Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 502 I am Dumbledore's favorite student
"It might be up ahead—a little further south, hey, right, it looks a bit like it..."

Finally, after mistaking four or five old towers, the Count found Nurmengard.

It was a cold, dark, and gloomy tower, far from any human habitation, and years of neglect had left it in a dilapidated state.

Before landing, Cohen deliberately circled around the tower invisibly—there was only one living soul on the top floor of the tower, which meant that Rose either hadn't arrived yet or had already been there.

Good, I won't get caught.

Next, Cohen landed at the top of the tower, where there was a spiral staircase leading downwards, much like the one at Hogwarts.

Cohen transformed back into human form, and the Earl refused to go down no matter what he said.

“I’m not going,” the count said defiantly.

"You really stole his underwear?" Cohen narrowed his eyes.

“No!” said the Earl. “I just don’t want to talk to this fellow. Go quickly, ask what you need to do, and get back as soon as possible—as an owl, I have a hard time resisting the urge to bite him.”

"So you have a grudge against him?" Cohen asked.

“He seduced the girl I was taking care of,” the count said, standing on a half-rotten, dilapidated wall pillar in the tower. “In that mullah slogan—I can no longer sing her lullabies.”

Cohen remained silent for a moment.

"Actually, if you—"

"Don't get the wrong idea, that girl is still alive." The count shook his wings. "She just has a better owl now."

"It could also be because I sing terribly," the count added.

"Actually, you sing better than Edward."

Cohen left a message and went downstairs, leaving the Earl waiting upstairs.

The top-floor cell in Nurmengard didn't even have windows. Although the darkness didn't affect Cohen's ability to see, he still lit a beam of light with his wand.

A person huddled on a simple, hard bed shifted slightly, muttered something, and then shielded their eyes from the light with their hand.

“One after another, they come and go. Has this place been turned into some kind of amusement park?” Grindelwald said in a hoarse voice. “Oh, the guards of the British prison.”

“No, I am Dumbledore’s favorite student,” Cohen said.

Grindelwald let out a dry, weak laugh.

“So what are you planning to do here?” he said. “Your mother came, Voldemort came, oh, and that shady ‘Dumbledore’s man.’”

Grindelwald had become a withered, shriveled old man. Although he was about the same age as Dumbledore, he looked much older, like a terminally ill Muggle old man.

Someone placed a magic wand next to him, but he acted as if he had never touched it.

He gradually got used to the glaring light, and a pair of cloudy eyes of a different color stared at Cohen.

“Listen to what my mother heard from you,” Cohen said.

“Scared?” Grindelwald forced a smile.

"Does 'prevention is better than cure' have to sound so cowardly?" Cohen crossed his arms and leaned against the dusty wall, looking at Grindelwald from a distance. "No wonder Dumbledore doesn't like you—"

“It’s not because of that,” Grindelwald said, as if something sore spot had been touched.

“Dumbledore doesn’t like you anymore,” Cohen repeated.

“Shut up,” Grindelwald said through his snort. “Dumbledore doesn’t like you anymore.”

"Get out of here!" Grindelwald said through gritted teeth.

“I could talk about this all day,” Cohen said casually, “until you tell me everything that’s happened here.”

“You little thing, do you have absolutely no morals?” Grindelwald shifted his position as he leaned against the hard headboard. “I’m already one hundred and fourteen years old.”

“I’m a Dementor, and Dementors don’t need morality,” Cohen said matter-of-factly. “Tell me what happened here, and I’ll leave you alone—maybe I can even get Dumbledore to come see you.”

“He won’t come,” Grindelwald said despondently.

“He will come,” Cohen said.

“That means you’re not Dumbledore’s favorite student,” Grindelwald said with a cold smile. “He wouldn’t even tell you what he fears most.”

“Actually, he won’t have to feel so guilty for long,” Cohen said.
“Impossible,” Grindelwald said.

"So are you going to tell me or not?" Cohen kicked at the stone bricks under his feet. "If you don't give in, I'm going to—Dumbledore doesn't like you anymore, Dumbledore doesn't like you anymore, Dumbledore dislikes—"

"Enough!" Grindelwald roared.

"So you're going to tell me, huh?" Cohen raised his eyebrows.

“I saw a dark prophecy,” Grindelwald said. “One of the three must die, and then a deeper darkness will engulf the sky—but that person will not be you.”

“I dare say Voldemort wouldn’t be very happy to hear that,” Cohen said.

“I didn’t tell him,” Grindelwald said. “This prophecy has nothing to do with him.”

“You said there were three people,” Cohen said. “Isn’t he one of them?”

“You didn’t understand me, kid.” Grindelwald stared straight at Cohen, his eyes gleaming with a light he hadn’t shown before. “You’re not dealing with him in the end.”

"There's a second phase?" Cohen asked.

“‘The last enemy to be defeated is death,’” Grindelwald said. “That’s what I see.”

“It’s too abstract, I don’t understand,” Cohen said bluntly. “Explain it in plain language.”

“I’m old enough to be your grandfather,” Grindelwald said. “Show some respect.”

“Gay men don’t have offspring, so no matter how long you and Dumbledore are together, you won’t have any grandchildren,” Cohen said. “This has nothing to do with you or Dumbledore liking to be the Riddler. The Riddler is the fuse that drags out the plot.”

“These are all the prophecies,” Grindelwald said firmly. “Leave. Leave this place.”

“There are no guards patrolling here,” Cohen said. “I can keep bothering you until—”

“Your mother will be home soon,” Grindelwald said.
-
Grindelwald might lie to children, but it's rather unlikely that Grindelwald would lie to children.

But Cohen was no longer a child, or even a person—so when Cohen took the Earl back to Grimmauld Place and waited all day for Rose to return, he realized he had been deceived by the old man.

“Deceiving minors is a sign of a corrupt civilization,” Cohen said viciously.

“At least Voldemort hasn’t found a way to deal with you.” The Earl stretched his wings and claws—Cohen, who had been rushing along the way, had almost been squashed into a shuttlecock by him.

“They might have gotten hold of it,” Cohen said. “Otherwise, how could this boss have a second phase?”

(End of this chapter)