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.

2. Welcome to Hogwarts

Harry Potter and the Martial, Magical Mentor.

Chapter 2: Welcome to Hogwarts.

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. Some elements from their work were adapted or borrowed here, and I credit this author for thinking-up such a brilliant story in the first place.

August 19th had arrived to find Michael Aurelian Carswell standing near the exit from Hogsmeade with the towering expanse of the Castle filling his eyes. The man felt a familiar tickle of awe, from the time an 11-year-old boy was standing before a different castle. Holding a single suitcase and a CF Duffel Bag, the man started further on his walk, leaving the stares of other people behind him.

Many even questioned if he was a wizard at all: wearing stylized jeans, a black blazer and a single red-and-white collard shirt beneath it, he appeared far more a muggle than anyone around for kilometers. Passing by other people he drew their eyes easily with a towering 6'3 height, with arms thick enough to be called tree-trunks.

A short walk and one turn later, the man found his guide standing near a bridge: a singular massive man with a black mane of hair, hands the size of dustbin lids and dressed in one large moleskin overcoat. Recalling Dumbledore's words about somebody's size making them easy to pick-out, the Canadian wizard raised his opinion of the Elder wizard by a notch as he walked up to the man.

"Pardon me, by chance are you Rubeus Hagrid?"

"I am indeed, sir. Would you be th' new Professor 'ere this year? Keeper of Keys and Grounds 'ere at Hogwarts. At yer service." Thick with an accent, the man's words were joined with one extended hand. Michael shook it before a short battle ensued over Hagrid's insistence to help him carry his bags.

"Mos' people jump fer an offer when it be made. But you don' Professor? Why is t'at, mig't I ask?" Hagrid and him were walking together up the slope to the castle, the Groundkeeper only carrying one bag while the new Professor Michael held the other. "No mind at all, Mr. Hagrid. Part of it comes from national pride. Canadians like me are polite by habit, especially when outside of our own country. And I dislike to impose on anybody over something I can handle myself. I'm proud of carrying my own weight."

Nodding, the Groundkeeper led the man straight up the castle to where Dumbledore himself was waiting. Shaking hands again, they continued on with Hagrid to a single Hall were a battered old Hat stood on a stool.

Dumbledore insisted Michael to be sorted into a house, confusing the 32-year-old wizard somewhat. "Why? I doubt I could be made into a Head for a House so immediately, and I was sorted at Ilvermorny School."

"Yes, indeed. Dear Fontaine mentioned you were sorted into Thunderbird House. Our system is quite different from theirs, however."

"Thunderbird?" Hagrid's voice cut, with confusion. "You ain't thinking of changin' th' House Animals, are ya Professor Dumbledore? Th' whole Ministry be up in arms if that were t' pass, and Ravenclaw's been the Eagle long as even the Ghost's can-"

"Hagrid!" Calling out for the third time, his first two a touch too quiet, the Headmaster smiled at his loyal friend. "I was speaking of a separate House within a Separate School. Professor Carswell's own former institution, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was modelled on our Hogwarts, even down to four separate Kouses yet with different animals. And often often what forms of people those inside them they would grow in to: The Horned Serpent for scholars, the Wampus for warriors, the Pukwudgie for Healers, and his own House, the Thunderbird, for Adventures."

"That's correct," Michael nodded at the Headmaster. "The Thunderbird sign represented the soul of a witch or wizard, as well. You really think this Hat might tell you more about me?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore with twinkles shinning in his eyes. "and possibly decided which Quidditch team you might support, or even a certain professor to approach with questions should you be considered under their own House."

Acquiescing to the request, Michael took a seat on the stool and brought the hat to his head. The artefacts slid right through a series of Occlumency barriers the wizard had formed through his life and quickly began to mutter inside his mind.

Hmmm. Difficult, and rare. Very rarely do I sort an adult, more complex than a child's mind, and layered. Goodness, so much contradiction and so much complementing. Determination defines you, even beyond horrors, my word, terrible indeed. Discipline that almost no other wizard could have barely kept Michael from tearing the object right off his head. Blessedly, the invasive assessment receded. Decisive, never able to remain idle, and with such cunning rare even in this world. Deviousness within, courage to stand for what you believe in, and a drive to uphold them through example. Difficult, extremely difficult.[i]

Moments began spanning over into minutes. The Sorting Hart turning over Michael's own mind, while the audience of Dumbledore and Hagrid grew further and further captivated the longer the sorting stretched.

'Choose,' Michael tried to venture after nearly 30 minutes. 'Would you allow me to choose my own House?' Perhaps, though actually very likely. Your honesty is strong even to yourself. You know the dangers of lies and actively avoid them, holding yourself to the truth and demanding the same from others. An element of intolerance for hypocrisy and intolerance itself, foremost among many contradictions within you. Intriguing. Which would you pick?

Upon whispering one name out loud, the Sorting Hats roared "SLYTHERIN!"

Dumbledore seemed satisfied, accepting the hat from Michael as Hagrid nodded from a small measure of distance between him and the new Professor now.

With that matter resolved, a tour around the castle ensued. Michael found such elation it felt more like addiction: so many halls, so many mysteries, so many possibilities for explore. An adventure in his heart, the urgence to explore invoked a powerful urge to explore in Michael's soul.

"Enticing isn't it?" Dumbledore humoured his new staff member. "I often find myself wandering these halls instead of following my own work, half the time."

"Please, do not torture me, Professor. I have to make lesson plans, put an entire year filled with new classes together, all within 2 weeks, and be the responsible instructor now. Those are my orders and they are what I do." Michael's tone brokered no argument but Dumbledore hardly appeared offended. Hagrid almost spoke up again, but a polite comment pacified the man. By the end of the tour he'd moved off and the two wizards made it to the former Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where both Michael's office and sleeping quarters would be found, through a simple password behind the desk to a bedroom, bathroom and living area.

