Harry Potter Defense Professor Chapter 3: Measures, Merits and Mayhem.
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.
It was Tuesday morning, and the 1st of September, 1991. The beginning of classes for a fresh year at Hogwarts, the very first day no Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson would ever be taught, and the beginning of Martial Magic and Dangers lessons. Walking through the hallways, Michael appeared to be marching up to a sentencing; back straight, a powerful stride and his face hard as iron. Dressed in brown, flowing robes that swirled about with every step, the man could feel his muscles fresh, ready, and fighting an itch to do something, anything, but his job.
A few students had to scurry out his way, touched with fear, at least until the professor found a certain Argus Filch looming over a pair of third years. "You go runnin' through me well-swept halls I'll break this broom over yer-"
"Filch!" Sharp like a steel-chain, that one call actually made everyone in the hall jump. The caretaker scurried back with fear, pressing himself to a wall. Both adults shook their heads, surprise by their reactions; especially Michael at how forceful he'd snapped. 'Where did that come from? Am I honestly this stressed, and wound-up?' Looking around, the new Professor found everybody staring right at him and the caretaker. Breathing through his nose, slowly, Michael calmed himself and turned over to Filch.
"This castle is a maze, and students in a rush are not worth violent efforts. If you're angered by them, speak if you will, but do not threaten any with violence. Is that clear?"
The other man wrung his lips in several different shapes, but didn't speak up against the Professor. Sulking off with a cat following him, Michael watched for a time before resuming his walk to the Great Hall for breakfast. Though with some easy smiles from different students as he strolled by.
At the breakfast table, Michael actually had to force himself to eat something, mechanically taking pieces of two eggs-benedict into his mouth. His favourite breakfast, it barely mattered as the man's mind kept buzzing through millions of ways one class or another could go wrong.
"Michael," Flitwick called up from beside him. "Dare I say, you appear in-need a Cheering-Charm. I recall my own first day of instruction and one would have certainly made every difference."
"I'd rather not depend on magic-alone, Filius," Michael whispered back. "Especially for a fresh class and I didn't even have a chance to rehearse anything."
"Which lot do you have first, my friend? And worry not, some professors have even left students with broken-toes and fingers, or half-transfigured into a horse." These stories led the new Martial Magic and Defense Professor to steal a glance at Minerva McGonagall.
"Oh, no not her," Flitwhick pulled on his sleeve. "Dumbledore himself taught Transfiguration here, and he shared a story of his first class with me directly on my first day."
The Canadian let out a chuckle he desperately needed to have; easing the weight on his shoulders like good medicine. "I have 4th years right at the first bell, with Gryffindors and Slytherins. I don't have many high-hopes for the class after going through 4 different instructors in as many years." Flitwick and Sprout each reassured him a little, including warnings of ancient competitions between both houses and the Weasley twins.
"If you should honestly remember only one thing," the diminutive Charms-master whispered, "surprise them. Show off what magic you can do and leave our students to react as they want. Why, McGonagall herself is an Animagus and prefers to wait as a cat inside her own classroom."
Michael curled his fingers under his chin at Flitwick's proposal. With a fresh idea coming to his head. 'I'd thought about setting-up some base-line tests on magic alone, but maybe a little extra for each class might do better.'
With a clear picture and more confidence, Michael finished breakfast and met with McGonagall within minutes. "Deputy-mistress? Have Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley received their time-tables in the hospital wing?" The transfiguration teacher formed one O with her mouth.
"I'll, take that as no," Michael nodded. "My office is close by the hospital wing, and I can promise that Mrs. Weasley certainly set both boys straight after she arrived." Reaching out one hand, both timetables were given over and the man left the hall. Before long he was at the doors of the hospital-wing. Harry and Ron were both seated together at one table with a hearty breakfast between them.
"Professor Carswell. Come here at once!" Madame Pomfrey seized him and quickly examined the man. Satisfied with all the signs of a healthy night's sleep, the matron handed two rolls of parchment to him and left the three in peace. At a glance, one boy only seemed half-recovered from the last time he'd seen them, and the other barely 2/3rd's.
"Professor," Harry had stood up and faced the man with a tentative stance. "Thank you, for you help last night."
"Yeah, you saved us from Snape, and Mum…"
"Remember it, and do not repeat it," Michael advised them, sternly. "I have both your timetables here, and the pair of you ought to bustle yourselves to the Greenhouses, quickly." The man actively worked to look Harry in the eyes, and not the infamous scar on his forehead. As quick as he arrived the man was gone again, focusing himself focus on his class and not many itching questions about a certain Dark-Lord he only knew of in-passing.
Voldemort's terror had never actually spread further than Britain, although other magical-governments did watch his sudden rise with caution. Michael hadn't participated in the war, save for sending a few letters inviting relatives in Britain to make an extended visit in Canada when the true violence escalated. Stories of the "Boy-Who-Lived," had spread out through the world, especially across nations once part of the No-mag British Empire, with matching ties between the magical-communities of the Commonwealth Nations.
Michael was no curse-master, and he hardly saw reasons to ask Harry for details about the night he'd been orphaned. 'How could anybody recall details from a tragedy they had witnessed while in diapers? Even Legilimency or a Pensieve rely on the doner's own recall. Focus on your first class: the 4th years.'
When the first bell range, Michael was back inside his office and two sets of students made their way towards the former Defense Against the Dark-Arts classroom. 4th-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were trading glares and hexes in the hallways while walking for the door.
Yet once they opened it, another wall met them and every student either smacked into the solid bricks or had to stumble and move right in the only direction open to them. Around the corner, pure darkness met them. A few ventured inside to look around, until a stun-spell or sleeping charm hit them. Others drew their wands and tried a few spells to gain light, yet nothing at all worked. Another set of students stepped forth on their own, especially the Gryffindors, while some Slytherins stayed side-by-side with each other and had their wands out. Those on their own were hexed and from a class of 30, only 6 made it through to the spell-practice space together, including the Weasley twins and one Adrian Pucey.
