SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS

A/N: Yes, Harry will be scene hopping in this fic. Yes, he is older. No, I won't be giving out Bonded spoilers-but all the potentials/hopefuls/Intendeds and whatnot, will be fully utilzed. Enjoy! Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion

It took some combined effort to propel me somewhere near the middle of the tree and then to hold on tight while said tree surreptitiously glided about the orchard to a slightly hidden cove in the corner.

At the end of the orchard, the spiky metal gates turn into crumbling stone walls with thick curtains of ivy spilling over the top.

Craning my neck didn't provide any useful views and when I dared to rustle the slender branches holding me, they tightened at once.

"Don't," the tree said, shortly. "It's a sheer drop off. You'd die in an instant."

I bite back the urge to snap that I wouldn't—I would fly off just fine, thank you very much. But then a frisson of coolness washes over me as the tiniest inkling of doubt registers. Weird and strange as this entire mountain trek has been, I wonder if my wings would have come out.

Magic allows them to fit and move around my human form, skeleton and all—without it, I hate to think of what would happen to my blissful existence spent in my halfway form. Half-dragon, half-wizard.

The tree settles down in the corner and it takes its time, before shuddering quite violently, and delivering a few untimely scratches to my face.

"Ow, ow, ow," I mutter, twisting and yanking my hands free to swipe at the warm wetness on my cheeks.

These branches are sharp. Huh.

The shuddering stops and the tree slumps, as if to sigh. "Don't rub at it. The sap will get in the wounds."

"And you would warn me because?" I prompt, twisting to draw out the first-aid kit that Quinn has meticulously stocked for my personal use. There is enough healing balm and applicators crammed into the first few pockets—that I know I should be fine.

"Because any magical creature that should ingest this sap, whether it be accidental or deliberate, will die a slow and painful death in the worst of ways."

I paused in mid-dab with the antiseptic bottle and accompanying soft rag. "Really?"

"Really. Now tell me, how did you come here and why?"

"How about you tell me if there and antidote first and where I can find it?"

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because Maggie did send me and if you're the…Partridge she was talking about?"

The branches rustled.

I couldn't see the face from where I was, but the branches began to unwind, allowing me the freedom to move easier, but forcing me to find and keep my own footing.

Magic was slowly flickering out, I could feel it in the way the charms over Charlie's cloak began to give out.

The chilly wind was the first hint. I hunkered down in the nice grooved section of the upper branches.

"…I am a pear tree," the tree said, quite clearly.

"And I'm a Dragel," I countered, matter-of-factly. "Your point?"

"…Perry," the tree said, at last. "I am called Perry."

"Harry," I offered. "Harry-uh—Potter—of the Nott Circle."

"…Just Perry. All I've ever wanted to be is Perry."

"Great. Perry. Nice name. Has a good ring to it. Why are you a pear tree? Or were we skipping that part?"

The branches rustled again, but this time, with a faint hum thrumming through them.

"Because I dared to love a woman with hair the color of the sunset after a warm autumn day."

I shifted, feeling my left leg going to sleep on me. "That's very—nice?"

"Nice?" The tree—Perry—sputtered. "No man must ever have anything to do with a woman of the Cynaphzer Tribe, it is forbidden."

"…I'm a dragel and just because of that I don't exist in some realms because of the way I'm hardwired," I said, easily. "Try me."

"They are harbingers of death!"

"…And I'm hardwired to crave a harem of gorgeous, sometimes incredibly dense, but well-meaning men."

Perry twisted around enough for his face to be visible from below. "You are a strange one."

"Why thank you," I offer a mock-bow or at least, a very vague approximation of it. My movements are limited, because I'm trying to blot my face—still. "This antidote thing?"

"…Dragelsshouldn'tneedit." He mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"…Youdontneedanantidote."

"…Maybe you should try taking a breath after each word. Maggie wants to see you."

Perry trembles.

This, I can tell, because it's quite different from the previous rustling. "Perry?"

"I should never have looked at her."

"She thinks you're fascinating and wants to see you bake pies and stuff again. Said your fruit tarts were the best she'd ever eaten. Antidote?" my empathy is flickering at the corners and it means that I ought to listen to it. At least, enough to know that Perry does not really regret his decision, even if it has somehow resulted in his treeness.

Or something.

I named a tree Perry. Good grief someone help me...-insert hopeless sarcasm here-. So. Perry?. :P Enjoy! ~Scion