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."