Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 547 Accident
“Damn it…” Harry muttered.

When Cohen turned to look at Slughorn and then back to look out the window, the old man had disappeared again.

"Hello, Professor."

Cohen still greeted him. In fact, after the last Potions class, Cohen had made a deal with Slughorn. The generous old man was very happy to spend 100 Galleons to buy a bottle of Chimera saliva (one percent of the income was used to buy other flavors of meat for the lion).

“I haven’t seen you at four consecutive small dinner parties!” Slughorn patted the two on the shoulder enthusiastically. “And Miss Granger—I must apologize to Cohen first, and I can assure you there won’t be another horrible attack like that, because I conduct a security check on everyone before each party. Of course, Cohen, you don’t need to be checked—how about it, the next party is on Friday night…”

“Professor, I still have to attend Quidditch training,” Harry immediately stalled.

Ever since he found out there were a bunch of Slytherin students there, Harry had no desire to go at all.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” Cohen said politely. “Obviously, someone is very concerned about taking my life, and my presence at the party would only disrupt the atmosphere.”

Cohen's mind is no longer on parties or shopping.

What exactly does that old "Grim Reaper" who's been following me want?
Cohen couldn't glean anything from the fleeting figure's face either; the person seemed expressionless, like a dull civil servant.

“If that’s what you think, Cohen… well, then Monday—you should be able to get through Monday, Harry, right?” Slughorn turned to Harry and asked, like a lonely old man longing for a visit from a child.

“Um… Monday…” Harry racked his brains for a reason—

“We have our own gathering on Monday, Professor,” Cohen said, now only wanting to get Slughorn out of the way and then go out and see where that old grim reaper had run off to. “The Potion Reform Promotion Society needs to do a lot of work—”

"Potions?" Slughorn became interested. "Interested in letting me get involved? I wouldn't dare say how high my skills are, but I can definitely offer you some help, or connections. Have I told you that I've been corresponding with Elmer Greck Granger, the current president of the Extraordinary Apothecaries Association?"

“No, Professor, you won’t like what this gathering is about.” Cohen pulled Harry along. “It’s about reforming and promoting potion-making methods—sorry, we have to go out, I need to see someone—”

Then, Cohen pulled Harry and slipped out the door.

"Hey! You can't keep hiding from me!" Slughorn called out from behind them. "I can prepare all sorts of delicious food for you—"

But Harry and Cohen had already vanished into thin air.

“Cohen—I guess he can’t see us anymore—” Harry said breathlessly after being dragged by Cohen for almost the entire block.

“Wait a minute—” Cohen looked around. He had seen the old man’s figure when he came out, but his figure could be seen moving from one place to another in an instant, making it difficult to catch up.

Now he was completely out of sight—Cohen looked around and released his grip on the back of Harry's collar.

“They probably can’t see it anymore,” Cohen said.

“Cohen, what’s wrong with you right now?” Harry asked, puzzled. “First you were looking back down the street, and then you were running like crazy down this street…”

“You might not believe it, but I saw the old pervert,” Cohen said. “An old pervert who can teleport and stalk young people.”

“But I didn’t see anything,” Harry said, then frowned. “Or is it that only you can see it—is it a spirit?”

“No, otherwise I would have Apparated over there and eaten him.” Cohen continued to observe his surroundings. “Never mind, let’s go… wait, he’s appeared again—come with me—”

The old man reappeared, this time at the doorway with three brooms at the end of the road where they turned back.

And the old man did something he hadn't done before (he had only been walking or looking, never raising his hand): he reached out and pushed open the door with three brooms.

It must be packed with people. If he really is Death and is determined to enter this tavern, it means that people are going to die here soon.

"Wait, that door just opened by itself?" Harry asked in surprise, pointing to the door Cohen was looking at.

“That’s right, hurry up and follow me—” Cohen rushed over immediately. Because it was cold outside, the warm Three Broomsticks tavern was packed with people.

And as soon as Cohen entered the room, he heard a very familiar voice.

“I also teach Cohen quite often,” Edward said, sipping his drink as he chatted with Professor Flitwick, a smug look on his face. “He even asked me about the Silent Curse the other day—I have to say, sometimes education really does require parental involvement…”

"Damn it, when he said 'teach Cohen,' he meant to tell me 'it's all about talent,' right?" Cohen said through gritted teeth. "Ha, what a hypocrite!"

“But you did learn it,” Harry sighed. “I wish I could have learned it in a fit of anger… Wait—look, Slughorn is over there too!”

Slughorn was also sitting at the professors' table, next to Edward, and kept stuffing Edward with all sorts of snacks.

It seems Edward is quite familiar with the old professors, after all, he was both a student and a teacher for half a year.

“And that perverted old man.” Cohen had already gripped the wand in his pocket. The old man, the Grim Reaper, was no longer looking at him, but standing next to Edward.

Because his back was to Cohen, Cohen couldn't see the old man's movements—now the old man was blocking Edward's view and was raising his hands, which were clenched in a loose motion, up and down as if wielding a scythe.

Daring to steal Edward?!

Whether he is the Grim Reaper or not is no longer important.

Since the old man of death was positioned exactly where Edward was, Cohen abandoned his idea of ​​casting the spell and immediately pounced over—

"Cough cough—" Almost simultaneously, Slughorn, who was drinking mead from his own silver cup, choked several times. "Cough—"

"boom!"

"Merlin's beard—"

"what happens!"

"Ouch—who is it—" Edward reacted quickly and turned around, and then a figure bumped into his arms, the inertia causing him to lean backward and knock over their table.

Edward clung tightly to the person who had pounced on him, rolled over on the ground, and when he stopped, his wand was already pressed against the person's heart from behind.

Then, the "uninvited guest" raised his head and came face to face with him.

“Cohen?” Edward’s face was full of confusion.

“I’ll talk to you about ‘it’s mainly about talent’ later,” Cohen said, then immediately climbed off Edward.

The surrounding area was a mess, and a crowd of spectators, stunned by the sudden commotion, had gathered around.

The diminutive Professor Flitwick had already flipped over along with the table, but he quickly Apparated to the side, preventing himself from being crushed under the table.

"Cough—" Slughorn wasn't pulled down by the overturned table. He sat steadily in his seat like a clock, but something seemed to be stuck in his trachea. He kept rubbing his throat, his face turned from red to green, and then suddenly turned deathly pale. White foam came out of his mouth.

Immediately afterwards, he slumped down in the chair and stopped breathing.

"Shh-"

The withered old man appeared beside him, and with a downward slash of his loosely clenched hands, it was as if an invisible scythe had scraped something away. Cohen saw Slughorn's soul being forcibly pulled out, and the ghost's face was filled with terror.

The old man looked at Cohen again, and this time Cohen noticed a hint of confusion in his expression.

(End of this chapter)