Cohen left the tent, satisfied.
The remaining three Silver Key members were still dueling with Aurors—but not for long. A few well-aimed spells later, they collapsed silently into the bushes near the campsite.
Their souls dissipated quickly, but Cohen managed to absorb them. These three were disappointingly weak—combined, they only boosted his soul integrity by 2%. Still, every bit counted. He was inching closer to that "comfortably secure" threshold.
In a way, the Silver Key had achieved their ultimate goal—they had "merged" with Cohen.
Silently slipping back into his tent, he found Edward still snoring peacefully. The Chimaera lounged lazily, while the lion batted around a yarn ball it had fished out of the trunk.
The yarn ball looked less like a toy and more like a sulfur-coated bomb—one spark away from exploding.
Cohen slid back into his body, stretched, and rolled over—
"Back already?" Edward mumbled sleepily.
Edward shouldn't know about the soul-walking… right?
"Hold tighter…" Edward slurred, lost in a dream.
Cohen relaxed. Probably dreaming about Rose.
For a second, he'd thought Edward knew about his little "encouragement" for the Silver Key and Death Eaters to attack Fudge.
By the time Cohen woke, Edward was still sprawled halfway off the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets.
Hard to believe this is the same campsite that hosted a terrorist attack last night.
Cohen climbed down, hoisted Edward back onto the mattress, and sighed. Too much faith in the Chimaera's guard duty.
The lion nudged him for head scratches. Cohen obliged half-heartedly before heading to the bathroom—
"Cohen? Mr. Norton? You still there?"
Harry's voice came from outside.
Toothbrush in mouth, Cohen poked his head through the tent flap.
"What's up?" He spotted Harry and, further off, Sirius packing up.
"Aren't you leaving? The Portkey line's massive—but Mr. Weasley got us a spot. If you're ready, you can come with—"
"Thanks, but Edward's still asleep." Cohen shook his head, toothpaste foaming. "We'll skip the Portkey—he'd rather ride a broomstick than use one again."
"It's not safe here. The Minister was attacked again last night—" Harry fretted.
Victims worry about attacks.
"We're fine. My security's better than Fudge's." Cohen waved him off. "See you on the train."
As Harry left, Cohen surveyed the near-empty campsite. Most tents were gone—only a few stragglers remained, packing hastily.
No one wanted to linger where Death Eaters had paraded, even if the Dark Mark had been scrubbed from the sky.
After a lazy breakfast and packing up, Cohen and Edward Apparated home in two jumps.
The moment they stepped inside, Rose rushed over and crushed Edward in a hug.
"Uh—?" Edward flailed.
Rose didn't speak—just kissed his cheek.
Her grip on the crumpled Daily Prophet was white-knuckled.
Then she pulled Cohen into an equally fierce embrace.
"I saw the paper—Death Eaters at the match, Fudge attacked—" Her voice shook. "You were in the top box—I should've gone with you—"
"Hey, we're fine," Edward soothed. "Got front-row seats to the Minister's assassination attempt—"
"Why didn't you come back last night?" Rose demanded. "Rita Skeeter interviewed everyone from that box—except you two. I thought—"
"I wouldn't attack the Minister in public." Edward grinned. "Especially after our application got approved."
"The Fidelius Charm?" Rose glanced at Cohen. "Did you explain it to him?"
"Dad did. I'm on board." Cohen nodded.
As Edward recounted the night's events, Cohen flipped through the Prophet.
Headlines & Humiliation
Front Page: "Death Eaters Resurface as Ministry Panics"
Rita Skeeter tore into the Ministry's "shambolic security" and "national disgrace" of a response.
Ignoring my role in this… she's not wrong. Letting Silver Key fanatics into the top box was pathetic.
Page Two: A photo of Fudge, bandage over his missing ear.
"Minister Fudge claims he survived multiple attacks by the Silver Key (a fringe cult, see p.3) and Death Eaters, bravely dueling his assailants. This contradicts the Bulgarian Minister's account. Whether Fudge's tale can dispel rumors of him being 'battered into incoherence by a jobless amateur' remains to be seen…"
"Pfft—'jobless amateur'—" Cohen snorted.
"Jobless?" Rose's eyes snapped to Edward.
"I'm jobless, not a criminal!" Edward raised his hands. "Cohen can vouch—"
"He didn't do it." Technically true.
Page Three detailed the Silver Key as a "shadowy cult with high-placed backers."
Page Four implied the "backer" was a Ministry insider—*"Full investigation next issue."*
"The Ministry's in for chaos." Edward sighed. "Arnold's swamped. Fudge'll be hunting scapegoats."
"No." Rose shook her head. "If Rita's facts are right, the attackers are dead. Fudge won't dig deeper."
"They nearly killed him!"
"There were Death Eaters. The Dark Mark. He'll blame Voldemort." Rose scoffed. "But admitting that means admitting he's incompetent. After this World Cup fiasco? Never."
Arnold didn't visit—proof of the Ministry's chaos.
But Cohen knew another event was brewing: the Triwizard Tournament.
A letter from Voldemort (delivered via smoke-like magic) confirmed it. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the N0velFire.ɴet
The Dark Lord needed a new body. Since Cohen's "help" would take too long ("Stop wasting elixirs on talking toilets!" scrawled three times), he'd act this year.
Triwizard Tournament. Again.
With Lucius as his spy, Voldemort knew the details.
Harry Potter would compete—and win. The Cup would be rigged as a Portkey.
No need for Cohen's help there. But...
"How to make an underaged, under-skilled Harry win?"
Cohen stared at the letter.
Not because of the déjà vu.
Not because Voldemort wanted him to rig the Tournament.
[Ding! Evil Quest Updated]
[Evil Quest (4/7): Resurrect Full-Power Tom Riddle]
[Reward: 5000 Evil Points, Animagus Form Mimic (Choose Bloodline)]
[Ding! Good Quest Updated]
[Good Quest (4/7): Win the Triwizard Cup as Azkaban's Champion]
[Reward: 5000 Good Points, Animagus Form Mimic (Choose Bloodline)]
...So the Triwizard becomes the Pentawizard?
And I have to represent Azkaban?
"What's wrong?" Earl tilted his head. "Did he write something weird? Is he pregnant?"
"Worse." Cohen sighed. "Earl, you know how the Dementors have always been... kind to me?"
"Oh no." Earl's feathers puffed.
"Last year, I watched them starve outside Hogwarts—barred from the Quidditch pitch, shivering in the cold… yet they still brought me snacks."
"Those images haunt me. Right then, I thought: If I ever enter that school, I'll win it all."
"The glory of Azkaban must be restored!" Cohen clenched a fist. "And I will bear that weight!"
"STOP USING HEROIC TONE FOR DERANGED NONSENSE!" Earl screeched. "ARE YOU CURSED?! IS THE LETTER CONTAGIOUS?!"
"Think this 'meme' would work as a Confundus trigger?" Cohen dropped the act. "I need to brainwash myself to trick the Goblet. Unless it can't read minds—then I'll just vote normally."
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