"You still have a chance to back out."
Mr. Crow left those words along with a small slip of paper on the table—"I'll be waiting in Room 103."
Without another word, the feathered figure departed, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of black bird feathers covering his head.
Lady Beatrice leaned against the bed, staring blankly at the footboard, her mind tangled in knots over this sudden "deal."
Meanwhile, Cohen motioned for Harry and Hermione to follow as he tailed Mr. Crow downstairs to the corridor where Room 103 was located.
The crow-headed man entered, and the sliver of light beneath the door vanished moments later—apparently, he had gone to sleep.
"He doesn't even brush his teeth or wash his face before bed?"
Cohen was disappointed by the lack of realism in Mr. Crow's design.
They didn't enter the room. After all, once morning came and Mr. Crow was locked up, they could inspect the place under much safer circumstances.
"He probably doesn't even have human teeth..." Hermione muttered. "And those feathers can't be easy to wash..."
"Do people with bird heads actually exist in the wizarding world?" Harry asked, stunned.
"Veelas can transform into something resembling harpies," Hermione said. "But all Veelas are female—Mr. Crow definitely isn't one."
"More accurately, he's not even human," Cohen said. "Let's head back to our room. We can deal with this in daylight."
"But we still have to save Lady Beatrice!" Harry insisted urgently. "She's about to be killed—"
"Harry..." Hermione took a deep breath and spoke gently. "I know... this is hard to accept—but we can't save her."
"We went back in time specifically to save her!" Harry argued, frustration rising in his voice. "She's going to die any minute—"
"Not here." Cohen cut him off before his voice could grow any louder, pulling him back upstairs to the second floor.
Once the door of Room 208 was shut, Cohen cast a Silencing Charm over the room.
"We saw Lady Beatrice's corpse, Harry," Hermione explained carefully. "The future that's already happened can't be changed—we can't save someone who's already destined to die..."
"But we're in the past right now!" Harry's eyes widened. "All we have to do is wait in Room 203, and we can stop it—"
"The Ministry's rules about Time-Turners exist for a reason, Harry." Hermione grabbed his arm before he could storm out. "If we save her now, then we wouldn't have seen her corpse earlier..."
"Then why did we even come back?!" Harry panted, his voice strained. "Just to watch her die all over again?"
"..."
Cohen had been silent the whole time, leaning against the bed in deep thought.
"Because we need the truth," Hermione said firmly. "Now we know Mr. Crow didn't kill her—it was her sister. Clearly, Mr. Crow told both of them about this... Our job now is to wait until morning—"
"No." Cohen interrupted.
"Lady Beatrice isn't dead—or rather, the corpse we saw wasn't really her."
"What do you mean?" Hermione gasped.
"Wait, that wasn't her?" Harry blinked. "Then what we saw was...?"
Instead of explaining, Cohen untied his pouch and turned it upside down—a small "person" clattered onto the floor.
"Peter Pettigrew?!" Harry recognized the figure instantly. "Wasn't he executed?"
"This is a puppet," Cohen said. "Alchemy. Pretty neat, huh?"
"I thought alchemy was just for making the Philosopher's Stone..." Harry muttered.
"Alchemists can make everything except the Stone," Cohen said dryly. "Anyway—remember the corpse we saw this morning?"
"Yeah..." Harry said slowly. "So...?"
"It bled." Cohen's eyes narrowed. "Funny how it only started bleeding right when we examined it. Doesn't that seem a little too convenient?"
"So... that corpse was actually a puppet you planted?!" Hermione gasped.
"A real corpse wouldn't suddenly start gushing blood hours after death," Cohen pointed out. "The sheets would've been soaked, the room reeking of blood—not just when we showed up. And remember the white stuff around the corpse's mouth?"
"That's... disgusting..." Hermione grimaced.
"At first, I thought it was, well... that," Cohen raised an eyebrow. "But then I realized—while the crow-headed guy might've had impressive output, there's no way she'd still be holding it in her mouth when she—"
"Okay, we get it!" Harry cut in, looking queasy. "No need for details..."
"Which means our next move is simple." Cohen smirked.
After adjusting the flesh puppet to resemble Lady Beatrice, the trio donned the Invisibility Cloak and returned to Room 203.
This time, they walked right in.
The lights were off, and Lady Beatrice, assuming it was Mr. Crow returning, sighed.
"I'm exhausted," she muttered. "Not tonight—and I've made up my mind. I won't hurt my sister for this."
