"You're… Nymphadora Tonks?"
Charles recognized Tonks. Although they weren't in the same House, they were in the same year and had attended several classes together.
He had always been intrigued by her ever-changing appearance. After all, it wasn't every day you saw a witch in the wizarding world with bright pink hair.
"What are you doing here? How dare you show up here of all places?" Tonks hissed as she pushed him into the elevator. She glanced around quickly to make sure no one was nearby before lowering her voice.
"What's wrong? Did I miss something?" Charles looked at her curiously. It was just the Ministry of Magic—what was the big deal? Coming here felt almost like returning home.
"Of course there's something wrong! How can you still show your face in the Ministry after knocking out twenty-five Aurors?" Tonks said sharply.
The Ministry might have already fed The Daily Prophet a vague, self-serving article that shifted the credit elsewhere, but Tonks—being an Auror trainee herself—knew the real details.
"If Scrimgeour finds out—"
"He already knows. I was just talking with him, actually," Charles replied lightly. "He seemed like a decent bloke. Even when I said I'd gouge out his eyes, he didn't get angry. Pretty admirable, honestly. That's the kind of official the Auror Office needs."
Scrimgeour: ???You call that having a good temper?I didn't dare say a word!
Tonks froze, completely speechless for a moment.
"Anyway, so you're an Auror now?" Charles asked casually.
Every Auror was an elite talent—after all, the job required passing advanced exams in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and more.
"Er… not yet. Still in training," Tonks admitted sheepishly. "You know how it is—I'll need another two and a half years before I qualify as a full Auror."
Two and a half years?So… the trainee herself admits it!Bring your Auror license to court!
But in truth, Tonks wasn't bluffing. In the original story, she had trained for three years after graduation before becoming a full-fledged Auror. Now, about half a year had passed—so yes, two and a half more years sounded right.
Charles only exchanged a few pleasantries with her before parting ways.
They weren't exactly close, after all—and it was only because Tonks was so naturally outgoing that the conversation even lasted that long. Otherwise, even if he'd recognized her, Charles probably would've pretended he hadn't.
He'd briefly considered bringing up Sirius, since the two were technically related—but after thinking about it, he decided it wasn't necessary.
Saturday came, and Charles walked onto the Quidditch pitch carrying a Cyndaquil in his arms. The first Quidditch match of the term was being held today.
He wasn't really interested in Quidditch, but since he had some free time, he figured he might as well come enjoy the atmosphere.
From a distance, he spotted Snape in his usual black robes and instinctively slowed his steps.
He had no intention of sitting too close to the man—especially after what had happened to Quirrell last time, when a certain reckless Gryffindor had crashed into them.
Scanning the stands, Charles noticed Hermione and Ron sitting together with their Litleo and Houndour. Seamus and Neville were nearby, cuddling the Houndour Harry had lent them.
By November, Hogwarts had grown bitterly cold. The Black Lake was covered with thick ice, and the surrounding mountains lay blanketed in snow.
In weather like this, holding a Fire-type Pokémon in your arms was pure bliss.Even Hagrid, thick-skinned as ever, was sitting nearby.
Seeing him, Charles walked over.
Hagrid immediately spotted him and boomed, "Oi! Charles! Didn't think yeh were the Quidditch type!"
"Just passing the time," Charles replied, sitting down beside him.
Ron and the others didn't act awkwardly; after all, they'd spent plenty of time with him at the Nature Reserve.
"What's the score now?"
"You're a bit late. Gryffindor and Slytherin both scored already, but the Golden Snitch hasn't shown up yet," Hagrid said.
He'd barely finished speaking when Lee Jordan's excited shout rang out:"Wait—is that the Snitch?!"
Charles looked up. A golden ball of light was hovering near a student's ear. If he remembered right, that student was Adrian Pucey—probably Slytherin's Seeker.
Unfortunately, Pucey hadn't noticed it. Harry had spotted the Snitch first and was already diving toward it.
A wave of excitement rippled through the Gryffindor stands.
Cheers erupted, thunderous and deafening. The energy of the crowd was so fierce it seemed to warm the icy Hogwarts air itself.
Quidditch's charm wasn't just in the game—it was in this contagious atmosphere.
Startled by the noise, the timid Cyndaquil burrowed deeper into Charles's arms, while the two Houndour threw back their heads and spat bursts of flame into the air, swept up by the moment.
No Gryffindor minded; in fact, the fiery display seemed like a perfect tribute to their House.
But the cheers quickly turned into furious shouting.
Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, had rammed Harry midair in an attempt to stop him from catching the Snitch.
"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean yelled, face flushed.
"There's no red card in Quidditch—and you can't send players off!" Ron said in confusion.
"They should change the rules then," Hagrid huffed indignantly. "Flint nearly knocked Harry off his broom!"
But regardless, Harry had lost his chance. And as he tried to continue the chase—something even stranger happened.
His Nimbus Two Thousand suddenly bucked and spun out of control, almost throwing him off.
"What's going on? Did his broom get damaged?"
"Impossible," said Hagrid immediately. "Nothing but powerful Dark Magic could affect a broomstick like that."
Hearing this, Hermione—who'd always defended Professor Snape to Harry—instantly turned to look at him. Sure enough, Snape was staring fixedly at Harry, muttering under his breath.
"It's Snape!" Hermione gasped, looking to Charles. "Professor—it's Snape! He's cursing Harry! We have to stop him!"
This time, she didn't rush off on her own. Instead, she turned to Charles for help.
"I knew he was no good from the start" Ron said angrily.
But Charles naturally knew that the person who really wanted to kill Harry was Quirrell, who was sitting on Snape's back.