Harry Potter and the Martial, Magical Mentor

by Animephilosopher1

Lockheart made one con too many, and never makes it to Hogwarts as a Professor. Instead, Dumbledore takes a chance on the man who unmasked the fraud: an enigmatic wizard, with a past all his own, a mind for combat and magic, and fresh from a Muggle War. From Ilvermorny School of Magic, he comes to Hogwarts, ready and willing to teach, to train, and to live up to Slytherin's legacy.

1. The Fraud Found Out

Harry Potter and The Professor's Consequences.

Chapter 1: The Fraud found out.

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. And a truly remarkable writer in their own right. Some elements from their work have been mixed here, and will be given credit where it is due.

Diagon Alley, a lively niche of magic in the middle of London, was full to brim. People walking everywhere, most in robes even under a beautiful August sunny sky, and all in rush for their own destinations and demands. Outside of Flourish and Blots a fresh sign rattled over the closing doorway, announcing: "Lockhart Books Sold Out."

Two storeys above from a single overlooking balcony, the singularly obsessive Gilderoy Lockhart himself held a teacup to toast himself and the sun above. 'Ah, the single thing in the world brighter than even I am. Now where has-ahhhhh!' The grin on his face, the 5-time winner of the 'Most-Charming Smile Award,' flashed at his favourite desert: an ice castle, modelled in the form of Hogwarts with marzipan witches and wizards about the grounds and coloured his favourite shade of liliac.[i]It was a specialty of the Dragon's Den[i], an upscale café in Diagon Alley on a long balcony above the ground-level with so many shops.[1]

"Here you are Mr. L-L-Lockharp, ah, Lockhart, I-I'm…."

"Ah, no worries to have. I understand entirely, the famous rarely appear in our own skin so openly." Lockhart had his quill out and ready, signing off his autograph to the witch serving him, fanning the blush on her face into a scarlet flare. The witch continued flirting with him and the author was all too willing to indulge; both tucking away a slip from the other with promises to meet-up the next day.

'Ah, she was barely enough to call pretty. Though I might as well indulge for a shag before bounding off to instruct the famous Harry Potter. We shared the front-page together only yesterday, still that boy has so, so, so much to learn. Least of all to smile in the spotlight and not over-expose himself.'

Without losing his smile the author set to his dessert. 'MMMmmmm," rolling his eyes at the perfect flavour, Lockhart leaned just away to bask in his glory. 'I might even buy all of the real Hogwarts with the money from my sales this year. Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, not truly my calling but promotion to Headmaster within a year should be easy enough to reach. Less work I imagine, and a seat on Wizengamot to go with it. Dumbledore did receive both at the same time after all. Yes, yes all so perfect, whatever may go wrong?'

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart?" In the middle of smoothing back his perfectly coiffed hair, a shadow cast over the seated author, casting him into a shadow. "Yes, I indeed am. Though wasting sun would be terrible today. Would you stride over aside?"

"Ah, my apologies," the darkness imposed over Gilderoy moved aside, and the author noticed it's source: a towering man dressed more like a muggle than a Wizard. "I managed to purchase your latest book, the final one in-stock down there. Would you mind—"

"Yes, yes, always for a fan. Please, time mustn't be wasted so let us accomplish this rapidly," his peacock quill out again, Gilderoy looked for the article yet found the man carried nothing.

"I am…not here for an autograph," this man clarified, extending his hand towards Lockhart. "Michael Carswell. I'm a Canadian wizard, with feedback on how brilliant your advice is with handling Trolls and Vampires."

Surprised, Lockhart had to try an seize back his composure, while examining this new acquaintance: 'He must be a squib, or a least at least muggle born. Handsome enough, but nothing to me. This height cannot come from a giant, then.'

Brown hair framed Michael's clean-shaved face, with a small smile and robes resembled a Japanese-Gi, obscuring most of his body yet leaving bare arms exposed. A motley collection of scars littered both limbs, yet the true centres of attention were his eyes: one forest-green and the other deep azure.

"Can I persuade you to spare a few moments with Firewhisky? And congratulations on becoming a new professor?" Michael's attention won-out over Lockhart's caution, waving to a seat at his table. Both men continued talking, discussing how Michael came to apply Lockhart's exploits and the reason for this approach.

