Disclaimer: Absolutely nope.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! Yes, I'm sure that Harry's poisoning was pretty unexpected to all of you.

I'm glad you enjoyed the perspective from Ron. He definitely has his faults, just like every other human, but he certainly isn't the villain. I've read plenty of fanfics where he actually is, and those are very interesting. But his canon self is not evil at all - at least, I don't think so.

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter.

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"Draco, what the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

Draco was sitting in the Great Hall, shoveling eggs into his mouth as he listened to everyone else talk around him. He wasn't in the mood to say much of anything - he hadn't been for the past several days. And he certainly didn't appreciate Pansy yelling in his ear, her face suffused with anger.

"Has it occurred to you, Pansy, that I don't have time to hear your whining every moment of every day?" Draco snapped at her, exceedingly sick of her clingy attitude.

On his other side, Blaise snickered. "Oh, he told you, all right," he smirked. He had never been tolerant of Pansy's clear obsession with Draco. On many an occasion, he had asked him, "Why in Merlin's name do you let her treat you like that?"

To be honest, Draco had let it continue because a part of him had liked it. He enjoyed how she hung on his every word, and how he had absolutely no faults in her eyes - well, until now. She did not appreciate the fact that he had been ignoring her for the past little while.

"Fine!" Pansy shouted at him, pushing her chair back from the table as she stood. "When you feel like actually deigning to treat me with respect, come and see me!" Her eyes sparkled with angry tears as she flounced out of the Great Hall.

Draco went back to his eggs, feeling no compassion or guilt. Pansy was a pest, and he was bloody glad that she was going to leave him alone. Thank bloody Merlin.

He did not want to think about his first class of the day. It was Potions, and he would have to face Potter again. Couldn't he go for one whole day without seeing those damned emerald eyes? The eyes that seemed to look into his very soul, the eyes that seemed to reach inside him and study every part of him.

"Draco." Merlin, he absolutely despised how the boy thought it was his right to use Draco's first name. Why had he started doing that? It made every single one of his muscles tense up. Every time that word fell from Potter's mouth, those bloody, Godforsaken eyes blazed with intensity. It was completely and utterly horrible.

And then, there were the nightmares. Draco was lost in a cold, dark tunnel, no one there to rescue him - no one, except Potter. "How does it feel, to know that Crouch would have had no problem using a poison on you? He already turned you into a ferret."

Then, Potter himself appeared in the darkness, reaching out a hand to the terrified, shaken blond boy. "I can help you, Draco," he said softly. "I know who you really are."

"No, you don't! You don't! You don't!" Draco's furious words echoed in the tunnel, over and over and over again. "Go away, Potter! Go away!"

"No." Potter's voice was gentle. "I'm not going anywhere."

"NO!" Draco screamed, bolting up in bed. He was covered in a cold sweat, his sheets tangled around him. He looked wildly around the Slytherin fourth-year dormitory. Thankfully, no one else was awake, and Potter was nowhere to be seen.

That recurring nightmare had haunted him, and he had started putting silencing charms around his bed. The last thing he wanted was any of his dormmates hearing his stupid dreams. Because that's all they were, right? Just a bunch of incredibly stupid dreams. Why, then, did he feel so awful when he awoke each morning? Why was it getting harder and harder to face the day?

Suddenly, the Great Hall fell into a hushed silence. "Oh for Merlin's sake. What now?" Blaise muttered from beside him.

Draco looked around, only to see a white-faced, horrified-looking Neville Longbottom making a beeline for the staff table. Draco had never seen the boy run faster. He looked as though the very hounds of Hell were after him. Under normal circumstances, Draco would have laughed at the sight he made. But he was too bloody tired to do so.

He looked at the staff table, and saw that every one of the teachers was on alert. Even Snape was there, which surprised Draco. It was rare for him to come to the Great Hall these days, which Draco understood. He obviously did not want to be around the other staff members, and Draco couldn't say he blamed him for that decision. However, today he was sitting up ramrod straight, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

Unfortunately, Draco couldn't hear what Longbottom told the staff, but he saw all their faces pale. Snape instantly got up, and Draco recognized that flinty, hard, frozen expression on his face. Something was very wrong.

"Come on, Draco," Blaise said, getting up from the table. "Let's go investigate."

"I'm in the middle of breakfast, Blaise," Draco sneered at him. He realized that at the beginning of the year, he would have been all too happy to follow Blaise and see what was going on. "You go."

"I see," Blaise said with his own sneer. "Too chicken to see what Snape's going after? You have changed, Draco. Ever since you and Potter started meeting, you've turned into a right arse."

