"Is there sothing you needed?" Dumbledore asked kindly, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the four students standing before him.
"Harry's scar has been hurting for the past two weeks," said Cohen, "and he's been having nightmares about Voldemort every night."
Hermione and Ron both nodded fervently, which left Harry no choice but to nod as well.
"Co, let's talk in my office," Dumbledore said warmly. "Have any of you tried the lemon ice cream from this morning?"
Ice cream in March? What, trying to freeze yourself into the grave early?
"Anyone who eats that in March deserves to be laughed at for a whole term," Cohen muttered to Ron.
"No wonder I saw Fleur holding her stomach as she left…" Ron said thoughtfully. "Do you think if I brought her so—"
"Congrats. You're now also eligible to be laughed at for a full term," Cohen replied, rolling his eyes.
"?"
Once they were in Dumbledore's office, Harry began, rather haltingly, to explain his nightmares.
He had dreamt of Voldemort speaking with a hooded man about sothing—sothing involving "Harry Potter" and "blood."
"It might just be a normal nightmare—" Harry started.
"I don't think so," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "Have all your recent dreams been like this, Harry?"
"Most of them… And so of them are… about my mum…" Harry trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
"Don't worry, Harry," Cohen said. "Nothing to be ashad of. There are people who were smashing tiles at age three and calling every woman 'mum' by five—and even they aren't embarrassed."
"Uh?" Harry blinked. "What do tiles have to do with anything?"
"Thank you for sharing that, Harry," Dumbledore said smoothly. "In these dreams, how does Voldemort appear to you?"
"I…" Harry took a deep breath. "I feel like… I am him."
"No need to freak out," Cohen said. "Could just be that curse linking you to him. Doesn't an you are him. Look at it this way—you're just eavesdropping on a twisted, sixty-sothing dark wizard with so serious issues—"
"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat, clearly ready to intervene.
"No offense, Headmaster—you're over a hundred. Compared to Voldemort you're… well, still old, but a different kind of old," Cohen added quickly.
But when he saw Dumbledore's increasingly dangerous gaze, Cohen wisely fell silent.
After asking a few more questions about the dreams, Dumbledore eventually let the others go—leaving Cohen behind, as he often did.
Harry and the others had co to expect it. It seed to them that Dumbledore had a certain fondness for Cohen, always keeping him back for a private chat.
"Is there sothing you'd like to tell , Cohen?" Dumbledore asked as he conjured a chair and gestured for Cohen to sit.
"You were the one who asked to stay," Cohen reminded him.
"If it were only about Harry's dreams, you could've told yourself," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. "We already have a good idea of what Voldemort is planning. Blocking the Great Hall entrance with Harry wasn't just about that, was it?"
"I wish I could be as shrewd and calculated as you," Cohen sighed.
"The longer one lives, the more life starts to feel like pages from a well-worn script," Dumbledore mused. "But the joy of living often cos from facing the unknown. It's why older people sotis lose their passion for life."
"Not following," Cohen said. "Anyway, I do have sothing to tell you. It's about the prophecy."
"The prophecy?" Dumbledore raised a brow.
"Rember the chira? The one with a horned water serpent tail that could see into the future? I got a crystal ball from my grandmother for Christmas… and found I might have a bit of that sa gift."
Dumbledore nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"I saw sothing… disturbing," Cohen said quietly. "In the vision, I was surrounded by my parents… and I cast the Killing Curse at one of them."
"I don't believe you'd do that," Dumbledore said calmly. "Prophecies aren't fixed truths—but so wizards beco enslaved by them. The more they try to avoid that future, the faster it arrives."
"I know I wouldn't use the curse on them—and I already promised Edward I wouldn't learn or use it," Cohen said. "So even if the people in that scene looked like my parents, that future can't be real."
"Your theory is… either the people around you weren't really your family, or the 'you' in the vision wasn't really you?" Dumbledore mused. "But that would still an soone in your family is destined to be hit by the curse."
"That's why I wanted to ask you—if we create a fake version of that future, could we prevent the real one?" Cohen asked. "You've seen a lot of prophecies. Grindelwald was a Seer, after all."
Dumbledore looked into Cohen's eyes with sothing close to sadness.
"I can handle it," Cohen said steadily. "You can speak freely."
"…"
After a pause, Dumbledore finally said:
"Prophecies don't always co true, Cohen. The Departnt of Mysteries—"
"But what if this one does?" Cohen pressed. "I saw Edward being hit by the curse. But if I protect him, replace him with an alchemical decoy, then maybe the future won't…"
"Cohen," Dumbledore said.
"The whole thing with Peter Pettigrew—"
"Cohen." Dumbledore cut in more firmly this ti. "I understand how seeing a vision like that must have shaken you. I support you trying to protect your family in any way you can—"
"You're not going to tell it's fate and can't be changed, right?" Cohen said flatly.
"No," Dumbledore replied. "I don't believe Edward will die. I'll do everything I can to help you stop it. But you must understand one thing…"
"No matter how terrifying the future you saw might be, don't panic. A prophecy is not the sa as reality. Even if that future does co to pass, you still have the right to live your life with joy."
Cohen stayed quiet.
"Your gift is a tool, Cohen. Sothing to help you navigate life—not a leash for fate to pull you by."
Dumbledore paused, then continued:
"Now that we understand that, let's talk about how to protect the person in the prophecy… Was there anything in that vision that could tell us when it happens?"
Cohen thought for a mont.
"The Triwizard Cup," he said. "It was lying on the ground. That ans it's in June—during the third task."
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