Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 265 The Mystery of the Animal-Headed Man at the Lakeside Inn... It's You!
"Then I might really be single for the rest of my life," the count said dryly. "What did it say in the letter that took you so long to read?"

“Edward told me to keep this letter with me at all times.” Cohen folded the letter into a small piece and stuffed it into his pocket. “He said he wouldn’t interfere with my decisions…”

"Hmm?" the count asked.

“What’s with the 'hmm'? Fine, let him carry it.” Cohen said. “The trigger-based tracking spell on it won’t be activated—that puts his mind at ease.”

"Okay, I'm leaving."

Cohen packed his bags, taking only the leather pouch he carried with him, which contained a few changes of clothes and daily necessities—as well as a bunch of food.

Regardless of how long it takes to end this battle, Cohen is prepared to go out and have some fun for a while.

The longest leave Dumbledore granted was a week—it would be a waste of life not to take advantage of this free vacation.

“Keep an eye on those things in the chests until I get back,” Cohen instructed the Earl. “Don’t let them—”

"What do you mean?" the count suddenly asked, alert. "What do you mean by telling me to keep an eye on those guys in the box?"

“It means exactly what it says: don’t let them cause trouble at Hogwarts, or Dumbledore will definitely take dangerous measures,” Cohen said. “Don’t worry, they won’t eat you. Aren’t you all very familiar with each other?”

"You're going alone?! Leaving me at school?!" the Earl demanded. "Impossible!"

“There’s no need to put on a touching comradeship act at a time like this. Having one more or one less won’t really affect the outcome—” Cohen waved his hand.

"Who cares about your safety? I want to personally kill that guy who bullied Frondo!" the Count said angrily. "How dare he bully my friend! I'll give him a good curse..."

"Not afraid of death?" Cohen raised his eyebrows.

"Will you watch me die?" The count turned his head to the other side.

"Yes," Cohen said earnestly.

"..."
-
In the end, Cohen allowed the Count to follow—because Cohen needed someone to chat with, otherwise the journey of chasing the thin thread between Flandre's body and soul would be too boring.

Since he could only see the direction of the line and not directly lock onto a specific location, Cohen couldn't directly use Apparition to teleport to his destination. He could only perform brief Apparitions one after another, constantly adjusting his direction.

This was a somewhat troublesome task for Cohen, and also for the Count—because the Count had to fly around in the sky following the constantly appearing Cohen.

"Is this the place...?"

Cohen and the Earl eventually stopped near a lake far from any human habitation. A small island could be vaguely seen in the center of the lake, and Cohen was now at a dock.

He had just carried Flandre's body around the lake, and the direction of the soul threads was always pointing to that strange little island that seemed to have a building on it.

The location should be correct.

The gloomy weather, coupled with the deserted lake and islands—this was practically the perfect place to commit murder.

"Why don't you just Apparate there?" the Earl asked, tilting his head.

"Of course, it's because there are restrictions on Apparition on this lake," Cohen said. "As for what anomalies might occur if Apparition were actually used, I have no idea."

“Then let’s fly there,” the count said. “It’s not like you can’t—”

"Shh." Cohen shushed the Earl, "Just like an ordinary bird—someone's coming from over there."

Cohen was pointing in the direction of the path leading to the pier. The winding path was hidden by a dense grove of trees, and a group of people who looked like a tour group were approaching the pier.

There were six people in total, and whether they were the tour guide or the tourists, they all seemed to be Muggles in terms of their spiritual strength, except for a male tourist wearing a white shirt and sporting a mustache.

This person's soul strength... is comparable to that of a wizard.

"hiss……"

Cohen stared at the strange man from afar and let out a gasp that seemed to go nowhere.

"What's going on? Do you know him?" The count couldn't contain his curiosity and asked Cohen in a low voice—anyway, the group of people hadn't gotten too close yet, so whispering a few words wouldn't hurt.

“It’s nothing, just be a good owl. I need to start integrating into the tour group now,” Cohen said impeccably.

"Why are you playing around again—"

Before the count could finish speaking, Cohen grabbed the bird's beak.

"The island in the middle of this lake is the Last Inn!" The Muggle guide had already led five tourists to the dock. "The receptionist there has already called me, and someone will come to pick us up by boat..."

The Muggle tour guide noticed Cohen on the dock, and an owl that wasn't usually seen during the day next to Cohen.