A cold feeling gripped Draco's gut. How had he made himself so obvious? He had tried so hard to behave in the same way he always did - he couldn't afford for people to notice that anything was different. "Fine," he snarled at Blaise. "I'm coming with you."

Blaise's only response was a triumphant smirk as he and Draco tried to be as discreet as they could. They walked out of the Great Hall, but couldn't see Snape anywhere. Other students had had the same idea, and their eyes were full of curiosity, yearning to know exactly what was going on.

"Where do we go, then?" Draco asked, trying to speak in a bored drawl. "I don't see any action here."

Blaise didn't answer, but kept walking down the corridor. Draco followed, as did Crabbe and Goyle, who had followed Draco's lead the instant they saw him moving.

And then, they saw it. A couple of corridors away from the Great Hall, a large crowd of students had gathered. Draco surmised that many had come from the opposite direction, and they had been on their way to the morning meal - after all, Draco had arrived early this morning. He'd woken up from that dreaded nightmare, and couldn't stay in bed a moment longer. Thankfully, Blaise had already been up, and he couldn't have cared less what Nott was doing. Crabbe and Goyle were not at all happy to be woken up earlier than normal, but Draco couldn't have given two hoots. There had already been a fair amount of people in the hall when they got there, but many of the students were making their way there now.

Draco and Blaise subtly made their way through the crowd, blending in with all the other students. As they got closer, they heard the sounds of some students sobbing, some whispering, and some gasping.

"Oh Merlin," Draco heard one girl whisper tearfully. "Harry ... he looks like he's ..."

Draco blanched. Of course, it would be the sainted Harry Potter again. What else would gather a whole bunch of rubberneckers? Why in Merlin's name had Draco gone along with Blaise's nonsense? What did he care what happened to Potter?

"Let's move closer," Blaise whispered. He sounded like he was eager to watch the show. Draco couldn't understand why he suddenly felt sick at the prospect.

But he did as Blaise asked, and they subtly moved closer. Since there were so many students paying attention to the spectacle, no one seemed to notice Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle.

And then, there it was. Draco was suddenly confronted with the sight of Potter lying on the ground, his friends by his side. Weasley and Longbottom were ghostly pale, while Granger was bawling her eyes out. And Potter ... Potter was convulsing. And Draco instantly recognized the symptoms of a poison.

And then, right before Draco's eyes, Snape caught the object that was flying towards him. Draco didn't get much of a chance to look at it, but guessed what it was at once by the fact that Snape pried Potter's mouth open and forced the object inside it.

A few seconds later, Potter's convulsions stopped. He lay pale and unmoving on the ground, and Draco felt like his world had jolted to a halt.

Throughout his life, he had learned exactly what a human body would do when filled with poison. The books he had studied at Malfoy Manor were very ... blunt about it, and there were many illustrations of human figures that writhed in agony. Several of the books even had ... sound effects of exactly what noises people would make. Draco thought he had seen it all, and it had piqued his interest. Lucius, no doubt, would be very pleased by the fascination his son showed in the art of cruelty.

But now, seeing it up close and personal ... this wasn't just some illustration contained on a page in a book. This was real - all too real. And of course, it was Harry Potter. Draco felt a lightning bolt of vicious anger tear through him. When was it all going to stop? Was Potter put on this Earth to taunt his very existence?

Then, Snape was snarling at everyone to go to the Great Hall, and numbly, Draco did as he was told. Blaise was talking to him, but Draco couldn't hear a word he was saying.

All he could see, in every nook and cranny of his mind, was Potter convulsing on the ground, Granger with tears streaming down her face, and Weasley and Longbottom looking as though their worlds had just ended.

As he reluctantly sat back down at the Slytherin table, there was a shocked atmosphere in the room. Students were whispering to those who hadn't seen what had happened, and several of them were sobbing. Others looked white-faced and shaken, while several ran back out to empty their stomachs of their contents, no doubt.

"Yoo-hoo! Earth to Draco!" Blaise practically spat at him. "Bet you Potter won't make it through this one," he sneered when he realized he finally had the other boy's attention.

Draco, with a huge amount of effort, sneered back at Blaise. "Who knows?" he drawled.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Draco," an older student several years ahead of him said in a quiet voice, but loud enough for Draco to hear. "Merlin's balls, that's a nasty one. How did you achieve that?"

"I didn't," Draco blurted out. He had had absolutely nothing to do with the brewing of that poison, although it wasn't a surprise that there were people who thought he had done it. His hatred for the other boy was legendary, and hadn't he once daydreamed about ending the stupid Prat Who Lived? And poison certainly seemed like a fascinating way to end him.

"Of course you did," the other student drawled. "Go ahead. Proclaim your innocence. You know that all of Potter's little friends are going to blame you anyway."