"Professor Carswell? What's going on?" George asked, still standing back-to-back with his brother. "Line-up here, and no spells, words or whispers. Wait for all the come in." Sharp, strong, and clearly not to be disobeyed, Michael's tone brought every student still standing to a marked line in the middle of the practice-space behind the professor and facing the dark-cloud. After some moments, the Professor spun his own wand and dispelled the darkness, revealing 24 students from both houses sprawling or snoring on the floors. Soon all of them were awakened and standing side-by-side on the line.
"A test. I had expected better from each of you and these results are dismal. Can anybody name what you all were trapped in?" None of the students could answer. Michael let the silence stretch for 2 long minutes before drawing one vial of black-powder from his robes. "Peruvian Instant-darkness powder. Strong enough to smother a lumos spell from anybody lesser than perhaps Albus Dumbledore himself. Dangers can come from the unexpected, the unexpected met with stupidity."
"You all walked directly into the darkness without waiting, without thought, or any idea of what might be inside or beyond it. I was hoping to award points for anybody who waited outside and thought, looked, then walked. This was a rare time you each had that luxury, and wasted it and house-points entirely."
Each of the students were crestfallen-at this news, but their professor was not finished. "Others walked directly into that cloud, without even their wands out and met death. A few did have their witts but strode into it alone. Those were struck from behind, alone, unaware, and incapable of fighting back."
Now the students were growing mad, their ego's bruised. "You set this up, and we didn't know. How could any of us have gotten through that?" "Me and George did."
"Quiet!" Michael snapped out. lightly. "Six different students met the same problem. They stayed together, they had wands out and moved with care. Each one came through on their own legs, awake and aware. Nobody can truly be ready for what happens around them, especially when dangers come. What they can do is decide how to act and react to those dangers."
"2 Gryffindors and 4 Slytherins met the bare-minimum of what I expected from you all, apart from the 24 who fell short, and none performed exceptionally. That, is what I and my subject are here to address. Martial Magic and Dangers. Can anybody define what the word 'martial' means?'
One Gryffindor raised his arm, "May I have your name?
"Kenneth Towler, professor."
"Speak your answer."
"Martial, it's about fighting sir. Or some sort of violence and physical action. Like a martial-art."
"Sufficient, 2 points to Gryffindor," Michael allowed him "For a complete answer, 'Martial' relates to anything connected to fighting or a war; martial bravery, court-martial, and martial magic. Unlike the alternative class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, you are here to learn how to meet dangers, develop skills to answer them, and about different threats that you each can encounters outside the walls of this castle."
"After going through dozens of different instructors, with different styles, different credentials and different abilities to teach you anything about using magic to fight and of anything or anyone that would threaten you, we have a large amount to make-up for the terrible state of Hogwarts students each of you have displayed here."
More than a few glares were made towards Professor Carswell's declaration. Exactly what the professor had been hooping for. "You disagree, and you doubt me after a blatant-display all of you have given? Fine. The six students who walked out of the previous test, remain on the line. Everyone else, to the benches by the walls!"
The classmates moved at his orders almost before realizing what they were doing. Meanwhile the six standouts remained, watching as their teacher strode slowly, deliberately to one edge of the room; stopping on the same line they were on.
"One by one, you all may duel with me, yet I can only use three spells. Use any curses, hexes, jinxes, or other spells you know." Michael pulled out his own wand and everyone in his class were amazed or eager.
"You serious professor? All of us here?" Michael allowed Fred Weasleys comment to slide, this time. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. And should any of you manage to land one spell on me, you shall win 30 points for your House." All six were motivated, especially the Slytherins were four changes to accomplish it.
A Slytherin went first, drew his wand and waiting. Then waited, and waited even more. Michael did not raise his wand or speak out at all. "Professor, when can I start?"
"Did I say I would announce that, student?" the man was glaring again. "Announcing when you will move can be blatant stupidity. Think for yourself, and act." Shaking his head, the student cracked his wand with a leg-lock hex. He lasted 2 seconds before his own snapped together under the same spell and the boy lost his balance.
"Failed," Michael announced, after swaying away form the spell and responding with the same one. "Your name?"
"A-Adrian Pucey, sir."
"Mr. Pucey, you've chosen one of the spells I can use for this exercise. Where did I announce which spells that I am restricted to?" Everyone blinked and no answers came. "In honesty, I only selected two spells, and chose to see what the first student would decide. Now you've given me quite a handy one."
"Somebody come over and pick him up. And nobody is to use the counter-curse until after the bell rings."
Reeling from this fresh surprise, two Slytherins stood up and helped Pucey hobble and hopscotch his way to the side, giving their professor very careful looks.
George Weasley was up next, immediately firing a jelly-legs hex. "Protego!" a shield erupted between them and the spell sailed off the walls and dissipated, thanks to Flitwick's good charm-work. George frowned and tried another spell, then another and another, but none could break through the professor's shield-charm. The older wizard wasn't evening fighting back either.
"Professor aren't you going to curse him? Come on, give George a challenge!"
"You name?" "Lee Jordan, sir."
"Mr. Jordan, the conditions of this test are one of these students have to land a spell on me, and I may only use three spells to thwart them. Where do I have to actively cast anything over Mr. Weasley, instead of only stopping him from winning?" Another curve-ball sunk into the class, with both Weasley twins shouting.
"That's rubbish, fight fair!"
"Quiet! 15 points from Slytherin and Gryffindor, one for everyone student who spoke out of line!" the group lowered their volume until growls and grumbles were all that were left.
