For those who came in late:
It's only Harry's second day, and so far he's finding it strange going. History is literally dead boring, the Potions professor hates his guts, Hermione's mad because they debated the moon landings (which actually happened, no correspondence will be etc. etc. same to you), and he's about to learn that even the plants are strange.
The Archmage of Necromancy is not longer welcome to comment in the reviews, nor at my forums, because he, she, or it, seems to like being Right™ about things. My story. My forum. My rules. If you think you can write a better ES/HP crossover, please do.
Oh yes, and it appears that Paul E. Parkinson is about to embark on one of his infamous 'speculative ventures', but that's not important right now.
In the Gryffindor Herbology class:
"Hey! Are you mad?" Neville yelled, grabbing Harry's arm and bringing the attention of the entire class onto them, "Don't you know what happens when you unearth a mandrake?"
"Yes, you get a chunk of mandrake root!" Harry snapped back and reached again for the perfectly ordinary, familiar plant. "Mix it up one way – or eat it – and you cure any disease, another –"
"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Pomona Sprout yelled from behind Harry, making him jump, "For risking the lives of everyone in this room, and if Master Longbottom here hadn't stopped you, I'd dock more if I survived! Just be grateful, young man," and she jabbed Harry with a finger, "those are immature specimens, or you might have killed the entire Gryffindor first year!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Mandrakes scream when you pull them up, you fool!" Neville shouted at him, "A full-grown mandrake's cry can kill!"
"That's enough!" The plump professor glared at the two, who cringed away at the venom in her eyes. "Potter, you'll be serving detention with me tonight as well. I think a little hands-on demonstration is in order."
Harry didn't fully understand why most of the pure-blooded students shuddered until he came to in the infirmary the following morning. Not even Neville's explanation of how he used baby mandrakes as pest control prepared him.
In the Hospital Wing that night:
"I suppose," Madame Pomphrey said acidly, "it's a success that he didn't end up here on his very first day."
Pomona harrumphed indignantly. "Do you really think I'd risk a student's life? Seriously Poppy, you should have heard the nonsense he was spouting. According to him, wherever he comes from, mandrakes not only don't scream, but you can eat them and be cured of any diseases you have! Or brew up –"
"Raw mandrake as a curative?" The mediwitch gaped at the Herbology professor, then at the unconscious student on the bed. "I've never heard of such a thing."
There was a sudden jolt and puff of displaced air as a portal opened up two feet in front of the main door. The two witches had never heard (or seen) such a thing either.
"Where's my son?" The blue-robed cat that barged through the hole in spacetime, ears back and tail lashing, was also yet another thing that they'd never heard or seen before.
"Your..." was all the response he got, before a small red-gold blur shot out of his collar and arrowed toward Harry's bed.
The Khajiit took a deep breath, obviously getting himself under control. Both Pomphrey and Sprout noticed claws flexing at the cat-man's fingertips, those on the right hand digging into a scrap of parchment. "Arch-Mage Ra'jirra of the Imperial Mage's Guild. Also Harry's dad. Now what's... in the name of the Nine... this about a sprout and screaming mandrake?"
"Mister... er... Arch-Mage," Sprout began, "Your son nearly risked the lives of an entire Herbology class when he attempted to extract a mandrake from its pot – without appropriate ear protection."
She was rewarded with an uncomprehending look.
"The only reason you need ear protection when digging up plants is because a bear or something's come along and is trying to chew 'em off."
The plump woman just scowled at him. "I'll have you know I am Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, sir, so I do know what I'm talking about. Just what do you call a mandrake anyway?"
Ra'jirra raised his eyebrows, then turned to the portal. "Avogandro! Pass us that mandrake on the cabinet will ya?"
"At once Arch-Mage," and a pair of dark hands extending from light blue sleeves appeared, bearing a familiar looking potted plant. Ra'jirra took it and handed it to Sprout.
