Plan: Success!
Cohen left the tent, satisfied.
The remaining three Silver Keys were still dueling with the Aurors, but it didn't last long—a few well-aimed spells later, they collapsed silently into the bushes.
Their souls dissipated quickly, but Cohen managed to absorb them. Unfortunately, their spiritual "quality" was lacking—combined, they only boosted his soul integrity by 2%. Still, every bit counted. He was now tantalizingly close to that "comfortably invincible" threshold.
[Soul Strength: 49]
In a way, the Silver Keys had achieved their ultimate goal—they'd merged with Cohen.
He slipped back into his family's tent unnoticed. Edward's snores rumbled steadily, and the Chimera lay quietly inside, its lion head batting around a yarn ball it had dug out of the trunk.
The yarn ball looked less like yarn and more like a slimy, sulfur-coated bomb—one misplaced flame breath away from exploding.
Cohen returned to his body, stretched, and rolled over in his bunk—
"Back already?" Edward mumbled sleepily.
"Huh?" Cohen froze.
Edward shouldn't know about the soul projection… right?
"Hold on tighter…" Edward slurred, clearly dreaming.
Cohen relaxed. Probably dreaming about Rose.
For a second, he'd thought Edward knew about his little scheme to incite the Silver Keys and Death Eaters to attack Fudge.
Next morning.
By the time Cohen woke, Edward was still sprawled halfway off the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets.
Hard to believe this was the same campsite that had been terrorized by Death Eaters hours earlier.
Cohen climbed down, shoved Edward back onto the mattress, and sighed.
Too much Chimera-induced安全感 (sense of security), I guess.
The lion head nuzzled Cohen's hand, begging for pets. He gave it a half-hearted scratch before heading to the bathroom—
"Cohen? Mr. Norton? You still there?"
Harry's voice came from outside.
Cohen poked his head out, toothbrush dangling.
"What's up?"
Harry stood there, with Sirius waiting nearby, luggage packed.
"Aren't you leaving? The Portkey queue's massive—but Mr. Weasley saved us a spot. If you're ready, you can come with—"
"Thanks, but Edward's still comatose." Cohen shook his head, toothpaste foaming. "We'll skip the Portkey. He'd rather ride a broomstick than touch one of those again."
"But it's not safe here! The Minister got attacked again last night—"
Victims worry about attacks.
Perpetrators don't.
"We're good. 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—no one wanted to linger after Dark Marks and assassination attempts.
9 AM.
Edward finally woke, yawning like a bear.
"You crashed early. Why're you still tired?" Cohen asked over breakfast.
"If sleeping early made me wake early, I'd have a job by now." Edward groaned. "Had a nightmare—dreamt I was stuck in an office signing paperwork all day. Exhausting."
After packing up (Edward insisted on carrying the tent gear "for the camping vibe"), they Apparated home in two jumps.
The moment they stepped inside, Rose lunged at Edward, hugging him fiercely before planting a kiss on his cheek.
Her hands clutched a crumpled Daily Prophet, face pale.
Then she turned and kissed Cohen too.
"I saw the paper—Death Eaters, the attack on Fudge—" Her voice trembled. "You were in that top box! I should've gone with you—"
"We're fine," Edward soothed. "Got front-row seats to the Minister's near-death experience!"
"Why didn't you come back last night?" Rose pressed. "Rita Skeeter interviewed everyone from that box—except you two. I thought—"
"I wouldn't attack the Minister in public," Edward joked. "Especially after he approved my request."
"The Fidelius Charm?" Rose glanced at Cohen. "Did you explain it to him?"
"He did. I'm on board." Cohen nodded, picking up the Prophet.
Front Page: "Death Eaters Return, Ministry in Disarray!"
Rita Skeet had a field day—slamming the Ministry's lax security and incompetence, calling it a "national disgrace."
Ignoring the fact I orchestrated part of this… she's not wrong.
Page 2: A photo of Fudge, bandaged ear, looking shaken.
"Minister claims he survived multiple assassination attempts by the Silver Keys (see Pg. 3) and Death Eaters. However, our interview with the Bulgarian Minister contradicts this. Whether Fudge's excuses can dispel rumors of him being 'beaten senseless by an unemployed amateur' remains to be seen…"
"Pfft—'beaten senseless by an unemployed amateur'—" Cohen snorted.
"Unemployed?" Rose's eyes snapped to Edward.
"I am unemployed, but not an assassin!" Edward raised his hands. "Cohen's my alibi!"
"Can confirm. Wasn't him." Cohen flipped to Page 3—detailing the Silver Keys as a "fringe cult" with "mysterious backers."
Page 4 hinted the "backers" might be Ministry insiders—*"investigation ongoing."*
"The Ministry's in for a rough time," Edward sighed. "Arnold's drowning in work. Fudge is obsessed with finding the mastermind."
"No, he's not." Rose shook her head. "If Rita's facts are right, the attackers are dead. Fudge won't dig deeper."
"They Avada'd at his face!"
"This had Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. He'll blame it all on Voldemort." Rose said firmly. "Fudge would never admit Voldemort's back—because then everyone would realize he's useless. This World Cup mess proves it."
Rest of Summer:
Arnold, usually a frequent visitor, was nowhere to be seen—proof of the Ministry's chaos.
But Cohen knew they weren't just cleaning up the World Cup fallout.
They were preparing for the Triwizard Tournament.
Meanwhile, Voldemort sent a smoky, cursed-letter updating his "Kidnap Harry 2.0" plan.
He needed a new body. Since Cohen's "help" was taking too long (*"Wasting Elixir on talking toilets?!"*—repeated three times), he'd move this year.
The plan?
Triwizard Tournament.
Thanks to Lucius's intel, Voldemort knew the Tournament was returning.
He wanted Harry to compete, win, and touch a rigged Cup-Portkey.
No need for Cohen's help with the Portkey this time—new inside man.
But Voldemort did want Cohen to ensure Harry's victory (despite being underage and outmatched).
"..."
Cohen stared at the letter.
Not because the plan was familiar.
Not because Voldemort wanted him to cheat.
But because—
[Ding! Evil Quest Updated]
[Evil Path (4/7)]
Resurrect Full-Power Tom Riddle
[Reward: 5000 Evil Points, Animagus Form Mimic (Choose Bloodline)]
[Ding! Good Quest Updated]
[Good Path (4/7)]
Win the Triwizard Cup as Azkaban's Champion
[Reward: 5000 Good Points, Animagus Form Mimic (Choose Bloodline)]
…
"So the Triwizard Tournament's now the Pentawizard?"
And he had to represent Azkaban?!
"What's wrong?" Earl flapped over. "Did Voldemort write something weird? Is he pregnant?"
"If only." Cohen sighed. "Earl, you know how the Dementors have always been… kind to me?"
"Oh no." Earl's feathers puffed.
"Last year, watching them starve outside Hogwarts, barred from the Quidditch pitch… yet still bringing me snacks…"
"Those images haunted me."
"In that moment, I thought: If I ever enter Hogwarts, if I ever compete—I must win it all. Now the Cup is within reach. This may be my only chance."
"Don't say it—" Earl's owl face twisted in horror.
"RESTORING AZKABAN'S GLORY IS OUR DUTY!" Cohen declared.
"STOP USING HEROIC TONE FOR DERANGED PLANS!" Earl screeched. "ARE YOU CURSED?! DID THAT LETTER INFECT YOU?! I NEED A CHECK-UP—"
"Do you think that speech was convincing enough for a Confundus?" Cohen's dramatic expression vanished. "I need to brainwash myself to trick the Goblet. Unless it doesn't scan minds—then I'll just vote normally."
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