"Where did I say it would be fair, Mr. Weasley? What else can you do to land a hit on me? We can spend of the rest of this class watching you, the fool on centre stage if you wish." That certainly incised the student, as he tried every spell he knew before looking behind the professor and actual earning a point of respect. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Behind Michael, a bench rose up from the floor and slowly came closer and closer to him. The man only looked up at it and waited, until George asked him to surrender.
"Go ahead, Mr. Weasley. Drop it." Several heads shook at this challenge. George tried to protest but Michael refused to budge. "Trust me." The student tentatively dropped the bench, a single flat board of wood only a few feet above the Martial Professor. The same Professor who caught the bench with one hand, planted it on the floor and chambered his fist at hip-level. A sharp punch hit the centre and split the wooden-board in-half, effortlessly.
A fresh surprise washed over the students as Michael grasped the opportunity. "Even Muggles with sufficient training can do that. I did not apply any kind of magic to break this board. Mr. Weasley, you have failed to hit me. Perhaps your brother might have better luck?" Awed, George trudged off without a come-back, leaving Fred to step-up to the plate.
"Before you start, Mr. Fred Weasley. Mr. George Weasley has earned 5-points for Gryffindor, for creative thinking to use the less-obvious." Encouraged by this news, some the Gryffindors were cheering, while Fred whipped out his wand and ran sideways, firing hexes. Professor Carswell grinned, weaving around every spell and snapping one tickling-charm at the student. Its aim was perfect and met Fred straight in the leg, sending the boy tumbling over and clawing at his terribly, tickling limb.
"All the Gryffindor students are done. Now it's down to the Slytherins. To show the best that a Hogwarts 4th-year can do." They were all determined, but none made any headway at all; their spells batted or evaded until the last one was hit by a leg-lock before he could even cast a spell at all.
"Three spells, 6 students, and each of you were beaten by me in several different ways," Michael stood in front of his all his benched students. "Merely because you want to win, over a foe who can only use less spells, all your knowledge and abilities will never make a win guaranteed. Can any of you deny now you all have mountains to learn? Not only about magic, but about combat, and how you can use your magic, or every tool together to defend yourself or disarm and end a threat?"
Their teacher had established just how good he was, even those with a grudge gave respect to someone who had bested them in a fair fight; or given honest questions they lacked a clear answer for. "Everyone, move into the classroom through here, help those among you who are unable to move, and nobody undue any spells no matter how much Mr. Weasley continues laughing."
It took 10 minutes for the entire group to reach their seats, with Fred's muffled laughs slipping out every few minutes; making the boy's face red as his hair.
"Each of you, I am handing out copies of your own end-of-year exams given this past June. None of these are for marks but the more every one of you continue to give correct answers by the end of this class, a certain number will earn house-points and perhaps make-up for those lost earlier." Once everyone student had one copy, they were pulling out quills and Michael stood at the ready.
"You have until the end of this class to give as many answers as you can. This is to gauge what you are capable of and will determine which spells we may practice together in the practice space next class. Begin!" Every student went straight to work while Michael settled into his desk and started building his own lists for a pet-project.
By the time the bell rang most of the students were clearly tired, and true to his word Michael undid every hex and charm he cast on his own students. "For homework, I want each of you to deliver one scroll of parchment on every offensive and defensive spell you can think of or find within your books and the library; list the incantation and it's effects, then deliver those lists to my desk by next class.
Everybody filled out of room, with excited whispers buzzing around them. Michael leaned back in his chair and once his door closed, the man threw both arms high, curled them into fists, and let out a whoop of success.
Immediately, he rearranged the class for the 6th years and removed the conjured wall that had blocked a straight-forward entrance for the 4th years. Instead of a nasty surprise right at the start, Michael met each by the door and let them walk in and wonder. Every NEWT student settled into the desks and set-up their books, quills, parchment and more. This earned a glare of disappointment from Michael: 4 Gryffindors, 4 Ravenclaws, 3 Hufflepuffs and 5 Slytherins were assembling there and waiting, watching the front and looking between the clock and their Professor.
The bell rang and still nothing happened. Michael was still standing by the door, arms folded and frowning but nobody spoke up at all.
"Uh…Professor Carswell. Should we not begin the class now?" Percy Weasley asked him.
"Indeed. Yet how can that be done when every one of you have made a grave mistake?" Some heads jerked, others tilted, and one even had the gall to glare back to him.
"We're in the classroom are we not. You are the one unready to start the lecture, aren't you?" Percy's reply earned him the full attention from the Martial Magic Professor, enough to make him squirm in his seat.
"I expected better from a Prefect, and your actions do not reflect your academic capacities, Mr. Weasley. A problem at the forefront of this class." Without waiting for more complaints, the Professor folded his arms behind him. "Out from your seats and assemble before me!" At his bark, every student rushed to move and soon were gathered in the urban-modelled area of the classroom. "This area is now divided into three separate spaces. The classroom-space, the practice-space, and the practical-space. Where did I instruct any of you to gather in the classroom-space when you arrived here?"
Some started to speak, but caught themselves and fell into muttering recalls. "You have each been learning in classrooms, somewhere which can only teach you half of anything without dedicated, physical, practical measures. You all walked in, strolled away from me and sat in the desks. You took your own safety, your own learning and more into your own hands, and wondered about expecting answers and directions to be given out or waiting for you."
"Ignorance, entitlement, or neglect. Which of these three do you choose are the reasons for such mistakes?"
One hand raised up, Percy Weasley again. Michael nodded to him: "You did not instruct us not to, Professor. This entire class is new so how may we be blamed for what we know nothing about?"
"Ignorance, then. Or Neglect from past Defense Against the Dark Arts Teachers. Those are your answers, Mr. Weasley?" Percy started spluttering, but his professor was not finished. "You admit this class is new and you know nothing about it; hence you left the instructor behind; ignorantly. Or you were not prepared to think of how to apply your magic and judgement; neglect. I actually appear mistaken, as your expected me to walk up and give you exactly what was to happen, similar to a danger walking up in a timely way and not catch you all without your pants on."
