NOTE: In this story Hermione looks like Emma Watson (i.e. beautiful).

Ch. 1

George Westinghouse stood on the south settling basins of Fort Worth's #1 water treatment plant. He felt good. It was a good seldom felt by teenagers and almost never by pre-teens. It was the good feeling of knowing you're doing something useful, something that makes a difference. Most eleven year olds have no place to show their skill but school where everything is practice and simulation. Nothing really mattered and the work neither helped nor hindered anybody.

But this was different. As a part of the Utility Cadets Program he was spending his summer helping bring safe drinking water to the people of the city. True, he could only do the grunt work as even an apprentice license required a high school diploma, but it was just as important, just as necessary.

Last summer he was at the waste water plant and the summer before the power station. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life but he was sure it would be some sort of engineering, if he had to stand on the street corner and beg for tuition money.

He had just finished the last round of the plant for the day. All the machines were working fine and the slow easy flow of the water at his feet was settling out the cloudiness that hid disease and toxins. Everything was just as it should be, except for the large brown owl perched on the railing in front of him. OWL? What the nation was an owl doing out in broad daylight?

George remembered tales he'd read of the Native Americans about the spiritual meaning of animals and birds. There was a story of a chief who had spent his life trying to give his people a better life but still felt he had failed.

One night he was sitting on his bed and an owl had started hooting out side his window. "So Mr. Owl, you are calling me to come out and die." He went out and stood under the tree where the owl continued to hoot. He took the bull whip from his side and with one flick blasted the owl out of existence.

George liked to think of himself as a modern, scientific man (or boy). But some superstitions lie buried deep and are not easily dug out. He looked about for something to use as a weapon, but the owl did not seem inclined to make trouble. It wasn't even hooting. It stood their looking at him, occasionally blinking. There was a envelope in its beak. George steeled himself and reached for it. The owl released the bit of paper letting it drop into the boys hands, then flapped and flew away. George looked at the envelope. It was for him all right.

George Westinghouse
Fort Worth, Texas
Water Plant #1
Settling Basin #2
South End

On the back was a wax seal, an ornate letter H surrounded by a lion, a snake, a bird and some sort of bear like animal. Who under heaven used seals anymore? Who with the initial H would be writing him? And who in all the world would use such a complicated crest?

But he couldn't stand here wondering about it. His shift was over and he better haul it if he wanted to catch his bus home.

*******

When George got home it was getting on to dinner time. He asked, "Dad, you ever hear of someone using an owl to deliver messages?"

George's dad snorted. "You can't use an owl for that; their too smart to let anybody order them about."

"That's what I always thought, but today there was an owl on the basins holding this." He handed over the envelope.

His dad took it. "Humph. Sealing wax? What kind of throw back would..." He had the letter out and was reading it. "WHAT?" he exploded slapping it to the table. "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is it? What kind of sick mind plays a gag like this on a kid?"

"That's what I thought, Dad. But the owl..."

Mr. Westinghouse scowled in thought. Working a messenger owl into the scheme of things was indeed a toughy. Some how it never occurred to him and his wife to think that George might be lying. As he reread the acceptance letter she picked up the supply list.

"Umm, cauldron, wand, robes... and look at the book titles. Who ever dreamed this up went to a lot of trouble."

"I just can't believe it. I've heard of obsessive/compulsives but never anything this extreme. What could be behind it?"

"Dad, didn't you say, 'When you eliminate the impossible, what's left must be the answer no matter how unlikely?'"

"Yea, but... magic..." The three looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Mr. Westinghouse didn't like not knowing; he didn't like not understanding. He was getting angry again. Throwing the letter to the table he shouted, "If this, this Dumbledor exists, let him appear before me NOW!"

There was a loud FLOOOO from the fire place and there before them stood an old man in a classic wizard's robe and hat. His long white hair and beard covered all of his face except for the long nose and the merry eyes sparkling behind the half-moon glasses. "Does THIS answer your question?" he said jovially.

They all stared at the apparition. Then George went about looking into cabinets. "George, what are you doing?" his mother asked.

"I'm looking for the whisky, to throw out."

His dad found his voice. "There's no whisky in the house. None of us drink."

The boy came back to staring at Dumbledore. "In God's own name, I wish I did."

Dumbledore glanced to a nearby chair. The Westinghouse family were stunned, but not so much as to leave an old man standing. George moved the chair over while his mother poured a cup of coffee. Dumbledore would have preferred tea but he knew Americans and did not want to add to their discomfort.



He sipped the coffee for a few minutes while they sat staring at him. "Mr. Westinghouse, I assume you want what's best for your son, especially when it comes to his education."



"Of course. That's why I worked so hard to get him into the cadet program. I had to call in just about every favor anybody owed me. I'll get him into an engineering school if it busts me. I certainly DON'T want him wasting his priceless youth on foolishness, magic INDEED!"



The old man patted his head and chest. "I seem to be solid enough."



"Foof! That's not proof of anything. Clark said 'Any technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic.' You could have some form of transporter or some such device to move you about."





"Dad?"





"Not now, George. I'm trying to deal with this fellow."





"But DAD..."





"Not NOW, George."





"HENRY, listen to your son."





"Wha, what?"





"Dad, if what this fellow has IS technology, it's INCREDIBLY advanced. Wouldn't that be worth spending my youth, even my whole life, on?"





"Well, well..." He sat down thoroughly confused.





Dumbledore placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Mr. Westinghouse, let me assure you that I too have your son's best interests at heart. For over a thousand years the sears of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have scoured Britain and Europe for young people with the talent. We teach them to use the talent for the betterment of mankind, even if we must work undercover to avoid detection."





"Now we're working with schools of magic here in The States. Among other things our Ministry of Magic and your Bureau for Paranormal Affairs are setting up a student exchange program. Your son has been detected as having the talent. He has the potential for great works." A fly had been buzzing about as he spoke. He drew a stick of wood about a foot long from inside his robe and flicked it at the insect. It dropped to the table and was now a horned toad.





The family was duly impressed. “Our graduates improve agricultural production, control the weather, even work for the War Ministry, what you would call the Department of Defense.





Mrs. Westinghouse placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “The old stories used to tell of wizard’s who were incredible healers.”





The old man nodded. “And George can study healing, after basic potions.”





Mr. Westinghouse banged his fist on the table. “He’s not going ANYWHERE until I get some answers. How do I know this ‘HOGWARTS’ even exists.”





The old man's eyes twinkled even more. "That sir, is simple enough. I'll take you there myself." He held out a bag. "Here, take a pinch of the powder, throw it into the fire and say, 'Hogsmead.'"





Mr. Westinghouse looked doubtful, but did not want his wife and son to think he was afraid. He did as the old man told him. The next thing he knew he was soaring/flying/falling up/through/down an inconceivable tunnel of colors and sounds the human brain couldn't processes.





Then he was tumbling out of a fireplace into an old fashioned railroad station. A man in an equally old fashioned station master's uniform greeted him. "Good evening, sir. Your first visit to Hogsmead?"





He was promptly followed by his wife, their son and the old man. “Jimmy, these are the Westinghouses. I’ve brought them here to see the castle first hand.” To his guests he said, “Please step over to the window.”





They followed. George caught his breath. “Good heavens. How did you ever build anything so magnificent?”





His parents just stared. “George, are you nuts?” his father asked. “That’s just a pile of rubble.” They and their son stared at each other, each thinking the other had lost his mind.





Dumbledore grinned. “Mr. and Ms. Westinghouse, what you see is mere illusion to keep Muggles, our word for non-magical people, away. Allow me to show you what it really looks like.”





He placed his hands on their shoulders. They were speechless. There before them was a castle a hundred times, a thousand times more grand than any other structure on earth. “Do you see Mom? Dad?”





Dumbledore removed his hands and the ruins reappeared to the muggles. "I could have taken you directly to the castle, but I wanted you get the full affect. We can make the rest of the way by carriage."





They walked outside the station where stood a horse drawn carriage only with no horses. After the four of them piled in, the Professor made a clicking sound with his tongue and they were off.





On the way he told them all the usual things one needs to know about boarding school; start and end of term dates, daily routine, preparation first years should make for the transition, etc. But so far he told them nothing peculiar to the study magic.





*******





When they came within a stone’s throw of the pile of rubble, George's parents were again able to see the castle. Inside they saw it was an even greater wonder. The stairs seemed to climb to the very heavens. They passed several paintings that spoke to them. They chuckled but made no response. They had seen computer personalities that behaved that way. But when a long dead head of Slytherin barked at them for being rude, they apologized and hurried up closer to their guide.





The professor led them to a room big as a train station. It looked like it was intended for four or five hundred people, but now there were less than twenty gathered about a table in the middle. They were all dressed in robes of differing colors and cuts. "As I’ve interrupted your dinner, please help yourselves to any of our local delicacies."





There were pies giving off a delicious meaty aroma and oozing gravy from their crusts. There were many different sausages and cheese. George's attention was caught by a platter of some black-gray substance solid enough to stand up but with apparently no particular shape of its own. He lifted it up to eye level to examine it better but was no closer to discovering its nature.





The nearest person was an enormous fellow whose face was almost lost in a shaggy black beard. His clothes looked like the buckskins in the history books of the revolution, but there was yardage enough to make a dozen for Davy Crocket. "Err, excuse me sir."





"Eh, what's that young'un?"





"What is this, this, err, black, pudding like substance?"





"Why, that there be black pudding."





Ask a foolish question. thought George.





"By bringing you over at eleven o'clock supper I not only provide you with sustenance, but may introduce you to our faculty. First may I present Professor Minerva McGonagall. She teaches transfiguration." To the utterly confused looks of the Westinghouses, he said, "Changing one thing into another."





The old lady nodded with a look that said she was officially glad to meet them but personally did not care for them all that much. George's dad looked at her with no effort to hide his skepticism. "So lady, can you change a raven into a writing desk?" Her look said she now considered him an utter fool. In less than a blink she gone and in her place was a fierce ogre. It glared at him and left the room.





"Dad, are you alright?" Mr. Westinghouse sat down hard and began fanning himself with his hand.





A sallow skinned man with a hooknose and hard cold eyes looked on the visitors with undisguised contempt. "And over here we have Professor Severus Snape. He will be your potions instructor."





George screwed his courage to the sticking point and offered his hand. Snape looked at the gesture as he would a dead trout that had been away from the sea too long. The boy reluctantly with drew his hand, not knowing if the man's feelings were more fear or loathing.





One member of the faculty seemed in a good mood and Dumbledore pounced on the opportunity. "And over here is Professor Flitwick, who teaches charms."





The guests were not used to dealing with people quite so small but were determined not to appear prejudiced. "So glad to meet you." George's mother said.





The little fellow stood on his chair and bowed from the waist. "The pleasure is mine. I have never met Americans before. I find your country fascinating. Tell me, do your wizards have trouble dealing with the Red Indian menace?"





While they fumbled for a response, Dumbledore stepped in. "Professor, you forget from this morning's briefing, Mr. and Ms. Westinghouse are Muggles. Until today they had no idea there were such things as wizards." As Flitwick offered profuse apologies, the old man whispered to his guests, "To also try to explain to him that the Native Americans no longer resort to organized violence would be a bit more of a cultural shock than I really want to subject him to."





George was following the scent of garlic, one of his favorite seasonings. The dishes that seemed to be in the thick of it looked utterly unrelated. He was about to ask the man in the turban when he realized it came from him. This fellow seemed more nervous than offended so the boy sought to put him at ease. Taking from Snape the cue that handshakes were not appreciated he placed his forearm over his waist and made a small bow. "Westinghouse." he introduced himself.





“He, he, hello.” the man said uncertainly. “I, I’m Pro, Professor Quirrell. I, I teach De, Defense Against the Dar, Dark Arts.”





“Yes, we’re very fortunate to have Professor Quirrell with us. DADA is a very difficult, sometimes dangerous subject to teach.” Dumbledore took George around talking to the various teachers and guided conversations.





An hour later Snape said, “Professor Dumbledore, it's midnight and I think we should be turning in.”





“Yes, your quite correct, Professor. If we’ve all had our fill I’ll let you call it a day. Mr. and Ms. Westinghouse, George, it’s about six P.M. back in Texas. I’d like to show you around the school before taking you home.” The teachers mumbled their goodnights and left the room.





He led his guests through the first floor corridors pointing out classrooms and explaining their subjects. The rooms for Arithmancy and History of Magic were nothing more than those in ordinary schools back home, but those for Transfiguration and Potions held interesting displays of last term's work and chalkboard instructions of the final exam.





They finished with a walk through the green houses where Hagrid happened by just in time to rescue Mr. Westinghouse from an African strangler. Dumbledore had his attention on George’s questions about the latest crop of bubotubers. They stopped at the gamekeepers hut for a cup of hot tea. It was two A.M. local time (eight P.M. back home) when Dumbledore was satisfied he had done all he could. They lined up at the fireplace in the hut and the headmaster had each of his guests take a pinch of powder to throw into the fire before saying, “WESTINGHOUSE.”





*******





The Headmaster stood before the gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office. As he prepared to speak the password, Professor McGonagall approached. "Albus, do you really think..." And there she stopped, not sure how to go on.





"Minerva, I assure you that I have examined every possibility and this is the only possible course.”





“I know, but that boy. He doesn’t even know...”





“And there is no reason for him to know.”

George kept up his duties at the water plant. Dumbledore had warned him not to divulge the existence of Hogwarts or even the reality of magic. He needn't have worried. The boy knew if he started mouthing supernatural mumbo jumbo he'd be labeled as untrustworthy at best. At worst he'd be locked up as dangerously insane.

Dumbledore had sent him a packet for the school with which Hogwarts held the exchange program. It was called Dragon Fang and was located somewhere in Kentucky. It seemed to be policy for magic schools world wide to guard there locations from anyone not directly involved. It did indeed look like an excellent place to study the occult sciences and the customs and manners would be closer to those he grew up with. But like any first class education in America it would not come cheap. In fact, one year at Dragon Fang would cost more than a year at M.I.T. were George's father had secretly hoped to send him when he was grown.

"But Dad, if going to school in the U.S. is that expensive, what could school in Brittan cost, especially for a foreigner?"

"Dumbledore covered that while we were at the castle. It won't cost us a cent." To the boy's wide eyes he explained, "This exchange program is just getting off the ground and a branch of their government, The Ministry of Magic, is covering your tuition, room and board, books and supplies, et, et."

"Everything but the Christmas tip for the brownies who sweep up the place, eh Dad?" The boy grinned at what he thought was a rather witty comment.

"They're elves, actually. But Dumbledore says they don't take any sort of gratuity. They're too proud. But I guess you should take along some pocket money for emergencies." It sounded like his dad had decided, and really could there be any other choice. It was a chance to gain power and prestige like he'd never imagined, not to mention an opportunity help humanity. And it wouldn't cost the family a cent. George's dad looked him in the eye. He didn't want to seem to be stampeding the boy, but he couldn't see how he could pass up the opportunity.

He couldn't. "Let's do it, Dad. Let's com Dumbledore this minute."

"That's Professor Dumbledore, George." came a gentle, amused voice from behind him. Everyone turned to look. "If you're going to Hogwarts you must learn proper decorum." The surprise on their faces turned to suspicions. "No, I've not been eves dropping on your conversations since that night. But I did put a spell on you that would summon me when you'd reached a decision."

