Who's been living too cushy a life that they're coming after Cohen now?
It wasn't until the magic vibes from the box fizzled out that Cohen told the Earl to chuck it into the curbside trash bin outside the window.
Back at school, someone had started tailing him. This random "gift" popping up now? Probably that stalker—or one of their buddies.
"Were you a spy in a past life or something?" the Earl asked.
"Codename 007," Cohen joked. "You brought back Hagrid's and Dumbledore's gifts together, right?"
"You think someone slipped this thing in while I was off in the Scottish Highlands?" the Earl said, baffled. "But I didn't stop anywhere—"
"They can fly," Cohen cut in, shaking his head. "I saw that figure drop from the fourth floor."
"I figured you'd just swoop in and nab 'em—you know, Dementors are fast as hell," the Earl said.
"Too lazy."
Cohen was blunt.
"Why do all these riddle freaks think piling up a bunch of brain-teaser nonsense will sucker someone into playing their game?"
No need to crack the puzzle. Those riddle nuts would be desperate to drag Cohen to the Cairngorm Mountains by January 31st anyway.
—
Next morning, the holiday spirit was already thick at home. Christmas decorations were everywhere—Edward had been busting his hump setting it all up.
Grandma Martha, tipsy off mulled wine, got hyped and started doing crystal ball readings for the whole family under the Christmas tree.
"She's obsessed with that thing," Edward whispered to Cohen. "She's been reading my fortune every year since I was a kid. Never gotten one right."
And yeah, Martha's predictions were pretty out there. Like Rose getting pregnant with a second kid this year—"I'm forty-three!" Rose groaned, rubbing her temples. Edward was supposedly in for a promotion and riches. And Cohen…
"Cohen's gonna give me a great-grandkid in the next few years?"
Martha's eyebrows scrunched up.
"Crystal ball's gotta be busted," Edward said, hoisting her off the cushion under the tree. "Cohen's twelve—he's not whipping up a great-grandkid anytime soon…"
"But that can't be…" Martha took another swig of wine. "I've never been wrong before…"
"At eight, your ball said I'd be Minister of Magic," Edward said, plopping her onto the couch. "Divination's always a crapshoot—that's why I never bothered learning it."
"That's 'cause you've got no ambition!" Martha jabbed a finger at Edward's nose. "First thing a Minister's gotta do is pack on some weight. Look at you—skinny as a rail. People'll think we're starving you…"
While they bickered, Cohen sidled up to the crystal ball.
The magical orb was swirling with mist. Cohen hadn't studied divination, so he had no clue how to clear it.
Just a trick of the eye? Or was there really a future hiding in there?
Martha's last prediction actually felt the closest to legit—because Cohen…
Already had a "son" in Mick. In a weird way, he *had* given Martha a great-grandkid.
But "your great-grandkid's a Dementor"? Yeah, better keep that under wraps—family might not take it well.
Cohen tried pumping some magic into it, but something in the ball blocked him. Push harder, and it'd probably shatter.
So not brute magic—something more mystical?
The faint shapes in the fog had him hooked, so Cohen started messing with it every which way to "part the mist."
Touching, swiping, tapping…
He tried everything, but the white haze wouldn't budge. For a sec, he wondered if divination balls were just a big scam to juice up the wizarding GDP.
Then, while he was idly rubbing it—bam. For a split second, it felt like he'd brushed the fog aside.
The misty swirls burst outward, revealing a dim little room. A short, bald guy was rummaging through a pile of crates, stuffing gold and silver trinkets into a big sack.
"Mundungus?"
Cohen stared hard at the scene. No wonder the Earl couldn't track him—Mundungus had been out thieving nonstop. Working on Christmas? Guy's got dedication.
Where was he, though?
Cohen rubbed the ball like crazy. The room was too dark to pick out any location clues.
But as he kept at it, the view shifted—outside the shop, down the street, and…
"Burlington Arcade, W1-W7."
Cohen bolted to his room the second he clocked the spot.
"I found Mundungus."
