Given the existence of Azkaban, Cohen felt it was reasonable for him to wander around—there would always be a few Dementors lurking about.
Cohen swooped down from the cliff, flying close to the sea surface—if a wizard in the distance looked this way, they would only see black dots on the water, at most assuming they were magical creatures of the ocean. (Muggles can't see Dementors.) What
would the Dementor horde of Azkaban be like?
Cohen was quite curious about them, after all, they were 60% of his race's origin.
Since arriving in this world, he hadn't seen a single Dementor.
Theoretically, their alliance with the Ministry of Magic and their willingness to defect to Voldemort's side indicated they possessed thought and consciousness.
And it was highly likely that there were individuals with animal-like leaders; otherwise, it would be difficult to control a large number of Dementors in one area.
Surely these Dementors couldn't all be content little black cloaks who were satisfied as long as they had enough food…
With a clear location, Cohen's search was very quick.
Over an hour later, he finally spotted the cloud-shrouded island above the sea.
Due to some kind of magical magnetic field, even though the outside weather was bright and sunny, the island remained shrouded in darkness.
Surrounded by cliffs, the island contained only one building—which occupied almost the entire island.
It was a fortress, its exterior resembling a hollow, towering triangular prism, its gray-black walls almost blending into the surrounding gloomy sky.
Cohen could already see some Dementors drifting outside.
They were probably patrolling, looking for new food.
But it was destined to be futile; no one could escape a prison alive when driven mad and desperate to the point of wanting to die, and no one would willingly approach this gloomy place.
Why am I suddenly getting this pitiful feeling of seeing my own child wandering around hungry...
Wait... why am I feeling sorry for the Dementors? Is it only here that I feel a sense of racial identity?!
Cohen was thinking about how to talk to them while continuing to fly towards Azkaban—soon, Cohen wouldn't have to choose between "Hello, can I share my food with you? I'm a minor" and "Dementors, your emperor has returned."
Two Dementors had already floated over to Cohen to talk to him!
[New?]
[New?]
The two Dementors circled around Cohen on either side, but that didn't stop him from continuing to fly towards Azkaban.
[So small...]
[So thin...]
They moved a little closer to Cohen with concern.
Cohen could clearly sense their thoughts—or rather, Dementors communicated through this kind of thought process.
They used the most direct "feelings" instead of words, but because Cohen had a human way of thinking, these feelings would be automatically converted into English by his brain in the next second.
Cohen didn't perceive the strength of their souls, or rather, Dementors didn't possess souls at all.
They seemed to exist in a different form of life, entirely different from other races in this world.
Yet, Cohen felt a special affinity for them—and they felt the same way about him, which he could sense from their consciousness.
"Hungry?"
Dementor Number One asked Cohen.
"There's food here,"
Dementor Number Two flew in front of Cohen, wanting to lead him to "a place with food."
What a loving race!
Cohen followed them through an iron gate at the bottom of a fortress into Azkaban. Surprisingly, they even knew how to use a key. [New?][New?][New?]…
A dense cacophony of thoughts echoed in Cohen's mind. As soon as he entered, the numerous Dementors floating in the prison corridor all noticed this somewhat novel individual.
In their mental exchange, they seemed like the Trisolarans, completely unaware of doubt and deception, finding only novelty in Cohen's existence, and…
[Hungry?]
[So thin…]
[There's food here]
[There's food here]
…
Each of them wanted to share their cell with Cohen, because he looked "too small and too thin."
"Okay, okay."
Cohen followed one of them into a cell—a sign outside the cell bars read "Antonin Dolohov," presumably also a Death Eater.
They were all good buddies, and Cohen didn't bother with any of the social niceties or playing hard to get. Happiness was indeed quite delicious—especially since his target was a Death Eater; slurping it up wouldn't deplete his already dwindling conscience.
But just as Cohen was about to order some dessert, he realized that the Death Eater, curled up in a ball, was hardly happy anymore—just a lonely soul and a bunch of not-so-tasty negative emotions.
"Is this what you usually eat?" Cohen asked, somewhat strained, through the telepathic link.
The Dementor who had shared the food with Cohen seemed puzzled.
[Food, delicious]
It even kindly demonstrated for Cohen, the Dementor leaning close to Dolohov's head, sifting out a wisp of happiness from those dark, negative emotions—looking like a pitiful creature scavenging for food in a garbage dump.
Cohen now understood why the Dementors couldn't resist going to the Quidditch pitch while guarding Hogwarts; damn it, their lives weren't much better than the prisoners'! Ugh, when will the Dementors ever stand up?!
"You eat first..."
[Okay]
Cohen left the cell.
They really are a bunch of content little black-cloaked figures…
Now Cohen completely understands that Voldemort was able to recruit Dementors during the Second War simply because the conditions offered by the Ministry of Magic were too meager.
He could have at least talked to the Muggles and brought in some Muggle death row inmates to nourish them!
Or perhaps those wizards in the Ministry of Magic were too arrogant, thinking that once they had at least a minimum of control over the Dementors, they wouldn't need to put in any more effort to increase their resources…
(Dementor Emperor Returns to His Kind, Finds Hundreds of Fellow Belongings Living in Doghouses and Eating Leftovers)
But at least this time he's figured out the Dementors' true nature—they don't have a leader; they're simply too naive to be bought off with a little food.
As long as Cohen raises his arm and calls out where there's food, they'll rush to where he points without hesitation—they prefer to trust communication within their own kind rather than human language.
However, now is not a good time for a rebellion. Cohen hasn't yet established a foothold in various fields; if he tries to establish any kind of rule now, he'll end up like Voldemort and his ilk.
A reign of terror is not feasible. In this fairytale world, who knows if one day a few hot-blooded young people will suddenly appear, shouting about friendship and bonds, and then, with the help of fate, knock Cohen to the ground.
Cohen has a more feasible and safer plan for "savior rule."
But before that, he needs to find Bellatrix.
Join p4treon for advanced+uploaded chapters...
[email protected]/Horizons685
(End of Chapter)