Barty Crouch stared across the desk at Cornelius Fudge—who, with his rotund body and flushed jowls, resembled an overfed pig—as the man bellowed at him. Inwardly, Crouch couldn't help but feel sorrow for the British Ministry of Magic.
How could this buffoon possibly be its Minister?
At this point, the Ministry might as well engrave Charles Gold on its front gates.
Fortunately, that man seemed disinterested in political power. For all this time, he hadn't meddled in Ministry affairs—which was, frankly, a relief.
Meanwhile, the pure-blood families who supported Fudge with gold and influence did so for their own gain, yet even people like the Malfoys were wary of Charles Gold's background. Because of that, they didn't dare mistreat Muggle-born wizards too harshly.
Thus, a strange equilibrium of greed and fear had settled over the Ministry.
"If you refuse to let the international investigators in, then I'll—"
He began cautiously.
As a man who had once sent his own son to prison, Barty Crouch still held respect for the law. Unfortunately—
In short, he despised Charles Gold's blatant disregard for the Ministry's laws. If he could use the International Confederation of Wizards to make that man pay for his transgressions, all the better.
On that, he and the Head of the Auror Office saw eye to eye.
Rufus Scrimgeour and his Aurors might rely on Pokémon to battle dark wizards from time to time, but his hatred toward Charles Gold went far beyond mere professional resentment.
That man had dragged the entire Auror Office's reputation through the mud—no, worse than that—he had stomped Fudge's dignity into the ground!
"You want me to arrest him?"
Fudge's voice jumped an octave. His mouth opened so wide that Crouch could almost see his vocal cords trembling in his throat.
"That's what Scrimgeour suggested," Crouch replied evenly.
"He's gone mad! Do you honestly think our Aurors can take him on? It's easy for Scrimgeour to talk big—but don't forget how badly he got beaten last time!" Fudge roared.
Clearly, the Minister had lost his patience. To provoke Charles Gold?
That was suicide.
Even if their livelihoods weren't tangled with Gold's influence, Fudge knew it was a fool's move. Their Aurors weren't his match. If they pushed him too far and he decided to become the next Dark Lord—then what?
"Tell Scrimgeour to stand down! No one takes action without my approval!" Fudge barked toward the door.
Umbridge, ever the loyal lapdog, hurried off to keep an eye on Scrimgeour. Not that the Auror Chief was reckless enough to act rashly anyway.
"If we do nothing, the American Aurors will intervene sooner or later," Crouch pressed on. "The International Statute of Secrecy takes precedence above all else. Charles Gold's publications in the Muggle world could expose our existence. In fact, he's already violated Articles Thirteen and Seventy-Three of the Statute."
"Don't throw the Statute at me, Crouch!" Fudge snapped back. "Where were they when the Dark Lord was alive? When he slaughtered Muggles for amusement, did anyone accuse him of breaching the Statute and demand his arrest?
"Did they lift a finger? No!"
His beady eyes bulged with fury.
"But Charles Gold isn't the Dark Lord," Crouch said stiffly.
"Not the Dark Lord?"
Fudge almost laughed.
So, they dared come after him precisely because he wasn't? How convenient. The Confederation's sense of justice seemed awfully flexible. Did decent men deserve to have wands pointed at their throats?
By now, Fudge's anger had cooled somewhat. Perhaps the outburst had exhausted him; he wiped the greasy sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
"You're right," he said at last, his tone measured. "Charles Gold isn't the Dark Lord…"
"But if you make him angry enough—he could be. And he absolutely has the power to be one."
Charles, of course, had no idea he was being discussed in the Minister's office.
He was busy inside the Nature Reserve, caring for a newly hatched Tyrunt.
The little one had emerged from its shell only minutes ago and was still wobbling unsteadily on its tiny legs.
Harry and his friends, along with Hagrid, had gathered around, watching with fascination as the infant Pokémon took its first trembling steps.
They'd originally come to see the Charmander egg Charles had reclaimed from Hagrid, but he'd long since returned that egg to the Charizard Valley in the Rocky Desert Region.
To call it "Charizard Valley" wasn't entirely accurate—there were only a few adult Charizard there. The rest were mostly Charmander and Charmeleon.
"It really does look like a Tyrannosaurus Rex!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder as she gazed at the little Tyrunt.
Harry grinned and nodded vigorously.
"Wait—what's a Tyrannosaurus Rex? A new species of Fire Dragon?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Of course not! It's a prehistoric creature—lived millions of years ago, before humans even existed!" Hermione explained impatiently.
"But surely there were wizards back then," Ron said, confused.
"What? Of course not! Do you ever study?" Hermione shot him a look that could curdle milk.
Most wizards only knew about common magical or mundane animals—those that appeared in potions or charms. For example, bezoars came from goats' stomachs, and Patronus forms or Animagus transformations were almost always based on familiar living creatures.
Curiously, though, no witch or wizard in history had ever manifested a Patronus or Animagus form resembling a prehistoric animal.
There was a reason for that. Many scholars believed the Patronus's shape was random—perhaps guided by the caster's soul—but in truth, the spell also depended on the caster's understanding of the creature itself.
When Tonks fell in love with Lupin, her Patronus had changed into a wolf.
It wasn't limited to extinct species—any creature beyond a wizard's recognition couldn't become a Patronus form.
"Look at those teeth—beautiful, aren't they?" Hagrid murmured dreamily, staring at the Tyrunt. To him, the little Pokémon was far more magnificent than any Charizard.
Though it hadn't evolved yet, its strong jaw and sharp fangs already hinted at power.
Its forearms might have been short, but the creature radiated raw strength.
Once it evolved… Hagrid could hardly imagine the majesty.
"Can I keep it?" he asked hopefully, turning to Charles.
"Absolutely not," Charles replied flatly. "This Tyrunt was revived from a fossil by machine. It's the only one in this Reserve, and I doubt I'll find another fossil capable of bringing one back."
"So there'll never be a second Tyrunt in this world?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Not necessarily," Charles said seriously. "I'll need to make proper preparations for its species' future first."
He'd already prepared dozens of Ditto, waiting for the day this Tyrunt grew up.
Just then, an owl tapped insistently at the window of his office.
(End of Chapter)