Xchange Students

Xchange Students

Chapter 1: An Intriguing Proposal

It was the first day of the Spring Term at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, so the message summoning Harry Potter, along with his friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, to Professor Dumbledore's study was quite unexpected.

"We can't be in trouble already!" Hermione whispered, as they followed Professor McGonagall along the corridor. "A whole term has gone by, and there hasn't been a single mysterious happening--or anything!"

"I know," muttered Ron in reply. "I was starting to think that Harry'd lost his touch!"

Professor McGonagall, whom Harry always suspected had unnaturally sharp ears, made a sound that might have been a cough or a suppressed laugh.

Truth be told, Harry had enjoyed the uneventful Winter Term. His summer had been very emotional. He stayed at the Dursleys' only long enough to ensure his safety. Then, a determined Molly Weasley descended upon Privet Drive and (Harry could think of no other word for it) bullied the Dursleys into letting her take Harry back to The Burrow.

There, in the centre of the warm, loving chaos that was the Weasley family, Harry finally had a chance to grieve for his dead godfather, Sirius Black. In the midst of so much genuine affection, Harry's brittle reserve snapped. Late one sultry night, as he was sitti alone in the living room, brooding, Molly came in quietly and sat beside him. Gently, but quite irresistibly, she drew him into her arms and pulled his head onto her shoulder.

The floodgates opened; Harry wept as he had not wept since the day he realised that tears encouraged Dudley's abuse. When the storm passed, Harry felt light, clean and tired. Molly released him. He looked at her and breathed, "Thanks, Mum."

"I'm not your Mum, Harry!" she replied with a nervous, little laugh.

"If you're not, who is?" Harry asked quietly, before he kissed her on the cheek and went to bed.

Dumbledore visited The Burrow during the summer. Harry tried to apologise for his behaviour at their last meeting, feeling forgiven by the time Dumbledore left. Other friends came and went, offering solace. A completely unexpected moment occurred one morning when Hedwig delivered a small envelope containing a tasteful, rather formal but oddly sincere, note of condolence signed 'Severus Snape'. Harry sensed, finally, that he belonged.

Strangest of all the summer's events was something he was not sure had actually happened. On a drowsy summer afternoon, Harry fell into an uneasy doze while lying on a grassy bank near the house. Somewhere in the twilight between sleeping and waking, he was troubled by formless terrors. Then, he heard a soft voice, smelled honeysuckle and sunshine, and jerked awake to find his head resting on Ginny Weasley's lap. He tried to speak, to move, but she shushed him and smoothed his hair. He drifted back into a dreamless sleep. When he woke again, she was gone; neither of them spoke about that day, afterwards.

Slowly, Harry healed. He would always miss Sirius, always regret the things they had never said or done together, but the wound was no longer raw.

Back at Hogwarts for his Sixth Year, Harry found himself surrounded by more respect and friendship than he had ever known. Friendships begun as children were being cemented among young adults.

There had been only three big surprises that first term. One had been his inclusion in Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class. Snape, while not exactly friendly to Harry, had modified his attitude; his comments were still pointed, but no longer barbed or steeped in venom.

The second shock should not, Harry felt, have been that much of a surprise. Coming back from the Hallowe'en Feast, about half of Gryffindor House had caught Hermione and Ron kissing passionately in the Common Room. This outcome had been in the cards since the day an 11-year-old Hermione had run crying into the toilets because Ron had been unkind to her. They still bickered constantly, and when Harry asked why, Hermione gave him an impish grin, saying, "Because it's so much fun making up afterwards!" Ron and Hermione walked hand-in-hand, even when arguing. They kissed in empty classrooms and quiet corners while everyone thought--finally! Harry developed an instinct for knowing when they wanted him around (which was most of the time), and when to leave them alone.

The third surprise was the number of girls who were suddenly showing a personal interest in Harry. He had grown, of course, filled out a little and, though he would never be the giant Ron had become, he was as lithe and wiry as a panther. The only time Harry ever looked in a mirror was on the increasingly frequent occasions when he needed to shave, or when he attempted to bring order to his unruly mane of jet-black hair. His image in the mirror seemed unremarkable.

Girls, apparently, saw something more. He caught Cho Chang watching him with regret on her face. Lavender Brown had become flirtatious and giggly around him. Girls he had hardly, or never, spoken to seemed determined to engage him in conversation.