"I've decided all right, Professor. I want in. Where do I sign?"

The old man smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way. Term starts on the first of September. Do you have the supply list handy?"

George took the piece of parchment and ran an eye over it. "That's less than a week away." He looked at the list. "And look at this stuff. How can I get it all in time?"

"No problem there, George. I'll take you to Diagon Ally personally. That's a hidden community of wizards in London. We'll find all you need there." Turning to Mr. and Ms. Westinghouse he said, "If you can spare him, we can go this minute."

*******

It took George a while to adjust to his surroundings. A couple dozen people in strange garb gathered around a table in an ancient castle is not the same thing as hundreds, perhaps thousands going about who knows what business in what looked like a movie set in eighteenth century England. When he did start to settle in the first thing he noticed was everybody staring and pointing at him. He sturdy denims were as out of place here as Dumbledore's ornate robes would be at the plant. “Uh, Professor. Maybe the place to start is some protective coloring.”

The old man chuckled. “Oh, we’ll get you some robes all right George. But first we need to stop by the bank and draw some money from your account. I mean; East or West, North or South you don’t get something for nothing.” Somehow that unsettled the boy, got him wondering just what was expected of him in exchange for the excellent education he was being offered.

They went up the steps to a magnificent marble building that made George think of the library of Alexandria designed to fit into Wall Street. He almost gave a start at the hideously deformed unfortunate who served as doorman. But his parents had trained him well in respecting others without regard for outward appearance. George returned the person's smile and a friendly nod for the bow.

Inside it looked even grander and, somehow, larger than outside. And another surprise, all the employees seemed to suffer the same deformities as the doorman. Dumbledore did not chuckle, but his eyes twinkled. “Don't trouble yourself about the staff here, George. They aren’t human.”

George was appalled. He couldn’t believe the man he thought so kind and caring could make such a cruel remark. The old man shook his head tiredly. “No George, I’m not marginalizing anybody. I mean they aren’t Homo sapiens. They’re an entirely different species. You’ve no doubt heard of them in fairy tales. They are goblins.”

The boy’s mouth opened to protest that these people were much too polite for the description in the stories. Then he recalled what his parents had so often tried to teach him, the folly of judging people by rumor. He filed this away as something to work on in coming days.

They waited for the next available teller. “Professor Dumbledore, how may I be of assistance?”

“The special account set up by Minister Fudge, if you please?”

The teller held a low but excited talk with another goblin in fancier duds who left for a moment, then returned with a key. “This way gentlemen.” He led them down a corridor to a cross passage with oar cars on track just like a gold or coal mine.

After a heart stopping romp through tunnels with twists and turns, George could hardly count let alone track they stopped in front of what looked like an old-fashioned bank vault door. The teller put the key in a hole in the door and swung it open. There piled on the floor was more gold than George could have imagined. He thought, They’ve robbed Fort Knox. The goblin offered the professor a canvas bag, which he filled with the shining yellow metal. He handed the bag and key to George and the three of them rode back to the lobby.

They collected everything on the list in a few hours, but George had little memory of it. It all blurred in the strangeness. The next thing he knew he was standing in his own front room in wizard robes and carrying a stack of books under one arm and a cauldron full of strange items in his other hand.

His parents examined the purchases but found the books utterly incomprehensible, the objects completely meaningless and the substances thoroughly disgusting. His Mom said, "Well chalk it up to lack of the talent. All we can do is hope it will make sense to you, George."

They had assumed he would be traveling to school by floo at the start of term but Dumbledore explained. "If the point you enter the network is one-quarter of the Earth's circumference from the point you exit, you'll have speed of over seven-hundred miles per hour across the Earth's surface and the same speed going straight up. Compensating for that is too great a strain on the network except for special circumstances."

Also, the trip on The Express was useful for acclimating new students to the school environment. George took an American Airlines jet from DallasFort Worth International to Gatwick (first class of course, also paid for by the Ministry) where Professor McGonagall met him. With her was a boy of about George's age with wild, unkempt hair and taped together glasses. "George Westinghouse, Harry Potter. Harry will be going to Dragon Fang while you attend Hogwarts."

George put out his hand, "Howdy." The boy looked rather frightened, but took the proffered hand. In fact, he looked like he was in the habit of being frightened by just about everything. George's heart pitied the lad. Hope the crowd in Kentucky don't roast him too badly.

"Your bags are already on the plane, Harry," McGonagall told him. "You'd better be going."

"Um...yes Professor. Uh...nice meeting you...um...George." He was hurrying off before he'd finished speaking.

"Shame he had to go so soon," George commented. "I'd have liked to chew the fat with him."

"There's no time for that. Come along now." George got the distinct impression that the old woman was trying to hide something from him. Also, there seemed to be a hint of pity in her voice, but he wasn't sure if it was for him or Harry.

He noticed that instead of the robes she wore when he met her at the castle she was wearing a high collared, long sleeve maxi that covered just as much. She hailed a cab, which took them and his duffle to Kings Cross station. She didn't seem disposed to talk and George didn't wish to press her. She had a hard no nonsense approach that discouraged small talk.

But George's conscience was bothering him. He remembered the friction between her and his father when they met at the castle. He had seen people turn into ogres before, but never so thoroughly. "Uh, Professor, about my father, you know he really isn't a bad sort. He was just..."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Westinghouse," she replied, cutting him off. "I have a job to do and I intended to do it." He saw he wasn't getting anywhere so he decided to just hold his peace for the rest of the drive.

*******


George was getting his duffle from the taxi trunk, ˜Boot they call it over here. hee hee., when he noticed McGonagall wasn't getting out. "I have to get on with my other work," she told him, in response to his inquisitive expression. "But you'll be fine. Here's your ticket."

George examined the bit of pasteboard she handed him. "Nine and three quarters? They have signs saying 'This Way to Nine and Three Quarters' then?"

"Don't be foolish," she snapped at him. "Of course there are no signs. How could we keep it secret from the muggles if there were signs? Simply walk through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. I've spent enough time on you already, I must go." And as George was trying to find the words to thank her, she was gone.

Inside was the welter and confusion expected of a major railroad station in a big city. With his bag over his shoulder, he trudged along the path marked out to platform ten. In the distance, he could see the signs for platform nine and began walking toward it.

About where he figured, he met up with a woman with four boys and a young girl. All six of them had flaming red hair. As he watched, the oldest boy pushed his baggage trolley up and through the brick wall. Well, now. This may have something to do with magic. George walked up to the woman holding his ticket casually but in an angle where she could clearly see it. Making it look unimportant would stick less in her memory if she should happen to be, What's the word? Oh yea, a muggle.

"Oh, you're going to Hogwarts too?" the youngest boy asked, turning to him.

"Yeah, I am. Oh, and Westinghouse is the name, George Westinghouse," said George as he held out his hand.

"I'm Ron," the boy answered. Turning slightly, he pointed over at the woman and the little girl, "this is my mom and little sister Ginny."

"I am NOT little!" Ginny declared loudly, as George shook hands with Mrs. Weasley.

"And these are my brothers, Fred and George."

"Wait a minute," Fred said. "We can't have two blokes named George, when anyone calls out 'George' now, nobody would come."

The American mused a second and replied jokingly, "Well then, call me Fred." Fred didn't look very appreciative. "Then just call me Westinghouse," he amended hastily. "Hmmm, that's a little long, maybe just 'West.'"

"West it is then," Fred announced. "Let's get on before the train leaves without us." With that having been said, West and the Weasleys all went through the barrier.

The sight of The Hogwarts Express took West's breath away. "You're not from around here, are you?" George asked him.

"Uh, no," he admitted. "I'm from Texas."

The twins looked at each other as if to ask, "Did you hear that?" Ginny asked, "Well if you're a Texan why don't you talk like one?" An uncomprehending stare was all the answer she got. "You know, like in the cinema."

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "Sorry, honey. That's just Hollywood hype. Nobody's talked like that in more than a hundred years, nobody in Fort Worth anyway.

*******

Ron and West settled into their compartment. "So West, what's your favorite Quidditch team?" All he got for a response was blank stare. "What? Am I speaking trollack?"

West pondered for a fraction of a second. "Two words: what are 'Quidditch' and 'trollack'?"

Ron shook his head unbelievingly. "How can you not know about Quidditch? It's the most popular game in the whole wizarding world."

"Well Ron, I'm new to the wizarding world. In fact, until Professor Dumbledore appeared in my home a few weeks ago I had never heard of wizards or magic, not as if they were real anyway."

Ron's eyes bugged out of his head. "Dumbledore came to your HOME? I've never heard of such a thing ever happening. Are you that important?"

West felt embarrassed by the other boy's excitement. "Uh no, at least I don't think so. I suspect my talent is pretty ordinary. It's just that he's trying to get this exchange program off the ground and wanted me to see the advantages of Hogwarts over Dragon Fang. That's the American school that was interested in me. Only I didn't know about them either. Not until the Professor's visit that is."

"Exchange program? You mean there are going to be more of you?"

"That seems to be the idea," West replied with a little shrug. "Dumbledore explained how sending all the kids of a country to the same school generation after generation learning only the same things year after year would cause knowledge to stagnate, a kind of mental inbreeding. Sending Americans to British schools and Brits to American schools exposes us to new ideas and we all win."

Ron looked like it was more than he could take in easily. "Well then, let's get on with your education. Quidditch is the greatest game in the world, magic or muggle. Each team has seven players and there are four balls...."

He was interrupted when a platinum blond boy walked in with two great bruisers. "Well I know who you are, flaming red hair and second hand robes. You're name has to be Weasley. My father says your whole family runs to type. I'm Draco Malfoy and these are my friends Crabbe and Goyle. Just mind who your betters are and we'll have no problem."

Ron started to fume but the blonde had already dismissed him. He was looking West over with marked confusion. Apparently blue denims were not the norm where he came from, or maybe he wasn't used to eleven year olds even taller than his henchmen. "Where are YOU from?" he asked not seeming to really want to know.

West's eyes narrowed slightly. "Texas," he replied simply.

"Their letting YOU enroll in Hogwarts? Oh that's IT! That's bloody well IT! The first thing I'm going to do when we get there is owl my parents that I'm coming home on the next train. I'm enrolling in Durmstrang." The three stormed out.

West shook his head. "That fellow just brightens up a room," he announced. To Ron's bewildered stare he said, "By leaving it. So, what's with the four balls?"

West started getting comfortable as Ron explained. "Well the four balls are called the quaffle, two bludgers..."

Once more, he was interrupted. A small, unpreposing boy about their age came in. "Has anybody seen my toad? His name's Trevor."

West shook his head. Ron inquired, "Toad? Who has a toad anymore?"

"Well my gram said a toad would be...well anyway, if you see him let me know." He left.

Ron was looking exasperated. "Oh just forget about it. You'll learn about Quidditch soon enough. What are the wizard games they play in The States?"

West shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know anything about the wizarding world, over here or back home. I guess the biggest non-magical game is baseball. You need a ball of horse hide around a core of..."

The door opened and in came Neville. But he wasn't alone. In his company was the most beautiful girl West had ever seen, and for a Texan that's saying something. "We're looking for Neville's toad," she announced to them. "Have either of you seen one?"

Ron was saying something but West wasn't listening, all he was aware of was the girl. Ron had stopped talking and the girl looked at West. Suddenly her face changed, as if she was looking at the most interesting thing she had ever seen. He pulled off his cap and said, "I'm afraid we haven't seen the little critter but we'll certainly keep an eye out. And by the way, my name's Westinghouse, George Westinghouse. My friends call me West."

She offered her hand. "Uh, how do you do, West? I'm Hermione Granger." He took her hand with the utmost delicacy, bowing over it. He didn't know if he should kiss it, but she seemed to be a no-nonsense type who would prefer a more business-like greeting. He released the hand and straightened noticing that her attention seemed to almost exclusively on him."

"Would you care to sit down?" he queried, gesturing toward the seats.

Her smile broadened as if something she'd hoped for had come true. "I...I'd love to." They sat next to each other, scarcely taking their eyes off each other. "This is my first year."

"Mine too. In fact I never even heard of real magic, let alone Hogwarts, until I got my invitation."

"Neither have I." Her eyes quickly ran up and down him. "You're eleven?"

He grinned with a touch of false modesty. "We grow them big in Texas."

"Oh, that would explain the way you're dressed. I've seen pictures of Americans in magazines. But I didn't know Americans went to Hogwarts."

"I believe I'm the first. Professor Dumbledore came over personally to invite me."

Her eyes widened to show how this impressed her. "The Headmaster visited you personally? You must have remarkable talent."

He shook his head. "I've got no idea. No strange events have happened around me to indicate hidden power and after getting my supplies, the Professor warned me not to practice until I got to school. It seems the regulatory agency for magic over here is worried about unsupervised mumbo jumbo. Really I think I'm just the first one the American school found after the exchange program began."

They heard the door close. Looking about they saw Neville was gone and Ron looking disgusted about something. "He said he was going to look for his toad, I don't know why. If I had a toad I'd loose it as soon as I could." But the look didn't seem to be all for Neville. He seemed to find something about the two of them foolish.

West and Hermione talked continually about their lives up to the time they got their letters, comparing and contrasting non-magical life in the two countries. Ron contributed nothing but an occasional grunt to show he thought non-magical life anywhere pointless and unworthy of discussion.

It seemed like no time at all when the porter was calling, "Hogsmeade! Arriving at Hogsmeade!"

"Oh! I need to get back to my compartment and change into my robes."

West touched her hand. "Meet me on the platform?" he asked nearly begging. Her sunny smile was all the promise he needed.

Ron and West joined the throng heading for the exits. "Glad they have baggage service. Can you imagine trying to carry our gear through this chaos?"

"You nervous about the Sorting? My brother Fred told me we have to wrestle a troll. Of course I wouldn't believe him if he said the sun was shining, jolly joker."

"Didn't you read Hogwarts, A History ? Dumbledore had me get a copy when we picked up my books at Flourish and Blotts."

Ron looked embarrassed. "Uh, well my parents only got me and my brothers the basics, you know."

Now that everybody was in uniform West could see that Ron's robes were indeed rather shopworn while his own were new and of the finest material like Malfoy's. I'm equipped like the local rich young snots. He was beginning to understand just how much the Ministry was willing to invest in his success. Again he wondered, What's in it for them?

The mountain of a man he'd met at the castle was at the end of the platform.

"Firs’ years, firs’ years,” he called out over the throng. “Hold on there, youngun, just the firs’ years. You need to take the carriage with the other returnin' students. Oh it's you George. Professor Dumbledore said to be on the look out for you. Right this way," then he continued bellowing, "Four to a boat. Firs’ years, four to a boat."

West caught sight of Hermione in the throng and squeezed his way toward her. "Four to a boat, he says. Shall we ride together?"

"Oh yes, I'd like that," she said with enthusiasm. The she looked embarrassed as if she'd shown more than she meant to.

As the boats sailed under who knows what power or guidance West and Hermione tried not to look at each other too much. She was rattling off all she could remember from her reading about the school, the castle itself and everything around. She only paused when West put in what he recalled.

