Harry Potter Defense Professor Chapter 4: Slugs, Muddles and Murmurs.
Dissclaimer=I do not own Harry Potter. All profits and credit for this singular brilliant work and building the Magical world lie with J. K. Rowling.
Acknowledgement=to WhatHappensNext23, author of "The Defense Professor," the inspiration for this story.
Michael was in his office, deciphering his student's handwriting as one stack of essays were creeping towards half-way done. 'I wonder how the Quidditch teams are managing together. Having a second one on the pitch could make a friendly game and testing how the line-ups fair since the last year.'
Out of nowhere, a single alarm set-up for the classroom went ringing. Leaving his desk the man opened the office door to find an extremely irate McGonagall holding her hand up to knock.
"Deputy-headmistress. What can I do for you?" Michael enquired, taking McGonagall's fury in-stride. The woman appeared to be holding an especially sour lump in her mouth, with eyes blazing like wildfire. "Professor Carswell. You are to assemble with all the staff in my office. I am afraid a catastrophe has transpired, two different Quidditch teams were fighting on the pitch and it grew inexcusably nasty."
Michael's stomach tied itself into a knot over this news. "What happened? I met one of those teams only a few hours ago. They had everything in-order to practice."
Immediately, McGonagall's head spun right towards him, hard. "You did? Which one? No. Follow me this instant." The woman actually tried to push him aside and walk in, yet only stumbled from pressing to a brick-wall. "You wish to use my fire-place?" Michael offered. "Severus was kind enough to lend me some powder." Moving aside, the host waved McGonagall to the fire-place in one corner. The elder teach had to shake her head, clearing it of wonder towards how one man could too solid to move.
In a quick-step, she was at the fireplace, lit the green flames and commanded: "Transfiguration office."
Soon both Professors strode out from a separate fireplace to an assembly of the Heads-of-House, Madame Hooch, Hagrid and the Headmaster.
"Barely a week and already another disaster. Both Potter and Weasley should-"
"Don't you rudin' go there, Professor Snape," Hagrid growled over at the Potion's master. "I carried Harry up 'ere meself with a right nasty knock on his head. Madame Pomfrey said it'll take 'till mornin' 'efor he wakes-up."
"Enough, both of you!" Cracking like a whip, McGonagall stepped between them and took centre-stage. "What I wish to know is why on earth were extra students there, when I approved the schedule for Gryffindor to practice not even a fortnight past? Share the pitch in any matter may only invite such reactions, so why did the Slytherin team defy such rules and march right down there?"
"McGonagall, I shall remind you,' Snape interrupted her, "since we have one new seeker, I approved the team to practice there and sent one note with them."
"I received no such news of any note, Professor Snape. Hagrid, can you confirm this?" The Head of Gryffindor's bark betrayed the side she preferred, and Michael's opinion of all three staff members dropped a he listened, closely.
"Neither Weasley nor Potter can be blamed one bit for this fiasco," McGonagall declared. "Curses given between both sides, two fallen captains, one damaged broom. It's a miracle worse did not happen! The Slytherin House team had no grounds to be there-"
One Clap silenced everyone. All senior-Hogwarts staff looked towards it's source: Professor Michael. "Deputy-Headmistress McGonagall. Professor Snape is speaking the truth. I read the exact parchment slip this morning after returning to the school."
"Madame Hooch, Headmaster, Filius, Pompona, Hagrid, Severus," the Martial Magic teacher addressed each person in-turn, drawing their attention onto himself. "In my first class with Mr. Ron Weasley, I found his wand was irreparably damaged at one point, from the arrival in that Flying car. His wand would have been a disaster waiting to exploding in any class, least of all my own with students actively practicing defensive magic. It was unacceptable to still use that wand, so I offered to escort Mr. Wealsey to Diagon Alley and purchase a replacement one."
More than a few people appeared surprised. All except Dumbledore, whom wore a bright, approving twinkle behind his glasses.
"Professor McGonagall," Michael nodded towards her, "approved of this excursion, if Mr. Weasley came at 6am on this Saturday, and for extra cleaning and chores in my office across the upcoming month. I heard your trophy-room has not been polished for a long time. Anyway, Mr. Weasley did arrive for our trip at 6am, promptly. We returned via Dissapiration to Hogsmeade and on the way back to the school, one friend of his, Hermione Granger, informed us the Gryffindor team was at practice. They departed to join their housemates, while I continued to the castle and met the Slytherin team by the front doors. The Captain, one Marcus Flint, did indeed have one slip of parchment signed by Professor Snape, approving them to use the pitch to train a new Seeker."
