"Charles Gold!"
In the Headmaster's office, a slightly portly man beamed with joy upon seeing Charles. He waddled over eagerly, extending his greasy hands for a handshake. "So nice to finally meet you! I've heard so much about your reputation—but I never imagined you'd be so young!"
"This is Horace Slughorn, an old colleague and dear friend I mentioned before," Dumbledore introduced warmly.
Of course, Charles recognized the old walrus at a glance.
Horace Slughorn—Tom Riddle's former Potions professor, the very man who had inspired him on the path of creating Horcruxes. It was Slughorn who made Tom believe that splitting one's soul multiple times was indeed possible.
That single lesson had made the eventual defeat of Voldemort so much harder.
Still, given Voldemort's obsession with the number seven and his terror of death, Charles believed that even without Slughorn's influence, the Dark Lord would've still attempted to forge six Horcruxes.In a way, it proved just how deeply Slughorn understood the mysteries of dark magic—enough to answer the questions that haunted Tom Riddle.
Compared to Lockhart, Charles found this former Slytherin Head of House far more respectable.At least Slughorn truly deserved respect. Even when Dumbledore fell and darkness swallowed the wizarding world, he never joined the Death Eaters; instead, he fought alongside the students of Hogwarts. And at that time, he'd already been older than Professor McGonagall.
Of course, his fondness for comfort and vanity remained his greatest weaknesses. Just like Lockhart, he had come to Hogwarts out of admiration for Charles's fame. Unfortunately for him, Lockhart had already been… replaced.
As Charles shook his hand, he couldn't help but notice a few bread crumbs tangled in the man's walrus-like mustache.
"While waiting for you, Horace and I shared a bit of dessert," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "That caramelized cake from last time—your LS Da—the name's quite a mouthful, but it tastes divine."
"Especially with a drizzle of honey! Simply heavenly," Slughorn agreed enthusiastically. When it came to sweets, he and Dumbledore could talk endlessly. His favorite treat was candied pineapple, though even that couldn't compare to the honey produced by the Three Honeybees Farm.
"If you like, I can send you some every year," Charles said. "Dumbledore only has one queen bee, and she doesn't harvest from the flowers in the reserve. If the nectar comes from berry blossoms instead, the honey's flavor becomes even richer."
"How splendid!" Slughorn clapped his hands in delight. Dumbledore, however, didn't share his joy.
"Wait, what? You've been keeping that from me? I want some too!"
"Oh, don't be greedy, Albus. You've been eating Hogwarts sweets all year—aren't you sick of them yet?" Slughorn pushed him aside protectively, as if afraid Dumbledore might snatch his share.
So much for old colleagues' camaraderie—it wasn't worth a Knut.
Still, since Charles had shown goodwill, Slughorn wasn't about to leave empty-handed. He promptly produced a small vial of shimmering gold liquid.
"This is Felix Felicis—Liquid Luck. About five doses' worth. Perhaps it'll be of use to you." Slughorn pressed it into Charles's palm, smiling as if he were the one profiting from the exchange.
After some polite conversation, Slughorn suddenly grew solemn.
"Thank you, Charles Gold—truly." His tone was grave. "Voldemort's death means more to me than I can express. During those dark years of his reign, I lived with guilt and fear—guilt for what I taught him, and fear of what he'd become."
"Albus told me you already know about the Horcruxes—and that you've destroyed several. Before this, he'd asked me many times for the memory of that day, but I couldn't bring myself to hand it over. The terror of Riddle still haunted me. But now that Voldemort is gone, that fear has finally lifted. Still, for all those who died by his hand… I remain deeply, deeply sorry."
Charles wasn't sure how sincere the man was being. As a Slytherin, Slughorn certainly knew how to speak well. His pursuit of comfort might have been born of age rather than cowardice—but his ambition still existed.It was simply… different. He didn't crave power; he valued talent and connections.
Nurturing gifted students was his passion.He had no prejudice against Muggle-borns—not from fairness, but from pragmatism. Talent was all that mattered.
Lily Potter had been one of his proudest students.Snape could have been another, if not for his obsession with the Dark Arts. His talent in potion-making was enormous, yet his heart was consumed by darkness.
"It's nothing," Charles replied lightly. Though Voldemort's death had been part of his own grand performance, the outcome was real—the Dark Lord was gone. The one who should have resurrected in the fourth year now existed only as a spectral phoenix in Dumbledore's keeping.
Once Harry Potter learned to face death with courage, Voldemort would finally perish.
The Second Wizarding War would never come to pass.Those destined to die—Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Lupin—would all live.
Charles didn't think himself noble, but if people wished to praise him, he could tolerate that much.
"Now then, Professor Slughorn, what brings you to me today?"
"Pokémon, of course," Slughorn admitted without preamble. He knew well that many potion masters were eager to research these magical creatures—but so far, none besides Snape had succeeded in working with Charles Gold.
So, he decided to be straightforward. Best to make his proposal openly before Dumbledore, lest the opportunity slip away.
To his surprise, Charles agreed with almost no hesitation.
