"You really do look better with your hair parted in the middle…"

Harry said with visible relief, but as soon as the topic turned to Rita Skeeter, his expression turned stormy.

"Cohen, how on earth did you deal with Rita Skeeter? Her stupid Quick-Quotes Quill just makes stuff up—like, 'his emerald-green eyes shimmered with tears'—I didn't cry at all!"

"You just need to say things more outrageous than what she writes," Cohen replied matter-of-factly. "Three foolproof ways to mess with a reporter: sex, politics, and her age."

"I wish I'd known that earlier…" Harry muttered gloomily. "I don't even want to imagine what I supposedly 'said' in that article…"

But two days later, when Rita's article was finally published, it didn't cause much trouble for Harry.

Because the front page was all about Cohen—

"'I hope my relatives in Azkaban can come watch the tournament'—what is that supposed to mean?" Hermione frowned as she read the paper at breakfast. "And this one—'I know I'm going to win'—she's painting you as a conceited brat, Cohen. Rita Skeeter is disgusting!"

"She left out the best bit," Cohen said with mild disappointment, glancing over his profile. "I was trying to be even more pretentious—she didn't even print the line where I said, 'None of the other champions stand a chance.'"

"What?!" Hermione's eyes went wide.

"And the part about the Ministry was way too subtle. I think it got edited." Cohen tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I said some pretty scathing stuff, like how Fudge was pocketing unclaimed wizarding inheritance…"

"Is that true?" Harry asked, staring at him.

"Nope. I made it up," Cohen shrugged. "If she'd actually printed it, she'd be the one spreading fake news, not me—I'm just a kid, remember?"

"I honestly can't tell which one of you is the real journalist anymore…" Hermione sighed. "Wait—do you really have a relative at the Burke estate?"

"That part's true. I even visited him once," Cohen replied. "And I do want him to come watch. Poor guy's been stuck in the ruins of that estate for over a decade. A little field trip might do him good."

"I thought you were talking about a Dementor…" Harry said warily.

"Then the tournament wouldn't even be allowed to happen," Cohen snorted. "There's so much excitement in the stands, they'd go nuts."

"—"

Ron, who had been sitting some distance away, suddenly stood up with a drumstick still in his mouth. He hadn't even finished breakfast before hurrying off.

"Ron, we don't have class this morning, no need to rush."

Hermione tried to stop him, but Ron just mumbled something unintelligible and left without looking back.

"He's still sulking, isn't he?" Harry growled. "Does he really think storming off like that will make us chase after him and apologize? For something we didn't even do?"

"Harry." Hermione took a deep breath. "Don't be so childish."

"He's the one being childish!" Harry snapped.

"I don't quite get it," Cohen chimed in. "If you really want to patch things up with Ron, I could just drain all his negative emotions."

"That would be altering someone's personal will, Cohen," Hermione warned sharply. "Dumbledore—"

"'Wouldn't approve,' yeah yeah, I get it." Cohen pursed his lips. "Guess we'll just wait for him to come around on his own. He will eventually."

"Not likely anytime soon," Hermione muttered, especially as she noticed the issue of the Daily Prophet on Ron's abandoned seat. Unlike Harry and Cohen, who were skimming the front and second pages, Ron had been staring at page four.

It featured a photo of Harry, surrounded by a large chunk of interview text.

"'Harry has finally found his first love at Hogwarts,'" Hermione read aloud, her brow furrowing. "'Close friend Colin Creevey says Harry is always seen with a girl named Hermione Granger—'"

"You two are dating!" Cohen gasped dramatically. "Pay me 50 Galleons or I'm telling your parents—!"

"Cut it out! When did Harry and I ever start dating?" Hermione shot back. "This is total nonsense. I was so focused on your article, I didn't even realize Harry's was worse!"

"What else does it say?" Harry flipped to his section in a panic. He'd only looked at Cohen's profile before. "Let's see… 'I believe my parents give me strength… Sometimes, late at night, I still cry for them…' WHEN did I ever cry?! She makes me sound like—like—"

"A crybaby," Cohen supplied. "Pretty nasty, yeah. But hey, it makes your character more three-dimensional."

"Three-dimensional my arse!" Harry swore for once. "Isn't anyone going to stop her? That woman—!"

"Just ignore it," Hermione advised. "Harry, she wants you to get distracted and mess up in the tournament. That way she'll have new scandalous headlines to write."

"Oi, Potter—need a hanky? In case you burst into tears?" a pudgy Slytherin sneered as he passed the Gryffindor table. "And hey, Norton—do you really think your Azkaban uncle is gonna—"

Cohen didn't say a word—just shot him a look and used a tiny trick to siphon off the boy's joy. The Slytherin went pale, shut his mouth, and bolted from the Great Hall like a terrified rabbit.

"I'm starting to think your genocide idea might have some merit," Cohen murmured to Harry.

"But you two should really be focusing on something much more important right now," Hermione said, having finished her breakfast. She looked at them sternly as they plotted ways to evict Slytherins from Hogwarts.

"I do have something important to deal with," Harry said glumly. "Professor Flitwick told me to practice the Summoning Charm yesterday, and I still can't get it right."

"Not homework." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You two don't even have final exams, remember? What you should be worried about is the first task—it's in just two weeks."

"Two weeks is plenty." Cohen waved it off.

Stealing an egg from a dragon's nest? How hard could that be? He was even thinking about grabbing a few extras—maybe Norbert could use a friend.

"Two weeks is plenty," Harry echoed, mimicking Cohen's gesture. "Wait—two weeks?!"

Panic hit him like a Bludger to the face. Between all the drama with the papers and Ron, he'd nearly forgotten—November 24th was the day of the first task.

And he hadn't done any preparation.

"At the very least, learn some more spells. Both of you," Hermione said seriously. "Just in case things get dangerous."

"You can ask me if there's anything you don't know," Cohen offered.

"Then you might have to teach me everything," Harry said miserably. "Because right now, I feel like I know absolutely nothing."