The latter two spaces decorated with green, dark or medium-shades that left a the atmosphere sickly or grim as a grave. "What kind of person lived inside of here last, sir? It feels like they'd been more comfortable inside a tomb."

"A poor soul by the name of Quirrell. He is he longer with us, I fear." The Headmaster walk back outside immediately, leaving Michael to chose some new adjustments. Pulling his wand out, the man spun a few spells around the room, changing the colours to a desert-beige alternative and staring down to the bed. "I might need to get a larger one up here, professor, or my feet will be stuck out over the end. Also, do one of your staff have any talent with space-bending charms?"

"I believe dear Filius will be happy to aid you, although greater empty space can be a certain problem in its own right." Moving back out to the classroom, Michael retrieved a series of notes and one cauldron out from his suitcase and set straight to work at the teacher's desk. "Did you have any luck finding notes or records this Quirrell might have left behind, of what the students learned last year?"

"No," the elder wizards replied, disappoint actually showing in his tone. "He left extremely abruptly, I hope the final casualty of his former position. With Martial Magic and Dangers, let us hope some different results will come forward."

"We'll see," Michael spat out, lighting a fire beneath his cauldron and measuring out ingredients from a massive, bottomless trunk Hagrid had left in the classroom. The flames didn't expand further than the space of the cauldron and soon a sizzling hum was echoing from the mouth. "This means I'll have to assess each of them as they come, and with two sets of high-demand deadlines for 5th and 7th years, I'll need to hit the ground running. If I'm not around the Hogwarts grounds for around two hours everyday, please come in here to see if I have died."

Dumbledore gave no reply, watching Michael from one corner as the far-younger man would scribble out notes in-between brewing a Stay-Awake draft with meticulous focus. Satisfied, the Headmaster invited him to dinner in the Great-hall later and made his departure.

Alone inside the office, Michael finally let from frustration slip out. "Damn, Basic-training was more intense than this will be. And I might have gotten even more sleep then than I will here." His words were proven true: for the span of 2 weeks he slept an average of 3 hours a night, walked around the grounds only 2 for fresh air and spent everything else preparing for the upcoming year and hundreds of students dropped into his lap for a completely new class curriculum.

Michael would have 12 classes that year, each one inside his classroom twice a week. Years 1-5 had two classes per house, while 6-7 years combined all houses with smaller classes amidst the N.E.W.T. qualifiers. Each lesson would run for fifty minutes each, with a ten-minute break in-between for students to find ways to their next class (a truly spectacular feat within Hogwarts). All classes would start at 9am, with three before lunch. After lunch two more classes would follow, finish the day at 3pm and between them all he would have to mark hundreds of essays and likely have further responsibilities too, all while keeping his sanity together. 'Maybe if I actually manage to be ready by September 2nd, that will prove I won't fall to pieces,' the man grinned at the challenge.

The younger years were those he was looking forward to the most, particularly the 1st and 2nd as they often barely learned one or two spells a year and otherwise were focused on theory and little else. Michael threw himself into planning-out those classes but had to force himself away at times to build-up the more crucial lessons for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T's students. A succession of so many different teachers demanded that they had to cram materials often learned over several years inside of only one. The 5th and 7th years would have the least opportunities for Michael to give some experiments from the own experiences a try inside the classroom, but discipline won out over preference by the end.

Michael ate lunch inside of the rooms and even managed to ask Hagrid about house-elves and have meals delivered to his office across a full week. The two men even had tea inside Michael's office one time. "Once th' year get's going, you've gotta come down to me Hut 'swell, Professor. 'tis a small thing, but I always have tea, rock-cakes and a few interestin' creatures there, I do."

"Professor Dumbledore told me you have a Boarhound as well. I've been partial to dogs all my life, and would like to meet him." Friendship was building between them, and not the only for Michael.

By August 25th all of the staff had returned to the school and gathered together inside the Deputy Headmistress' office. Yet instead of her, the desk was occupied instead by the Headmaster.

"Headmaster? Have you resolved this matter with Defense Against the Dark Arts, in-time?" A few people had to muffle their groans at Severus Snape's inquiry, and how the man held his face more blank of emotion than usual.

"Thank you, my dear Severus. Indeed, for I decided to leave it unoccupied and absent this year, to spare any further soul the burden." Some people actually fell-over at this announcement, foremost among them Professor McGonagall herself. "Albus, w-what are you speaking of? We have students due to arrive too soon. You mustn't be serious."

More voices began calling out until a single door at the rear of the room opened. "Hello there? Should this be the….ah, I am at the right place." Beyond all the staff the latecomer had reached them.

"Ahh, I suppose you perhaps grew lost on the way here, Professor Carswell."

"Yes, sir. A handful of stairs switched on me and wound-up by the library."

"Whom are you? And why are you dressed in that way?" The prissy Madam Prince ignored a glare from Dumbledore, yet her question was far from out-of-place. Michael had chosen comfort over convention, wearing khaki pants, a dark black dress-shirt and now a beard a few days old had grown over half his face. He looked more ready for a trip through a muggle shopping-mall than for teaching in the Wizarding World.

"May I introduce to you all," Dumbledore announced, now on his feet. "The man whom sparred us from Gilderoy Lockhart's company this year: Mr. Michael Aurelian Carswell. Following the trial of poor Lockhart, I contacted him over assuming the vacant position here at Hogwarts. Yet he adamantly refused and demanded not to be asked of the office again."

