"Can I have all of them?" Cohen asked, struck by a sudden whim.
He'd never tried pumpkin juice, milk, and tea mixed together. It sounded like a quintessentially British concoction—probably needed a heap of sugar cubes to make it work…
"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, ruffling Cohen's hair. She likely thought he meant tasting each one separately, not blending them into some chaotic potion.
"Mum, is there anything to eat? I'm starving…" Ron yawned, trudging downstairs, followed by a groggy Harry and a bossy Hermione, who'd clearly dragged them out of bed. Harry and Ron looked like they'd barely slept, probably thanks to Hermione's wake-up call.
Then Ron spotted Cohen in the living room. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, all traces of morning grogginess vanishing. "Cohen! You're here already? Harry and I were just saying we might need to swing by Privet Drive to pick you up! Dumbledore said you got home yesterday."
"There's bread, fried eggs, jam, and cheese. You lot dig in, and I'll whip up some drinks," Mrs. Weasley said, heading back to the kitchen and leaving the seat next to Cohen for Ron and Harry.
"Cohen, you won't believe what happened to me this summer!" Harry said, plopping down beside him, bursting to share.
"A Dementor attacked you," Cohen said before Harry could continue. "And you drove it off with a Patronus Charm."
"How'd you know?!" Harry gaped, already replaying the moment in his head. "That Dementor definitely wasn't you in disguise…"
"It told me," Cohen said, shaking his head. "Showed up at my place after you left Privet Drive. All the Dementors have ditched Azkaban—"
Cohen was about to tell Harry and Ron that the Dementors had gone over to Voldemort's side, but a crucial detail stopped him cold.
Voldemort was planning to tap into Harry's mind this year—Cohen wasn't sure when, but better safe than sorry. After all, he was still playing the "double agent." If he acted too much like a double-double agent in front of Harry and Voldemort caught a glimpse, the whole ruse could unravel.
"You're lucky the Ministry didn't send you a warning letter, Harry," Hermione said, her voice tinged with worry. "They've spent the whole summer painting you and Dumbledore as lying lunatics. The Daily Prophet was spreading rumors just a few days ago…"
"Rita Skeeter's smear pieces?" Cohen asked, frowning.
He'd been in Greece and hadn't kept up with the papers.
"No, Rita Skeeter's moved to Witch Weekly to write gossip columns," Hermione said. "I think the Ministry's been leaning on the Prophet. Last year's coverage was pretty critical of them, so they probably pulled some 'official strings.'"
"From the Ministry's perspective, keeping Rita at the Prophet would've suited them better," Ron said, his mouth stuffed with jam-slathered bread. "Think about it—no one's as eager as her to dig up dirt. She probably quivers with excitement at the thought of slandering someone famous."
"Next thing you know, she's humming to herself at home," Cohen quipped.
The living room erupted in laughter.
"You lot…" Hermione sighed, shaking her head at the three boys doubled over from their silly joke.
Cohen knew, though, that Rita's departure likely had more to do with him. With his threat hanging over her, she probably didn't dare risk her life for another scandalous scoop.
"So, what's the deal here? Are you all on some group holiday or something?" Cohen asked, feigning ignorance.
"You don't know?" Ron said, finally swallowing his massive bite of bread, eyes wide. "I heard from Dad that Mr. Norton's part of the Order of the Phoenix. I figured he'd tell you everything…"
"No one invited him this time," Cohen said with a dramatic sigh. "The Order must be a petty club, sidelining useless old members—"
"No, it's an organization to fight Voldemort," Harry cut in urgently. "Dumbledore's in charge, and this place is their headquarters now. But they don't tell us anything…"
"Because we're 'too young,'" Fred and George said in unison, appearing in the living room with a pop and empty plates in hand.
"We could hear your laughing from miles away," Fred said. "What fun stuff happened in Greece?"
"I think I caught the word 'humming,'" George said.
"And 'couldn't resist,'" Fred added.
"Sounds positively enchanting," they said together, exchanging knowing grins.
"That means this house has worse soundproofing than I thought," Cohen said. "I'm starting to think there's a Sonorus charm on the living room. You heard us whispering from upstairs?"
"Not with our own ears, obviously," Fred said proudly, pulling a pair of eerily realistic ears from his pocket, connected by a thin string. "Extendable Ears—perfect for eavesdropping," George said, leaning in close to Cohen. "Thanks to you, we found a business partner—Dad's old colleague. Said you recommended us. He gave us a big chunk of gold to stock up on prank products."
"How's it going?" Cohen asked.
"O," Fred said, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe E. Definitely better than A."
"If only our N.E.W.T.s could be that good," George sighed. "Then Mum might let us work on our projects without confiscating everything in our pockets—"
"Fred! George! Have I not told you to stop messing with this nonsense?" Mrs. Weasley stormed out of the kitchen, spotting the Extendable Ears in Fred's hand. "If I catch you with these useless gadgets again—"
"Mum, we're adults now!" Fred protested.
"You're still in school!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.
"School doesn't mean we can't plan for the future," George argued. "Once we sell this stuff, we'll make a fortune—"
"You don't need to worry about money right now. That's your father's responsibility," Mrs. Weasley said, fuming. "Your priority is your N.E.W.T.s this year! No more bringing home nine fails! Look at Bill, Charlie, and Percy—"
She stopped short at Percy's name, silently setting the drinks on the table. Then, covering her face, she hurried back to the kitchen and shut the door.
"We'll go talk to her," Fred and George said, sliding off the table and rushing after her.
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