And Draco did know. Of course they would, especially the Weasel. He sneered, and the expression came easily this time. Weasel was probably already imagining doing bodily harm to him. That boy had no subtlety and no discretion whatsoever. And bloody Snape had recently accused Draco of such.

Snape. The man had saved Potter's life. Why? Why would he do that? There were already rumors of him doing so in first year. Was this to do with the Dark Lord's plan? Because obviously, whoever had poisoned Potter was doing it independently, right? Potter was supposed to be delivered to the Dark Lord's rebirthing party on a silver platter. He wasn't supposed to die before that was done, right? Was this why Snape had saved him?

Whatever was going on, Draco suddenly just didn't want to know. All he wanted to do was disappear behind his bedcurtains and pretend that this morning had never happened. He glowered at Blaise, who was still talking at him about Potter's poisoning. Every sniffle and sob from around the hall grated on his nerves. The pale, white faces made his blood freeze to ice.

In that moment, all Draco wanted was to forget.

xxx

Harry lay in a bed in the hospital wing, with his three friends by his side. It had been several hours since the terrible convulsions had seized him, and Neville would never, ever forget what that had looked like. And the sight of Harry throwing up blood ... his gran had told him many horrific things about the war, saying that Neville had to know and that nothing was too delicate for his ears. The disgusted way she would look at him when his face turned white or when his hands shook was completely unbearable.

Harry. The boy lying before him was so, so ill. When he and Snape had arrived in the hospital wing with Harry's three friends beside them, Neville was sure that all was lost. Yes, the bezoar had stopped his convulsions, but the lack of color in his face and his ragged breathing caused true terror to plunge through Neville. Snape had conversed with Madam Pomfrey in low tones as they got Harry into a bed.

Things were very dire indeed. Normally, the school matron was rather stern about visitors staying with patients in the infirmary, but she let Ron, Hermione, and Neville do so without comment. She had visible worry lines around her mouth as she quietly told them what was going on with their friend. Her voice had also been gentler than usual, which sent even more fear thrumming through Neville's veins.

Hermione was still sobbing, and Ron was shaking as he put an arm around her. Hermione put her own arm around Neville and embraced him, and there the three of them sat, waiting for a miracle.

And that miracle was apparently supposed to be Snape. He had cancelled the whole day's worth of Potions classes, and Neville realized that that was where the fourth-year Gryffindors were supposed to have been first thing. His classmates had had a free period, which the Gryffindors would normally be excited about - but they wouldn't have been, this time. This was such a horrific thing to have happened. Snape was going to make a potion that was supposed to help Harry. The only question was ... would it get to him in time?

If this had happened a year earlier, Neville wouldn't have trusted Snape for anything in the world. He remembered back to first year, and that awful Quidditch match when Harry's broom was being jinxed. He vividly recalled the gasps of the crowd as they watched Harry flailing, trying so hard to control the bucking broom. It had been terrifying.

And then, it had all stopped, and Harry miraculously won the game for the Gryffindor team. The screams of joy that had erupted on the pitch had been enormous. Harry had accomplished a feat that seemed completely unbelievable.

There had been much certainty about who had jinxed the broomstick, and Snape was the answer. His hatred for Harry was well-known, and he displayed it in every single Potions class.

But then, at the end of the year, there were wild stories about Quirrell being the one in the school who had wanted to murder Harry - and he'd tried, too. Neville would never forget the moment when he'd stood up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, not knowing that they weren't just trying to get into more trouble and lose more points for Gryffindor - they were trying to save the school. And apparently, it had been from Quirrell. And during that Leaving Feast, Neville had ended up winning the House Cup for Gryffindor, although he thought it was for all the wrong reasons. He hardly deserved to take the credit.

So apparently, it had been Snape to save Harry in that Quidditch match - Quirrell had been the one jinxing his broom. But still, Neville hadn't trusted him an inch. He would always remember the terror and anger he felt when, at the beginning of last year, Snape threatened to poison Trevor if Neville didn't brew his potion correctly. If Hermione hadn't helped him that day, Merlin knew what would have happened if Snape had fed Trevor Neville's potion screw-up. When the terror had gone away, rage replaced it, and that didn't happen often. It took an awful lot to get him riled up. How dare Snape threaten to poison Neville's beloved pet!

But things had been so ... strange this year. Snape had acted so weirdly, and Neville couldn't understand it. Most of the time, he was still his usual, nasty self, but there were other times when Neville couldn't make sense of him at all. And his relationship with his friend Harry was the biggest conundrum.