They were both plainly trying to cover up their nervousness; but whether about the start of a new life in magic or from the nearness of each other even they didn't know. When they came around the bend and saw the castle for the first time they were both speechless, perhaps for the first time in their lives.

The boats docked and they followed the huge man up the stairs into a chamber where they were met by none other than Professor McGonagall. The giant bowed his head briefly and said, "The firs years, Professor."

"Thank you, Hagrid." He withdrew.

She marched them into the Great Hall. The four tables seamed to hold thousands though West knew from the book there were only a few hundred in each house. The faculty at the head table loomed over him like a pantheon of gods waiting to pass judgment on him. The pillars reached up endlessly like the stalagmites of a cavern at the heart of the world. Hermione was speaking but West couldn't hear the words. For the first time since he'd met her something else demanded his attention.

He struggled to hold on to some shred of control. All he wanted was to run screaming from The Hall, run all the way back to Texas and never leave her borders again. But too much was riding on this. Here was his chance to make his parents proud, to gain skill to make it in life and help people, to build understanding between two great nations.

Then some of Hermione's nervous chatter soaked through. "The ceiling isn't real, you know. It's enchanted to match the outside. I read it in Hogwarts, A History." That was it! That was what he needed! There he found the strength to go on. He would do it for Hermione. He would stay to be with her. He would face the hosts of heck to be with her. Heck? What the Heck? Oh yeah, the Anti-Cussing Spell on the castle. I knew it was powerful but I didn't know it even censured our thoughts.

Professor McGonagall placed a stool with an ancient, decrepit wizard's hat. As she was explaining the procedure West stared. A hat? A HAT? All I have to do is wear a sadomasochistic HAT? He nearly groaned out loud remembering what he'd read about the sorting before leaving the states. The fear had driven the memory from his mind.

The Professor began reading the names from the list. One by one the frightened pre-teens marched up to the stool, put on the hat and were cheered by their new families. In no time she was announcing, "Granger, Hermione."

West watched intently. He expected her to join Ravenclaw, but after brief pause The Hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

I've GOT to get into that house, I've GOT TO! his thoughts shouted.

Finally his name was called and he gathered what strength he had left and, head held high, strode to the stool. The thought of being separated from her brought back the fear; all the students, all the faculty, even the portraits and statues along the walls seemed to weigh down on him. He felt alone and helpless. His parents, his old friends, his teachers back home couldn't help him now. He felt he was alone in space, his grip on the ship's strut gone and he was hurtling into the infinite void.

There was nothing to do but go on. How he made it he never knew but he was sitting on the stool with The Hat in his hands. A desperate hope came to him. Maybe I can ask this thing to put me in a particular house, maybe it considers individual preference. He was raising The Hat to his head. I'll ask it. I'll beg it. I'll plead... But before he could form a coherent thought, before The Hat had touched his head it shouted, ringing off of the stone rafters, "GRYFFINDOR!!!!!!!!!!!!"

West took the last empty space at Gryffindor table which was next to Ron. They cheered him and pounded his back at he sat, all except for Hermione who sat opposite him. She was silent and still but her smile was broad and her eyes glowed. Dumbledore was saying something but West didn't hear a word.

Somehow, the table became covered with food without him noticing just when or how. The smell was overpowering after so long a ride on the train. He became aware of something inside of him other than his heart. His stomach was now calling for his attention. The food was excellent, far better than he'd ever thought could be had outside of Texas. Frequently he looked up to see her looking at him, her smile warming him despite arctic blasts that danced about the castle.

Polishing off the last of the dessert, What do they call it here, oh yeah, afters. he let his gaze linger on her a bit more before the headmaster called the school song. West heard only her dancing soprano voice. Somewhere at the edge of awareness, somebody said "Fanged Frisbees." ******* They stuck close together as the prefects marched them upstairs to the dorm. They passed through a hole hidden behind a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress, and were standing in a warm, cozy room with worn furniture and a glowing fire. Over the fire was a portrait that must have been a thousand years old. It showed a man with brilliant red hair who was plainly a wizard, he radiated wisdom and power. But there was more. There was integrity and honor about him. He could have posed in a knight's suit of armor as convincingly.

Ron's brother, the prefect, was droning on in his self important way about rules and regulations of the house.

When he got to the part about the two dormitories, West felt a jolt. Of course they would be segregated, but somehow the thought of being separated from the girl for even a few hours was unsettling.

Percy had finished and everybody was heading for the stairs. West and Hermione glanced at each other and smiled slightly. "Um err, good night Hermione."

"Good night, West." Their hands started for each other. Just before contact they realized the impropriety of holding hands on such brief acquaintance and quickly shifted to a hand shake. ******* Up in the first year boys' dorm, West laid eyes on the bed with his baggage at the foot and sighed realizing how tired he was. The novel experience of the train trip and the feast combined with the excitement of meeting a girl he was so attracted to, drained his energy reserves more than he realized. Attracted to? I'm simply nuts about her, He tossed his clothes semi-pell-mell into the bureau and changed into nightwear.

Dean Thomas was grinning at him. "So cowboy, you have a girlfriend do you?"

West tried to skip the cliché of denying his feelings, but at the same time didn't want to give a false impression of them, especially as he wasn't really sure what these feelings were. The whole experience was totally new to him. In the five years he'd spent in elementary school he'd never really caught on the fundamental difference between girls and boys beyond simple anatomy.

Now his heart was doing things he'd never imagined. When they were apart he could barely think straight for missing her. And when he was with her he couldn't think at all for delight. And when he thought he might loose contact with her he was so scared the colossal fear of the school and all was as nothing. Is this love? Well if it's not, I sure the bleep don't know what it is.

"Well, Dean, I wouldn't want to answer for another person but I can certainly say that I'm, well, fond of her."

Ron, Neville and Shamus grinned and shook their heads while Dean gave laugh that asked, "Who do you think you're fooling?"

The light was blown out and the bed curtains drawn closed West slipped off into sleep with the image of Hermione before his mind's eye. But just before he gave himself up to oblivion, he remembered an earlier thought, Just what do they want of me?

*******

Unknown to West, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were discussing that very thing. In an office high in the castle, its walls filled with books and the floor cluttered with strange devices, the old lady was worried.

She worried not only for the safety of one of her students, but for her own integrity. "Professor, I just don't know. It…it's just not right to endanger this boy in order to protect Harry Potter, no matter how found you are of him."

The headmaster shook his head wearily. "Minerva, protecting Harry goes far beyond my personal feelings for the boy, even beyond my fondness for his parents, peace to their ashes. He must survive. He must live and grow strong so when he becomes a man he can face down and defeat Voldemort."

She started as if she'd been shot. "But…but…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is no more. He destroyed himself when he attempted to kill Harry."

"Don't believe everything you hear from the heralds. Voldemort’s body may be destroyed, but he survives yet in some form. And he may yet regain his former status." He held up his hand to forestall any objection she might voice. "I can't tell you any more on the subject. By rights, I should not have told you that much. Just believe me when I tell you it's necessary. And I have not put Mr. Westinghouse into any particular danger."

"No danger? But, if he's in Potter's place..."

"He is in Harry's bed, Harry's seat at the dinner table, Harry's desk in the class room, but he does not replace Harry in the prophecy. He was not born on the correct date, nor of the proper parentage. Mr. Westinghouse is in no more danger than any other student here. In fact Harry's absence makes Voldemort’s attacking the school highly unlikely making the boy from The States even safer. He could be in no better hands if he had gone to Dragon Fang after all, which he could not have as his family does not have the money."

The old lady had nothing more to say. She left without a word.

West woke up early. Checking his wind-up watch (he had been warned that electronics would not work near the castle) he saw he had an hour to get to breakfast. In addition to getting tidy (he tended to put on his clothes in a way that looked like he'd slept in them), he took from his luggage a three by five card with a photo of a fantasy castle and wrote something on the back. Next to the message he wrote the address of his parents home and tucked it into his robe pocket.

He didn't have long to wait for Hermione to arrive, apparently she was also an early riser. A useful trait in an academic. She was smiling like sunshine on laying eyes on him and he felt the corners of his own mouth rising and his heart warming at the sight of her lovely face. He was on his feet a bit faster than he really intended and had to drag them a bit to slow to a proper indoor pace.

It may have seemed odd to the others for him to offer his hand to someone he had seen just eight hours ago and would be seeing all day, but he wanted to touch her hand again. She must have understood because her hand was rising right along. "Good morning, West. It's good to see you again."

He shook the hand. "Indeed, it's a lovely morning and just getting lovelier by the minute." He knew he was being transparent as space to the other students. He just hoped that his decorum would prove satisfactory when it reached the ears of the teachers.

*******

West and Hermione were among the first Gryffindors down to breakfast. He was particularly delighted by the huge kettles of hot cereal. As he was scooping out his third bowl Ron asked, "Don't they have porridge in Texas?"

"Sure do, but you can't eat it but two or three days out of the year. Between the simple heat of the dish and the food energy a bowl of this stuff will raise your core temperature five degrees."

"Is that bad?"

"Bad? Around here it's essential. But in Texas it's deadly." He glanced over to Hermione. She now had a comfortable smile, like the smile his mother had when she saw him enjoy his food. But this, of course, was different in some very special way. Her eyes again had that magical glow when they lit on West. He felt a rise in core temperature beyond anything he could lay at the cereal.

During breakfast the heads of house delivered the class schedules. First period of that day would be with Professor Snape. West recalled the less than warm reception the potions master had given him during his visit to the castle and hoped they could learn to get along. This hope died aborning when the greasy-headed specter appeared at Gryffindor table and homed in on the boy.

"Mr. Westinghouse, I want you to know that I don't approve of you, your country or your presence here. I don't care how talented or brilliant you are or how much it means to international harmony. You will not pass any class I teach."

West was used to teachers who let their personal feelings interfere with their duty, but this was the first to come right out and say it. Maybe it wasn't proper, but if what the man said was true there was nothing to loose by speaking his mind. "Really Professor, aren't you being a little hasty? I'm sure the staff at Dragon Fang isn't giving Harry Potter as hard a time."

The cold, dark eyes shot open. "Potter did you say? Harry Potter? Would that be the son of James and Lily Potter?"

"I really don't know his parents or anything about him, only his name, the school he's going to and that we're taking each other's place. Professor McGonagall introduced us at the airport but there was no time for chat."

Snape left without a word and went to where Dumbledore still sat at the faculty table. "Professor Dumbledore, is it true that Harry Potter, the son of that no account, worthless James Potter, is the student we exchanged for the American?"

The old man could see what motivated Snape's question and saw the perfect handle to use on him to at least give West a fighting chance. "Yes, Severus, that is indeed the case. Harry Potter was scheduled from birth to come here to Hogwarts, but I convinced the Department of Magical Education that he would benefit most from the program. I certainly hope young Westinghouse works out so Harry doesn't have to come back and finish his education here."

Snape walked away muttering, resolving to do all he could to make the barbarian's career at Hogwarts successful.

As the students filed out, West stopped McGonagall. "Excuse me, Professor. Is there some way I can send a post to my parents in Texas?" holding the card.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore can arrange something." she said taking the card.



*******

Up in the headmaster's office Dumbledore examined the card. "Yes, yes, very clever. He's melded images of two or three fantasy castles using a computer. That's a Muggle device for manipulating images and numbers."

McGonagall wasn't interested in this information. "But what does it MEAN, Albus?" she said looking again at the lines on the back.

"I've no idea. It looks like part of a poem. No, it's a song. I remember it was playing on the Muggle wireless, when I visited. But what it means, I can't even guess. But I can think of no reason not to send it. Dorothy, please owl this to the Port Key Authority to be sent to The States."

"Right away, Headmaster." said a wizardess, working at a long ledger. She read the card too, on the way to the Owlery, but it meant no more to her than it had to Professor McGonagall.

And the all around cowboy fell head over heals
In love with the rodeo queen.*

*All Around Cowboy Marty Robbins

Snape opened his first class as he did all first classes of first years, spewing contempt from his assumption that nobody could be as brilliant as he had been. West had arranged to sit next to Hermione and was so wrapped up in thoughts of her he scarcely noticed Draco sitting across the aisle from him.


"Mr. Longbottom," the professor barked, drawing West back to awareness. "With your noble family background you should have no trouble telling me the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood."



Neville's mouth moved soundlessly like a goldfish in a bowl as West and Hermione's hands shot up. Snape grinned with evil satisfaction before considering what to do next. "Miss Grange- no, Mr. Westinghouse."



West stood at attention and sang out, "SIR!"



The startled teacher stepped back. "Ah, can you answer the question?"



West launched into his spiel. "SIR! Monkshood and wolfsbane are both common names for the herb aconite, SIR! In Latin, Aconitum napellus of the family N.O. Ranunculaciae. Also called Blue Rocket, Friar's Cap, and Auld Wife's Huid..." Snape stared amazed as the boy continued with calm confidence as if reading from a book. "...The plant is a hardy perennial, with a fleshy spindle-shaped root..." In fact, as he went on Snape noticed his eyes moving back and forth as if reading from a page in front of him. "...It is used as an anodyne, a diuretic and a diaphoretic. The value of aconite as a medicine has been more fully realized in modern times, and it now ranks as one of the most useful..." After a few minutes, the professor held up his hand to signal stop. West, with no more passion than a light bulb, responded, "SIR!" and sat down.



Looking over the crop of Slytherins, he hoped one of them would answer the next question, giving him an excuse to award points to his old house. "Who can tell me what a bezoar is?"



Once more West and Hermione were the only ones with their hands up. Snape sighed inwardly and said, "Miss Granger?"



With a broad smile she said, "A bezoar is..." and she stopped looking as if she had caught herself committing an impropriety. She leapt to her feet and said, "SIR!" In much the same way West had. "A bezoar is a stone taken from a goat's stomach and is a sovereign remedy for most poisons, SIR!" She looked hesitant as if she would like to say more but was afraid to offend.



"Yes, I suppose that will do." She sat looking satisfied. "Now what would I get if I mixed powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, Mr. Westinghouse?" he said with resignation apparently giving up the hope that anybody else had read the material.



Jumping to his feet again, West said, "SIR! The combination of asphodel and wormwood produces an extremely powerful sleeping potion, also known as the Draught of Living Death, so powerful..." Again his eyes darted back and forth as if reading from a page.



Trying to hide how impressed he was, Snape spat, "That will be five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Westinghouse. When I ask a question I want ONLY the answer, not an encyclopedia. Exactly WHO are you trying to impress?"



West answered in the most matter of fact way, "You, sir."



*******



First class was the same in all classes with Hermione and West walking away with all the points. Professor Binns was particularly impressed as history, no matter what teachers say about cause and effect, human motivation and original thought, still comes down to memorizing names and date. The only class where their dominance was doubted was flying. Only so much can be learned from a book. After that you either have it or you don't. Hermione again was trying to cover up her nervousness by rattling off everything she'd read about brooms, flying, Quidditch and just about everything else. West hid behind silence and a calm smile.



*******



Dinner that night saw West and Hermione as the center of attention for Gryffindor table and a point of interest for the other three. The Weasley brothers, even Percy, were dumbfounded. "It's all over the school. Snape actually seemed impressed by you two. Is it true you only lost five points the whole class?"



West paused modestly before making an apology for the demerits but he never had chance to speak it. Hermione dove in with, "He was just mad because West had all the answers and his precious Slytherins just sat there like a pack of mannequins."