A few people turned red at this comment, and Michael actually smacked his forehead. "Trousers! I was referring to trousers, not what is under them.[1] Alright, that was my mistake." Taking his head down, the Professor was a slight tint of scarlet. "I was born and raised in Canada, and educated at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school founded by two descends of a Hogwarts Founder, whom travelled over the Atlantic to the United States."
This sparked a fresh sense of surprise among the students, all of whom listened carefully. "Ilvermorny receives any magical students throughout the whole of North America, the continent. However, there, in English, 'trousers' are referred to as jeans, or pants, not undergarments. I apologize for that vulgar-mistake."
"More on the matter at hand, is how each of you expected me to walk among your desks and start posing questions or lecturing. An old approach, in a whole new kind of learning." Michael was grinning now, the grin of a warrior. "That is not how I plan to teach. Following classroom-models left me with this," Rolling up his right sleeve, the man turned his right arm to show an ugly jagged scar spanning from bicep to the tricep; one so bad a few students winced at it's size and shape.
"All of you qualified past your OWL's, yet half that exam was both written and practical. Does anybody disagree these classes should do the same?" None spoke up and many were nodded at how this made sense. Next, Michael posed his question about the definition of "martial" to the students. None could answer but after he defined it, the Professor did something different from his 4th-year class.
"On these grounds, you are here to learn to about how magic can be used to fight, and which dangers may pose a risk to you in combat, in war, and otherwise. These not limited only to fellow wizards or witches, but creatures, riots, and in some cases even a threat you never imagined that may end, your, life. As this!"
Immediately a blinding flash sent every student reeling. When any of them could see, fog had descended over the practical-space alongside sound-dampening spells to prevent each student from teaming-up with one another.
It was a survival-test, for Michael to gauge how well each individual student could apply the skills they'd earned either "Outstanding," "Exceeds Expectations," or "Acceptable" on, as Professor Carswell had not discounted any from his class. Some students bumped into each other and actually reeled-back in terror or lashed out with their wands or their fists. Others stumbled about and found different doors, cupboards, and more which had various surprises stored with them: 1 boggart, a young Venemous Tentacula borrowed from the Greenhouses, a Fanged Geranium, 4 wardrobes with non-magical traps, a set of Cornish pixies, one with Doxies, a few with fireworks and some with only loud bangs and noises meant to spook the students.
Noises, spells and more flew everywhere. There was quite a massive panic when a dragon materialized and roared a jet of flames to the ceiling, until is vanished and somebody gave a scream loud enough to break through the silencing-charms. Michael had chosen to mist carefully to leave some fears private if a student wanted to keep them that way.
20 minutes passed inside, within which somebody got a clue and used the Riddikulus charm, fireworks spun-up from everywhere, 3 students had been fighting each other until something else distracted them, and Michael was left stunned at how every student present could swear worse than a sailor.
By the time he chose to lift the mist, damage to the practical-grounds were extensive, every student had at least one scratch, cut or contusion, many were still jerking around to watch for another shock, and Percy Weasley was drenched after a self-inflicted water-spout put out a fire on his robes.
"Well. None of you are dead, knocked out, or needed me to save you. That's sufficient enough to merit 5 house-points per student. Yet overall, that was barely an acceptable performance, and I have fourth-years who made it across this space, unscathed."
That hurt their pride, especially the Gryffindors, and Michael chose not to give the ignorant students any details of their housemates. Next the Professor called all of them to move into the practice-space and gather in two rows. "Within dangerous situations, somebody will not ever give you time to mend yourselves from the kindness of their hearts. All of you will have to work through your injuries, and I will only heal those from the Venemous Tentacula or Danged Geranium after this class ends."
"There was a dragon inside there, Professor! Professor Snape will hear about this, I promise that!" One Slytherin snapped at him.
"By all means. I assumed you all could recognize a boggart, having passed your OWLs. How do you think it vanished so suddenly? Although I will not ask whom coaxed it to morph into a creature of that sort."
Chastised, the Slytherin stayed silent as Michael started the next part of his lesson, conjuring a massive spinning-wheel with each student's name on it. "Now, it's on to a brief duelling practice. This wheel will spin and decide who will face each other in a quick-draw duel. Only one charm, hex, or curse may be cast, none with lethality or to leave injuries which I cannot heal when you leave."
"Break these rules and 20 house-points will be lost, and the guilty person will become Mr. Filch's assistant for one full week. And none of you know what I can or cannot do with healing magic. Keep that in-mind with each choice and gather against that wall."
Warned and left thinking, the 6th years walked over to the sidewall and Michael spun the charm-proof wheel. Percy Weasley went up first, paired with a very-bruised fellow Gryffindor, Oliver Wood. Both stood ready, and given the formal setting, Michael would announce their start. Percy cast first with a stunning hex, but his partner dodged it and struck back with "Petrificus Totalas!" The Weasley fell back, unmoving and the loser.
Declared the winner, Oliver undid the spell himself and Percy went sulking off to the side. Next were a Ravenclaw and one Slytherin. The results went back and forth, some students particularly quick on the draw, others waited for the other to move first, and some sent only counters. A few way-ward spells did approach the seated students, but Michael was fast with his shielding-charms or merely deflecting the hexes; something that earned praise and admiration from every student.
In the last ten minutes of the class, Michael called them to end and assemble in the lecture-hall. "Mixed results from all you, some adequate and others sub-par. There is a lot to learn, and more than just knowing spells or jotting down notes and reading textbooks. For homework I want essays focused on different dangerous situations any of you may find yourselves in outside of Hogwarts. Two rolls of parchment on my desk by Friday."
All the student groaned at this, but they'd learned by then not to whin or protest. "I will open the floor to any questions you have for the remainder of the class. Yes, Mr. Wood."
