"My schedule's pretty packed. Tell him to wait a bit," Cohen said after a moment's thought. "July's probably a no-go. He'll have to wait until August."
"You want me to tell him that?" Malfoy asked, his face twisting with unease, clearly worried about how Voldemort might react to such news.
"Just say August," Cohen replied, narrowing his eyes. "I can be blunt with him because we're partners. But you? Talking to him like that as a follower? That's a death wish."
"…" Malfoy's earlier excitement fizzled out completely.
He'd thought he might be able to catch up to Cohen's level, but after this barrage of mental bombshells, his heart was a tangled mess of frustration and doubt.
Was he doomed to spend his life as just another Death Eater under Voldemort's thumb?
Would anyone even remember him? Or would he just be "that guy who worked for Voldemort"?
Cohen didn't say anything more. Malfoy didn't know Occlumency, so it was better to keep some things from reaching Voldemort's ears.
Malfoy wasn't as slick as his father. A couple of pats on the shoulder and a few compliments from Voldemort, and he was ready to dive into dangerous tasks for him.
Lucius, on the other hand, saw things clearly. The old Voldemort could bring wealth and power to his family. The current Voldemort could at least keep them alive. That's why Lucius stayed loyal—not out of some lofty sense of gratitude or honor, but cold pragmatism.
He was the same way with Cohen. For someone with big ambitions but limited ability, this was the best approach.
"That's it for now," Cohen said. "I'm heading back. Oh, and one more thing."
"What?" Malfoy asked.
"When you've got a big decision to make, take some time to think it over," Cohen advised. "Don't just charge in like a Gryffindor with a hot head."
…
"What happened?" Ron asked eagerly the moment Cohen returned to the train compartment.
"What did Malfoy say? Harry thinks you're still a double agent—"
"Real clever, blowing my cover like that," Cohen said with a wry smile. "If I were just a regular student, I'd be dead before the summer's out after that comment."
Ron clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified.
"Kidding," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. "I just went to Malfoy Manor to check on things with the Death Eaters."
"So Dumbledore can know what they're up to!" Hermione said, her eyes lighting up.
"Didn't say I was telling Dumbledore," Cohen replied.
"Two jokes in a row? That's a bit much," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "You should join Fred and George at their joke shop…"
"Malfoy's dad was at that graveyard the night Voldemort came back," Harry said suddenly. "I heard Voldemort call his name."
"Is Voldemort at Malfoy Manor then?" Ron asked, curious. "I could tell my dad—"
"And have your dad lead a raid to catch him?" Cohen cut in. "Very filial of you."
"Voldemort wouldn't just sit there waiting to be caught, and no one can beat him anyway," Hermione said, tugging at Ron's sleeve. "Even if we knew where he was, it wouldn't matter. What's weird is that he hasn't shown his face yet. Don't you find that strange?"
"Maybe he's still weak from just coming back," Ron guessed. "And the Aurors are out there. If the Ministry knew…"
"They'd probably suspend your dad for spreading rumors," Harry said. "I overheard Fudge in the hospital wing telling someone who believed Dumbledore, 'You don't need to come to work tomorrow.'"
"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, frowning. "As harsh as Mr. Crouch was, at least he was better than that spineless Fudge. No wonder Crouch tried to regain support the way he did."
"These aren't things kids need to worry about," Cohen said. "Let the tall folks handle the sky falling."
—
After getting off at King's Cross, Cohen was picked up by Edward, who reeked faintly of alcohol.
"Even for a wizard, drunk driving's a bad idea…" Cohen pointed out.
"It's not me—it's Arnold," Edward said helplessly. "He got plastered at our place and is too scared to go home."
"Why?" Cohen asked, though a thought struck him.
Harry had mentioned overhearing Fudge in the hospital wing telling a Ministry official, "You don't need to come to work tomorrow." Could that official be Arnold?
"He lost his job," Edward said, pursing his lips as he started the car. "Said the wrong thing in front of Fudge. It's messed up."
"Doesn't sound that bad. You're used to that kind of thing," Cohen said bluntly.
"It's different for him. He's got a family to support," Edward sighed. "He had a kid last year, and there's a ton of expenses. His wife doesn't even know yet—if she finds out, she's gonna lose it."
"That's rough," Cohen said, nodding as he recalled Rose's fiery temper. "Why don't you aim high? Become a big shot and hook your buddy up with a job. Easy."
"Are you obsessed with being 'the Minister's son' or something?" Edward said, playfully smacking Cohen's head from the passenger seat. "Where am I supposed to get votes? How do I schmooze with those high-up wizards? It's not that simple…"
"If Fudge can be Minister, anything's possible," Cohen said with a shrug. "Once Herbert gets what's left of the Burke family fortune, you could talk to him—"
"No way," Edward said stubbornly. "Besides, there's not much left of the Burke estate. After Herbert got a life sentence, I bet the Ministry cleaned it out."
They drove back to Number 5 Privet Drive. The house looked much the same as it had a year ago, except for a new TV, a new sofa cover, and a missing vase in the living room.
Well, that, and Arnold, sprawled gloomily on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with a pile of empty beer bottles around him.
"Talk about pathetic," Cohen said, shaking his head. He figured he'd offer some help—Arnold and Edward had been tight for years, always looking out for each other. "He's got that 'life's kicking my ass' vibe. Wait, no, he's literally spilling his guts."
Suddenly, Edward's eyes widened, and he rushed over.
"Don't puke on the sofa!"