Many different faces spun through several different reactions. Nobody said anything, and Dumbledore now wore sorrow and disappointment on his face. Snape was especially smug at Michael's corroboration, and was sneaking glances at a floored McGonagall.
Michael decided to continue. "The pitch is not a small space, and I assumed both teams would have ample room to practice separately. Even at my own school, Quidditch teams would share a pitch and run friendly practice matches. But clearly that did not happen." The man narrowed both eyes with a hint of disgust. "Would somebody report, in detail, what exactly happened there?"
"Disgrace to all Quidditch and pandemonium is what happened, Carswell," Madame Hooch let her opinion out, loudly. "Hagrid heard a ruckus from his house and ran up to find both sides fighting the other. Both with their fists and firing off hexes. Neither side agreed to halt until he he forcibly threaten to smash one broomstick from each team. Following this, Miss Granger ran to fetch Minerva, Severus and myself."
"We found them in a right sore state. Mr. Malfoy was on his knees and hands vomiting up slugs[1], both Captains had been hexed, all three Weasleys and the rest of the Slytherin teammates had lumps and bruises, Mr. Potter was knocked out and every female player was leg-locked."
"Both sides have been pilling blame the other since," the flying-mistrress sumamrized. "Speaking of how Malfoy insulted Miss. Granger with the term 'Mudblood,' inspiring the whole scarlet lot to make for him in response and both sides turned the pitch into a ruckus."
Mere meters away, a monolith of a man was grumbling. "An' if they hadn't needed me help I ought'a cuff Malfoy fer speakin' like that! Ruttin' pure-blood puttin' down other's like that. It's right disgustin' thing to say." Hagrid looked over towards Snape next, but did not have a chance to say more.
"I agree." A frozen, wintery draft blew through the room…or it might have as most of those inside shivered. Every professor felt the temperature drop by some degrees at Michael's words. The man held one fist so tight it was shaking, with veins pressing clear across his knuckles. "I see trusting both teams to remain cordial, or recall they are both from the same school was misplaced faith. I image point-reductions and detentions were give out. Has anything else been decided, yet?" The Martial-Magic teach enquired.
"Mr. Lucious Malfoy has been informed." Snape shared with the assembly. "He recently became a school governor and is upstairs with his son at this moment. He was less than pleased to learn what had befallen Mr. Draco, and I imagine he will soon begin calling for Mr. Weasley to be expelled, adding another strike to his record within merely one week," Snape shared with the professor.
"Never," McGonagall lashed out. "After what Draco Malfoy spat to Miss. Granger–"
"—one foul against two," Snape cut her off. "And my student has never broken a higher law before, Minerva. Expressing opinions is hardly worth violence."
"Violence, as what your Chaser did to Mr. Potter?" People started backing away from the Slytherin and Gryffindor Heads. "Oliver Wood has 4 broken bones and horrible burns from that thug Flint's Expulso curse! I have yet to ever see you instill actual discipline on any of that lot!"
"You handle your students, as I do mine—"
Snape and McGonagall continued shooting back-and-forth, with Flitwick and Sprout backing off to the sides, yet Michael stood his ground. This continued until Dumbledore himself had to rise and stop them.
"That shall be enough, Severus, Minerva," Dumbledore extended silence through the room. "Now. Both House have lost House-points, and each student shall be penalized, fairly. Minerva, Severus…would you both, perhaps, object to a second opinion from Mr. Carswell? From his own proposals towards Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter's entanglement with a flying car. Perhaps a third opinion, with your approval, would suffice."
Every Professor was looking at Michael now, who had used time wisely to calm himself.
"Professor Dumbledore," Michael looked right at the Elder wizard, with a challenge. "Do you want my honest opinion, or a respectful one?" A tense mood fell between each staff-member at this inquiry. The headmaster looked between everyone assembled and let out one, long sigh. "You have shown quite remarkable brilliance, Professor. And proven to act without bias. I would appreciate your honestly, Michael."
