Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns HP, I own nothing. there, I said it!

Authors Notes:

Hello all, and welcome to my first ever Harry potter fan fiction work. I read lots of HP FF of course, and by far my main problem/concern will be to accurately represent the characters that will associate themselves with my OC. Unfortunately there aren't very many Muggle related works out there, unless of course you count the Crossover side of the this site. I welcome constructive criticism, and don't feel bad to call me out on spelling, grammar, etc. Drop a review if you feel like doing so, but no pressure. I hope you like what you see. cheers!

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry June 30th, 1996

Dumbledore leaned back in his plush reclining chair, a heavily charmed relic of the former Headmaster Knabusch, who, before taking up position of Headmaster co-founded the now famous La-Z-boy company. The chair of course was as comfortable as ever, but what should have been a pleasant summer evening had turned into quite the headache for the Lemon Drop loving Wizard.

And for once it didn't involve his favored pupil! No, poor Harry was safe and sound with his relatives down in Surrey, most likely still grieving the death of Sirius Black. The headmaster silently cursed himself for letting his mind wander back to that place for the hundredth time since that fateful night. He blamed himself for not doing more to protect young Harry's mind from Tom.

He should have seen that the attack on Arthur was just a ploy to lure him into the Ministry. Fawkes must have sensed his familiar's plight and offered a cheerful chirp and trill, a small gesture which the old wizard appreciated.

No, his current conundrum was the loss a yet another professor at the hands of Professor Snape. Dumbledore sighed, mentally replaying the last ten minutes in his head. Professor Burbage, normally a very laid back, and shall we say mellow individual stormed into his office, hair disheveled, her face a blotchy red color. She looked like she'd cried recently. All in all not a very pretty sight. Upon inquiring about the reason for her unfortunate complexion the middle aged Witch explained her run-in with the Potions Master. The two had always butted heads, their views on the subjects of muggles being the key reason for the mutual dislike. No normally that wouldn't be cause for worry, but It seemed that one of Professor Burbage's relatives, a muggle, was on their death bed.

St Mungo's unfortunately doesn't treat non magicals, and her last remaining hope had been the Potions master and a rather expensive and time-consuming brew. It seemed that Snape had refused to help, stating that in all likelihood the potion she'd mentioned would at best prolong his suffering by a few months. And he'd said it in as unsympathetic a manner as possible.

That's when things spiraled out of control. Burbage called Severus a self-centered egotistical prick, while the potions mater retorted by calling her 'a muggle loving fool'.

Any attempts by the aging headmaster to calm the furious woman had failed, and before he could summon Poppy with a calming drought Charity had resigned in a fit of rage and tears. Nothing Dumbledore offered short of Severus's dismissal had swayed the Witch to reconsider, and finally she stormed out of the castle, bags packed, but not before hexing Snape's hair off. Dumbledore had to bite his lip to prevent the corners of his mouth lifting despite the seriousness of the situation.

And as such, he now had to fill both the Position of Potions Professor (due to Professor Snape teaching DADA) as well as the now vacant Muggle Studies position. With a sigh he helped himself to another sweet. Well, he supposed running a few ads in the Daily Prophet couldn't hurt. After all the summer had only just started.

Bellingham, Washington State, Western United States August 20th, 1996

With a prolonged screech the worn door opened, then shut just as quick. A set of keys fell into a porcelain Bowl with a loud clank. Then a coat was carelessly tossed over the back of a worn Couch. That same couch squeaked loudly when the wary man who was the cause of all this ruckus plopped down with a defeated sigh.

'Another day of fruitless job hunting over' he thought, kicking off his shoes and letting his aching feet rest. After a few minutes of just sitting there in the dark he dragging himself up to get a cold one from the fridge.

Mentally calculating back, it had been over three months since graduation now. Three months of trying to gain some sort of meaningful employment. Three months of working at that god awful grocery store as a cart pusher. It was just enough to pay the rent for this dump. He popped the lid with a dirty fork, pausing long enough to flick the bottle cap in the general direction of the garbage can. It didn't hit. He didn't care. He'd gotten pretty good at that. Not caring that is. It was easier that way.

