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Xchange Students

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  • Tony
    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
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 3, 2005
      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)
      Author: Argonaut57
      Genre: Crossover Action/Adventure with some romance and comedy
      Rating: PG-13
      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;
      Colossus/Ginny Weasley.

      Xchange Students

      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
      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

      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
      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

      "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, 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
      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

      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
      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 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
      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 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?"
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