Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 417 Pink Woman
"How could it be her!" Harry exclaimed, bewildered.

Sitting there was a short, plump woman with short, curly, grayish-brown hair tied with a large pink bow.

She was wearing a fluffy pink cardigan, and her pale, toad-like face and droopy eyelids with protruding pupils were highly recognizable.

“Blood Mother Hell, the pink toad I was talking about on the train isn’t this kind of pink toad…” Ron exclaimed in surprise.

“All I remember is that this woman gave Cohen a score of 10 last year,” Harry said with displeasure. “Why her of all people—”

"This shows that Fudge really likes pink, chubby toads," Cohen said.

They made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down, waiting for the Sorting Hat to be brought out and sung, and then watched this year's Sorting Ceremony.

The first-year students were led into the auditorium by Professor McGonagall and lined up in front of the faculty and staff tables.

The Sorting Hat was placed on the stool, and it grinned and began to sing.

"A long time ago, I was still wearing a new hat."
Hogwarts wasn't finished yet at that time.

The four founders of the Noble Academy,
I thought they would never go their separate ways…

……

"Our Hogwarts is in danger."

Enemies outside the school are watching with predatory eyes.

We must remain closely united internally.

Otherwise everything will fall apart from within.

I have told you plainly,

I have sounded the alarm for you...

Now let's start sorting. "

The Sorting Hat's song takes on a somber tone, suggesting that it has also heard some of the current situation from Dumbledore.

“Has the Sorting Hat ever issued a warning before?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes,” Nick said, almost bewildered. “When he felt morally obligated to give the school an appropriate warning…”

Nick's words were interrupted by a glance from Professor McGonagall; whispering was not allowed during the Sorting Ceremony.

"Euan Abercrombie".

"Gryffindor!"

A flustered little boy stumbled down from the stage, his face flushed red amidst the applause of the Gryffindor students.

Cohen didn't care much about the other students' branching situations; the only one he might pay attention to was old Frick's grandson.

After more than a dozen students were divided into different departments, it was finally the turn of the somewhat timid boy.
"Gofrey Frick".

Professor McGonagall read his name.

Little Frick took small steps and ran up with his head down.

The sorting cap was placed on his head, and not long after—

"Gryffindor!"

“Goodness,” Cohen said.

"You know him?" Harry asked curiously.

“I met his grandfather while traveling,” Cohen whispered to Harry. “Remember that old water snake in my trunk? His grandfather really liked that old water snake.”

“Woo woo woo,” Harry said.

“You’re from this college too!” Little Frick said in surprise as he sat down opposite Cohen and the others.

“I bet you’ve forgotten what I said in the car,” Cohen said. “I said, ‘If you guys come to Gryffindor, I’m going to teach you a lesson.’”

Little Frick's face turned pale instantly—because Cohen had also said he was going to capture them and feed them to the Dementors.

“Don’t scare the freshmen, Cohen!” Hermione snapped. “Ignore him, Godfrey. Cohen’s just a jerk—he never tells the truth.” “I’ll probably still just call you Little Frick,” Cohen said. “The name Godfrey always makes me think of something else, like a shirtless, muscular old man who always likes to throw things onto Earth…”

The sorting process was quickly coming to an end. After the last girl was sorted into Hufflepuff, Dumbledore stood up, greeted everyone, and announced that dinner was served.

"Great!" Ron couldn't wait to start eating.

"Does the Sorting Hat really think that people from the four houses can get along peacefully?" Harry wondered, recalling the Sorting Hat's new song.

"The possibility is very small, about the same as the possibility of humans and Dementors coexisting peacefully," Cohen said.

“At least the second one is still somewhat hopeful.” Harry looked at the Slytherin table and shook his head. “Forget about the first one. I don’t think I’ll ever have anything to say to anyone from Slytherin in my life.”

“I’ll record this. I’ll pass this on to your child after he’s born,” Cohen said, patting his wand in his pocket. “If any of your children go to Slytherin.”

“Impossible,” Harry said firmly.

“You shouldn’t have this attitude,” Nick said regretfully, who was almost headless. “Peaceful coexistence and cooperation are the key. Although we Ghosts belong to different schools, we have always maintained a close friendship.”

“The wizarding world is still too fragmented,” Cohen said. “Centralized management would prevent such discrimination—because everyone is a beast of burden.”

Once they had all eaten and drunk their fill, Dumbledore began to introduce the new school rules and precautions, as well as the two new professors.

“This year, we have two changes to our teaching staff. We are delighted to invite Professor Grapland to teach the Conservation of Magical Creatures class. Similarly, we are pleased to introduce Professor Umbridge, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

The applause in the auditorium was polite, but not enthusiastic.

Hermione's expression grew increasingly grim—because Umbridge's demeanor remained arrogant and disrespectful to Dumbledore as he spoke.

And she coughed twice deliberately as Dumbledore began his next sentence.

“I’ve never seen anyone interrupt the headmaster like that,” Hermione said. “It’s so rude—or rather…”

Hermione's lips are forming the word "demonstration".

Dumbledore politely stepped aside to let Umbridge speak.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Umbridge said with a forced smile. “Thank you for your warm welcome.”

She straightened her cardigan and coughed softly a few times.

“Well, I must say, it’s wonderful to be back at Hogwarts!” Umbridge grinned, her voice a shrill, nauseating sound, like that of an old woman disguised as a young girl. “It’s so good to see these happy little faces looking up at me!”

“How disgusting,” Cohen said. “Even the little snake monster probably couldn’t stomach it.”

“How disgusting.” Harry agreed with Cohen. “Does she think we’re still five-year-olds?”

The whispers below didn't reach Umbridge's ears, or perhaps she simply didn't care.

"To get back to the point, the Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young wizards to be a very important matter. Some of the precious talents you are born with may go to waste if they are not nurtured and trained under careful and meticulous instruction. The ancient techniques unique to the magical world..." Umbridge's voice became serious and dry, as if this were a speech that had been memorized in advance.

The students were getting sleepy from the dry, formulaic talk, but Hermione was listening intently, her furrowed brow never relaxing.

"...Our traditions, refined through countless trials, often do not require clumsy revisions. The key is to achieve a balance—between the old and the new, between the enduring and the changing, between tradition and innovation..."

"The Qing Dynasty is gone..." Cohen yawned. He had originally wanted to hear about the education reform plan hidden in the Ministry of Magic's words, but such a long and repetitive speech was too distracting.

"...We must resolutely maintain what should be maintained, improve what needs to be improved, and discard what we should prohibit."

She sat down after her speech ended.

"What did she say?" Harry jolted awake from his daze as Dumbledore began to speak again.

“Some really bad stuff.” Cohen yawned. “There won’t be any interesting classes this semester.”

“This is no longer a matter of the curriculum,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “I originally thought the Ministry of Magic just wanted to use this method to monitor Dumbledore—but now it seems that’s not all. They want to interfere with all of Hogwarts’ education, sideline Dumbledore, and prevent him from having any real power.”

“Politicians’ delusions,” Cohen said. “Power and strength have always been inseparable. Power without strength is just a pile of loose sand; it doesn’t even need the wind to blow it apart, it will scatter after a few steps—this sounds so familiar, I really want to throw a glass of red wine over that pink toad’s head…”

“She’s watching you, Cohen,” Harry suddenly whispered to Cohen.

Cohen looked in the direction Halliday was looking at him, and Umbridge was indeed staring at him without any attempt to hide it, her eyes filled with disgust and hatred for the filthy half-breed.

“A challenge for me? That’s interesting,” Cohen said. “Suddenly I’m not so sleepy anymore.”

(End of this chapter)