The last class on Friday was over, and the students, about to welcome the weekend, should have been comfortably asleep in their dorms—because the weather these past two days had been unreasonably bad, with strong winds and sudden downpours.
Cohen figured this abnormal weather must be due to the magical magnetic field; the weird weather at Hogwarts definitely occurred more frequently than in those Muggle territories.
But not many people in the Gryffindor common room had any intention of resting—they were all eagerly gathered around the Gryffindor Quidditch team members, trying to offer them strategies for their match tomorrow.
"The weather's awful, I can't believe the school hasn't postponed the match."
"If it were a soccer match, a little rain would have stopped it right away—"
"Quidditch isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him. "I remember there was a rare heavy rain during the 1871 World Cup, and the spectators watched the match from boats..."
"That's barbaric," Hermione frowned. "Luckily, Hogwarts won't have floods, the Quidditch pitch is on a hillside."
"We've trained many times in muddy conditions," Wood gave his teammates a pep talk. "The Slytherin team hasn't even left their common room these past few days—"
"Especially that spoiled little Malfoy," Fred said.
"If Slytherin didn't have a reserve Seeker—" George said.
"He'd be crying to Snape for an excuse to get out of it," Fred continued. "Don't worry, Harry's a hundred times better than them."
"Every single one of us is better than them," Wood corrected. "Alright, get some rest. Everyone needs to be on their game tomorrow. The Quidditch Cup this year must and absolutely will be Gryffindor's."
This was Wood's last year at Hogwarts, and his last chance to win the Quidditch Cup.
The next morning, Cohen was woken up by the noise. Harry was getting ready for the match, and Ron and the others were preparing their viewing supplies—with the gale-force winds mixed with heavy rain, they couldn't watch the match in the rain unprepared.
The weather hadn't improved at all, and even seemed worse than yesterday.
The wind howled against the window frames outside, and the sky was as dark as night—a heavy downpour was coming soon.
"It feels like the end of the world," Seamus said, frowning. "Harry, shouldn't you waterproof your glasses? Otherwise, how will you be able to see the Snitch in the rain..."
"How do you waterproof glasses?" Harry asked, looking troubled.
"Waterproof and moisture-proof," Cohen stretched and reluctantly got out of bed. "A charm, but you can't use it on people. You can put it on your robes and glasses though."
"Have you been possessed by Hermione?" Ron asked in surprise.
"I read books often too, okay?" Cohen said. "Looks like today is an unlucky day for everything..."
Cohen glanced at the sky outside the window, feeling it was comparable to the sky above Azkaban...
The downpour came earlier than they expected. After breakfast, they could already see raindrops hitting the castle roof from the Great Hall ceiling.
The students planning to watch the match all brought umbrellas, but at Cohen's reminder, Hermione and Ron both swapped their umbrellas for rainproof robes.
"You don't want to see your umbrellas get blown away by the storm," Cohen said. "Although I'm quite tempted to experience getting beaten up by the rain..."
The wind and rain were too strong, so pets were left in the dorms.
Including the "fake Scabbers" that Cohen had replaced, and Crookshanks.
Sirius clearly forgot one thing: he had previously asked Crookshanks to help him catch Peter Pettigrew, but after discussing the plan to explain the truth to Harry with Cohen, he hadn't reminded Crookshanks to "not rock the boat now."
And this suited Cohen perfectly, because with Voldemort's involvement, the timing for Harry and Sirius to catch Peter needed to be arranged around Christmas—that is, after Cohen had visited the Crouches.
"Fake Peter" couldn't be caught now, and it couldn't be Cohen who stopped it... so it could only be because "Peter" himself chose to run away.
Just as they arrived outside the Quidditch pitch, battling the wind and rain, Cohen felt the "fake Scabbers" in the dorm had already encountered Crookshanks.
Remotely controlling Scabbers to escape the dorm and hide in the castle walls through several mouse holes, there was no way Crookshanks could catch it now.
Cohen and the others trudged through large patches of mud and finally reached the stands.
Their vision was blurred by the raindrops flying everywhere, and they couldn't even clearly see Madam Hooch opening the trunk containing the Quidditch balls.
"Harry won't be able to find the Golden Snitch in these conditions," Hermione's voice was largely drowned out by the heavy rain.
"What!!!" Ron couldn't hear Hermione at all.
"I said! The rain is too heavy! You can't see anything!" Hermione shouted back.
"Can't you guys talk closer?" Cohen said irritably. "Are you trying to shout me deaf from either side..."
Ron and Hermione weren't the only ones shouting to communicate; most of the spectators had to raise their voices to talk to their companions, making the entire stadium chaotic.
However, the match in such terrible weather seemed even more exciting. The wave of positive emotions Cohen felt at this moment almost drowned out everything in front of him.
Even Cohen almost couldn't suppress his appetite, let alone the Dementors outside acting as guards but unable to sneak into the school to find food.
Just after the match called a timeout, Cohen saw the Dementors.
They burrowed into the dark clouds and secretly floated above the pitch. The rich and abundant scent of excitement alone made them surge closer—and after tasting a little bit of the scattered emotional sweetness, these Dementors couldn't hold back anymore.
[Food... lots of food...]
The Dementors' thoughts were terrifyingly loud. A large group of Dementors was hungrily preparing to swoop down for a feast—
And at this moment, Harry found the Snitch—it was hovering near a goalpost, illuminated by lightning.
Cohen wanted to advise them, because Dumbledore was present, and crossing Dumbledore's boundary would definitely make him furious.
Especially since Harry was flying on the pitch.
[Leave some for the kid... he needs to eat more...] a familiar Dementor didn't forget to remind its companions to leave some for Cohen.
"I freaking thank you guys..." Cohen covered his face in the rain.
There were too many and too loud Dementor thoughts. Cohen felt like none of them could hear what he was saying.
(End of this chapter)