"I can't believe you're abandoning me to double Snape all on my own," Harry grumbled for the third time since waking, aiming as powerful a glare as he could muster at 7.30 on a Monday morning towards the Ron-shaped lump lying in his best friend's bed.

"Eugh, Merlin," Ron's miserable voice responded from somewhere within the blankets, sounding pitifully weak. "Don't mention Snape, Harry, I'll vomit again." Harry let out a sigh. It was disappointingly hard to be mad at Ron when his friend sounded this pathetic.

"I don't suppose you could cough on me a bit, so I could get sick and skive off the rest of the morning?" Harry asked the air with a tinge of desperation. Ron's only response was a painful sounding moan that might have started its life as a laugh. Harry decided to channel his Gryffindor courage and admit defeat.

"Alright," he conceded. "Madam Pomfrey should be here within an hour, right? I think Gryffindor was first on her rounds today. I'll check on you at lunch time. Maybe smuggle you out a few sausages?" A slightly more hopeful-sounding moan escaped from the area of Ron's bed.

"Maybe a pasty, too?" the other boy sniffed. Harry picked up his things and headed for the door with a laugh. "See you later, mate. Hope you feel better, too, Neville." His other remaining roommate gave him a weak smile from where he was bundled up in his own bed, dozing off over his Herbology textbook.

It was hard not to notice the air of despondence that had taken over his House during the last few days. The first Monday of a new school year always seemed to bring a bit of melancholy with it in Gryffindor, but combined with the flu that had swept across the school since their arrival on Wednesday, the House had become positively morose. Only around a fifth of students had actually come down with the bug, but it had hit Gryffindor particularly hard, and considering the sick included both his best friends, Hermione and Ron, Harry felt he had a better reason than most to be grumpy today.

The Great Hall did nothing to lift Harry's spirits. Prominent gaps were visible across all tables, but Gryffindor looked particularly barren. Spotting Seamus and Dean near the end of the table, Harry slid in across from them and carried on an only somewhat enthusiastic conversation about this year's Quidditch cup until it was time to leave.

"Cheer up, Harry," Seamus said as they made their way down towards the dungeons. "Maybe Snape's gotten sick and he won't be able to teach today. Or the whole week, if we're lucky."

Harry noted the wistful look on his friend's face and decided to keep the thoughts about his famously bad luck to himself. By the time they reached the classroom (a little late, after a bit of healthy feet-dragging) most of the class were assembled outside. Harry noticed, with a sudden burst of cheer, that Malfoy seemed to be missing. Maybe his luck wasn't so terrible after all.

The door to the classroom swung open moments after they arrived and Professor Snape appeared in the entrance, towering over the students. "Enter," he said, sounding about as cheerful at the prospect of another year with them as they were. Harry could see Seamus squinting at the Professor's back with a considering expression as they followed their classmates in. If he was trying to determine if the man looked sick, Harry thought he might be in trouble. With his normally sallow skin and general miserable appearance, Harry thought even Pomfrey might not be able to tell what a healthy Snape looked like.

The problem became apparent almost immediately after arriving at the Gryffindor side of the classroom. Harry always paired with Ron in potions, which was one of the only things that made the class bearable. But one furious headcount later, and Harry realised that with three Gryffindors and one Slytherin down, each group would be missing a partner. This fact seemed to have occurred to his housemates, as Lavender and Parvati, as well as Dean and Seamus behind them, all shot him sympathetic and slightly guilty looks from their seats safely in the Gryffindor zone.

Harry swivelled towards the other side of the classroom and scanned the rows for the odd student out. He quietly thanked Merlin that Crabbe and Goyle were partnered together and felt a sweep of relief to see Theodore Nott sitting alone at the back of the class. At least if he had to work with a Slytherin it wouldn't be someone he was on active bad terms with, like Pansy Parkinson or, Merlin forbid, Malfoy himself. He even had to rack his brain for a second to come up with Nott's name. He had a few vague memories of Nott sneering in the background as Malfoy made some snide joke about Harry or one of his friends, but he couldn't recall ever even speaking to the boy. Still, no need to draw attention to himself by standing around. He hastily took a seat behind Dean and tried to look small. Maybe he'd get lucky and Snape wouldn't even—

