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.