Ministry of Magic, Basement Level One.
Rufus Scrimgeour, his lionlike mane of tea-brown hair swinging as he strode down the corridor, pushed open the Minister's office door without knocking. It was hard to imagine that the man, who walked with a permanent limp, could move so quickly.
His face was set in a grim mask of iron.
"You're supposed to knock, Rufus," Cornelius Fudge snapped, irritation flickering across his face before he forced it away. He had never liked Scrimgeour. Their temperaments clashed naturally, and politically, they were rivals.
The Head of the Auror Office was a formidable opponent.
Still, Fudge wasn't too worried.
The Dark Lord—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—had been dead for almost eleven years. The British wizarding world was thriving again. No one wanted a hardline Minister of Magic anymore.
"Knock? This isn't the time for your petty courtesies, Cornelius! Those pure-blood families are nearly wiped out!" Scrimgeour barked.
Cornelius Fudge: "?"
"I don't recall today being April Fool's Day." Fudge frowned, convinced the other man was joking. The normally stone-faced Scrimgeour—cracking jokes? How amusing.
Scrimgeour slammed a file down on Fudge's desk. "I also don't recall being the type to make jokes."
Fudge's face blanched. Something was wrong. He snatched up the file and skimmed its contents.
Moments later, his hands were trembling. His bowler hat slipped as he gasped, voice hoarse and thin:
"If this is true—then what are you waiting for? Mobilize every available Auror, now!"
Ten pure-blood families attacked?
That wasn't a small matter. If he handled this poorly, his career was finished.
He hurried toward the door but suddenly stopped, spinning around to bark at his aide: "Umbridge! Get Dumbledore here at once!"
——
By the time Dumbledore arrived—with Professor McGonagall in tow, her catlike eyes sharp with alarm—chaos had already filled the Minister's office.
Charles Gold was standing with one boot planted squarely on Fudge's chest, wand in his left hand, its tip pressed to the man's temple.
Professor McGonagall nearly fainted at the sight. Not just Fudge—every Auror in the room lay sprawled unconscious on the floor. Even worse, the proud pure-blood wizards who'd been visiting the Ministry were bound together by a massive, frog-like creature that had apparently subdued them all—and none of them were conscious.
She had never seen a magical creature like that before—but this was hardly the time for academic curiosity. Her gaze moved to Charles Gold's face, trying to reconcile the sharp, confident man before her with the young student she remembered from years ago.
"Good heavens, Mr. Gold! How dare you attack the Minister and a squad of Aurors?"
Her voice trembled with fear and outrage; she clearly feared her former student had gotten himself into terrible trouble.
Fudge, spotting Dumbledore, looked as though he'd just glimpsed salvation. Even pinned underfoot, relief flooded his face.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Charles was faster.
"Long time no see, Dumbledore. Nick sends his regards—and this, too. Said I should give it to you directly, skip Gringotts. Not the safest place these days."
Seeing the old bumblebee again made Charles smile faintly. He tossed Dumbledore a small package, then nodded politely to McGonagall.
Dumbledore caught it calmly, tucked it away, and finally looked up, his tone mild despite the tension around them. "Well, Charles, it seems the years haven't softened your temper. Now please, let Cornelius go. I doubt he meant you harm."
"He shouldn't have sent Aurors to interfere in matters between me and those pure-blood families," Charles replied evenly. "According to them, this was a wizard's duel—and I was the one who challenged all of them."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though his tone remained steady. Charles had always respected him, even after leaving Hogwarts, and he had no real intention of hurting Fudge.
As soon as he lifted his foot, the Minister scuttled across the floor and hid behind Dumbledore like a frightened child.
"Dumbledore, you must arrest this man immediately! Send him to Azkaban—he's a dangerous criminal! He attacked the Minister for Magic, defeated every Auror in the Ministry—he's the third Dark Lord!" Fudge's voice shook so badly his teeth chattered.
"I'm afraid not, Cornelius," Dumbledore said gently. "Mr. Gold will be joining Hogwarts this term—as a professor."
The words froze everyone. Even McGonagall gaped at him.
A professor? Of Defense Against the Dark Arts, perhaps? Was Dumbledore trying to let the so-called curse on that position deal with this troublemaker?
Fudge didn't believe in curses—but right now, he almost hoped that one was real.
"Albus, I thought you'd already appointed Quirinus Quirrell for Defense Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall said carefully.
"I have indeed," Dumbledore replied. "But I'm speaking of a different subject—something new." He winked at her, as if they weren't standing amid a field of unconscious pure-bloods.
McGonagall frowned. "A new subject? I doubt the Board of Governors will approve that." Her eyes flicked toward the floor—toward the very same Governors lying bound and unconscious nearby.
Dumbledore chuckled. "You're mistaken, Minerva. I think they'll be quite agreeable. At least this way, Charles will hold the title of professor, not 'Dark Lord.' Though I've never believed he'd become one."
He turned to Charles again. "Now, if you would, release them all. I think you've made your point. Let's return to Hogwarts to discuss your new course—Pokémon Mastery."
"Alright," Charles said simply. "Come back, Venusaur."
With a faint flash of light, the enormous frog-like creature vanished. Fudge stared, aghast, unable to tell what spell had been used. Certainly not Disapparition—perhaps an Extension Charm? But that level of nonstandard magic was illegal!
Still, that wasn't the point. The point was—everyone in the Ministry had seen him pinned to the floor. If he let this man walk away, his authority would be ruined.
"But—"
"Enough, Cornelius," Dumbledore cut in, waving a hand dismissively. "You may tell the public that you led the Aurors who rescued these people."
He added mildly, "And in any case, the Ministry has no jurisdiction over a formal wizard's duel. Mr. Gold harmed no one fatally. Calling him a Dark Lord would be most unfair."
With that, Dumbledore turned and strode from the office, McGonagall and Charles following behind.
Charles smirked slightly. "I wouldn't mind becoming a real Dark Lord, though. That'd certainly keep them up at night."
"Of course you wouldn't," Dumbledore replied, amused. "Though I've noticed every expelled Hogwarts student seems to grow quite fond of magical creatures—or as you call them, Pokémon."
He trusted Charles, as he once trusted Newt Scamander.
And somewhere far away, in a dark, silent cell—
Grindelwald: "?"
"You're also Dumbledore's favorite student?"
(End of Chapter)