"The lady is being modest to the point of inaccuracy. She answered as many questions, and all perfectly I might add." His smile seemed to say more than approval of her classroom performance. Her eyelids dropped as her head bowed and her cheeks tinged a pale pink. A passing man from Arcturas might mistake her modesty for the compliment in class performance, but the other Gryffindors knew it was more from West's attention.



Neville stammered out, "I, I'm glad you were there to draw his attention from the rest of us. He, he scares me."



West gave a perfect "Father-Knows-Best" smile and told him, "Don't let him rattle you, brother. Always remember, 'You can't conquer a free man, the worst you can do is kill him.'" The little fellow started to smile, but as the full statement soaked in, he became genuinely appalled.



*******



As they filed into the common room, the older students headed straight up to the dorm, knowing from experience that the second day would likely be rougher than the first. The first years were about to do the same when Professor McGonagall called them to wait for an announcement. "I want you all to know that it has not escaped my attention that Miss Granger and Mr. Westinghouse made a strong impression on all the teachers you met with today. Even Professor Snape grudgingly admitted that he sees promise in the two of you. If you continue to excel like this you will bring home more academic points to Gryffindor than any student in living memory."



West and Hermione both smiled modestly and bowed their heads murmuring, "Thank you, Professor." He also touched the edge of his hat with his left index in salute.



After McGonagall left, the first years started wandering up to their dorms, all except the honored pair. They looked at each other with something like regret. The measly eight hours ahead of them seemed like a long time to be separated. West's eyebrows went up as if he'd had an inspiration. "Do you waltz?"



"Uh, I've had a few lessons."



West drew from an inner pocket a small rectangle of crystal, set it on a table and opened the lid. The immortal strains of Straus's "Blue Danube" filled the common room. "A personal gift from Professor Dumbledore. Muggle electronics like CD players get all, what's the word? Oh yeah, wonky."



He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it against her back, then holding her left hand in his right glided her about the room. Her eyes sparkled brighter than they had ever since they'd met. He became oblivious to everything but her.



It seemed only moments later that Percy was tapping West on the shoulder. "No Mr. Weasley, you may NOT cut in," he said without taking his eyes of off his partner.



Percy heaved a great sigh. "I don't WANT to cut in. I want you two to go up to your dorms and get to bed. You're an hour past curfew."



Both first years looked disappointed. They released each other and West closed the crystal lid banishing the music. He bowed, and she curtsied. He took her hand and kissed it ever so gently. "It has been an honor, my lady."



"The honor is mine, sir," she answered with a curtsy.



As they headed for their respective staircases Percy reminded them, "I don't want to penalize you because you help us get points, but you simply MUST obey the rules."



West paused to say, "My apologies sir. I, lost track of time."



A/N: Info on aconite from encarta.msn.com

All the classes ran smoothly the rest of the week. West and Hermione seemed to spend every waking hour together whether in class, the library or just studying in the common room. And every night they took a few minutes out for an after dinner dance. None of the other students seemed to notice and if McGonagall did, she never mentioned it. Percy had qualms about it but after a careful search of the student handbook could find nothing one way or the other.

Came Friday and the first year Gryffindors had their first potions lab. Professor Snape was his usual supercilious self but did not weigh down on West and Hermione because, he admitted to himself, it might be nice to have at least a couple of students produce a passable product the first time. “Mr. Westinghouse, I trust you have learned to restrain yourself. In this class I demand proper decorum.”

West stood tall and slowly drew his hat from his head, placing it over his heart. “Sir!” he said solemnly. “For more than a hundred years my family has lived by the motto of my great-grandfather and namesake. ‘You can be SURE, if it’s Westinghouse.’” Hermione's eyes widened and she looked as if she wanted to say something but did not think it was an appropriate time.

“See that my confidence is not misplaced.”

This week's assignment was the boil removal potion. West was again near Draco. At a point in the lab he, for some reason known but to God, glanced over to the Slytherin just in time to see him begin to add the porcupine quills. “Draco, NO! You need to take it off the fire first.”

A glare of utter contempt was all the answer he got. Draco angrily tossed the quills into the still bubbling mix.

“GIVE HIM ROOM!” shouted West as he, seemingly without thought, scooped up Hermione in one arm and shoved Ron, who stood on her other side, away from the Slytherin side of the room. The other Gryffindors, caught up in the excitement of the moment, followed suit.

Professor Snape was shaking his head and muttering. He did not seem angry, but rather frustrated. A few students heard him mutter, “Why him? Why HIM?” All the Slytherins stood haughty and arrogant. The foreigner’s conduct was inexcusable, besides being absurd. What could he possibly be so frightened of?

The vapors rising out of the cauldron spread out and up. As it touched skin it formed great, flame red boils. Draco, being closest, was screaming with pain. Slytherins who had not been touched were trying to get away.

“SILENCE!” bellowed Snape. With a wave of his wand he chased the fumes back into the cauldron and levitated it into a tight-lidded box by his desk, slamming down the lid. “Everybody effected, step up here for the antidote.” He drew a bottle from the shelves and dabbed its contents liberally on those afflicted.

As he applied the curative, he thought desperately for a way to blame this on West. But it was no use. West had even warned Malfoy when such warning should not have been necessary. The young get of his own house had not followed instructions, and in magic that can be deadly. After the last boil had been treated and the Snakes were back at their desks Snape gritted his teeth and said the most difficult words of his life. “Plus ten points to Gryffindor for recognizing a dangerous situation and acting correctly.”

“But Professor...” Draco whined.

“AND MINUS ten points from Slytherin for causing the problem in the first place.” Why, oh WHY couldn’t that idiot Longbottom have caused the crises?

The Gryffindors were back in their places. West was looking at Snape with aw. He took off his wizard’s hat and held it over his heart as he made a low bow. ******* Although West had shown a phenomenal memory in reciting the material, he proved to lack somewhat in putting this knowledge into practice. His boil removal potion was mediocre at best, placing him squarely among the bulk of the first year students. In fact the only perfect specimen was turned in by Hermione. Such a poor performance by at least one of the stars of Gryffindor went a long way to lift Snape's spirits.

One thing did set West apart from all the others. Next to his text book on his desk sat a bound blank book in which he had listed step by step the procedure and had annotated with everything he'd changed and observed during the lab. Hermione had seen this but was too nervous to comment on it. ******* As they packed up their gear Hermione whispered, "West, that motto you said was your great-grandfather's, was he... I mean was he really...?"

West replied with a small grin. "Yep, I'm direct descendant of one of the pioneers of modern electricity. But the money followed a different path of descent, another branch of the family tree, you might say. And I fear, so did the brains."

As the others filed out West said to his lady fair, "I'll catch up with you. I need to speak to the Professor."

She was surprised. This was the first time since they met he'd voluntarily separated from her. She hrugged. "Okay. Don't be long." Then she gave him a smile to encourage him to be speedy.

Alone with Snape he said, "Sir?"

Snape looked up with his usual suspicious stare. "Huh, what is it?"

"May I come back tomorrow and try again? Not for a grade, just to see if I can get it right."

"Let me see if I understand, Mr. Westinghouse. Are you volunteering to spend extra time in class to repeat the work, even if it doesn't reflect on your grade?"

"Yes sir. I think I was very close to the correct procedure and getting it right will help me understand where I went wrong."

"Young man, I've been teaching here for more than ten years and nobody has ever asked to do MORE work. Yes, you may come back tomorrow after breakfast and repeat the experiment. And I will be here to offer any aid you might need." Watching the retreating form Snape marveled at himself. I'm actually helping a Gryffindor. But he seems to WANT to learn. Not like those lolly gags Potter and Black I went to school with. He packed up his papers and left. ******* At the Gryffindor table there was an empty chair next to Hermione. She seemed pleased as punch to see him. He thanked her for saving it for him as he sat. As they began to scoop casserole from the serving dishes she asked, "Well, what little homework we were given we've already done. How would you like tospend Saturday?"

His face told her he was as disappointed as she by what he had to say. "I'm going to be in the potions lab tomorrow."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "He can't make you give up your weekend."

"He's not making me do anything. I asked him to let me repeat today's potion for practice. You saw what a mess I made of it."

"It didn't look so bad. In fact it looked better than mine."

West didn't want to seem rude by pointing out that Ron's work was nothing to brag about. "If I never get it right I can't expect a decent grade on the final. I have to learn the first steps before going on or I might as well drop out now."

This show of dedication to principal and thirst for learning made Hermione smile with pride. She was starting to feel his virtues reflected on her. "That's the spirit, West. Do you want me to come along?"

The thought of spending the time with her seemed lovely, but sadly shook his head. "No sense in that. Yours was perfect." He gave a small chuckle. "In fact, having you near by may have been my problem. I might not have been concentrating." She smiled and lowered her eyes. "Say, here's a thought. How about you look up stuff in the library about all the things we studied this week and we'll go over your notes in the evening?"

"That sounds like a fine idea. I'd love to."

Ron growled. "First day off from class we get and she wants to spend it in the library. Then they'll have a jolly time going over her notes." They looked terribly amused at his shaking head.

Saturday, West and Hermione were at breakfast at their usual weekday time, although most students preferred to sleep in. When he saw Professor Snape get up from the table he shook her hand gently and smiled saying, "Lunch?"


"Oh, I'll be here alright," she said with a barely suppressed giggle.


Scooping his bag from the floor, he caught up with the Professor at the door. "Thank you for not keeping me waiting, Mr. Westinghouse. I'd like to get to my paper work promptly." West replied with a silent nod.


*******


At the classroom West went straight to his desk and unpacked his gear. Snape watched with what he would have termed morbid curiosity, since no useful information can be gained from watching a Gryffindor. But his attention was drawn to the lab notebook when West opened it and began arranging the material and apparatus with frequent glances to the hand written notes.


"What is this? Why have you copied the set up and procedure from the text book?"


West smiled at the thought that even a great specialist like Snape could learn something new, but tried to make it look like he was just being civil. It took very little to set the man off and they would be working together for seven years.


"Running it through the output side of the brain as well as the input better imbeds it in the memory. Plus, it also makes me stop and ask myself, 'Do I REALLY understand?' Then, you'll note it doesn't quite match the book. There the illustration of the cauldron is a slightly out of date model. This way I'm not caught out if I have to adjust anything to accommodate."


"And to top it off, if I have to change anything during the experiment I can note that too and add any observations," West let a bit of pride creep into his voice and a smile. "And THAT'S how I make the repeat better than the first. As I go along I'll see what went wrong and correct it."


Snape was holding the book and thumbing through the pages. The boy had excellent observation and a skilled drawing hand. "You learned this at your Muggle school in The States?"


"Yes sir, in laboratory sciences such as physics, biology and chemistry. In particular the latter two as the experiments usually take up all available time and some materials aren't readily replaced." West thought to mention that he had actually taken these classes in the accelerated program in elementary school (thanks to his father's influence) but did not want to seem to be bragging.


Something caught the man's attention. Glancing to the open text book he said, "Here, where you say you stirred ten time deosil just like in the book, you may get better results stirring only five times but widdershins."


West was honestly surprised at this assistance. "Thank you sir, I'll make a note of that."


Snape made a few more suggestions, some changing what the book said, but some calling attention to things that must be done according to the book for a successful potion and returned to his desk where he busied himself with administrative paper work. In less time than the original lab took West was holding before Snape a crystal flask full of material identical to Hermione's.


Snape pulled the cork and sniffed. His talented nose could tell more in one sniff than anyone else in the school could tell in an hour of careful analysis. "Perfect. If you had turned this in yesterday you'd have gotten full credit and maybe even a few points." The boy beamed with pride. Doing a thing right meant more to him than getting the credit for it. Snape took out his magically self-winding pocket watch. "There is a half hour till lunch. What did you have planned for this afternoon?"


"Nothing, sir. I left it open in case the experiment had taken longer."


"How would you like to return after lunch and work on next week's potion?"


"Splendid, sir."


"You can leave your gear here. If you prepare your... notebook did you call it? As well for this, we can finish it before dinner and you can help me handle the students next Friday."


For only an instant West was stunned. Snape was not only helping him where before he'd been hindering, but wanted West to L.A. for him. "I would be honored, sir." West scooped up the notebook and quills and headed for the library to check up on a few things.





*******





"Hi, honey. Uh, I mean buddy." West whispered to Hermione as he passed her in the library on his way to the potions section.


She left her work to follow him into the stacks. As he scanned the spines of likely looking tomes he noticed her out the corner of his eye and saw just barely restrain herself from putting her arms around him. Taking three promising volumes from the shelf, he turned to face her. "How's it been?" he whispered offering his right hand.


"Oh, fine. I've got a lot a material, especially on transfigurations." Her smile came perilously close to a giggle as she took his hand. "How are you getting along with Snape?"


His face took on a mock severity. "That's PROFESSOR Snape, sweetheart, err, Hermione." He almost laughed out loud. "As I expected, I was only a little off on a few points. Can you believe it? Snape actually gave me some useful advice and I made a first class job of it. When I had him critique my vial he said it was perfect. And get this! He said if I came back after lunch and worked on next week's potions, really now, he wants me to L.A. next Friday. Uh, that's American for Lab Assistant. He wants me to direct and advise the other first years."


Hermione was in awe. Snape had been doing everything he could think of to humiliate the Gryffindors and here he was bestowing high (to her way of thinking) honor on one of them.


West explained to her how impressed Snape had been with the concept of the lab notebook. She was rather taken with it herself so he told about it as he prepared the entry for that afternoon. By the time he had his notebook ready and they had put away her work, lunch was well under way.


*******


Grabbing the last two chairs at the end of Gryffindor table they began scooping from the serving dish with only the briefest greetings to their table mates.


Ron looked particularly scruffy as if he'd been doing some make-up work of his own in broom practice. "So, having fun on your day off? Must be hollers, one of you cooped up in the library all day and the other imprisoned in a dungeon with Snape." His head shook to the ccompaniment of a small, bitter laugh.


Hermione and West glance to each other to silently ask, "Is that how you feel?" Their eyes answered, "Positively NOT!"


*******


West managed to make it back to the dungeon with a full stomach just as Snape was sitting down. "Thank you for not keeping me waiting, Mr. Westinghouse." It was a line he seemed to be in the habit of using but the tone seemed to indicate he didn't really feel the contempt he had expected. "Do you have the notebook entry for the baldness cure ready?"


"Right here, sir," he said as he handed up the book.


"Yes, yes. Everything seems to be in order. Do you mind if I make copies of this for the class?"


"My pleasure, sir," the boy replied with a nod.


He made a casual wave of his wand over the book and said, "Duplicatus." There was a fussy glow about the book and a similar glow formed to right which solidified into a stack of papers. He sighed. "Well, it's not parchment, but will do." He handed back the bond original and West began.


After a time West asked, "Sir, is it supposed to be this color?"


Snape got up for a look. "Not by a long sight. Let me see your notes." He studied them for a moment with an occasional grunt. "Well, I can see where you went wrong. The armadillo bile should be shaken, not stirred. Where's the text book." Picking it up he read the corresponding section. "Mordred's mustache," he swore under his breath. "You did copy it right. This new edition wasn't properly proofed." He looked at West with a sense of distaste like the aftermath of Draco's boil debacle. "You saved the entire class a wasted afternoon, five points to Gryffindor."


