The day after the tournant, the champions' families had to head back ho—Rose and Mr. Diggory had work, Edward had plans, and Herbert—
"You've gotta go back to prison. That's tough, huh?" Cohen said, standing in Herbert's tent to say goodbye.
"Cohen!" Edward scolded him sternly.
"You two are the freest ones," Cohen pointed accusingly at them. "Even I have to go back to class. Out of the whole family, you two are the only ones with literally nothing to do—so I found sothing great to keep Herbert entertained."
"What kind of entertainnt?" Herbert asked with a smile.
"Nothing for ?" Edward asked, a bit jealous.
"You're not that reliable," Cohen waved a finger at him. "I doubt you have the ti anyway."
With that, Cohen pulled out a small cloth pouch that clinked with sothing heavy inside.
"What's in there?" Edward looked more curious than Herbert.
"My unfinished howork," Cohen said seriously with a nod. "Cos with quill and parchnt. It's due next month. This way, Herbert won't get bored while he's locked up."
"You guys always this weird?" Arnold asked Edward with a stiff expression. "Didn't you used to say you were raising him to be optimistic, bright, and well-adjusted—?"
"I am bright and well-adjusted!" Cohen cut in. "I used to be super introverted—now I can even talk to people!"
"You skipped the whole 'optimistic and hardworking' part completely," Arnold pointed out without rcy.
"Can't argue with that." Edward sighed.
"I guess howork should be done by the person assigned…" Herbert's smile faltered slightly, but he still accepted the pouch. "Though if there's too much, I could help a bit… I probably forgot most of the stuff though…"
"Doesn't matter." Cohen waved it off. "Do I look like soone who cares about grades?"
"Hey, I'm still here!" Edward finally rembered his duty as a father. "I care about grades!"
"No one's gonna hire a Dentor," Cohen muttered, turning away. "And I'm not becoming so Ministry workhorse either."
Edward didn't say anything, but he looked like he was quietly battling between making a stand and just giving up. Step one of corrupting Edward with power: complete.
After packing up their tents, Edward reminded Herbert that he was still invited over for Christmas. Normally, Herbert couldn't leave Borgin & Burkes, but this year Cohen, as a Triwizard Champion, had to stay at school for the Yule Ball—aning Christmas would be just Edward, Rose, Herbert, and Martha.
"When's that howork due again?" Herbert asked, quietly, before leaving.
"It's not." Cohen waved as Edward Disapparated, then gave Herbert a pat on his slightly hunched back. "You didn't really think I'd actually make you do my howork, right? That's what owls are for."
Herbert didn't quite get the last part. Since when was writing howork an owl's job?
"Just open it when you get ho. It's a nice ti killer. I already finished it, though," Cohen said. "Don't let Edward find out—I'm just pretending it's from , but he might get weirdly emotional about it."
Herbert looked a bit overwheld. Cohen couldn't quite describe the feeling, but it was clear Herbert was moved—and a little guilty too.
Once everyone had gone, Cohen returned to the Room of Requirent on the eighth floor.
"That was beautiful," said the Count, his voice choked with emotion. "You gave your longest-played sandbox ga to the dad you've spent the least ti with. You're such a good kid. I've never had a son like that…"
"Correction," Cohen cut in.
"You an…" the Count's eyes sparkled with hope.
"You don't have a son," Cohen said flatly. "So don't get any ideas. Just because I've got extra parents doesn't an I'm handing out son slots."
"Can I be, like, your owl uncle or sothing?" the Count pleaded. "I'm older than half your parents combined!"
"Then how co soone as ancient as you ended up as a pet?" Cohen shot back, then pointed to the desk full of parchnt. "Go do my howork. It's due Thursday."
"Why don't you do it?! That's last week's howork!" the Count barked, irritated. "I haven't seen you touch a quill in two weeks!"
"I had to prep for the tournant," Cohen said righteously. "It was exhausting!"
"You spent less than half an hour prepping!"
"Half an hour, rounded up, is one hour. Sixty minutes, rounded again, becos a hundred. One hour and forty minutes rounded becos two hours… then rounded again is, like, seven hundred hours!"
Cohen argued back while opening his trunk.
"I spent seven hundred hours preparing. And you're calling that 'barely any prep ti'—unbelievable. Anyway, I'm heading down to check on Norbert. That new female dragon should've settled in. Once those eggs hatch, I'll have a whole clutch of dragonlings! The whole trunk's gonna be buzzing!"
He jumped into the trunk and called out, "Rember, for Astronomy class, use green ink for diagrams—not blue!"
"I will use blue!" the Count huffed.
—
Once inside the trunk, the flaming chaos Cohen expected was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, the new dragon had adjusted to her new environnt quickly.
But there was only one dragon in sight.
"Norbert, why are you out here all alone?" Cohen asked, watching the dragon lying on her back in the grass. Then he turned to the chira that had followed him around. "She didn't lose her den to that new dragon, did she?"
"Lose her den?" the goat head laughed. "No, kid. They're not mates, if that's what you're thinking. And they're both female. Didn't you notice?"
"What? But Norbert looked so excited when she first saw the new one. I thought they were going to, y'know, get romantic—had ready to flee Britain post-graduation."
Cohen frowned. A strange thought crossed his mind.
"Wait a second… no way…"
"That's her mom," the goat said. "The lion heard it. Said she recognized the roar pattern of that dragon." `
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