Edward, clearly trying to avoid something, even slowed down his cooking. By the time they finally got to eat, the sky outside was already pitch black.

When it came to the topic of becoming Minister of Magic, Edward didn't even dare to take the first step.

"Power changes people completely—inside and out," Edward said in the most serious tone imaginable.

"That's a line you nicked straight from Dumbledore," Cohen objected. "That kind of logic doesn't apply to you. I don't believe for one second that becoming Minister would make you give up Dungeons & Dragons. If your job ever clashes with your hobbies, I bet you'd quit without even blinking."

"True that," Edward said, raising his eyebrows.

"When are you ever going to develop a sense of responsibility?" Rose sighed.

"Not going to the Ministry is my greatest sense of responsibility," Edward replied cryptically.

"Well, I guess I'll never get to live the luxurious life of a spoiled government brat…" Cohen said with exaggerated disappointment.

Still, Cohen had a sneaking suspicion that Edward would end up in that position eventually.

Even if he didn't want it, after Cohen dealt with Voldemort, the few survivors left in the Ministry would probably shove Edward into that role like their lives depended on it…

Cohen stayed until late at night. Given the current tent situation—two tents, not even five proper beds—he eventually decided to head back to the dorm.

Back in Gryffindor Tower, he was relieved to find that everyone's obsession with the second task had finally waned a bit. At least the common room wasn't in a constant uproar anymore.

Well… except for Ron, who still looked way too pleased with himself.

——

But students are creatures of habit. Once they get hooked on a hot topic, they'll milk it for at least a week.

The next day, after Charms class, Cohen, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were ambushed by a group of Ravenclaws, all eager for more details about the task.

Lucky (or unlucky) coincidence—all four of them had been directly involved: two champions, two hostages.

Harry and Cohen, clearly over the whole thing, dumped the tedious explanation duties onto an all-too-eager Ron, who had by now transformed the original story into a dramatic account of him single-handedly wrestling fifty fully-armed mermaids and enduring heroic resistance before being tied up.

"But it's fine—I'm experienced now," Ron promised a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl, oozing confidence. "I keep my wand up my sleeve these days. If I really wanted to, I could take down those mermaids."

"What are you going to do? Snore them into submission?" Hermione snapped, clearly irritated from having to answer too many questions about her and Krum.

"Explanation of the joke," Cohen leaned toward Harry with a mock-academic tone. "Trollish sounds exactly like snoring. Hermione was actually—"

"Cut it out, Cohen. I swear, the earl ruined you for life…" Harry groaned. "Though honestly, I did think that was kind of funny…"

"A joke doesn't stop being funny just because you explain it," Fred suddenly appeared behind them like a ghost from some random corridor.

"Our dear little brother is experiencing the emotional chaos of puberty," George added, popping up beside him. "But that's not the main thing—"

"Cohen, guess how much we made?" Fred slung an arm around Cohen's shoulder.

"Three hundred million?" Cohen guessed.

"You really are talented at ruining a vibe," George muttered. "Three hundred million—dig Merlin up and even he wouldn't have that much…"

"But you're not that far off," Fred whispered conspiratorially. "Three thousand Galleons! Honestly, nobody thought Krum would come second to last—he got first place in the last task, after all."

"We could've made even more, but your ridiculous performance in the first task skewed the betting ratios. Too many people thought you'd take first again," George said regretfully. "Still, it's absurd profit—especially thanks to your five-hundred-Galleon bet. Some people practically drooled when they saw the prize pool."

"You bet," Cohen smirked. "That was my dad's life savings—wait, hold on—"

Cohen suddenly spotted a familiar Ravenclaw girl in the crowd—the one who had bumped into him earlier—and immediately abandoned Fred and George. He darted forward and grabbed her arm before she could escape.

"Ah!" she squeaked, trying to pull away, but Cohen's grip was stronger than most students—especially for a girl her size.

"Ah, youth," Fred observed from a distance, nodding sagely.

"Indeed. Young Cohen is stepping into a new stage of life," George sighed wistfully.

"You—you—what do you want?" the Ravenclaw girl stammered, trying to break free. "Let go of—"

Cohen was about to ask his question, but the stares from the crowd were starting to gather.

"Come on." Cohen pulled her away decisively.

"Oi, Cohen! What're you doing—" Harry called after him, puzzled.

But Cohen ignored him and dragged the girl into a place no girl would willingly enter—the second-floor boys' bathroom.

This place had already been the site of multiple "Cohen kidnaps student" events, with victims including (but not limited to) Malfoy, Cedric, and now the terrified girl in front of him.

"I haven't even touched you, and this isn't a torture chamber—so maybe stop looking at me like I'm about to murder you," Cohen said flatly.

"This is the boys' bathroom!" the girl shrieked.

"Well, I am a boy," Cohen replied.

"…." Her brain seemed to short-circuit.

"You calm now? Good. I need to ask you a few questions, and I hope you'll answer truthfully." Cohen pushed her toward the wall, one arm bracing the tiles, the other on his hip, his eyes serious as he stared into hers.

"…." She stared back at him, her heart suddenly in a frenzy.

Sure, he was a bit rough…

Sure, he acted like he didn't care…

But Cohen was… actually kind of handsome…

And talented… a champion… brave and capable…

If this really was…

"A-alright, ask away…" she said, almost dreamily.

"Where did you get your part-time job?" Cohen asked.

"Huh?" she blinked, her expression breaking into a mess of confusion, disbelief, and utter frustration.

"I'm speaking English, aren't I?" Cohen repeated. "Your job. Where did you get it? Who gave it to you? What are they asking you to do?"

"Huh?" she still looked lost.

Seriously? After all this drama—even dragging her into the boys' bathroom—and it was just… a job interview?!

"Am I doing this wrong?" Cohen muttered, shifting his position on the wall like an overly intense interrogator. "Alright, let me ask again—your part-time job—"

"Mrs. Snailing's Hair Boutique," she said dryly, looking completely deflated. "Happy now? Can I go?"