"I was in Yugoslavia and nearly had a bad encounter with a handful of trolls. Muggles were close by as well. Things would have grown more than bad if you hadn't published 'Travels with Trolls,' just a few months prior."

"Ah, my. I do hope you did not leave any harmed, encounters between muggles unaware and any form of magic rarely end well. Why I swear, the finest birthday gift any man could receive would be absolute cooperation between us and them, rare though such chance may grow," Lockhart implored with flare. Michael's only reply was a single eyebrow crawling up his scalp.

"Yes, I might agree. Although wizards can more often be the problem, chance is fickle enough to cause somebody a headache. Have you had any thoughts about experiences with a Nesnas to write about? I nearly had a disaster with one earlier this year and needed an extended vacation here in Britain."

Now, everything changed for Lockhart. 'A Nesnas?[2] How could somebody honestly survive encounters with them, and someplace with the utter lack of hospitality as the deserts they favour?' Scheming habits crept up as Firewhisky arrived and Lockhart miraculously found his schedule cleared for the rest of the day.

"I had thought of exploring through the desserts of Asia on one occasion, yet at Dumbledore's request what place did I have to decline. How did you wind-up meeting such a menace as a Nesnas, let alone coming away unscathed, I assume?"

Michael responded by hesitating, looking left and right to the crowds and curling his lower lip under his teeth. "I was lucky, nothing more than that, I'm sure you understand, from one adventurer to another."

"Ah yes," flashing his smile No.1, Gildroy lowered his tone to barely a whisper. "Though with such dangerous creatures, lady luck can only give so much favour, so far. Perhaps we can meet-up again later and exchange stories? I'll even trade some of my other titles free should you not have a full collection, and perhaps a glass of the finest Firewhisky in Britain?"

That sold it, despite a 3-mintue wait while Michael considered the offer. "It's been over a year since I could enjoy something with quality. I'll agree, if we meet at my place at 7."

"Wonderful," Lockhart was almost applauding. "let me know where and I shall be there without fail, my friend." Watching his company depart, Lockhart wanted to squeal like a child. "Perfect, and with no witnesses around. That man, Michael Carswell. I've never heard of him, so he must barely matter to anyone. He clearly didn't exploit his success to it's deserved potential, as I would. His story may just be perfect for my next book, following 'Magical Me,' perhaps even in-time for different years to purchase next year as textbooks. I absolutely must publish it while I'm at Hogwarts, perhaps Numinous nature of a Nesnas.'

Exactly as they agreed, the following day Lockhart had his books, a bottle of 1796 Firewhisky and his wand at a rental flat in middle-class London. Michael answered the door and nearly dropped his eyes from their sockets at the Firewhisky. Lockhart shared the first story, recounting the perfectly-memorised tales in his books before probing for his host's own tale about a Nesnas.

"It wasn't easy," Michael nodded, eyeing his company carefully, then sparing a glance towards the bottle. "It happened in the Persian Gulf, while I was there between 1990 and this past March. I'm not sure how closely you follow things that don't involve wizards, but there was a war there between ord….er, non-magic nations. The intense phase of action ended last year and people are now calling it the Gulf War."

"One night I found a solider deep in his cups wondering about from the bad part of a town nearby. The fool had at least some sense left to scream and when I came running after him the poor soul was in the process of getting dragged off. It was the dead of night and I couldn't see what grabbed him so there was no choice but to follow."

"Wait, wait, wait, ah hold on one moment," Lockhart interrupted him. "You found a muggle dragged off by another creature?" Michael nodded, driving Lockhart's head to shake with incredulity. It was very clear why his host had been reluctant to speak about any details in the wizarding public.

"The man was so drunk I didn't even have to worry about altering his memories," Michael continued. "Nesnas' often target humans that don't give proper respect for life, or maybe people reckless enough to grow so intoxicated they wonder off alone. Easy prey. I didn't have any idea what grabbed the poor sod until we had travelled far enough away to cast lumos-maxima. The thing had one skeletal arm and a matching leg, plus the insides of what could have been a person were barely inside the other half of its body. The lamb's-tail was the worst warning, and nobody has any real chances of killing a Nesnas."

