Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 527 Many people have an extremely artsy and embarrassing past that they'd rather forget.
"Try dragon fruit pie."

Go home and cry to your mother, you little peeping tom, or Mr. Norton will give you a good spanking.

"Why don't I just fly to London, beat him up, and find out what the code is?" Cohen said with a ferocious grin.

“What if he refuses to comply even at the cost of his life?” the count said. “You know, he would rather die without a burial place than not protect his crumpled paper.”

“You’re disgusting,” Cohen said. “Try a different metaphor.”

"Then take good care of your clothes. Anyway, I know Grindelwald—"

“I will tell Dumbledore,” Cohen said.

"I'm just a bird, and this is the culmination of my centuries-long heritage!" said the count. "Try it, young lads love this—"

“He already has a girlfriend, he doesn’t need this,” Cohen said.

But I gave it a try anyway.

[Tsk tsk tsk, you poor thing without a girlfriend, are you destined to spend your whole life with only your right hand?]

“I’m going to photograph all of this,” Cohen said wickedly. “I’ll send it to Rose first, and then Rose will send it to Edward.”

“Then you two will both be finished,” the count said. “Terrible, a father and son turning against each other because of a diary…”

"Or how about Dungeons & Dragons?" Harry, having given up on losing to Ron again, pulled up an armchair and sat down next to Cohen, suggesting in a gossipy tone, "Isn't Mr. Norton a big fan of this? Maybe he started playing it when he was a kid—"

“In that old town? I don’t think so…” Cohen frowned.

I doubt there would be kids in that place as avant-garde as those playing American games.

Cohen wrote down this name.

[Wow, you play this too? Then I take back what I said about you being a poor soul without a girlfriend; you already have the best companionship.]

“I fucking knew it!” Cohen said through gritted teeth.

But the book still doesn't reveal what's inside; it might just be a way to please the magic left behind.

Cohen continued to try various words and phrases, trying almost everything related to Edward.

"Charson Norton."

"You're well-prepared, kid. Just wait and see if Charleson whips your ass with his belt; he's never had a good temper."

“Lily Evans,” Cohen continued.

"Your dad ever liked my mom?" Harry asked in surprise.

“No, otherwise your father would have stabbed him to death long ago,” Cohen said.

Once I get the diary, I'll tell James Potter, and he'll hang you from a tree and show everyone your underwear, just like he did to Snape in Slytherin—

"What?" Harry, who was watching from the side, widened his eyes. "My dad did this?"

“Maybe,” Cohen said, “but respect the dead, and Snape probably wasn’t a good person to begin with.”

Harry frowned and didn't say a word.

"Sirius Black," Cohen wrote another name.

[You're a fan of his too? Oh, you're a girl—then I definitely can't show it to you, Cohen Norton. Who gave you such a boyish name? It's so tacky, don't you want to change it?]

“You named it, you old bastard,” Cohen said through gritted teeth.

"Can I try?" Ron asked eagerly. "Does it react to anything I write—?"

“No, only certain phrases and names will get a response.” Cohen snorted. “Only someone as bored as him would create dialogue text for his textbooks like it’s a game.”

It all started when Cohen, upon seeing the question "What is your name?" on the first page, inexplicably wrote Cohen Norton on it.

And then this book just took off.

"Or your name?" Harry suddenly thought.

“Don’t be silly, Harry. Mr. and Mrs. Norton were just dating back then; having children was a long way off.” Ron shook his head. “Besides, who plans to have children that early—”

“Give it a try,” Cohen wrote.

There was no response. Perhaps I should have just written "Edward Norton" instead of "Cohen Norton" in the first place.

“Cohen Burke.” Cohen wrote another name on it—but without much expectation.

Rose's brother will kill you, watch out, you little brat.

“I’m starting to think Edward was really annoying when he was young,” Cohen said. “How could Hufflepuff want someone like that? He should have gone to Gryffindor—”

“Brother, what’s wrong with Gryffindor? You’re a Gryffindor too,” Ron said, feigning seriousness. “Don’t say anything that’s detrimental to the unity of our house.”

“I’m out of options.” Cohen threw the book on the table. “But I’ve already written down all the evidence against him—I’m going to use it to blackmail him into running errands and buying me food when I need it…”

“Sigh, you’re so stupid.” The count, who was watching from the side, shook his head. “There’s one more thing you haven’t tried yet.”

"What?" Harry and Ron asked before Cohen.

"Tell me about it?" Cohen said.

"What's your mother's name?" the Count asked shrewdly.

“Rose Burke, she wasn’t married to him yet,” Cohen said.

“Yeah,” Harry and Ron said.

"Hey!" Cohen's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Think about it," the Count said smugly. "This isn't some locked-up notice. It's a teenage boy's secret diary—he'll password-protect it with a name he dreams of, a name that doesn't exist—"

"So she's his dream girl?" Ron asked.

"Or an ex-girlfriend?" Harry asked.

"Idiot." Hermione, who had been reading in the corner, pulled up a chair. "It's Mrs. Norton's name now—he definitely wants Rose Burke to become a real member of the Norton family, right? Why are you two almost adults and still such blockheads..."

"You've finished your potion research?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "A master of romance?"

“There are many ways to break through,” Hermione said, raising her head.

"Planning to destroy the wizarding world's financial system?" Cohen asked Hermione curiously before even putting down his pen.

“Of course not,” Hermione said. “That won’t work. What I need to do is subtly make everyone aware of this, and then gradually reveal the true formulas for those potions—it’s unbelievable that such a simple problem has existed for hundreds of years without anyone raising it or trying to solve it…”

"You're going to start a revolution?" Ron's eyes widened, then he nudged Cohen with his elbow. "Bro, what do we do? Hermione seems to be cutting ties with you."

“I’m not trying to distance myself from Cohen!” Hermione said angrily. “I just think this needs to change. If everyone is willing to do this, Mr. Norton certainly won’t stop us, Cohen, don’t you think?”

“This will significantly reduce my family’s income, though it will still be a lot,” Cohen said, feigning regret. “But it doesn’t matter. If you can really make it happen, then you’re amazing. I can’t make decisions for Edward.”

"So where are you planning to start?" Harry asked.

“She’s going to start a protest,” Ron guessed.

“There are some differences, but the overall direction is the same,” Hermione said. “This is a mid-term plan, and you’re mistaken, it’s not ‘one’ event, but we still need to do some preliminary development…”

Hermione ran off again, returning to a corner to start scribbling on the parchment.

“She’s really crazy,” Ron clicked his tongue. “What do you guys think?”

“I just hope Hermione doesn’t drag me into her ‘development plan’,” Harry said, still shaken. “She looks like she’s serious.”

“I can’t join,” Cohen said, shrugging. “You know I’m the Minister for Magic’s successor.”

Then, Cohen wrote the name "Rose Norton" on the title page of "Advanced Potions Making".

The count was right; the magic in the book had been temporarily broken.

It was as if it had been suddenly copied into two by a copying spell, except that the covers were different. One was still the tattered "Advanced Potion Making" book, while the other was a thick black book about the same size as the original, with many folded papers haphazardly tucked inside.

“I guess it’s a love letter.” Harry immediately put Hermione’s terrifying plan out of his mind.

“It could also be a diary—come and take a look!” Ron, ever the gossip, moved even closer.

Even the Earl dragged himself to Cohen's vicinity, peering around curiously.

“No, this won’t do. I need to examine it first before deciding whether I can show it to you.” Cohen hugged the diary to his chest. “Wait ten minutes.”

(End of this chapter)