While West cleaned up his gear and prepared to try again, Snape went over the text with a fine tooth comb. "Well, everything seems alright, other than that. You should be able to finish before dinner."


*******


When West left the dungeon it was so close to dinner he just had time to dump his bag in his dorm and wash up before getting to the Great Hall. He was looking forward to the look on Hermione's face when he told her about the points Snape had given him for the second lab. But when he took his seat next to her she seemed to have something announce.


Before either could speak, McGonagall came and said, "I've been thinking about what you suggested, Miss Granger. I think it would be an excellent idea for you to assist me in Transfiguration class. You should have no trouble getting your own work done in time to help the others. And you can expect a little something in the way of house points for each session you help." West was speechless. Hermione was genuinely embarrassed from the combination of McGonagall's praise and West's look of unadulterated pride.

It didn't take long for the concept to move to other classes. Neville soon found himself spending his weekends at the greenhouses helping Professor Sprout, while Terry Boot lent a hand to Professor Flitwick in Charms. Hannah Abbot found her time spent polishing telescope lenses for Professor Sinistra particularly rewarding.



All over the school, teachers were getting the assistance bug. Even Trelawney, who feared to let anybody in on too much of her operation, had a fourth year Ravenclaw cleaning tea cups and dusting off the crystal balls. The only hold out was Professor Quirrel who seemed to worry about letting anybody close to him. He continued to handle DADA all by himself.



Ron continued to groan at the very idea of doing more work than absolutely necessary until one Saturday he came into lunch all sweaty and windblown with his face red and chapped.



West grinned at the other assistants [Hermione and Neville] before making his comment. "Well Ron. You look like you've finally succumbed to the Working Weekend virus."



"Working? Do you think I'm nutters like the rest of you?" He stuck out his chin as he swelled with pride. "Madam Hooch has made me brooms keeper. She gave me this key to the shed and now nobody gets a broom on the weekend without my say so. And during class I'm going to go around and tell the rest of you how it's done."



West spent Saturday mornings with Snape on a regular basis. Between the two of them, they saw to it that all first years were as prepared as could be for each lab. Saturday afternoons and Sundays he spent with Hermione, often researching in the library but sometimes just sitting in the common room or on occasion walking along the lake shore. It was just at such a time, at the start of November, that he reached for her hand. She did not draw back.



But as West's dad had said, "Scuttlebutt in a boarding school is as common as sand fleas in your skivvies." A few days later in Potions class Snape sneered, "Mr. Westinghouse, are you in love with Miss Granger?"



West sputtered, "Professor, that is a most personal question."



"ANSWER ME!" the sallow wraith demanded.



The boy turned to the girl; their eyes locked. Dean Thomas, who sat behind them, later swore he heard violins. West felt his heart race. He was having trouble breathing. Hermione was starting to blush. He found his voice. Without taking his eyes off of her, he said, "Yes sir. I AM in love with Miss Granger." Her eyes were sparkling. Ron, sitting on her other side, looked about trying to find were the bird song was coming from.



West didn't know what came over him. As he gazed into her eyes he became oblivious to everybody and everything around them. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it more than anything he had wanted in his life. He found himself leaning towards her. He knew it wasn't proper, that in Britain one didn't kiss in class right in front of the teacher, but he was beyond caring. And he knew Hermione didn't care either because she was leaning towards him.



Their lips touched. It wasn't vigorous, not passionate. Physically, it was most sedate, chaste. But his heart was no longer his own as he soared through the clouds. The touch of her velvet lips, their taste, the scent of her perfume. The glow of lamp light on her shining brown hair.



Then they both realized what they were doing and broke off. The kiss seemed to have lasted only a moment but now the room was empty save for themselves and Professor Snape. The potions master sat at his desk looking straight at them as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He was too disbelieving even to demerit them.



They fumbled around for an apology, but before they could form the words he said, "Oh just get OUT of here." They grabbed there gear and hurried out.



Alone in the room Snape groaned, "That's just what the world needs. Grow up and marry and fill it with courageous little Gryffindors."



*******



A few months into term, West came across something in the library that did not jibe with his experience and true to his scientific training he sought out a specialist in the subject. "Professor McGonagall, in The Pocket Guide to Animagi it says the form of an Animagus is determined by the witch or wizard's personality and each person can have only one form. How is it you can be a gray cat and an ogre?"



The old woman looked somewhat embarrassed but managed a smile. "You mean like this?" And there before the boy was the ogre he had seen before. It spoke to him with her voice. "I'm afraid you caught me losing my temper when you and your parents visited. I really should apologize to your father, his behavior was quite understandable under the circumstances." Then the old woman was back. "The cat IS my Animagi form, the ogre is mere illusion. But you must admit it is most effective."



*******



The school year flew by. Students not that scholarly threw themselves into sports. With Ron assisting the brooms mistress she was able to organize an activities program for all the students who had completed first year flight training. Even the Weasley twins were finding little time for pranks.



Unlike most students West and Hermione felt no temptation to search out the cause of concern in the Forbidden Forest or the east wing on the third floor. She had been trained since birth to follow all rules. He on the other hand had learned to view all rules with suspicion. But three summers in the Utility Cadets had hammered home the importance of safety and the regulations on these two items smacked of OSHA.



The favored place held by a few students began to weigh on certain other students, students who were used to privileges of birth rather than reward of a job well done, Draco Malfoy among that lot. For most of his life he gotten special favors by simply saying, "Lucius Malfoy is my father." He had been all but guaranteed an easy ride in Potions under his own head of house.



But Severus Snape seemed not to have been notified. "Mr. Malfoy, is that the best you can do?" was frequently heard in the dungeons. In truth, it pained him sorely to have to favor the house of his arch rivals, but taking the foreigner to his bosom had increased his productivity without much extra effort on his part. His next performance review should be stellar.



One day at lunch Malfoy confronted West. "You think you're something special, don't you, Westinghouse? Well you're nothing. You're less than nothing. You're a peasant from a long line of peasants and all your descendants will be peasants."



"Why thank you, Draco."



"What?" Malfoy looked taken aback and rather confused.



"Farmers, these 'peasants' as you call them, are the anchor of the food chain. You remember from elementary, err, primary school, this little ditty.


When the banker says he's broke

When the merchant's up in smoke

Still the farmer is the man who feeds them all

It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest

For the farmer is the man who feeds them all



The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man

He lives on credit till the fall

With the interest rates so high

It's a wonder he don't die

But the farmer is the man who feeds them all



"I never heard such tosh," Malfoy answered coldly.



West considered. Of course, the rich would have been raised with a different perspective. "Well Draco, let's just say that I glory in the label of Productive Member of Society." Just the sound of the words slid him into a comfortable pride.



The Slytherin mimed spitting on the floor of the Great Hall. He was tempted to do it for real but the last thing he needed was more demerits. "It's time somebody put you in your place. I challenge you to a Wizards Duel."



Before West could say "What's that," Ron jumped in. "I'll be his second. Who's yours?"



Nodding to one of his henchmen, "Crabbe. Meet us in the Trophy Room at midnight, if you're not scared." He left smirking.



"Ron, what the blue blazes is this about? What do you mean, 'Wizards' Duel?'"



"Don't worry about it West. You can't hurt each other, you'll just throw sparks. And you can beat him. It's just like an old west shoot out. You'll get the drop on him and BAM!"



West held his forehead. "Ron, I know you don't listen in class, but I thought you were listening to me. I'm a CITY boy. I've never held a gun. And a duel isn't the same thing anyway. For one thing, we need a referee."



"A REFEREE?! You mean a TEACHER?"



"Doesn't have to be, any authority figure will do. Your brother Percy's a prefect; he'd serve." Ron's sour look showed little familial affection. "But Draco would say he was prejudiced toward his own house. Yeah, we need a teacher. And the only one we'd all agree on is Professor Snape."



"Snape? Are you bonkers? He hates us! He hates all Gryffindors!"



"I'm not so sure. Since I've been helping him out instead of glaring at him and calling him a prat behind his back, he's proved to be a pretty square dealer." He hesitated before offering Ron his speculation. "Uh, maybe he always was or had it in him to be but each new class came in expecting him to be a beast. If they covered it as well as we have, he couldn't help but notice and respond in kind."



"Well, then, Malfoy will say he favors you for all the help you give him."



"Oh Malfoy will think it, alright, but he won't dare say it. Snape's ego demands people tell him he's honest and forthright, especially when he isn't. An outburst like that will be just the thing to push him over the edge and give Draco detention. Most likely the first Slytherin to get it since he started teaching."



Ron still looked like he was on his way to the dentist (Hermione looked over the author's shoulder and demanded, "What's wrong with dentists?) but went along with West as he went up to the faculty table. Snape was just finishing up as they arrived.



"Excuse me, sir."



"Ah, Mr. Westinghouse. What is it? Is there something wrong with the lab?"



"No sir, it's a personal matter. Draco has challenged me to a wizard's duel and we need a referee."



Snape's eyes popped open. "A DUEL?! What nonsense is this? First years don't duel. I should give you detention just for asking. Uh, you said Mr. Malfoy challenged you?"



"Yes sir. The Trophy Room tonight at midnight, with Messrs Crabbe and Weasley as our seconds."



"Midnight? After curfew? Are there any rules at all you plan to keep?" He heaved a great sigh. "Maybe detention isn't the way to go with this problem. Maybe I should let you two go ahead and blast away at each other until you've had your fill, might teach you both a lesson. Be ready at eleven thirty at the portal to your common room. I'll bring Malfoy and Crabbe along, but not the Trophy Room, you might break something. I'll take you to a room on the seventh floor. It's normally off limits to first years but I'll write out a pass for all of you. I've got to get to class." And he left.

On the way to class Ron marveled, "He really isn't so bad after all. I can't believe it. Fred and George and Percy and Bill and Charlie, they all said how horrible he is to Gryffindors. And when we started he was."

"I think that's just the problem, Ron. A new crop of Gryffindors comes in and the class ahead tells them how awful he is. So they act like he's already a rat and he doesn't disappoint them. Maybe his very first class when he started teaching got a raw deal. Maybe he treated them rough because he was nervous on the new job. Maybe he really had it in for Gryffindor. I heard somewhere, when he was a student some of us harassed him mightily. However it started, the pattern was set and neither side had the brains or the guts to step out of it and look for the potential in the other."

Ron dismissed it all with a wave. "Just wait till we tell the rest of the house. Here we are just first years and we're having a duel with a teacher for referee and..."

"NO!" West snapped. Ron jumped at this unexpected response. "You'll tell nobody, understand?"

"Not TELL anybody? But West, this is greatest thing that's happened to Gryffindor all year. We'll be..."

"I said NO! Now if you can't do as I say, I'll get someone else to be my second."

"But West, WHY?"

"Do you think I WANT people to know that I can't work out some petty little argument without resorting to violence? Do you think that's how my parents raised me?"

"But the whole house will want to be there."

"And that's ANOTHER thing. Once Draco and I set the example do you think a room full of Slytherins and Gryffindors will stand by quietly and take the verdict? Who ever looses, his house will start something. It will start out innocent enough with dirty looks and grumbling. But soon it'll break out into a full scale riot and I don't think even Snape will be able to handle it. So Ron, Can I Depend On You?"

Ron gulped. "Y-yes. I'll keep it quiet."

*******

The afternoon went smoothly enough with out further incident. At dinner, West noticed Draco looking over toward him and smirking. The first years were so far down the table he couldn't see whether Snape ever looked at him or not. Dumbledore looked as if he hadn't a care in the world.

*******

There were still a few students in the common room when West took out the music box. He selected a very slow, romantic tune as he took Hermione into his arms. As the tune unwound she slid closer to him until the front of their robes touched. It wasn't at all proper, but she was feeling every bit as much in love as he. The vocal flowed on.*

Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along.
Tell me who wants to look back on the years and wonder
Where those years have gone.

As usual West didn't notice the passing of time. Somebody closed the music box and the tune stopped. "Percy, do you have to...."

"It's not Percy. It's me, Ron."

West growled. "Ron, what are you..."

"It's almost eleven thirty . Remember, we have to...you know."

West's face told of a job he'd rather not have to do. Hermione became concerned. "What is it West? What is it you two have to do? It's not something against the rules, is it?"

"Humph. That's not a problem. We...we just have to see Professor Snape about something."

"Why do you have to be so secretive about seeing one of the teachers? You're trying to keep something from me, aren’t you?"

West opened his mouth trying to think of something to say that would put her mind to rest. Before he could answer though, Ron burst out with, "He's going to duel Malfoy and Snape is the referee!"

"DUEL? You can't duel! First years aren't allowed! How…how could Professor Snape be a party to this?"

"The faculty have a wider range of action than we suspected, but it's time to go. He's waiting for us just beyond the Fat Lady with Malfoy and Crabbe." West's look to Ron asked for understanding. He took Hermione in his arms again and kissed her.

"I'm going with you."

"NO! No spectators. This is just between the two of us."

"I'm going, West. I have to. I…I…I love you."

For the life of him he couldn't think of another word to say.

*******

But the Slytherins hadn't quite gotten there yet. Malfoy was whining to get out of the whole thing, but Snape was hearing none of it. "But Professor, my father...."

"SHUT UP, you stupid FOOL! Is that what you want to write home about? 'Dear Father, I challenged a Gryffindor to a duel but chickened out.' Do you think THAT will make him PROUD of you? To be fool enough to challenge someone you’re too cowardly to face AND to be afraid in the first place of a Mudblood is NOT how Lucius Malfoy has always pictured his son."

Snape stopped dragging Malfoy down the corridor to get his breath. "And not just any Mudblood. Oh no. You're afraid to face an American."

"Professor, you're one of my father's friends. You're supposed to help me."

"I AM helping you, IDIOT! I'm keeping you from ending up on the ash heap. Why do you think I don't let you slide in potions class? What use do you think you'll be to anyone if you can't do even the simplest formula? What use will you be to The Organization? What use will you be to yourself?"

Crabbe perked up. "The Organization? Oh, you mean the Death..."

His head rang from Snape's backhand. "Is the entire house composed of fools? Never, I repeat, NEVER, speak that name here at Hogwarts. If you value not your own life, give some thought to the rest of us you peril."

Snape now looked Malfoy straight in the eye with a stunning glare so horrible the boy thought the Dark Lord himself could do no worse. "Now listen to me Draco Malfoy and listen well. Listen as if you life depended on it. You are going to meet Mr. Westinghouse in the combat room and you are going to beat him. That is all there is to it. Now come ALONG!"

*******

All six arrived just outside the Fat Lady's portrait at once. Snape's syrupy tone left no doubt that beneath it was the sincerity of pure poison. "Good evening Mr. Westinghouse, Mr. Weasley, are we all...Miss Granger what are YOU doing here?"

Hermione reached deep inside for the courage not to turn back. "I…I'm coming along. I'm going to watch West fight Draco and I'm going to see him win."

Snape's smile grew even wider to the point of looking as if he were about to be sick. "How sweet. Well, come along then, the night won't last forever."

*******

On the third floor Snape unlocked a door and lead the way into a room pitch dark. He was heard to say, “Luminous.” Light flared from all directions and he put away his wand. “Close the door, Mr. Weasley.” Ron complied, still rubbernecking about at the three by five foot light panels that surrounded the room ten feet above the floor. Other than these the room was nothing but a rectangular stone box; no furniture, no fixtures, no windows.

