Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews. Yes, I am looking forward to writing more of everyone's interactions with their partners. It's sure to be a rather ... unique ... experience for all involved.

And as far as Ron having no reason to trust Draco, I agree. In fact, this chapter delves into his point of view and how he's feeling about the whole thing.

And strap in, everyone. This chapter takes a very unexpected turn.

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Ronald Weasley felt rather disgruntled as he arose from bed on yet another morning. He had never been a morning person, and so it was normal for him to be grumpy when he first woke up.

But it wasn't just his usual reluctance to get out of bed that was getting to him this morning. It was the boy in the bed beside him that was causing his thoughts to go to a darker place.

It had been a week since Snape had assigned the bloody Potions project, and ever since then, it seemed like Harry had changed even more. Well, didn't he keep changing? Ron thought rather mutinously. Ever since the beginning of the year, he had seen differences in his best friend. They had really made themselves known on the day that Malfoy had been turned into a ferret, and his humiliation had been witnessed by many. And Ron hadn't been able to understand why Harry had defended him. Not at all.

Even when Harry had explained it to him, Ron hadn't really understood. He had put it away for the sake of their friendship, but he had never forgotten. Malfoy had called Ron's family blood traitors. He constantly called Hermione a Mudblood. He always made fun of Ron for being poor, and wanted nothing more than to hurt Harry.

So why had Harry had that horrible look in his green eyes when he had screamed at the man posing as Moody? For a moment, he'd looked like a thing possessed, not the boy who laughed and joked with him about homework and Quidditch, not the boy who rolled his eyes at Hermione's constant nagging but knew she meant well. There had been something very dark and haunting in his eyes, and it had sent a thrill of fear through Ron. He thought cynically that if he had looked directly into them at that moment, he would have been lost in an abyss that he wouldn't have known how to escape from.

Ron reflected that there had always been something strange about Harry. He'd grown up hearing stories of him, and when he'd met him on the train, he had been stunned. The boy in the compartment was so skinny, and had a rather lonely, desolate look about him. However, when the two of them had begun talking, he'd seemed to perk up. When he'd stood up to Malfoy the way he had on that first trip, that was the kind of thing that Ron had imagined Harry Potter would do. His use of You-Know-Who's name, though, was completely astounding. Harry Potter, of all people ... how could he stand for those syllables to come out of his mouth?

As the years had gone by, Ron noticed little things about his friend. He knew he was considered stupid and dim by some, and very unobservant. But he saw things. He saw how Harry was always shocked when he received any scrap of affection. Ron had always felt smothered by his mother's constant hugs, and when he was younger, he was always called "Ronnie" by her. He had told her in no uncertain terms to stop doing that, but there were times when she slipped up, especially when she was feeling emotional. Unfortunately, the twins would pounce on it if they heard her do it, and they would tease him mercilessly, calling him that stupid name every chance they got. They swore they meant nothing by it, but their tones were mocking and Ron wanted nothing more than to cast a good jinx on them to get them to bloody shut up.

But Harry ... Ron got the feeling that if his mother called him some silly nickname, he wouldn't mind. The first time he had ever been to the Burrow, he'd stared at the house like it was his idea of Heaven. "It's wonderful," he had breathed when Ron had apologized for the state of it. "I love it."

And that had been directly after the incident with the bars on his window. Harry had tried to downplay it, and Ron acted as though he believed everything Harry had said. He was even able to fool the boy into believing that he thought no more about it. But there were times, especially when Harry had been at Quidditch practice, when Ron and Hermione had conversations their best friend wasn't privy to. They felt helpless - what were they supposed to do about it? Harry acted happy most of the time, like he was just a regular Hogwarts student going through his seven years of magical education.

But he wasn't a regular student, and the way he was constantly stared at made it extremely apparent. And Ron wasn't going to lie - there were times when he was exceedingly jealous of Harry's fame. Being one of seven children, Ron would give anything to do something that one of them hadn't done before him. Well, being Harry's best friend was certainly something, and he had been amazed by the opportunity presented to him. He had once heard his brother Charlie say that he didn't believe in coincidences - if something of the sort happened, it must have some kind of meaning. Ron had thought that his brother was being melodramatic and that such a statement was absurd, but meeting Harry had changed his view. It must mean something for him to have met the famous boy and to have become his best friend. Granted, he had always known that they would be in the same year at Hogwarts, but to be his best mate was another thing entirely.