In the beginning he had hope. Fresh out of University with a teaching degree in his hand and a spring in his step. That thought made him snort. It had taken four years to get. And now, even though the Army had thankfully put him through school, all he basically had a fancy title and not much else.

'Well, at least there weren't any student loans to pay off.' He thought, ever the optimist. Ah hell, who was he kidding. Unless he moved to some sorry looking back Water County there was no way he'd ever land a position within this district. For every teaching position in the Tacoma area there were dozens of applicants. Yes, his grades had been good. But good just didn't seem to cut it anymore in this cut throat economy. Of course that thrice damned Bell curve grading system had also pushed him into a dangerously low region where most schools wouldn't even give his transcripts a passing glance.

That thought had manifested itself in his head a lot lately. Yeah, he'd grown up here. His parents still lived here. But unless something came up soon, moving to a more rural district no one wanted to be in would be the only option he had.

But where would he go? This wasn't like being deployed. No one told him where to go or what to do. The decision was his and his alone. You didn't just complete your tour of duty and come back. This would be permanent. At least until he had enough seniority. He could be gone for years, or maybe never return at all.

At this point the young man had still not turned on a single light in the small, dirty apartment. A sliver of pale yellow light from the street filtered into the space, but it did little to illuminate the rest of the room.

Looking into a bright fridge didn't help his vision either at the moment, so it wasn't until he was a few feet away that he sensed the presence of another. Nothing more than a dark silhouette, a foreign scent, and the calm but now audible sound of breathing reaching his ears.

Though poor, Carson Wolf had always made sure that he had the means to defend and protect himself if it came down to it. He lived in a rough part of Bellingham. Drug use was rampant on the streets, and crime was high. As such he always made sure there was a loaded firearm close by.

The one in his bedroom was out of the question, but there was another, a backup which he kept under the couch cushion. Careful not to look like he'd noticed the intruder, the former Lieutenant plopped back down, beer in one hand while his free one groped the underside of the couch for his old service Beretta.

The intruder, whoever he or she was, hadn't made a move, and for a second he worried that by sitting down he'd make him seem like an easier target. Pistol finally located, he cocked the hammer one-handed with a loud click and pointed it squarely at the figure sitting in the tattered old reclining chair.

"Don't move buddy" he calmly stated. He had no desire to shoot unless absolutely necessary, and a calm and collect voice was the best way to keep things from escalating.

'Hopefully the guy wasn't some crack head and could be reasoned with'.

An old voice was the first clue that he wasn't dealing with some common street thug. They usually didn't survive past thirty or forty. The second was the accent. It sounded British.

"Mr. Wolf", the clearly male voice began. "I am sorry to intrude on you like this. It seemed you were not home at the time of my initial arrival, and I opted to wait for you in the comfort of your home. Please forgive an old man for wanting to rest his weary bones."

Carson relaxed minutely. This home intruder was strange, but he wasn't going to let his guard down just because he sounded grandfatherly.

"Being old does not excuse breaking into someone's house", Carson replied coolly. He wasn't mad at the breach of privacy. Why he didn't know. Right now he wanted answers, and being hostile wasn't going to solve anything.

"You know my name." he said matter-of-factly, followed by his first question. "Who are you?"

His eyes were beginning to adjust, and he caught the smile from the bearded man's face. "Right down to business it seems. Very well, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster of a very special school in Scotland."

At this the younger man removed his finger from the trigger. He still didn't trust the old guy, but so far he'd been perfectly peaceful.

"You realize that you could have been killed. Breaking into someone's place here in the US is almost a sure-fire way of getting your ass shot. I don't know how they do it in Scotland, but you can't just do that here old man."

Carson felt a little bad for calling him that, but besides the initial common courtesy, one had to earn his respect. And busting into someone's house was the very opposite way of going about it. Ok, busting might have been the wrong word. The door certainly didn't look damaged. Had he lock picked it? Carson was sure he'd locked it before leaving.

The stranger called Albus Dumbelsomething chuckled.

