What does he like?"

“He likes sleeping, dragon fruit pie and sweet bread, and Muggle board games,” Cohen said. “But I think most of his hobbies were developed after graduation; he was a complete shut-in during that time.”

“Perhaps you could ask him, pretending it’s some kind of coursework,” the count said.

“We can cover for you,” Ron said to Cohen after winning the third round. “That way, I’ll write to my dad, Harry will write to Sirius, and you’ll write to your dad, and they’ll really think it’s Hogwarts homework—”

“Sure!” Harry nodded hopefully. “I’m also quite curious about Mr. Norton’s…emmmm…diary?”

“Hogwarts would never assign a hellish question like ‘Get to know your family,’” Cohen said. “That’s something you’d only ask students at a Muggle elementary school to do, like doing chores for your parents or telling them you love them…”

(End of this chapter)