"Are you lost?" the tour guide asked kindly, bending down. "Would you like me to contact the police for you?"

“No need, I’m here to wait for the boat,” Cohen said, glancing at the tourists behind the tour guide.

The tourists consisted of three men and two women, dressed in various ways, but none of them seemed to be very old—a man in a suit who was around fifty years old, a young man in his twenties, two young girls whispering to each other, and a middle-aged man with a mustache wearing a white shirt.

"Waiting for the boat?" Old Deng in the suit frowned, his voice stern. "Where are your parents? Why are they staying alone in this remote tourist hotel?"

“Dad, don’t give me that same look you have on your employees when you’re on vacation…” the young man whispered a reminder. “It’s a vacation,” Cohen said. “There’s no rule saying minors can’t travel.”

"Ladies Beatrice, please do not lean out of the window," the tour guide reminded the two young girls who were playing in the water.

"Mr. Reed, how much longer until the ship arrives?" the man with the mustache, who hadn't spoken until now, asked the tour guide.

Cohen could see the mustache glancing in his direction from time to time, but then immediately looking away as if avoiding Cohen's gaze.

“It should be soon—” tour guide Reed glanced at his watch on his right wrist, “Three o’clock… Oh! Here it comes!”

Reed kept glancing at his watch and then at the lake, and finally spotted the shadow of a small boat on the misty lake.

There was a black figure on the small boat, with what looked like an irregularly shaped hood.

Cohen only saw the boatman's appearance when the boat approached the dock.

"Damn it, what kind of rusty lake is this..."

Cohen muttered under his breath.

The people on the boat wore lifelike crow headgear and old black suits.

“Coo coo coo—” the count called out to Cohen uneasily.

The problems that the Earl could spot, Cohen could certainly spot as well, and he would see them even more deeply.

For example... the boatman in front of them has no soul.

"Boat up, seven residents," said the boatman with the crow's head.

"Is this some kind of themed hotel?" the younger of the Beatrice sisters asked curiously.

"Could we exchange contact information?" the older of the Beatrice sisters asked the raven-headed boatman, seemingly casually.

Tsk, woman...

She must have only been attracted to the boatman's strong physique and magnetic voice.

"Working hours," Crowhead reminded him professionally.

But Cohen's focus wasn't on the flirting between the Beatrice sisters and Crowhead, but rather on Crowhead's mention of "seven residents."

Cohen has confirmed that the Silver Key's people are in the center of the island, so what's the show going on outside?
Doesn't this soulless crow-headed creature recognize itself?

like to play?
interesting--

Cohen boarded the ship with the tour group. The small boat was packed to the brim, with even the Earl standing at the stern.

The seemingly fragile wooden boat steadily supported the weight of eight people and a bird, and no one doubted that the boat had a problem with its load-bearing capacity.

"Hello, my name is Cohen." Cohen deliberately moved closer to the mustache, who was clearly startled by Cohen's sudden approach.

“Ah!” the man with the mustache said nervously, “Greg, Greg Burton.”

“Yes, Mr. Burton.”

Cohen raised his eyebrows.
"Have we met before?"

“No, I don’t know him.” Mr. Burton straightened his shirt collar. “Mr. Norton.”

“I haven’t even said my last name yet,” Cohen said.

“Ah—maybe…maybe…I’ve seen you in a colleague’s photo before?” Mr. Burton seemed to have finally come up with a plausible reason. “I wonder if you know—Ms. Rose from The Times—”

“That’s my mom,” Cohen said. “Are you her colleague?”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Burton swallowed hard. “I’m in the same office as her now…”

"Oh~"

Cohen nodded thoughtfully.

"What a coincidence! By the way, what do you think of my mom? Isn't she beautiful?"

“It looks good,” Mr. Burton replied quickly.

But he seemed to realize that such a comment wasn't very good, and immediately added, "It's a pity she's already married..."

“Marriage isn’t impossible,” Cohen said deliberately. “You know, her husband stays home all the time, you have plenty of opportunities—”

“What nonsense are you spouting!” Mr. Burton said menacingly, then paused, his expression softening. “I mean, I’m a man of principle—and that’s your father. Can’t you have a shred of conscience?”

The assessment is now complete, and Cohen is now fully certain about Mr. Burton's situation.

(End of this chapter)