Michael continued with how he'd managed to conjure a wall of stones in their path and started firing off everything he could at the creature. There wasn't any way to kill it but adding enough pressure to grab the victim and appariting back to the city was enough. "That was all I could think of. The Nesnas almost came close enough to remove my arm. A millisecond later and both me and the muggle wouldn't be alive right now at all."

Lockhart gave a toast to such courage then questioned who the other man was and wanted to learn more details about Michael. Both of them traded enough to grow pleasantly drunk into the late afternoon. "May I ask, what brought you here to London, and not your home country?"

"Ah, I was born here in Britain, though my Father has Irish roots," Michael explained. "We travelled between here and Canada a few times in my childhood. I would always wind-up in all sorts of trouble for the strangest happenings, until we learned I was a wizard."

Lockhart almost fell over in his seat at this news. Struggling to hide his thrill over how easy charming a muggle-born family would be. 'That matter may be handled over the Winter-holidays. A trip to that part of the world would take too much time to arrange before September. But first, I simply must acquire this story right away before any others might learn of it.'

One second when Michael left for his kitchen, Lockhart carefully, silently, knowing he had everything he needed, slipped out his wand. 'This muggle-born won't be a problem, even if a trip across the Atlantic will call for some effort. Still, fame doesn't come without good hard work, as I very well know. Now…'

Glaring, his full concentration ready, Lockhart shot his wand to his host with an "Obliviate!"

"Accio!" Impossibly, Michael's head shot left, clear of the memory-charm. His wand flew out from one pocket and whipped back behind his waist; not a good position for spell-casting. Gilderoy frowned at the scene, and turned around in-time for one solid iron-pan to smack straight over his face. "Incarcerous!" Ropes came spinning out from thin air.

3. Inside of 3 seconds, Lockhart was bound from head to toe, utterly knocked-out, an ugly bruise growing on his temple, and Michael still held his wand. The Canadian started breathing then, his head spinning over what had happened. The man had moved on instinct, reflex and action fresh in his body more than his mind. Against spells, dodging bullets in a war zone left him a hard target to hit.

Taking a breath and looking over at where the memory-charm had hit a wall, the man decided to get to the bottom of things in a magical way.

Lockhart woke-up bound to a chair, his wand nowhere in-sight or in his grasp, and the most serious face anybody had given to him glaring down from above. "Answers," Michael strode to his right, walking slowly and still talking. "Stories, drinks, and then you try and wipe my memory away? So far as I'm aware only Obliviators within the Auror office of the British Ministry of Magic are permitted to use that spell. Why?"

At first Lockhart tried playing-off the matter, explaining how fans often gossip about him over anything and he tried to be safe instead of trusting others to be sorry. A silver-tongue wouldn't help him here, as Michael was now behind him, and silent.

"Michael? Honestly, I'm sure you can appreciate knowing what to talk about and where. Please untie me."

No answer came, the silence compelling Lockhart to keep talking. Words and sweat were dropping from his head faster by the moment.

"Incendio!" A fireplace lit-up immediately, pulling at Lockhart's attention and the pile of his books found right on a table nearby. One of them, the latest, his Magical Me was levitated high and slowly, inching closer to the flames. 0

"What are you doing? Come now, you wanted that—no, no, no, NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" The chair rattled under somebody's efforts to break out from it. Lockhart thrashed so hard he fell over, earning another knock to his head as a golden, autographed copy of Magical Me hung in the middle of the hearth, burning to pieces. It was happening slowly, agonizingly to the author, watching a silver image of himself scurry across its photograph in terror at the licking flames.

"NOOOOOOOOOO! WHAT, WHAT MONSTER ARE YOU! THAT IS ME AND—"

"Only the first one." Michael voice, sending the chill of a dementor into Lockhart's heart, invoked a fresh sense of terror. Another book, this one Troubles with Trolls came levitated into the air and Lockhart had enough. The man started spilling all his guts, especially his real proclivity for illegal Obliviations.

After 5 minutes Michael pulled a handful of powder out from a jar beside the fireplace and tossed it in the flames. Emerald colours, a brief call, and 6 minutes passed when wizards from a particular office at the Ministry of Magic strode out.

Lockhart tried to play-up the scene as wounding him and Michael as a mad-man, yet his guards only had one message to send. "We are from the Foreign-wizards Canadian office, and have even grounds to hold you until somebody from the Department of International Cooperation arrives."

