The wand inspection for the Triwizard Tournament and the Daily Prophet interview were both scheduled for the first Friday of November.

For Cohen, what arrived before the interview was a letter from Edward, delivered Friday morning.

And for Harry, it was pretty much the same—Sirius's letter arrived that same morning.

"Sirius thinks the same as Moody," Harry said to Cohen after reading it. "He also believes someone entered me into the tournament to try and get me killed... What did Mr. Norton say in his letter?"

"Why is it that after being forced into a life-threatening competition, the only thing my dad asks is whether Hogwarts has started taking bets on who'll win the Triwizard Tournament?" Cohen sighed. "There's no love. He's not even worried I might be in danger."

Maybe Edward didn't believe a mere Triwizard Tournament could pose any real threat to Cohen anymore—possibly because Dumbledore had already spilled the beans.

"Not exactly 'forced'…"

"So..." Harry's left eye twitched a little.

"He sent me 500 Galleons." Cohen shook the pouch that came with the letter. It jingled with a suspiciously heavy sound, "Definitely a stash he's been saving up for a long time—now I have no choice but to tempt Fred and George into setting up a betting pool."

"Isn't gambling a bit... inappropriate?" Hermione asked. "And—"

"That's why we need to set it up before Dumbledore officially bans it," Cohen said reasonably. "Once the pool's open, everything will work itself out—Harry, do you want to bet, too?"

"I'd rather not," Harry said cautiously. Even though Sirius had repeatedly insisted he'd pay for everything Harry needed, Harry didn't want to trouble him too much.

As long as he didn't spend recklessly, his own savings would be enough.

"Ron—" Harry started to turn and talk to Ron about Cohen's betting idea, but then realized Ron wasn't even at the table. "Hermione, is Ron still avoiding us?"

"Probably…" Hermione replied hesitantly.

"He still thinks Cohen and I entered ourselves?" Harry asked, frowning. "Even after being glared at by every house in school for days?"

"Correction, the Gryffindors haven't been glaring at you," said Fred, sitting down between Cohen and Harry with a piece of toast slathered in jam. "Don't lump us in. By the way, did Cohen just say my name and George's?"

"Perfect timing..." Cohen immediately pulled Fred closer and started whispering excitedly about his grand betting plans for the tournament.

"Sigh… Harry, don't you get it yet?" Hermione said gently. "He's just... jealous. Especially because that night, the two of you went up there, and he was the only one left behind."

"Jealous? Jealous of everyone glaring at us?" Harry said angrily.

"Think about it. You're always the one people notice. It's always you and Cohen who stand out—" Hermione saw Harry open his mouth to protest and quickly lowered her voice so Fred wouldn't overhear, "I know you don't want attention, but… Ron's always had to compete with a bunch of older brothers, and now his best friends are you and Cohen. Whenever he's with you two, he feels invisible..."

Hermione tried to explain Ron's current state of mind, but Harry couldn't relate at all. He said bluntly, "If Ron wants, I'd gladly trade lives with him."

"Two champions?" Fred whispered after hearing Cohen's plan. "You really think that's how it'll end? That sounds more far-fetched than me and George's World Cup bets..."

"Just answer me this—did your World Cup bet turn out right?" Cohen replied. "And that whole thing with Bagman running off…"

"You should have told us earlier…" Fred groaned, growing more regretful as he thought about their dealings with Bagman. "But George and I have already sworn off gambling for good..."

"You mean you're not running the pool?" Cohen raised an eyebrow.

"As if." Fred made a goofy face.

"We swore not to bet on the pool," said George, suddenly appearing behind them.

"But running the pool? Totally fair game." Fred grinned slyly. "So, Cohen, how much are you putting in?"

"Five hundred Galleons. My dad's entire secret stash," Cohen said. "I'm betting on the 'ridiculous' outcome I told you about."

"You're not worried we'll just disappear with the money?" Fred's eyes widened at the amount. "And Hogwarts doesn't exactly have that kind of cash floating around—your odds must be insane—"

"Then I'll just win whatever there is to win," Cohen said. "Besides, I trust you two."

"This'll be the biggest job we've ever done," George said with awe.

"The first step toward our dream," Fred said, exchanging a look of excitement with George.

The two of them dashed off with the money bag to start setting things up, while Harry and Hermione's conversation was winding down.

"I'm not about to go chasing after him, lecturing him about growing up," Harry muttered. "When will he ever believe that I'm not happy—maybe when I break my neck. Or just die outright—"

"You'll survive," Cohen said.

"But you should be more worried about this afternoon's interview than dying. The Daily Prophet reporter is known for making things up."

"What's so scary about rumors? It's not like I have parents who'll read the paper, and Sirius doesn't care about that kind of stuff anyway," Harry said, still annoyed at Ron.

No need to wait for a "many years later" moment—Harry would soon regret not taking the interview more seriously.

During the second half of Potions class that afternoon, Colin Creevey dragged Cohen and Harry out of the classroom, much to Snape's irritation—he'd been about to test a poison antidote on Harry.

"This is amazing!" Colin beamed at them. "You're getting your picture taken too—heard it'll be in the Daily Prophet!"

"Wait—pictures?!" Harry suddenly panicked and turned to Cohen. "Cohen, what—what are you doing?!"

"Fixing my hair."

Cohen had already pulled out a small mirror and was using his wand to style his hair into a wild, dramatic slick-back.

"As Azkaban's Champion, I figure I've got a shot at the front page—gotta look good in the photo."