And when Neville had burst into the Great Hall this morning, gasping in terror as he told the staff what was happening to Harry, Snape had risen before Neville could even blink. He'd stormed out of the Great Hall, and almost ran to where Neville had told him Harry was. "Accio Bezoar." The way those words had been snarled had left a huge imprint in Neville's mind. He'd forcefully shoved the thing into Harry's mouth, and Neville had felt himself sag when the convulsions stopped.

And now, Snape making a potion for Harry was the boy's only hope. His breathing was ragged, and he had a raging fever. His body was obviously reacting to the poison. Madam Pomfrey had told Neville, Ron, and Hermione that all his organs were shutting down. It was only a matter of time before he ...

It was impossible. Harry couldn't die. He just couldn't. He had become an amazing friend. He had taught Neville that he was worth having around. He had been there for Neville after that awful Unforgivables lesson that he now knew had been taught by Crouch, not Moody. Harry had been there when Crouch's demented face had sneered, his taunts about Neville's parents coming out of his vicious mouth. He'd never forget how Harry had come to check on him in the hospital wing the next morning. Their talk about Harry's relatives and Neville's gran kept resounding through his mind as he watched Harry struggle to breathe.

And Ron and Hermione. They would take Harry's loss harder than he would. They had spent so much time together, and come through so much. Right now, Ron looked completely shattered, and Hermione looked like she'd never stop crying. He couldn't stand what a horrific vigil this was, waiting for Snape to show up or for Harry to die. He felt sick, but refused to leave Harry's side. If Harry was going to go, he needed his friends around him, reassuring him that it would be okay. Neville had always believed that any loved ones you lost would greet you on the other side, and he thought of how Harry had shown him the photo album that Hagrid had given him of his parents with that look of heartbreak on his face. He knew the Potters would be there for their son, although Neville could only think about that for several seconds before he felt tears coming. He blinked them back - he needed to be brave for Harry, to be strong for Harry. His gran's words about how tears were a weakness filtered through his mind. He knew deep down that the woman was wrong about many things, including this - he didn't think any less of Hermione for her tears. But some things were drilled deeply into the brain, and even if they weren't applied to anyone else, Neville still applied them to himself.

Then, suddenly, the hospital wing doors opened, and Snape strode in, his black robes billowing behind him. Neville had never been more relieved to see the man in his entire life.

Hermione was obviously feeling the same way, because she voiced it. "Oh thank Merlin," she breathed. "He's ... he's running out of time, Professor," she said in a voice thick with tears.

Snape said nothing, but he and Madam Pomfrey wasted no time in administering the potion. Again, Snape did not comment about Harry's friends still being there, and the fact that they were missing the rest of the morning's classes.

Neville felt instant relief the second that the matron and the Potions Master helped Harry swallow the potion. He was still terrified, but he was breathing a little easier.

"Is he ..." Ron spoke, but his voice came out rough and croaky. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Is Harry going to be okay now?" he asked.

"He has a rough road ahead of him," Madam Pomfrey said. Her voice was flat, but her eyes spoke of how deeply she had been affected by this. "He will keep needing this potion over the next few days. But now that the first dose is in him ... I have no doubt that he will recover."

Snape still said nothing, and Neville couldn't help but stare at him. He showed no visible reaction, but his black eyes were glittering with a strange emotion. Ron was watching Harry, but Hermione, like Neville, was watching Snape as well.

"Thank you, Professor," she said softly. "Thank you for saving him. Again."

To this, Snape gave no verbal response. But if Neville wasn't mistaken, he gave the tiniest of nods.

He then produced several more vials of potion, and handed them to Madam Pomfrey. "One dose every four hours," he said in a clipped tone. "I will be brewing another batch now, which I will deliver to you later today."

"Yes, Severus. Thank you," Madam Pomfrey said. "Thank you very much."

Snape nodded to her, too, and Neville sensed that the man wanted nothing more than to leave the hospital wing. An instant later, he did so, his black robes billowing out behind him again.

Harry's three friends continued to sit by his bedside, and Neville's mind was a blur with everything that had happened. Now that there was hope for Harry to recover, he began to ponder other things. Like ... who had done this?

Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he suddenly whispered, "I'm going to kill Malfoy."

Neville and Hermione exchanged a glance. It made an incredible amount of sense that Ron would suspect Malfoy. And only a few weeks ago, Neville would have done the same.

So why, then, was he hesitating? Why, then, did he agree with Hermione when she whispered back, "You have no proof, Ron."

Ron snorted. "Who needs proof, Hermione? This is Malfoy we're talking about!"

Neville tuned out the following disagreement as he stared at Harry's face, which looked more peaceful than it had before Snape had given him the potion. Was it just his imagination, or was Harry's breathing less ragged, too?

And why did he think that if Harry had been awake right now, he'd tell his friends that he didn't suspect Malfoy either?