When the announcement came that the original verdict was overturned, Herbert stared blankly at Cohen in the jury box.
The thought of living freely again, of everything returning to normal—like when Cohen was still "alive"—filled his mind.
His sister hadn't blamed him. His son was back in the world. The last of the Black family was gone.
The more he pictured a bright future, the more he feared it was all a dream.
It wasn't until Herbert was in Edward's car that he snapped out of his daze. Sitting in the passenger seat, he kept glancing at Cohen in the rearview mirror, his eyes slightly red.
"I saw it—that pink toad didn't raise her hand," Cohen said from the back seat, holding a grudge.
"Pink toad? Who's that?" Edward asked, confused.
"I'm guessing Dolores Umbridge," Rose chimed in.
"Exactly," Cohen said. "And she gave me one point on the first task. Straight-up targeting me."
"I've heard she's not exactly popular at the Ministry—at least not with my friends," Rose said. "But Fudge is a different story. Some of them think he's hooked on her flattery."
"They're practically made for each other," Cohen said. "Both look like they belong in Azkaban."
"Let the Dementors in Azkaban deal with that," Rose said, ruffling Cohen's hair. "So, what's the plan for the afternoon? Herbert, are you looking for a new place? I'm guessing you don't want to stay at Black Manor."
"Uh, I…" Herbert hesitated, still a bit out of it. "I'll just find somewhere—maybe head to Gringotts this afternoon to check if there's any money left."
"Old Crouch implied the vault's still worth what it was," Edward said. "Put it delicately, but basically, it was split up and then topped off again."
"Dividing it up while the guy's still alive? That's just disrespectful," Rose said, pursing her lips.
"Unclaimed gold can't just sit underground," Herbert said, brushing it off. "Doesn't matter if it's a bit less."
"Less? You should sue them!" Rose frowned. "That's against the rules."
"Being free is enough…" Herbert murmured.
"Cohen, aren't you heading to Greece in a few days?" Edward suddenly remembered. "Dumbledore sent a letter last week saying the guy who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them invited you. He's gotta be ancient, right? I remember reading his book when I was in school…"
"Adventuring with an old guy is like a must-have in fairy tales," Cohen said. "You know, like The Alchemist, Harry Potter, or Who Let This Dementor Into Hogwarts!"
"Heard of the first one. The other two you just made up, didn't you?" Edward said with a laugh. "Though, with you and Harry's track record these past few years, a book about you might actually sell."
"It'd be a hit," Cohen said. "But I'm too lazy to write it. Wanna take a stab at it for me, Dad?"
"Don't hassle your dad," Rose said, schooling Cohen. "He'd take weeks just to write a love letter. You've gotta do your own thing to feel accomplished."
"Love letters and novels aren't the same! I write stories all the time," Edward shot back. "I rewrote that love letter to you at least forty times."
"'I love you' would've done the trick," Rose said, leaning forward to rest against Edward's seat and playfully scratching his cheek. "That's all you needed to say back then."
"I should be under the car," Cohen said, slumping behind Herbert's seat. "No, we should be."
"You oughta try dating a girl yourself," Herbert said with a chuckle.
"I am hanging out with girls. Tons of them," Cohen said.
"Like who?" Edward asked.
"Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Sophia, uh… and once I name the water snake and the unicorn, a whole bunch of females—"
"Other than the first two, none of them are human, are they?" Edward sighed. "How are you not into girls yet?"
"He just hasn't met the right one," Rose said, reaching forward to pat Edward's shoulder. "What's with the rush? You trying to turn Cohen into some Casanova who flirts with every girl he meets?"
"The last Casanova was single into his thirties and spent twelve years in prison," Cohen said. "Not saying it's Sirius, though."
---
In the days that followed, Cohen kept waiting for word from Newt. According to Dumbledore, Newt would send a letter when he was ready to set off.
Finally, on July 28th, Newt's message arrived—not by owl, but in person.
"Hello? Who's there?"
Edward, still in pajamas and half-asleep, shuffled downstairs to answer the door after it rang several times.
"Hello, I'm looking for Cohen. Cohen Norton."
The lanky old man at the door had a wild mop of white, curly hair. He seemed uneasy talking to people, his gaze drifting anywhere but Edward's eyes.
"Looking for Cohen…" Edward mumbled, then jolted awake. "Wait—you're Newt Scamander?"
"That's me. Did Dumbledore or Cohen mention the Greece trip?" Newt asked. "Might be a bit forward, but don't worry—I haven't shared your address with anyone. Honestly, I spend most of my time not around people…"
"No, no, it's fine! Come in, have a seat," Edward said, ushering Newt inside and offering him a spot on the couch.
Newt, however, seemed restless, fidgeting like he couldn't wait to grab Cohen and go.
Compared to other old folks, he had an unusual amount of energy.
"What? He's here already?" Cohen said, dragged downstairs by Edward, his eyes still half-closed.
"Let's get going, then," Newt said eagerly. "I was going to send a letter, but I figured coming in person would save time."
"Hold on—Cohen still needs to pack—" Edward started, but Cohen was already back from his room, trunk in hand.
"I'm ready," Cohen said.
"Why're you so eager this time?!" Edward said, eyes wide.
"'Cause I'm bored out of my mind at home," Cohen replied. "So, how're we going? Floo Powder? Portkey?"
"We'll head out from the Muggle airport," Newt said casually, eyeing Cohen like he was trying to figure out investigate
System: out what parts of Cohen resemble magical creatures.
"Got a passport? Maybe some motion sickness pills for the plane?" Edward asked.
"No way. I'm a super Dementor. I don't get airsick," Cohen said, waving it off.
Years later, Cohen would regret not listening to Edward and grabbing those pills…
Because once they were on the plane, Cohen realized he did get airsick.