Chapter 8

Harry did not sleep well that night. He could not remember a time that he had slept in a soft bed, and he was not used to the cold. He missed wrapping himself in furs and lying on the firm ground.

He pulled the curtains closed around his bed, pretending they were the skins that protected them from the night rains and early morning mists. He pretended that he was sleeping on very soft skins piled high because they had brought too many out of the cave that evening. He pretended that the breathing he was hearing from the other boys in the room were his parents as they lay near him wrapped in their own furs.

"Remember me, Eldartha," he whispered to the oldest tree in the forest. "And share with me your wisdom as I begin my new life in this world. Remember me and know that I will return."

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Dressed in his school robes, his hair in a long braid down his back, compliments of Lavender Brown, a girl in his year, Harry hurried down to breakfast the next morning. He sat with the boys with whom he had shared a room.

"So, what's it like being raised with elves?" the redheaded boy, Ron, asked him.

"I don't know if it's different from being raised with wizards," Harry replied. "I don't have anything to compare it to."

"Did you get to practice magic before coming to Hogwarts?" Neville Longbottom asked.

Harry nodded and swallowed a mouthful of sausage. "Elven magic. Uncle Remus told me that I wasn't allowed to use my wand, but Uncle Sirius tried to teach me a few things before we got caught."

The other boys laughed.

The first class of the day was transfiguration. Harry had been doing this wandless for several years, but it was the first time he had tried it with a wand. It took several tries before he could turn the matchstick into a needle, but he got it before the end of class, although the magic was not as powerful when filtered through the wooden stick. Professor McGonagall gave him 5 points. Hermione Granger, another Griffindor, was the only other student to successfully transfigure the object correctly. She also received 5 points.

In potions, the professor took the roll. When he got to Harry's name, he said, "Ah, Prince Harry. Our new celebrity."

Harry stood up to address his teacher. "Sir, I am only a prince in the Elven realm, and there I am treated no differently from any other elf my age. In this world, I am an ordinary wizard. If it is proper for me to do so, Sir, I request to be treated like everyone else."

"Oh, you will be, Mr. Potter. You can count on it."

Harry sat back down and listened to his professor's lecture. "Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry stood. "The Sleep of Death, Sir, or I think in your world it is called Draught of Living Death."

Snape looked surprised.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, Mr. Potter?"

"In the stomach of a goat, Sir."

"What is the difference, Mr. Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They are the same plant, Sir. It also goes by the name of aconite."

Snape stared at Harry for a moment, and then looked at the rest of the class. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down? See me after class, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Sir," Harry said, finally taking his seat.

Harry was glad when the double potions class was over. He didn't know whether Snape was testing him or taunting him. However, he did get full marks on his first potion. It was a healing salve used for burns and bruises that he had often made when working with his mother. It was evident that the professor preferred the Slytherins to the Griffindors, but he had not spoken to Harry since telling him to see him when class was over.

After packing up his things, Harry made his way to Snape's desk. The man looked at him for a moment, then asked, "Where did you learn so much about plants and potion brewing, Mr. Potter?"

"My father has been teaching me about plants since I was very small, and my mother started teaching me potion brewing when I was six," he answered.

"Do you like potion brewing?"

"Oh, yes, Sir," he said excitedly. "It is fascinating."

Snape almost smiled. "If you study hard, Mr. Potter, I believe that you'll be a fine brewer one day."

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, giving the man a genuine smile. "I will study as hard as I can."

Snape nodded. "That is all, Mr. Potter."

Outside the classroom door, he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him. "What did he want?" Ron asked worriedly.

"Oh, he only wanted to know how I learned about plants and potion brewing."

"How did you learn?" Hermione asked.

"From my parents," he said, and then accompanied them to the Great Hall for lunch.

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At lunch, a blonde-haired boy and his two large friends passed by their table. "Hey, Elf-boy!" the blonde boy said with a smirk.

Harry laughed. "I am not an Elf boy," he said. "In my world, I am an Elf man."

"Really," said the boy, looking down his nose at Harry.

"Yes, and my name is Harry Potter," he said. He stood up and held out his hand to shake the other boy's hand."

After a moment's hesitation, the blonde boy took his hand. "Draco Malfoy," he said.

"It is very nice to meet you, Draco. I wonder if you could have Elf blood. You have the hair, eyes, and physique of my people."

Draco shook his head. "No, I'm a pureblood Wizard. We don't have mixed blood."

Harry nodded. "That is too bad. There is much magic that would be available to you if you had some Elf blood. Perhaps you should check with your parents to make sure. After all, many people think that the Dark Wizard Voldemort was a pureblood wizard, but his father was not magical. I think you would call him a Muggle. Is that correct?"

"The Dark Lord does not have Muggle blood," Draco argued.

"Oh, yes. His name was Tom Riddle before he changed it to Voldemort, and that was also his father's name. His mother was a witch, but his father was a Muggle. I am sure you can find more information about him in the library."

"Probably the restricted section," Ron grumbled.

"How do you know so much about V-v-v . . . you-know-who?" Neville Longbottom asked. By this time, the entire table of Griffindors and the three Slytherins were listening to what Harry had to say about the most feared Wizard who had ever lived.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked. "Because my father told me about him. Many of the Elders knew of him when he was still at Hogwarts. His story is a lesson that is taught to children in our world."

