- Note to moderator/owner: This is an X-Men/Harry Potter crossover
tale that I posted at 'FictionAlley' a while back. The X-Men
continuity comes from the films (X1 & X2), but I've added some
characters who didn't appear in the films. Thought I'd give it a go
here! No worries if it's not suitable.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings in this story.
no money is being made or infringement intended.
Title: Xchange Students (Chapter 1)
Genre: Crossover Action/Adventure with some romance and comedy
Summary: Professor Xavier approaches three of his senior students
with an intriguing proposal - a rather unique student exchange
scheme. What will Rogue, Iceman and Colossus encounter at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? What will happen as Xavier's
Shool for Gifted Youngsters plays host to three young English
wizards named Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?
Pairings: Rogue/Iceman; Ron/Hermione; Harry Potter/Kitty Pryde;
Chapter 1: An Intriguing Proposal
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
"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
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
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 had been
almost drained of life by Magneto's mutagenic weapon. 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
"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
"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
"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, our 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?"
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
"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
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
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 sitting
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
Slowly, Harry healed. He would always miss Sirius, always regret the
things they had never said or done together, but the wound was no
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 Halloween 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
Hermione jabbed Harry hard in the ribs. "That's a laptop computer!"
"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
"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 loyal friends. 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?"