Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 283 Conversation with the Dead (Cohen's Kind Version)

Sirius Black isn't too concerned about Cohen's idea of ​​"building a castle" anymore.

He only wanted to find Regulus's body.

He used to loathe his brother, who had joined the Death Eaters at sixteen, just as he loathed the other "family members" of the Black family.

This "mistake" felt as if his heart was being gripped tightly by something—and Regulus could no longer explain anything to his brother.

"Wait—" Sirius jumped up.

"Young Master Regulus..."

Almost simultaneously, Kreacher also jumped up—

The corpse of a young wizard was staggering toward Cohen's box.

He had black hair and was short and thin; he wasn't as good-looking as Sirius Black when he was young.

Regulus wore a tattered, silver-buttoned robe, through which the Black family crest could be faintly seen in the silk lining beneath.

Protected by the "soul-summoning incantation," the body was not bloated from being submerged in the lake water, making it look almost identical to when it was alive.

No wonder those Inferi caused so much trouble for wizards during Voldemort's reign—Cohen felt that if the Inferi were made from a wizard's closest family member, that wizard would most likely not be able to bring himself to burn them with a fire spell.

Sirius rushed forward without a word, disregarding the fact that Regulus was now just a cold, lifeless corpse, and hugged him tightly.

Kreacher clung to Regulus's leg and wept, the little elf trembling like a leaf.

Cohen stopped the first infernal, then ordered the remaining infernals to jump into the box more quickly.

Now that Regulus's body has been found, there's no need for the remaining Infernals to leisurely stroll around.

only……

Cohen was somewhat moved as he watched Sirius cling to Regulus, unwilling to let go.

This triggered Cohen's feeling that Sirius was about to start going insane again.

In order to give Harry a relatively normal godfather, Cohen felt that things couldn't continue to develop so irrationally.

"Would you like to ask Regulus a few questions?"

Cohen suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?" Sirius turned his head sharply, his bloodshot eyes looking at Cohen.

“I learned some rare magic from communicating with the dead,” Cohen rambled on. “It allows you to ask a dead person five questions—but only five. I think you'd really like to ask Regulus—”

“Teach me,” Sirius said eagerly.

“Teaching him is unrealistic. I’m not an expert in this field. It would be good enough if he could be released at all.” Cohen shook his head.

"Then..."

“If you agree, I’ll give it a try—but remember, only five questions.” Cohen said, “Make sure you ask a few questions, and avoid silly mistakes like asking meaningless questions that waste your time, such as ‘Can I ask now?’ ‘Is this even a question?’ ‘Wait until I ask you something important before you answer.’”

“Alright.” Sirius lifted Regulus and placed him in front of Cohen—in reality, he didn’t need to do this, because Regulus, now an Infernal, was completely at Cohen’s mercy.

Then, Cohen pressed his wand against Regulus's chest, and a dark green light entered the corpse.

Regulus sat up lifelessly, his eyes filled with a dark green light, making him look extremely intimidating.

"Can I ask questions now?" Sirius asked Cohen uncertainly.

"..." Cohen twitched his lips and stared at Sirius with dead fish eyes without saying a word.

Sirius instantly regained consciousness.

“Yes,” Regulus said in a hoarse voice.

“Are you… Regulus?” Sirius asked with difficulty. “My brother.”

“Yes,” Regulus said.

The green light from the cave shone on half of Sirius's face, making the tear stains clearly visible.

"Why...why didn't you tell me, why didn't you tell me about rebelling against Voldemort?"

“You have to live,” Regulus said. “One of us has to live.”

“You can leave too!” Sirius slammed his fist on the rubble on the ground—something had pierced his skin.

He never imagined he would say such "cowardly" things, but this time he felt no aversion or disgust towards "cowardice"—he even hoped his younger brother could be cowardly for once.

"Why must we follow the Black family? For that bullshit pure-blood honor? For that useless pride?!"

“I want you back,” Regulus said.

“You’ve asked too many questions,” Cohen reminded him.

“That’s enough.” Sirius slumped onto the damp, gravelly ground, dazed. “I shouldn’t have run away—I should have at least taken him with me—Regulus…”

I hope you live a good life.

Sirius suddenly looked up, but then realized that the words were not spoken by Regulus, but by Cohen.

"Dumbledore said, 'Do not pity the dead, but pity the living.'"

Cohen said,
“You need to take care of Harry and live a good life. Stop living in the past all the time. Your brother probably wants you to let go of him and live your own life too… Oh, and besides, I've been so kind, could your brother—”

"No," Sirius said, pursing his lips.

But he didn't seem to be in as much pain anymore.

[Ding! Goodwill value +300]

[Ding! Malice value +500]

[Note: I almost fell for your feint.]
Sirius Black brought Regulus's body back to the old house, and Cohen also helped remove the necromancy from Regulus's body.

However, no one is in the mood for lunch anymore.

Sirius and Kreacher were on their way to the Black family cemetery to bury Regulus, and Harry had little appetite because he saw the wet corpse.

Cohen, the only one with an appetite but no desire to cook, had no choice but to crawl into the box and have the lion or Norber roast a lamb for him.

While waiting for the meat to roast, Cohen briefly recounted his trip to the cave to the curious Earl. "Does the dead communicate in this world?" the Earl asked, seemingly quite surprised.

"Of course I lied to him. I found the name of the magic on the chessboard Edward gave me." Cohen waved his hand. "Controlling a corpse to say a few words is a piece of cake for me. When someone is filled with guilt towards the dead, the best way is... wait, did you just say 'This world'?"

Cohen looked at the Earl with suspicion.

"Should I say 'that world'?" the count asked, feigning ignorance.

