Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this work of fiction; they belong respectively to JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer.

A/N: AU, character deaths.

Jasper looked up as the classroom door opened and closed, and a boy with the reddest hair he'd ever seen stepped into the room, eyes downcast. He murmured an accented, "Hullo," to the teacher and was directed to sit down next to Jasper.

"Students," Mr. Hollings, the history teacher, addressed the class, "this is Ron Weasley; he hails from England, and will be with us for the remainder of the school year. Please welcome him. Ron?" Mr. Hollings frowned as the new student took his indicated seat, without looking up, and slumped down in the chair. "Would you mind introducing yourself to the class?"

A simple shake of the head and a sudden blush of crimson coloring his cheeks, were the only answers that Ron gave the teacher, and he slunk even further into the plastic chair, as though attempting to meld himself to it. Jasper could feel the waves of tension, sorrow and fear coming off of him; they overpowered the almost overwhelmingly heady scent of blood produced by his profuse blushing, making their close proximity almost intolerable for Jasper. If Alice had not been sitting next to him, her slight arm resting on his thigh, effectively holding him in place, he would have either attacked the new kid or fled the room in panic.

Mr. Hollings cleared his throat and said, "Well, perhaps another time then."

Ron, arms held tight to his chest, nodded, and Jasper felt some of the tension leave the tall, young man. He leaned as far away from Ron as he could get, and still it didn't feel far enough. The boy's blood fairly sang to him, and he clenched his jaw so tightly that it audibly creaked, causing Ron to look up at him, startled. Jasper held his breath and looked away from the storm-filled blue eyes. He didn't know if he could control himself.

As Mr. Hollings resumed his lecture on the Civil War, Jasper attempted to get lost in the man's words, hoping they would aid him in his struggle with bloodlust. Hollings's information was mostly accurate, but unless one had lived through the war, witnessed it firsthand, and borne the scars of battle, one could never truly do the telling of any war justice. Not for the first time, Jasper wondered why he was sitting in class, listening for the umpteenth time about something that he knew more about than anyone else.

He was so focused on his inner turmoil that he missed a question posed by Mr. Hollings who was now standing a few feet away staring down at him and Ron. Ron was shaking almost imperceptibly; Jasper doubted that anyone, other than himself, Alice, Rosalie, and Emmett, seated a row behind them, noticed. When Mr. Hollings took a faltering step back, as though compelled to do so, Ron let out a sigh, and the shaking eased.

"I'm sorry sir, what did you say?" Jasper asked politely, smiling a little.

Ron had leaned closer to him, and the scent of his blood was quickly becoming difficult to ignore. He could feel Alice, Rosalie and Emmett tensing, readying themselves to remove him from the danger that they could sense he was in.

"I was assigning groups for the Civil War project, and thought that, since Mr. Weasley was new, and you seem to have a fair grasp on the subject, it would be best to pair him with you."

"Uh," Jasper floundered, trying to find the right words to refuse the pairing.

"Could all three of us work on the project together?" Alice, her voice cheerful and light, interrupted and, much to Jasper's amusement, as well as disappointment, Mr. Hollings nodded his assent.

"Alice," Jasper whispered, his voice chastising, "you know I can't…"

"Don't worry about it," Alice said, there was a telltale, knowing look in her eyes. A sad smile graced her lips. On impulse, she reached over Jasper and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

The boy jerked in response and scooted his chair sideways, almost falling out of it. Had Jasper not been privy to his newest classmate's cacophony of swirling emotions, he might have laughed along with the rest of the class. He tried to calm the young man who was now panicking in earnest, but his powers of persuasion seemed to have little effect on him.

Ron looked around the classroom, eyes wide and wild and brimming with tears of fear and humiliation. He stood with a half-sob, and ran out the door.

Jasper didn't know why he did it. Couldn't understand the impulse that overtook him as he raced after the human, but was relieved that the chase was not compelled by a thirst for blood. He was vaguely aware that Alice was following him as he searched for the boy, finally finding him hunched over by the base of a broad pine tree, tears sparked by anger, sorrow and embarrassment streaking down his face.

Jasper sat, keeping a distance between himself and the redhead, and waited. Alice flopped down next to him, and grasped his hand, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

"He needs you," she said simply.

Jasper didn't understand. He was a monster. He had bled humans dry far too many times to count, and had been little more than an assassin, playing along with the will of his mistress. A few minutes ago, he had been imagining what Ron's blood would taste like: pungent, spiced with recklessness, tempered with a bone-weary sorrow.

"It should have been me." Ron's voice cracked, stirring something inside of Jasper that he thought was long dead, and he risked moving closer to the grieving boy, ignoring the worried looks that Emmett and Rosalie exchanged when they arrived.

It was then that Jasper noticed the scars, mostly hidden by the overlarge shirt that Ron wore. They were thin and crisscrossed his chest. He recognized them immediately – wounds from a rapier-like weapon. The sheer number of those that he could see spoke volumes. The kid should rightfully be dead, especially if the crisscross pattern of scars continued beneath the shirt that covered the rest of his torso.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Ron bellowed, pushing Jasper away when he placed a hand on his arm, pulling at the fabric of his shirt to view the rest of the scars he was certain lay beneath the thin material.

Unable to help it, he let a low growl slip, and Ron stiffened, leaning back against the trunk of the tree as though he hoped it would swallow him. The tears had ceased, though the remnants of them still glittered on Ron's freckled cheeks.

"What happened?" Jasper questioned, having confirmed his suspicions.

"None of your business," Ron whispered. His voice was hoarse with emotion, and Jasper could tell that he was close to tears again.

"Who hurt you?" He couldn't seem to stop himself from asking. Though he sensed that Ron did not want to talk, he pushed, letting his hand hover a little above his shoulder a few seconds before actually touching him.

"Leave it," Ron said, wariness was evident in his voice, though he didn't shrug off the hand.

"Ron, let us help you." Alice had quietly positioned herself on the other side of Ron. Rosalie and Emmett were still keeping their distance, close enough to intervene should Jasper not have his hunger under control, and yet far enough away not to crowd the newcomer.

"No one can help me," Ron whispered. "I couldn't help them. No one can help me."