"But come to think of it, it's been quite a while now… and no one's tried to attack us again."
Harry looked puzzled.
"The person who tossed our names into the Goblet of Fire… don't you think they're being a little too quiet?"
"Yeah," Cohen replied thoughtfully.
Of course, Cohen wasn't thinking about the name in the Goblet—he and Voldemort had done that themselves. What truly occupied his thoughts was the mysterious agenda of the Silver Key, whose true intentions remained concealed.
On the night of the Yule Ball, Karkaroff had mentioned that the Silver Key had a plan that "might not work." Clearly, this group was separate from Loki—Rita's boyfriend—and might even have been the ones to ambush and kill him in a power struggle.
They wouldn't have approached Karkaroff simply because he was the headmaster of a foreign school. Their plan must be tied to the Triwizard Tournament.
And what was even more suspicious was that Karkaroff had given Cohen full marks during the first task. That was clearly part of some obligation—he wouldn't have let anyone else take the first-place prize that should've gone to Krum.
In other words, this Silver Key group wanted Cohen to win the tournament.
Just like Voldemort's plan with Harry…
"Well, I'd better go find Hermione and learn that Bubble-Head Charm," Harry said, pushing himself up from the grass and brushing off the dirt. "Two months should be enough… right?"
"Considering it took you over a month to learn the Summoning Charm…" Cohen trailed off, reluctant to comment on Harry's learning speed. "If things get rough, you can always come to me—ugh, that sounded like something a sugar mummy would say."
After Harry left, Cohen set his mind to doing something he normally avoided.
Peeking into the divination crystal ball.
It was the most direct way to uncover the Silver Key's true goal—provided his luck didn't limit him to seeing irrelevant snippets of the future.
Back in the Room of Requirement, Cohen placed the crystal ball Martha had once given him onto the table. The Earl fluttered up beside him, peering in curiously.
"Did you inherit that from the water serpent or something?" the Earl asked. "You hardly ever use it. If I were you, I'd check it every day—buy a lottery ticket and make a fortune."
"If I could actually choose what part of the future I saw, I would check it every day," Cohen said, rubbing the surface of the crystal ball. "But everything I see is random—and misleading. Last time, I nearly thought I'd failed to save that dog guy… but the Dementor on top of him turned out to be me."
"Well, that's useless," the Earl declared.
"Why are you always insulting yourself?" Cohen shot back.
"I'm just very empathetic," the Earl growled.
"…," Cohen stared at the ball silently.
"Hmph, you've still got a lot to learn when it comes to snark," the Earl said smugly, assuming he'd won that round. "Watch and learn."
"Why so quiet now?" he leaned in closer. "Did I hit a nerve or—?"
"No," Cohen's expression had darkened. Then again, he never looked happy when glimpsing the "future."
He reached out and grabbed the Earl, pulling him around so he could also see what was inside the ball.
The mist inside retreated rapidly to the edges. The Earl could now see the same scene Cohen did.
"This thing's got to be broken," the Earl muttered, confused. "There's no way they'd treat you like that—especially Edward."
Inside the ball, Edward, Rose, and Herbert had surrounded Cohen, their wands all aimed at him. Their faces twisted with unfamiliar hatred.
And the Cohen in the vision… looked heartbreakingly sad. Even Cohen himself couldn't tell whether the sorrow was real or just for show.
"Maybe it's Polyjuice Potion," the Earl suggested. "Those Silver Key freaks could've stolen your dad's beard, hair, or who knows what from the sewers. They're twisted enough…"
"If it was Polyjuice, I'd know," Cohen said calmly. "If they were pretending to be them, I'd kill them the moment they walked in—wouldn't play along with some impersonation game."
"But you do play along sometimes," the Earl argued. "Like when you're acting with Voldemort or—"
"Voldemort is Voldemort. Edward and the others… they're different."
Cohen fell silent for a moment.
"They're different…"
Could it have all been an act? But who would the act be for?
As if the crystal ball sensed Cohen's desire to see more, the scene moved forward.
No sound—only visuals. A few seconds later, Cohen raised his wand and cast the Killing Curse at Edward.
The flash of green light struck him, and Edward crumpled like a rag doll.
If it had been Polyjuice, the transformation should've worn off after death. But this "Edward" remained unchanged.
"Something about this feels off, but…" Cohen stared at the ball as the scene faded and the swirling mist returned.
"Maybe a high-level imposter…" the Earl offered cautiously.
"Something isn't right," Cohen muttered, furrowing his brow.
He'd seen this scene before.
Back in his third year, the first thing the Boggart had turned into—the thing it sensed Cohen feared most—was this.
Could it be that he was actually surrounded by Boggarts?
The setting in the vision looked like a deserted Muggle plaza at night—dim lighting, no people.
And near Cohen's feet lay a trophy, gleaming gold in the darkness. That meant this was after the third Triwizard task.
He'd won the cup—and the cup should've been turned into a Portkey to transport him to Voldemort.
But Voldemort wasn't in the vision. Neither was Harry.
Had the plan fallen apart?
The moment he saw himself cast the Killing Curse at Edward, Cohen stopped believing that was really Edward—even if it wasn't someone using Polyjuice.
He could see souls—he wouldn't attack Edward if he saw his real soul.
Now the bigger question wasn't "Why was I surrounded by Edward and the others?" but "If Voldemort's plan failed, how do I still get my mission reward?"
"Fate loves to deceive, so the wise always sneer at it…" the Earl intoned.
"Where'd you steal that line from?" Cohen glanced up with a frown. "Don't spout random poetic nonsense—it makes me think you've gone completely mad…"
"I'm just saying you're a little idiot," the Earl grinned. "You don't really think that vision means you and your family fall apart in the future, do you?"
"Of course not," Cohen replied. "I just think Voldemort's plan is screwed, and if I want that five-thousand-point reward, I might have to kidnap Harry after the tournament ends…"
Five thousand sin points was a hefty reward. Cohen might be ruthless, but he wasn't about to suffer for Harry's sake.