Now all the staff's heads were spinning again: between a Headmaster more odd than usual and an apparently purposeless stranger before them.

"Carswell?" Flitwick recovered ahead of the others. "I have known several students passing through these halls, but never a Michael Aurelian prior to now? Why have you come here, might I ask, and were you educated here in these halls?"

"Ilvermorny. I am a Canadian-British Wizard, Mr…

"Filius," propriety asserting itself, the diminutive teacher waddled forward as the man 5 times his height had to lower his knees to shake hands. "Professor Filius Flitwick."

"A Pleasure. And Professor Dumbledore highly recommended you. I am your new co-worker, and may need your help for my new classroom."

"And which such class would that be, Mr. Carswell?" Across the room, Snape strode forwards with a violent whirl of his cloak. "Professor Dumbledore spoke of how we still lack a Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher. Of what use may you share to have here if not to provide an answer? So, let us return to the matter at hand if we may."

"I agree with Severus," McGonagall consented, pilling a fresh surprise on the staff. "Albus, how could the matter of choosing a fresh teacher have been left vacant just out of a whim? Did truly no one else accept it?"

"Minerva, my dear, so many souls have been claimed or displaced by taking-up that roll." Dumbledore resumed his drawling tone, yet with a certain mischievous twinkle behind his spectacles. "When I met Mr. Carswell here, he refused to assume the post but instead demanded we replace it."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts will stay vacant this year, and likely for the future which anyone may foresee. While a new class shall be commencing this year which all student will attend and is Mr. Carswell's sole responsibility."

"I would ask you all to meet, our first official Martial Magic and Dangers professor. And celebrate the addition of an entirely new class to the wonderful history of Hogwarts." From his place, Michael didn't bother to wave or even speak, instead cruising over every reaction with his eyes; and admittedly enjoying all the different reactions from the staff. 'This Dumbledore certainly enjoys delivering surprises.'

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," the headmaster resumed, "shall be held at midnight on Mondays for all students, in the broom-closet of the west tower. Should none of them attend that is solely the choice of the students, and the teaching position will remain unoccupied."

"Hopefully this loss shall not impact the school too heavily, and I sincerely hope this new class will generate all sorts of thrilling discoveries for all of our dear, keen-minded students."

"Professor Carswell came with high recommendations from my dear friend Alister Moody. While his own exploits in saving a poor soul from a Nesnas in the Eastern regions are-"

"Professor!" One look around the room and Michael would have several targets on his head: awe, intrigue, and outrage; all from interrupting the Headmaster. The Canadian "Martial Magic and Defense" Professor was nearly red enough to match the Muggle-nation's national flag.

"I prefer not to advertise myself on a banner. And that story nearly left me under a memory charm from a certain fraud to use for his next book. Anyway," the man started rubbing his neck while tilting one side with a crack echoing through the room. "I'm barely ¾'s done preparing for this year to start. If I might ask, who is the head Slytherin House, here?"

Many eyes fell on Professor Snape, rooted in his shoes and wear a face that met a concrete door at several kilometers an hour; he was shocked and outraged. Michael strode up and offered his hand. "The Headmaster insisted sorting me after arriving. And the decision was Slytherin. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor…."

"Schu-sss-shnu-Sn-Snape," the slick-haired man found his voice and hand moving without his conscious decision. "S-S-Sevirious-Severus Snape." The man's face rolled into a solid frown as he found his voice again.

"Severus," Dumbledore called from his desk. "I do hope you would aid this addition to your house, should he require any help over the next month." With a certain glimmer in his eyes, Dumbledore asserted his own control over the staff and moved back into matters of preparing for the upcoming year. Michael stood at Snape's side without speaking. Earning more of the senior Professor's ire, yet once the meeting adjourned Snape found Carswell was gone. He'd immediately moved on to Professor Flitwick. And after gained the assurance of the Charm-master's aid, Professor McGonagall stopped Carswell with her own greetings.

"Welcome, Professor Carswell. I am Deputy-Headmistress of our school. The Headmaster appears to have faith in you," sparring a glance at the Elder wizard's back, the witch's demeanor flipped to far stern attitude. "I am not Dumbledore, and shall make my own assessments. Keep your students in-line and ensure nothing shall happen out of place."

Without waiting for his reply, she strode off, leaving behind an unusual reaction. 'Drill-sergeant McClusky, I think you have a relative. And she doesn't always agree with Dumbledore's commands without question. Good.'

Michael lingered back to look for Snape, yet the man was already gone from the wing. So the Professor concede not to waste time and made back to his own office.

Within one-hour Flitwick was knocking on his door. After 20 minutes of talking the Charm's teacher had to roll-up his sleeves and remodel the entire classroom via the complicated bending-physics charms. Something only a true master of magic would even try, Flitwick altered the space from a single classroom into three separate environments. The first position was behind the door: modeled into an urban setting with cover and obstacles for practical combat or practice. The second beyond that was more open: a space lined with mirrors and plenty of room for formal duelling and spell-practice and several cushioning charms blanketing the floor. At the rear of the space was the classroom, remodelled with long desks, pictures of wand movements and banners of dangerous animals or images of wizards duelling one another decorating the walls.

Along with some further modifications to Michael's own sleeping quarters. In a thrice Flitwick expanded the room to 3 times it's original size, leaving a massive open space with a couch and a larger bed squeezed into one corner near a window.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick."

"Oh, FIlius, please. We are to be working together and I rarely get to exercise such magic as this." Turning back to look in the direction of the classroom, the diminutive expert was scratching his beard with thought. "Brilliant. A true stroke of it I'd say. Giving the students more practical space to apply the magic they learn. Why didn't I think of such a thing years ago?"

