The very first thing Charles did after obtaining the Feather of Destruction was contemplate what kind of wand he should craft with it.
Just as the Rainbow Wand had enhanced his magical power, the Feather of Destruction, if used as a wand core, might grant an even greater boost.
When Yveltal spread its wings and tail feathers, crimson light would shimmer from them as it absorbed the life force of living creatures. A wand crafted from one of those feathers would undoubtedly contain power deeply intertwined with death itself.
It could almost be said that such a wand was born for Dark Magic.
Of course, the wand's wood would need to be carefully selected as well. Among the many wand woods, few were associated with life and death—purple yew being one of them.
However, since Charles had already used yew to make his Rainbow Wand, he intended to choose something different this time.
Another candidate naturally came to mind: elder wood—the legendary material used to craft the Elder Wand itself. In wizarding folklore, it was said to be one of the Deathly Hallows forged by Death, carrying extraordinary power.
But elder wood was exceedingly rare—rarer than any other wand material known to wizardkind.
"Gregorovitch once studied the Elder Wand," Charles mused. "He even tried to replicate its power. Perhaps he still has a small reserve of elder wood left."
He decided to write to his old "teacher" and inquire.
Of course, convincing the old wandmaker to part with even a sliver of such material wouldn't be easy. So, Charles gathered several valuable materials from his Pokémon—things like shed scales, feathers, and horns—to use as bargaining chips.
Years ago, he had earned the right to study under Gregorovitch by trading rare Pokémon materials. Otherwise, why would that proud artisan have shared his family craft?
"Dear Mr. Gregorovitch,
It has been some time since we last met.Recently, I have taken up the post of Professor at Hogwarts. I have also discovered several new magical materials suitable for wand cores. I would like to exchange them for a portion of your remaining elder wood."
Charles wrote plainly, without unnecessary politeness. His goal and his offer were both crystal clear. After all, no true wandmaker could refuse the temptation of entirely new core materials.
Once the letter was finished, he decided to wait and see what he would get from the eight random Technical Machines he had recently acquired before heading to the Owlery to send it.
[Congratulations! You obtained the following TMs:]
Shadow Claw
Teleport
Disable
Agility
Taunt
Air Slash
Sand Tomb
Meditate
[Descriptions:]
Shadow Claw — Slashes the target with blades of shadow.
Teleport — Uses psychic power to move instantly through space.
Disable — Prevents the target from using the move it most recently performed.
Agility — Relaxes the body to become lighter and move faster. Sharply raises Speed.
Taunt — Forces the target to attack for three turns, preventing status moves.
Air Slash — Strikes the foe with a blade of air; may cause flinching.
Sand Tomb — Traps the target in a swirling pit of sand for 4–5 turns, dealing residual damage.
Meditate — Awakens hidden inner strength, raising the user's Attack.
Honestly, Charles was pleasantly surprised. All eight moves were quite decent—especially Disable, which seemed tailor-made for someone like Voldemort, who loved spamming the same spell.
Just imagining a "Disabled" Dark Lord who couldn't cast Avada Kedavra made him chuckle.
He also wondered whether Sand Tomb's trapping effect could interfere with Apparition. If it could, that would make it an incredibly powerful move.
And Yoga Pose, on its own, was a top-tier move, nearly on par with Swords Dance—if only it didn't require performing an actual yoga stance. That part… was admittedly a little embarrassing.
After learning all eight moves, Charles headed to the Owlery. Hogwarts' owls were kept there—some belonging to the school, others to students.
As soon as he entered, he spotted Hedwig—Harry's snowy owl—standing out beautifully among the others.
He picked a random owl, tied his letter to its leg, fed it a few crumbs, and sent it flying into the twilight sky.
With that done, Charles turned toward the Great Hall, intending to grab some dinner. But before he reached it, he noticed a rather scrawny-looking rat scurrying along the corridor.
Rats weren't uncommon in Hogwarts—most of them thrived in the maze of pipes and tunnels under the castle. During the time the Basilisk was awake, those rats had been its primary food source.
However… a rat missing a toe? That was unusual.
"Scabbers? Ron's pet?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "What's he doing here?"
At that moment, Peter Pettigrew hadn't yet realized that Charles had spotted him. Lacking any sense of danger, he crept along the shadowed wall, moving quickly through the dim light of dusk.
He looked utterly miserable.
Peter Pettigrew hadn't been doing well since the previous night. The strange Pokémon Harry and Ron had brought with them seemed to bear an intense hostility toward him—especially those two black dogs that looked like they wanted to tear him apart.
Harry, at least, recalled his Pokémon at night before sleeping. But Ron? He practically cuddled his Pokémon in bed. As a result, Peter had spent the whole night trembling in terror.
In the end, he'd had no choice but to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room.
But what could he do now? In this form, he couldn't exactly blend in elsewhere. Leave Hogwarts, perhaps?
The thought filled him with dread. He'd lived as a rat for eleven years. If he returned to his human form, neither the Death Eaters nor the Ministry of Magic would ever let him go.
He couldn't become human again—but could he really survive out there as a rat forever?
Or should he return to Ron's side?
Lying close to the "Boy Who Lived," he might one day find the opportunity to kill him. If he succeeded, perhaps the Death Eaters would welcome him back.
But right now, the Death Eaters were scattered. Even the one whose name must not be spoken might truly be gone.
Yes—Peter firmly believed Voldemort was dead. Otherwise, why hadn't the Dark Mark summoned his loyal followers?
And so, torn between fear and desperation, Peter Pettigrew scurried down the corridor, lost in thought.
(End of Chapter)