Early the next morning, Charles arrived in the classroom for the sixth-year class.
By then, the room was already full of students.
"Good morning, everyone."
"Good morning, Professor!"
Seeing the lively young witches and wizards below, his mood improved as well. He set down his textbook and began, "I believe all of you have received the second volume of the Pokémon textbook by now?"
"Yes, Professor!" Percy immediately raised his hand. "I didn't expect the second volume to include so many new Pokémon!"
"That's right," Charles nodded. "Together with the species you studied last year, the total number has reached over four hundred. This means you'll be encountering many more kinds of Pokémon this term—but it also means your coursework will be heavier. In addition, I have some… less pleasant news—"
He deliberately drew out his tone, prompting the students to crane their necks curiously.
"Starting this term, this class will include more homework and more exams. Professor Snape's success at the Extraordinary Potioneers Association over the summer—thanks to his Pokémon-based potion formulas—combined with my recent defense against the mysterious attacker, has convinced the Ministry of Magic of the immense potential of Pokémon. As a result, this course has now been made a major component of the Junior and Senior Trainer Qualification Exams."
As soon as Charles finished, Percy couldn't help but raise his hand again. "But Professor, we already took our O.W.L.s last year! Does that mean we'll never be able to get our O.W.L. certificates?"
"Of course not. In fact, the Junior Trainer Examination for sixth-years will be held together with the fifth-years at the end of next term. This means that, besides your advanced courses, you'll also be preparing for the exam. Don't worry, though—the exam paper will be written by me. As long as you pay attention in class, you'll do just fine."
At this stage, the program was still short on qualified instructors, so the certification standards could afford to be a little lenient.
"Additionally," he continued, "both this year's and last year's seventh-years will have the chance to sit for the Senior Trainer Examination. Passing it will automatically grant you a Junior Trainer certificate. Also—club members will receive their Junior Certificates without needing to take the test."
That last part caused a stir among the students—especially the club members.
"Professor, is the club recruiting new members this year?"
"Of course. In fact, there'll be more openings than last year," Charles replied with a smile.
After all, the whole purpose of creating this class was to promote Pokémon training. Expanding the club was only natural. If not for the limited number of Pokémon in the reserve, he would've already allowed every Hogwarts student to have one.
"All right then, let's begin today's lesson—Chikorita, Cyndaquil, Totodile, and their evolutionary lines."
"Did you hear? The club—cough, I mean, the Wolfpack—is recruiting this term!"
As soon as class ended, the sixth-years scattered to spread the good news throughout Hogwarts.
Many students who had failed to get in last year were instantly energized—Neville Longbottom among them. He looked far more determined these days; though his cheeks still carried a trace of baby fat, his height and build already resembled a third-year's.
"I wonder how many new members they'll take?" Seamus said eagerly.
"Not sure, but maybe around a hundred—roughly one-eighth of the school," Neville replied, sharing what he knew. "Professor said there are a lot more Pokémon now. Having more students capture them will also ease the pressure on the reserve."
"I bet you already have a target in mind, huh, Neville?"
Indeed, Neville had spent nearly the whole previous year practicing swordsmanship in the reserve—a privilege even Harry hadn't enjoyed. Though he still hadn't owned a Pokémon, he'd been around them constantly.
"I have a few in mind," Neville admitted, thinking fondly of the Frogadier who had trained alongside him for months.
"I just want to know when club members get to go back into the reserve to catch more Pokémon," said Ron.
Clearly, that wish wouldn't be easy to fulfill.
By Tuesday, the heads of all four Houses had posted notices: any student wishing to join the Pokémon Club must assemble outside Professor Charles Gold's office on Saturday morning. Those already in the club could report as usual for their weekend battles.
Professor Charles would also make an important announcement on Sunday.
The notice ignited Hogwarts with excitement. By Saturday, the area outside Charles's office was packed. Even Professor Lupin was there—he needed to capture at least one Pokémon to serve as guardian of the Fear Badge. Harry, Ron, and Hermione also came along, mostly to cheer for Ginny.
"Don't worry, Ginny—you've got this!" Percy encouraged her earnestly. "Don't forget, you already worked with Pokémon during the summer. I even gave you lessons. Just aim for the gentle ones."
