"Today," Snape's voice rang across the classroom with the usual sneer evident in the tone and Harry tried to disappear using simple will alone, "we will be brewing an aphrodisiac potion for use with dragons. The potion is called Secus Draconium. Each year the seventh year class brews this potion for the Dragon reserves in Romania, so I expect every cauldron to be excellent."

Harry tried even harder to vanish when Snape's black eyes fell on him.

"Mr Potter, due to your peculiarities of species," the Potion's master said rather viscously, "your brewing capabilities would be even lower were you to come into contact with Dragon's Breath Angel Trumpets, and hence you will be brewing a different potion. Your instructions are on this desk."

The desk in front of Snape's was usually reserved for demonstrations, but it was set up as a normal workstation today. Reluctantly, Harry walked towards his Potions professor and moved into place. The look of disdain he earned for his trouble was not settling.

"Mr Malfoy," Snape continued in a much more pleasant tone, "due to your recent exposure to Mr Potter's peculiarities," Harry tried very hard not to react, "you are also excused from making the Secus Draconium. However, since your average mark is so much higher than Mr Potter's you may take a study period."

Draco smirked at his fellow Slytherins and then gathered his things.

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said politely and left without so much as a look back.

The Prince of Slytherin did not even glance in Harry's direction and it hurt more than he liked to admit. How Draco was acting as if he did not even exist was beyond him, and it was tearing his heart out.

"Begin," Snape said coldly, and Harry looked down at the parchment next to his cauldron.

For a long time he just stared at the writing without even seeing it properly. The feelings that welled up in him every time Draco rejected him were almost overwhelming, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. It was as if his whole world view had shifted and life revolved around the blond haired Slytherin.

"Mr Potter," Snape's voice snapped him back to the present, "has your meagre brain finally switched off entirely?"

Harry simply swung his gaze up to look his Potions professor directly in the eyes. He had little idea what Snape would see in his face since he had barely looked at himself in a mirror since Draco and he had become lovers, but whatever it was, Snape closed his mouth and turned away. Maybe there was a line which the head of Slytherin would not cross, but Harry could not find the will to care. Looking back at the sheet he finally read it and turned towards the storeroom to pick up his ingredients.

"Not those, Harry," Hermione's voice cut through the nothingness in Harry's brain as he slowly collected what he needed for the lesson. "Those are the Angel Trumpet stamens; you'd be high as a kite if you picked up those."

He looked at the orange filaments over which his hand was hovering and reached instead to the petals beyond.

"Thanks," he said quietly and ignored the worried look his friend gave him.

It was towards the end of the lesson when he had to return to the cupboard for a cold stored ingredient that he looked at the stamens again. For a while he just stood there, and then, acting on impulse he picked up a nearby test tube, scooped two of the fine filaments into it with a spatula and corked it, before sliding it into his robes. He had no idea what he was going to do with the flower parts, but he took them anyway.

~*~

For two days Harry carried the stamens around in his pocket, and for two days he wondered why he had taken them. Then a group of Slytherins chose to corner him as he tried to enter the Great Hall for dinner. Their words were childish and vicious, and Harry could not even really remember what they had said, but when Draco had walked past them and laughed it was more than Harry could take. That was why he was sitting at the top of the Astronomy tower, snow falling all around the charms that protected the viewing spot from the weather, looking at the vial he had stolen.

Hermione had spent a good ten minutes telling him about the Dragon's Breath Angel Trumpet after the Potions lesson. It had seemed as if she felt the need to warn him about it, since he had not appeared particularly bothered by his near miss. It turned out that the plant had a drug like effect on magical creatures of a certain genus; the genus to which Seraphim belonged. Their lesser cousins had been observed stoned out of their minds on the pollen of the flower, and although no one knew the exact effect it would have on Seraphim, it was likely to be similar.

Well just about then Harry needed to escape reality; it was almost too much for him. He had thought himself settled back into normal life, even with his new heritage making itself known, but no one could have guessed what his liaison with Draco would do to him. The balance he had managed to find since his defeat of Voldemort was gone and the depression that had almost claimed him once was again taking him. He had not slept in two days, since every time he closed his eyes all he saw was the disdain Draco showed him, and he had barely eaten anything for longer.

He had pretended to eat when he went to the Great Hall, but he was not a wizard for nothing and a variation on a banishing charm meant that his friends were none the wiser. At other times he used the excuse he did not want to face the Slytherins and had cried off going to meals, instead, sneaking down to the kitchens and taking food back to his room as if to eat it. If Ron ever looked under his bed, he was going to be in trouble.

