It was the end of June. The young witches and wizards had just finished their final exams and were preparing to leave Hogwarts for the summer.
But there were still many arrangements to make first. With Voldemort once again stirring trouble, a good number of parents were reluctant to let their children take the train home; they insisted the Ministry open the Floo Network to Hogwarts instead.
In fact, only last night "Voldemort" and a band of Death Eaters had assaulted a wizarding village. If the Aurors, aided by Pokémon, hadn't discovered and driven them off in time, many of those children might never have seen their families again.
Cornelius Fudge — forever mindful of his public approval ratings — was only too happy to agree. Albus Dumbledore likewise consented to grant the necessary permissions, and the school was hooked up to the Floo lines.
"We have to put an end to this farce before everyone starts to panic," Dumbledore said, his tone grave.
There had been no fatalities, but living in a constant state of fear was no way for the wizarding community to go on.
"Don't worry, Dumbledore. I'm preparing to declare war on Voldemort himself." Fudge wiped his brow as he spoke. He was a man who tended to perspire easily—especially when flustered and bustling about—and today was no exception.
Dumbledore cast a cooling charm over him; Fudge visibly relaxed. "Thank you — that's marvelous!" he said, beaming. "By the way, where's Charles? I wanted to ask him if, after this is over, he'd like to attend the Order of Merlin investiture. If he doesn't like pomp and ceremony, I might as well put the medal in his hand myself."
Fudge said it with the affectionate frankness of a man who genuinely admired him. Fudge admired Charles; he knew that without Charles's recent deeds, his own standing would not be what it was. Once the sort of man who cringed and bowed whenever Dumbledore appeared, Fudge now felt he no longer needed to dance to anyone's tune.
Dumbledore smiled. "He's meeting with the seventh-years. You know, a lot of seventh-years are graduating this year — and there are many Pokémon-related positions opening up."
From Dumbledore's perspective, Voldemort's chaos had, oddly, produced a genuine practical benefit: graduates leaving Hogwarts with Pokémon knowledge now had legitimate, real jobs to go to. No more hiding behind excuses like "one hour of work counts as employment." These were meaningful roles that could actually advance the wizarding world.
Snape, for instance, was taking a new potion he'd devised to present at the Extraordinary Potioneers' Association this summer — potions that incorporated Pokémon ingredients. Many had seen the power of Pokémon allied with wizards; the combination could turn back even terrifying Death Eaters. But few yet understood Pokémon's potential in potioncraft.
Imagine being a middle-aged British wizard, plagued by thinning hair. Ordinary hair-growth remedies barely help. Would you not be tempted by a bottle of "Long-Hair Troll" hair-growth potion sitting on the counter?
Hair potions were just the beginning.
Snape had developed something far deeper: an Immunity Draught made from the tissues of a Scorpiid Pokémon. In effect, it replicated the scorpion's immune traits. Drink it, and you were immune to most venoms — though extremely corrosive toxins might still have some effect. The potion's ability to prevent poisoning at all, however, was impressive.
Snape had even tested it against the venom from lycanthropic sources and the teeth of dragon-type creatures; neither could break the draught's effect. But crucially — if someone was already poisoned, taking the Immunity Draught afterward did not cure the existing venom. Snape was elated by that discovery. If the potion could somehow remove poisons already in the bloodstream, he would have had less incentive to perfect it further.
Because the formula was not yet mature, the draught's protection lasted six months; after that it wore off. Snape also found not every specimen of that scorpion Pokémon worked for the potion's extraction — some failed to produce the effect. To investigate, he had sternly confiscated Harry's Pokémon Encyclopedia only to discover it contained no record of that scorpion species, and then sheepishly gone to ask Charles about it. The sight of Snape — that particular haughty, awkward snout — going to Charles provoked a certain, very classic amusement.
All told, Pokémon research was becoming a genuine new field — a broad front opening up before Hogwarts students, and in many ways Hogwarts had leapt ahead of the rest of the world.
Members of Snape's Potions Club had spent the last year assisting him: refining Pokémon-based potions, trialing formulas, and turning experimental failure into practical knowledge. When these students graduated, their contributions to Pokémon potioncraft would be significant.
The other four house heads were similarly engaged in their own work. Professor Flitwick was analyzing Pokémon "moves" from a magical angle — far deeper, and tougher, than potion work. The Pokémon Club now filled the large hall — half the school was in attendance. Many younger students, though years from graduation, came to absorb the experience. Others, like Harry and Ron, came simply to be part of the crowd.
"Good to see so many of you graduating," Charles said with a smile. "To be honest, you seventh-years and I aren't that far apart in age. I'm sure some of you remember my time as a student here."
"Of course we do! You even roughed me up once!" someone shouted, and laughter washed the hall. Old squabbles felt tiny now.