"Professor, if you wouldn't mind my asking. How did you find out Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud?" This snapped everyone attention to their taskmaster.
"I met Lockhart in Diagon Alley one afternoon and we decided to meet-up again the following day. He wanted to learn more about an encounter I had with a particularly rare, dark creature near the Persian Sea: a Nesnas. After we spoke, he tried to cast a memory-charm on me while my back was turned. I evaded the spell on instinct, then used a summoning-charm on a cast-iron pan behind him and struck the bastard dead on his head."
"After binding him and some persuasion, he confessed and I summoned Canadian wizards stationed at the Ministry. Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of International Magic and Co-operation, arrived and the trial ensued. All of you know the rest. Though I am sorry it was too late to change the book-list in-time for the year to start."
A few more questions came around, all met with good answers before the bell rang. Moving off for lunch. Michael himself actually took a moment to breath and a burst of satisfaction grow through him. Taking a quick, pre-prepared lunch left by a house-elf, the man made his way outside for some fresh air and to walk-off the excitement of his first successful classes. The sun was still high and the late-summer air was warm. Taking in a one breath he settled on a rock to eat and enjoyed the sharp Highland air,[2] the cloudless sunny skies and warmth around them so far north with the sun's long bright days.
Before long he gathered what was left and returned to the castle, walking up the stairs and meeting several admiring glanced from different students on the way. Once inside he faced a handful of 5th Year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, facing their OWL's.
In this case, Michel made an exception, starting his class in the classroom-section and once the bell rang, three students were still out of their seats.
"You three. Names. Immediately." Hit with shock, each of the students gave theirs one-by one. "Elora Dunn." "Lucian Bole." "Peregrine Derrick."
"This is your only warning, for you and the class. There are two mountains of materials to prepare you all for within this single year: Ordinary, Wizarding, Levels. After going through 5 different instructors, including myself, inconsistent teaching-styles and more over the past years, how many of you would honestly pass you OWL's here, today, now?"
The whole class started muttering, most about how they had one full year and how could this instructor know anything. Michael indulged it, burying his personal ire towards their passivity. "You are all about to find out, now, through a trial-test." Pulling out one stack of papers, a swish of his wand sent each one travelling to each student, as the Professor continued to speak.
"30 minutes. That is how long each of you have to complete this test. Everything present is what you should all know from across the previous four years. Anyone who scores less than an "Exceeds Expectations" will be the curse-targets for this class across the upcoming two weeks. Anyone who does not leave every question filled shall be spell-targets for the later part of this class, today. 35 questions, starting, now!"
This command and the penalties hit the students like a slammed-door. A scramble for quills followed and all the students set themselves to work. Michael chose to hang back, experience recalling the stress and mistakes a cruising, critical teacher could invoke on their classroom. 30 minutes went by like a blink and on the moment every test travelled back to his desk one-by-one, some leaving words only have-written.
With a casual look, Michael found 4 students had failed to reach the final question, one he intentionally had drawn from 1st-year notes, making them the easiest in the test to answer. As promised two of those who failed to give anything become test-dummies for the rest of the class to have a practical-section of this mock-OWL scenario. "One by one, you all will demonstrate one spell which I call out on these students. Not to worry, I can apply the counter-curses to everything, then our pair of targets all will switch into the group and the other pair will trade off in your places."
Nobody was looking forward to this news, and Michael could feel glares on his back for the rest of the class. It didn't matter to him, though; the Professor had worries about far more dangerous threats than half-competent teenagers, in more ways than one.
Out from the whole class only a third were able to apply all the spells, most using the wrong wand-movements, others missing their targets, and some shouting the wrong words with results Michael had to quickly deflect and dispel.
By the end of the class, all the 5th-years were somewhat raw from getting dropped in the deep-end of this class. "Homework. All of you, read through one chapter apiece from Gilderoy Lockhart's books and build lists of practical-facts or details which can be drawn from them. Also, I want one roll of parchment on all dark-creatures you know, where each of them can be found, and different options to use when you encounter them."
The bell rang and all students had to scramble back for their books to avoid being late for the next class.
Michael himself was feeling giddy; almost jumping with glee for one group he was particularly excited to teach: the 2nd years. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws filed into the classroom and like before were amazed at every different stage. Unlike the other two, there were no trial-by-action surprises waiting and instead Michael was standing inside the practice-space. "Everyone, the last person shut the door and assemble before me!"
The last person took a look outside then complied, yet before anything was done one student raised her hand. "Miss. Granger." "Ah, Professor, where do you want us to put our books first? And which ones should we pull out?"
"None of them, and the first person who throws their bag aside will be a test-dummy for everyone else to practice spells on." The 12-year-olds shook at this this new, many shrugging their heavy-laden bags back over themselves. "Books can only give you options. Is this class titled Magical Options, or Martial Magic and Defense?"
The answer was obvious, and once again Michael asked them what the word Martial entailed. Hermione Granger had the right answer and earned herself 5-points to Gryffindor for a proper definition.
"Well done. Now, all of you are a particularly important class to me, as there is so much you can be taught about with fewer bad habits to un-do first-hand. I am aware that barely any of you are likely to know more than a small measure of combative-spells but there is far, far more to martial-magic than using hexes and jinxes. Such as not getting hit in the first place."
"Everyone!" Swiftly, Michael slid an about-face and held his side-wall in his sights. "Form two lines to my left, parallel with each other. And do not drop your bags!" Everyone stumbled or collided on their way beside him, but still accomplished his request before long. Next, Michael strode forwards and stood facing his students barely 3 meters away.
"If a spell is flying out you, would anyone remain still and allow it to hit them? Or try and evade the spell, even if they do not have a wand?" The question was rhetorical and Michael did not wait for a reply. Instead he drew out his own wand and walked over to the closest desk; placing it on the surface and returned to his place.