"Huh?" The Earl blinked sleepily. "He wrote you? When…"
"He's hitting up this shop in London tonight—stealing from a Muggle place. Guy's got no shame," Cohen griped. "I saw Christmas decorations and lit streetlamps. Probably seven or eight at night—shops closed, perfect for him to rob, and perfect for you to nab him."
"Wait… you *saw* tonight?" The Earl snapped awake. "How?"
"Divination crystal ball, duh—what else, a dream?" Cohen said. "Head to London tonight, take Mick, and grab Mundungus fast and clean. Then I'll grill him about who he sold the lab loot to."
"Ten Galleons' worth of booze when you're back," Cohen added. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," the Earl mumbled, dozing off again.
Cohen had figured the ball's "visions" would just be vague misty shapes—like tea leaf readings. Seeing a legit scene caught him off guard.
After tipping the Earl off about Mundungus's future whereabouts, Cohen cracked open Martha's Christmas gift to him—a shiny new crystal ball.
But no dice. No matter how much he rubbed it this time, nothing happened.
Like some "prophecy charge" had burned out and needed a recharge.
"That's it?"
Cohen grumbled, disappointed, after running upstairs and down to double-check.
Still, "prophecies" in this world carried weight. True ones were rare— even Sybill Trelawney, descendant of the great seer Cassandra, couldn't pop off two in a day.
Made sense when you thought about it. Like how you can't crank out two back-to-back—well, you get it. Prophecies can't either.
The rest of Christmas Day, Cohen chilled with the family—TV, chatting, snacking. Snow fell outside, the fireplace roared inside. Everything was cozy and perfect.
Except Martha wouldn't shut up—kept grilling him about his grades and if he'd found a girlfriend.
"I'm twelve! Second year!" Cohen protested when she asked for the seventh time if he had a crush. "Grandma, that's illegal…"
"And immoral," Rose jumped in to back him up. "They're too young—kids don't even know what love is yet."
Edward, though, sided with Martha for once.
"Don't forget, Rose," he said smugly. "We started dating right when we got to school—"
"We just *met* back then," Rose corrected. "Our first date was fourth year—you took four whole years to ask me out for a walk."
When the convo veered too early into school and romance, Cohen knew it was time to bail.
"I'm so tired!" he faked a yawn, even though it was barely past eight. "Didn't sleep last night waiting for presents."
Martha let him off with a sympathetic pat.
Back in his room, the Earl swooped in from London right on cue.
"You should've seen it," the Earl said, buzzing. "When I hit him with a spell, he looked like he saw a—"
"You can stop there," Cohen cut in. "No one's got those kinda thoughts about an owl."
"It's a figure of speech!" The Earl dumped the claw pouch with Mundungus onto the table.
Cohen checked to make sure it was the right guy, then hauled the pouch and the Earl into the suitcase.
No way he was interrogating in his bedroom—especially on Christmas.
What if Edward or Rose barged in? Finding their son chilling with a bald thief on Christmas night? Too wild to explain.
Inside the suitcase, Norbert pounced on Cohen with glee.
Hagrid had spoiled it rotten—its appetite was triple what it was when Cohen fed it. Maybe the Pygmy Pigs bred too fast, or maybe Hagrid had some superpower.
"Hiss~"
Norbert rubbed up on him and then licked his face out of nowhere.
"Back off," Cohen said, shoving its head away. His strength wasn't enough, but Norbert's loyalty was off the charts—it obeyed instantly. "Got business tonight, no playtime."
Norbert plopped down by the cabin door, tail wagging. It was practically as big as the ground floor now, thumping the dirt loud enough to rattle the place.
Cohen stepped inside, dumped Mundungus out, and checked him over. Mick hadn't touched him—soul and emotions intact. The little Dementor was so chill it barely seemed like one.
"Finite Incantatem."
Cohen tossed the counter-spell at Mundungus, who'd been frozen stiff. His face had been stuck in a bug-eyed shock—when the spell lifted, he frantically rubbed his eyes, yelping in pain.
**(End of Chapter)**