"Voldemort went to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, he was in Slytherin house. He was also Head Boy."

"Is there a problem here?" Asked a deep, cold voice.

Harry turned and saw his potions professor standing behind him. "No, Sir. There haven't been any problems, but thank you for your concern."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and then glanced questioningly at Draco. "And what are you doing at the Griffindor table, Mr. Malfoy?"

"We were just talking, Sir," Draco said.

"Sir, is it against the rules for different houses to interact?" Harry asked. "If it is, I wasn't aware of it, and it is, therefore, my fault that Draco and his friends are still here. I was the one who engaged them in conversation."

"No, Mr. Potter, it is not against the rules. It is just very unusual to find a group of Slytherins and Griffindors engaged in a conversation that does not include drawn wands and several curses. If, however, that is not the case here, you may carry on." He turned and walked toward the head table, his cloak billowing behind him.

Draco turned to Harry and smirked at him. "I'll see you later, Potter," he said, and then he and his two large companions made their way to the Slytherin table.

"Harry," Ron whispered. "You shouldn't be talking to Slytherins."

"Why? Professor Snape said it wasn't against the rules."

"They're evil. They're followers of You-Know-Who."

Harry frowned and shook his head. "No, I don't know who."

"You know—HIM—V-v-v—the Dark Wizard."

"Oh," Harry said, finally understanding. He glanced over at the Slytherin table for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. Not yet," he said. "But we would do well to befriend them. Perhaps we can prevent them from making a mistake."

"That's a very good idea, Harry," Hermione said.

Ron turned to her. "You won't think that when he starts calling you names because of your Muggle blood," he said.

"But he hasn't done that, Ron," Harry said. "Do not be angry with him for a wrong he has not yet committed."

Ron shook his head. "You're mental," he said. "Both of you."

Harry and Hermione grinned at each other then turned their attention to the food.

By the end of his first week at school, Harry Potter had become the youngest seeker at Hogwarts in a century. Professor McGonagall had seen him save Neville Longbottom from a fall when his broomstick went out of control at their first flying lesson. Neville had been hanging by his cloak from the sword of a statue that was located on one of the roofs of the castle. Harry had gotten Neville loose, gotten him safely on the back of his own broomstick, and then dove down to catch the rememberall which had fallen from Neville's pocket. It was the most brilliant save she had seen in years. Not since Charley Weasley had played seeker for Griffindor had she seen anything so daring.

All in all, it was a very good week for Harry. He had made several friends and classes were going well. He didn't care much for Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but the others were okay. He wrote to his parents and godparents to let them know about his first week of school, sending his parent's letter to Sirius and Remus with instructions to place it in the tree behind Remus's house. He knew they would get the message.

On Friday evening, in the Griffindor common room, Harry and Ron sat at a table playing chess. Hermione sat beside Harry, writing an essay. Across from her, Neville was reading a book on Herbology.

"Ron," Harry said, watching the redheaded boy capture his knight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Ron answered, searching the board for his next move.

"You know that I'm new to the Wizarding world, so some of my questions might sound stupid."

"There's no such thing as a stupid question," Hermione interjected, not looking up from her essay. "The only stupid question is the one that's not asked."

The three boys looked at each other questioningly, wondering if the other two had understood what Hermione had said. From the confused look on all their faces, it was evident that none of them did.

"Right, then," Harry continued. "I was just wondering if, in the Wizarding world, it was normal for a Wizard to have an second face on the back of the back of his head."

Ron stopped searching the board; Neville stopped reading his book; Hermione looked up from her essay. They all stared at him as if he had just told them that Snape was retiring from Hogwarts to become a ballerina.

"I guess it's not that normal then," Harry said.

"No, that's pretty uncommon," Ron said. "In fact, I don't think I've ever heard of any wizard having an extra face on the back of his head. Have you, Neville?"

"No," Neville answered. "That would be considered strange even in the Wizarding world."

"Why do you ask?" Hermione asked.

Harry leaned over and spoke quietly to the other three. "Professor Quirrell has a very ugly face growing out of the back of his head underneath that purple turban."

His three companions burst into laughter.

"Oh, Harry! That's the funniest thing I've ever heard!" Hermione said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Is it uglier than the one that's growing on the front of his head?" Ron gasped.

Neville fell out of his chair laughing.

Harry, grinning at their reaction, waited until they had stopped laughing, then said, "The face on the back of his head is evil. It has possessed the professor and is trying to make him steal something called the Philosopher's Stone. Do any of you know what that is?"

"A Philosopher's Stone is what alchemists attempt to create. It's supposed to turn lead into gold and give eternal life to the owner."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe we should tell Dumbledore."

"Harry," Ron said. "You're not going to trick us into going to Dumbledore with that story. I've lived with Fred and George too long to be taken in by something like that."

"Harry, how do you know all of this?" Hermione asked.

"Whenever I'm near him, my scar hurts," Harry answered. "And I can hear what the evil wizard is thinking."

"But how do you know there is a face? Have you seen it?"

"When I hear the voice, I see the face in my mind."

Hermione frowned. "Maybe we should go to Dumbledore," she said worriedly.

"Hermione! He's pulling your leg!" Ron said.

"I'm not, Ron. I swear," Harry said, holding his hands above the table. "My hands are nowhere near her leg."

This started another round of laughter.