"Now, two at each time, those at the front of each line will step forwards and cast any spell they know at me. Don't not argue, these are my instructions and you all will follow them. Each person may only cast one spell, then move to the rear of the line and the next pair will go."
"Should anyone of you hit me with a spell, you will not have any homework for this week. Should none of you hit me, I will want two rolls of parchment on notable magical duellists by Monday!" Everyone grasped what was at stake and hardened themselves for the task. A pair of students, Mandy Brocklehurst and Dean Thomas were the first pair up to try. Both only made basic red sparks and Michael didn't even have to move at all. Most people laughed as both spells missed and Ronald Weasley stepped forward with Terry Boot. And somebody's trained eyes caught something.
"Stop! Now!" Nobody moved as Michael's voice cracked like a whip. "Mr. Weasley, show me your wand." The student, a little more alive than he had been that morning, appeared ready to melt into a puddle of shame. Instead Michael approached him and held out one hand. Holding the wand up, every could see the bend and Sellotape around it. Michael examined it carefully then back down his student.
"A token from the Whomping Willow last evening? Mr. Weasley, a wand in this state might dangerously injure you or miss-cast a spell. It's a miracle your neck did not wind-up like this after that crash-landing."
Nobody in the class would dare to make a jeer, at that. It still left the professor with something pulling at his gut. The man stayed silent for nearly a minute, looking from the wand to his student and back again. Ronald Weasley's face resembled a rising sun: pink in his ears, a magenta shade around the edge of his head, with several red colours between his chin, cheeks, brow and hair.
"Mr. Weasley. What are your plans for this weekend?"
"Huh? Professor?" Ron was staring up now, with wonder covering his face. Michael had made a decision and explained. "Proper magic is essential to even complete a single year at any Wizarding School. This wand is a massive risk to you and anyone else should someone try and cast any spell with it."
"It would hardly be normal, but I will make an exception here and only on a case-by-case basis going forwards. Be in my office on Saturday, we will travel to Diagonal Alley and fetch a replacement wand."
Now the class got interesting. Everyone inside grew excited, with Ron especially looking as if Christmas had come early. "Really? Professor…you would…?"
"This is not a favour, Mr. Weasley," Michael's stern tone made the classroom quiet again. "I will expect extra work from you, and perhaps some chores around the school. But I am responsible for ensuring anyone in this classroom can defend themselves and proper equipment is essential for that. My office, Saturday at 6 am, one minute late and I will assume you've declined my offer completely."
With that made clear, Michael looked around to the person behind Ron and called Seamus Finnigan forwards. The lesson resumed, and across the span of 10 minutes, none of the students managed to land a single spark, jinx, hex or anything on Michael. Even Hermione Granger's sharp Patrificus Totalis missed him.
"It seems you all have a least one spell to use, each, for magical defense. It's sub-par and inadequate, but again that is why you are here. Now, I want everybody to position their book-bags on the same desk as my wand, then assemble on the edge of the practice-area." Retrieving his own wand, every student deposited their bags in their place, some completely dropping their heavy-laden loads; filled with Gilderoy Lockhart's entire collection. A few even rolled shoulders and tried to stretch sore muscles.
Once everyone was grouped together, Michael unveiled a surprise. "It is your turn now to try and dodge spells! You may all run anywhere inside the practice-area or the practical-area and watch out for spells coming from me. No hiding, no whining, and all across the next 10 minutes."
Many faces went pale at this news. Clamors of complaints were building until Michael started counting down. "Four…three…two…one and run!" inside of 2 seconds, five different colour-change spells flew into the crowd. Each one found a target and the 2nd years got the message to start running. Some collided with each other moving around the room, but the teacher gave them a few seconds the start then continued shooting of colour-charms. A select few had enough sense to dart behind different obstacles but if they stayed there two long a quick spell made their protection vanish and they would have to move again. Going in a circuit around the room all the class got in quite some good exercise but still found a small challenge to keep the professor in their sights and watch where they were going. Still, by the second lap everyone got a sense for their surroundings and the number of problems moving grew smaller.
Michael was decently satisfied by each group, especially Harry Potter's scrawny frame and speed, demanding some actual effort to hit him. A few quickly started to slow-down, a bit out of breath but some near-misses lent a burst of speed. May of the young wizards and witches were not in the best condition but they had youthful energy to burn and the running and thrill lent some good help.
All of them gradually learned how to actually dodge these basic spells but they still had lots of room to improve, and Michael was very much looking forward to that. After the time was up, he stopped and called out how everyone would have five minutes to breathe.
"Afterward, I want all of you to gather in the practice-area again for learning a new spell." This news raised everyone's moods a bit. After their time passed everyone assembled while Michael described the spell. "The tongue-tying curse, performing exactly what it says on the label. How many different ways would this be useful? Ahhhh, you there. Your name?"
"Dean Thomas, Professor. And would it stop someone from speaking for spells to use?" Nodding, Michael awarded five-points to Gryffindor. Yet a Ravenclaw student had a more creative answer. "You could use it on yourself if somebody tried to get answers about something out from you." That earned 10 points to Ravenclaw. Hermione Granger had a more textbook answer, but Michael only nodded, encouraging her to be a touch more creative, or original.
Waving away any more suggestions, the professor demonstrated the wand-movement, then performed the spell. "Mimblewimdle." His example set, Michael called for different students in groups of three forward to have 2 goes each at the spell. Then another three came forward. The rest of the class was spent trying the spell, but the Professor refused to let students do it on one another, yet.
In no time the class was only minutes away from ending. "For homework, I want all of you to practice this spell outside in the grounds, and only on the grounds. One spell cast on a fellow-student and there will be no further new spells for the entire month, and both your Houses will lose 5 House-points. Otherwise, read through Vindictus Viridian's Curses and Counter-Curses for practice, and be ready for more running."