With a nod, Carswell took a focusing breath. "First, why did this fiasco happen in the first place? Did the teacher whom approved of Slytherin's request, and served at this school across several years, not think this situation was a dangerous possibility? Why did he not accompany his own team there, as a moderator observing them and left his students to their own devices?
Different eyes made their way to a certain Severus, whom had to close his mouth more than once, unable to think of a logical response.
"I suppose this silence means no." Michael stated, earning a glare from Snape, yet there were no words the potions-master had to slither himself out from the spotlight.
"I am not without fault either," Michael declared. "Though I did hope both teams viewed this sport with healthy competition, not fanaticism." Michael continued. "I confess…I do not practice, nor tolerate discrimination, and had I heard Mr. Malfoy's words he would have been taken off the field and sent back to his Common-room. But, I wasn't and hypotheticals are not relevant here."
"Both teams were involved in this brawl, and all their members of are equally responsible, alongside others on that field. And unless some severe consequences are dolled out, this matter may have created a precedent for more team-scale fights from any house inside these walls. Does anyone disagree?"
Snape and McGonagall tried to speak-up but Michael reminded them of their own words and someone else actually jumped in. "Minerva. Severus." Tiny Flitwick spoke up towards each. "It pains me to say this, but given how often your houses do clash with one another, perhaps letting someone else decide what is to happen, would be worth the chance." Filius drew glares from both his co-workers but faced them without backing away.
Eventually, wordlessly, their acquiested.
"Headmaster," Michael addressed Dumbledore . "I would like to speak with both teams and the bystandards who were at the pitch. Perhaps Snape and Deputy-Headmistress should check on all their own students and quiet-down any rumours buzzing through the school, then reconvene here."
Dumbledore approved and one-by-one, the staff left Michael alone in the classroom.
The man himself took the fire-place back to his office, with a familiar pressure in his skull nearly driving him to rip a door in half. Inside his living-space, Michael made straight for a heavy-bag strung-up in one corner and sunk his fist into it. The whole thing, all 200 lbs, swung on its chain, back down, and straight for him. The man smoothly made one pivot and the contraption only touched empty air. More punches followed, channeling a certain kind of anger out as old habits cleared Michael's head to reach a peaceful state he'd need.
It took time, some pacing, and several measured breaths but he found it. Ready, the man returned to the fireplace and tossed a handful of powder in, making a short-cut to the Hospital Wing.
Inside he found 4 beds occupied on extreme ends of the gallery, one set surrounded by students wearing scarlet sportsrobes and the distant group had familiar emerald ones.
Draco Malfoy was holding a pail under his chin and let out a belch, expelling 4 slugs and their slime out from his mouth, in absolute misery[1]. The Slytherin captain was beside him with an ugly set of waving tentacles covering his face, arms and hands. Each of their teammates surrounded them, apparently healed by the matron. Opposite to each one, Harry Potter was indeed tucked in a bed with a certain ugly of welt on his forehead, Oliver Wood was nearby and covered with bandages over his skin. But the rest of every Gryffindor there was forming a human wall. With Prefect Percy Weasley at the head and facing a tall, haughty man with cold grey eyes, pale-blonde hair and one cane.
"One word, and expulsions can be made out, Weasley. Think hard on that, as I would believe if anything your parents would know manners." The adult wizard leered toward 7 different Gryffindors: Percy Weasley in the front, his brothers backing him on either side and 4 girls adding depth to the human-wall.
"What are you to say that!" A tiny first-year shouted up at the School-Governor, with a camera hanging around his neck. "Collin, no." Two girls seized him protectively and pulled the boy behind their double-line, while Percy Weasley stood as firm as he could at their head.
"Governor Malfoy. The matter is being discussed with the staff at this moment. I am aware that governors are responsible for the school on its whole, yet do not extend their powers between individual students." The Prefect was glaring back at the grown-wizard, even when the taller man held on walking-stick emblazoned with serpent's head straight to his face.
"Rules, under certain needs can be altered, boy. Now—"
"Pardon me. Governor Malfoy, I presume?" Lucius Malfoy whirled-around. "Professor Carswell!" Fred and George both spoke-up together, calling the Slytherin team's attention and earning a glare from the Professor.
"Mr. Weasleys, did I allow either you or your twin to speak? Was I speaking towards you? Or do you recall a certain promise from Molly Weasley over any trouble you or Fred should become involved in?" Michael's words hit both twins like a ton of bricks, invoking a sense of horror on each face and sent the pair running straight for their broomsticks.
