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.”