Before long, Charles Gold welcomed his very first weekend since becoming a professor at Hogwarts.
Expecting him to obediently stay on campus was clearly unrealistic. In truth, he still had plenty of work waiting for him in the Muggle world.
"Mr. Mime, I'll be leaving the reserve in your care for the next couple of days." Before leaving the school, he addressed several Mr. Mime and a few Audino.
The Mr. Mime acted much like the reserve's caretakers, while the Audino served as its doctors.
The Audino perked up their large, adorable ears and responded cheerfully to Charles's instructions.
"Good. If you run into any trouble you can't handle, go find Charizard and the others."This time, Charles had no plans to bring any of his Pokémon with him. The reserve's safety mattered more than his personal convenience.
After all, he hadn't forgotten that there was still a rather big problem lurking at Hogwarts. Who knew what Voldemort might do once he learned about the existence of Pokémon?
Once everything was arranged, Charles closed his office door and placed several protective enchantments upon it. Even a highly skilled Alohomora spellcaster would struggle to unlock it quickly—and the moment anyone tried, Charles would receive an immediate alert.
Of course, with Dumbledore around, there was little chance of any real trouble. The spells were merely an extra precaution.
It was now the year 1991. Though the Nintendo game company already existed, the Pokémon franchise itself had not yet been born.
Charles was now of age—at least by wizarding standards—and no longer had to worry about the Trace detecting his magic. In fact, the moment he was expelled from Hogwarts, the Ministry's Trace had stopped tracking him altogether.
Many people believed the Trace was bound to a wizard's wand, but that wasn't true.
First-year students received their wands before starting school, yet the Trace did not monitor them during that time. Some young witches and wizards even used inherited wands—like Ron and Neville, both of whom wielded secondhand ones.
In reality, the Trace wasn't designed for children growing up entirely within the wizarding world.
Charles didn't particularly care about the Statute of Secrecy, though he didn't oppose it either. In his opinion, wizards couldn't stay hidden forever—but openly revealing themselves to Muggles would be equally unwise.
After all, compared to modern firearms, wands and spells didn't actually offer that much of an advantage. Terrifying upright Muggles could simply mow wizards down with machine guns.
Still, magic was magic. So long as one wasn't caught, it was undeniably useful.
Charles had never believed in the rule "No magic before Muggles." Even the Ministry routinely used Obliviate on them.
His personal motto was simple: "If no one saw it happen, it didn't happen."As long as he wasn't caught red-handed, there was nothing to worry about. It's not like anyone could use Prior Incantato to trace his wand.
With the power of magic, starting a business in the Muggle world became almost absurdly easy.
First of all—money was no problem.
Not because he intended to rob anyone, of course. But loans existed, didn't they? After taking a number at the bank, he sat patiently in the waiting area.
There were plenty of people applying for loans that day.
"Next—Mr. Charles Gold."
Charles stood up and headed toward one of the small private offices. The scene reminded him of that chubby fellow from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them—Jacob Kowalski, the man who wanted a bank loan to open a bakery.
Inside, a man sat behind a desk, leafing through some paperwork. Charles realized he was assessing his financial background.
When the man looked up and saw him, he immediately put down the papers and gestured toward a chair.
"Mr. Charles Gold?"
"Yes, that's me," Charles replied with a polite nod.
"You look rather young," the banker remarked, scanning him briefly. According to the form, Charles was listed as twenty-five years old and employed as an instructor at an institution called Hogwarts Vocational Institute of Welding Technology.
Seventeen might be adulthood in the wizarding world—but not in the Muggle one.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Gold," the banker continued, "you didn't list your income on this form."
"Oh? Is that a problem?" Charles asked lightly. Hogwarts professors didn't exactly earn much—in fact, their pay was modest at best.
"Yes, well," the banker said, his tone cooling, "if your salary is too low, our bank can't process a loan of this size for you. And frankly, without income information, you appear… unemployed."
"I see," Charles said with a calm smile. "Then perhaps you should review this before making a decision."
He opened a small box and pulled out a slender, wand-like object.
The banker froze for a moment, half-thinking Charles was about to draw a gun. His hand twitched toward the alarm button.
But then he realized—it wasn't a weapon. It was simply a beautifully crafted, forearm-length wooden rod.
He blinked in confusion.
"Is that… an antique?"
The craftsmanship looked fine enough, but this was a bank, not a pawnshop—and Charles had come for a loan, not to pawn off goods.
"Sir, if you want that walking stick appraised, you'll need to visit an expert. We don't handle those kinds of valuations here," the banker said, already preparing to end the meeting.
"No rush, sir. Just watch closely."
Charles flicked the wand. Its tip glowed faintly, drawing the man's gaze.
"Confundo."
The banker's eyes instantly glazed over, his expression going slack as a dreamy haze fell over him.
"Remember, sir," Charles said softly, waving his wand like a pendulum, "I'm one of your bank's most valued clients."
"Yes… you're one of our most valued clients," the man murmured.
"And the loan?"
"Approved, of course. I'll grant you a high limit—and a low interest rate," the banker said, still staring at the wand as he automatically reached into a drawer, pulled out a contract, and signed his name.
Charles didn't even pick up a pen, yet his own signature appeared smoothly on the document as if written by invisible ink. The banker didn't seem to notice a thing.
With the paperwork complete, Charles took the contract and left the room—pausing only to alter the man's memory on his way out.
Magic really was too useful.
True, Obliviate wasn't foolproof in the hands of true masters, but honestly—what kind of master would waste time investigating a random Muggle banker?
(End of Chapter)