After the behind-the-scenes matters were reported, it was Mr. Crouch's turn to explain the rules.

"For the third task," he began crisply, his face devoid of emotion,

"The champions' current rankings will determine the order in which they enter the maze. Their goal is the Triwizard Cup, located at the very center. Once a champion touches the Cup, the task ends. We will not provide any information about the dangers or challenges within the maze—those must be overcome with your own wits and abilities. If any champion encounters serious trouble and wishes to withdraw, they must fire red sparks into the air. Aurors and professors on patrol will arrive immediately."

"Let the task begin!"

At the sound of Crouch's declaration, Hagrid blew his whistle.

"You're first, Cohen—come on!" Hagrid called from the entrance, waving.

"Best of luck," he added in a low voice when Cohen approached. "There's an old friend inside."

"Blast-Ended Skrewt, right…" Cohen muttered, clearly resigned.

Hagrid's last surviving Skrewt had grown to the size of a baby carriage, a real nuisance for any of the other champions.

But for Cohen, it wasn't much of an issue—as long as he didn't get lost, there shouldn't be any surprises.

Upon entering the maze, Cohen found himself at a three-way fork. The towering hedges cast deep, dark shadows, and due to enchantments, there wasn't a single sound from the crowd outside.

It reminded him of Azkaban—if you removed the soul-sucking whispers of the Dementors, that is.

It almost felt... familiar. Like coming home.

The spell Point Me only told him where north was, and the Cup was somewhere in the northwest of the maze.

But for Cohen, who had an unfortunate tendency to get lost, this was just as bad as facing a dragon.

So, he did what any reasonable wizard would do: he split off a fragment of his soul to hover above him and guide him with a bird's-eye view.

It's not cheating. Just clever use of resources.

That's what stand-ins were for—obviously.

But the moment Cohen saw the tangled mess of branching paths, he suddenly had a very strong urge to drag the maze designer into a Dementor cuddle pile and beat them senseless.

Seriously?! They're just trying to drag out the viewing time, aren't they?

"Lumos," came a voice from the right—it was Harry. Cohen turned his head and spotted his friend's soul signature just on the other side of the hedge.

After planning a route, Cohen decided it would be best to meet up with Harry. No point in one of them reaching the Cup while the other lagged behind.

As for the other champions… aside from Cedric, none had even entered yet.

If things looked like they wouldn't make it in time, Cohen had a backup plan—he'd use that spell from the Goat Church to open a teleportation rift and shortcut the trip with Harry.

Better that than letting Cedric get taken to Voldemort.

Left turn, right turn, big loop, another left…

According to his soul-fragment's observations, he and Harry would meet at the next five-way intersection.

But someone—or something—was already there.

A shadowy creature stood at the fork, like a clump of upright tar. The instant it sensed Harry nearby, it morphed into a Dementor.

"Cohen?" Harry's voice came from behind the hedge.

"I'm here," Cohen called, poking his head around the corner.

"Huh? Then that's not—" Harry turned pale as he realized Cohen was on his left, while the supposed 'Dementor' was up ahead.

The creature looked at Cohen, then at Harry, and made a decision that would go down as both its best and worst ever—it lunged at Harry.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted, raising his wand.

A magnificent silver stag erupted from the tip and slammed into the fake Dementor, knocking it flat.

"Oof, that looked painful," Cohen muttered.

"Wait—it's down? But Dementors don't fall, do they?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Why are you asking me—I mean, I guess I should know…"

Cohen trailed off.

"Ridikkulus."

With a loud pop, the Boggart turned into a wisp of smoke and vanished.

"Blimey, that gave me a fright…" Harry said, still shaken. "For a moment, I thought that was you…"

"Oi, I'm not that ugly. Every time I turn into a Dementor I at least make sure the cloak's intact. Don't want to look like some half-starved beggar," Cohen replied with a grin.

"So… together then?" Harry asked uncertainly, standing there awkwardly.

"If you want a Patronus duel, just say so—you don't have to beat around the bush," Cohen teased.

"You're the one who kept saying we're opponents during the task…" Harry laughed, clearly relieved.

"Well, I won't be putting a fishbowl over your head, then." Cohen waved casually. "Take the second left at the next fork."

"You know the way?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Not really. I just smell something familiar… like lion." Cohen sniffed the air.

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And indeed, Cohen did smell something familiar—something very much like a chimera's lion half.

And he could see, far in the distance, a creature with soul strength around fifty.

When they finally reached the spot—after numerous twists and turns—Harry inhaled sharply.

A massive creature blocked their path. It was covered in golden fur and had the body of a lion: huge paws, shaggy mane, and a tail ending in a tuft.

But its head was that of a woman.

Her almond-shaped eyes locked on their corner, as though she'd been waiting for them all along.

"A sphinx…" Harry whispered.

"You know?" Cohen blinked.

"I have read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, you know…" Harry elbowed him lightly, clearly trying to remind Cohen this wasn't the time for jokes.

Sphinxes were dangerous. If you couldn't answer their riddle, they attacked.

"You're quite unlucky," the Sphinx said, pacing the forked path, her eyes on Cohen. "I only patrol a few of these trails."

"Then… can we go?" Harry asked, hopeful.

"Of course," she said, gaze flicking to Harry, but quickly returning to Cohen. "Answer my riddle, and I'll let you pass. If you're brave enough, I could even offer more information—say, which path is correct next. But if you answer wrong, I'll strike. Of course, you may also walk away freely, and I'll do nothing."

"What's the riddle?" Cohen asked, fearlessly.

"Cohen!" Harry hissed.

"It's fine. If it's too hard, we'll just go another way," Cohen said quietly. "And besides… she smells like lion. Might as well ask her a few things when we're done."

"Then…" Harry said carefully, "could we hear the riddle?"

Cohen remembered that in the original books, Harry's sphinx riddle had an answer of spider.

But this one seemed different.

"Very well," the Sphinx said, pleased.

"Tell me…

What dwells in hell, clever with lies?

Wears a human face, devours with greedy eyes.

What rests inside the skull you keep,

That sorts the kindred from the sheep?

And what comes after turtle, yet before gator—

A fearsome truth for any spectator?

Put them together, end to end,

And tell me—

What thing makes men fear to meet again?"