Ginny looked nervous, small and nearly swallowed by the crowd of upper-years.
"Don't worry, Percy—we'll help her!" Lee Jordan and the other Quidditch players chimed in.
With their spellcasting skills, catching a few low-level Pokémon shouldn't have been hard—or so they thought.
Their confidence evaporated when Charles appeared carrying a basket. "Please place your wands here."
"No wands?" Marcus Flint exclaimed indignantly.
He'd missed last year's recruitment because of Quidditch practice and wasn't planning to miss again. But now Charles was asking them to surrender their wands before entering the reserve—wasn't that unfair?
Yet none dared object to the man who had single-handedly defeated the mysterious attacker.
"But Professor," someone asked, "how are we supposed to capture Pokémon without our wands?"
"Do you really think catching Pokémon is impossible without magic?" Charles chuckled, not at all offended. "True, Pokémon tend to respect powerful trainers—but power alone doesn't earn trust.
"Last year, one student had an upperclassman help him catch a strong Pokémon. Yet that Pokémon refused to obey him. Sometimes, sincerity works better than strength."
In truth, most Pokémon left in the reserve were of very low level; Charles had transferred the stronger ones to Alola. If older students brought wands in, it would've been a massacre. This approach was also a good way to filter out those with poor character.
Now, without their wands, the students were on equal footing—and Charles could truthfully declare: It's the Pokémon who choose the trainer, not the other way around.
"How to approach Pokémon should be in your textbooks," he reminded them. "You each have six Poké Balls. Anyone who catches a Pokémon before sunset joins the club." He stepped aside. "All right—go ahead!"
Despite some lingering complaints, the students obediently surrendered their wands, received their backpacks, and entered the reserve.
Each bag contained a few mud pellets, some berries, and six Poké Balls.
"Professor Lupin, you may keep your wand," Charles added. Lupin, as a badge guardian, needed a stronger Pokémon.
"No need. I'll do it like the students," Lupin said with a polite smile. "Don't worry—I've done my homework. I've studied Harry's textbook several times."
Charles didn't argue.
The crowd surged in, most entering the reserve for the first time except Neville. Charles had placed concealment charms around the newly built "castle" to avoid exposure.
"Neville, what do we do?" Seamus asked, panicked. "I've no idea where to find Voltorb!"
"According to the Pokédex, they're usually near power plants," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggle-born. "But there's no power plant here."
"I think they gather near the rocky desert area," Neville said thoughtfully. "There are lots of Electric-types there. The ambient charge attracts them."
"Good thinking," Seamus nodded, then hesitated. "Will you come with me?"
Neville shook his head. "You should rely on yourself. Didn't you hear Professor? He was talking about Malfoy."
With that, he walked off alone, looking for Frogadier.
The rest began their "Hisui-style day" of barehanded Pokémon catching.
"Let's see…" Lupin murmured as he consulted Harry's book. "Mud pellets can slow a Pokémon's movements, interrupt its attacks, and increase the chance of capture… Throwing a ball from behind raises success rates… Oran Berries attract Pokémon, Pecha Berries lower their guard…"
"As for the best match for me—Dark and Ghost types. Mightyena suits me perfectly." He chuckled self-deprecatingly and began tracking Poochyena footprints. "Judging from tracks isn't easy."
He crouched low, scanning the ground carefully.
Meanwhile, Neville easily found his Frogadier. After all, Charles had transferred all the starters to Aether Paradise—except for this one. After a whole year of training together, it already trusted him completely.
"Frogadier, would you like to be my Pokémon?" Neville asked, holding up a Poké Ball.
"Ko-ga!" The Frogadier conjured a white blade, performed a graceful slash, sheathed it, and willingly entered the Poké Ball.
Neville looked at it solemnly. "Don't worry, Frogadier. If we keep training, we'll grow strong together."
Once, he'd been almost a Squib—but after a year of training, even his grandmother said he'd matured. He finally looked like a true Gryffindor.
With five Poké Balls left, he wasn't in a rush. He strolled leisurely through the reserve.