Meanwhile, conjecture in the Wizarding world was that, after his failure at the Ministry of Magic, Lord Voldemort had gone to ground and might well be regrouping his forces. Editorials appeared in the Daily Prophet urging all and sundry not to drop their guard - Constant Vigilance! was becoming something of a watchword. But, whatever was happening elsewhere, Hogwarts was quiet, no missing artifacts, no mysterious disappearances or suspicious characters, no crises of any kind. For the first time since he had come to school here, Harry spent an entire term without sneaking around the castle at night; the Invisibility Cloak and Marauders' Map gathered dust at the bottom of his trunk.

Now, Professor McGonagall was ushering them into Professor Dumbledore's office. Something was up. The Headmaster sat behind his desk, staring intently at a device in front of him, muttering gently to himself.

Hermione jabbed Harry hard in the ribs. "That's a laptop computer!" she hissed.

"Indeed it is, Miss Granger." Dumbledore looked up at them over his glasses. "My new toy. It was given me by a colleague whom I hope you will all soon meet."

"Excuse me, Professor," said Ron, "but Dad and Hermione have both told me that all that Muggle el-ec-tron-ic stuff wouldn't work where there's too much magic about."

"That is true, in most cases, Mr Weasley. My friend informs me that this particular device is, er, hardened against electro-magnetic pulse attack--whatever that may mean in terms of Muggle science. In practice, it means that I am able to use this remarkable device for a number of purposes.

"Now, do sit down, all three of you. I suppose I had better begin with some history. You may have noticed during your time here that, while we have regular dealings with Wizards and Witches throughout Europe and the Old World, there is a singular and profound silence from our colleagues in the United States?"

Hermione frowned. "I'd wondered about that. Surely it's not possible that all Americans are Muggles?"

"There is no nation on earth completely composed of Muggles, Miss Granger. But, the wizards and witches of America keep themselves very quiet, blend in with the Muggle world and, in many cases, deny their heritage so they can live their lives as Muggles.

"This was not always the case, of course. In the sixteenth century, a school of witchcraft and wizardry was established in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, near a village called Salem. You know something about this, Harry?"

Harry's eyes had widened at the mention of Salem. He nodded. "Yes, Professor. My aunt and uncle rarely let me watch TV, but, about a year before I came here, they made me watch a documentary about a witch-hunt in America--the place was called Salem. I don't remember too much about it, but there were some trials, and some people were executed or put in prison. When the programme was over, my uncle said to me, 'Let that be a warning!' I didn't know why, then. I just thought he was being nasty."

"Mmm," murmured Dumbledore. "Yes, Muggles give varying explanations for the events, ranging from youthful mischief to tangled love intrigues to local politics. Whatever the truth of the matter, the magical community was disturbed by the hostility shown towards magic and those who were thought to use it.

"The wizards and witches of the American colonies decided then and there that they could not risk any kind of exposure. As a result, the wizarding community in the United States is loose in its organisation. I believe the Salem Academy is still active, though only a very few children, from the oldest wizarding families, go there, and it is heavily protected by concealing spells. Many other families send their children to Muggle schools but train them in magic at home. No attempt is made to contact Muggle-borns, such as Miss Granger here. There is no equivalent of our Ministry of Magic--just a man in New York, named Stephen Strange, to whom any American wizard or witch can turn for help.

"Of course, you're wondering what this has to do with you. It appears that there is a third community of humans, neither Wizard nor Muggle, of which we have been unaware. They call themselves 'Mutants'. I have recently been contacted by the Principal of a school whose pupils are, even by Wizarding standards, quite extraordinary. This gentleman, a Professor Charles Xavier, suggested to me that both our schools might benefit from what he described as a 'student exchange programme', whereby some of his pupils come to Hogwarts, and some of ours go there for a term. I must admit I found the idea quite fascinating, and so agreed to the experiment. It only remained to choose suitable students.

"After some deliberation, it struck me that you three exemplify the best characteristics of Hogwarts. I might also add that, in a strange land far from home, a firm friendship such as you have established would be a source of great support. So, I ask you, are you interested in going?"

Professor Dumbledore leaned back. "You need not rush into a decision. If you let me know by Thursday, we can arrange for you to travel on Saturday. Go. Talk among yourselves, and consult with your families. You are excused from classes for the rest of today."

As the three young people left the room, Dumbledore settled further into his chair and said, without looking round, "You still have doubts, Minerva?"

