Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 535: The Prelude to Murder
Hagrid stood angrily behind the door, wearing a printed apron, but he looked terrifying.

“I’m a teacher! Teacher, Potter! How dare you—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said.

"When did you call me 'sir'?" Hagrid was taken aback.

“When did you call me 'Potter'?” Harry retorted.

"Ha, clever enough." Hagrid was still sulking. "Interesting, huh? You tricked me? Come on in, if it weren't for Cohen, you bunch of..."

“I thought you didn’t care anymore.” Cohen looked around Hagrid’s hut. There were a few more feeding troughs, but instead of hay, they were filled with huge white maggots. “When I was explaining things to you earlier…”

“Yes, yes,” Hagrid said absentmindedly. “I knew you’d all be busy—no one’s coming to see me, and no one’s going to like my classes—”

“Of course we love your class!” Hermione said. “We just…”

“The schedule is full.” Hagrid poured tea roughly, the overflowing tea splashing onto Tooth’s head next to the table, scalding Tooth and causing it to bark sharply.

“Neville and I are still here, aren’t we?” Cohen said. “Your teaching is actually quite good, it’s just that the part about encountering magical creatures should be placed after the theory section.”

“I thought this would surprise you,” Hagrid said dejectedly. “The Hydra course is finished, Cohen, you can take it with you now—”

“It just went into my box; they want to eat fish,” Cohen said.

“But don’t feed them too much,” Hagrid said. “The more they eat, the bigger they get, and then they eat even more—which is why they start fighting over the smallest things, like… an instinct for balance?”

“It’s a characteristic of the biosphere,” Cohen said. “It’s not a big problem. The old water snakes and griffins won’t let it eat all the fish in my area.”

“Hagrid, what are these?” Harry asked Hagrid, pointing to the troughs filled with large white worms.

“Giant grubs,” Hagrid said, his beard trembling.

“They’ll grow up to be…” Ron said in horror.

“They’re still giant grubs,” Cohen said. “They’re just big white maggots their whole lives.”

“I kept them for Aragog,” Haig said, then suddenly covered his face and burst into tears, like a train whistle.

“Aragok…it…I think it’s dying…it’s been sick for so long, and it got worse yesterday…I don’t know what will happen if it…if it…” Hagrid cried, “We’ve been together for so long…it was so lovable, remember, Cohen, Harry, you even rode it…”

Harry leaned back; the memory wasn't pleasant. He was lifted onto the back of a talking, deadly venomous eight-eyed spider, and then flung onto the soft soil of dead leaves and decaying matter.

“I’m not sure if this is ‘likable,’ but it definitely doesn’t want to see me again.” Cohen raised his eyebrows.

“I was going to take you to see it,” Hagrid said, wiping away his tears, “but its family is acting strangely now… they won’t let me near there…”

"Did they attack you, Hagrid?" Hermione asked worriedly.

“I guess so,” Cohen whispered to Harry, his voice drowned out by Hagrid’s sobs, so Hagrid couldn’t hear him at all.

“The forest will soon become a spider's nest,” Ron said fearfully. “I swear I will never set foot in there again—” “That means the Forbidden Forest needs a little pest control,” Cohen said in a low voice.

It seems that after Aragog's death, these giant spiders need to relive the fear of being dominated by the evil little Dementors.
-
Putting aside the trivial matter of offering the eight-eyed giant spider a final consolation, Cohen's task for the week was not actually fully completed, because on the afternoon of the weekend, Slughorn sent them an invitation to attend the Slug Club's party at seven o'clock that evening.

"Now Hermione has one too?!" Ron exclaimed incredulously. "Cohen and Harry have one, you have one, but I don't!"

“It looks like you need to work harder on your potions homework,” Cohen said. “It’s not enough to just do well in class; your homework and your potions are practically the work of two different people.”

“Can’t I be some kind of action-oriented potions genius?” Ron muttered.

“I wish this club meeting had never happened, especially after hearing about Cohen and Harry’s experience on the train,” Hermione said anxiously. “I still have three books to read this week, which will take at least one night!”

“I don’t really want to go either.” Harry twirled the quill pen blankly, watching it float lightly from his fingers and spin rapidly in mid-air. “I still have two papers to write and some silent spell practice to do.”

“Looks like I’ll be the only one going,” Cohen sighed. “I’ll save some room tonight, so I can eat Slughorn out of house and home…”

It's also possible that they ate Dumbledore out of house and home, since Slughorn's independent dinners seem to lead directly to Hogwarts' kitchen.

The gathering was held in a large classroom on the fifth floor. This room is not usually used because each college has a long table here, making it a place where the whole grade can have a class together.

But now, however, it belongs to Slughorn. The old man has transformed the once neat classroom into a place like a cocktail party, with wine-red gauze curtains hanging everywhere to divide the area, casually placed leather sofas, and many bright candles. Small groups can gather in a small area separated by the gauze curtains, or they can join the main group and follow Slughorn (who sits on a sofa in the very center, surrounded by many students chatting, making him look like a very popular member of the royal family).

Unlike those flashy, shady types who try to build connections through Slughorn's clubs, Cohen went straight to the table that suited his tastes best and then emptied the fruit platters and fried skewers on it over and over again.

“You’re Cohen Norton, aren’t you?” An Asian man in an elegant silk robe approached, smiled at Cohen, and extended his hand. “Hello, my name is Song Yang.”

Cohen had never seen him before; he seemed to be a second-year Chinese student, but this person couldn't affect his work.

"Hello—(chew chew chew)—What's up? (chew chew chew)—If you want something to eat (chew chew)—you'll have to move to another table (chew chew chew)."

"Um..." Yang said goodbye to Cohen in a very polite manner, and then left.

Just when Cohen thought he could return to the world of a simple, unambitious person, another group of "friends" arrived.

“Cohen Norton!” a student exclaimed excitedly from the large group of people emerging from behind the curtain. “It’s so good to see you—I mean, my family has always been a big supporter of Secretary Norton…”

After a long string of rambling nonsense, he, like Yang, tried to shake hands with Cohen, but Cohen didn't extend his hand at all—because both of his hands were covered in oil.

"My hands are covered in oil (chewing), but I still won't hold them—"

"Pfft!"

Cohen felt as if something had pierced the back of his head, but it didn't hurt much; it only hurt before it touched Harry's soul.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Several people in the group screamed almost simultaneously, staring wide-eyed at Cohen's head.

(End of this chapter)