Before long 1 Auror and a pair of old Battleaxes came out through the fireplace. The Canadians shook hands with Department-Head Bartemius Crouch and Alister Moody, as Michael shared what he'd learned.

All while Lockhart tried to slide-in. "Now see here, this fool attempted to—"

"Shut yer nat, you glow worm." 'Mad-eye's' growl shut-up the charlatan, his signature eye remaining on him as most of the other wizards kept their focus on Michael. A foreigner assaulting one of their own wizards was hardly a small matter, yet trapped at the centre of his con Lockhart had no means to run, hide or even lie.

A series of small charms around the flat confirmed Obliviate had been cast and Lockhart's wand was the culprit, alongside dozens of occasions using the same spell. Crouch gave a sincere apology and carted the fraud back through the fireplace himself.

0…..0

Weeks ensued with the Trial of Gilderoy Lockhart making front-page news of every Daily Prophet. Fraud, assaulting a foreign wizard and altering so many minds in so place places meant the celebrity was barely trending water. Two separate extremes were at the proceedings in-person every day: tearful fans holding their favourite copies and proclaiming their love for him, and furious ex-fans and competitors pilling insult after insult on the man himself and his backers. Aurors were present after the 2nd day, which had witnessed a 9-on-9 duel between both sides:

Four people were transfigured, one only half-way with a giant bunny's legs and tail, others were stunned, the prosecutor was covered with boils, Mr. Crouch's hat got blown straight off his head and the last witch was left with a hand enlarged to fill ½ the room. Lockhart's chance to run caught 'Mad-Eyes' attention, and a golden rat was found on the ceiling after the chaos was put back in-order.

Aurors were a constant presence after that, with no incident from single fan until Michael Carswell's witness statement. From the rear of the crowds, a curse shot passed everyone straight for the Canadian, whom parried the spell and disarmed the assailant faster than the Auror's themselves could. Shock hung in the air until the judge called to order with his mallet. "Michael Aurelian Carswell, on the afternoon of August the 10th please testify to what occurred on your premises."

A full account was given, 17 complaints had to be silenced from the crowd, and upon the end Wizengamot conferred.

The next day the sentence was passed, and all of Britain heard the truth; reeling in shock guaranteed to last at least a year. Particularly two old friends inside the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore was sucking on a sherbet lemon as he smoothly lay a copy of the Daily Prophet on his desk, the Headline GILDEROY LOCKHART, DATE WITH A DEMENTOR facing the ceiling.

"This is quite a problem, and can I not persuade you to take-up the roll, old friend?"

"It's yer problem for hirin' that spineless dandy in the first place," Alister Moddy growled, taking a swig from his hip-flask after declining a sherbet lemon from Dumbledore. "I know you Albus. An' trustin' that worthless scum to actually teach anything was one of yer more stupid decisions."

"I'd hardly say that." Dumbledore rose from his seat with the answer, starting to pace around his office. "There is as much to be learned from a bad example as a positive one. Would you deny holding Dwalish up as an example of a less-than-ideal Auror for young Nymphadora? I dare hope she is proving up to your standards, following such dedication to join your line of work."

A fresh grumble was all Moody shared, yet his company understood what it meant. "A shame you're unable to take the job, hontesly." Dumbledore continued. "Still, I have made quite a spectacular hole with no professor this late in the seasons. Gilderoy was the only person willing to even discuss taking the job, given how quickly that position runs through people."

"I don't see that." Moody gripped back "The answer's clear in front of you and I came to make sure you didn't look over it." His magical eye spinning all around, the battered Auror got to his feet and stomped straight for the desk. Snatching the paper, he went straight to the picture of the man responsible for the whole ordeal and thrust it straight at the Headmaster.

"He's damned good, Albus. That I can be certain of, and even faster than me on the draw at the last day in Wizengamot. I looked into the bloke, he's no odder than you are and has a background nearly nobody would believe."

For his part, Dumbledore merely fixed the glasses on his broken nose to see the image that far clearer. "I was there for a single day and confess his actions are highly impressive, no question. Though I was unable to find any trace of him in the Ministry Records and you know it can be difficult to hire a foreign wizard at this school. I have not even a fraction of the time that would demand, otherwise I might have offered the post to a fresh country every year."