"Yes, Albus. Not about Charles Xavier and his students, but about your decision. Why these three, especially Potter?"

"I do believe you have grown fond of the boy, Minerva. We do not know what Voldemort may be planning, though we do know that it will be aimed at Harry, the boy who has defied and escaped him five times already! So, I will send Harry three thousand miles away, to a place whose exact location only I know. I will send with him his best and most loyalriends. Finally, I will put him in the care of a group of good, kind people who have abilities as powerful as any spell or curse. How much safer can I make him?"

**** **** ****

At Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, 16-year-old Marie D'Ancanto--"Rogue" to her friends--walked down the corridor arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, Bobby Drake, enjoying the bustle that was an ordinary morning at an extraordinary establishment. Xavier's was not, as most people thought, an exclusive prep school for academic high achievers, funded by a charitable trust. This school was something else entirely. The students and staff of Xavier's were, one and all, mutants; they were born with a genetic difference that gave them abilities beyond those of ordinary humans.

(Rogue, could you come to my office, please?)

She heard the 'voice' not with her ears, but inside her head. It was a kindly and familiar voice, that of the school's founder and principal, Professor Charles Xavier. Xavier, himself a mutant telepath, had dedicated his life and fortune to helping mutants and non-mutants live together in peace. Ironically, this decision had brought Xavier into conflict, not only with the prejudices of the ignorant, but with other mutants whose ideology was different--a conflict in which Rogue had played a significant part.

She turned to Bobby just as he turned to her. "I have to go..."

"...to Professor X's office," Bobby finished.

Rogue giggled. They had spoken simultaneously, and it sounded so silly. Bobby laughed, too, a warm laugh. Rogue loved him for his warmth above all else; it expressed itself in his eyes, his voice, and his body language, so much so that those unaware of Bobby's unique abilities were always puzzled by his nickname, "Iceman".

"Both of us," he said. "Wonder what's up?"

"Let's go find out."

As they drew near the Professor's wood-paneled door, a towering figure came toward them from the opposite direction. This was Peter Rasputin, a brawny farm boy of Russian extraction, who was one of their closest friends. Rogue grinned at him--she always felt that Peter was too shy and unsure of himself--so she did her best to make him part of things.

"Hey, big guy!" she said.

The 17-year-old smiled down at them from the six-foot-eight height that was only one of the reasons why they called him "Colossus".

"You, too? Are we in more trouble, do you think?" he asked.

"We won't find out by standing here," said Rogue. She raised her hand to tap on the door, just as the professor's voice called, "Come!"

"I hate it when he does that!" muttered Rogue, as she pushed the door open and led the trio in.

Almost all the staff were there, she noticed. The professor was behind his desk, smiling benignly at them. Near him stood Scott Summers, tall, straight and alert, darkly handsome but looking older than his 24 years.

Rogue felt a pang as she looked at Scott. It had been only a few months since the love of his life, Jean Grey, had sacrificed herself to save them all. Rogue remembered the freezing waters of Alkali Lake bursting through a shattered dam, sweeping toward their crippled aircraft. Jean went outside, alone. Calling on reserves of telekinetic power no one knew she possessed, she simultaneously held back the raging torrent and recharged the plane's power plant. Then, as the aircraft pulled itself away, Jean simply let go, while the waters crashed over her. Rogue could still hear Scott's hopeless, raging sobs and the rough voice of Logan as he held the younger man close. "She's gone...she's gone," Logan said, over, and over, again. Ororo wept, as she tried to pilot the plane amid the murmur of Kurt's soft prayers.

Since then, Scott had gone through some bad times. There had been long talks with Professor X. There had been that strange fight with Logan just weeks ago--Scott pounding on the smaller man with his fists, alternately yelling and crying. Miraculously, Scott restrained the lethal power of the energy beams that blasted from his eyes. Logan simply stood there, never raising a hand or using his feral speed and agility. Rogue expected him to extend the razor-sharp, unbreakable, metal claws concealed in the backs of his hands, but he relied on his native toughness and mutant healing ability to absorb the attacks, as if he were absorbing Scott's pain in some way. When Scott finally exhausted himself, he collapsed into Logan's arms. Logan held him for a moment and said, "I told you before. It was her decision, and she chose you. Neither of us could have saved her. That was her decision, too."

Then, Ororo had appeared from the shadows and Logan handed the still-crying Scott over to her. She led him away, her arm around his shoulders.