Just like that the day was over, and Michael dropped like a stone in his seat. Grinning at himself, the man felt more ready and confident for the next day. A few small spells were needed to put the learning-space back in order, then he disappeared into his own living-space. No sound came out of it for over an hour, until the door opened to fetch a tool at his work-desk. Walking down from his office, Michael no longer had his robes on. Only loose workout-shorts and slacks. The man was bare-chest, his muscles practically sculpted from marble and covered in layers of scars and sweat. Running a hand through his damp-hair, the man walked with a grace and balance nobody in the wizarding world would imagine, yet anyone who moved with rhythm would catch immediately. Layers of fabric were wrapped over his hands and wrists. A crack in his neck echoed through the room.
Fetching a small package, the wizard returned to his own quarters and didn't leave until dinner time.
Donning his robes again, the professor strode through the halls and staircases, gathering more looks along his route. Including a few from the staff, a good majority of them holding tentative approval. Michael settled down in his seat and help a large portion of wild-boar sausages, salad and mashed potatoes on his plate. Tea was the man's choice to drink, not too thrilled with the standard pumpkin-juice that so many gulped down with glee.
Following this the man shared pleasantries with his co-workers and went straight back the office for some evening reading and of all things, silent meditation. In no time it was 10:00 at night and the man pulled down a boxed from one collection he sincerely treasured. A bottle of Talsker Storm Single Malt Scotch; pouring himself a dram, the start of his evening routine, Michael replaced the bottle, sealed the collection with 4 different enchantments and walked back inside his specious bedroom.
Thus, ended the first day of one Professor Michael Aurelian Carswell.
The rest of the week featured his students returning, with further surprises towards this new doctrine of practical-learning over classroom learning. The same test he'd made for 5th years were given to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, and all together the year mostly scored 'Acceptables' on their tests. They still managed to deliver all the homework he'd requested. Immediately, the man started teaching them more and held rotations for spell-practice targets among the pool of underperforming students.
7th years experienced largely the same doses, only they met an especially nasty surprise when the Professor would duel with them himself and managed to finish every single NEWT student inside of a 1-minute clock. They nonetheless did impress him with a broad range of spells and reliable skills to use them.
1st years were given the simplest corpus. Michael explain what he was there to teach them then gave the classes an open forum for questions. Some were more inquisitive while others acted as if they already knew everything, with all the confidence that they were the next Merlin, the next Dumbledore, or the future Minister for Magic. A particular Luna Lovegood caught Michael's attention with her creative and inquisitive questions, earning a note from the Professor that she was one to watch. Later 1/3 of the class were focused on basic wand-movements and getting use to the feel of it in their hands, then the bored student were hit by a surprise when they had to go through another spell-dodging gauntlet. It went on all the while until the bell rang, and only one student out of all the houses managed to get through without a single hit on her: Ginny Weasley, the only person with a clean uniform by the end of the class.[i]
3rd years were focused primarily on dark-creatures, so Michael decided on one he thankfully found a spare for only on Thursday afternoon. A bogart had gotten into a cabinet inside of the dungeons and Michael pleaded to bring it to his room at let the third-years practice a certain exercise.
Two different writing-desks were standing side-by-side near his desk, rattling intermittingly. Instead of dropping them in cold, the man himself was the first demonstration.
Swallowing, he opened the door and his greater fear tumbled out. Several different students screamed, others had hands over their mouths, and a few could taste bile in their mouths. It was a child, barely 12, female, and only covered with a thin dirty bedsheet. She was malnourished, held scars from shackles on her ankles, with only bones under her skin and a mess of blood and organs spilling out from her middle. It appeared dead, until a single gasp was heard, and her head tried to rise.
"Riddikulus!" The spell came in a hiss, and the nearly-dead child fell into a set of lego's, clattering over the floor and building themselves up into a sculpture of one bright, funny bunny. They immediately fell apart again and gathered themselves up into a man slipping on a banana-peel.
A few in the classroom did start laughing, and soon the group were organized in a line-up. 6-people into the exercise the Boggart grew confused and Michael shot it back inside of its desk, then opened the other one to keep both around.
By no time the weekend arrived, and a certain promise to deliver. Exactly at 6am, Ronald Weasley came running down the corridor to his classroom door. "Exactly on time, Mr. Weasley. I've made arrangements for the Floo-network to take us directly to the Leaky Cauldron. Follow me."
Stepping into the fireplace, both were spinning through the pug-hole until the Leaky-Cauldron materialized under their feet and each strode through. Both made immediately for the backdoor and soon the brick-wall was re-arranging for it.
"Ahh, listen, sir. We could stop by Gringots and—"
"No need, Mr. Weasley," Michael dissuade his proposal. "We lack the time for even a small excursion since who knows how long it may be for a fickle wand to meet an owner it likes. I'll pay the charge for this wand, no questions, then we return straight to Hogwarts, though not by Floo-powder. Move out."
Ron didn't have any time to protest as the Martial Magic Professor made straight for the wand-shop. Olivander was only just opening-up and more than surprised to meet a Hogwarts customer.
"Why, mister Weasley. I do not recall ever meeting you here to fetch a wand, nor do I recall this strapping man with you."
"Michael Carswell, Professor at Hogwarts, the new class Martial Magic and Defense. Mr. Weasley, will you show him why we have come here?" Less than comfortable, Ron pulled out his wand and delicately placed it on the desk.
"My word!" Olivander appeared that death himself had come to fetch him. Ron's mood was even more blatant: "I-I-er, I'm sorry sir. You see I…a car-er—" Glancing to his left, a certain level of scrutiny was building inside the room, coaxing an honest response. With a long, hard swallow, Ron explained every choice he made and how his wand broke in the flying-car crash.
"12-inches, Ash and unicorn tail. This wand initially chose your brother Charles Weasley. And yet he merely gave it to you!? What rubbish, how would somebody torture this wand in that way?"