"Thinking of remodelling your own classroom as well?" Michael's voice reached Flitwick's ears.

"Quite so, should yours prove….ah, what in the name of Merlin is that?" Looking back to the bedroom, the wizard watched as Michael had raised on massive apparatus near a corner, from which a bulky contraption hung off a single thick chain. The Martial-Magic teacher held his wand out, directing a series of solid matts to arrange themselves over the floor. "It's a Heavy-bag. My family were non-magical and I use one very often to relieve stress or keep certain skills sharp."

"Ah, you are a muggle-born? They are for a…..hobby you kept, I take?" Silence reigned as Michael didn't respond to Flitwick's question for some time. Long enough to make the air between them far from comfortable.

"Yes, though I heavily dislike that word. 'Muggle.'" Moving his wand towards the bottomless bag, two solid figures emerged: one the model of a human male's head and torso mounted on a stand, the other a dummy coloured black. Next a complex wooden contraption with arms of solid wood protruding from a solid cylinder block. Positioned around the matts, a larger apparatus with multiple jutting's at different elevations flew out, with a single metal bar. Both flew to a wall above the matts, the metal pieces attaching themselves with the bar set on the lowermost rung once they were set.

"A salmon ladder," Michael commented to Flitwick's inquisitive look. "It's used by non-magic people for exercise." Next, of all things to come out from Michael's bag, a series of large, black boxes were arranged on a table. Next the Canadian wizard brought out one tool Flitwick recognized to be a sledge-hammer, and another massive black-coloured wheel several feet thick and arranged on the ground.

Finally multiple targets were moved into a single quarter of the room. "Filius, how powerful can your cushioning charm's be? Say to cushion a spear or arrow fired barely feet away?"

"Well, I dare say I have never tried but would be curious to find out? Why?" Grinning now at the question, Michael reached to his bag and pulled two peculiar sets of ear-muffs and one long metal object with a handle and barrel.

"I'll show you, if you might be able to wait until this weekend for explanations. Drinks in Hogsmeade on Saturday, and I'll cover the bill."

Whatever happened next resulted in one Flitwick too dazed for words walking out from the classroom and sending glances back at the door every 3 steeps. He didn't receive a chance to ask the new Professor, who barely left his office or classroom, and after another near-sleepless week Michael was ready for the new school year with only hours to spare. Standing outside of McGonagall's office again, he entered with permission and stood ready with folders tucked under one arm.

"Deputy-headmistress," sharp, with purpose and presence, Michael's words drove his company's spine to move straighter in her seat. "My lesson-plans for this year." Handing a particularly dense folder out, she dropped it on the desk from its weight. Rubbing the pain in her strained wrist, McGonagall made a certain face at her new staff member as he reorganized the scattered file.

"I shall read through it over the upcoming nights. While you are required to attend the welcome feast this evening after the new students have arrived, then classes will begin tomorrow, at 9 in the morning sharp."

"Yes, ma'am!" At his side Michael's hand flexed, before the man cracked his neck to both sides. "I might only eat a light-dinner before returning to my rooms. One more Stay-awake potion and I'd have to spend time in your Hospital Wing. 2 hours of Muay Thai, 1 spent in a rotation and finishing with a hammer-and-tire and the salmon-ladder will leave me spent enough to sleep like the dead."

Rubbing his temple to massage the migraine from so much time spent awake, Michael turned to leave with barely a glance back to his host.

"Professor! What balderdash are you speaking of?" Caught over what he'd spoken, Michael smacked one hand to his forehead hard enough to leave a mark. 'I must be exhausted to slip-up that much.'

Turning around the face a highly perplexed woman, the Canadian let out a sigh. "They're a series of exercises to train a person for combat, and their physical body. Filius asked about the same while he lent his help expanding my classroom and living-space. I'm meeting him in Hogsmeade this weekend to share explanations. If you'd like, join us for answers then. We both are extremely busy, and it would save me repeating myself."

McGonagall deliberated for some time before nodding. Dismissed, Michael returned to the hallways until another professor came around one corner, looking for him.

"Professor Snape. What may I do for you?" The potions-master stood, both arms crossed and with a plain face. Neither man spoke, until Snape's head moved a few degrees.

"Are you alright, Professor Carswell? I have the capacity to recognize a Stay-Awake draught, and you appear close to an irresponsible overdose of them."

Letting out a deep sigh, Michael's temples felt a fresh massage, yet his ears and instincts remained on-alert with both eyes closed. "I've been brewing doses since arriving here at Hogwarts to be ready for tomorrow, and so, so much longer. Professor Snape, would you mind walking while we talk? Otherwise I may fall asleep while merely by standing here."

Acquiescing, Snape led his company about while listening to Michael. "Thank you. I wanted to speak with you about Slytherin House this week, if I managed to finish preparations with time to spare. Do you know if the school has any artefacts that were kept by Salazar Slytherin himself? I admire him, and would sincerely value a chance to see them."

Another surprise smacked Severus Snape straight in the face, demanding a frustrating amount of effort to hide it. "None, I fear. And to ask in return, how would a student of Ilvermorny come to admire the British Wizard Salazar?"

Walking further, both men continued talking and by the end Snape was hit by surprises washing many particular convictions clean. Coming out near the doorway, the potion master had to excuse himself. "I must ensure the House common-room is prepared for all the student's arrival. Though, we must speak again, soon."

"I'm meeting Filius and the Deputy-headmistress in Hogsmeade this weekend. Name the best pub and the first round is on me." With a nod, both men went separate ways. Michael stood outside in the setting sunlight of the day, enjoying the time outdoors before his real work would start. Sitting on the grass, the man took moments to reflect over everything that had come about recently and found a deep measure of contentment he hadn't thought to have since one chapter of his live closed.