Shocked to see tears gleaming in Logan's dark eyes, Rogue had tried to go to him. He waved her away, not angrily, but firmly. Since then, Logan and Scott had been, if not friends, no longer rivals; the mutual respect once masked by Scott's jealousy had begun to surface.

Rogue felt a kinship with both these men. Logan was a mentor, a father figure, someone who almost sacrificed his own life for hers, transferring his healing abilities into her body when she was overcome by a twisted mutant's attack. Scott was more like a brother, still struggling against his own destructive powers. Due to a brain lesion sustained in childhood, the only way he could restrain his eye-beams was by constantly wearing a ruby-quartz visor to keep them in check. Until recently, Rogue had had no control over the way her slightest touch to someone else's skin would drain that person of their memories, skills and powers, leaving them comatose while she drowned in a flood of unwanted perceptions and emotions.

She had begun to learn control, slowly. She could gently kiss Bobby, now, without draining his astonishing ability to pull the heat from anything, rendering it icy cold. She could let him touch her cheek, or stroke her hair, as long as he didn't do so unexpectedly. With care and a moment to prepare, she could kiss him more deeply with only minimal effects. She made no attempt to hide the truth from Professor X (it would have been pointless, anyway) that her deepening love for Bobby, and his for her, was making this possible.

Rogue shook herself out of her reverie to look around Professor Xavier's office. Logan was sitting as he always did, on a chair turned backwards so that his folded arms rested on the chair back. He nodded at her. Ororo, the elemental mutant they called 'Storm', was standing by the window, tall, lovely and serious as ever. The two newest members of staff had taken up positions along a wall. The gargoyle figure of Kurt Wagner was perched on the sideboard (a habit the professor so far had been unable to cure), with the usual mischievous grin on his blue-skinned face. Genial Irishman Sean Cassidy stood relaxed nearby, his briar pipe conspiring with Logan's cigar to cover the room in a grey haze.

"Come in, all of you, and sit down. No, you are not in any trouble, though I dare say it is only a matter of time." Professor Xavier smiled, and waved them to comfortable chairs. "I think I had better start by giving you necessary background concerning what I am about to propose.

"Some months ago, I was scanning with Cerebro..." Xavier paused, studying the assembled group. "You are all, I believe, aware that I use the telepathically controlled supercomputer to track mutant activity worldwide?" His listeners nodded. Xavier continued. "That day I was searching for unidentified mutants. Instead, I became aware of non-mutant individuals who produced strong, unusual readings on Cerebro. I had seen such readings before. Here, in America, similar signals are quite widely scattered and fairly weak. However, I was scanning the British Isles at the time, and was struck by several large concentrations of extremely powerful scan results.

"Over the next few days, I recalibrated Cerebro to obtain a more exact reading, and decided to focus specifically on a remote area in the Scottish Highlands. I found nearly one thousand closely-grouped signals from individuals ranging in age from eleven to eighteen as well as, perhaps, twenty adults."

Peter Rasputin whistled. "That sounds like a school, Professor."

"Your deductive abilities do you credit. It is, indeed, a school, one even more unusual than this. By using Cerebro to boost my telepathy, I was able to make contact with the headmaster of this school, a Professor Albus Dumbledore. After some understandable initial caution, we began to correspond.

"Professor Dumbledore runs what is, in effect, a school for young witches and wizards. Yes, you may smile, but I would point out that each of you displays abilities that earlier generations would have called witchcraft.

"It seems that there are certain humans who possess, in a greater or lesser degree, an ability to manipulate the world around them in defiance of probability and the laws of physics. These people have lived among normal humans--they call them 'Muggles', a word I am unable to discover the root of--for millennia. They live among them, but apart, and their two worlds seldom, if ever, interact. They have their own laws, leaders, schools, shops, and ways of doing things. Many of them are as ignorant of the normal world as ordinary humans are of the magical one."

Professor Xavier stared intently at his three students. "As you know, my hope is for mutants and humans to live together in peace. Recent events, however, have led me to wonder if that is a naïve dream. What if there were an alternative? What if we could live, as these wizards do, among humans, but apart from them, ou presence unknown and, therefore, not perceived as threatening?

"Our first goal must always be understanding. We understand best by sharing. Professor Dumbledore is as curious about mutants as I am about wizards, so we have discussed an arrangement. How would you three like to become our first exchange students?"