Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 544 A Masterful Opening, A Word That Resonates with Truth
“If Dumbledore had seen it, he should have some memories, right?” Harry said. “I wonder if Professor Dumbledore would give it to you—”

“Definitely,” Cohen said. “Didn’t you see how interested he was in exposing Voldemort’s secrets?” “He was even secretly smiling—I saw it.”
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Cohen admitted that he made a slight mistake in his judgment regarding the course selection plan.

Cohen initially thought that five classes a week wouldn't be so "fulfilling," since they only had one class per class per week. However, he discovered that they actually had two or three classes per class per week, which turned the estimated ten hours of classes per week into more than twenty hours.

Along with the increased class time came a heavy workload of homework. Cohen had anticipated that the Earl might have difficulties with some parts of the assignments, and he had also considered that the Earl might protest because the homework was too difficult, but he hadn't anticipated that the Earl would have to incubate eggs...

“I must be with my child at all times,” the count said, very much a family man. “Even death cannot separate me from him.”

“You could actually do my homework while I’m sitting down,” Cohen said. “See, you don’t even need to reach for the quill pen, because you’re writing with a wand—”

The count curled up into a ball in his nest as if he hadn't heard anything.

"Alright, alright," Cohen said regretfully. "Remember to let me see the little count when he's born."

“I can make you its godfather,” the count suddenly said.

“Then you’ll unify the underground empire of the owl world,” Cohen said. “Do you think your child will be able to speak English like you?”

“I think it might be more like its mother,” the count said awkwardly, seemingly reluctant for his child to resemble him more.

Throughout September, the school's curriculum mainly revolved around silent spells, requiring students to master not only Defense Against the Dark Arts, but also Transfiguration and Charms.

Cohen's skill in silent spells wasn't particularly high; he was just at a level where he could use them with a little effort. Cohen couldn't quite understand how Edward managed to reach a point where he didn't need to pronounce almost any spells.

Cohen can use most black magic and curses directly and silently, and he does so as skillfully as if he were waving his hand—unlike other spells, Cohen has to mentally rehearse the actions and incantations before he can cast a spell silently.

Cohen felt that this was most likely due to the Nightmare Bloodline.

"Damn it, so Edward wasn't lung fog after all," Cohen said after finishing the silent spell practice in Charms class. "I thought silent spells were actually quite simple."

“You can already unleash all the spells Professor Flitwick asked for silently,” Harry said, exasperated. “I’ve been trying for ages and can only manage to use things like the Levitation Charm.”

"I did it!" Ron exclaimed excitedly after successfully standing a cushion upright.

“Stop hypnotizing yourself, Ron,” Hermione said, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “You just said the spell aloud; it’s not a silent spell.”

Hermione is on a similar pace to Cohen; in fact, they're already ahead of many others—most people are currently at the stage of secretly reciting spells aloud.

"Really?" Ron said as if he had amnesia, "But it's really hard not to say the spell..."

The cushion collapsed limply.

“Mr. Norton must be very skilled,” Harry said. “Cohen, could you ask your father for some tips on this?”

Upon hearing the word "trick," Hermione was immediately drawn in.

“I can give it a try,” Cohen sighed.

That evening, Cohen sent the Countess to deliver a letter to Edward, because the Count's eggs would hatch in early October, and the Count was now almost inseparable from his child.

The next morning, Cohen received Edward's reply, and Harry and the others curiously gathered around Cohen to look at it.

“I knew it!” Cohen said menacingly.

No wonder there was a hint of joy in the letter—Cohen had assumed Edward was happy because he was teaching his son, but after opening the letter, Cohen realized how unrealistic his idea was.

[Mainly relies on talent]

“He must have been laughing as he wrote that!” Cohen said through gritted teeth. “He was mocking me—what kind of father is that—”

“Could it be true?” Harry had complete faith in Mr. Norton, who was in a playful mood. “Maybe it really does depend on talent—just like Quidditch? I guess I might never be able to master it in my lifetime…”

“He just wants people to call him a genius. Without his tutorials, I can master the Silent Spell as easily as breathing,” Cohen said defiantly. “Just wait, by Christmas, he’ll soon realize that laughing at me will only result in me laughing at him…”

A strange competitive spirit fueled Cohen's week-long practice of silent spells in the Room of Requirement. Finally, on the first Friday of October, Cohen mastered the dozen or so spells he had been practicing, turning them into muscle memory. Now, he could effortlessly cast spells like the Disarming Charm and the Deflection Charm without much thought.

“I knew I was a genius,” Cohen said with self-admiration.

"Tsk tsk tsk." The count shook his head and made tsk tsk sounds in his nest.

"You have an objection?" Cohen questioned. "Do you know how? I've never seen you use the Silent Charm. You're such a clumsy little owl who can't even use a wand properly."

“If I were you, I would have known this long ago,” the count said, head held high. “You are—”

"Crack!"

A slight sound made the count fall silent immediately. He propped himself up on his knees and slowly moved his bottom off the bed.

"Crack!"

The count's white egg was wobbling, and the little creature inside had pushed several cracks into the top of the shell.

"Do we need to prepare any delivery procedures?" Cohen leaned closer.

"Shhhhh—" the count said cautiously.

"Crack!" The crack on the eggshell grew bigger, but it still didn't break, so the Earl helped the little guy pry open a hole with his mouth.

Cohen saw a fluffy white bird's head emerge from the hole in the eggshell.

It cried out, its eyes still closed.

"Oh, my little darling..." The count nuzzled against it affectionately, helping to widen the opening on the eggshell.

Before long, the Earl moved the baby owl from its egg to its nest.

"Goo-goo-"

Cohen wasn't sure if normal baby owls would call out right after hatching, but calling this loudly was definitely unusual.

"Goo-"

"It wants to talk!" the Earl exclaimed in delight. "I knew it—I was like that when I was a child, old John told me about it—"

“You said old John was mute,” Cohen said, pursing his lips with distrust.

“Before he was given the drug to make him mute,” the count said, “that was a long time ago—do you think he'd call me 'Papa'? Little count, call me 'Papa'—quick, call me 'Papa'—”

"Gurgle—D—Gurgle—D—"

"Call me Dad—Dad—" the Earl taught, syllable by syllable.

“Dick,” the young count read aloud.

"..." The count fell into an eerie silence.

“Fuck,” the little count muttered.

"..."

“Mother fuker”.

“This is not my son,” the count said decisively.

(End of this chapter)