Harry Potter was having a very pleasant dream about a girl in a bunny costume, the Sorting hat, and a four foot high chocolate cake when a pink cloud of smoked appeared in his subconscious mind and asked him if he would like a puff.

"Malfoy, don't you dare stick that in Harry's mouth!" cried an indignant voice.

"He said 'yes', Granger," came the cool reply. "He practically asked for it."

"But he's not in his right mind! He probably has a concussion."

"Well, if someone's fat arse hadn't squished his famous forehead into the rooftop. . ."

"Don't talk about Hermione's arse that way, Zabini!"

"Keep your mouth shut if you want your turn, Weasley."

Harry's eyes flickered open, and he let out a stream of coughs, a cottony taste at the back of his throat. Draco Malfoy was bending over him with a lazy, dazed smile on his usually hard face. He was carefully holding his dragon bong with both hands.

"Hello," he said.

Harry raised a brow. Before he could speak, the crowd surrounding him moved forward. Blaise Zabini had his arm around Pansy Parkinson's shoulders and stood right at Harry's feet. To his side, Hermione sat on her knees with a worried expression on her face. Ron gave his friend a lopsided grin from behind the witch.

"Are you alright, Harry? Does anything hurt?" Hermione asked. She held her hand in front of his face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Draco let out a short laugh and put his hand up, all fingers extended, and began to wave it frantically in front of Harry's nose, pushing Hermione out of the way. "How many, Potter?"

"Five," Harry growled up at Draco.

"Wrong. There's obviously four." Malfoy squinted his eyes. "One's a thumb, you see. . . Well, that's that. Granger, I hate to tell you this, but Potter's completely nutters."

Pansy burst into giggles, and Hermione glared at the group of Slytherins. "Then we should probably get him to the Hospital Wing," the know-it-all answered, crossing her arms.

"Hermione, I don't know about that. . ." Ron answered. He gestured out with one hand, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, he looks right enough."

"Ronald Weasley!" she snapped, whipping around to face the red head. "I can't believe you'd sacrifice Harry's health just for the chance to bum drugs off of your rivals!"

Ron's face flushed. "But it's Dragon's Breath," he whined. "Don't you understand what that is? We could wait our whole lives and never get this chance again. Please, Hermione. It will just take a few minutes. . . And then we can go back to hating them again."

"Would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell is going on?" Harry snapped.

"Don't curse, Harry," Hermione snapped back. "If you must know, Ron and I went searching for you after breakfast. We happened to run into Parkinson and Zabini engaged in . . . . Well, they were at the base of the Astronomy tower. We asked if you had passed by . . . Apparently, they hadn't seen you, but when we mentioned Malfoy's behavior in the Great Hall, they said that they knew where the two of you were most likely headed."

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows. "And how does that account for the splitting headache I now have?"

"Well, Parkinson and I got into a bit of a squabble when we reached the roof. . ."

"They were tearing each other's hair out," Zabini interjected.

"And we were watching," Ron added.

"And I was winning," Pansy sneered, tossing her bob back dramatically.

"Then," Hermione interrupted, a look of frustration on her face, "we fell through the door and onto you. We would have rushed you to the Hospital Wing, but Malfoy stopped us, guaranteeing that he had something of value to offer us as long as we didn't alert any professors to our presence. At first we thought he meant information, then Ron recognized the bong he was holding."

"It is a legend," Ron sighed.

"This 'something of value' was a drug?" Harry surmised. "Hermione! You were going to try a drug. Of all people, I thought you we be level headed enough not to. . ."

"Harry! Yes, it is a drug, but it is not a health risk, per se. Also, it is very rare, and it is not addictive." She glanced up at Malfoy. "Not addictive to most, I should say. In form, it is a bit like muggle narcotics, but it is definitely not as lethal. It's a dried plant called Dragon's Breath, and it has been outlawed in wizarding society since the early sixties, even thought it does have some healthy benefits that were recorded by healers. The chance to experiment with the drug in pure form would be extremely valuable. The books on Dragon's Breath are incomplete, contradictory, and biased at best. Why, if I could simply write a thesis on its effects using a first hand source. . ."

Harry raised a hand to stop her. "Why was it outlawed?"

"Well, there were some . . . unplanned pregnancies due to its use," Hermione replied, her cheeks blushing slightly. "On one occasion, a wizard mistook his muggle mother's vacuum for his broom and jumped off a rooftop."

"OH, well, pass it to me," Harry cheered, his voice laced in sarcasm.

Ron shook his head. "That was one time. And that wizard was alone. We're in group, mate! We'll be perfectly safe."

"And the pregnancies. . ." Harry began. "Can you say 'orgy'?"

The Weasley growled. "Harry, come off it! That won't happen to us."

Hermione gave him a doubtful look. "Actually, if my readings are at least somewhat correct. . ."

"You've already taken a bloody hit!" Zabini interrupted. "I guess your friends forgot to mention that. . . Just as they're not informing you that you're talking with a slur that currently outmatches Draco's."

"I'm not slurrrring," said an affronted Draco.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "I thought that was just the concussion. . . That explains why my head's swimming." He turned back to Hermione. "You let Malfoy give me drugs?"

"Not much—and you did ask for it." Hermione shook her head. "I've had just about enough, Harry! We're doing this. I'm taking notes. Watch or join in." She snatched the bong out of Draco's hands, putting it to her lips in an almost passionate pose.

"I'm next," Pansy called, running over to join the Gryffindors.

"This is bloody insane," Harry muttered. "This has to be some sort of elaborate fantasy I've concocted from all of my pinned up rage and sexual frustrations."

Malfoy snorted.

"What exactly does this drug do to the user?" Harry asked, though he was somewhat beginning to feel the effects himself.

"There are four phases," Pansy replied. "Last time Draco got his hands on the drug, Professor Snape caught us while we were still in phase one and performed a head clearing spell on us—we got a detention for that one. The first is the depressant phase. It will put you in a drunkard's stupor after a few puffs. However, I've heard of the other ones from my grandmother (she loved the stuff). The second stage acts as a stimulant, the third a hallucinogen, and the final phase brings the user back down with feeling of euphoria."

Harry attempted to process this new information, but it was all he could do to keep himself from falling back onto the floor. "Sounds interesting."

Hermione smiled at him, pulling the bong away from her lips and passing it to Pansy. A bit of pink smoke swirled out of her nostrils. She pulled her bag to her side and snatched a piece of parchment and a quill. "Everyone," she said, her voice slow, but as decisive as ever, "I want you to tell me what you're feeling so that I can write it down, alrighty?"

Malfoy laughed. "I'm laughing, so I'm depressed."

Hermione scribbled something down with a chuckle. "Note, the first…" She looked up, blinking, and promptly fell onto Harry's chest.

Zabini smirked. "I suppose Pansy forgot to mention the 'tolerance' factor."