And now, he could still say the same - being Harry's friend was astounding. Why Harry would want to hang around with the likes of him - a poor, rather dull bloke with nothing much to his name - he couldn't understand it, sometimes. But the fact of the matter was that this was his reality. He knew that there were parts of Harry's life that were no picnic, but the sheer adoration he received sent stabs of jealousy through Ron when he was least expecting them.

"You okay, mate?" Harry asked as they left the dormitory and traversed to the common room. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," Ron grumbled as his thoughts once again strayed to how Harry was changing. Bloody Malfoy. It was all that stupid blond idiot's fault. Ever since Harry and Malfoy started studying together, Ron had noticed that the other boy seemed to be lost in thought more often. And this was the second time that such a thing had happened this year.

Next to Malfoy, Ron's least favorite person in the school was Snape. And after Harry had shockingly spent the night in the man's bloody quarters, he'd looked just the same as he had in the past week - serious and pensive. Why in all nine levels of Hell was Harry examining the inner workings of Snape and Malfoy, of all people? Ron knew exactly why Snape had let Harry stay in his quarters - it was a form of horrific manipulation. He could only imagine what that evening had been like, when Harry, McGonagall, and Snape had caught Barty Crouch, Jr. Harry's descriptions of that night had been horrible, and Ron shuddered at what Neville must have gone through as well. To come face-to-face with the person who had a major hand in torturing your parents into insanity ... it sent goosebumps all the way up his arms and down his legs.

And Snape had caught Harry at a vulnerable moment and taken advantage of him. He wanted Harry to think he was changing his tune. He wanted Harry to think that he had a soul, a heart, a conscience. But Ron remembered the way his vile black eyes had stared at his friend ever since he'd drawled, "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity," during that first Potions class, and he was disgusted by the fact that Harry was buying into it in any shape or form.

He'd despised that look in Harry's eyes when Snape had shown himself not to have changed at all. His best friend acted as though he wasn't bothered by it, but Ron could see that he was. He wanted to yell, "See, I told you!" But he refrained from doing so, knowing that Harry was already chastising himself. He wasn't about to rub salt into the wound. But he couldn't deny that it was hard not to say that, especially when Harry had come back on that dreaded Sunday evening after detention, looking like something monumentally awful had happened. Ron, Hermione, and Neville all knew that something had transpired during that detention, but Harry refused to talk, and Ron grew increasingly frustrated. And it was downright strange when Snape began to completely ignore Harry in class, but at least he wasn't looking at him like he wanted to murder him. But Ron simply couldn't understand the brief look of hurt that would often pass through Harry's eyes when every Potions class was exactly the same.

And that bloody project ... what, did Harry think that Malfoy had any speck of goodness in him at all? It was completely ludicrous. Harry was way too quiet when discussing Malfoy these days - the volley of insults he usually reserved for him was very noticeably absent. Hermione tried to convince Ron that Harry knew how important this project was, and was therefore trying to work with Malfoy the best he could. Ron scoffed and snorted at the very notion of that, causing Hermione to glare at him.

Ron desperately wanted to know what Harry's deal with Malfoy was. How could they be working quietly together in the library without constantly being at each other's throats? The whole thing was entirely insane. Ron felt as though his world was spinning, and he honestly couldn't keep up with it.

The two boys arrived in the common room, and met Neville and Hermione there. The latter had been in an exceedingly bad mood lately; she'd had no luck with Pansy Parkinson. Therefore, she had started doing the project by herself, which Ron couldn't understand either. Why would she want to put herself through all that extra stress? It was just like last year with the time-turner - completely and utterly barking mad.

As for Ron's project, he hadn't done any of it yet. Every time he tried to approach Goyle, the ghoulish, lumbering idiot would have nothing to do with his conversation. It seemed like the only thing he knew how to do was swear colorfully at him, using words that he had only ever heard from the twins when one of their experiments had gone wrong. If any of the Weasleys used those words in front of their parents, they would be punished soundly. There would be no games of Quidditch outdoors, and no treats after dinner.

So Ron, to Hermione's obvious chagrin, had not completed any of the assignment, and he was glad for it. He wanted nothing to do with poisons. Of course, it would be Snape who would assign such a thing. He couldn't just give them regular potions to brew, could he?

Lost in his disparaging thoughts, he ignored the conversation going on between Neville and Hermione. Neville's face was alert and happy as he discussed his favorite subject, Herbology. Hermione was smiling, listening with rapt attention as he talked about his favorite plants.

"And guess what? Professor Sprout's letting me work in the greenhouse," Neville said, a smile lighting up his face. "She says I'm one of her best students." He looked stunned by that pronouncement.