“Yes, as you see this place is planned for the accidental stray spell, nothing to be damaged or destroyed, nothing to be picked up and tossed at opponents.” Snape had West and Draco stand at points marked by stones of lighter hue than the rest of the dark floor with Ron and Crabbe to the sides. After some internal debate he had Hermione stand next to him.

“Now gentlemen, as you are first years and this just a practice duel so to speak you will confine yourselves to disarming and shielding. Is that understood?” Both nodded grimly. “Very well then, you may begin.”

“GASTRO DIRUPTUS!” Malfoy shouted as he swung his wand toward West.

But West had a Shield Charm ready. Swinging his wand around by the end like a policeman’s baton he said, “Reflectose.” Draco doubled over in pain.

Snape announced lazily, “One point for Mr. Westinghouse, zero for Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco was reaching for something in his robe. West thrust his wand at him and shouted, “EXPELLIARMUS!” Draco was hurled toward the wall behind him as something flew into West’s hands. It was a pill bottle with some sort of stomach remedy.

“Not sporting to take an opponent's medication, Mr. Westinghouse. Minus one point.”

“Get him, West!” Hermione surprised herself by shouting.

“Let him have it!” added Ron. Crabbe didn’t seem to know what to say.

West had to admit to himself he didn’t like the way things were going. The score was tied again and he didn’t really have any idea what to do next.

Then Draco got an evil glint in his eye, worse than usual. He muttered out something West didn’t catch and from his wand tip erupted a huge snake. West rolled his eyes heavenward and groaned, “Really Draco that is SOOOOO last year.” But inside he was saying to himself, Snakes! WHY did it have to be snakes!

Neither of Draco’s attacks seemed to fit the referee’s instructions but West saw the pointlessness of bringing that up. He had to come up with a defense and pronto.

Better something that didn't even work than nothing. West hurled his mind through his memory for something that worked against snakes. For want of anything better he jabbed his wand at the snake and shouted, "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVY!"

There, forming between him and the snake, was a mongoose easily ten times normal size. It charged the reptile hissing. West could tell by the rough edges that it was mere illusion but the snake was taken in. It swung about terrified and headed straight for Snape. He had tucked his wand back into his robes after turning the lights. As he struggled to extract it, he knew it was too late.

But he reckoned without the smartest as well as the most beautiful girl in the school. Hermione had her wand out and, jabbing it not at the snake but at Snape shouted, "OBFUSCATE!" The snake hesitated, then began looking about as if it had lost track of its target. During its confusion he managed to draw his wand and vaporize it.

The professor took a moment to recover. Then he growled, "Duel's over, Mr. Malfoy wins. Ten points from Gryffindor for using a spell to endanger non-combatants AND ten more for Miss Granger's interference."

Ron and Hermione could barely control themselves from speaking, but in a half year they had learned not to expect fairness from Snape. West faced the professor with his hat over his heart and a smile that said he knew more than he let on. He bowed and led his housemates back to the tower.

*I Hope You Dance Lee Ann Womack

Christmas was fast approaching and all that most of the students could talk about was going home for the holidays. Hermione most of all couldn't wait to see her parents. "I've never been away this long before. I can't wait to tell them all I've learned and how well I'm getting along with the teachers." West raised an eyebrow. "Oh, very well. Most of the teachers."

West, however, wasn't going anywhere. The skies were so crowded at this time of year he'd scarcely get off the ground before he'd have to turn back.

Hermione ached to ask him along. It would be so lovely to share Christmas with the boy she loved. But she knew her parents would never approve. Eleven year olds, even those in love, do not spend the holidays at each other’s homes. And there were only the two bedrooms. The Grangers, though smart and stylish in some ways, were much too proper to ask a guest to sleep on the couch.

Everyday they hurt a little more. They spent every possible moment together and promised repeatedly to think about each other day and night. As the carriages began taking students to the station the two of them were near tears. Just as the last carriage was loading she threw her arms around him and they kissed. Then she jumped in and was gone.

Ron tried to cheer West up. "Hey! I'll be here with you." Some how it wasn't the same.

*******

He played their favorite music while sitting there waiting, waiting for her return. He pictured her lovely face. He talked to her. He put his arms around the delusion and danced. On Christmas day he played a most heart-felt song. *

Greeting cards have all been sent
The Christmas rush is through
And I still have on wish to make
A special one for you...


Merry Christmas Darling
We're apart, that’s true
But I can dream and in my dreams
I'm Christmassing with you.


Holidays are joyful
There's always something new
But every day’s a holiday
When I'm near to you.


The lights on my tree
I wish you cold see
I wish it every day.
Log's on the fire,
Fill me with desire
To see you and to say


That I wish you Merry Christmas Darling
Happy New Year too...
I've just one wish on this Christmas Eve
I wish I were with you.
*******

Hermione returned from what was, surprisingly, the best Christmas of her life. It had indeed hurt to be away from West, but she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed her parents. And they were so happy for her when she told them about West it was like meeting him all over again. But when she met McGonagall...

"ARRESTED? What Do You MEAN, ARRESTED? Where IS He?"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger. I'll explain everything."

"EXPLAIN? How Can You EXPLAIN? Take Me To Him!" Her eyes had the feral glow of a wildcat as she gripped the old woman's robe front.

"Nurse, tranquilize her."

Pomfrey pointed her wand at the girl and said, "Val-i-um!" The wild look faded into placid smile that said there was nothing to worry about.

McGonagall looked her in the eye. "Miss Granger, can you hear and understand me?" A slow nod answered. "The spell has quieted your emotions but left your rational mind functioning." A deep sigh followed. "Mr. Westinghouse has indeed been arrested. It happened Christmas night."

*******

He was alone with Professor Snape in the lab. Hours after first year curfew Mr. Weasely began to worry. He went down to the common room where some of the upper class men were playing exploding snap or wizard chess. Among them was his brother. "Percy, has West come in yet?"

"What? West? Isn't he in bed?"

"No. Would I be asking if he was?"

"Well where is he?"

"I DON'T know. He said he was going with Snape to the lab.

Percy rose up to full pomposity. "That's PROFESSOR Snape, Ron. I'll go check." Ron started to sit down to a chessboard to wait. "Get back up to bed. You'll see him when he gets there."

I met Percy coming out of the fat lady portal. "Professor, Mr. Westinghouse isn't in the dorm. Have you seen him? He was last seen with Professor Snape heading for the dungeons."

"I certainly have not. He may be the Professor's right hand but he is not excused from the usual rules of first years. I'll go with you and when I find him..."

Outside the lab door Percy and I heard a strange whimpering. What we saw stunned us. Standing over the smoldering heap that had been the Professor was Mr. Westinghouse with his wand drawn. His eyes were wide and he seemed not to know what he was looking at.

Percy squeaked. "West! What... What have you done?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up. “Mr. Westinghouse!” I stated firmly. He still didn’t respond. “Mr. Wesley, go right this minute to Professor Dumbledore’s office and bring him here."

*******

The simple smile was still on the girl's face but the eyes seemed near tears. The professor finished with, "The entire faculty is working on finding out what happened. I assure you, if he's innocent he will be cleared, but for now he must be confined."

Though the faculty had tried to keep the events surrounding Snape’s absence quiet it was soon known to all. In the Headmaster's office Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Nurse Pomfrey all looked at each other hoping someone had an answer. Dumbledore asked, "Well Poppy, anything new with Mr. Westinghouse?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not a thing since the morning after the event. He started responding to questions but still insists he doesn't know what happened."

Flitwick said in his high, squeaky voice, "I've examined his wand. It seems the last spell cast from it was one I'm completely unfamiliar with, some sort of ball lightning."

Dumbledore and all the pictures along the walls wagged there heads and muttered gravely. "What could you tell from Snape's wand?"

"I couldn't even identify it for certainty. There was a charred smudge on the floor near what was left of Snape's hand, but it told me nothing."

"There is no record of a student being suspected of murdering teacher. We have no precedent."

"Headmaster, where IS Mr. Westinghouse?"

"I've confined him to a cell in the lower dungeons until we can decide what to do with him. It seemed the best course."

*******

West sat all alone in the bare cell, his dinner on the floor next to him untouched. His arms were wrapped tightly about him as he rocked back and forth sobbing. Neither death nor imprisonment frightened him, not per say. But the thought of never seeing Hermione again was heart breaking.

The house elf sent to collect the dishes stood by for many minutes watching. House elves are brought up from infancy to be concerned about human happiness and West had been most kind to the elves of Hogwarts since his arrival. Also they had little love for Snape as he had always treated them shabbily.

Finally he could remain silent no longer. “Is there anything Maynard can do for the young master?” He immediately regretted his choice of words as he had noticed West always winced at being called master. But this time the tall youth paid no notice. In fact he seemed unaware of the elf at all. “Please Mr. West! Please tell Maynard what he can do to help.”

Perhaps it was hearing his name or perhaps he was just tired of looking inward, but he now looked up at the elf. But the utterly non-human face was not what he saw. Instead he saw the flawless complexion and sparkling hazel eyes of the girl who held his heart. A sad smile spread across his face. His heart raced at the brief joy that filled it. He breathed one word, “Hermione!”

The elf was taken aback. He was not used to this form of address. But at least the young master was responding. What did he want? But elves are not stupid. “Ah, you want Maynard to deliver a message to the one called Hermione. Yes, yes, what is the message?”

West was still gazing into the most beautiful face in the world. Barely above a whisper he breathed, “Hermione, I love you.”

*******

In Gryffindor common room Ron, Neville and Dean stood around wondering. Ron opened the discussion. "I hope they don't send him to Azkaban. Murdering Snape shouldn't be that serious a crime. Even the Slytherins aren't all that broken up."

Dean questioned, "Can they even send him to Azkaban? He’s an American citizen. Will they have to send him back for trial under their laws?”

“That is an excellent question, Mr. Thomas.” came the voice of Professor McGonagall who had just entered through the portal. “The Americans are very protective of their people and are inclined to take drastic steps to prevent foreign governments from punishing them, even when such punishment is justified. A few years ago an adult wizard from The States was tried and convicted by the Wizengamot. The wizardiss conducting the trial sentenced him to death. The branch of their military that deals with magical matters, Mysterious Forces they call them, not only facilitated his escape, ‘busted him out’ is how they phrased it, but then assassinated the wizardiss.”

Ron was shocked. “How come I never heard of it?”

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “You never heard of Diana Spencer?”

*******

For three days after her return Hermione attended no classes, took no meals and missed bed check. But she wasn’t missing; everybody knew where she was. Professor Dumbledore nearly tripped over her every time he left his office as she knelt in silent supplication in front of the gargoyle that guarded his door. Finally Professor McGonagall said at the Saturday morning faculty meeting, “We simply must do something, Headmaster. Not only is she missing important classes she’s not eating and I’m sure she’s not getting proper sleep.”

“Then the problem will correct its self in a few more days, or at worst at the end of term when we expel her.” snorted the temporary potions teacher.

All the other teachers erupted in an angry babble. McGonagall burst out, “Professor VITREOUS! We are NOT expelling the best transfigurations student I’ve seen in my thirty years teaching.” Flitwick, Sprout and the others concurred. “In fact, she’s the best in your class as well, even better than your precious Slytherins.”

Dumbledore rapped his fist on the desk. “That will be quite enough of that. We are gathered here to discuss constructive solutions. Now, has ANYBODY something useful to contribute?” They all looked embarrassed as they shook their heads, all except Vitreous who just snorted again. “Nor do I. And to compound the problem Mr. Westinghouse hasn't eaten a bite since his confinement. It seems the only answer is to release him from his cell BUT confine him to the castle. Then he and Miss Granger can return to a more or less normal life until the investigation is complete.”

“There will be no make up work in MY class.”

“Thank you for the information Vitreous.” Dumbledore sighed. “I don’t expect any special treatment for them. However, may I remind you that Professor Snape’s performance rating now becomes yours and you can’t expect a stellar score without Mr. Westinghouse’s help.” The junior professor looked even sourer than before. “Mr. Filch and I will now proceed to the dungeons where I will inform the boy of my decision.”

Each teacher neatly avoided tripping over the small form at the foot of the stairs. Dumbledore was the last one out. “Miss Granger, you may return to your dormitory. Mr. Westinghouse is being given the run of the castle during the investigation.” The smile that greeted him was almost worship.

*******

After a morning’s rest and a wash up Hermione was ready to face the world for lunch. But waiting in the common room for West proved fruitless. When Ron saw her he called out. “Hermione! You look almost alive.”

She answered as if the complement was appreciated but not important. “Uh, thanks, Ron. Uh, where’s West?”

Ron looked a little worried. “Up stairs in the dorm. When McGonagall brought him in he was in pretty bad shape, shocky like he’d been in a war. He’d jump if anybody spoke to him. Now he’s just sitting on the edge of his bed looking about like he’s not sure it’s all real.” He went on to lunch.

Hermione stared at the stairs. It was a terrible thing she was considering. To go up to the boys’ dorm went against all her upbringing even if Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean were out. But the boy she loved was hurting and afraid. She steeled herself and went up.

The plaque on the door said, “First Years.” She took a breath and pushed it open. The tall form sat on the bed. At the sound of the door he turned and, seeing the girl of his dreams, the only thought he’d had while in the cell, leapt up and scooped her into his arms.

A small part of his mind told him the locals wouldn’t consider it proper, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind and nobody else mattered. Nobody else mattered at all. He was kissing her, kissing her as if it were life itself. As if it were more than life. As if he were going to the electric chair and the last thought he wanted on his mind when he faced his Maker was the taste of her lips.

She was in as euphoric a state as he. For three days she’d knelt on the stone floor fearing she’d never see him again, fearing that they’d take him away from her and never give them a chance to say good by. Now they were together. It wasn’t over yet. It still looked bad for him and if something didn’t happen he’d go to prison for life. But for now they were together and that was all that mattered.

*Merry Christmas Darling Karen Carpenter

They held hands on the way to lunch. It wasn't normal, but West's last several days were far from normal and anybody who noticed found it in their hearts to over look it.



All the first years and several others clustered around them slapping him on the back and shouting words of encouragement. Both he and Hermione were near starving and grandly decimated the lunch. Ron was the first to ask the question they all were desperate to hear answered. "West, DID you kill Snape or not?"



With reluctance he set down his fork and swallowed. "I swear on my soul Ron, I don't remember. The last thing I remember is going with Snape to the dungeons and the next thing I was sitting up in hospital wing with Professor Quirrell staring me in the face. I, I never knew he cared."



******



Up in the common room West and Hermione took a couch in a corner with Ron and the twins clustered around them. George seemed the most anxious. "You've got to remember Something, West."



He shook his head with an almost pained look. "Not a hint. I'm as ignorant as the man in the moon. And what makes it worse, I have the least motive of anybody in the school. Snape was giving me house points as well as helping learn the material. I don't know how I'm going to fair with someone else at the helm. I don't even know who IS taking over."



"Some wet-behind-the-ears junior professor named Vitreous. We've only had one class with him but he's pretty well shown his true colors, and their green and silver."