"Who are you? And what is your purpose here?" Lucius Malfoy enquired, soft and politely.
"Mr. Malfoy." Michael extended his hand to the aristocrat. "Michael Aurelian Carswell. Professor of Martial Magic and Defense. Your family's reputation precedes you, and I am pleased to put a face to a person." Neutrality covered the British wizard's features and he conceded to shake hands with Michael.
"Dumbledore gathered most of the staff upon learning what these teams mixed themselves into. Professors Snape and McGonagall were both arguing over blame, trading barbs about the other's House for this situation, and proved to be less then reliable, to decide what should be done," Michael explained, to the shock of every conscious person present. "The Headmaster asked me to recommend some options over whom is responsible for this mess and what should be done to them."
"But Professor, Malfoy—"
"Mr. Weasley!" Michael head whipped-around, his voice sending every student reeling with shock and Madame Pomfrey flying out from her office. "Quiet yourselves, and should any attempt to continue this brawl they will spend all time inside this Wing under a body-bind," she promised, severely.
"Ma'am, I apologize," Michael gave to an especially stern woman. "Do you recall the consequences for my proposals of Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley's penalties for the Flying-car?"
Folding her arms, the matron nodded. "The Headmaster has requested that I make some impartial suggestions for this matter as well. I wish to speak with every student here, individually. Then meet with the other staff in 40 minutes with a list."
The woman huffed lightly but did not disagree with the Headmaster's orders. "I would prefer to start with the Slytherins, then speak to the Gryffindors, one by one," Michael requested. "Further, I can confirm the Slytherin team did have permission signed by Professor Snape to use the Quidditch pitch today, after I met them at the front doors on their way down. I assume the form was not found, and possibly burned by one of the other team." Lucius Malfoy was grinning now, and several muffled groans came from the Gryffindors.
Michael himself was allowed by Madame Pomfrey to use her fireplace and keep the Floo-powder flames ready, taking each teammate through to his own office and questioning them, then returning for the next one. Graham Montague was first, followed by Pucey and Miles Bletchley. All three spoke of how they had arrived, stood in front of the Gryffindors trading words, then half the Lion's team tried charging their young Seeker. All of them blamed Harry Potter for cursing Draco Malfoy, then the Slytherin beaters retaliated with leg-lock curses, the Captain's broke-off to start duelling and every Slytherin Chaser began trading fists with Ron, Fred and George Weasley. Finally, Hagrid came thundering onto the pitch and tried stopping it. Only after he seized Flint's broomstick and Oliver Wood's did either side finally cease, and Hermione Ganger was sent by him up to a Castle.
The last ones to come in were the Malfoys, Draco still hiccupping the last of the slugs out. "Mr. Malfoy, tell me what occurred, and your roll, perspectives and more during the event."
"Professor, after we got there," the junior Malfoy began, Weasley and Granger came running up. My father bought all of the team new broomsticks, Nimbus 2001's. The lot started shouting at us, jealous I'd bet, even when we showed them Professor Snape's permission. Then the Mudblood opened her-"
"Draco," Lucius hissed beside his son, silencing the boy. "You have been taught better. Choose your words, wisely.
"Yes, father." The damage had already been done, and Malfoy had little else to say after he had been cursed and his teammates had to drag him back up to the castle.
"Mr. Malfoy," Michael turned to the elder 'Pure Blood,' "I have another 25 minutes to speak with the Gryffindors. If you know where McGonagall's office is, I will announce my recommendations there and you could inform the other governors directly of the results from this…debacle. Otherwise, it's nearly lunch and I dare say your son could use strong tea to drive the last of the slimy taste away. The doorway of my office is closer to the Great Hall."
Father and son left the office through the doorway, with Lucius actually pausing to admire how the classroom had been changed. Draco began pointing out what each section was meant for and even stories of what he and other students had been learning. "Astonishing indeed—"
Once the door was shut, Michael returned to the hospital wing and requested Ronald Weasley to come first. His oldest brother present accompanied him, and both stood inside the office.
"Professor Michael, I…want to take responsibility for everything my brothers did." Percy Weasley spoke-up first, and Ron looked up to his brother in-shock. "I swear to you, Ron spoke-up only to defend a fellow-student, and he is certainly still young and boisterous. Furthermore-"
"Prefect Weasley." Sharply, Michael cut him off. "I do not have time remaining to listen for excuses. Individuals are responsible for their own actions. Further….I am aware you were not a witness to what happened on the pitch. I want your brother to speak, in his own words, to recall how different events played out.
