Lucius chose to trust Cohn.
The diary was something Voldemort had personally entrusted to him—no one else could possibly know about it.
As for the golden cup in the Lestrange vault… even Lucius hadn't heard of it. If Cohn wasn't working with Voldemort, there's no way he'd have that information.
Helping the Dark Lord after catching wind of his plans was a major win. Even if the rumors turned out to be false, Lucius could claim he'd been too eager and trusted the wrong person. But if he refused to help after hearing the whispers… Lucius could already picture himself buried in the Malfoy family graveyard.
"Of course, I can get into the Lestrange vault for you—if you've got something to prove your identity…" Lucius said, picking his side. "But Azkaban…"
Rumor had it Cohn had fused with some Dementor "bloodline," but he still looked human enough…
"Do you need me to pull some strings—"
"No need for connections," Cohn said, raising an eyebrow. "Going back to Azkaban isn't like going home for me?"
With that, Cohn shook himself and gave Lucius a little taste of high-level Dementor shock.
The small, dark-haired boy standing in front of Lucius was replaced by a towering figure in a rotting black cloak. The warmth in the air—and in Lucius's soul—started draining away.
Lucius sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back a few steps. He crashed into a cabinet behind him, nearly knocking over a vase perched on top.
A chill shot into his lungs, freezing his breath.
Horrible memories began flooding his mind, uncontrollable.
"Stop—stop!" Lucius stammered in a panic. "I get it—I get it—"
Dark wizards like him had no real defense against Dementors. Usually, those creatures didn't bother them—they were more likely allies than prey.
And he knew all too well how those loathsome beings attacked straight at the soul…
"Almost forgot—you guys can't cast a Patronus," Cohn said, transforming back. "I'm heading out soon. Here's to a smooth partnership."
"S-Smooth partnership," Lucius rasped, his throat dry.
The deal with Lucius went off without a hitch. Both sides were pretty pleased with the outcome.
Cohn got Voldemort's diary, and Lucius secured Cohn's promise.
"Everything's going to be fine," Lucius said to a worried Narcissa as he saw Cohn off.
Narcissa was torn. She feared the Dark Lord's return might fail, exposing their renewed loyalty and landing the whole family in Azkaban. But she also dreaded what would happen if he *did* come back—settling old scores from the days when, to save Lucius, their family's backbone, they'd spent a fortune in gold and ratted out a bunch of Death Eaters.
There was no perfect solution. One wrong move, and they'd lose everything.
Cohn, now long gone, didn't care much about the Malfoys' stress and dilemmas. His focus was on snagging Horcruxes and boosting his own strength—*that* was the priority.
After Voldemort had used Quirrell's soul to bulk himself up last time, Cohn realized his next goal couldn't just be hitting a soul strength of 40. Voldemort was probably at 50 by now. The tag Cohn had seen before read [40+10], suggesting the stolen soul might not be stable for him. Still, Cohn preferred to plan for the worst.
The good news? The Philosopher's Stone heist at the end of the school year hadn't soured things between him and Voldemort. Cohn had done his part—grabbed the Stone, faked his death, and let Voldemort swoop in to take it. Quirrell could touch Cohn, and there was no sacrificial protection spell in play.
Voldemort's failure was purely because he bolted the second he saw Dumbledore.
If Voldemort ever asked why it flopped, Cohn had his excuse ready: *What kind of team did I bring? The Voldemort Stone-Stealing Squad, that's what. We had the Stone in hand—three people on the scene, me playing dead on the floor—and you see Dumbledore and freeze up like a kid spotting his dad. Couldn't even walk over, grab the Stone, and run?*
Could that plan succeed? No chance. It was doomed—Voldemort just didn't have it in him.
After losing the Stone, next up was the Chamber of Secrets. Then the Goblet of Fire, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Deathly Hallows. What came after that? Nothing left to lose.
Cohn's advice? Voldemort needed to figure out this whole "revival" thing. Folding at the first sign of trouble and then blaming everyone else? Shameless.
It was a flawless combo—Cohn could stand on the moral high ground, pointing fingers, leaving Voldemort feeling like a total loser.
But who knew when he'd face Voldemort next? For now, Cohn's top priority was Azkaban.
According to Voldemort's memories, Azkaban sat on a small island in the North Sea, off England's northeast coast. Malfoy Manor, though, was in Wiltshire, southwest England. Flying across the whole country as a Dementor felt a bit too flashy for Cohn's taste.
So step one was heading to a friend of Lucius's—a family with a vacation cottage in Yorkshire, hooked up to a private Floo Network he could use freely.
Cohn arrived at the friend's place. The guy was a chubby, bald old collector named Montgomery Nott.
Another pure-blood family geezer, but he didn't seem as shady.
After showing Lucius's letter of introduction and mentioning he was "touring Yorkshire," Montgomery welcomed Cohn in with enthusiasm and ushered him through the Floo Powder to his Yorkshire home.
"Oh, if you need to head back to Wiltshire, you can use this route too. I'll be vacationing here for a while—old age, you know, gotta take it easy…" Montgomery said with a beaming smile. "By the way, could you mention something to Lucius when you're back? I'm still hung up on that fifty-year-old batch of blended Throat-Lock Frenzy he's got. I'll up my offer to six hundred Galleons."
Suffocation, excitement… wizards sure knew how to play wild. Even their potions were that intense?
After promising to pass the message along, Cohn left Montgomery's vacation cottage.
It was close to the beach, but Cohn didn't plan to take off from there—Montgomery might spot him.
After circling past a cluster of buildings, Cohn slipped into what looked like a tourist spot: the ruins of an old abbey. Using the broken walls for cover, he shifted back into Dementor form, grabbed his suitcase, and took off toward Azkaban.
Good thing Dementors had cloaks to hide the suitcase. A Dementor lugging baggage would've been way too conspicuous.