"Over the past year many asked me whether Pokémon studies had any real use," Charles continued. "Our Deputy Headmistress worried that offering Pokémon Master classes to fifth- and seventh-years might affect your N.E.W.T. results. After all, wizarding qualifications determine whether you'll get a respectable job in the wizarding world."
He smiled again. "But today I'm pleased to tell you, from a practical standpoint, you'll have more employment options. Beauxbatons, Mahōtokoro, and Castelobruxo have already expressed interest in introducing Pokémon courses. I've received letters from several headteachers asking me to teach at their schools. Naturally, I won't be leaving Hogwarts — but qualified wizards will be in demand and well paid."
At that, many students shifted in their seats. Becoming a professor was lucrative in prestige if not always in coin — many teachers were masters of their fields. Snape's renown in Potions, for example, was world-class.
"Professor," someone called, "what exactly counts as 'qualified'?"
The Pokémon Master class had no homework and no formal exam. What measured competence, then?
"Mastery of all topics in the current syllabus — even theoretical mastery is acceptable — and the ability to calm Pokémon to prevent violent outbursts, to treat Pokémon suffering from environmental stress…" Charles replied. Essentially, the requirements were similar to those for a Care of Magical Creatures professor: you had to be able to control and care for Pokémon; if you couldn't, you certainly shouldn't be teaching.
He added: "If you'd rather stay in Britain, the Ministry's Department for Pokémon Protection and Management and the Pokémon Office under the Department of Magical Sport and Games have many vacancies. Those two departments fall under my oversight; I'm recruiting roughly twenty people. That's a fair number, isn't it?"
There were only a little over a hundred seventh-years in the year. Many would inherit family positions; the rest might find work at Gringotts as curse-breakers or at St. Mungo's as potioners. Twenty openings from one source were spectacular.
"Also," Charles said, lowering his voice for effect, "there's more good news for club members who've obtained Pokémon. The Head of the Auror Office has written to say he will make exceptional admissions for club members who otherwise don't meet the marks. If you're willing, you can become a trainee Auror — though, naturally, you must pass the personality tests." He paused, eyes twinkling. "Looks like many Gryffindor graduates have a chance, don't they?"
That announcement sent the older students into a frenzy. Being an Auror was a dream for many young wizards — in ordinary times that required at least five N.E.W.T.s, all no lower than 'Good'. Thanks to a certain unnamed "lord of the potions" in Snape, many Gryffindors' Potions marks had been lacking. This exceptional route excited them.
Fred and George Weasley, always keen to corner any business opportunity, immediately schemed aloud.
"Imagine a joke shop staffed by Pokémon!" Fred declared.
"Genius," George agreed. The twins high-fived, full of the reckless entrepreneurial spirit that had gotten them into — and out of — so much trouble before.
Charles noticed Fudge and Dumbledore standing politely at the club's doorway. Since the matter touched his students' employment prospects, he gently asked them to wait a moment.
A while later Charles emerged carrying nearly a hundred application forms. "Dumbledore, Fudge, come to my office — and have some refreshments," he said.
They went at once. Mr. Mime promptly brought in cakes and ice cream.
"These little fellows are far more charming than house-elves," Fudge declared, taking a pink cake and eating a bite, eyes wide in wonder as the taste seemed to steady him.
"Baked Agni-fruit tarts — quite good, no? Mr. Mime, bring the Cloud-Flake ice cream as well."
"If you opened a proper confectionery, the Honeydukes and the Fat Lady's tearooms would have to shutter!" Fudge exclaimed without exaggeration. Dumbledore, blissfully munching ice cream and cake, agreed.
"So," Charles said, "what did you want to speak about?"
Fudge set the cake down and leaned forward. "I have an idea. If we're to declare war on Voldemort, why not make it bigger—let his power seem to swell a little—"
"You mean—" Dumbledore inclined his head.
—Malfoy Manor.
As a gathering point for Death Eaters, Malfoy — now marked with the Dark Lord's sign — stood seemingly above all. Yet Lucius Malfoy felt no triumph as his Death Eaters kneeled before him; he felt only peril, as if he stood on the crumbling edge of a once-grand building, exposed to the storm. The veneer of dominance masked a treacherous footing.
Still—Lucius knew he had a contingency.
"Lucius, the Ministry Aurors have been thwarting our plans. Those… Pokémon are powerful. Does the Dark Lord have any… other schemes?" one Death Eater whispered.
"We should simply take the fight to them. That Fudge — I never liked him. We should find an opportunity to assassinate him!" another snarled.
"Silence—" Lucius adopted Snape's clipped cadence and found the imitation unsettlingly effective. "The Master has a plan."
"Now he gives us a new assignment—"
"We strike at once. Attack — Azkaban!"
(End of Chapter)