'Teaching. I come here for a spell after doing my best to avoid the magical-world for so long, and wind-up a professor at one the oldest magical institution in all the world.' Smiling to an irony only he knew, and the man looked forward to the sinking sun. 'One chapter ends, and another begins.'

0…..0

Evening had passed her arms around the castle, filling the ink-black night with lights floating around the towers and the grounds. Inside the Great Hall, the staff had begun assembling and waiting, the pressure of anticipation growing dense.

Michael was the last to reach the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast, working to ignore his stomach and focus instead on the famous Hogwarts Sorting Ceremony, smoothing his robes with a step through the doors. His robes were a formal Japanese-style, in a crimson shade with black trimmings and silver-white lines across his chest, yet both arms were exposed; a formal set of those he'd worn meeting Gilderoy Lockhart almost a month ago. He wanted to make an impression, with strong arms, a select number of scars and a fresh shave, the wizard appeared very much a warrior as anyone from wizarding-world could be.

Walking into the Great Hall, innumerable candles were hovering in mid-air above four long, empty tables. It made the golden plates and goblets sparkle, with the bewitched ceiling of a clear night sky above, the constellations sparked memories which Michael had to actively supress in his mind. Glancing left and right, to find a few of the staff were not in their seats, together with a newspaper being passed between then. Everyone was wearing faces of disappointment and disapproval. "I already spoke to some Ravenclaws, some spotted the car from the train and nearly everyone will have read the papers by now." "Why on earth did they do such a thing, and who would be so reckless?" Professor Flitwick and Madame Pomfrey were looking somewhere different every other second. Michael himself made straight for Dumbledore as a single ghost descended from above.

"Headmaster?" "Sir Nicholas, what have you to share with us?" Michael listened closely to the ghost and Dumbledore, and took this chance to scan the sideways newspaper, and feel a solid stone grow in his forehead. The headline read: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.

"I'm afraid the car you describe just recently reached this school, with a dismal landing straight into the Whomping Willow. I think any stragglers among the students saw it from afar, and certainly the First-years arriving across the lake. The tree hardly took that intrusion well and thrashed them up somewhat, yet the contraption escaped and flung both passengers and its contents out on the grounds. The pair managed to stand up and began collection their things when I endeavoured to inform you."

Before anyone else could speak, the doors opened, and Professor McGonagall made a rapid march straight to join them.

"Albus, the headcounts have been completed, and the only students absent are," McGonagall's face grew tight with clear anger and silent outrage. "Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter. They are the only ones who could have taken the car."

"How could they do that without wands?" Michael's question brought every Professor's attention onto himself, most wondering if the man was an idiot.

"Waaaiiiitt," Michael drew out to vowels in one word, grasping the matter as Dumbledore himself fell into a chuckle, confusing all the staff inside the room. "Please, I hope you all shall forgive Professor Carswell, and him towards you all over this matter."

"Within Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the Headmaster continued, "students are only permitted to carry their wands inside of the school halls and remain mandated to leave them at the school across the summer, or even returning home at Christmas. A legacy from Rappaport's Law that the institution desires to keep in order to minimize misuses of magic outside of the school."[1]

As each Professor in-turn took their place in the seat of surprise, Michael nodded to every look towards his way. "Given what has just happened," the new staff-member elucidated, "incidents like these are exactly why people who try repealing this one component can rarely build momentum. A fresh example from elsewhere in the Wizarding World can pop-up almost once an annuum. As you see right here." Michael tapped the newspaper's moving frontpage photo to drive his point clear.

The Headmaster nodded, "Perhaps the Governors and our Ministry may have fewer headaches if a similar rule should manifest, here. For now, Severus, Rolanda, and Septima. Each of you shall search the grounds and do not allow Mr. Weasley nor Mr. Potter to enter the Great Hall by themselves. The Sorting Ceremony will continue and we must introduce our new staff without disruption. Minerva, please fetch the first-years and allow our Houses to their seats, then whomever finds the other two will come for you at once."

Three teachers bustled off, the Head of Slytherin House wearing a face with glee, while the rest followed Dumbledore to the staff table.

Michael took his own seat and had to contain a fresh, overwhelming wave of anxiety at just how many of his new students were here. As the volume inside the Great Hall grew ever larger, his back grew straighter and the man was not moving a millimetre. Until nudge came to his side and the friendly Professor Flitwick shared a reassuring smile towards him, joined by a sympathetic one from Professor Sprout.

Before long the majority of students were seated, and sharp-ears picked up news flying about: new classes, an empty seat at the staff table, some of the children staring at Michael himself, and whispers about a flying car, Harry Potter and expulsion.

Quickly, Professor McGonagall entered a head of the fresh body of the youngest lot to walk in, while the doors remained open. Michael looked all about and found genuine surprise when the Sorting Hart burst suddenly into a song. Melodious, insightful and certainly entertaining, it filled Michael with a well-acted pout.

"Why was I not blessed with one when I arrived here?" The staff close to him actually chuckled at the joke. Gradually each of the students were called for and took their time under the Hat. Half-way through Michael felt a familiar tickle, looking straight for one window where two boys were spying in on the feast: one red-haired and freckled, the other bespectacled and with a scar on his head. Once Michael's gaze found them, both went stumbling back and right into somebody behind them: Professor Snape. All three were gone before long and Michael actually stood up silently and made his way to Dumbledore.

Whispering lightly in his ear, the headmaster did listen with patience. "It may not be my place, sir. Though I would like to be present and share some questions with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter."