Both guests were more than a little surprised. Olivander himself went on a long, long explanation about how wands always choose their wizards, and merely giving one to another could never truly mean it would choose them. "How on all this earth did you reach your second year with a wand that was never yours? That is either luck, or a certain degree of talent, passing a year while stunted in this way."
"Stunted? You mean, I couldn't use magic properly because I had someone else's wand?"
"A plain way of saying it, but true enough, true enough." Olivander held a menacing finger up, but Michael did not pick-up one trace of malice from him. It was a craftsman mourning the death of a treasured labour.
"Do not think for one second I am not displeased over how you destroyed this wand, Mr. Weasley. Yet, all that aside, let us find you one that shall truly be your own. Hold out your wand-arm" Pulling out his measuring-tape, the tool took several measurements of Ron's height, width, reach and more.
Oliver himself disappeared into his shelves, looking about until returning with on long box. "Chestnut and Phoenix feature, 15½ inches, bold and powerful. Give it wave." In what seemed like a flash, the wand was out of Ron's hand almost as soon as he took it.
"Maple and dragon-heartstring, 11 inches precise, supple and strong." That one proved to also be a no. A Hawthorn and Phoenix feather was next and again there was no match. Michael leaned back as his student and Olivander continued. The minutes continued passing until creeping beyond the one-hour-mark. Incredibly, the mood in the shop grew more eager and exciting the more wands did not choose Ron; all of it coming from Olivander's glee.
"Ooooooo, my word. I do love a tricky customer. No worries Mr. Weasley, you shall not leave here without a wand of your own." That lifted Ron' spirits a bit. And finally, after 1 hour and 16 minutes, he held a 14-inch, willow and unicorn tail wand. Immediately, brown sparks flew out from it, curling around themselves and form one deep blue orb before changing colour to a firry red and dissipating.
"Excellent. A fine wand you have now, Mr. Weasley. A fine wand indeed." The accessory cost 13 galleons and Michael paid them quickly without a worry. Adding an extra galleon in as an apology for such an early-morning visit.
Olivander bade them a good day and soon both were back out the street again. "Professor, I…Ah… I don't' know how to thank you! Now my own, first, very own wand! Thank you, sir! Thank you!" Michael barley kept the grin on his face, small. Looking about, he found one small alley and steered Ron over towards it.
"Mr. Weasley, have you ever experienced side-along Apparition?"
"Uh…no sir. I haven't yet."
"In that case," Michael seize Ron's upper arm in a vice-grip. "Hang on to me like 100 different House points, and do not slip." Once he was secure, Michael apparited and felt the familiar, uncomfortable sensation of tight compression and whirling chaos as they speed back up towards Hogsmeade village. Appearing right in the same spot Michael arrived at weeks ago, Ron Weasley staggered about and would have thrown up if he'd eaten breakfast yet.
Both hurried back up to the castle but found another Gryffindor walking past them half-way between the Quidditch Pitch and the School. "Hermione!"
"Oh, Ron, there you are." The girl jogged straight up to them, asking to see Ron's new wand and the Weasley was proud to show it off. "Splendid. Anyway, I found one note this morning from Harry. Oliver Wood shook him awake for an early Quidditch practice this morning. They must almost be done by now, so we can head off to Hagrid's together right from the pitch."
Ron whirled around to look at the athletic-space then both students looked up at their Professor.
"Alright, enjoy your Saturday." Both hurried off and Michael watched them go. Yet turning aside, he met another surprise with a second Quidditch team in Green-robes walking out the Castle doors the same moment he approached them. "Professor Carswell."
"Mr. Pucey. Your Quidditch Team, I assume?" 7 different Slytherins were clad in emerald robes, and all carrying some very-distinct broomsticks. "I believe the Gryffindor team has been there all morning, and that house-teams are required to book ahead of schedule to use the pitch."
"We've got a note. Professor Snape's allowed us," one boy, almost the same size as Michael declared, less than respectfully. Whom immediately fell under Michael's glare. "Your name, immediately. And do recall Professors can support or rescind anything just as easily."
The team grew quiet at this, pulling out a slip which Michael took and read, slowly. All of the boys were twitching, impatient, as the new Professor studied the slip: 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'
Trained eyes meant he didn't have to double-cheek for magic. In fact, the professor handed it back with a smile. "When I arrived here, the Headmaster asked that I wear the Sorting Hat as well. It declared I would be a Slytherin, so make good use of your time today. I'd like see our House win at least a few matches."
Everyone on the team were shocked, some even lost their jaws. Michael had to hurry them off before moving back inside of the castle and heading straight for his office. Leaving behind two Quidditch teams, one pitch, and Ronald Weasley with a working wand.
End.
What do you think? And what is going to happen next?
Fanfiction stories can be tricky, either by rehashing the same events from the sources that it grows boring, or departing from the main-cannon too drastically and readers don't recognize the characters and worlds they love. A large part of Fanficiton is wish-fulfillment, going deeper into different worlds and exploring "what if's." Here, for some examples, 'what if' Harry, Ron and Hermione had a more active, effective teacher early at Hogwarts? 'What if' more of the international parts of the Winzarding worlds appear? Or 'what if' Ron had a working wand to cast 'Eat-slugs' with?
Better get ready, because the next chapter is going to have a lot of surprises.
[i]-A nod to WhatHappensNext's "The Defense Professor."
[1]-From experience, if anybody comes over to the United Kingdom, watch what you say. On the North America continent "Pants" can refer to jeans or trousers, while the UK "panties" is a slang-word for undergarments (boxers, briefs, thong, panties). Walk into a store asking to see the "pants" section in one or another can be confusing.
[2]-Hogwarts is located somewhere in Scotland, past Glencoe and the 3-sisters of the Highland's. Take a visit there sometime and you'll find some big surprises.