Since there was no "Champion Showcase" event at all, the part where Fred and George had planned to promote their fake wands had to be scrapped.
That meant there was no real reason for Cohen to stick around either, so he and Harry followed the direction Krum had pointed and headed off together.
They slipped into the forest and found a spot where no passing students would stumble upon them—mainly because wherever Krum went, a crowd always followed, begging for autographs.
"You mentioned something before the tournament..."
Krum asked awkwardly, looking quite different from his usual brooding self. In fact, he looked rather sheepish.
"About..."
"Harry not dating anyone—is that what you're getting at?" Cohen asked, clearly amused. "First thing you need to learn about Britain: never trust the Daily Prophet."
"Whew..." Krum visibly relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief.
"I am the one being talked about, you know," Harry said dryly, lines forming on his forehead. "Why do you look like you trust Cohen more than me...?"
"Because he seems more trustworthy," Krum replied honestly.
"I am trustworthy," Cohen said with a nod, earning a jab in the ribs from Harry.
"So, the girl who was with you guys..." Krum asked cautiously, "Does she have a boyfriend?"
"You really like Hermione?" Harry asked in surprise. "She doesn't have a boyfriend—but..."
He didn't finish that thought. He'd meant to tell Krum that Hermione wasn't all that interested in Quidditch, but somehow that just sounded like he didn't want Krum to get close to his friend.
"Hermione is... special," Krum said sincerely, though his English faltered over a few tricky words. "If she doesn't have a boyfriend..."
"Viktor!" Karkaroff's voice rang out from beyond the tents.
"Someone's calling you for dinner," Cohen nodded in that direction. "But before you go, I've got a question for you."
"What is it?" Krum stopped and looked back at Cohen.
"Have you noticed anything... odd about Karkaroff?" Cohen asked.
"Huh?" Krum frowned, meeting Cohen's eyes, only to glance away almost immediately. He seemed uncertain about whether or not he should speak.
In the end, he just shook his head and answered indirectly.
"Professor Karkaroff's always been the same... but, well, the way he treats me changed a lot after I got famous playing Quidditch. I think that's all there is to it..."
"Got it," Cohen raised an eyebrow.
Even though Krum hadn't said anything outright, his expression had basically said everything. Karkaroff was definitely hiding something—and he'd clearly made Krum promise not to talk about it.
Krum passed through the edge of the forest and disappeared from sight.
"What were you going to ask him next?" Harry asked curiously as they made their way back to the castle.
"Karkaroff's clearly suspicious," Cohen said. "Krum's hesitation screamed it—he's bound by some promise. And that spell Karkaroff taught him during the task? It was clearly not a normal spell. Who uses illusions to confuse a dragon? Targeting its eyes makes sense—it's a weak point. But illusions? That messes with a dragon's mind. One spell did what it would normally take eight fully grown wizards casting Stunning Spells to do."
"Then why didn't we just ask Krum what the spell was? Whether Karkaroff taught it to him or not? The task is over anyway," Harry said, confused. "Plus, we just gave him the green light to chase Hermione..."
"You forgot the rules, Harry," Cohen replied. "Champions aren't allowed help from their teachers. Krum wouldn't admit to breaking the rules—and if we asked him outright, he'd probably just storm off."
"But now that we know Karkaroff's shady, we've got a target—so next..."
"We go hunt for clues?" Harry said eagerly, like some hidden Auror gene had suddenly awakened. "What's the plan? Got any ideas—"
"We're going back to the Gryffindor common room for the victory party," Cohen cut off his detective spark with a smirk. "You just fought a dragon—shouldn't you rest for a few days?"
"I don't feel like we did anything that tiring," Harry grumbled. "And what if Karkaroff was the one who put our names in the Goblet?"
Cohen didn't answer directly, smacking his lips thoughtfully.
Oh, Harry... those two votes were mine. I got someone to put them in.
——
Back at the castle, Cohen and Harry hadn't even reached the eighth floor before they were swarmed by a mob of excited Gryffindors and shoved into the common room.
Dinner was promptly replaced by an impromptu celebration, with Fred and George somehow sneaking a mountain of food in from the kitchens. Cakes were piled high on tables and chairs, and enchanted fireworks zipped around the ceiling, leaving trails of glittering sparks in their wake.
In the middle of the chaos, with everyone shouting encouragement, Harry and Cohen opened their golden eggs together. Everyone wanted to hear what kind of clue they'd won.
Fortunately, Cohen had the foresight to bring along the pair of earplugs Edward had given him during the Quidditch World Cup. They turned out to be more useful than expected.
The moment the two golden eggs were opened, a shriek erupted from both—like a chorus of banshees wailing in unison. The shrill, piercing sound filled the room instantly, and Fred and George rushed forward to help slam the eggs shut again.
"Sounds like a banshee!" Seamus said with a shudder. "Maybe you'll have to fight one next!"
"Do ghosts even attack people?" Harry frowned. "I don't think so..."
"Wouldn't be too bad if it was a banshee," Cohen said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry muttered, his face twitching.
"Sounded like someone being tortured!" Neville said, pale-faced. "Maybe you'll have to deal with the Cruciatus Curse!"
"If that were the case, Hogwarts would be the new Azkaban," Cohen reassured him. "Dumbledore would be thrown in jail for letting that happen. It's illegal to use that spell on people."
"Or maybe it's something even worse... like Dementors," Ron suggested. But as the thought struck him, he brightened and exchanged a glance with Cohen.
"To me, it sounded like Percy singing," George said, raising an eyebrow. "You'll need to ambush him while he's bathing—and to think, he hasn't even come to see his own siblings. Heartbreaking."
"Maybe he's in love with Mr. Crouch," Fred added with mock sorrow. "Dad always said love makes you blind—so Percy probably can't even see us anymore."
Everyone burst into laughter at Fred's joke, each person offering their own theory. Not a single one got it right.
Still, at least until the puzzle of the golden egg was solved, Cohen wouldn't have to fend off a dozen well-meaning friends offering "advice." There were still three months to go before the second task—more than enough time to take a proper break.
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