"Stupefy!"
A jet of red light shot from beneath the cloak, striking Lady Beatrice square in the chest.
"We're setting up the crime scene now?" Harry asked. "Isn't that... too early?"
"Who said anything about a crime scene?" Cohen said. "We're just swapping out a living person."
He placed the puppet on the bed and stashed the unconscious Lady Beatrice into his magically expanded pouch.
The puppet, under Cohen's control, began mimicking Lady Beatrice's mannerisms—well enough to pass as her, at least for a short while.
"It can talk?" Harry whispered.
"Of course it can talk," Cohen said. "Otherwise, when her sister comes to kill her, it'd be obvious something's wrong. Hang on—I need to add some finishing touches..."
With a flick of his wand, Cohen added a few "details" to the puppet to match the corpse they'd seen earlier.
"I can't imagine how Lady Beatrice will feel when she wakes up and finds out her sister tried to kill her..." Hermione said, distressed.
"The Ministry will Obliviate them," Cohen shrugged. "Neither will remember a thing. But even without memories, they'll still be a mess. Who in their right mind would kill their own family for immortality?"
With Lady Beatrice taken care of, they returned to Room 208.
No one would disturb them here—they could wait until morning. During the lull, Harry bombarded Cohen with questions about the Silver Key.
Cohen answered some—including the fact that he was, in fact, the object of their "worship."
"If they worship you, why are they your enemies?" Harry frowned.
"Because the 'me' they worship is very different from the real me," Cohen said, rubbing his temples. "They think I'll destroy the world one day, so they're in a hurry to help me destroy it. Classic cult logic—kidnapping my friends and my cat must've been their idea of a 'trigger.'"
"Do you think Mr. Franz's soul is hidden in Room 103? Where Mr. Crow is staying?" Harry asked curiously.
"Cohen, earlier you said... Mr. Crow isn't human at all?" Hermione suddenly recalled.
"Right," Cohen nodded. "As a Dementor, it's easy for me to tell if something has a soul—"
"You mean... Mr. Crow..." Harry's eyes widened. "has no soul?"
"Just like my puppet," Cohen said. "That's how it heals so fast—not because of some immortality potion. So imagine this: someone's sitting with a remote control, playing a twisted hotel simulator with some... adult themes. But what I don't get is—why would the Silver Key kidnap von Braun, steal Franz's soul, and lure me here just to show me Muggles killing each other over immortality?"
Unless...
A creeping suspicion crawled up Cohen's spine.
This whole hotel "performance" felt eerily familiar—so much so that Cohen wondered if he had orchestrated it himself.
This world had no "Rusty Lake," but Cohen was the only one who knew that game's story.
"One dies, the other receives the revelation."
Cohen pulled up his ability list:
[Unlocked Abilities: Spirit Shaping (10/10), Emotion Drain (10/10), Liquid Curse (3/10), Parseltongue (10/10), Death Stare (5/10), Revelation (8/10)]
The "Revelation" ability stood out—representing his occasional prophetic visions.
Was it just a coincidence that the words matched? Or was the Silver Key after this power?
Before long, Cohen's puppet was "killed"—just as predicted, by Beatrice's sister. The younger woman had sneaked into her sister's room, feigning fear as she clung to her, whispering about Mr. Crow's "crimes," before plunging a knife into her back. Finally, she cut out her sister's tongue.
After what felt like an eternity, Hermione—who had been listening at the door—gestured urgently.
"Footsteps outside. And our own voices from next door," she whispered. "It's time to go downstairs."
The timeline was aligning—soon, the "other" trio would discover the murder and return upstairs.
When the corridor outside erupted into chaos—shouting, footsteps, the exact scene they remembered—Cohen manipulated the puppet's corpse to bleed, completing the time loop.
"We need the Cloak," Hermione said. "Once the 'other us' uses the Time-Turner, we'll take their place."
"This is insane," Harry muttered. "I can't imagine seeing another version of myself just... standing there."
"Let's hope that never happens," Hermione said sternly. "That's the most dangerous part of time travel—"
They hid behind the door, waiting—Cohen suddenly realized he'd never checked this spot with his Dementor vision. Otherwise, the Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have hidden them from "himself."
"Creak—"
The door opened. "Cohen," "Hermione," and "Harry" walked in. Just as before, "Hermione" explained the Time-Turner, and the three huddled together.
"One... two... three..."
She turned the hourglass eight times.
In a blink, the trio vanished.