Ronald swallowed then explained everything he had seen and heard, including something else. "Uhh, Professor. On top of that, I was one who cursed Malfoy."
"Ron-!"
"Percy, the Slytherin's were all talking about how Harry did it. He's asleep right now, so he can't say anything to stop them. I can't get him into trouble all over again. It was my idea to use the car, and we both got in so much trouble that Mum came here."
Michael noted down Ron's honesty, then set to pacifying both brothers. Satisfied, the man called for one twin-Weasley, then the other. Each described how Malfoy can called Hermione Granger a 'filthy little Mudblood,' after she claimed their team had real talent while Malfoy had bought his way onto his. Percy was still inside for each of them, and the twins became conspicuously silent over who had cursed Marcus Flint to generate his peculiar state.
Each of the Chasers, Miss. Granger and the single First-year, Collin Creevey, were brought in next. Creevey spent most of the time crying about how Harry should not be blamed and all the Slytherin's deserved the worst punishments. One Alicia Spinnet confessed she had seen the Weasley twins each fire one spell apiece at Flint after Oliver Wood was hit: George using a Jelly-legs and Fred a Furnunculus curse, both effects mixing together. One common trait all the Gryffindors shared, however, was pressing how terrible Malfoy was and the Slytherin's were responsible, alone. It left a powerful and uncomfortable sense of disgust with their professor after each one left the room.
Michael escorted Hermione through the fire-place and to the Hospital Wing, with a quick word to Madame Pomfrey over what happened to Captain Flint, and then the man returned to his office.
Pacing over the floor, he used the last few minutes carefully and decided on 2 different options the Gryffindor team would have, but with a far broader scope in-mind.
At precisely one-hour, Michael was back inside the Transfiguration office, where Lucius Malfoy and all of the Hogwarts staff were assembled. "Ah, here he is now," Dumbledore announced. Professor Carswell. Are you ready to share what you have decided to happen?"
"Yes, sir," Michael answered crisply to the Headmaster. "Both Houses should be addressed individually, and I'd like to start with Gryffindor." McGonagall tried to stall but Snape and Lucius vetoed her.
Michael took his time, walking up to stand at the front of the classroom, right beside where Dumbledore himself was standing.
"Now, what is to be done with Mr. Potter. Between arriving in that Flying Car and Cursing my son, what may befall our, favourite, celebrated wizard?" Lucius Malfoy was smiling.
"Harry won't do that! He was knocked-out when I arrived and nobody could say nothing from him!" Hagrid bellowed.
"No? I have heard differently from the Slytherin team, Hagrid," Snape coolly snuck in.
"They were lying," Michael smoothly replied, sliding in between the growing confrontation. "I am beyond certain, that every member of that team, including Mr. Draco Malfoy, gave Mr. Potter's name towards whom cursed him. But none of them honestly did see who cast the hex. Captain Flint was holding several of them back from his Seeker, and nobody witnessed the wand used in that spell, nor the words above all the commotion."
"As no individual perpetrator can be named, and all were participants in this fight, I believe the entire team should be penalised together, rather than each member singled-out. Particularly to ensure any events that might happen in the future will be extended to the whole Quidditch team, as Gryffindor will suffer under."
"That' ain't fair, Professor!" Hagrid strode up close, towering over Michael. "An' wha' about th' Slytherin who hit Captain Wood? He could'a been killed!"
"All in it's own time, Hagrid," Michael raised one hand to pacify the grounds-keeper. "Professor Dumbledore, do you disagree?" Behind his half-moon glasses, the Headmaster eyed Michael carefully for some moments, then shared his approval.
"Madame Hood?" Michael turned for the flying-mistress. "When is the first match this season scheduled for?"
"Early November," Madame Hooch answered hawk-like eyes fixed on Michael, while the rest of the staff held their breath.
"I have two proposals to make for Gryffindor, which should extend to the entire House since members their Quidditch team were involved. But I must ask that everybody keep their opinions to themselves until after I have done speaking." A few at a time, each of the staff conceded, with Hagrid and McGonagall the last of all.
