Team Rocket's power was growing stronger than ever.
With the financial backing of several powerful wizarding families and the steady supply of Pokémon materials from Charles, the organization's funds had become abundant. More and more wizards were beginning to think—why not join Team Rocket? Two days off each week, a base salary of 100 Galleons, meal stipends, heat and cold allowances, attendance bonuses, performance commissions…
All things considered, even high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Magic couldn't compete with those benefits.
Even if you got poisoned on duty, there was a professional medical team to treat you. The nurses at the Chansey Hospital were pretty and sweet-voiced, and their uniforms had a certain appeal that the middle-aged apothecaries at St. Mungo's couldn't hope to match.
It was said that the nurse uniforms came from the Muggle world—no surprise there; Muggles were clearly a thousand years ahead of wizards when it came to fashion.
The only disappointment for new recruits was discovering that not everyone was immediately issued a Pokémon.
So many wizards had joined that Giovanni implemented a new incentive policy: if you wanted a Pokémon of your own, you had to prove yourself—either through results or exceptional ability.
Still, watching others obtain Pokémon was a great motivator for the new recruits. It pushed them to work harder and complete more Rocket assignments.
And truth be told, most of those assignments weren't particularly evil.
As Giovanni often said: "Team Rocket is a villainous organization, not an evil one. Chaos is never my goal—domination is."
At this stage, Team Rocket's primary objective was to expand while simultaneously undermining the reputation of various Ministries of Magic, sabotaging international magical cooperation, and occasionally stirring up Statute of Secrecy incidents to divert the attention of the International Confederation of Wizards.
So even though every magical government was cracking down on Team Rocket, the harder they hit, the faster it seemed to grow—like a Hydra that refused to die, rising stronger each time its heads were cut off.
However, none of this directly concerned the British Ministry or Hogwarts.
Ironically, after decades of turmoil, Britain had become the safest place in the wizarding world.
Well—almost safe.
Because today was Halloween, and it would've been strange if something didn't happen.
As usual, the Great Hall was decorated with huge pumpkins and fluttering bats. The only real difference this year was that a few new professors had joined the staff table, and there were a few fewer students at the long tables.
Lockhart, dressed to impress as always, basked in the attention of everyone around him. Slughorn, meanwhile, had released several of his Pokémon, letting them crawl about the dining tables.
Professor McGonagall frowned and finally said, "Horace, Horace! We generally don't let Pokémon roam freely inside the castle."
Slughorn looked genuinely surprised. "Why ever not? They're perfectly well-behaved!"
"Because," explained Professor Flitwick, "some students once caused quite a lot of trouble bringing their Pokémon into the halls. Mr. Filch had a dreadful time cleaning up after them, so Professor Dumbledore decided it would be best if Pokémon stayed in their Poké Balls while indoors."
"That's cruel!" Slughorn protested at once. "Such a sweeping rule lacks nuance. Pokémon can absolutely coexist with students inside the castle—some light restrictions would suffice. In fact, if we gave the caretaker a Pokémon of his own, his job might become far easier!"
He did know Filch—after all, the man had worked at Hogwarts for decades—but he never quite remembered his name.
A Squib without magic—only Dumbledore would have given such a man a job when even his own family wouldn't have cared if he lived or died. Truly, that was why people called Dumbledore a saint.Only, this saint was not quite as saintly as he seemed.
"For example," Slughorn continued, "small Pokémon could be allowed in the corridors, provided no battle moves are used—just as students aren't permitted to cast spells between classes. The Black Lake is far for a stroll, and it's rather harsh to forbid even courtyard walks."
His proposal, unsurprisingly, received loud support from many students.
"All right, Horace," Dumbledore said after a moment of thought, his eyes twinkling. "I shall consider it—or rather, why wait? Let's start now!" He then turned to Charles. "Would you be willing to help Argus train a Pokémon?"
Charles nodded. He wasn't particularly fond of Filch, who certainly wasn't a good man—but that didn't matter. The important thing was that Filch cared deeply for his cat, Mrs. Norris. Giving him a Pokémon to raise might not make him strong, but it would ensure the creature was well-treated. That was enough.
"I'll find him a suitable Pokémon," Charles said.
The students erupted in cheers, releasing their own Pokémon on the spot.
Within seconds, the Halloween banquet turned chaotic.
"Wood! Fearow doesn't count as a small Pokémon—put it away at once!" McGonagall shouted. "Seamus! That Voltorb is not safe to—"
Boom!
Before she could finish, Seamus's Voltorb exploded, covering two nearby students in soot and smoke.
Neville, meanwhile, failed to notice his baby Snorlax wandering off. The sleepy creature floated ghostlike toward the Slytherin table, grabbed the edge of the cloth, and yanked. Hundreds of feet of food went flying into the air—only for Snorlax to leap up and swallow it all in one massive gulp, as though his stomach were a bottomless pit.
The Slytherin students were struck dumb.
Fortunately, food could be replicated easily; otherwise, the serpents would've gone hungry that night.
And so, the evening feast passed in noisy chaos.