"Whew..."
Hermione pulled off the Cloak, exhaling in relief.
"Thank Merlin... no disasters..."
"Now we check Mr. Crow's room, right?" Harry said. "Find out what's really going on—"
"No." Cohen cut in sharply.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. "Did you sense something?"
"We're going back first," Cohen said. "You two stay in 207. I'll handle Room 103 alone."
"No way," Harry said firmly. "We came so you wouldn't have to do this alone—"
"Drop the hero act," Cohen said flatly. "I can't die. You can. Stay with the Chimera."
"You got hurt in first year!" Harry argued. "I'm not letting you—"
"Don't make me Stun you both," Cohen said, raising his wand. "This isn't a debate."
Harry and Hermione fell silent.
"Good. Back to 207."
As Cohen reached for the door, he froze.
A soul—Edward's soul—had just stepped out of Room 207... and was now heading into 206.
What the—? Since when did Edward wander off alone?
Cohen burst into the hallway just as Ron poked his head out of 207, looking baffled.
"Cohen? And Harry—Hermione—wait, didn't you just come back alone?" Ron blinked. "Where's your dad?"
"What?" Hermione frowned.
"Huh?" Harry looked just as confused. "Cohen's been with us the whole time!"
Ignoring them, Cohen sprinted to Room 206—where Edward's soul had just vanished inside.
If Ron said "Cohen" had returned alone and taken Edward from 207...
That meant a soulless copy of Cohen had slipped past them.
"BANG!"
Cohen kicked open the door.
Edward sat on the bed, cradling a sobbing child, murmuring comforts as he patted its back.
"Shh... tell me what happened. It's only been two minutes..." Edward said gently. "Where are Harry and Hermione—"
He stopped mid-sentence when Cohen stormed in.
His eyes darted between the Cohen in the doorway and the one in his arms.
"Cohen?" His voice wavered. "What the—how—?"
The child in his arms slowly turned its head.
Cohen's stomach dropped.
An exact replica of himself—tear-streaked, trembling—stared back at him with an expression Cohen had never worn in his life.
This wasn't a puppet like Mr. Crow.
This thing felt like a Dementor—mixed with something else. Something serpentine.
"Incarcerous!"
Cohen's spell shot toward the impostor—but Edward deflected it, still torn between the two Cohens.
In doing so, he let go of the child.
"..."
The fake Cohen stared at Edward's retreating hand, looking utterly lost.
"He's the fake," Cohen said coldly, wand still trained on his double. "Since when do I ever act like that?"
"Dad..." The impostor reached out pleadingly.
Edward hesitated—then stepped back.
The fake Cohen's hand dropped.
Its gaze shifted to the real Cohen.
In that moment, Cohen saw it—confusion, envy, and hatred.
Then it screamed.
Black mist erupted from its body, engulfing it—until a towering, tattered figure emerged from the fog.
"Dementor?!" Harry gasped from the doorway.
The fake Cohen—now a Dementor—lunged.
Edward moved faster, shielding Cohen.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A silver Dementor burst from Edward's wand.
Cohen had never seen his father's Patronus before.
Now he knew why.
The two spectral Dementors clashed—but the fake one fought through, inching closer.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Harry and Hermione joined in—though Hermione's was still just mist, Harry's had form now.
A stag.
Cohen summoned his own Patronus—identical to Edward's.
His father shot him a stunned look.
"Later," Cohen muttered.
The three Patronuses cornered the fake Cohen, forcing it back—until it shrieked again, dissolving into another form.
A Basilisk.
"Bloody hell!" Ron yelped.
Cohen didn't hesitate. He shifted—his body warping into a Basilisk's scaled bulk.
The two serpents collided, fangs gnashing, tails thrashing—
"EVERYONE OUT!" Edward roared, shoving Harry, Hermione, and Ron toward 207. "NOW!"
By the time he turned back, one Basilisk had bolted into the hall.
The other—Cohen—stood there, rubbing his jaw.
"Ugh. Almost chipped a fang..."
"What the hell was—" Edward began.
"A counterfeit 'Cohen,'" Cohen said grimly. "Seems the Silver Key's getting desperate. Like I didn't already have enough reasons to wipe them out."
"But it's unstable," Cohen added, watching the direction it fled—downstairs.
A woman's scream echoed up the stairwell—likely Beatrice's sister.
"No soul. It'll be dead within hours," Cohen said. "But first—you, Harry, Hermione, Ron—all of you are leaving."