"That's wonderful, Neville," Hermione beamed. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," Neville said, and he walked with an unusual spring in his step as they continued on towards the Great Hall.

Ron was glad that Harry had let Neville into their friendship circle. He was a very nice person to have around, and Ron thought it was great that his confidence seemed to be growing. It was Harry, above all, that was bringing out the best in Neville - the two of them seemed to have a bond. Both of them had lost their parents to the cruelties of You-Know-Who's reign, and Ron saw the similarities they both shared. But they were starkly different, too - Neville had always been so much more timid than Harry, and he never said anything good about himself. The fact that Professor Sprout was letting him work in the greenhouse brought a shine to Neville's eyes that Ron hadn't seen before. The smile on his round face was brighter, as well.

They turned the corner, and were only a few corridors away from the Great Hall when Harry stopped in his tracks, causing his friends to almost plow into him.

"Harry? What is it?" Ron asked. Why had Harry suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway?

Harry didn't answer, and Ron felt the first stirrings of dread. Looking closely into his best friend's face, he saw all the color draining from it.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione asked shrilly, sounding scared. "What's the matter?"

It was then that Harry cried out, doubling over and vomiting. The sounds coming out of him were horrifying, and Ron was rooted to the spot, unable to think of one single thing to do. All he could do was scream, "Harry!" as his entire system went into overdrive. He turned to see a white-faced Neville standing next to him, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Oh Merlin! He's throwing up blood!" Hermione screamed. "Oh no - oh no - Harry!"

"I'll go for help," Neville said, suddenly coming out of his trance and sprinting towards the Great Hall. In an analytical, detached part of his mind, Ron was able to feel glad that at least someone had the common sense to do what must be done.

Not knowing what else to do, he bent down so that he was on Harry's level. Hermione did the same, and both of them tried to speak to Harry, but to no avail. The boy's emerald eyes were dilated, and he just wouldn't stop throwing up blood. The sight was excruciating, and Ron was completely transfixed. "It'll be okay, mate. Neville's getting help," he said over and over again as a staring, aghast crowd gathered beside them. Many students had also been on their way to the Great Hall when they'd come upon the frightening scene, and they weren't about to move any further.

Hermione had tears streaming down her face as she gazed at her best friend with despair. Ron, who was so quick to go into action mode, still felt frozen. It wasn't like it was anything new that something was happening to Harry. As his heart raced and his entire body shook with fear, he couldn't help but remember the other times he'd been helpless and unable to do anything to save him.

In first year, he'd been injured after he'd sacrificed himself in that horrible, life-sized chess game. He'd known that it had to be Harry to go on, but what he would go on to face ... Ron had been desperately scared at the thought. Part of him was selfishly glad when he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness; it meant that he wouldn't have to just sit there, waiting for news. Waiting to hear whether Harry was okay.

But he'd been wrong. Very wrong. When he'd awoken from his unconscious state, his best friend was fighting for his life in the hospital wing, only steps away from where Ron was lying. The ordeal was over, but there was a chance that Harry wouldn't make it. The horror that took over every atom of Ron's being was a feeling that would never be forgotten.

But his best friend had come out of his coma soft and smiling - a near-death experience hadn't changed him at all. "Madam Pomfrey had better let me out in time for the Leaving Feast," he'd said, and it was Harry all over.

Hermione had stared at him with tears in her eyes, and said in a voice full of raw emotion, "Harry Potter, if you ever scare us like that again, I'll ... I'll ..."

Harry had looked at her with deep affection, and Ron had felt his throat constrict. He'd been about to finish Hermione's sentence with some kind of quip, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He was bowled over by the intensity of his emotions.

And then, in second year, he'd been stuck behind those stupid rocks while Harry battled for his little sister's life. He'd felt incredibly helpless and defeated then, stuck with a gormless Gilderoy Lockhart who couldn't even remember his own name. When Harry had emerged with Ginny, covered in grime and gore and holding a sword, of all things, he was the true picture of a hero. When Ron heard the story later, a feeling of incredible pride arose within him, along with, ashamedly, the first stirrings of jealousy. Harry was the hero of the story, while Ron did absolutely nothing.

And now, here he was again - completely helpless, unable to do anything while his best friend knelt on the ground, throwing up blood and moaning in a way that set every one of his nerves ablaze. Every little thought that he'd had over the past little while about how Harry had changed, how he wasn't really understanding him this year - they all fled in the face of the horror he was witnessing now. Who cared if he thought Malfoy ...