"Potter," a slow, sarcastic voice sounded from behind him. "Are the basics of arithmetic too advanced for you? There is an empty seat next to Mr. Nott. Perhaps you're trying to save him from having an incompetent potions partner, but no need. I'm sure Mr. Nott will be able to handle your ineptitude for one lesson." Harry clenched his fists tight under the table as someone giggled, and he tried not to look at the Professor's sneering face.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, picking up his things and trailing towards the Slytherin side of the classroom. He felt as if he were heading for the gallows. Out of the corner of his eye he could spot Dean giving him a commiserating look, and Pansy Parkinson ahead of him was clearly smirking to her partner, Daphne Greengrass. Not sparing a glance at his new partner, Harry dumped his bag under the desk and sat on the edge of his seat, glaring at the stone floor.

As Snape prattled acerbically on about that day's potion, Harry found his attention drifting. He knew he'd be in for it if Snape caught him zoning out, but he couldn't help but find himself sneaking peeks at Nott out of the corner of his eye with a growing curiosity. It was strange to be on the Slytherin side of the classroom, and stranger still to be working next to one. Especially one he really didn't know. Harry wondered if he'd ever given the other boy a single thought since the Sorting. Probably not. Not that it was entirely his fault - Nott almost seemed to intentionally make a point of not standing out. The other boy remained as stringy as ever, but something about him made him seem a bit more advanced than the rest of them. It wasn't that he looked all that older, Harry mused; his brown hair was neater than Harry's, and his nose was as long and thin as the rest of him, but mostly he seemed to simply hold himself with a certain composure that Harry had only seen in the most Pureblood of the Slytherins. And Harry was beginning to suspect his face was just naturally set in a bit of a scowl. He was wondering idly if it was some sort of Slytherin tradition to spent inordinate amounts of time on your hair in the mornings when Nott's eyes were suddenly on him in a fierce glare. Harry's head whipped towards the front of the classroom, where Snape, Merlin, still seemed to be droning on about the day's potion. He felt his cheeks blaze as he watched Nott in his periphery slowly return his attention to the front, dark eyes still narrowed. Harry quickly picked up his quill and began attempting to take notes on – he glanced at the board, shifting a little to see over Crabbe's head - the Shrinking Solution.

Just as Harry was beginning to ardently wish he'd caught the bug going round, Snape finally released them to start brewing the potion. As the students rose around him to scramble for the ingredients cupboard (the Slytherins, Harry noted with a little chagrin, with a bit more dignity about them), Harry peaked cautiously over at Nott.

"Er," he began, but Nott was already standing and making his way silently to the cupboard without sparing him a glance. Well, alright. Harry cleared his throat and followed.

Five minutes into the practical side of the lesson, Harry realised it might have been a little bit near-sighted of him to have zoned out during the first Potions theory of the year. As the rest of his classmates began chopping and slicing ingredients, Harry found himself looking around in mild panic and furiously reading the scant instructions on the board to get an idea of what he was supposed to be doing. Merlin, this potion seemed complicated. Should it be this complicated?

"Trust Snape to set us this in our first class..." he grumbled, slicing into one of many unfortunate caterpillars. What was next in the recipe, again?

"Perhaps if you had been paying attention to the class instead of studying me with all the subtlety of a Gryffindor, you'd actually know what you were supposed to be doing," a quiet voice drawled from his left. Glancing up in surprise (and simultaneously knocking an unevenly decapitated caterpillar to the floor), Harry started at the slight sneer on Nott's face.

"Uh," he said, intelligently. "I wasn't… I mean, I was just..." he trailed off as Nott cut him a withering look. Harry promptly returned to his caterpillars, lips pursed. Unfriendly git. The lesson dragged on and Harry once again cursed the illness that had disrupted his and Ron's time-honed partnership. Maybe their potions never received above an A, but they at least had a system to make the lesson as painless as possible. Potions on his own was a nightmare.

He was just about to toss his peeled Shrivelfig gracelessly into the cauldron when a pale hand suddenly snatched his wrist in a vice grip. Harry was so stunned that he simply blinked at Nott for a few moments as the boy stared at him in pissed-off incredulity.

"Are you trying to poison me, Potter? The instructions clearly state that the Shrivelfig must be shaken extensively before it's added so it doesn't emit noxious gas." Nott's glare was sharp as cut glass, and Harry felt embarrassment clawing up his neck.