Aside from Frogadier, he had no specific Pokémon in mind. He'd befriended a Bulbasaur and a Poliwhirl, but neither yet wished to accept him as their trainer. He could have forced the matter, but he didn't want to.
Instead…
A small, plump, green Pokémon suddenly appeared in his path.
"Stop it, Neville!" Goyle and Crabbe burst from the bushes, furious, each raising a Poké Ball to throw at the pudgy creature—only for it to punch the balls to pieces.
"Gon—!"
"A Pokémon I don't recognize," Neville murmured, turning to the Slytherins. He didn't get along with them, but relations had thawed since even Draco no longer openly antagonized Gryffindors.
"What happened?"
"It ate all my berries!" Goyle wailed. "I was saving them for later!"
"It's eaten berries from loads of people—we've got to teach it a lesson!"
"Gon, gon!" The little Munchlax spread its stubby arms, laughing mockingly. Then it turned—if its half-closed eyes could be called that—and stared at Neville.
"Ah… eyeing my berries now?" Neville quickly understood and smiled, setting down his pack. "Go on, take them."
"Gon?" The Munchlax tilted its head in confusion.
The last few humans it met had guarded their food jealously. Why was this one… giving it away?
After thinking for a moment—until its head began to itch from the effort—it stopped thinking altogether and dived face-first into the pile of berries.
"Now's our chance!" Crabbe shouted, raising another Poké Ball.
"Wait—that's Neville's—" Goyle tried to stop him.
But Crabbe shoved him aside and hurled the ball. "He already has one! And we've been chasing it for ages!"
Neville didn't mind much; he already had Frogadier and no claim to this Pokémon. Still, Goyle frowned at Crabbe's impatience.
Unfortunately for Crabbe, Munchlax was far too alert. Even while eating—and with its back turned—it sensed danger, jumped, and slammed down on the ball with its backside, crushing it flat.
"Let's see how many times you can dodge!" Crabbe threw again and again. Each attempt met the same fate—Munchlax broke every ball effortlessly.
When his supply ran out, Munchlax finished the last berry from Neville's bag.
Then, it turned its wise little gaze toward Neville.
This human gave me food willingly! I'll stick with him!
Before Crabbe could react, Munchlax toddled over, rummaged through Neville's bag, found a spare Poké Ball, and pressed the button itself.
The Poké Ball clicked softly in the bag.
Captured.
By evening, around eight hundred students gathered once more—most wearing disappointed expressions.
Catching Pokémon without wands was no simple feat, especially for impatient Gryffindors and arrogant Slytherins.
Barely a hundred students succeeded, with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw accounting for sixty percent. Slytherin and Gryffindor made up the remaining forty, many looking battered as if they'd literally fought Pokémon hand-to-hand.
Muscular Marcus Flint had bruises all over and, once again, no Pokémon. He and Draco had both targeted serpentine species—but Marcus, foolishly, had gone after an Ekans. After several clumsy throws, he'd angered it badly.
If not for its low level, one whip of its tail might've sliced him in two.
It was clear that the more arrogant pure-bloods were the least successful; cruel temperaments didn't earn a Pokémon's respect.
Lupin, however, succeeded in capturing a Mightyena—and unexpectedly, a Sneasel as well. His arm bore some scratches from an earlier scuffle. The Sneasel had gotten separated from its pack and wandered down from the snowy peaks. After Lupin treated its wounds with herbs, it had chosen to follow him.
Ginny Weasley had wisely followed Hermione's advice—not aiming for strong or aggressive Pokémon. She focused on gentle Water- and Grass-types, first targeting a dopey Psyduck. But during the throw, fate intervened, and she caught a Marill instead.
Charles examined it briefly. "Huge Power ability," he remarked with a grin.
Fitting for the girl who once cast Crucio on a Death Eater—her Pokémon's theme was pure contrast.
Once that Marill evolved into an Azumarill, a dragon-slayer in its own right, the pair's combination of Belly Drum, Stun Spore, and Ice Punch would be terrifying.
Marill: "Dragon-types? None of them stand a chance!"
Ginny: "Death Eaters? None of them stand a chance!"
Though truth be told, all the Death Eaters had already been wiped out by Charles himself.
(End of Chapter)