"I assure you there was never any danger to my well-being, though I take it as a good sign that you are in fact mindful of mine, a complete stranger's welfare."

Carson sighed. This guy was a regular chatterbox. "All right, moving on. Why are you here? You mentioned a School. Why?"

"Ah yes. As I said my position is that of Headmaster at a Boarding School called Hogwarts. As for my reason for visiting", the old man continued in the same calm demeanor.

"You are a young aspiring teacher are you not?"

Not in his wildest dreams had Carson Wolf ever expected to have a conversation like this with what is essentially an employer in the teaching field in his dark, dirty living room at 9 pm on a Monday.

"Are you offering me a job?" he asked in disbelief.

The old man smiled again. "Not quite Mr. Wolf. This is more of an interview of sorts. You are on the short list of potential applicants that a close friend of mine provided me with."

Carson finally placed the pistol on the seat beside him. "I see," he replied almost automatically, followed by; "So, I take it you'd like to know what I majored in at the University of Washington?"

"That will be one of the questions, yes. But we'll get to your qualifications at a later date. Right now I am simply looking to judge everyone's character."

Carson's eyebrow rose in mock surprise.

"And you think you can glean whatever it is you're looking for from one meeting?" The younger man's tone was mocking, but not unkind.

Albus chuckled, again making eye contact. Muggles had no Occlumency defenses, so the intrusion went unnoticed. Besides the Headmaster was most gentle with his Legilimency probing. What he skimmed from the young man's mind was nothing out of the ordinary.

A fairly normal childhood, a brief rebellious streak that led to his enlistment in this countries armed forces. The training and structure did a lot of good he noted. The young lad even had some combat experience.

Nothing to traumatic, which was good. Too many of his own kind had been diagnosed with the shakes. Muggles called it something else entirely. No, the other two he'd visited would have made good teachers, but as mere muggles they would be vulnerable. This man thought on his feet. That much was apparent from his behavior and actions a mere minutes ago. Hogwarts might be a safe place, but its students sometimes forgot just how serious their actions could be.

"There is always more to a person than meets the eye my young friend." The Headmaster cryptically replied. Sometime later, their talk concluded, and Carson showed Dumbledore towards the door.

"Umm, a word of advice" the American added before seeing the strangely dressed man out. Dumbledore simply nodded with that weird twinkle in his eye. "Try not to pull the same stunt you just did with the others. They might be the shoot first ask later type, and I'd hate for you to get hurt."

"Duly noted" the old man replied with a chuckle. "Good night to you, Mr. Wolf."

"You too."

Carson watched the bearded man disappear down the hallway. He shook his head and closed the door, wondering what the hell just happened.

Bellingham, Washington State, Western United States August 22nd, 1996

There was a knock on the door. The peephole showed a silver bearded man. Knowing his only day off this week was about to be ruined, Carson opened the door to the Scottish Headmaster of Hog Warts.

"Good day Mr. Wolf. I trust you've been well?" the old man asked jovially.

Carson stepped aside, gesturing the headmaster to enter before nodding in confirmation.

"It seems your advice was spot on", the strange senior idly commented before sticking his pinky through a jagged hole in his purple …robe?

The former Marine shook his head.

"You were shot at, weren't you?" He felt like he was berating a small child.

The old man grinned sheepishly. Dumbledore had not been talked to like this in almost a hundred years, though there was no reason for him to be upset at the tone. It was actually rather amusing.

"Well, considering you're up and about I can say with certainty you are uninjured?" Carson inquired.

"Indeed I am. Thank you for your concern."

Carson couldn't hold back a snort. "Right. So, to what do I owe the pleasure today Albus?" He was ashamed to admit that he'd forgotten his last name, much to his annoyance. His drill sergeant would have his ass if he ever forgot his.

"Well, it seems that I have come to a decision." At that the younger man froze. "And?" he asked tensely.

"Mr. Wolf, I am pleased to offer you a permanent fulltime position at Hogwarts" Albus stated proudly. He remembered every single one of the positions he'd offered to so many gifted individuals over the last two decades. This one was bound to be one of the more memorable.

Instead of feeling joy at finally being offered a job, Carson nodded cautiously.