The Elder Wizard pursed his lips for a minute, then waved Michael back to his seat. Once the Sorting wrapped-up, McGonagall made her way to Dumbledore's side and the Headmaster informed her of something. Pausing lightly, the woman slipped out through one door behind the staff table and Dumbledore took his turn to stand.

"Greetings to everyone, and I wish you all a happy evening, while we celebrate many new sensations here!"

"Before we fill ourselves at this feast, would all First-years note, that the Dark forest is forbidden to all young minds we have gathered here. And the elder ones recall the same, should they grow too adventurous."

"Now, I am to announce, as many here may know, the Defense Against the Dark-Arts teacher Gilderoy Lockhart was convicted of fraud and thereby unable to join us this there. Henceforth, I fear that we were unable to secure a firm replacement for that position in-time. The classes Defense Against the Dark Arts will continue inside a broom cupboard this year, and students may use that time allotted for it wherever or for whichever as they wish, within the rules allowed."

Rumors and shouts were set off by this bang, from whispers between pairs and even loud shouts: "So will Professor Snape receive it instead!" "Can we have extra Quidditch practices!" "On no, what are we going to learn!" "My NEWT's are this year!"

Dumbledore let them continue until a sharp clang from Flitwick dimmed the volume to silence.

"Fortunately," the Headmaster continued, "I am delighted to announce, a far more landmark event. That a new subject will be taught to all students beginning this year, and shall join the annals of History within our school. One man came forth with a proposal, strong enough that I nearly wondered if I'd fallen into a dream upon hearing it. This new class will be known as Martial Magic and Dangers, taught by our welcome new addition: Professor Michael Aurelian Carswell!"

Coloured with dramatic flare, Dumbledore swept his around and cast an entire spotlight over the new teacher. Barely able to swallow, Michael could taste dust in his mouth under the gaze and applause of both staff and students alike. Nudged by somebody, he rose up to his feet, nodding or bowing slightly to anywhere or anyone. Finally, the moment came to an end and Michael could take his seat once more.

"Now. Let the Feast, Begin." Out from nowhere, platers of food materialized over the tables and all present began to fill themselves. Yet two men did not partake immediately: Dumbledore leaving the table and tapping Michael on his shoulder. Following his new boss, Michael walked rapidly behind the Headmaster throughout the school, into the dungeons and finally to one classroom.

A particularly gleeful Severus Snape allowed them inside his office, where an incensed McGonagall stood near a lit fireplace with Potter and Weasley sitting beside it, white enough to be taken for ghosts. Michael frowned towards both of them, noting a series of bruises, dirt and faint smell of sweat from both.

"Who is-"

"Silence!" Snape hissed towards Ron, yet Michael rounded on his co-worker. "Professor Snape, at ease." A moment later, Snape found himself stopping his feet a few meters away from Ron, pressed away by only Michael's order and the tone behind him.

One Professor sneered at the new-comer, and met an equal glare in return. "These boys are fatigued and terrified, in more ways than one, clearly. Asking who I am is hardly an unfair question."

"It is an unrelated matter, Professor Carswell," Snape hissed in return. "As they are all but guaranteed to be on the train and return home, this night."

"That, is not decided yet, Severus." Dumbledore spoke now, stopping Snape as Michael stepped towards both Potter and Weasley.

"Headmaster. They were seen, by no less than 7 muggles," the Slytherin-Head continued. "Each have clearly shown no idea the severity of their actions. The pair have flouted the degree for the restriction of underaged Wizardry. As such-"

"I am well-aware of our by-laws, Severus. Have written quite a few of them myself." The Headmaster was not looking at Snape, staring down his very crooked nose at the students. "Please, explain why you did this?"

Harry spoke only at his knees, explaining a story that left Michael's hand itching to grind out the boulder-size headache pressing on his skull. 'I actually forgot of this kind of idiocy, taking the first or most magical option they have. But penalties won't work to address this, here.'

"You missed the train? That is why…" Speaking now, Michael resembled more a churning storm than a man, pulling everyone's attention towards him, especially the two second-years and Dumbledore himself.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. I hope you each recall your manners, and greet our new staff member here. Professor Michael Carswell, of the new position of Martial Magic and Dangers here at Hogwarts."

"Do not speak, yet…" Michael had to press his lips together, fighting the itch to mutter a certain habitual word. "The both of you merely missed the train to arrive here? And immediately leapt into a bewitched car to fly in full view of a city and across the country? The most immediate, magical and senseless solution to a tiny issue?"

"One day would not have been the absolute end of your lives, neither would it have meant expulsion. I did not arrive here on the Hogwarts Express, and neither do many others. Writing for aid or waiting for an adult wizard for help may have sufficed. The Knight-bus can travel here furthermore, and I am certain the Floo-network across Britain is connected to Hogwarts. Did any of these reach your minds?"

Neither Harry nor Ron could answer, the latter particularly sunk so low in his seat.

"I want an answer, Potter, Weasley. And where did that car wind-up?"

"Uh, n-no sir," Harry answer. "We didn't think. Even an owl might have been a better choice. But the car…it threw us out then drove itself into the Forbidden forest." Michael fixed one boy carefully, then the other, the finally turned to look straight at McGonagall. "Deputy-mistress, I recommend that neither boy should be expelled. This kind of action, depending on magic to resolve every problem, is a dangerous habit to leave anyone with. And should they be expelled, left untaught, it may even invite them to repeat such actions in the future."

"That is not your decision to make-" "And neither is it yours, Severus." Snape's tirade was cut-off by Dumbledore, while both Harry and Ron looked first at each other then up at Professor Carswell, regaining some colour on their faces.

