Krum signed his name on a piece of parchment for Ron, then said his goodbyes.
They took a Thestral-drawn carriage to Hogsmeade station and found an empty compartment on the train.
Earl, Cohen's owl, was chirping noisily in his cage, grumbling about being locked up for the journey.
"I'm not gonna fly around pooping everywhere," Earl snapped at Cohen. "And I don't just curse out everyone I meet. Why do I have to be caged?"
"I believe the first part," Hermione said skeptically, "but the second…"
"Train rules say owls stay in cages. Go argue with the conductor," Cohen replied. "You're the one who said you didn't want to be stuck in a box with snakes, griffins, or whatever else…"
"Is there anything in your box that doesn't eat owls?!" Earl huffed indignantly. "Am I even your pet anymore? I feel zero love here!"
"Love is a Galleon-a-bag owl feed and a once-a-week gig," Cohen said calmly. "Plus, Goat told the griffin not to pounce on you anymore, and Lion warned it that it'd get kicked out if it tried. Now it's gotta file paperwork just to catch a fish."
"Sounds like I'm some kind of tyrant, huh?" Earl muttered dryly.
"I know this one!" Ron's eyes lit up. "Fred told me girls get all mad when their ex gets a new girlfriend—"
"What the heck are you on about, you little punk?!" Earl squawked, hopping in his cage. "I'm a guy!"
"That's a bit of a generalization," Hermione pointed out. "Not every girl's like that."
After a bit more fussing, Earl tucked his head under his wing and dozed off, muttering in his sleep. Cohen had a sneaking suspicion he was grumbling about something less than pleasant.
"The Daily Prophet still hasn't reported anything about Voldemort's return," Hermione said, pulling out a copy of the morning paper she hadn't gotten around to reading. After skimming it, she continued, "I check every day. The only thing they covered was the day after the tournament, when they reported Cohen and Harry winning together. Lately, it's all about 'the last of the Black family facing a second trial'…"
Hermione suddenly remembered this was about Cohen's uncle and flushed red. "Sorry, Cohen! I didn't mean it's not important—I just meant…"
"It's not that big a deal," Cohen said, shaking his head. "I already know the trial's outcome. It's just a formality. I could write the Prophet's headlines myself: 'Wrongful Conviction Overturned: The Ministry's Cold Heart,' 'Barty Crouch's Self-Reflection,' 'Minister of Magic Election Buzz'…"
"But that's not exactly good news for Mr. Crouch, is it?" Harry asked. "If he wants to run for Minister again—didn't you say Cohen's uncle's case was judged by Crouch?"
"The Minister election's in June, every seven years. Fudge's term isn't up until 1996," Hermione explained to Harry. "Dumbledore and some Ministry officials have been told Voldemort's back. If Crouch believes it, then two years from now is his best shot to run. He's just using this time to boost his reputation, remind the wizarding world of his old iron-fist tactics, and prep to seize power if panic hits… ugh."
Hermione sighed, clearly finding the political maneuvering distasteful.
"That's grim," Ron shivered. "Good thing my dad just deals with showerheads and rubber ducks."
"Can't imagine," Cohen said with a smirk.
"But we've got Dumbledore, right?" Harry said, recalling Dumbledore's speech at the leaving feast. "With him around, things won't get that bad… will they?"
"Probably not," Cohen said. "Voldemort's still pretty scared of Dumbledore, at least for now."
Their conversation was cut short when Cohen noticed someone outside the compartment. He paused, then slid the door open with his foot.
It was Malfoy, flanked by his two cronies. Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat. Though Malfoy had been hassling them less over the years, his gleeful reaction to Voldemort's return at the leaving feast was downright repulsive.
"What do you want?" Ron snapped.
"None of your business, Weasley. I'm here for Cohen," Malfoy said, not even glancing at Ron—or anyone else in the compartment, for that matter. His eyes kept flicking to Cohen's trunk, stealing quick looks at Cohen himself, which felt oddly awkward.
"Can you step out for a sec? I've got something to talk about…"
"No way! Who knows what you're up to?" Ron said, already pulling out his wand with a scowl.
"Alright," Cohen said, standing up to Ron's utter disbelief and following Malfoy out.
As Ron moved to stop him, Harry seemed to realize something and quickly grabbed Ron's arm.
The compartment door slid shut behind Cohen as he followed Malfoy to another compartment.
"The Dark Lord says he's got high hopes for me," Malfoy said, barely containing his excitement as he closed the door behind Cohen. He lowered his voice. "Said he wants to personally train me—"
"How many curses have you mastered? Got the Unforgivables down? Can you fire off ten Killing Curses without breaking a sweat? Can you summon murderous intent on the spot? Can your Cruciatus Curse drive someone insane? Can you convince a Dementor you're worth working with without a Patronus? How many people have you killed? What's your DPS? How good are you at dodging spells? Can you take down a full-grown Auror solo?" Cohen rattled off. "If you can't do that… tsk tsk tsk. Those are the bare minimum for being a decent dark wizard."
"Wh-what?" Malfoy stammered, caught off guard. "I haven't even started learning…"
"Then you've got work to do," Cohen said, shaking his head, unbothered by whether his words might bruise Malfoy's ambitions. "Without top-tier skills, you're not a powerful villain—you're just a street thug, the kind that gets stomped without a second thought. No idea what Voldemort's standards are for recruits, but I don't take people who can't cut it."
"You didn't drag me out here just to tell me Voldemort gave you a pat on the back, did you?" Cohen asked, his tone carrying a dangerous edge.
"Of course not—" Malfoy said quickly. "The Dark Lord told me to mention… come to Malfoy Manor over the summer. We need to discuss the next steps."
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