"He went that way, Potter!"
An Auror, wand in hand, whispered to the man approaching from behind — a dark-haired wizard in a trench coat. On closer look, his face bore a faint resemblance to Harry himself.
"First he attacks the Pentagon, then he steals Ilvermorny's serpentwood… and Britain still refuses to get involved. As always, it's us cleaning up the mess," said the wizard called Potter with a weary sigh. Still, he drew his wand, ready for anything.
"I'd say it's because the former President offended Charles Gold at the International Confederation of Wizards. Otherwise, Britain wouldn't be so indifferent," another wizard interjected. Potter turned his head. Aside from himself, eleven Aurors stood at the ready — among them, Ilvermorny's current Headmaster, Agilbert Fontana.
The descendants of the twelve original Aurors who had founded MACUSA were all gathered here at last.
Sensing Potter's gaze, Fontana nodded at him. "Long time no see, Harmon."
But there was no time for pleasantries.
"Several international Aurors are on their way as well," Fontana added. The moment he finished speaking, the air rippled and twisted into a vortex. A dozen figures stretched like ribbons through space and snapped into place on the clearing with a crack.
Just like that, the team assembled to capture Voldemort numbered in the dozens — every one of them among the world's top Aurors, their individual power comparable to Snape himself.
"Feels like we're about to face Grindelwald all over again," a French wizard remarked with a nervous smile.
"But this time," someone muttered bleakly, "we don't have Dumbledore."
"On the other hand," Harmon Potter countered, "Voldemort doesn't have Grindelwald's army either." Seeing morale beginning to dip, he raised his voice. "Everyone, now that we're all here, we must strike immediately — before he slips away again and picks us off one by one. Only together can we defeat him!"
"Where is he?"
"He shouldn't be far—actually, it seems we don't have to look for him." Harmon turned his head upward.
The man with the serpentine face floated high above them, draped in black robes, looking down on the Aurors like a god gazing upon pitiful ants.
For a heartbeat — or perhaps a century — silence reigned.
Potter felt the weight of an invisible pressure crush upon him. Even his thoughts turned sluggish and sticky, trapped under that oppressive will. Time stretched — or perhaps stopped — until his danger sense flared violently.
"Watch out!"
Too late. A streak of green lightning sliced through the air.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Transfigure!"
Dozens of wands struck the ground in unison. The earth surged and twisted, sprouting massive arms of stone and soil that rose to intercept the deadly curse.
The green bolt struck, and the conjured arms immediately lost vitality — crumbling into dust that rained down upon the Aurors like withered ash.
"You lot think you're worthy to arrest me?" Voldemort sneered, his snake-like neck twisting as his cold eyes swept over them. In his view — or rather, in Charles Gold's — these so-called "elite Aurors" were insignificant. There are differences in power that sheer numbers can never bridge.
That truth was even more apparent in the Pokémon world.
Yet no one here would retreat just because of a few taunts. Someone roared and fired a crimson spell at him.
"Attack!"
A storm of spells streaked skyward like a reverse meteor shower.
But how could such tricks threaten a foe of Voldemort's caliber?
With a mere wave of his hand, all the spells froze midair — then reversed course, racing back toward their casters.
"Protego Maxima!"
A massive translucent barrier formed as dozens of advanced Shield Charms overlapped, resembling a vast glass dome. The deflected curses struck it like rain on water, sending ripples across the surface — yet the shield held strong.
"Ah…" Voldemort exhaled softly in admiration. In truth, this combined defense rivaled the magical barrier that had once shielded Hogwarts itself — a protection hundreds of Death Eaters had failed to breach.
But what Death Eaters could not break, Voldemort could.
The Destruction Wand in his hand channeled every drop of his power, amplifying it even further.
Voldemort's raw magical might already surpassed Charles's — and with that wand in hand, the strike he unleashed could pierce the heavens themselves.
It didn't look dramatic — just a dark chain of magic, seemingly no different from a normal Killing Curse. But the moment it touched the Aurors' barrier, the world exploded.
BOOM!
The ground itself quaked violently.
The shimmering dome shattered like a soap bubble bursting, and the magical backlash swept outward in a roaring cyclone. Dust and debris whirled sky-high, engulfing everything like a sandstorm.
"Cough—cough!"
Potter dragged himself up from the rubble, staring up at the demonic silhouette in the clouds. Despair flooded his chest.
Could any human truly stand against that power?
How had Dumbledore managed to repel him time and again? How had Charles Gold defeated such a monster?
Potter knew he would likely never learn the answer — for the Dark Lord was already preparing another strike, while most of his comrades lay unconscious.
Death fell upon them like a hammer.
Potter closed his eyes as the fatal incantation echoed—
"Avada Kedavra!"
But then, amid the chaos, another voice sliced through the storm — calm, powerful, commanding.
"Persian! Thunderbolt!"
Instinct made Potter open his eyes — only to be blinded by a flash of golden lightning.
BOOM!
The thunderclap shattered the clouds above, colliding with the emerald curse in midair.
And then, from the sky, Voldemort's voice — shaken for the first time.
"Who… are you?"
"Since you asked so sincerely—"
A man in a black suit and fedora stepped out of the smoke, both hands in his pockets, his tone smooth and confident.
"Team Rocket uses Pokémon to rule the world! And the leader of this Rocket… is me — Giovanni!"
(End of Chapter)