"Yea," Fred said. "He's giving the Slytherins a walk. And we're walking too, right down the plank."



Hermione fidgeted. "Oh dear. And I told my parents I was doing so well. They're expecting me to be Student of the Year."



West raised his left eye brow as he scanned the little group. They all felt embarrassed and selfish. Special honors or even passing the course were low on his list of priorities. If they couldn't clear his name and soon, he was looking forward to a lifetime with the dementors, the demonic guardians of the wizard prison. And from what he'd read in Wizard Life in Britain it was a short lifetime indeed.



Professor McGonagall came in from the portal. "Mr. Westinghouse, may I see you in the corridor? Alone?" she added as the Weasleys started to rise.



******



Outside the portal McGonagall turned around to find she was addressing not only West but Hermione. "Miss Granger, I said I wanted to speak to Mr. Westinghouse alone."



"This is about the case, isn't it Professor? Then I should be here. We, we love each other."



The old woman started to speak, then stopped herself. "Oh very well." She turned to West. "A Mr. Morningstar is here to see you. He’s a barrister retained by the Bureau for Paranormal Affairs in Washington to defend you.”






Hermione bounced on her heels and clapped twice. “Oh West! You’ve got a chance. They believe in you.”



West’s smile was a bit twisted. He took her hand. “Don’t get your hopes that far up, darling. Everybody gets a lawyer, no matter how air tight the case against them.” He held his pointed hat over his heart and intoned solemnly, “It’s the American way.” Returning it to his head he said, “But at least I now have somebody on my side who knows what to do.”



“Well what ever the chances he’s waiting for you in an office on the first floor. This way please. Not you Miss Granger.”



The two had started hand in hand. “But Professor, West and I...”



“I know, I KNOW! You love each other. But I really think it would be better if he saw his counsel alone.”



He gazed into the sparkling hazel eyes. “I think it’s best dear. Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.”



“I hope so. Tell me all about when you get back.” They kissed.



As West and McGonagall left Hermione murmured, almost praying, “I hope this Mr. Morningstar is a true American.”



******



Had West heard her wish he would have been amused at just how thoroughly it had been granted. The face which greeted him looked like sun dried leather and was framed by straight black hair like a horses main. His eyes, black as jet, were not cold like Snape's but unlike Hagrid's held a look of shrewd calculation. “Hello.” he said holding out his hand. “I’m Morningstar. Call me Joe. And I may call you George?”



They shook. “Uh, actually my friends call me West. Glad to meet you Joe.” They sat.



“West, I’ll be blunt. Everything I’ve heard about the case points to your guilt. You were alone with the victim for hours and were found standing over the body with your wand drawn. Add to that the fact that forensics found the spell that killed him came from your wand and we can scarcely pretend we need a trial. And you have no alibi. In fact, and correct me if I’m wrong, you say you don’t even know if you did it?” West nodded. “The only thing going for you is lack of motive. This Professor Snape was helping you learn a vital part of your program and letting you earn points in this house competition, was he not?”



“That’s about the size of it, sir. I don’t know what to add.”



“Well, I’ll be nosing about for any scarp of info that’s been missed. I’m certainly not giving up without a fight. If nothing else maybe I can tie the case up in knots to the point it won‘t be worth their wile to fight it.”



“Give it to me straight, sir. Am I headed for Azkaban?”



Morningstar gave a disgusted grunt. “Young man, I can’t promise you your freedom, but I can promise you this: The United States is not letting one of her citizens rot in some foreign jail. If convicted, you will serve out your sentence in Razmataz prison in the desert wastes of southwestern Arizona.” It was far from comforting, but some how West felt a little better.



******



They shook hands and Morningstar opened the door to exit, West following. There they nearly collided with McGonagall and a broad, square jawed woman with very short gray hair. She wore a monocle and looked forbidding. The professor expelled, “Oh West, err, Westinghouse. This is Madam Bones.”



West began nodding his head in a respectful bow and intended to murmur a greeting, but he was almost shoved aside. A commanding, no-nonsense voice said, “Of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia is it not? Joe Morningstar, counsel for the defense.” His hand was out to offer a shake, but there was nothing friendly about it. It looked plainly to all that he was daring her to refuse his greeting.



Apparently the Ministry did not require diversity training among it staff. She started and exclaimed, “A Red Indian!”



Morningstar didn’t move a muscle, but Bones and McGonagall both saw the fire in his eyes. West leaped into the pause. “Uh, the preferred term is ‘Native American.’”



The counselor’s voice took on a decided ting of ice. “Or you might simply refer to us as ‘people.’” She swallowed hard and gave the hand the briefest touch.



Regaining somewhat of her composure she turned to West. “I am here to question you about the death of Professor Severous Snape, alone.” She tried to press between West and his counsel while guiding the boy back into the room with her hand.



Morningstar knocked the hand away without the least pretense of courtesy and placed him self squarely between them. “I’m afraid I can’t permit that, counselor. Neither you nor any representative of your government may speak to my client unless I am present.” She gave him a look of pure fury but before she could speak he pulled out from his suit coat a black leather card holder. “You will find that the American ambassador has given me full diplomatic authority. Any attempt to thwart me will result in,” He paused. “unpleasantness for not only your Ministry of Magic but also for the mundane branches of your government.” To her confused look he answered, “Oh, yes. I believe you call them ‘muggles.’”



Madam Bones had never been talked to like this in her life, and certainly not by a barbarian from a foreign land. But she knew there was nothing she could do about it now. In the office she posed all the questions she had prepared, but West answered none of them without first letting Morningstar advise him. Most of them he did not answer at all but let stand his counselor’s statement, “I advise my client not to answer at this time.”



Again the two Americans were alone in the room. The lawyer had a grim smile on his face. “It seems, West, that they weren’t expecting a fight. Let’s see what other surprises we can provide.”

West gave Hermione a full account of his meeting alone with Morningstar and also with Bones. "But West, you have to answer her questions. She a government representative."

He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. "When my mom was just kid, younger than we are now, a teacher told her, 'You don't have to do anything but die, everything else is a choice.' I think what you mean is I'll be punished if I don't cooperate. Yea, I don't know how Morningstar is pulling it off but he's playing his hand as if we were still in the U.S. and had the full force of The Constitution behind us. And Bones is knuckling under." He shook his head in wonder.

But to the others of his house all he had to say was, "Can't talk about it. Might prejudice the case."

*******

That evening the visiting dignitaries were seated at the faculty table. Madam Bones sat at one end next to Professor Vitreous with whom she passed many whispers and conspiratorial glances. Mr. Morningstar sat near the other end between Professors Flitwick and Quirrell giving brief answers to the endless questions posed by the little fellow who it seemed was fascinated by Native Americans. Quirrell and the American spoke briefly but exchanged many meaningful looks. From time to time Dumbledore glanced to either side and silently congratulated himself for the seating arrangement.

Afterwards the two yanks met at the door to the Great Hall. West said, "Mr. Morningstar, allow me to present the star in MY morning, Hermione Granger."

The lawyer shook her hand with a warm friendly smile, then spoke to West. "I was worried about letting you roam unprotected where you'd be a sitting duck for some vigilante. But after talking to the students and faculty I'm sure you're safer among a couple of hundred Gryffindors than in the Oval Office."

Hermione and Ron gave West questioning looks. He answered, "The President's work space."

"Tomorrow Pomfrey will show me the body and I'm scheduled to interview some Slytherin upper class men who should be able to give me the low down on just what Snape was like. Flitwick's still convinced that it was your wand that did the job, but maybe I can tie it to someone else. Well, I'd better turn in if I want to be sharp." He nodded and left.

As the first years winded their way to their respective common rooms Hermione took West's arm. "I, I'm a bit confused West. Some of what Mr. Morningstar says gives me hope, but the rest takes it away."

He gave her a smile like a good sport conceding a game he just lost. "That's the exciting part about the American justice system. You never know for sure just what tiny bit of evidence is going to sway the outcome, so we collect everything we can lay our hands on. In the words of the wise Yogi, 'It ain't over till it's over.'"

*******

Dumbledore caught Morningstar's eye as they were leaving the Great Hall and led him to the headmaster’s office. There, among the massive collection of ancient books and strange artifacts the old man gestured for his guest to take a chair. “May I offer you a drink, Mr. Morningstar?”

He made a dismissive wave. “No thank you. After seeing what alcohol has done to my people over the last three hundred years, I long ago chose to do without. And please, call me Joe.”

The old man returned the flask to the shelf without poring himself one and sat. “Joe, I can’t find the words to tell you how important it is to the welfare of both our nations that West be acquitted, or at least spared prison: justifiable homicide, extenuating circumstances, non compos mentis, something. I've spoken to Madam Bones informing her of the safe guards you as Americans have come to expect of the judicial system and offered her certain, eh, incentives to abide by them. I'm afraid she sees only the immediate results of the case; an alleged murderer removed from society and future criminals discouraged. She just doesn’t see the big picture.”

Morningstar’s eyes narrowed. “Headmaster...” Dumbledore raise his hand in admonition. “Albus, to be honest with you all I see is getting my client off. Just what IS the big picture here?”

Dumbledore's face showed the conflict he felt. "Joe, you must understand that what I'm about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. Not only would a leak cause chaos within the British government, but would bring about the darkest days for Europe since the second global war."

“All because one boy is or isn’t sent to prison?”

“This entire ‘exchange program’ is a load of (How do you say it in your country?) malarkey. Oh, everybody in the Ministry believes in it, or at least sees it in his own best interest not to get in my way. Who knows, it might even bring about the results I promised; wider knowledge of the students and international understanding. But that is all incidental. The only thing that really matters is to get one particular boy AWAY from Hogwarts.

Morningstar used his eyes to say, "Go on."

"His name is Harry Potter. He was destined from birth to be a great wizard and his name was placed on our rolls the day he was born. But there was a... complication."

"We did a fairly good job of covering it up, but at the time all of Britain was under threat from an arch mage who called himself Lord Voldemort, quite possibly the most powerful wizard in the world, and he was bent on world domination. I'm not exaggerating when I say the world would be better off under Adolph Hitler and his stooge Mussolini. I say that because they depended on hoards of loyal followers, anyone of whom might some day betray them. But with his powers Voldemort needed only a small select group whom he could control totally."

"A prophecy was made not long before Potter's birth that a boy of particular linage and birth date would face the Dark Lord in a final show down. No one else stood a chance of defeating him." The old man looked even older. "Harry Potter filled the bill perfectly. Voldemort tracked him down and tried to kill him at one year of age but some how the spell backfired. The baby was placed with a family of mundanes until he was ready to come here to Hogwarts." Morningstar filed away the fact that the headmaster not only knew the American word for non-magical person but also had the courtesy to use it.

"But I had other plans. Though the castle is guarded with all manner of protective spells and the year round residence of powerful wizards, I still did not have full confidence in it to protect the boy. I devised a subterfuge. I arranged for Harry to attend magic school in The States. To fill his place I located an American boy with talent and enticed him with the finest magical education he could imagine, at no cost. When he and his parents came over for an inspection tour of the school I placed a very subtle spell on him to confuse anybody using tracking magic that he was Harry Potter."

"So far the enemy has not shown his hand. If he does come here, he will be dumbfounded that Harry Potter is nowhere to be found. If they come face to face Mr. Westinghouse's true aura will tell him that this is not the boy he seeks."

"And you haven't shared this plan with your government?"

"Nobody save a select few of my staff."

The visitor nodded his head in approval. "A clever ruse, Albus. I would say it has every chance of working..." He paused for effect. "...IF West remains here to the end of term. But if he's convicted and sent up the river, the whole thing falls apart. Fortunately, I don't need to think it out as my direction is now the same. My goal for now, as always, is to get West off the hook. But I have greater confidence now that I can count on you for help."

They both stood. He shook the old man's hand respectfully and left.

In the following days, West noticed the unmistakable glare of every Slytherin he passed. But just as clear was the defensive posture of every member of the other three houses as they tended to cluster about him more tightly when a group of Snakes got to near. In its own way, it was comforting but he'd have as soon dispensed with the whole thing and gotten on with his work.

Totally unexplainable was the change in Professor Quirrell's behavior toward him. While the nervous little fellow had been polite since they first met at the castle during the tour he was now outright solicitous. Every time they met in class he would stutter, "M, M, Mr. Westtttt-tinghouse. S, s, so good to s, s, see you. H, h , how are y, y, you dooo-ing?"

Anytime West glanced up to the faculty table Quirrell was staring at him with a critical eye. Often in the hallways, West would catch him looking at him as if the boy were some strange and new sort of bug on a microscope. West hadn't had time to learn just what the loyalties were among the cliques of teachers here, but this fellow didn't seem to fit in either the pro or the anti Snape factions.

******

The nightly dancing was a comfort to the West and Hermione. The crystal box proved to have a wide range. A few nights after his release as he held her in his arms, he gave a start. "West, what is it?"

"I, I don't know. It's just that... those words... they seem to...." He could say no more, so they just went on dancing. But the words kept running through his mind.*

Both guns cleared leather
Both fired together
Everyone thought it was one gun. ******

Two weeks after end of break, the young lovers visited Hagrid at his hut. "West, Hermione, come in, come in. I just finished backing some rock cakes. Sit down and have a few." The pastries were beyond even a Texan's dental powers but soon proved edible after a soak in the strong, sweet tea.

"West, I want yer to know that I think this entire trial business is a load of codswallup. Why, you could no more murder someone than Dumbledore could."

The boy smiled grimly, "I appreciate your confidence, Hagrid. I only wish I felt it myself. It's as if someone took a knife and cut out the memory of that night." As he sipped his tea, his own words echoed in his mind, Cut out the memory.

******

Days passed and things got back to more or less normal. The case faded into the back of West's awareness. His thoughts were taken up the usual concerns of high school students plus the special difficulties of the muggle born adapting to the wizarding world. Convinced that there is in fact one truth he tried to see the differences as different names for the same things. One such difference came up in Professor Sinistra's astronomy class. "Mr. Westinghouse, where is the center of the universe?"

The question made no sense to the boy. If like Newton you thought the universe was infinite you could continue forever and never find the edge. If like Einstein you thought it doubled back on its self, like going around the surface of the earth and coming back to your starting point, again it had no edge. And if the center of a thing is the same distance from all points of the edge and there was no edge then there was no center.

But Sinistra wanted an answer. West looked over to Hermione in the seat next to him. "The center of the universe, sir, is immediately to my right."

******

Morningstar called West to the office made available for him early one Saturday morning. "Well, things look no better. But then again they look no worse. In fact the more I dig into it the murkier it gets. Snape had a history of favoring his own house to the point of out right malfeasance, but he was actually giving you points and improving your chance to pass. Some of the upper-class men, boys and girls who've been with him more than six years say he treated you better than they. If motive counts for anything you should get off clear.

His face looked down right sad now. "But on the other hand your wand definitely cast a ball lightning spell just before you were found and the charred remains tell me that's exactly what killed the old, err, fellow. Plus certain tests I've access to that Flitwick seems not to know about tell me you were holding the wand at the time. If you just had some memory of the time. That in itself is the strangest part in light of your phenomenal recall."

West could only shake his head. "I don't even know how to go about casting ball lightning."

"Whatever's blocking your memory of the event must have wiped your recollection of the spell as well." Joe looked deadly earnest. "West, just how far do you trust me?"