But joy and tragedy seldom coexist. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood at the entrance to the third-floor bathroom, staring at the cat hanging stiffly from a torch bracket, Harry could only think how loud the sound of hundreds of approaching footsteps was.
The true culprit, Draco Malfoy, seized the perfect moment to emerge from the crowd, face twisted in mock horror.
"Enemies of the Heir—beware!" he shouted."Harry Potter! You killed that cat!""You're the Heir of Slytherin!"
"What? I didn't!" Harry blurted out in panic.
At that moment, Filch burst through the crowd, happier than ever—or so he thought—to see the commotion.
"What's going on here? What's happened?" he demanded.
Then he saw Mrs. Norris.He stumbled back several steps, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screamed.
His bulging eyes landed on Harry.
"You!" he shrieked. "You killed her! You killed my cat! I'll kill you! I'll—"
"Argus!"
Charles, Dumbledore, and several professors arrived at the scene. The petrified cat clearly hadn't been part of Dumbledore's plan.
"It seems he didn't follow your design," Charles murmured to Dumbledore in silence, "but instead unleashed the basilisk from the Chamber."Dumbledore didn't reply. He strode past the trio, carefully lowering Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said gently. "You as well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
"My office is just upstairs, Headmaster—you can—" Lupin began, worried.
"Thank you, Remus," said Dumbledore.
Hundreds of students stepped aside to make a path. Lockhart followed, looking far too eager. Slughorn and Snape trailed after them as well.
In Lupin's office, Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished desk and began examining her closely. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged nervous glances and huddled together in the dim light, watching anxiously.
Dumbledore's long, crooked nose nearly brushed the cat's fur as he peered through his half-moon spectacles, gently poking and prodding with his fingers. Professor McGonagall bent low beside him, squinting. Snape stood in the shadows behind them, half-hidden, expression unreadable—as though struggling not to laugh.
Filch collapsed into a chair, covering his face. Even Harry, who disliked the man, couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy—though he pitied himself more. If Dumbledore believed Filch, he'd surely be expelled.
Dumbledore murmured a few incantations, tapping the cat with his wand. There was no response—Mrs. Norris remained stiff, as if freshly taxidermied.
Finally, Dumbledore straightened.
"She's not dead," Slughorn said first.
"Not dead?" Filch rasped, peeking through his fingers. He looked at Mrs. Norris, then at Dumbledore, trusting him far more than anyone else.
Dumbledore nodded."She's been petrified," he said, "though how exactly, I cannot yet say."
"Not sure?" Charles smiled faintly. If Dumbledore didn't know, that would be a lie—but he had no intention of intervening. The diary had been Dumbledore's decision to release; the consequences were his to face.
"Ask him!" Filch cried, turning his tear-streaked face toward Harry."It couldn't have been a second-year student," Dumbledore said firmly. "Such a spell requires highly advanced Dark Magic—"
"It was him! It was him!" Filch spat, his flabby face turning purple. "You saw the writing on the wall! He discovered—he knows—I'm a— I'm a—" His face twisted grotesquely. "He knows I'm a Squib!"
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry shouted. "I don't even know what a Squib is!"
"Liar!" Filch roared. "He saw my Quickspell correspondence letter!"
"Headmaster," Lockhart interjected suddenly, defending Harry for reasons no one understood, "perhaps Mr. Potter and his friends were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."
The trio hurried to explain—they'd been at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party."There were hundreds of ghosts there who can prove it—!"
Harry glanced at Snape, expecting the usual gloating expression—but this time, Snape said nothing. He merely stood in the back, deep in thought.
Since Voldemort's fall, Snape no longer had much desire to torment Harry. After all, the boy was Lily's son—though a bit plain-looking, those eyes were still hers. Sometimes deducting house points had just been… impulse.
But this time—
If the Chamber business was real, it wasn't something to joke about.
Still, Filch refused to accept it."My cat's been petrified!" he howled, eyes bulging. "I demand punishment!"
"We can heal her, Argus," Dumbledore said calmly. "Professor Sprout has recently acquired some Mandrakes. Once they mature, we can brew a potion to restore Mrs. Norris."
"I'll prepare it," Slughorn offered immediately, nearly choking Snape, who had been about to volunteer.
"Well, I nearly forgot," Slughorn said cheerfully, "the real Potions Master is right here! Severus, you should handle it—I'll stay out of your way."
The professors continued debating, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione visibly tense.
Charles stepped forward. "Since there's no evidence Harry did this, I'll take them with me. They must be hungry after that ghost party."
"Thank you, Charles," Dumbledore said with a nod.
Charles led the trio out. Before they left, Lupin handed each of them a bar of chocolate."The kitchens may be empty by now," he said kindly.
"Don't worry," Charles smiled. "I'll take them to my office—I've got food there."
As they left, Charles thought back to the moment in Lupin's office. He'd noticed something odd.
Lockhart's expression, when he saw the bloody message on the wall, had been unusually intense.
He'd tried hard to suppress it, but Charles had seen it nonetheless.Why would a so-called Acolyte react so strongly to the Chamber of Secrets?
Could it be… that Grindelwald, too, sought the power of Slytherin?
(End of Chapter)