"You don't need to. Give old Fontaine[4] a call and he'll answer any question you have. That school handles all of North America, even from Mexico and Canada. I'll bet Carswell studied there and if he can honestly discover and handle a Nesnas without getting caught and watch for a back-stab like Lockhart tried, th' man's a vigilant as I am."

One loud clutter echoed through the office at this praise, of Alister Mood complementing some else for their 'constant vigilance.'

0…0

Michael himself was sitting in the same flat he'd stumbled onto a gold-mine in. Lunch was on the table with the man himself pondering more than eating. Glancing around, the Carswell rested on a single picture of him and several soldiers taken during the Gulf War. Lingering for several minutes, tears were creeping to his eyes and sounds of a battle many miles and many months away were building in his ears.

All until flames roared to life in the centre of the table. Spiraling into themselves, the inferno dissipated as a phoenix tried to settle in for where it was, and find a wand set straight on his beak.

'A phoenix, and a tame one? Why come here…or from whom?' Carswell eyed the creature as he slowly lowered the wand and found a letter on its leg. A messenger-bird, and one this rare? After casting spells to watch for any nasty surprises, he removed the letter and read the contents.

Dear Mr. Carswell.

May I congratulate you on uncovering the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart, and performing an unintended service to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had offered for him to commence teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year in light of his formerly widespread reputation. Your actions to uncover him and skillful self-defence during the trial were both meritorious feats. From these, your reputation for handling dark creatures and your own place as a Canadian-British Wizard, I would like to offer you the now vacant position here at the School. This matter is, of course, open for discussion, though as the school term shall commence very soon, please attach your reply to Fawkes, the phoenix who brought this letter, within the next five hours.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts Grand Sorcerer Supreme Mugwump Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot

A teacher? Michael held the letter and offer in one hand, starring with a blank for quite a long time. Long enough that Fawkes had to screech lightly and shake the man out of it. "Huh?" chewing his lip again, the Canadian-British Wizard thought back to his own years, the white canvas future he'd been starring at for some months, and the chance to take-up something else again.

'Could this be like an order? Or should I even think like that after my therapist advised against it? No-Maj children would certainly be there as well. And I could give those ideas some actual experiments. Afterall, Slytherin himself did found the school.' Looking over at the west, directly towards the where the school that was his second home-away-from-home lay, the man recalled a particular token of that famous wizard's persistent and nurturing qualities.

Shifting back to the offer held in his lap, Michael thought the matter over more, turning different lessons he'd found that magical schools rarely taught and how other wizards might find themselves endangered or dead if they were to find them. 'Isnt' there a jinx on that position though? Nobody has kept it for longer than one year for over a decade, and it seems to have struck very early this year.'

'Sounds interesting, and something to investigate. I do have some experience with teaching others, a little. Could I possibly be worse than Lockhart…ah definitely not,' he had to smile at the picture in his mind. 'If I were, I might request Professor Milford to come and hex me himself.'

Slowly, the more he thought over it the more Michael convinced himself. "I won't accept it, but there could be a fresh opportunity here." Levitating fresh paper and a standard muggle-post envelope towards him, the man wrote his reply and let Fawkes take it.

3 days latter both Dumbledore and Michael were seated in a private room inside the Leaky Cauldron. Over a roast diner and Elf Wine, Mr. Carswell asked several detailed, intelligent questions that broke the ceiling on Dumbledore' expectations.

"I confess I sent a similar message to Professor Fontaine after Fawkes returned with your response. He praised your capacities quite highly, particularly for thinking beyond a box and certain other talents." The twinkle of a teacher who knew too much actually hit Michael with a shudder.

"I see," a little pink on his ears, Michael took a fresh bite to buy seconds then took a breath. "I refuse to become the Defense Against the Dark Art Professor at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore took his turn to be surprised, one eyebrow raising as his mouth grew still. "You would? You asked to join me here to assume that position. I cannot afford to place time wasted, Mr. Carswell."

"I asked to meet with you, I never wrote anything in that letter about the position of a Defense Against the Darks Arts Teacher," the Canadian replied, simple and honest. "Truth be told the position ought to remain unoccupied for the year, wouldn't you agree? Although I do have one proposal to make for you."

