"I expected as much," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort created so many Horcruxes that his soul must already be terribly fragmented. I believe he accidentally split it once more the night he killed Lily and James—fourteen years ago. And that fragment latched onto the only living thing nearby…"

"But to truly defeat Voldemort, we have to destroy every single Horcrux."

"I can destroy the soul fragment—if that spell's protection is lifted," Cohen said.

Dumbledore peered over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, blue eyes studying Cohen carefully.

"I believe you, Cohen. But unfortunately, the protective spell on Harry can't simply be lifted—it's not a spell, exactly. It's the love of his mother. And love doesn't just fade because a spell is undone."

"But we still have a chance. First, we need to understand why Voldemort wants Harry to take part in the tournament," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "He already has the body you provided, but it's void of any magical power. So he'll naturally look for another solution… perhaps continuing the plan he originally had."

"According to his logic, Harry's blood is essential to his new body. He wants that protection flowing through himself—if it's part of him, he can bypass it and kill Harry. But at the same time, that also makes him the only one capable of destroying the soul fragment embedded in Harry."

"You're that sure?" Cohen understood what would happen next, but he was surprised by Dumbledore's absolute certainty.

"I believe in love," Dumbledore said softly. "Not just Lily's love for Harry—but Harry's love for his parents. Just like your love for Rose and Edward. Voldemort will never understand these feelings. That's why his pursuit of immortality is doomed to fail."

"And if he doesn't fail?" Cohen looked him straight in the eye.

Dumbledore didn't answer. But the look he gave Cohen said everything.

"That's not love, is it?" Cohen asked.

"No," Dumbledore's voice was hoarse. His eyes had turned moist at some point, and something glimmering had trickled down into his silver beard. "I'm not someone who deserves love… or someone who's good at giving it. All I can do is protect those who can love, and be loved."

"My choice is to enter the tournament with Harry," Cohen said. "That way I can make sure he comes back alive after Voldemort gets his new body. You're not going to stop me, are you?"

"As headmaster, I didn't hear anything." Dumbledore gave him a slow wink. "Ah, lunchtime—let's go, shall we?"

Dumbledore stood up and led Cohen out of the office.

"You're far more mature than the average child, Cohen," he said as they walked. "But maturity often comes with heavier burdens and premature responsibilities."

"Some burdens aren't necessary, though. For a child, health and happiness mean more to their loved ones than any amount of achievement. If you ever get tired, you can always go back to being a normal student. I will—"

"No need," Cohen interrupted.

Like hell I'm walking away. What a waste that would be—both the sin and goodwill points, not to mention all the rewards from the quests. Who had time to play the delicate child now?

——

That night wasn't just the selection of the Triwizard Champions—it was also Halloween Eve, and the Great Hall had been decorated lavishly.

Just before sunset, Cohen and the others were heading back to the castle from Hagrid's hut. Hagrid had been pestering Cohen for an update on the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"They're doing great. Feeding them Ashwinder eggs seems to work just fine," Cohen lied with a straight face.

If he told Hagrid all the Skrewts had died, the man would probably mourn for days.

"Ashwinder eggs, eh? Never tried that before!" Hagrid's eyes lit up.

He was wearing a bizarre furry suit, and his usually wild hair had been combed into something almost presentable—though the ends were still dripping with something that reeked of overwhelming cologne.

"Too much perfume," Cohen pinched his nose. "Hagrid, if you're trying to go on a date, no one's going to get within five feet of you like that."

"A date?!" Harry exclaimed.

"With who?!" Ron's eyes nearly popped out. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel~fire~net

"No way—" Hermione took a sharp breath.

"'Course not!" Hagrid flushed bright red. "I'll just go wash it off…"

But barely half a minute after he stepped outside, the sound of running water stopped. When they went out to check, Hagrid had already vanished.

"There!" Hermione pointed.

Madame Maxime was leading her students from the carriage toward the castle. Hagrid had sprinted up beside her, and was speaking with such an adoring expression that it looked like his eyes were glued to her.

"He's in love with her!" Ron shouted, absolutely floored.

"No surprise there. Perfectly natural, well matched," Cohen commented casually.

"Let's keep moving," Hermione sighed, nudging them forward. "Let's just hope Hagrid gets through this okay."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Madame Maxime would never be with Hagrid," Hermione said grimly. "She's the headmistress of Beauxbatons! If she married Hagrid, the media would eat her alive—it'd be a scandal across all of Europe."

"Well, it's not like she can just marry a regular person either…" Ron mumbled. "What kind of… I mean… whatever…"

By the time they reached the Great Hall, it was packed with people, all eagerly awaiting the champions' names.

"Angelina entered her name!" Fred and George said excitedly. "Hope it's her!"

"When did your beards disappear?" Hermione asked. The twins had tried to bypass the age line earlier that day, only to end up sprouting a thick mess of white facial hair.

"Madam Pomfrey cleared them off in a second," Fred said cheerfully. "We didn't make it, but Gryffindor still has a shot!"

"Fingers crossed for Angelina," George added.

Even with the feast laid out before them, hardly anyone was really eating—except Cohen, of course.

By the time he finished his last bite of steak, the golden plates had all magically cleaned themselves.

Dumbledore stood to announce where the selected champions would go: a separate room at the side of the Hall.

Then he drew his wand and made a grand gesture.

The Hall dimmed until only the Goblet of Fire's blue flames lit the room.

The first name it spit out was Viktor Krum from Durmstrang.

"No surprise there!" Ron had to yell, since the cheers were deafening.

The second was Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons.

This time, applause was much more subdued. The other Beauxbatons students clearly hoped it would be one of them—two girls were openly sobbing into their arms.

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Third was Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff, representing Hogwarts.

Also expected—after all, Harry and Cohen's entries were attributed to a supposed Russian magic school and Azkaban, respectively.

Even just the cheers from the Hufflepuff table were thunderous, rivaling Krum's, and they lasted until Dumbledore began to speak again.

"Excellent!" he announced. "Now, our three champions—"

Whoosh—

The Goblet flared again and spat out another name.

Dumbledore didn't flinch. He looked perfectly surprised—as if he had no idea this would happen.

He instinctively reached out and caught the new slip of parchment, reading the name.

There was a long pause.

"…Harry Potter."

Harry froze. He looked at Cohen, then Ron and Hermione, then shuffled a bit farther from the Goblet.

"I didn't… you guys know I didn't…" he said, bewildered.

"But you still have to go," Hermione whispered, nudging him forward.

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again. "Harry, please come up."

His face was serious, but not stern.

"That door, Harry," Dumbledore pointed after Harry climbed the steps.

The Hall filled with murmurs—everyone was clearly convinced Harry had snuck his name in and somehow bypassed Dumbledore's age line.

But before anyone could fully process this shocking turn…

Another parchment fluttered out of the Goblet.

"This thing's broken!" a Durmstrang student shouted.

"Don't tell me it's another Hogwarts student!" someone from Beauxbatons yelled.

On the Hogwarts side, everyone fell silent, holding their breath.

Dumbledore was still performing, peering at the Goblet like he thought it might be broken, too. He inspected the fifth parchment carefully.

Then the Goblet's flame died out.

Only then did Dumbledore unfold the parchment.

"Ah—"

He froze after the first syllable. His brow furrowed deeply.

"…Cohen Norton."

"WHAT?!" Ron's voice drowned out every other whisper in the Hall.

His eyes looked like they might pop right out of his skull.