Malfoy. Suddenly, that name rang through his head with a vengeance. Harry had screamed at Crouch to stop hurting Malfoy. Harry wasn't complaining about spending hours in the library with Malfoy, like Ron had expected him to.

And what had Harry accomplished by being nice to that bastard? He'd gotten poisoned for his efforts. Bloody poisoned. There was no doubt in Ron's mind that this was exactly what was happening to Harry. It didn't sound like this was the poison the two of them had been working on, but why did that matter? Ron wouldn't put it past the blond Slytherin to do something vile like this.

Suddenly, pounding footsteps came from the direction of the Great Hall, and Snape strode into sight with an expression that could freeze lava. Instinctively, the gaping crowd parted for him, but Ron and Hermione wouldn't move from their friend's side. A shaking Neville came back over to them, his eyes full of tears. "As soon as I told the staff in the Great Hall what was going on, Snape came running," he explained, panting and clutching a stitch in his side.

Upon seeing Harry's condition, there was no visible emotion at all in Snape. Ron felt a violent, crashing wave of anger sweep over him then. For some Merlin forsaken reason, Harry thought there was something more to you, Snape, Ron thought viciously. And you don't care that he's lying in a pool of his own blood.

But then, Snape snarled out two words. "Accio bezoar."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped out another sob, shaking violently. Not knowing what else to do, Ron placed his arm around her as they huddled there, waiting in terrifying anticipation for what would happen next.

Each second seemed to take an eternity, and Harry had finally stopped throwing up blood. But something else was happening now - he was starting to convulse, his eyes rolling back in his head. Unable to help himself, Ron reacted. "Do something!" he snarled at Snape. "Hurry up! Don't you care that Harry's ... that Harry's ..." He choked, unable to say the word "dying". Reality was spinning out of control and he couldn't quite grasp what was happening.

But Snape did not react to Ron's outburst. In the next second, he effortlessly caught the stone that had come flying towards him. "Move!" he barked at Harry's friends, and his voice was so commanding that they obeyed him without a second thought. As much as Ron despised it, Snape was Harry's only hope now.

With a quickness that Ron found shocking, Snape pried Harry's mouth open and forced the bezoar inside it. For several seconds, it seemed like it hadn't worked, and Ron felt a numbness consume his entire body.

But then, everything stopped. It was as though the entire world had fallen still as Harry's convulsions ceased. Ron held his breath as a terrible, all-encompassing silence filled the hallway. The only sounds that could be heard were the sobs and sniffles of several of the students as they dazedly watched the scene play out before them.

"Everyone will go to the Great Hall at once," Snape said in a low, deadly voice. He raised his wand, and the next thing Ron knew, an unconscious Harry was being Levitated towards the hospital wing.

He, Hermione, and Neville paid no attention to Snape's directions. There was no way in hell that they were going to the Great Hall to eat breakfast after what they'd just seen. Just the thought of putting any food in his stomach made Ron feel ill and queasy. The sight of Harry moaning and vomiting up blood would not leave his mind, and Hermione was still sobbing like her heart had been shattered into a million pieces. "Oh Merlin," she kept chanting in between her cries. Neville was staring blankly into space, his face ashen and his eyes haunted.

The four of them followed Snape and Harry to the hospital wing, preparing for the dour Potions Master to spit verbal venom at them. "Do you not understand English?" Ron expected to hear, with a good glare to boot. "You are just as abysmal at following instructions in this situation as you are in class."

But no such taunt escaped Snape's mouth when he saw Harry's three friends following him. He glanced at them, his face inscrutable, but said nothing at all.

They reached the hospital wing much too slowly for Ron's taste. He could hear Harry's ragged breathing, and the sound was terrifying. He knew what a bezoar was, and what it did. But Harry had been under the terrible poison's influence for several minutes before the bezoar had been administered. What had it done to his body before that happened? Was Harry going to be okay?

He will, a little voice in his head told him. You didn't think he'd be okay in first year, and he beat the odds. You were so afraid for him in second year, and he survived that, too, with my little sister and a bloody sword, no less. He's Harry ... you know he's going to make it through this one, too.

But he looks terrible, another little voice argued. I've never seen him look worse.

But right then and there, he made a vow to himself. No matter what Harry's prognosis was, Ron Weasley knew one thing for certain.