"Unless McGonagall has declared that already, neither are expel today, but I must impress on you both," the Headmaster was looking straight at his students again, "that this is a highly serious matter. I will be writing to both your families tonight, and must warn you that if you continue any acts as this one, I will have no choice but to expel you both. What is to be done with these boys falls to Professor McGonagall. They are part of her house, and are therefore her responsibility."

The woman resembled a wrathful eagle, yet her eyes pulled Michael's attention to something else.

"You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding."

"Not much," Ron claimed to McGonagall's request, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted—"

"The Sorting-ceremony ended before we came here. Whom is sister named?" Michael asked him.

"Ginny, or Ginerva Weasley."

"She was sorted in Gryffindor," McGonagall answered instead. "As for sending letters home tonight, you both shall get a detention as a consequence for these actions. Yet neither of you may rejoin the feast." The Witch raised her wand and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.

"You will both eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory."

"I disagree, Professor McGonagall." Michael met the Professor's glare without flinching. "Permission to speak."

McGonagall shifted her glare from the students to him. "What are you taking about, Professor Carswell?"

"Many different whispers were travelling around the Great Hall, with excitement and curiosity. If these two were to leave when they wish, the other students may react like they met celebrities, or even become encouraged to try similar measures. Further, a mere detention might not be sufficient enough to ensure these two actually learn and remember this lesson."

"Speak you mind Professor Carswell." Everyone could see she was growing impatient, but Michael stood firm. "They should remain under watch and sleep outside of the dormitory, then rejoin their peers tomorrow for a regular class. I have another form of punishment in-mind as well," turning his head and looking towards the fire-place. "Before that, I understand Mr. Potter is orphaned. Yet should one or both of Mr. Weasley's parent be allowed to come here through the Floo to know their son is at least alive?"

"NO!" Ron bounded from his seat, waving both hands and appearing as he was about to be swallowed by a tidal-wave. "Prof-please-please-dear-oh dear-not Mum! Anything, werewolves in the forest, working for Snape, any-any-just don't bring Mum here!" That alone sealed the matter for Michael, looking over at the Professor, she met him with a curious shade on her face.

McGonagall deliberated for a while, then looked towards her new staff. "Go on, Professor."

"A lesson that somebody forgets is almost guaranteed to repeat itself, and they made this bad-decision from not thinking. They both should stay spend the night writing out different options they could have used instead, and I can advise them on which matters to use should a similar incident happen. Does one, or both of my proposals meet your approval?"

Ron continued begging and Harry even joined in, until a look of disgust from Michael silenced each one. "Excuse me Professor Carswell," McGonagall strode over to the fireplace and took a handful of powder from one pot beside it. Soon the flames were coloured emerald and she knelt down to place only her head inside it.

Leaving Michael to occupy Ron and Harry's attention. "Both of you, sit and do not speak. As Dumbledore described, I am Michael Aurelian Carswell. Your new teacher." Offering his hand, both Ron and Harry shook it before staring with dread at McGonagall's back until she stood up, faced them and waved towards the door.

"Mrs. Weasley will be here within minutes. Professor, if you shall." Neither boy moved as the teachers left and locked the door. Outside, Minerva faced Michael with a new sense of respect. "I approve of your plan and expect one roll of parchment from each boy by morning. Let us return to the feast. They shall eat in the meantime, then you may come to fetch them. Though they really should spend the night in the hospital wing." Michael only had time to nod, when a bone-rattling scream bellowed from the office.

"RONALD AND HARRY!"

"YOU BOYS—fWHAT IN ALL OF MERLIN! NOW—WHY—TH-TH-THE PAIR OF YOU—IS THERE NOT A BRAIN BETWEEN YOU! I-I'M HONESTLY READY THE DRAG YOU EACH B-BA-BACK THROUGH THAT FIRE-PLACE THIS INSTANT!DI-DI-DID YOU GIVE AN-ANY THOUGHT FOR—FOR YOUR FATHER AND ME! THE CAR GONE—NO SIGN OF YOU—MUGGLES EVERYWHERE WHISPERING—OU-OUT OF OUR MINDS LOST WITH WORRY!—DO NOT DARE MOVE HARRY POTTER! AFT-AFT-AFTER SUCH A WELL-BEHAVED SUMMER, NEVER HAVE I—!"

Both Hogwarts staff retreated, slowly, as more shouting shook the dungeons. Back at the feast, Michael started heaping large helpings on his own plate, practically ravenous yet eating the load measuredly. Along with 3 cups of strong coffee to keep himself awake, focused and dedicated on meeting his orders. Before long the feast came to an end and Michael when Michael walked out from his seat, a small party were waiting outside of the doorway: Hagrid, Dumbledore, Snape, four students with red-hair and a fifth with bushy brown hair and all appearing worried.

"Professor Carswell, about Harry and Ron-"

"Miss. Granger, please," the eldest student stepped forward, appearing tall and with as much dignity as he could muster. "Professor, I am Percy Weasley, Prefect of Gryffindor House. About my brother and-"

"Is Ron alright!" The youngest present, a tiny girl shouted, running forward to cling to Michael's robes. "Ginny!"

"Quiet!" A sharp order from the Martial Magic and Defense Professor stopped the Prefect, and each of the other students. Slowly, Michael gently pried the girl away then knelt to face her at an even elevation, with one hand on her shoulder. Carefully, he studied her before looking over of the others. "I take it Mr. Ronald is a friend to you all, or a relative?"

"He's our brother, and why have you banged him up in the Dungeons? We want to see him, and he and Harry should be with other Gryffindors, and not slimy Slytherins!" One of a set of twins snarled forth.

