The Headmaster's Office.
Severus Snape's expression was as sour as a bottle of undiluted Skele-Gro as he glared at Charles Gold.
Just a few minutes ago, Charles had been discussing the structure of his new course with Dumbledore. Then this greasy bat had swooped in uninvited.
Charles greeted him cheerfully. "Long time no see, Head of Slytherin. You're as… untamed as ever. I mean, if you really don't like washing your hair, at least try a Scourgify once in a while."
It wasn't merely that Snape disliked shampoo — he genuinely loathed washing his hair at all. Ironically, if he'd rinsed it with plain water daily, his hair might have actually looked better.
"Shut… up!"
The oily man's voice oozed venom, each syllable bitten off sharply, dragging out the short phrase as if it were stretching taffy.
Charles waved a hand dismissively, unconcerned.
Seeing that his barbs weren't landing, Snape turned his wrath toward Dumbledore, who was quietly watching the exchange with mild amusement.
"Dumbledore, I've long suspected your age was catching up with you — but I didn't think you'd gone completely senile! Letting a student who hasn't even finished third year come back as a professor?"
"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "You of all people should know that Gold has the ability to teach."
Snape sneered. "Oh, he's very capable. He flattened the entire Slytherin House in second year, beat over a dozen pure-blood brats into the floor just now, and—oh yes—defeated more than twenty Aurors and the Minister for Magic himself! Do you know what they call him now?"
As he spoke, Snape fixed his dark gaze on Charles, clearly waiting for some kind of retort or denial.
But Charles remained perfectly composed, taking the words as if they were compliments.
"They're calling him the Third Dark Lord! And you," Snape hissed, "you're inviting such a dangerous individual into Hogwarts! Do you honestly think he has no ulterior motives? Especially this year—"
"I do not believe Charles Gold is a danger," Dumbledore interrupted gently but firmly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. Severus… that man has returned. Or perhaps he never truly died. I found traces of him in the forests of Albania."
The two spoke as though Charles weren't even there. At the mention of Voldemort, Snape's voice faltered, dropping to a low, uneasy whisper.
After a long silence, he muttered, "You'll regret this, Dumbledore."
"Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, "I am the Headmaster."
Snape swept from the room in fury, his black robes billowing dramatically behind him.
"Charles, Severus means no real harm," Dumbledore said, sighing. "Please don't take offense."
"Don't worry, I won't," Charles replied with a grin. "In fact, I already know what I'm getting him for Christmas."
A large, affectionate bat would be perfect!
He was actually referring to Woobat and its evolution, Swoobat—Pokémon known for the heart-shaped patterns on their piglike noses.
Unfortunately, Charles hadn't yet unlocked Woobat's Pokédex entry, so whether he could actually gift one was another matter.
"I knew you were a good lad," Dumbledore said fondly. "Speaking of Christmas gifts—"
"All right, all right, Dumbledore," Charles quickly cut in, before the old man could hint about wanting wool socks again. "The gift won't disappoint you. Now, let's get back to the curriculum."
After all, he'd already given Dumbledore wool socks three years in a row.
"First of all," Charles said, "I'd like the course to be open to all years — from first-years to seventh-years, even if it's only once a week."
At that, Dumbledore frowned slightly.
He wasn't worried about the younger students — not with Charles around. He'd seen the Pokémon himself. Unlike most magical creatures, they were gentle, obedient, and far less dangerous.
The problem lay with the seventh-years.
Those students were preparing for their N.E.W.T. exams, which determined their career paths after graduation.
And as of now, neither the Ministry of Magic nor the wizarding world had any field related to Pokémon.
That meant if seventh-years performed poorly on their N.E.W.T.s because of this "Pokémon Mastery Course," they might struggle to find jobs.
"Trust me, Dumbledore," Charles said confidently. "One lesson a week won't hurt their studies — it'll actually help them relax. Besides, just because the Ministry doesn't have a Pokémon department now doesn't mean it won't in the future. I believe I can convince Fudge to establish a Pokémon Administration Bureau."
He added with a faint smile, "Maybe even hold a grand event to rival the Quidditch World Cup."
He already had a plan forming in his mind, though it wouldn't be easy to bring to life. For now, he left it at that.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, choosing not to press the matter.
"Very well. But what about textbooks? There isn't a single book on Pokémon in the wizarding world. If you plan to write one yourself, you'll need to hurry. Term begins in just a month."
It was July 29th. In a couple of days, Dumbledore would be sending Hagrid to escort Harry Potter to Diagon Alley to buy his wand and schoolbooks.
There was no way Charles could get his textbook on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts in time, but as long as he prepared the material before classes began, it would suffice.
"I'll have it ready before term starts," Charles assured him. "But I'll also need some financial support from the school."
He'd saved a fair bit of money over the years — enough to raise his own Pokémon — but feeding and caring for hundreds of students' Pokémon was a far greater expense.
"I'll bring it up with the Board of Governors in a few days," Dumbledore said.
Money, to him, was a minor concern. There were far more pressing matters at hand — matters only Charles could help with.
"Do you know what Nicholas Flamel sent me through you?" Dumbledore asked.
"He didn't say," Charles replied, "but I can guess. The Philosopher's Stone."
"Correct. The stone that grants immortality." Dumbledore's tone darkened. "Just as I told Severus — that man has returned. He's alive, but in a pitiful state."
"I'd wager he's little more than a ghost now," Charles said. "He'll probably try to use the Stone to restore his body. Though I'm not sure he'd dare risk entering Hogwarts."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Perhaps just a little help when the time comes," Dumbledore said with a mysterious twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles. "After all, Dark-type Pokémon are particularly effective against ghosts."
Charles couldn't stand the old man's wink. He hastily agreed and made his escape from the office before Dumbledore could say anything else.
(End of Chapter)