"Oh," he began to say, only to stop dead. Nott's hand was still on his own, keeping the volatile Shrivelfig away from the potion, but in all the movement Harry saw that his sleeve had fallen back slightly. It was only a few inches, but it was enough to see the unmistakable form of ugly purple bruises surrounding Nott's thin wrist. Harry noticed, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that they were in the shape of fingers.

His hand was jerked away suddenly, and Harry absently thanked Merlin that he retained his grip on the Shrivelfigs. He didn't see Nott pulling his sleeve down, but when Harry glanced up, he was as neat as ever. Nott was staring ahead, but Harry saw with another lurch in his stomach that a tinge of red was making its way across the boy's pale cheeks. Harry swallowed. A few moments passed, during which neither boy moved. The sounds of potions hissing and knives scraping filled the space between them. Harry cleared his throat and let the Shrivelfigs scatter onto his desk. He began working, making sure to shake the horrible little things as much as he could, and after a few moments Nott picked up his knife.

They passed the rest of the lesson in silence thicker than the fumes from the surrounding potions. Harry thought to himself idly that it was far easier to pay attention to something dull when there was something else you were desperately trying not to think of. After what felt like hours, the students around him began stoppering up vials of their potions. Harry noted with only vague dismay that his was more of a sickly vomit colour than the pea green of Nott's. He didn't like the odds that vomit was the desired shade. Snape, mercifully, didn't even glance at Harry's vial as he gingerly deposited it amid a sea of pea-green potions and hastily retreated to his desk.

Nott was already scouring his cauldron in the sink when Harry lugged his over. As he took a moment to watch Nott scrub furiously against the pewter, Harry finally began paying attention to the queasy feeling that had been squirming in his stomach for the last hour. He stared at the back of Nott's head for a few moments more, then sighed and brought his cauldron to the water, making up his mind. He ignored the protective gloves above the sink for the students, and slowly rolled his sleeves up before getting to work. Despite glaring wholeheartedly at the stains on his cauldron (Merlin, he hated potions), Harry could feel Nott's eyes slowly fixing themselves on a patch of Harry's right arm where his Aunt Marge's bulldog Ripper had made good on his name over the summer, to his cousin Dudley's delight. Harry kept his eyes rigidly ahead as he cleaned. Both boys remained still for a few moments, before Nott slowly reached out to turn his tap off. The queasiness in Harry's stomach finally began to recede, and the red had almost entirely faded from Nott's cheeks by the time Harry forced himself to face him. Nott's eyes seemed darker than they had earlier, as they stared unerringly into Harry's, but the look on his face was one Harry couldn't read. Quietly turning off his own tap, Harry gently pulled his sleeves back down and faced other boy. Nott's mouth slowly opened, and Harry found himself leaning forward to hear what he had to say.

"Potter—"

"Alright, Harry?" He blinked twice, disoriented, and turned to find a wary-looking Dean standing behind him with Seamus to his right.

"Uh, yeah, I was just... cleaning," he mumbled, not meeting their eyes. With a sharp flick of robes out the corner of his eye, Nott was gone.

Dean looked between Harry and the retreating boy with a slightly raised eyebrow. He had a small green stain on his robe which was smoking slightly. Seamus next to him looked like he'd been through five rounds against a mountain troll. "Is everything okay, Harry? You look a little out of sorts," Dean asked, voice hesitant. Harry wondered what he looked like to put that tone in his friend's voice.

Harry nodded absently as he began lugging his cauldron out of the sink. "Yeah, 'course. Just trying to get this thing clean." He pulled a face, but judging by Dean's frown it wasn't very convincing.

"You sure, mate?" Seamus asked, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "'Cause, I mean, you just spent double Potions with a Slytherin. You must be in shock, at least. Maybe you should lie down?"

"Five points from Gryffindor for giving imbecilic medical advice to another student, Finnigan," Snape drawled from somewhere behind him. Despite himself, Harry had to hide a smile at the thunderous look on Seamus' face. Dean caught his eye from behind the other boy and grinned.

"Come on," Harry snorted, scooping up his things. "I'm starving, and I promised Ron I'd steal him some sausages."