Not every wizard who made great contributions to the magical world ends up immortalized on a Chocolate Frog Card.
But every wizard who does make it onto one carries at least a touch of legend. Take, for instance, Alberic Grunnion—his claim to fame was inventing the Dungbomb. Or Mirabella Plunkett, the witch who fell in love with a merman and turned herself into a haddock to be with him.
From this, it's clear that the selection criteria for Chocolate Frog Cards are… rather whimsical.
Still, Charles was quite pleased about being featured on one himself. Though, to be honest, a stiff, expressionless portrait didn't sit well with him. So, he released his Charizard and Pikachu, posed for a magical photo with them, and sent it back as a replacement.
When that was done, Charles glanced out the window. The snow at Hogwarts had piled several feet deep. Pikachu, upon seeing it, grew visibly excited—it was eager to rush outside and play.
Charizard, on the other hand, wasn't fond of snowy weather. Curling up on the floor of the office, it tucked its body close, letting the flames of its tail warm its belly.
"Pika! Pika!"
Pikachu burst out the door, skipped the stairs entirely, and dove straight into a snowbank.
"Slow down!" Charles called after it, amused.
He couldn't quite understand it—there were snowy mountains in the Reserve back home. Why did Pikachu still find snow so thrilling?
During the Christmas holidays, few students had stayed behind at Hogwarts. The castle felt far emptier than usual. Charles watched quietly as Pikachu rolled around in the snow, until he spotted Harry, Ron, the Weasley twins, and Percy running over, laughing and shoving one another.
They were all wearing similar sweaters—clearly hand-knitted by Molly Weasley.
In fact, Charles himself had received a blue one today, embroidered with the letter S. It was Molly's way of thanking him for exposing Peter Pettigrew.
"Merry Christmas, Professor!" Harry beamed when he saw him. "Thank you for the gifts! Pikachu, Electabuzz, and Houndour all loved the treats!"
"And my wand!" Ron added quickly.
Charles had sent each club member a gift—mostly Pokéblocks—though Ron's was a little different.
"The core is a strand of Rapidash's fiery mane," Charles explained with a smile. "It's a very loyal wand—only a wizard it acknowledges can wield it."
He didn't mention that, technically, a sufficiently powerful wizard could also force it to obey.
"By the way, Harry," Charles asked, "has Sirius's case been resolved yet?"
It had been more than a month and a half since Pettigrew's capture. Fudge's inaction was sluggish even by Ministry standards. What Charles didn't know was that Fudge's delay came from spending all his time establishing the Official Pokémon Battle Club and the Pokémon Protection and Management Office—both of which Charles directly oversaw.
The positions came with top-tier benefits and generous funding—far more lucrative than his Hogwarts teaching salary.
"Not yet," Harry admitted, frowning slightly. "Professor Dumbledore said the trial might start after Christmas. I might have to testify."
Even though he'd learned Sirius was his godfather, Harry wasn't sure whether the man would truly want to take him in. After the initial rush of joy faded, uncertainty took its place.
Lately, he found himself more excited about sneaking out at night under his newly received Invisibility Cloak.
Perhaps his father had once worn that very cloak, wandering these same castle corridors. The thought made the present and past blur together—almost as if he were walking beside his father again.
"Stop daydreaming, Harry! Let's go to the Black Lake for a Pokémon battle!"
Fred and George's shout snapped him back to reality.
The twins were out exploring mainly to find an open space to battle—since the club's classroom was closed for the holidays.
Before long, Pokémon battles had replaced Wizard's Chess as the students' favorite pastime. Only a handful could participate for now, but that number was growing fast.
Harry hesitated, then said, "You guys go ahead first."
Charles tilted his head. "Something on your mind? Or do you want to talk privately?"
"Actually, Professor… have you ever heard of Nicholas Flamel?" Harry asked after a pause, deciding to bring it up.
After the last Quidditch match, he'd overheard Hagrid mention the name—but no matter how they tried, neither he nor Hermione could get Hagrid to reveal more. The gamekeeper had since clammed up completely.
So even now, they hadn't found a single clue about Flamel.
"Nicholas?" Charles said casually. "So, you're investigating what Dumbledore's hiding on the third floor, aren't you?"
He saw no need to keep it vague—unlike Hagrid, who had fretted that Harry shouldn't get involved. Charles understood perfectly well that Dumbledore had left those breadcrumbs on purpose, to lure Harry in.
"Professor—you know?" Harry exclaimed, wide-eyed.
Charles didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked quietly, "Are you really ready to meddle in this matter?"
"What do you mean?"
"Dumbledore set up countless barriers to guard that thing—even brought in a ferocious three-headed dog. Whatever it is, this isn't child's play, Harry. There's real danger involved—perhaps even deadly danger."
He looked at Harry meaningfully.
"Do you remember what Dumbledore said at the start-of-term feast?"
'Those who do not wish to meet a painful and untimely death—should avoid the…'
Harry froze, realizing exactly what the professor was implying.
Charles leaned in slightly. "It seems you remember. So tell me, are you truly ready to face danger, to risk death itself? Or are you acting on a momentary impulse?"
Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry courage—but recklessness was not courage.
True bravery meant knowing all the risks—and still moving forward.
Harry's face paled at the word death. For a brief moment, he was silent. Dumbledore hadn't been exaggerating—if Charles hadn't arrived that last time, he might well have been eaten by Fluffy.
Am I truly ready to face death?
He couldn't help but ask himself.
Before Hogwarts, he might have shrugged and said it didn't matter. But now—he loved it here. He had friends, caring teachers, and three beloved Pokémon.
Every memory he made here was precious.
And after Christmas… perhaps a godfather to guide him.
If Sirius welcomed him, he might finally leave the Dursleys and start a new life.
With this thought, death seemed far more terrifying than it ever had before.
Charles, however, trusted that a single warning wouldn't make him back down.
"I don't want to die—" Harry began, then hesitated.
"But Professor, whatever that thing is… Snape tried to steal it! I have proof! I saw him heading to the third-floor corridor, only to get his leg bitten by Fluffy! That Troll—he must have unleashed it on Halloween!"
Harry's voice trembled as he tried to convince Charles to stop Snape.
"Harry," Charles said calmly, "you're biased against Snape, just as he may be against you. But I can assure you: Snape never intended to steal that object."
Harry shot him a puzzled look. He couldn't understand why Charles refused to take his side.
Snape had tried to kill him during Quidditch, yet Charles still defended him. It was frustrating—but it made Harry resolve something deep in his heart.
If no one else would stop Snape… then I will. I'll uncover his plot myself!
'Even if I'm afraid of dying, I can't allow anyone to harm Hogwarts!'
With that determination, Harry drew a deep breath and spoke earnestly:
"Professor… please tell me who Nicholas Flamel is—and what exactly that thing is! I think… I'm ready!"