Who let this Dementor into Hogwarts!

Chapter 576 Is it really that rare for Dementors to ruminate?
“This is the last memory of the night,” Dumbledore said, then pulled out another bottle.

However, the contents of this bottle seemed to have spoiled, solidifying into a gel that was not easy to pour out, rather than the liquid memory it had been before.

They entered the memory once again.

This time, they could immediately tell that this was an office at Hogwarts and that the memory belonged to Horace Slughorn.

In my memory, he was much younger than he is now, and his head wasn't bald yet.

It was a thick head of blond hair, but unfortunately, it looked worse than a bald head; on Slughorn, it looked like it was covered with a layer of straw.

Slughorn wasn't as fat as he is now, but he wasn't far off; the gold buttons on his embroidered vest were already stretched quite tightly.

Cohen moved his mouth, as if he was regurgitating something.

Six or seven boys surrounded Slughorn, who was half-lying down, and the one closest to him was Tom Riddle.

"Sir, is Professor Mellors retiring?" Riddle asked, already wearing the black gemstone ring from Marvolo on his hand, a memory from after the previous event.

“Tom, Tom, I know but I can’t tell you.” Slughorn shook a sugar-coated finger at him reproachfully, but then he blinked, not at all like he was really going to scold him. “I have to say, I’d like to know where you get your information, kid. You know more than half the teachers.”

Riddle smiled slightly, and the boys around him cast envious glances at him, which clearly made Riddle feel even more smug and comfortable.

"You little devil, you know things you shouldn't know, and you know how to please important people—by the way, thank you for the pineapple preserves, you guessed it, it's my favorite—"

Suddenly, as Slughorn spoke, the entire scene of the memory was filled with white mist.

The fog was so thick that Cohen and his group could only see other people's faces, not Slughorn and Riddle's shadows.

Then, Slughorn's voice rang out in an unnatural tone: "You will make mistakes, child, remember my words."

Immediately afterwards, the fog dissipated, and the scene returned to normal, with the same group of students still surrounding Slughorn.

Just then, the small golden clock on the desk struck eleven.

“Good heavens, is it time?” Slughorn said. “We should go, kids, or we’ll be in trouble. Lestrange, paper due tomorrow, or you’re in solitary confinement. You too, Avery.”

The boys filed out, with Riddle deliberately lagging behind because he wanted to speak to Slughorn alone.

"Hurry up, Tom, you don't want to get caught outside during lights-out time, do you?" Slughorn urged. "You're the prefect..."

"Sir, I'd like to ask you something."

"Then ask quickly, child, ask quickly..."

"Sir, I would like to ask if you know anything about... Horcruxes."

Just then, the fog rolled in again.

Slughorn's voice rang out loudly and angrily through the thick fog:

"I know nothing about Horcruxes, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you! Get out now, and don't let me hear you mention it again!"

After those words, the memory ended. "That's it, time to go." Dumbledore led them back to reality.

"That's it?" Harry asked.

Cohen was still fiddling with his mouth, without saying a word.

“You may have noticed that this memory has been altered,” Dumbledore said. “Professor Slughorn altered his own memory, erasing parts he didn’t want us to see.”

"Why?" Harry asked, puzzled.

“Because… I think he’s ashamed of this memory and wants to maintain his dignity.” Dumbledore shook his head. “We can’t be too harsh on an old man like him. However, this memory is very important to us, so I’m going to give you an assignment. You need to find a way to get Professor Slughorn to reveal his true memories. This is our most crucial information.”

“But…” Harry thought about it more and more and felt it was impossible. He and Cohen rarely attended Slughorn’s parties, so it was simply impossible to get Slughorn’s secrets out under these circumstances.

Unless Cohen takes the initiative like a Dementor—but that would be outright robbery, and Slughorn would escape from the school right afterward.

“It would be foolish to force the truth out of Professor Slughorn. He is a very capable wizard, far more skilled in Occlumency than poor Morfin.” Dumbledore seemed to see right through Harry’s thoughts. “But he has his weaknesses, and you and Cohen are the students he values ​​most in this school. You are among the few who can break through his defenses… Cohen?”

Dumbledore noticed that Cohen had raised his right hand.

“Mmm—mmm—mmm—” Cohen pointed to his puffed-out mouth, then to the Pensieve.

Dumbledore frowned slightly, then seemed to understand Cohen's meaning and nodded.

"Ho—te!" Cohen threw out a mouthful of silver phlegm in an arc, which landed precisely in the Pensieve.

Harry was stunned.

Dumbledore was similar, but a fleeting look of heartache and disgust crossed his face—because the Pensieve was his, and Cohen had spat in not only silver memories, but also saliva.

“Phew… I’ve been ruminating for ages,” Cohen said, rubbing his throat. “I had too much stuff in my stomach, so I couldn’t find this part right away—look, Slughorn’s memory.”

The Pensieve had already started spinning, and Dumbledore used his wand to scoop out Cohen's saliva and flick it away.

“But how did you—” Harry asked, his eyes wide.

“When I saved Slughorn last time, his soul flashed through my mind several times,” Cohen shrugged. “I have a bellyful of Slughorn’s memories, and I felt they would be useful, so I didn’t digest them.”

"You can do that?" Harry said incredulously.

“Is it really that rare for Dementors to ruminate?” Cohen said. “They’re not souls, they just melt in your mouth…”

“I must say, Cohen, you’ve surprised us all.” Dumbledore glanced at the memories in the Pensieve, looked up, and said with a smile, the earlier annoyance of having his own Pensieve spat on him gone. “Now we can—what is this for?”

Dumbledore saw Cohen extend an open palm.

“Payment,” Cohen said, quite obviously. “This isn’t some delivery station; storing things isn’t free.”

“Alright, alright.” Dumbledore took a deep breath. “After this class, tell me what you want.”

(End of this chapter)