"One mandrake, compliments of the Arcane University. Have fun. Now." His brows slammed down again with an audible clang. "Harry?"
A rather confused Herbology professor stuttered her excuses and tottered off with plant in hand, leaving Pomphrey sweating slightly under the non-human's regard.
"Many magical plants can be quite dangerous if not handled properly," Pomphrey explained, "So Professor Sprout takes any horseplay seriously. Especially mandrakes. A mature plant's scream can kill. Apparently, Harry was so intransigent about taking a sample that she felt he needed a demonstration. With a seedling, fortunately."
"Fortunately?" Ra'jirra reached out a hand to Harry and his soul to Stendarr. Pomphrey fell silent as the ball of silver light sailed towards, then spread over the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived, flaring slightly around his ears.
"Fortunately, mandrake seedlings can only stun a man." Pomphrey's tone indicated that was a mixed blessing. "So he's just unconscious."
Sprout was still edging warily around the portal when the doors opened and Dumbledore burst in.
"I felt something get through the wards..." he took in the portal, the irate Ra'jirra, the two nervous witches and the unconscious boy. "Arch-Mage?"
"I hope so, otherwise we're all hallucinating," was the Khajiit's sarcastic response. "I was just fed a line about mandrakes screaming when they're unearthed –"
"Oh, that's no 'line'. I found that out when I was a boy, at this very school."
Ra'jirra just stared at him. "So let me get this straight... your mandrakes scream, that scream can kill, and you just stand by and let some... some hedge witch risk my son's life?"
Dumbledore didn't miss the way the Khajiit's hand went to his waist as if grasping for a hilt that wasn't there. He remembered the decidedly blunt way that he'd 'tested' McGonnagall's transfigured rat. Pretty obviously the Arch-Mage would happily brain him if he could.
"Hedge witch?" Sprout's irate cry broke the tension. "I've never been so insulted!"
"Do excuse him," Dumbledore half-turned and called to the plump woman storming away down the hall, "He's just worried for Harry." He turned back to Ra'jirra, eyes twinkling.
Ra'jirra's eyes didn't twinkle. They merely, flatly, calculated the best trajectory to bring claws and jaws into contact with Albus' throat.
"I should take Harry home," he said quietly.
The old wizard paused, trying to figure out how in hell he could soothe the angry mage enough to convince him to keep Harry here, where he was needed and belonged. More importantly, where Harry could be civilised and moulded into the hero that the wizarding world needed – a process that only Dumbledore knew how to do.
After all, it was for the greater good.
He just wished that Ra'jirra was an ordinary wizard, one susceptible to his reputation and if needed, his mind charms.
"That wouldn't be wise," the old man replied at last, "After all, he's only been here two days. This was just a freak event, good Arch-Mage, and one that our good medi-witch here knows how to deal with."
The cat-man's mouth was a grim line, but his ears were raised a little. Seemed a good sign.
"Also, it appears he's already made some friends at school," Albus went on, "It wouldn't be fair to them if you pulled Harry out now. He's only just discovered his own heritage, and..."
"He needs to know how you s'wits operate if he's to knock this Voldemort's block off," the Khajiit finished grimly. "Speaking of operation, now's a good time as any to ask you about your plans."
The Greatest Wizard of the Light began to demur, but the Arch-Mage held up a hand. His claws were still slightly extended.
"The Guild has been nearly destroyed because of all the smart farts who decided to sneak off and conduct dangerous experiments in secret," he explained coldly, "Worse still, several of those aforementioned smart farts turned out to be playing around with necromancy – and ended up either working for the King of Worms, or becoming liches, or worse. Damn near ended up trashing Cyrodiil, not to mention the entire world. So I hope you'll understand that I need to know what you've got in mind for arming my son there to find and finish off this Voldemort prick."
"It is best that as few people as possible know," Albus insisted, "Secrecy is for the greater good."
As soon as he said those words Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore realised he had made a mistake.