"First option; a 250 House-point deficit, lowering them into a minus-field under zero points, and all the students will have to make-up ground across the whole year. Even if other Gryffindors mis-behave and the House-points remain under zero, they can stay there into next year for the entire House to make-up."
Michael paused to give his co-workers, and especially Minerva McGonagall time to process option 1. You could hear every breath inside the room, nobody daring to speak, before the more extreme measure came out.
"The Second option, is for each member of that house-team to be banned from playing across the entire year. Dissolving the Quidditch team, and unless Gryffindor House can build a replacement one in time for November, they will not compete for the Quidditch Cup, at all."
Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were the only people smiling. All the staff stumbled back, knocked with a blow to the temple. This consequence, or of a similar short, was unprecedented in the history of Hogwarts, and Michael was not even done.
"Every person contributed to this fight," Michael continued, "when, again, they had several options to pick from. Words and opinions are not a crime, neither are sharing them. Concerning the accusations of what was spoken to Miss. Granger, she herself is from a non-magic family. She was unaware and unbothered by the implications of the phrase, 'Mudblood.'[2] The Gryffindor team had full capacity to use different options instead of turning the altercation violent."
"I fear that any lesser consequences might leave the option for similar events to happen again, unless every student, the entire unit, share the consequences. Especially for Gryffindor to not repeat the same with another team, whether Slytherin or a separate house, in the future."
Michael's proposal ended with McGonagall dashing up to the Headmaster. "Albus, this is far too extreme. You mustn't honestly agree-"
"Biases for your favourite house, McGonagall?" Lucius Malfoy was standing beside her, smug and full of himself. "I feel I owe Dumbledore an apology, for some comments made between us earlier this year," the school-governor nodded to the elder wizard. "Your choice of developing a new class to replace a…certain one. Evidently, brilliant course of action, and this man." Turning over with a gesture towards Michael, "Professor Carswell clearly hold a capacity for teaching and discipline surpass any I figure I can recall. Gryffindors often do believe their righteous-attitudes may leave them untouchable. This may serve be a powerful lesson to the lot of them."
Professor Snape himself came up, adding his support to Michael's proposals, joined by Filch, Madame Prince and a few more of the staff. Dumbledore had to quiet them all down then look over to Professor McGonagall.
"Wait, Headmaster." Michael stopped him from speaking first. "As I spoke about Mr. Ron Weasley and Mr. Potter, individuals should be accountable for their own actions. The Gryffindor team may learn even more if their team decides on their own future with their Head-of-House, opposed to having one consequence chosen and forced on to them. The Deputy-Headmistress herself and her house can be an example of this same kind of accountability, for the entire school. If they are allowed to decide between one of my proposals, the house-points deficit or dissolving their team."
"Wait, Professor!" McGonagall seized everyone attention back onto herself. "What of our captain, and his position. By the rules, no rolls such as that one may be rescinded. It's no different from a Prefect losing their badge. Wood must be allowed to keep his roll and it cannot be forced away from him."
"And I have no intention for anybody to compromise that," Michael responded to her. "Oliver Wood would merely not be allowed to play, he could still organize try-outs and training-sessions if the members are barred from playing, or remain if they choose to the put the weight on their also recall that Mrs. Weasley promised if her twin sons were involved in any further trouble, she would come here and destroy their broomsticks herself." Michael finished.
Anyone watching could see the woman's mood plummet, the option she'd stuck her foot out for got nailed-down with a sledge hammer.
"Excellent choice. The many pay for the consequences of one," the slivery-tongue of Lucius Malfoy spoke up. "And we may hope they learn one invaluable lesson. Though I shall not shy away from how own former-house has behaved less than acceptable."
Lucious Malfoy set cane down, folding both hands over and petting the snake's head. "Though the numbers involved were less than those Gryffindor's and they were not the first to fire a spell. Whatever you propose, Professor Carswell, it has my full approval."
Minerva McGonagall's eyes were blood-shot, her hand twitching near her robes, where the woman's wand sat. Hagrid's beard was moving as the man tried to yell, unseen by Malfoy and silenced by a charm, courtesy of a certain smaller Charms Teacher.
Then Professor Sprout then made herself known. "Professor Carswell's idea has sense, and I support it."
Minerva whirled around at one old friend. "Pompona…." The earthly witch, and a true Hufflepuff, shared a sad eye with the Gryffindor Head.
