” At the Ministry of Magic, Level 1.
Scrimgeour, his tea-brown hair hanging like tangled kelp, strode briskly into the Minister’s office.
It was hard to imagine that a man with a limp could ever walk so fast.
His expression was stern, as if an iron-grey mask were fixed to his face.
“You should knock, Rufus!” Irritation flashed across Cornelius Fudge’s face before vanishing.
He disliked Scrimgeour; their personalities clashed by nature, to say nothing of their political rivalry.
As Head of the Auror Office, the man was a formidable contender.
Still, Fudge wasn’t overly concerned.
The Dark Lord Who Must Not Be Named had been dead for nearly eleven years now, and the British wizarding world was thriving.
No one would truly welcome an iron-fisted Minister of Magic.
“Knock?
Now is hardly the time to play your administrative games!
The pure-blood wizards are practically being wiped out!” Scrimgeour said coldly.
Cornelius Fudge stared at him, bewildered.
“I don’t recall today being April Fool’s Day.” Fudge clearly assumed Scrimgeour was pulling his leg.
For a chap who was usually so solemn, the old fellow possessed a surprisingly dry sense of humor.
Scrimgeour slammed a folder onto Fudge’s desk.
“And I don’t recall ever being a man given to jokes.” Sensing something was amiss, Fudge’s expression shifted as he reached for the document.
A moment later, his trembling hand reached for his lime-green bowler hat while he choked out: “If this is real…
what are you waiting for?
Deploy every available Auror immediately!” Over a dozen pure-blood families under attack?
This was no trivial matter.
If word got out, he might very well be forced to resign in disgrace!
He scurried toward the doorway, then halted as if struck by a sudden thought, calling out to his confidante Umbridge, “Quick, go fetch Dumbledore!” *** When Dumbledore arrived accompanied by Professor McGonagall, Charlen Gold was standing with one foot planted firmly on Fudge’s chest, his left hand raising a wand directly to Fudge’s temple.
Professor McGonagall nearly fainted at the sight.
It wasn’t just Fudge; over twenty Ministry Aurors were sprawled across the floor, while a short distance away, those pure-bloods who usually boasted of their noble lineage lay in utter humiliation, bound tight by a massive, frog-like creature.
Most of them appeared to be unconscious.
Professor McGonagall had never seen such a magical creature in her life, but now was hardly the moment to ponder it.
Looking at Charlen Gold’s unfamiliar features, she struggled to reconcile the young man before her with the youth from years ago.
“My goodness, Mr.
Gold!
How dare you attack the Minister of Magic and the Aurors?” Her face went white, terrified that her former student had plunged into deep water.
Seeing Dumbledore arrive was like clutching a lifeline for Fudge.
Even pinned under Charlen’s boot, he couldn’t help a flash of relief across his face.
He was just opening his mouth to speak when Charlen beat him to the punch.
“Long time no see, Dumbledore.
Nicolas asked me to pass along his regards.
He also asked me to hand this over to you directly instead of sending it through Gringotts.
It isn’t very safe there.” Seeing the old bumblebee brought a smile to Charlen’s face.
He tossed the package entrusted to him over to Dumbledore before offering Professor McGonagall a friendly wave.
Dumbledore unhurriedly stowed the package away, only addressing the situation under Fudge’s imploring gaze: “Now then, Charlen, it seems these past few years haven’t softened your temperament in the least.
Go on and let Cornelius up.
I’m sure he meant no harm.” “He shouldn’t have brought Aurors to meddle in a private affair between me and these pure-blood families.
By their own reckoning, this was a formal wizarding duel—though it happened to be me taking on their whole crowd single-handedly.” Charlen gave the old bumblebee plenty of courtesy.
Both during his time at Hogwarts and after leaving, he had benefited from Dumbledore’s guidance.
Besides, he had never intended to do real harm to Fudge anyway.
As soon as Charlen lifted his foot, Fudge scrambled and crawled to Dumbledore’s feet, only taking a full breath of relief once safely shielded behind the world’s greatest wizard.
“Dumbledore, you must arrest this Dark wizard immediately and send him to Azkaban!” Fudge babbled, his teeth clicking together in terror.
“He is a dangerous element!
He attacked the Minister of Magic, neutralized all the Aurors—he is practically a third Dark Lord!” “I’m afraid I cannot, Cornelius.
Mr.
Gold will be taking up a professorship at Hogwarts this term.” When Dumbledore spoke, not just Fudge, but even Professor McGonagall froze in shock.
Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?
Was Dumbledore intending to use the rumors of the Dark Lord’s curse to dispose of the young man?
Fudge had never put much stock in talk of curses, but right now he desperately wished it were true.
“Albus, I believed you had already appointed Quirinus Quirrell to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts,” McGonagall noted.
“I did indeed agree to let him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I am referring to a different subject entirely—a new course.” Dumbledore gave McGonagall a quick wink.
He seemed completely unbothered by what Charlen had done to the Ministry of Magic and the pure-blood families.
Professor McGonagall, however, was looking at the bigger picture.
“A new course?
I doubt the Hogwarts school governors will consent to it,” she remarked quietly, her eyes drifting toward the unconscious pure-bloods bound on the floor.
After all, half the board of governors was currently sprawled right there.
“You’re mistaken on that, Minerva.
They will agree.
At the very least, this ensures Gold’s status remains that of a professor rather than a ‘Dark Lord’—though I don’t believe for a moment he will become one,” Dumbledore said plainly in front of Charlin.
“Now then, release them all.
I imagine you’ve vented enough of your frustration.
We can return to Hogwarts to work out the details of your curriculum—regarding your…
Pokémon Master Class.” Dumbledore addressed Charlen.
“Fair enough.
Return, Venusaur.” Fudge watched in bewilderment as the young yet terrifying wizard recalled the massive creature through some unknown means.
It certainly wasn’t a Vanishing Spell; perhaps an Extension Charm, though employing such magic without authorization was strictly illegal.
Yet that hardly mattered.
What mattered was that dozens of witnesses had seen him, the Minister of Magic, pinned beneath the young man’s boot!
If he allowed him to walk away scot-free, his political authority would be utterly shattered.
“But…” “That will do, Cornelius.
You are quite welcome to announce to the public that you brought the Aurors to rescue these people,” Dumbledore said, waving a hand with mild impatience.
“Besides, the Ministry had no business intervening in a wizarding duel in the first place, and Mr.
Gold hasn’t killed a single person.
Branding him a Dark Lord is manifestly unfair.” Leaving those words behind, Dumbledore departed alongside Charlen and Professor McGonagall.
As they walked, Charlen remarked offhandedly, “I wouldn’t actually mind becoming a real Dark Lord, though I imagine those folks would lose quite a bit of sleep over it.” “Of course you wouldn’t.
In fact, I’ve noticed that every student expelled from Hogwarts seems extraordinarily fascinated by magical creatures.
Though, naturally, you call them Pokémon.” Dumbledore clearly knew Charlen was joking.
He trusted Charlen just as he trusted Newt.
Grindelwald: ?
*Are you Dumbledore’s favorite student, too?*