Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 301 What are you complaining about? Here's a Dementor's kiss for you.
“Every student who wants to run for Warrior must write their name and school name on a piece of parchment and drop it into this goblet.”

Dumbledore addressed the students who were eagerly watching the Goblet of Fire,

"Anyone aspiring to be a warrior can sign up within 24 hours. Tomorrow night, Halloween night, the Goblet will select the names of the three students it deems most representative of the three schools. Tonight, the Goblet will be placed in the foyer, and all students who wish to participate in the election can touch it... Of course, to prevent underage students from being tempted, I will draw an age line around it, and anyone under the age of seventeen cannot cross this age line."

"Age limit?" Fred at the Gryffindor table said, his eyes lighting up. "They'll definitely be fooled by the age-defying drugs, won't they?"

“I don’t think it’s possible for someone under seventeen to win,” Hermione said.

“That’s not necessarily true.” George shook his head. “I don’t believe that people won’t try it—Harry and Cohen will definitely want to give it a shot.”

"Don't you guys even consider the possibility that I might also have a chance?" Ron said, as if he had been neglected.

“If we encourage you to go, Mom will kill us.” Fred gave a deliberately shiver.

“How dare you encourage your brother to participate in such a dangerous activity!” George scolded, mimicking Mrs. Weasley’s tone. “I’ll bring you back right now—”

These words seemed to have stung Ron, and he stormed off.

“Your joke went too far,” Fred said.

"Did Mom say that to him before?" George asked, somewhat flustered.

"A shout letter from a second-year student?" Harry remembered it vividly. "I remember..."

“Go and comfort him,” Hermione advised Fred and George.

“Ron will be alright,” Fred said uncertainly.

“Will it? Will it?” George said.

Although they seemed very reluctant, they left the Gryffindor table together and went after Ron.

“Harry, Cohen, you won’t try it, will you?” Hermione said with some concern when Harry and Cohen didn’t seem to have any opinion. “Dumbledore would be furious if he found out.”

“I won’t,” Harry shook his head.

“I won’t put my name in,” Cohen said honestly.

He just floated over there in his soul to test it out—Dumbledore's age line hasn't been drawn yet, but that's not the important issue. What's more important is... the Goblet of Fire will detect the voters' thinking.

Cohen could certainly use a confusion spell to alter his mind and convince himself that he was competing for the glory of Azkaban.

But the Goblet of Fire couldn't detect Cohen's thoughts at all—or rather, the Goblet of Fire was designed to select people, not Dementors.

Its detection magic frequency is on a completely different level from the thought frequency of Cohen, a pure Dementor. Cohen cannot throw his name into it as a "living person".

In its eyes, Cohen was no different from a stone.
-
"That would be difficult."

After the banquet, Cohen led a tired Hopkins back to the box in an empty classroom and said seriously,
"We'll have to use some other methods."

The count stopped beside them, a letter in his hand, but Cohen planned to read it after he finished speaking.

“The Dark Lord means to have Harry Potter participate…” Hopkins said in a low voice, “I’m here to put Harry Potter’s name in the ballot—are you referring to the age limit Dumbledore mentioned when you said it would be difficult? I have a way…”

“No,” Cohen said. “I don’t care about that. I care more about whether I can restore Azkaban’s glory—as Azkaban’s sole representative, I have to participate in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“You’re going to participate—wait…Azkaban?” Hopkins was stunned, looking at Cohen, then at the half-finished castle in the box.

The black castle reminded him of Azkaban, and Cohen was indeed a Dementor…

Cohen was absolutely right.

He is the only Dementor in history to attend Hogwarts, and the only Dementor that could potentially participate in the Triwizard Tournament.

Damn, how can this logic be so illogical yet somehow seem perfectly reasonable?

“That cheap cup can’t detect me.” Cohen had high hopes for Hopkins. “So, you know.”

“You mean…” Hopkins said, “that I should help you put it in too?”

“Harry can be from any other school,” Cohen nodded, “but my name has to be Azkaban—because I will win, and that honor belongs to my Dementor brothers.”

Cohen's firm tone didn't need any confusion spells.

“But I don’t feel like I belong in Azkaban at all!” Hopkins exclaimed in despair. “I do feel a sense of belonging to my elementary school though…”

"You went to a Muggle primary school?" Cohen raised his eyebrows. "I thought Voldemort's Death Eaters were all pure-bloods."

“I, I am mixed race… mixed race…” Hopkins said.

"That's quite a betrayal of family," Cohen clicked his tongue. "How's your mother?"

“She’s dead,” Hopkins said dryly. “At the hands of a wizard.”

"Oh, your mother is dead."

Cohen said,
"Then you joined the Death Eaters to kill even more people's mothers. That's quite ambitious."

“Because I didn’t want to be bullied!” Hopkins said angrily. “You don’t know—you don’t know how many people looked down on a Muggle mother back then! Especially since my wizard father died at the hands of a Devil’s Web! My whole life was a joke! What could I do? What could I do if I didn’t join the Death Eaters? Wait for the other Death Eaters to arrogantly storm into my house and take everything I had left? By joining them, I was safe, and I could even go with the other Death Eaters to rob other people’s houses, watching those people being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, kneeling before me begging for mercy…”

The more Hopkins spoke, the more distorted his expression became.

“I understand, I understand,” Cohen said calmly. “No need to recall anymore.”

"What right do you have to criticize me—"

“Let me make it clear beforehand, I’m not criticizing you,” Cohen said calmly. “I’m praising your ambition. And if you raise your voice just one octave higher, I’ll give you a Dementor’s kiss right now.”

Hopkins, who had been flushed, instantly calmed down after hearing the Dementor's Kiss.

“I, I mean…” Hopkins said in a low voice, “I didn’t mean you… I—”

“Let’s get down to business,” Cohen continued. “Regarding Harry and me running for office, I’ll use a Confusion Charm on you so you can vote as two people: Azkaban and Cordostadt (the Russian magic school). You don’t need to worry about the Azkaban candidate’s identity.”

“Okay, okay,” Hopkins nodded quickly.

“This will start at 10:30 tonight,” Cohen said. “It doesn’t matter if other students see it; there will definitely be a lot of underage people participating tonight.”

(End of this chapter)