Massachusetts, United States.
Mount Greylock wasn't particularly tall, and there were two winding paths that led to its summit. At the very top stood a granite war memorial, which over the years had become a popular winter sports destination for Muggles.
However, on days of heavy fog, travelers occasionally reported glimpsing a vast, dreamlike silhouette through the mist—a castle that seemed to exist only within the clouds. And yet, whenever they rubbed their eyes for a clearer look, the vision vanished entirely, leaving them to wonder if it had been nothing more than an illusion.
In truth, it wasn't an illusion at all. What they had seen was Ilvermorny, the American school of witchcraft and wizardry. Like many other magical schools around the world, Ilvermorny was protected by powerful enchantments that rendered it invisible to non-magical eyes.
In many respects, Ilvermorny was similar to Hogwarts—it, too, had four houses, though it lacked a Sorting Hat. Its sorting ceremony, however, followed a comparable tradition.
One of Ilvermorny's founders, Isolt Sayre, was a pure-blood witch from Ireland, and, as fate would have it, a distant descendant of Salazar Slytherin—her mother's maiden name was Gaunt.
When Isolt fled to America, she had taken with her Slytherin's wand, carved from serpentwood. Over time, that wand—enchanted by countless spells—transformed into a tall, unbreakable serpentwood tree, now rooted within Ilvermorny's grounds.
The current headmaster of Ilvermorny was a wizard named Agilbert Fontaine, a man of prestigious heritage whose ancestor, Chadwick Fontaine, had been one of the original twelve American Aurors.
"Headmaster Fontaine, are we truly not attending that… what was it called again?"
"Pokémon Tournament," Fontaine said calmly, gazing down from the window toward the mountain's base. Behind him hung the Ilvermorny crest—Thunderbird, Horned Serpent, Wampus, and Pukwudgie.
"Yes, that one—the 'Pokémon Tournament.' What a dreadful name. And honestly, who even knows what a 'Pokémon' is?" the chattering professor beside him complained, his tone filled with disdain. "Hogwarts' education standards have been slipping for years. Who knows what nonsense they've come up with this time?"
He paused for a moment before asking hesitantly, "Still, since it's Dumbledore's invitation… are we truly not going?"
Despite his criticism, the man's tone held clear respect. After all, Albus Dumbledore was regarded as the most powerful white wizard alive—perhaps the most powerful wizard in history.
If not for Dumbledore's continued leadership, Hogwarts would have long fallen in the global rankings of magical education. The devastation left by Voldemort had nearly crippled Britain's magical society, and its international standing had suffered greatly as a result.
"No," Fontaine replied firmly, shaking his head.
It wasn't that he wished to slight Dumbledore, but rather that Hogwarts was about to find itself in very serious trouble.
"The Aurors from the Ministry of Magic will likely head to Hogwarts soon. If their suspicions prove true, that Mr. Gold won't escape a trial before the International Confederation of Wizards," Fontaine said quietly. Yet his words made the nearby professor's face go pale.
"What?"
"Of course—because of those Pokémon," Fontaine said sharply. At some point, he had produced a book—a Muggle comic, judging by its colorful cover and print.
"What is that?" the professor asked, leaning over. The pages showed vibrant illustrations of strange, animal-like creatures.
"Charles Gold," Fontaine murmured. "I heard he embarrassed quite a few British pure-bloods last year, but since no one died, the Ministry turned a blind eye. Yet now… he dares to challenge the International Statute of Secrecy." Fontaine shook his head, his expression somewhere between pity and disbelief.
The Statute of Secrecy was sacred—every Ministry upheld it strictly. But none enforced it as harshly as the Americans.
As a descendant of the original twelve Aurors, Fontaine harbored no sympathy for someone who would so brazenly defy it.
At the British Ministry of Magic, Bartemius Crouch Sr. set several immigration applications down in front of Cornelius Fudge, his expression stiff as stone.
"What is this?" Fudge asked, his small eyes narrowing suspiciously between the folds of his growing double chin.
He couldn't imagine why a few minor entry requests had been placed on his desk. He was the Minister for Magic, after all—not some clerk in the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
Crouch didn't bother explaining. "Read it," he said curtly.
Fudge's temper immediately flared. That Crouch—always so insufferably rigid!
Still grumbling inwardly, he picked up the documents, pretending to review them with due diligence. But as his eyes scanned the text, the color drained from his face.
"Aurors from the American Ministry? What are they doing here?"
"They're filing charges against Charles Gold," Crouch said, his voice cold as ever. He tossed a stack of Muggle comics onto Fudge's desk. "They claim these 'Pokémon' of his violate the International Statute of Secrecy. The evidence, as they put it, is overwhelming."
Fudge glanced down—and froze. The page before him boldly depicted a large green toad-like creature.
He recognized it instantly. The Aurors had already been humiliated by that very Pokémon before.
"This… this is being sold to Muggles?" he stammered.
"It's already sold hundreds of thousands of copies in Japan's Muggle world," Crouch replied. "The American Aurors are simply waiting to confirm the existence of these Pokémon in person. Once they see them at Hogwarts, they'll arrest Gold immediately. Not even Dumbledore will have the authority to stop them."
Fudge's breath hitched. For a moment, he was speechless.
But then his mind raced.
Charles was his greatest political ally—his shield and his benefactor. Life had never been more comfortable. Without Dumbledore breathing down his neck, he'd found he could actually enjoy being Minister.
And with the Malfoy family and other pure-bloods backing him—financially and politically—his position had never been stronger. All of it, he knew, was thanks to Charles Gold.
If Dumbledore had his way, Fudge's corruption would never have flourished.
Which meant that, no matter what, he couldn't let Charles be tried.
Slamming his hand on the desk, Fudge roared hysterically, "Refuse their entry! Deny their visas immediately!"
"The American Ministry has no authority to meddle in British affairs!"
(End of Chapter)