Cohn stared at the "little Dementor" in front of him, utterly baffled.
In theory, Dementors didn't reproduce like normal creatures. Their numbers grew more like fungi, sprouting in dark, decayed, despair-filled places.
But the author of *Tracing the Origins of Evil Life* clearly hadn't studied Dementor colonies up close, so there could be gaps in the theory. Still, a tiny Dementor calling Cohn "Daddy" was freaky no matter how you sliced it…
Cohn sent a wave of confusion through their mental link.
His connection seemed to confirm his identity for it. The little thing surged toward him eagerly—Cohn sensed "happiness" radiating off it. But Dementors weren't supposed to *have* emotions.
Another escapee from that lab, maybe?
That seemed the only explanation.
Cohn didn't stop it from rubbing against him.
"Mind if I check your memories?"
He probed into the little black cloak's mind through their link. It didn't resist—Dementors had no guard up around him. This race was absurdly tight-knit and friendly.
This must be what Eden felt like…
A big chunk of the little Dementor's memories tied back to Burke Manor.
Cohn saw its "birth" process and snippets of the "homunculus in a bottle" experiment at the manor.
The researchers had snagged a Dementor and run all sorts of tests on it—crude stuff like blasting it apart with a Patronus Charm and dunking it in liquid curses. (Cohn couldn't help but wonder who the wizard casting that Patronus was. It looked like a bird. Could someone from the Burke family really summon a strong Patronus?)
Alchemy was often that brutal—keep trying until something sticks. Maybe God got tired of blocking them, because eventually, those researchers pulled it off.
The original test subject broke into pieces. Most got stuffed into bottles as the base for the "homunculus" project, but one fragment escaped—and it grew into a new Dementor on a corpse in the lab.
This little Dementor calling Cohn "Daddy" was actually spot-on. That's how Dementors multiplied.
The corpse was weird too—it was "Cohn Burke's" body. The little Dementor's ability to feel emotions probably came from something it took from that corpse.
As an unintended byproduct, the researchers booted the little Dementor out, while Cohn's body stayed behind as experimental material.
But if its "happiness" stemmed from "Cohn Burke," that meant the original Cohn's soul had still been tied to the body at some point.
So after the little Dementor fused with a piece of human soul and left, "Cohn Burke's" corpse should've just been a regular dead body. Why, then, did it later show human-like mercy by sparing its own kin?
Pure instinct? If so, Nicolas Flamel's claim that "love" was the key to the experiment's success wouldn't hold water.
Cohn leaned toward a darker guess: the original Cohn's soul had already been shattered by some curse long before. It being trapped in the body made sense too—the Burkes had planned him as a lab rat from the start, orchestrating his death.
The little Dementor might've only taken a fragment, leaving the rest to form the old "Cohn" until the current Cohn crossed over a year ago.
Either way, this little Dementor was legit family.
It clung to Cohn's side, rubbing against him with glee.
Cohn could feel its emotions—soul-deep joy, familiarity, closeness.
But having it glued to him forever wasn't practical…
After letting it rub all over him for a solid half-hour, Cohn finally had enough.
"Okay, okay, had your fill? I've gotta go."
He tried leaving it behind first—but it wasn't having it.
Wherever Cohn drifted, it shadowed him, inch for inch.
It sent back, sticking like glue.
**[Won't eat your yummy stuff.]**
It added after a moment's thought.
Was it worried about stealing food…?
Cohn was a little embarrassed for it.
Taking it along wasn't out of the question, but the suitcase was a no-go. Even if Dementors didn't attack animals, Earl and Norbert might freak out and stress themselves silly.
Plus, Dementors hated light, and the suitcase was usually bathed in bright sunshine. Even tweaking the time to night meant a glaring moon.
"How about you hop in here?"
Cohn asked, opening his Niffler-skin pouch in front of it.
He'd already moved everything from the pouch into the suitcase—books from the underground lab, the rune cage that once held Ali, all of it.
Originally, he'd planned to stash the suitcase in the pouch for easy carrying, but that hit a snag fast. The pouch could sit in the suitcase forever without issue, but put the suitcase in the pouch, and the pouch's Undetectable Extension Charm started unraveling at warp speed. Cohn figured it was because his Niffler pouch wasn't stabilized with Erumpent feathers or something.
No big deal now, though.
The little Dementor obediently slipped inside. This was its new home for the time being.
Since the pouch stayed close to Cohn, it could still enjoy the "rubbing Daddy" vibe from in there.
Out of nowhere, he'd picked up a kid. This Azkaban trip had an unexpected bonus.
Sure, the kid might be useless most of the time—since Cohn was a Dementor too—but it could come in clutch against a high-soul-strength opponent for a surprise attack.
While waiting for nightfall, Cohn wandered around Azkaban, getting chummy with the Dementors. They were sweet, great talkers—Cohn was seriously into them.
But he also saw their other side.
At dusk, a Ministry wizard popped in via Portkey at Azkaban's entrance—there to drop off food for the prisoners.
The second he appeared, a swarm of Dementors surrounded him, chanting **[Yummy!] [Yummy!]**, until he summoned a leopard-shaped Patronus. That kept them from chowing down on him right then and there.
"This is for the prisoners," the guy snapped at them, disgusted, setting a big crate on the ground.
The Dementors drifted off, disappointed.
They didn't greet humans with a friendly hello like they did Cohn. Nope—humans were fair game, instant pounce-and-eat material—unless a Patronus scared them off or someone reasoned with them first.
They could understand human speech, but most of the time, they didn't bother listening. They'd just dive in for a feast. Who bothers with a chicken's pleas when it's on the chopping block?
Their kindness and innocence only applied to their own kind.