"Of course, Professor. I believe Snape would also be happy to collaborate with his old mentor. You're both masters of potioncraft—perhaps together you could create something truly extraordinary. I've always believed that only through the collision of ideas can new brilliance be born."
"That's wonderful!" Slughorn exclaimed, his round belly jiggling as he bounced in excitement. "When do we start?"
Charles smiled and led him toward the Reserve.
Hundreds of Pokémon species greeted them, leaving Slughorn momentarily speechless—his breathing grew heavy, eyes wide with wonder.
"So many Pokémon… If I could study even half of these, I might develop an entirely new branch of potion-making!"
"Professor Snape has already done much of that," Charles explained. "The samples he presented to the Potioneers' Guild were only a small part. There are others—the Hair-Growth Tonic, Fire and Lightning Elixirs—that he deemed unworthy or too unstable to submit."
"Besides the Immunity Potion from last time, he's also created formulas like the Sword Dance Draught—drink it and you'll start dancing uncontrollably, but your strength increases dramatically—and the Immobilizing Elixir, which temporarily prevents one from casting spells."
"Snape considered the dancing a side effect, and strength alone isn't very useful for wizards. The second potion only works if you trick your enemy into drinking it—so, not very practical either."
"There are others too—ones that cause paralysis, heighten speed, enhance overall ability, or boost magic power for a short while…"
The more Slughorn heard, the wider his eyes grew. By the end, his voice trembled with excitement."You've revolutionized the field of potion-making—no, if used wisely, this could reshape all of wizardkind! Pokémon are… magnificent!"
Charles couldn't help but grin.Slughorn's exuberant flattery was effective—he'd always known how to please people.And since Charles already knew the man's nature from the original story, he wasn't worried. Despite his quirks, Slughorn wasn't a bad man. Entrusting him with Pokémon felt safe enough—and given his kind disposition, any Pokémon in his care would surely live comfortably.
"Professor Slughorn, if you need materials, let me know and I'll send them over. And if there's a Pokémon you'd like to work with, you're free to try catching one. Of course," Charles added with a smile, "whether it wants to follow you will be up to your own ability."
He handed the old professor six Poké Balls—standard for any trainer.Though given Slughorn's age, it was only fair to let him use his wand. Otherwise, a single Tackle from Pikachu might have shattered his brittle bones.
Charles had assumed a potion master like him would prefer Poison-type Pokémon—but Slughorn chuckled.
"If you think that, then you've some prejudice against potion-makers," he said. "It's true, most of us look a bit disheveled and brew dreadful poisons, but that's not always our intent. Half the time, it's just… an accident."
"A cauldron's brew rarely turns out perfect. Failure, I'm afraid, is much easier than success."
He wasn't wrong.And the more an apothecary failed, the poorer they became—until they looked more beggar than wizard.
It was a profession of vast inequality: the masters grew rich and famous, while the rest scraped by brewing simple draughts for a living.
As they wandered through the Reserve, Charles noticed that Slughorn seemed particularly fascinated by large Pokémon. Had Charles not known his identity, he might've mistaken him for a transformed Hagrid.
At the lakeside, Slughorn's eyes were drawn to several majestic Gyarados thrashing in the water.Charles, however, thought the plump Sealeo rolling on the shore suited him far better.
In the end, Slughorn captured a wild Pidgeotto, a Gastly, an Absol, and a Larvesta.
The Larvesta species had been unlocked long ago—before the Alola region even existed. Most of them had since been relocated there, so finding one still in the Reserve was a pleasant surprise.
It suggested that other rare Pokémon might still remain hidden here as well.
The same held true in the Pokémon world: without human interference, powerful Pokémon would only multiply. Pseudo-legendaries, adaptable and mighty, would never truly be rare—if not for powerful families monopolizing them.
The Blackthorn Clan's Dragonite, the Stone family's Metagross…Such control was why the wild populations dwindled, leaving young trainers to rely on luck.
Slughorn's luck, it seemed, was excellent.Though raising a Larvesta to evolve into a Volcarona would be no easy feat.
Watching the little bug crawl along Slughorn's arm, Charles thought privately: Good luck with that.
"Splendid, isn't it? Look—they like me!" Slughorn chuckled as the Larvesta inched happily across his sleeve. The Pokémon showed no affection, but neither did it resist.The Absol beside him, however, stood tall and proud, as if sensing destiny itself.
"I do love these creatures," Slughorn said with genuine warmth. Then, turning to Charles, he added wistfully, "You must be Dumbledore's favorite student."
Charles: "???"Why did that sound so… wrong?
He eyed the man warily, half-expecting him to pull out a giant cauldron burner from nowhere.But Slughorn only sighed.
"It's such a shame I'd already retired when you were at school. A talent like yours—had I still been teaching, I'd have made you my star pupil."
Ah, classic Slughorn. The man collected promising students like trophies. Harry Potter had been one; Charles Gold was another irresistible addition to the set.
Unfortunately for him, Charles was now a professor himself.
"Oh, by the way," Slughorn said suddenly, "there's a gathering next month—the first weekend. Some old friends of mine are hosting it. Care to join? I daresay it would do them good to meet you—oh, listen to me! It would be their honor entirely!"
Charles laughed lightly.
(End of Chapter)