Charles handed the Poké Ball containing Gengar to Quirrell and turned to leave.
Since Gengar had been sent as part of Charles's assigned mission, there was no need for it to battle. Even without a formal command, Quirrell could "direct" it to a limited extent.
But at the moment, neither Quirrell nor Voldemort had the mood to bother with Gengar.
Voldemort, shaken by Charles's power and talent, had lost interest in everything else. To the proud Dark Lord, this so-called Pokémon was nothing more than a beast.
"Master—this pain—it's unbearable—" Quirrell, having regained control of his body, gasped as the aftereffects of Voldemort's possession came rushing back. The agony, like being eaten alive from within, left him almost speechless.
"Silence, Quirrell! You're useless!" Voldemort snapped, his voice cold and sharp. His defeat today—half of it—was Quirrell's fault.
Had it been Snape's body he possessed instead, Voldemort was confident he would have had at least a seventy percent chance of victory.
But he dared not touch Snape recklessly.
"I will slumber now. When next I awaken, I expect you to have obtained the Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort hissed, his voice dripping with menace.
"But, Master—this Pokémon—"
Quirrell tried to speak, but Voldemort had already begun to fade into sleep. Though Quirrell could remain conscious, doing so was a tremendous strain on his body.
It would rapidly drain his life force. Back in Albania, Voldemort had been forced to frequently switch hosts—rats, snakes—creatures that could only last a day or two before their bodies gave out.
Now, Quirrell was the best vessel Voldemort had. A disposable tool, yes—but one that still required careful maintenance.
"...Fine, fine." Realizing his master had fallen silent, Quirrell sighed in a strange mix of relief and dread.
He had to obtain the Philosopher's Stone—quickly!
Picking up the Poké Ball, Quirrell pressed the button. A purple Pokémon with a mischievous, eerie grin materialized before him.
Gengar appeared with flair, fully intending to make a dramatic entrance for its temporary "trainer." But before it could move, it caught a whiff of something foul—so pungent it almost passed out on the spot.
Its little stubby arms immediately pinched its nose, and its levitating body drifted backward on instinct, distancing itself from Quirrell.
That disgusted expression—identical to Charles's own—was unmistakable.
Quirrell: Did you seriously just take half a step back?
"You're Gengar, aren't you? We've met before, remember? The night before Halloween—you and Gastly were playing pranks in the corridor," Quirrell said, attempting a friendly tone.
But Gengar wasn't having it. Charles had only instructed it to watch this man and help him fend off challengers when necessary.
At first, Gengar thought that if its temporary trainer turned out to be amusing, maybe it would entertain him a little.
But now? Forget it. The smell alone was unbearable!
"Bleeeeh!" Gengar pulled down one eyelid with a claw, stuck out a tongue longer than its arm, and made a mocking face at Quirrell. Then, in an instant, it faded into shadow, vanishing from sight.
Quirrell was dumbstruck. Losing a Pokémon right after receiving it—was that even possible?
Charles walked down the corridor. Now that many members of the Pokémon Masters Club had managed to capture their own Pokémon, it wasn't unusual to see young witches and wizards wandering Hogwarts with adorable partners by their sides.
The club itself had only about thirty members—a small fraction of the eight hundred students and staff at Hogwarts.
Yet in just a few steps, Charles passed several students showing off their Pokémon—and more than a few familiar faces appeared repeatedly.
In the short span of one hallway, he spotted a fourth-year student walking by several times, clearly making sure everyone saw the Pokémon cradled proudly in their arms.
All you had to do now was sit down with a Pokémon in your lap—and you instantly became the center of attention.
Charles couldn't help but chuckle.
It was a bit like a fisherman showing off a big catch—parading it around his own village, and then making sure the neighboring village saw it too.
Even the Weasley twins had joined in, using Pokémon for their pranks. Getting caught by Filch seemed a fair price to pay for such notoriety.
They clearly had one motto in mind: "Punishment is fine—as long as the whole school hears about it."
Meanwhile, the students who hadn't yet obtained Pokémon watched with wide-eyed envy.
Of course, most of the newly caught Pokémon were quite ordinary—Pidgey, Spearow, Rattata, Caterpie—those sorts.
Few were like Harry and Ron, who had managed to capture several Pokémon already.
Even Draco Malfoy, despite hiring others to help him, had only managed to catch a Purrloin and an Ekans.
After leaving Quirrell's office, Charles grabbed a quick bite in the Great Hall before returning to his own office. Though it was still early in the afternoon, as he expected, the students who had failed to catch Pokémon yesterday were already waiting anxiously.
They looked more impatient than a king awaiting his crown.
Before joining the club, they had no Pokémon. Now that they were members, still having none was unbearable. What was the point of joining, then?
"Professor, when do we begin?"
"Right now," Charles said. "My advice: don't pick a Pokémon that looks too strong. You only get three chances today."
He handed them their Poké Balls and instructed several Mr. Mime to watch over the group—to prevent any accidents.
"If you manage to capture one, head straight to the club classroom. I'll be announcing our club's main activities and future plans today. If you miss it, ask your classmates tonight."
After making arrangements, Charles left Charizard at the door as a guard before heading to the classroom himself.
Before long, Dumbledore arrived with several professors in tow.
Quirrell looked pale, clearly still exhausted from that morning's battle.
"The badges are ready," Dumbledore said cheerfully, handing out the custom-made designs—one for each professor. "I added a few anti-forgery charms. I'd rather not have any ambitious upper-years trying to duplicate them."
Charles glanced over them. The four House Gym badges matched their respective House crests, naturally. Kettleburn's custom badge resembled a monster's head—an emblem of the Magical Creatures enthusiasts' unique aesthetic.
The badge for Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, bore a faintly ghostlike design—a subtle nod to Voldemort's current condition.
Pathetic—less than a ghost.
And so, the Eight Gyms of Hogwarts were officially born.
(End of Chapter)