"Oh, that is not true, Mr. Fred Weasley." Dumbledore stepped forward, moving between the students and his potions master. "They may be into Professor Snape's office, but as you see he is not inside their with them."

"Professor Carswell, it appears I shall only need to write a single letter prior to turning in this evening. As for our company, they are the Weasleys and Miss. Hermione Granger. All were worried for their brother and friend. Whom I hear Professor McGonagall has left in your care for tonight."

Before he would answer many, pleading looks, Michael turned over towards somebody else. "Professor Snape. Mrs. Weasley arrived her through your office fireplace. Are her shouts still echoing from there down below us? I hoped she might have returned through the Floo by now, and let the boys eat somethinig." Immediately, every one of the boys fell completely pale, while their sister was shuddering and Hermione made a confused face.

Severus Snape himself actually had a twitch at each corner of his lips. "Not quite. I was…particularly surprised while making a return to my classroom. Should anybody stroll down there I fear their hearing shall be lost." The air around Severus was coloured with satisfaction, and fascination. "Professor McGonagall explained your proposal for how each shall be delt with. Shall they remain in—"

"No," Michael read his question and shook his head. "I'm taking them to the hospital wing, as their punishment is only half complete by now. Mr. Harry and Mr. Ron shall not return to their dormitories or classes until that is complete, even should it take them all night. Going to Gryffindor Tower would imply they were let-off scot-free, even more if additional students see them. Although perhaps the Weasley's should like to greet their mother and share the news of Miss. Weasley's place in the same House."

Before any could answer, Snape agreed. Ordering everyone to follow him, Hermione decided to join them to see her friends, something Michael silently approved of, while he stayed behind with Professor Dumbledore. "I must say, you are certainly no ordinary wizard, Michael." The Headmaster nodded towards him. "What do you have in-store for our young run-aways?"

Michael outlined his plans and Dumbledore approved. "I shall have their possessions moved up to the hospital wing. Minerva has informed Poppy as well, and perhaps you should speak with her over so many Stay-awake potions," the Headmaster advised him.

Michael bade Dumbledore good night they moved off towards the dungeons. A few students in green-clad robes were trying to hide around corners but failed and were sent straight for the dormitory. Snape was outside his office, grinning at some especially harsh screams from within. "PERCY, PERHAPS IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SHUT-UP IN YOUR ROOM ALL SUMMER, RON MIGHT HAVE FOLLOWED AND LEARNING MORE FROM YOU AND NOT GEORGE AND FRED!"

"AND YOU TWO! WHERE ELSE WOULD HE GET THIS IDEA FROM! I SWEAR, ONE NOTE, ONE WORD, ONE ANYTHING FROM HOGWARTS ABOUT TROUBLE THIS YEAR AND I WILL DESTROY BOTH OF YOUR BROOMSTICKS MYSELF!"NEVER HAVE I SEEN YOUR FATHER SO ASHAMED, HE'LL BE BURRIED IN INQUIRES FOR WHO KNOWS HOW LONG!"

More and more went on, until it grew quiet enough that Michael risked walking inside. A plump, small woman with flaming red hair had one figure held towards her twin sons. Resembling a feral, exhausted, starving sabre-toothed tiger, Michael did not approach until she turned around. After some regular introductions, explanations, and pleasantries, Mrs. Weasley attempted to apologize but Michael refused it.

"Mrs. Weasley, individuals are accountable for themselves, not somebody else. I'm afraid I have to steal Mr. Ronald away and Mr. Harry to serve their complete punishment tonight before classes resume tomorrow." She nodded, then proceeded around and hugging every child one at a time, especially her daughter. "Your father will so proud, every one of you together in Gryffindor, and be careful, Ginny." Going through the rest, including the twins, her last move involved standing before Ron and Harry together.

Each boy was practically lifeless enough to resemble inferi; spent and picture-perfect examples of terror and guilt. Until the mother threw her arms around each in a powerful, warm hug. "I was so worried and scared of what may happen to you both. Never terrify me as this has again. Either of you." Instead of shouting more, Mrs. Weasley was whispering, softly. Somehow causing her son and Harry to stay silent….then start crying into her shoulders.

"I-I-I'mswory-sorry mu-mum-mum!" Ron was only one who could speak, grasping his whole arm around the woman. While Michael gathered the other students together and sent them off the Gryffindor tower, then waited until both Harry and Ron walked out. "Professor Carswell."

"Come up to Hospital Wing." Both followed him up. Madame Pomfrey was waiting with quills and parchment ready. Although once they did arrive, she did a quick examination of Michael and demand he leave to sleep at once. "You are practically ready to drop now," her diagnosis was joined with a sleeping-draft. "To you own rooms and drink this in order to be ready for tomorrow. McGonagall informed me of what is to happen, and I shall see each scroll to her office tonight. Off you go now."

Michael fought back, but only had token resistance and little else to give. After bidding everyone good night, the man had to force his feet to move all the way up to the new Magical and Dangers offices and retire. A full-belly, both magical and mental boosters wearing off and moving on auto-pilot, the man removed his robes and practically fell into bed.

End.

[i]-another nod to WhatHappensNext's "The Defense Professor."

[1]-admittedly, this is not confirmed by Rowling or anyone from Harry Potter. It's my own addition, but actually a very, very practical measure if you think about it.

And now the Year Begins. I hope this had a lot of surprises, and look forward to different ideas everybody has about Professor Carswell. I hope the tweaks from the original Chamber of Secrets kept this story fresh, and if some people appeared out-of-character, such as Mrs. Weasley distraught, I hope they weren't too far out of left-field.

And get ready for the next chapter, where Michael's lessons begin.