Slowly he uncorked the test tube and very gently tapped one of the stamens out onto a piece of parchment. According to Hermione this was very powerful stuff for his type of magical creature, or at least for those similar to Seraphim. House elves were related to Seraphim distantly and Hermione had said something about Angel Trumpet pollen being about a thousand times worse than butterbeer. Butterbeer had no effect on Seraphim; Harry had tried, but Hermione had said that wasn't the point.

Placing the parchment on the roof in front of where he was sitting cross-legged, Harry re-corked the test tube and placed the vial back in his robes. If this was good, he might have need of the other stamen. Not quite sure what he was doing he reached out and picked up the pollen covered filament between his fingers. There was a tingle almost immediately and he looked at his yellow stained fingertips to see if anything would happen.

For a few seconds he did not feel any different at all and he was ready to throw the thing away as being a stupid idea, until that was it suddenly went blue. Or rather as he looked up and around at where he was sitting, his vision flicked to the most peculiar level where the warm light around him was now cold greys and blues rather than torch yellows and oranges.

Acting with complete abandon he did something that had his rational brain been working properly would have struck even a foolish Gryffindor as very stupid. He popped the stamen onto his tongue and the world exploded in colour.

Harry lost all track of time as his world vanished into unreality and he had no idea how long he watched rainbows or mentally chased bubbles, but when his mind gave him at least a glimpse of his real surrounding he was standing outside the protective charms on the tower, on the balustrade, looking out over the white Hogwarts grounds. Everything he had been feeling came back with such intensity that it made him want to scream, and it was as if his soul was tearing apart.

He was barely holding on as he swayed on his precarious perch, and he reached into the wind as if it could take away his pain. The drug in his system had taken away his hurt and anger for a few minutes, maybe more, but now it brought it into sharp focus. He could not bear it and he desperately needed release. Wobbling like a newborn he tore at his clothes, throwing his jumper, tie and shirt out into space. They were caught by a gust and tumbled into the darkness to disappear from his view as he stared after them.

He wanted to disappear too, let his troubles go in the darkness. In his drug reality he did the only thing that made sense to him. Jumping into space he cried his rage to the world and began to plummet downwards. Falling he felt momentarily free, like flying, and the feeling was wonderful.

Halfway down self-preservation made it through the high, because no matter how he wanted the pain to go away, he was not suicidal, he did not want to die. His wings flared and his descent slowed rapidly, but he was too out of control for a good landing. The ground was frozen and only covered in a light dusting of snow, so when he hit it, it was very hard. One ankle folded under the strain causing him to cry out in pain and he fell awkwardly, unable to control his movements properly with the drug affecting his system. The arm that landed under him gave a rather unpleasant snap and for a moment the world flipped out.

Harry came back to himself, or at least the best he could do at the moment, lying in the snow, crying. The mental and physical pain was too much even for the almost indomitable Gryffindor spirit and he did not even try and get up. His will to live might have saved him from the fall, but as yet, it could not force him off the ground, or even bring him to retract his wings.

"Potter, bloody hell, what are you doing?" the familiar voice was so unexpected that for a moment Harry thought he was hallucinating again, but then a hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see a very worried looking Draco.

"I can't do it," was all Harry could say, tears still streaming down his face.

His voice sounded slurred and strange even to his own ears, and the expression on Draco's face seemed to indicate he had heard this too.

"Ye gods, Potter," Draco said pointedly, but without his usual sneer, "you're wasted. Where the hell is your shirt?"

"Blew away," Harry replied, since it was the truth.

His companion looked around at the gently falling snowflakes.

"There's no wind, Potter," Draco said exasperatedly.

This was true on the ground, but of course up higher it was not so sheltered. Trying to point this out Harry went to move and cried out in pain as his arm complained.

"Harry, you're hurt, why didn't you tell me?"

The agony in his arm almost seemed to vanish as he looked up into a face that cared. Deep inside him something that had almost extinguished completely burst into life again as hope burned in his soul. Draco had called him Harry; albeit in a moment of shock, but Draco had used his first name.

"How did you find me?" Harry asked, needing to know more than anything in the world.

"I was on rounds," the answer came too quickly, and Harry knew a lie when he saw one.

"Liar," he said vehemently, forgetting his injuries and everything else as he stared into Draco's grey eyes.

For a moment Draco looked as if he was going to pull away, and then for a second the mask broke.

"I felt your magic," Draco said quietly, and Harry might have laughed, but he moved again first and unceremoniously fainted.