"Minerva, had my House been involved in this form of rambunctiousness, why I would even suggest that such punishments ought to impact the lot. Each one stands by the other, and people are not plants which compete and force other away for the sunlight. They all grow together, so ought should our students."
Dumbledore made for his feet. "Very well. Gryffindor shall be informed of their options, and I beg it will never occur again. And Professor Carswell. What do you suggest for the Slytherins?"
More of the staff were learning forwards, while those who often backed Gryffindor resembled Lions waiting to pounce. Lucius Malfoy had to give strain not to appear anywhere near smug. Something which did not escape Michael's notice.
"The same thing." Michael spoke, simple and with ease. "Ban every member from playing for this school year, or the option of a 250-points deficit for Slytherin House. Especially since Governor Malfoy approves." Things…..suddenly fell silent inside the classroom…
…then Lucius Malfoy spun so hard he barely kept his balance, The man's face began swirling and spitting with awe and surprise, moving his mouth into form all sort of shapes. Snape would practically be caught with his pants-down and hung from the air by one ankle, with no self-control over this turn-of-events.
Even McGonagall's jaw was at the floor and Hagrid had stopped trying to speak.
"Sounds fair to me," Madame Hooch announced, marching forward to both Minerva and Severus' horror. "Every year, those pair of team turn more of my hairs white. After insulting the entirety of Quidditch, and the league held here at Hogwarts, anything less would be unacceptable."
Michael nodded his thanks at the Flying Instructor. "As I spoke of, the whole party should face consequences for which decisions they made. While Mr. Draco Malfoy did indeed call Miss. Granger a 'Mudblood,'" the professor twisted his mouth around one extremely distasteful slime left by that word. "Her lack of awareness should not encourage other students from sharing that offense. Both teams are at fault and should be punished in the same way. Particularly as the Gryffindors displayed greater honesty while I spoke with them, opposed to some lies told by the Slytherins. Which I am honestly disgusted by."
Turning around, Michael faced a furious Lucious Malfoy and an iron-willed Professor Snape. Both ready and willing to argue and glaring daggers at Carswell. "I may be unaware of any laws here in Britain, yet I am not unfamiliar with Legilimens. While questioning each student, I did take some closer looks, since they were unprepared to hide their own minds."
Michael watched only both men, noting a flicker in Snape's eyes and noting it away for later. "The Gryffindor's were completely honest, while many of the Slytherins told half-truths, and one shared lie. Nobody witnessed who cast a Slug-belching hex on your son, Governor Malfoy, in the middle of such chaos. They deliberately blamed the one student who couldn't speak up and deny it, given his condition."
In the corner of his eye, Michael could even see Dumbledore's lips twitching under his silver-beard before the Headmaster called for their attention. "I agree with Professor Carswell's propositions. Severus, Minerva," the man turned towards each staff member. "Please, I advise you both to meet with your Quidditch Teams in separate locations, so they may choose which penalty to face. This decision should not be made in a rush. They shall have until Sunday evening to decide, and I shall announce their choice at dinner to close this, eventful weekend. Along with imparting how similar consequences shall happen should another team act in such ways, ever again."
Pausing, the man silently opened to floor to anybody whom disagreed. And when none took the opening, he walked around the desk for the classroom door.
"Let the rest of us take lunch now and enjoy what remains of the day." Smiling again, the headmaster left the office, with Lucius Malfoy stumbling after him and the rest of the staff spilling out one by one.
"Professors," Michael called the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses. "I hope this shall not interrupt our evening tonight in the Three Broomsticks. If you wish, I shall pay the first round, and will share some answers you wondered over, earlier this week."
"You may count me out. I hardly lack the time for one thief." Severus Snape's barb was followed with showing his back and stomping out the door. McGonagall's mouth twitched, while Filius agreed to Michael's offer. The Martial Magic professor nodded then chose to forgo the fire-place and make a calming stroll through the castle and back to his office.
Finding lunch ready in his office, courtesy of the house-elves, Michael was stuck there the rest of the afternoon until dinner arrived.
Professor Dumbledore stood and announced what occurred on the Quidditch pitch, and how both teams and houses involved would be punished equally. No details were shared as three members were still unconscious and many hushed whispers travelled between different students. By the end of the night, Michael found Percy Weasley standing with his sister, Ginny, by the doorway.