"With my life, literally. I mean, do I have a choice?"

"I'd like to have Quirrell do a deep mind probe on you." He held up his hand to forestall the obvious objection. "I'll be right there to prevent any tampering with your memory. At the first sign that he's trying to implant false memories I'll jump in and break the trance. Besides he seems genuinely concerned for your welfare. And with the possible exception of Dumbledore he's the best choice we have. Mind defense is crucial to DADA."

West stared unbelievingly into his counsel's eyes. This was the most dangerous thing he's ever heard anybody propose. Even if Quirrell didn't try anything shady it was still dangerous. West could be brain damaged for life. But what choice did he have? The only other option was life with the dementors. And even if he didn't die for many years he would still never see Hermione again.

He found strength in desperation. "Let's do it."

******

Getting on to midnight West sat in a chair in the middle of a huge pentagram carved into the stone floor of a round room up high in one of the many towers of the castle. A brazier full of glowing charcoal near his feet gave off odors, sometimes sweet, sometimes repugnant. Thick yellow candles stood burning at the five points of the star.

Quirrell stood in front of him looking deadly earnest as if already reading his very thoughts. Behind him to his left stood Morningstar looking hair trigger ready to act. But instead of the business suit he'd worn since arriving, he was in buckskins with feathers and bead work. On his forehead was a silver medallion with strange symbols and leaning against a wall was a small ceremonial shield of wood and leather with it's device turned toward the wall. Nobody else was present, not in the flesh at least. West had a definite feeling that some of the ghosts were nearby invisible. Or maybe it was just nerves, of which he had an abundance. Both men said a crowd would only complicate things.

"Well Mr. ... West. Are you ... ready?" For so critical a job he seemed to find control over his stammer with slow, measured speech.

West swallowed hard. "Yes sir." His eyes turned to Joe who nodded.

Quirrell began making grand sweeping gestures with his wand and speaking in a deep, sonorous voice in a language West had never heard before. It wasn't Latin, Greek or even Hebrew. Somehow he felt it was older than all of them.

West's eyes began darting about as if watching the motions of people invisible to the two men. From his point of view, the scene around him wavered like underwater. The stone walls were no longer curved but straight like the class rooms. Quirrell and Joe were gone and so was the chair. He was standing in front of Snape who was talking to him about something, something he didn't understand or remember ever hearing about.

"Now now Mr. Westinghouse, you can be honest with me. I know why Dumbledore went to the trouble to bring you here. You're to help him guard the stone."

West had no idea what he was talking about. Stone? What stone? "Sir, I, I ..."

"None of your evasion, boy. You know Dumbledore trusts me. He'd want you to keep me up to date. Just what is your part in it?"

West's emotional being agreed whole heartedly. Why yes of course. Snape should know all about it. But his rational being insisted otherwise. Why doesn't Dumbledore tell him himself? I don't know anything about any stone.

"DON'T STALL ME BOY!" Snape barked. "TELL ME THIS INSTANT! How Is The Stone Guarded?"

West found his voice. "I swear to you sir. I don't know what you're talking about."

Awareness slowly dawned on Snape's face. He seemed to realize West was telling the truth and he had made a grievous error. His hand plunged into his robe.

West knew the look he was seeing. He had seen it in the gun fights of a hundred old westerns. This was the look of a man trying to get the drop on someone.

West went for his wand with the desperation of a man with his life on the line. With the same desperation his mind was grouping for some spell to protect him. This was no friendly duel with some snot nosed rich kid. This was his life.

The wands were drawn at the same time. They lined up. Snape was saying something like, "Oblivi...!"

But at the same time West was getting out a mere two syllables, from a childhood memory of a holiday poem. "BLITZEN!"

He felt the waves of Snape's spell wash through his brain even as he saw the painfully bright white ball escape his wand tip. Somewhere in the distance someone was saying, "Avada Kil ..."

There were three small explosions and West tumbled back to the present.

*The Ranger Marty Robbins

The first thing West saw was Quirrell looking astonished as if he'd been shot. As the man fell forward the boy saw Joe standing directly behind him holding a small handgun. "I had to do it West. He was unleashing a killing curse. Once he had the knowledge of what happened between you and the faux Snape he no longer needed you and didn't dare risk another memory charm that some other wizard might undo." He looked at the gun in his hand. "Malachite bullets specially blessed by the tribal shaman before I left home. Proof against even a formidable wizard."

The body of Quirrell lay still on the floor, that is except for his turban. While his head lay still on his neck the back of his head somehow writhed. The turban was tossed aside revealing a more or less human face on the hairless back of Quirrell's head. It sneered, "You primitive savage. Do you think you can defeat me?"

Joe mouthed a word or two that didn't seem to be English. Perhaps they were from his tribal tongue. From the look on his face, West assumed they were not words his parents would want him to learn. The lawyer spat, "Voldemort."

The face cackled. "So, a primitive but with the nerve to speak my name aloud. You don't know how nauseating it becomes to hear these bleating sheep speak endlessly of 'He-who-must-not-be-named.' But it avails you naught. I will destroy this fool of a boy and then I will destroy you! What? NO!"

The face was screaming as if in terror and agony. Joe was holding before him the shield. He rushed between the downed Quirrell and West. “Be gone, foul spirit. You will harm no more today.”

The head thrashed about making the body writhe in a grotesque dance. It gave a final blood curdling scream and the entire corpse exploded in flames. There was a howl fading into the distance as if the Dread Lord was fleeing the scene of his defeat.

West looked to Joe for explanation. He turned the shield to show inset in the center what looked like ...

“Err, is that a ...”

Very solemnly Joe answered, “A human sternum, the bone closest to the heart, my grandmother’s. She died saving me from a fire and my mother told me as long as I kept this with me her love would protect me.”

Then a point of light appeared in the room. It expanded to a ball nearly six feet in diameter and through it stepped Severous Snape. “What? Who? Westinghouse! What’s happening here? And you?” he said looking at Joe, apparently no more accustomed to Native Americans than Bones was.

Joe glared suspiciously. West exclaimed, “Professor, is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me, you fool. But, but what’s happening here? I was in my office preparing to go up for Christmas dinner when ... Now I remember! Quirrell came in and placed me in a time pocket, a place with no connection to the universe at large. I, I’d have never thought he had it in him.”

“Professor Snape, Joe Morningstar of the Bureau of Para Normal Affairs.” offering his hand in a far friendlier manner than to Madam Bones. “Make yourself comfortable. This will take a great deal of explanation.” ******* Snape, McGonagall, Morningstar, Bones and West were all gathered before the Headmaster’s desk. Everybody was shaking their heads in marvel at the events, including those who had lived through it.

“In all my seventy-five years at Hogwarts," Dumbledore spoke with wonder, "I have never met with such a tale. Voldemort ... Oh stop flinching, all of you... must have captured Quirrell during his travels and taken possession of him. Eh, what was that?”

West and Joe both said, “Oh, nothing, nothing.” but the old man was sure it was something like, “Possession is nine points of the law.”

“Well to continue, he was hag riding a trusted member of the faculty for more than a year and nobody dreamed anything was amiss. How did you ever know, Mr. Morningstar?”

“That’s hard to say, Headmaster. So much of the case was so strange and unexplainable that I can’t point to one particular thing as being out of place. I think it was when he came to me with the idea of him doing a particularly difficult and even dangerous bit of magic on a student he had recently shown such concern for. A fit of stuttering in the middle of the incantation would have been disastrous for West. But he mastered himself without missing a beat. He was taking a chance of clueing me on to his part in it all but he had to find out what happened between West and his spy."

West piped up. "It's certainly a relief to know what really went on Christmas night. When fake Snape started the MemWipe spell I thought he was trying to kill me and I dredged up from somewhere this spell."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "The word for 'lightning' in German, quite enough when backed by a passionate desire to get results."

"HOLD EVERYTHING!" Hermione shouted rushing into the office.

Dumbledore gave her a tired yet benevolent smile. "Miss Granger, there is nothing left to hold. Mr. Westinghouse has been cleared of all charges. And how in the name of Harry Houdini did you get in here? I never gave you the password."

She looked positively grim as she stared him in the eye. "I promised the gargoyle a particularly gruesome experience if it didn't let me in. It's heart may be stone but it still has sensitive parts. But, I mean, is he really?" But how can... Professor SNAPE! Is it really you? How..."

Snape rolled his eyes heavenward. "DO get control your self, Miss Granger. I don't want to have to give you demerits so soon after my return to the living. Ah, there they go again, the love birds. I think I'm going to be ill."

West was holding Hermione and kissing her right in front of the interested parties. He didn't care. He wished he could kiss her in front of the entire world. "Darling." Smack! "Sweetheart." Smack! "Baby." Smack!

Dumbledore stood and gestured for the adults to leave saying, "Let's let them have their privacy and... Hey wait a minute. This is MY office. I don't have to leave. You children go back to your common room." They rushed to comply.

Everybody was gathered anxiously for the end of term feast in the Great Hall. The green and silver banners of House Slytherin fluttered from every nook in the upper reaches. The Snakes sat smug and sassy while the other houses muttered the usual wait-till-next-year clichés.

All fell silent as Dumbledore rose. "And so another school year comes to a close. I hope you have all learned at least a little bit, but that even those of you who have learned much are not satisfied but will strive ever more."

"And now I believe the House Cup needs to be awarded. The scores stand at Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve, Hufflepuff three hundred and fifty two, Ravenclaw four hundred and twenty six and Slytherin four hundred and seventy. But before I award the cup there needs to be certain adjustments made. To George Westinghouse of Gryffindor, fifty four points for putting up the fight of his life and winning against titanic odds. To Miss Hermione Granger, fifty four points for standing steadfast for a friend when the vast majority was certain he was guilty. And I'd like to add a special vote of thanks to Mr. Joe Morningstar for his part getting at the truth."

The visitor nodded his appreciation. The old man looked over to Professor Snape. The greasy haired potions master tightened his face showing the inner struggle he was going through. He stood and approached the headmaster's place. "And let me add fifty one points for Mr. Westinghouse for saving my life." He returned to his place without another word.

"Which I believe," Dumbledore proclaimed, "necessitates a change in decoration." A wave of his wand morphed the banners to gold lions on red fields. The hall exploded in pandemonium. The Gryffindors pounded each others backs while the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs cheered and whistled.

And the Slytherins? Some beat their hands against their heads while others shouted accusations at each other. In fact the only quite students were West and Hermione gazing into each other‘s eyes congratulating each other for the win. When Dumbledore again got the hall‘s attention all he had to say was, “And now, let’s eat!” ******* After the students had finished eating and had settled down to conversation Dumbledore called West and Hermione up to the faculty table. "Mr. Westinghouse, Miss Granger, I understand you like to dance."

"Yes sir."

"Sure do sir."

"Very well then." He waved his gnarled old wand and the two before him, in fact all the students, felt their clothing writhing under their robes which they tugged off. Underneath West found he was wearing a blindingly white rhinestone studded cowboy suit with fringe. Hermione's dress was an iridescent formal.

Another wave and the tables scuttled to the side walls. A brilliant globe of the moon dropped down from the magic ceiling and started to slowly rotate, the shadows of the seas chasing along the walls. West whispered to Dumbledore who chuckled and announced, "I herby declare Miss Granger Queen of the Moon Dust Ballroom.

Disco tunes poured forth through the night. At one point The Association was singing Cherish. The young lovers held each other closer as the words spoke their love perfectly. Several times one of them said, "We really should turn in." and the other replied, "Yes, we really should." and they went on dancing."

After a while they heard a rooster crowing. He muttered, "What the..." and then for the first time since they'd started dancing they looked away from each other and saw the dawn coming over the lake.

The tables were back in place and elves were scuttling about getting the dishes ready. One of them paused to offer an apology. "Please forgive elves, Sir and Madam. We did not think you'd see us." ******* Breakfast proved a pleasant capper to the dance. Before going back up to the dorm West spoke to Dumbledore alone. "Sir, the whole reason the fake Snape, uh, uh, fake Professor Snape was spying here in the first place was to find some sort of 'stone' he thought I was helping you guard. What is it?"

The old man looked like he was caught between two obligations. "West, I believe you Americans have a saying that fits this occasion perfectly." Putting a finger in front of his lips he whispered, "It's 'Need-To-Know' and you my friend do not need to know." The boy accepted this, for now at least.

He and Hermione finished packing and got to the station in plenty of time to get a compartment to themselves. Nobody wanted to intrude on them or, as in the case of the Slytherins, could stomach them. ******* They stood on platform 9 3/4 staring at the barrier. In just minutes they would be separated for two of the longest months of their lives. They kissed again and pushed through.

Her parents were in the forefront. The normally proper yet sophisticated Grangers were calling and waving to their daughter. She started to run to them shouting, "MOMMY! DADDY!" but stopped when she saw West holding back. He looked nervous like he wasn't sure of his welcome. She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him. After they had smothered her in affection they were shaking West hands telling him what a pleasure it was to meet him.

Professor McGonagall appeared and made non-committal noises. The Grangers, who'd met her when she came to take Hermione to Diagon Alley to pick up her supplies, were starting normal small talk but she plainly had no time for it. "Yes, yes, I'm sure."

Turning to the American she said business like, "West, we can't dally if you're to make your plane. Come along."

West and Hermione faced each other. This was it, no more delay. Summer break stretched before them like eternity. Hermione turned to her parents and said, "Mother, Father, please turn your backs." They knew what she meant and they knew she wouldn't be saying this unless it was important. She had always been a polite obedient little girl but when she wanted something they found it hard to say no. They turned. McGonagall, knowing what to expect from the last several months at the castle, turned also.

They held each other tightly. Their lips pressed. It was not overly vigorous but any with the poor manners to watch could tell they loved each other deeply. It took longer than it might have, but they wanted something to hold them the two month until September first.

Then she was taking her parents hands and walking out the door. West thought, Yes, a quick, clean break. There will be time during the summer to moon over memories. He turned to McGonagall and said simply, "I'm ready."

As they walked to the cab she told him, "I took the liberty of picking up your books for next term so you can study during break, all of course except for DADA. The new teacher, who ever that is, will choose his own." West listened, but not half so attentively as the day he came to Kings Cross. Now he had something more important on his mind. ******* While West and McGonagall said goodbye at Gatwick Harry's flight landed and he came off the plane with a Stetson saying, "YEEE, HAAA! Ah de-clare, It shore is good to be back home."

McGonagall greeted him. "I'm certainly glad you enjoyed your flight, Mr. Potter. But you do realize that you must spend the summer with your Aunt, Uncle and cousin?"

Harry rocked back on his heals and looked like she had said the most foolish thing he had ever heard. "Dudley? You think Ah'm worried about Dudley? Why if he gives me any trouble Ah'll whip his sorry butt." Noticing West he said, "Why howdy, Westinghouse. Ah shore hope your school year was half as good as mine."

They shook. "It was thrilling, Mr. Potter. I can hardly wait for fall."

As West headed for his plane back home he heard Harry telling McGonagall, "Ah'll tell you Professor, Ah've never seen a more wonderful place or a finer bunch of people than they have at Dragon Fang. Like Ah was family, they treated me....."

A/N - Well, that's the end folks. Who wants to hear about West's 2nd year and how he dealt with the basilisk?