"What position would I be teaching?" The fact that this hadn't come up in the previous conversation was beginning to concern the younger man. What kind of Headmaster would offer work to someone without discussing their qualifications. Also, wouldn't he have been contacted by the UK's ministry of education? Something was fishy.

"Ah yes, you must excuse my reluctance to reveal this next bit of information. You will be teaching a subject called Muggle studies."

Carson looked at the old man with a dumbfounded look. "What the hell is a Muggle?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Muggles are what my kind call you" he pointed with a long bony finger.

"You see, I am actually a wizard, and Hogwarts is a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The fact that that he said it so matter-of-factly was the final nail in Coffin. Carson sighed loudly before sitting down, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Jesus H Christ on a bicycle, how could I have been so stupid." he muttered. 'This guy must have escaped the Lonnie bin or something.'

Albus continued to smile, not helping his case any.

With a final sigh, Carson's head jerked up and he clapped his hands together.

"Right! You know, I can't really blame you, as much as I want to, and I'll admit it has been fun. But I think it's time to end this old timer. Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I call the nice people with the white coats, ok?"

The smile Dumbledore held was still present, though there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

As Carson lifted the phones receiver, the old man pulled his wand and the phone turned into a turtle. Needless to say it wasn't what the younger American was expecting. In fact, he tripped over the couch, landing in a heap between the coffee table and the sofa. Dumbledore levitated the shelled animal gently to the floor lest it got hurt.

"HOLY S**T, what the hell was that?"

The older wizard cleared his throat, and reiterated his previous comment. "As I said before Mr. Wolf, I am a wizard."

Carson leapt to his feet. What he'd just seen was IMPOSSIBLE. One second he'd been holding a phone, the next a god damn turtle. Which was now slowly making its way across the kitchen linoleum, he noted in disbelief.

'Who the hell was this guy?' Unable to form coherent thoughts, Albus willed some more of his magic through the Wand.

"I see you need another demonstration." Wand still in hand, the couch that separated them morphed into a Lion. The 9mm clattered to the ground, along with about 5 bucks in loose change and a few Cheetos.

Carson backed up slowly, not daring to retrieve the gun that would be the only way to save his ass right now. The army hadn't covered this. Basic and Officer training hadn't covered this. And why should they? There was a god damn lion in his living room. Shit!

The large cat growled at him, baring its yellowed teeth. The mane was a deep auburn, while the rest of its fur looked yellow. With a whistle, the large cat lazily walked over to the purple robed…Magician?

"You needn't worry. It will not harm you." He assured the panicked young man.

With the cat a fair distance away, the former Marine saw his opportunity and rolled across his now bare living room floor, retrieved the gun and was in the process of pointing it at the large carnivore when it was ripped from his hand.

"You have excellent reflexes Mr. Wolf. But I'm afraid I can't let you shoot your couch." With another flick of the wrist the lion turned back into the ratty sofa, now positioned awkwardly in the kitchen. Dumbledore sat down, and conjured a chair from nothing for his host to sit down on.

Seeing he was out of options, Carson complied, though reluctantly.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I beseech you to hold onto them until you see the school. That is, should you in fact still be interested in the position."

Carson was working his mouth like the carp he'd seen once at Lake Mead. Finally, he uttered. "I need a bit to process this."

The Headmaster nodded in confirmation. "Perhaps that would be best"

A few minutes later it seemed the young man was ready.

"So, you're a…?"

"Wizard?" Dumbledore supplied. "Indeed I am."

Carson nodded.

"And there's a whole school of for people like you?" Another nod, this time from the Headmaster.

"Magic?" the former Lieutenant said. Albus couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement.

For every question answered, even if it was only a simple yes, about ten more sprung forth.

He recalled the previous offer from two nights ago. "You want to show me Hog Warts?"

"Yes, and its Hogwarts"

Carson ran a hand through his hair. 'To hell with it. The guy had the jump on me from the minute I entered my apartment two days ago. Hell, he could have mauled me with that Lion he's sitting on.'

Mind made up, he looked up at the strange magician. "Sure. Why not."