The mention of a challenge qualification instantly made those young wizards—who had thought joining the club meant they could relax—grow tense. Meanwhile, those who'd failed to qualify cast resentful, envious glances toward the ones who had.
For a moment, the air in the classroom became thick with tension.
But Charles had no intention of taking back his words. Pokémon battles were meant to be challenges—every Trainer should remember that they were challengers first and foremost.
Of course, not everyone could qualify for a challenge. To earn that right, Charles had to judge them strong enough to be worthy of it.
The young wizards, still buzzing with excitement, made their way back to their dormitories.
Smiles lit up their faces, many of them still lost in the thrill of the battles, unable to stop talking about what they'd just seen even as they walked.
"Honestly," Lee Jordan bragged, "if I hadn't run into Cedric and picked a Pokémon that was weak against his, I might've taken first place!"
"No way," Angelina said flatly. "Cedric's Pokémon are really strong—and so is he."
"Fine, maybe I wouldn't have won. But at least Fred could have! He just made one tiny mistake. I told him, Magmar shouldn't have used Ember against that Growlithe!"
"How was I supposed to know that Growlithe had Flash Fire?" Fred groaned. "Cedric made it pretend to be hurt!"
"At least you and George got picked," Lee said. "But what about Quidditch practice? You, Harry, and even Wood all made the club roster!"
"Keep your voice down! Harry's still our secret weapon!" Angelina hissed, kicking him under the table.
"Oh, please," Lee said. "At this point, the only ones in Hogwarts who don't know Harry's on the Quidditch team are the mermaids at the bottom of the Black Lake."
Everyone knew—Hogwarts had no secrets.
"If nothing changes," Fred sighed, "we'll probably have to start training before dawn."
George nodded solemnly. "Train all morning, then club practice in the afternoon. Brilliant. I'll die of exhaustion before I even get my broom off the ground."
"Why don't they just hand the House Cup to the Pokémon Club already?" someone grumbled. "Quidditch isn't nearly as fun."
"If you're that tired, you could just skip the club sessions," called Roger Davies from Ravenclaw, overhearing them. "The professor allows it."
"Yeah, so you can challenge us and beat us in front of everyone? Nice try, Davies!" Fred shot back immediately. "We can hear your scheming all the way in Gryffindor Tower!"
"Quiet down!" Percy bellowed.
But even as he scolded them, his face was glowing with pride. Not only had he made it into the Pokémon Masters Club, but so had every single Weasley sibling.
To him, that was nothing short of an honor.
Perhaps, he thought smugly, his three younger brothers were finally showing some promise.
All across the castle, students were gossiping excitedly about Pokémon battles. The next day, several professors complained that their classes were full of bleary-eyed students who looked like they hadn't slept a wink—probably because they'd spent the entire night talking about battles.
And just like that, Halloween was upon them.
The castle had been transformed with festive decorations. A thousand bats fluttered around the walls and ceiling; another thousand hung like low-hanging black clouds, swirling above the long tables and making the candles inside the pumpkins flicker wildly. Piles of delicious food appeared out of thin air on golden plates, just like at the Start-of-Term Feast.
Even some Ghost-type Pokémon were let out for the occasion. Gengar and Gastly, clearly delighted to meet a kindred spirit in Peeves, teamed up to float through the castle halls, gleefully pranking unsuspecting students.
Several Murkrow with Prankster abilities followed behind them, adding to the chaos.
In short, peace was impossible.
But it was a holiday, so Charles didn't bother to rein them in. Too bad he hadn't yet unlocked the Pokédex entry for Pumpkaboo—it would've been perfect for Halloween.
Still, his mind was elsewhere.
Ever since Harry had come to Hogwarts, Halloween had never been quiet. And if things went as expected, Quirrell wouldn't let this one pass uneventfully either.
"Though," Charles murmured to himself, "the trio's bond seems stronger than in the original timeline. Maybe the whole 'troll in the girls' bathroom' mess won't happen this time?"
What he didn't realize was that sometimes, precisely because people are friends, certain things can hurt even more.
At the feast that evening, Charles noticed that the seats beside Harry and Ron were empty. It seemed Ron and Hermione had indeed fallen out.
"Charles," Dumbledore suddenly called his name.
Charles instantly understood the look in the Headmaster's eyes. That wily old bumblebee wanted him to play babysitter again.
Fortunately, he'd been expecting it—and had already prepared for the worst.
Just as he was thinking that, Quirrell burst into the hall, panic-stricken. His turban was askew, and he looked as though he'd seen something truly horrifying.
He stumbled toward the staff table, gasping and trembling. "Troll!—In the dungeons—thought you ought to know—"
Then, with a dramatic flop, he fainted dead away.
A professor collapsing from fright over a troll was… questionable, but given Quirrell's timid nature, no one found it too suspicious. The students, however, reacted in pure terror.
For them, a mountain troll was a nightmare come to life.
The Great Hall erupted into chaos until Dumbledore raised his wand and sent a cascade of bright sparks shooting toward the ceiling, restoring order. Only then did the young wizards seem to remember that they were surrounded by capable professors.
"Prefects," Dumbledore said gravely, "lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!"
"Follow me! Don't get separated, first-years!" Percy barked. "Stay close, and there's nothing to fear! Make way—first-years coming through! Prefect here, pardon me!"
Harry and Ron started following the crowd, but halfway down the corridor, they both froze.
"Hermione doesn't know about the troll," Harry said suddenly.
They exchanged a look.
Ignoring Percy's orders, the two of them slipped away down a side passage.
"What if we do run into the troll?" Ron muttered nervously.
The words had barely left his mouth when a small yellow rat jumped out in front of them—
(End of Chapter)