"Should you not be ready for the office," Dumbledore answered while rising to his feet, "I'm afraid we have nothing more to speak of."

"I don't waste time either, Professor," Michael's answer came faster than the other man could even look away. "I refuse to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts School. I do have a proposal to still become part of the staff with my own class, however."

Now the elder wizard did not know what to think. Dumbledore stood in a kaleidoscope of confusion for nearly a full minute, digesting this request. "Every position is filled, I am afraid. There are none open save for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I cannot hire somebody for a position when they are not in demand, nor to have an additional staff when every position is filled."

"Then invent a new one," Michael answered with a grin. Sharing the image of a sly fox, the man went to his own feet, lifting suspense within the air to hang over his company for some moments.

"I desire to begin a fresh class at Hogwarts: Martial Magic and Dangers. A class focused on anything that might threaten different wizards since your current discipline cannot seem to keep its professor for longer than single year. With myself as the first the hold the position, if you approve, Professor Dumbledore. An, alternative for a certain unoccupied class."[ii]

Of all the things to happen next, a fly literally did buzz straight into Dumbledore's mouth; his opening nearly the size of a cave at Michael Carswell's proposal. 'Martial Magic and Dangers. A fresh class, to replace-' "cchk-block-puthk-puthk-ccchhh!" The man fell into a spluttering cough, trying to get the invader out from his throat. Once able to speak, Dumbledore fixed his glasses straight towards his potential new employee.

"Mr. Carswell, you honestly desire to replace-"

"AAAHHEEE!" all that answered was one shout and a single bang from the younger man's wand. "Professor, I apologize," Carswell resumed a more calm position. "Referring to something that may perhaps carry a jinx is often bad luck across the Atlantic. Especially if you are in a position with similar ties. I refuse to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts and encourage that the place on the staff remain unoccupied. While I do petition you to start a fresh course called Martial Magic and Dangers, with myself as the first professor. Pending your approval and permission, sir."

His wits back about him, Dumbledore had to expel more than a little effort to not start hopping around like a child on a sugar-rush. Replacing one unreliable class with a completely different course. A solution so simple, so logical and utterly brilliant at the same time. If it worked and the original job remained unoccupied, or even dissolved all together, maybe the jinx would die with it or become confined and constricted.

The Headmaster gave his answer, and both remained at the table until nearly 2 hours past midnight. Michael Carswell continued asking about threats closer to Hogwarts and some specific questions about the Houses and their founders. Next, he learned there was no set curriculum and the only mandatory materials were those for the 5th-year O.W.L.'s and 7th year N.E.W.T.'s. The order to teach in them were completely up to him, along with other content with restrictions from the Ministry of Magic. The one distasteful matter was how all the students had already bought Lockhart's textbooks and it was far too late to change the booklist.

By the end of it, both men shook hands and Michael Aurelian Carswell agreed to move into the castle in 4 days and begin preparing for the semester alongside the everyone else. A surprising result to what was destined to be a year full of shocks and surprises; and both men could almost feel the changes that were to come.

End.

[i]-original idea from WhatHappensNext.

[ii]-another extension from WhatHappensNext, although they have their own title for the job.

[1]-A nod to the "home" where so much of the books were written in: Edinburgh, Scotland. And the "Harry Potter" alley near the castle where a long balcony runs along it above the street-level.

[2]-Nesnas=monsters that according to myths dwell near Yeman, near the Hadramaut region. They appear in the form of half-dead male humans, split in half and with the tail of a lamb, or one half of their bodies are alive and the other half a skeleton. In mythology they are half-dead and half alive, and out from a lack of peace they act against others who are not grateful for the full life they possess, taking victims who are never seen again, or so the Nesnas can return to life by taking the lives of others.

These have not been confirmed to exist in Harry Potter, but I couldn't find monsters other than a manticore from the Middle East in the booklore.

[3]-Pottermore website. Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, another stroke of J. K. Rowlings' capacity for masterful writing and storytelling. An institution elsewhere in the Wizarding World, and I promise more of that school will be related through this story. And many ironic revelations that make it PERFECT to tie-in with the Chamber of Secrets.

[4]-Agilibert Fontaine, Headmaster of Ilvermorny school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.