"Professor Carswell! Please, Ron, Fred, George, and Harry please do not expel them!" The girl could have been begging for her life, though her brother held one hand to keep her standing. "That will not happen, Miss. Ginevra," Michael assured her. "I will not share anything more. Both teams committed rights and wrongs today, though it never should have escalated into a fight between them."
"If you wish, I am certain you may visit them in the hospital wing." Walking with both up the temperamental staircases, Percy shifted a few inches closer to the Professor. "Sir, do you plan to write to our homes about this? Mother actually would march here to shatter the booms Fred and George own, and they are our only beaters."
Michael kept a straight face, only forcing his pace to stay the same. "Mr. Weasley, if anyone does write to her. How would she react to somebody close to you or your brother's taking the label 'Mudblood, and they had done nothing about it.'"
Ginny whirled about, horror-stricken. But quickly started giggling. "That what set them off! Mum would be more furious at them if they stood around and stayed silent. If they lashed out against someone for calling one of our friends that, she would definitely forgive them both." The girl was calm and confident, while Percy showed mixed opinions from his sister. Leaving them both at the Hospital Wing, Michael made his way back down the front doors where McGonagall and Flitwick were waiting and Snape was no where to be seen.
Following the other two outside, each made their way to the Three Broomsticks, a smoky and comfy pub. Together each of them found an empty table in a corner, with Michael choosing a strategic seat with his back to the wall and the whole pub sprawling in his view. Everyone ordered drinks, Michael favouring a double-shot of Fire-whisky, McGonagall ordering a small GIllywater instead, and Flitwick favoured cherry syrup soda with ice and an umbrella.
"Now, before anything else is spoken, I believe you know there are several dozen questions for you, Mr. Carswell."
"I thought so, Professor McGonagall. Today aside, I take it you read my lesson plans, and by now some of your students must have shared details from my lessons spanning this past week." Michael handled the sudden shift with so much grace each Professor actually had to stop one moment.
"Well, truth be told your ideas for practical spaces within the classrooms worked better than I'd imagined," Flitwick complemented his newest friend. "All my students have a dedicated space to practice everything now with far less collisions in unfortunate places."
"That may be," McGonagall nodded, "yet there were some concerns mixed in, such as a few nasty surprises different students found them moments after coming through your doors. A few Gryffindors especially were extremely alarmed to witness your boggart as a wounded, starving, near-naked child."
Flitwick almost spilt his drink at this news, but nobody else heard it amidst the crowded noise of the pub. "An old memory, one that haunted my nightmares for an extremely long while," Michael answered very, very deliberately. He raised the glass in his lips and swallowed two-fingers of Firewhiskey in one go. Lowering his glass and asking for another one, the man's eyes were in the past, to the day he'd seen that very figure in a war-zone.
"I first witnessed that in Lebanon 8 years ago, when a civil-war erupted between non-magical communities. I was sent there, and actually had to use magic against some dark-wizards whom took advantage of the turmoil to kill different non-magic people and stir-up as much trouble as they could. One even threatened my unit and I had to handle him, quietly."
Both professors were thoroughly confused by now, and Michael picked up on that. Straightening his back, the man took one deep breath; he was ready.
"I come from a non-magical family and after completing my education at Ilvermorny, I found most wizarding communities remain far from acceptable towards any non-magic individuals, or those related to them. "No-mag," or "Muggle" still remain labels to many magical-folk, and I find them intolerable; especially that worst insult, "Mudblood." It's no different from calling someone of African-descent a 'slave,' or 'negro.' I found them intolerable, so I left the magical world and choose to enlist in the non-magic military of Canada, 15 years ago."
"I was, until 5 months ago, Master Corporal Carswell. 3rd Battalion of The Royal Canadian Regiment. Honourably discharged following service in the Gulf War. That is why I was in the Gulf of Persia and saved a non-magic soldier from a Nesnas. And have a particular attitude towards magic, non-magic, and combat."
End.
[1]-Pure, fanservice moment: Malfoy, courtesy of a functional wand, spend several hours with slugs wiggling out from his mouth.
[2]-True, right out of the books. In the novel, Hermione Granger was confused over what 'Mudblood' even meant the first time she heard it. Unlike the movie, where the implications behind the word were emphasized by a tearful Hermione despite living in a non-magical family and still as new to Magic as Harry was