He was going to hunt down Draco bloody Malfoy, and he was going to kill him.

xxx

Severus Snape felt like all his nerves had been frayed as, several hours later, he sat in his dungeon office and worked feverishly to make a potion for Potter. He had been stabilized, but only for now. The bezoar had done what it was supposed to do, but the poison that had ravaged Potter's system had done a terrible amount of damage. If the potion was given in time, Potter would survive it. But Snape had to hurry in order to get the potion brewed as quickly as he could.

This was not part of the Dark Lord's plan. Snape knew it for certain. Someone had tried to kill Potter, and it was completely independent of the plot that would deliver the boy to the Dark Lord in order for him to be reborn. Whoever had done this wanted Potter dead now.

He didn't know what had happened within the past few hours throughout the rest of the school, but he knew the story of Potter's poisoning would spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. The students who had witnessed the scene were all shell-shocked, and some would not want to discuss it. But he knew that everyone would know about it before long, because some would need to talk about the true horror of what that was like.

Snape knew exactly what poison Potter had been given, and he felt bile churn in his stomach at the memory of Potter's emerald eyes glazed over with incredible pain as he convulsed. He knew that this particular poison sat benignly in the bloodstream for several days before a human body would suddenly and horrifyingly react to it. He, himself, had invented that poison at the direction of the Dark Lord. It had been in his early Death Eater days, when he'd been asked to prove himself and his adept potions skills to the man. He remembered that feeling of desperation that had driven him onward, the hope that he would be considered worthy in the Dark Lord's eyes. It was before he knew the truth - that the man was nothing more than an evil, manipulative megolomaniac who did not care one wit about any of his servants. It was before he'd realized what a catastrophic mistake he'd made. It was before he'd seen Lily's lifeless eyes and experienced the true meaning of pain.

And wasn't it just ironic that it was Harry Potter who had been affected by this poison? How many times was he going to be taunted with his own mistakes? Hadn't karma had enough of playing with him by now? The guilt he wrestled with was all too much to bear as he struggled to make the potion in enough time to save Potter. Potter, who had shouted at him that he must have hated his mother. Potter, whose green eyes had been blazing with hurt and grief and rage. Potter, who he hoped would never, ever learn the truth. Potter, who he knew, deep down, in a place Snape rarely acknowledged, had every right to hate him. Potter, whose life he was working to save. Again.

As he worked, another face swam through his mind. Draco. Draco, who he knew that many in the school would suspect. Draco, who he knew was innocent. Draco would not do something like this.

How did Snape know this? How could he be so sure that Draco, who was known to be very foolhardy at times and had, in the past, done anything that his father wanted, had not done this? How could he make such a judgment at all, when he knew that Draco knew more about poisons than any young boy should? He, after all, knew that Lucius had tutored his son on how to catch an enemy by surprise. Draco had lapped up Lucius's lessons like a dutiful little house-elf.

But after everything that had happened this year, after the horrible shock that had been slammed into the boy upon discovering that his experience as a ferret was courtesy of Barty Crouch, Jr., Snape could see a very subtle change in the boy. He still carried himself the same - still sneered and jibed and taunted, sometimes even more than usual - but something was changing.

He'd never forget the dread that consumed him when he carried out his part of the Dark Lord's plan. It hadn't taken him long to think of a way to do so, and the idea of the Potions project had been born. The fourth-years had been studying poisons and antidotes this year anyway, and it would certainly make the Gryffindors miserable if he assigned them to do the project with his Slytherins as their partners. Their reactions were completely predictable, and Snape knew that none of them would suspect a thing. They'd glare and scowl, muttering about how Snape was oh so mean and oh so unfair. Snape sneered at the very thought of all their conversations. But his goal had been achieved - no one thought he had an ulterior motive. The only one who knew the truth was Draco.

And he'd quietly observed the blond boy over the last week. Something had happened - Draco had been rattled. What in Merlin's name had occurred between him and Potter? It was plain to see that it hadn't been their usual interactions. Draco wasn't angry. He wasn't swearing revenge. He hadn't even used ... that word ... for Granger within Snape's hearing range.

There was really only a few words that described how Draco had looked in the past week.

Scared. Shaken. Vulnerable. Like he'd just been tossed into the ocean and didn't know how to swim to shore.

And so, Snape was positive that Draco was not the culprit. He hadn't poisoned Potter. And it wasn't just because this hadn't been part of the Dark Lord's plan, either.

But now wasn't the time to figure out who had done it. Severus Snape was being depended upon to do something that once again forced him to relive all his past transgressions.

He had to, once again, save the life of Harry Potter.