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.”