“You never tell me where you’re from,” Cohen narrowed his eyes. “I can tell at a glance you’re not an owl—”

“Am I an owl or what?” the count retorted mercilessly. “It’s true that the place I used to live was a little different from here, but—so what?”

“Tell me about the place you used to live,” Cohen said.

“Didn’t I tell you? I used to live in a lighthouse with a mute old man,” the count said slowly. “Those days were peaceful and long—the truth of many things is always disappointing. How about it, are you disappointed?”

“A little,” Cohen said.

“The truth is always more thought-provoking when it is revealed before the end,” the Count said. “Like the owls of Minerva that only take flight at dusk—if you really want to know, just use Legilimency.”

“I don’t use Legilimency on my friends,” Cohen shook his head. “Like Nicole said, I have to learn to retain some humanity—”

“You’ll tell me eventually,” Cohen said. “I have plenty of time.”
-
In the remaining days, Hermione and Ron also arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, but with Cohen's help, the cleaning work there didn't go too badly.

Putting aside the tapestries and sofas that have been eaten away by insects, at least there are no pests of all kinds here.

Before the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione and Ron returned to the Burrow—after all, there were only two men, Harry and Sirius, at 12 Grimmauld Place, so it was indeed a bit unreasonable for Hermione to live there.

Cohen also returned home because Edward needed someone to take care of him.

“I’m just not used to the Portkey,” Edward whispered to Cohen at the Portkey location arranged by the Ministry of Magic. “It’s not as helpless as you make it out to be—save your father some face when you go out, don’t tell everyone everything…”

The morning mist still shrouded the streets, where a makeshift tent had been erected. Although it was next to the Muggle road, every Muggle who passed by would inexplicably walk past it—as if it didn't exist at all.

This place is only two blocks away from Privet Road. After picking up Edward and Cohen, the tent will be moved to another location.

“I won’t tell anyone that you cried and made a scene with Rose in bed because you didn’t want to use the door key,” Cohen said.

"I told you not to tell anyone—" Edward quickly covered Cohen's mouth—so that the door key manager, who had come to work early in the morning and was still half asleep, wouldn't hear.

“The Nortons… two people.” The door key keeper yawned, sleepily searching for the bag containing the door keys. “Number 77… emmmm… 5:10…”

“Let’s do it ourselves.” Cohen felt like he was about to lie down in the pile of black cloth bags containing the door keys.

Cohen found a cloth bag marked number 77, inside which was an empty medicine bottle.

I checked my watch; it was 5:08, two minutes left.

"How about I Apparate with you?" Edward said uneasily. "That wouldn't be good—"

“Then you won’t have any grandchildren,” Cohen said. “Don’t forget the only chipmunk you ever appeared with a follower; Rose and Martha will kill you.”

"Or shall we go for Floo Powder?" Edward asked hopefully.

“It’s too late. You’re a grown man, why are you afraid of this?” Cohen pulled Edward’s hand out from under his robe and pressed it against the mouth of the empty medicine bottle.

"Aa ...

Edward let out a short scream, and Cohen and he vanished from the tent in an instant.

After a violent spin and collision, Edward successfully pinned Cohen to the ground in a deadly position.

"5:10, from Surrey County." A voice rang out from the air, like some kind of magical announcement.

“Any other child would have died long ago…” Cohen used the box for support to try to move the limp Edward off him. “From now on, just Apparate. Actually, I can do it.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier…” Edward shook his head and stood up with difficulty. “I will never touch the key again, not even once—it feels like a roller coaster ride that makes me want to vomit.”

“I’m not even an adult yet,” Cohen said. “Why don’t you just throw it up? Look how long you’ve been holding it in…”

"啕——"

……

After Edward had finished vomiting, Cohen and Edward began looking for their way to watch the game.

They were now in a desolate, misty swamp, with two strangely dressed wizards not far away.

Both of them were trying to dress up as Muggles, but the effect was not obvious—and their "Muggle" disguises made them look even stranger.

One of them was wearing a tweed suit jacket on his upper body, but a pair of tall rubber overshoes on his lower body.

The other person wore a South American cape over their pleated miniskirt.

It feels better to be naked; at least a perverted Muggle is still a Muggle in the eyes of other Muggles.

"Good morning, Edward." The wizard in the short skirt greeted Edward wearily. "You'd better hurry, Arthur and the others have already left. A large group of people are coming from the Black Forest at 5:15..."

“Good morning, Basil. Door key, Cohen, hand over the door key.” Edward, now much more awake, said to Cohen.

Cohen handed the medicine bottle to Basil.

“Ah, this is your son—” Basil shuddered.

But the other wizard appears to be asleep standing up.

"Where's the camp?" Edward noticed Basil's condition and helped cover for him. "I was hoping to have some more breakfast—I just threw it all up."

“Camp…Norton…oh—here—” Basil pointed to a location on the map for Edward, “Go a quarter mile this way, then turn right at the second camp, and find Mr. Payne.”

“Thank you, Basil,” Edward said.

After crossing the swamp, Cohen and Edward soon encountered the Weasleys at the first campsite.

Their tent wasn't set up yet. Harry and Hermione were helping to figure out the correct way to set it up, while Mr. Weasley was excitedly wielding a sledgehammer and adding to the chaos.

"Edward!" The red-haired, balding Mr. Weasley dropped the hammer he was using to screw in tent bolts and strode excitedly toward Edward, giving him a hug.

“And Cohen!” Mr. Weasley also happily hugged Cohen; they often met at the station. “Where’s your campsite? We’re setting up tents now—we can help you set one up once we’re done here. I feel like I’ll soon grasp the essence of tent-pitching—”

“It’s over there.” Edward looked at the map and pointed to Camp Two, which was not far away.

The two campsites were separated only by a large pyramid-shaped tent.

(End of this chapter)