Jackie: I don't feel like writing the interactive intro this time so...I don't own Wicked or Harry Potter. Never have, and never will. Although I would love to play Elphaba some day.

This story, at least this chapter and the next one, is based on the song "Loathing" from Wicked. Shiz University is also from said show, but mostly from the book "Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West." There are a couple of songs in that show that are screaming fanfics, and this one was the loudest, so...here you go. The next chapter is the next part of the song. From there, I'll probably move to a different song. So, enjoy!

One last note: Yes, this is in alternating POV format. I happen to LIKE alternating POV format. If you don't...well, please don't base your review on it.

Loathing
"This place is bloody huge."

Ron stared up at the ominous façade of Shiz University, where he was about to begin his years of higher education. This was only the main classroom building, and beyond it, he could see the other buildings and dormitories spread across the lush landscape, their grey steel and stone architectures contrasting the green fields and flowers surrounding them. It was still late summer, so the scent of fresh roses and dandelion flowers wafted around in the warm breeze, but even the sweet perfume couldn't ease the nervousness Ron felt as he grasped the iron door handle and opened the heavy wooden door.

Inside, a sea of new students and upperclassmen alike swarmed around from table to table, everyone gathering schedules and searching for new roommates and old friends. Ron looked around, lost and alone. Harry had gone on to Auror training, and Hermione had accepted an internship at Hogwarts teaching Arithmancy alongside Professor Vector. Both had been surprised when Ron received the letter telling him of his full scholarship to Shiz, and his acceptance into the Sorcery program. He hadn't told them that he'd applied for admission until he got the letter, so they wouldn't have to know if he'd not made it. Harry had expected Ron to try out for various Quidditch teams, while Hermione was even more surprised, thinking that he was going to go into the Ministry of Magic with his father.

So, mustering the most confident look he could managed, he searched above the crowds for the sign pointing him in the right direction. He found "Freshman, Sorcery, Ozma Towers" on a table across the room, and made his way through the crowds, being bumped and shuffled the whole way. As he neared the table, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face as it rushed by, but it was gone before he could identify it. Shrugging, he continued to where the stiff looking professor was sitting handing out schedules and room assignments.

Panting slightly as he topped the stairs of Ozma Tower, Ron leaned on the wall for a few seconds to catch his breath. He was living on the 8th floor of the gigantic building, and the high vaulted ceilings on each of the floors only made climbing more difficult. Luckily, he thought, my room is right here by the stairs. Looking across, he saw room number 802 in front of him, then checked his room assignment sheet once again. "Room 802, Ozma Towers. Roommate: DSM, Sorcery." Whoever DSM was, he hoped that he was an upperclassmen who could help him out if needed. Or, at the very least, from Beauxbatons. Please oh please don't let him be from Durmstrang, he pleaded silently as he opened the door. All that dark arts, he'd be as bad as...

Ron's mouth dropped open when he saw the figure standing on the other side of the room, unpacking. "Wha..." he started to say, but found himself speechless. His head began reeling, and he felt a slow flush creep into his cheeks.

His roommate, DSM, was none other than Draco Salazar Malfoy.

Draco unpacked his bags carefully, ensuring that none of his belongings had been damaged in the long journey to Shiz University. He hadn't ever considered going anywhere else...Shiz was the best in terms of practical application learning, and the most lax in its teaching of morals. Both would be to his advantage.

Strangely, though, he didn't feel as if he "fit right in" to the mass of other students. When he'd arrived at Hogwarts, his family's power and status gave him an edge over the other students, and he'd adjusted rather quickly. However, he was now in a new country where the Malfoy clan wasn't well known, and he was just a lowly first year University student among a hundred other first year boys. When he'd entered the main hall, he'd felt strangely isolated.

As he unpacked his books and began stacking them on the shelf above his desk, he secretly longed to see a familiar face. He looked down at his room assignment laying on the bed in front of him: "Room 802, Ozma Towers. Roommate: RBW, Sorcery. Zabini's trying out for Bulgaria's Quidditch team, Crabbe and Goyle are off with their fathers, Pansy's going to finishing school...all right, it doesn't have to be a Slytherin, just as long as it isn't a bloody Gryffindor like...

At that point, he heard the door open, signaling that his new roommate had arrived. He continued on with his unpacking, until he heard a chillingly familiar voice start to speak. Looking up sharply, his pulse began to rush as he saw an all-too-familiar redhead standing in the doorway.

RBW...Ronald Bilius Weasley.

"Dear Harry and Hermoine," Ron wrote later that night, after getting over the initial shock of rooming with the Slytherin ferret himself. They hadn't spoken two words to each other since they'd been there, and for now the silence, while tense, was relieving. At least they hadn't tried to kill each other...yet.

"You won't believe what's happened. The people who match up roommates here at Shiz must not do their research. But it won't affect my studies, Hermione, I'll make sure of that. You don't have to worry.

Anyways, you won't believe who my roommate is. In fact, I'll give you a hint. Blonde. Annoyingly, unnaturally naturally, blonde. I'll let you take it from there. Hope you're having a better time than I am so far. Write back and tell me how things are going back in England. Yours, Ron."

Putting down his quill, he glanced over his shoulder at the person he was being forced to live with for the year. Draco was busy at his desk as well, his shoulders hunched up and the candle on the desk glowing faintly. Ron extinguished his own candle, and climbed into the small bed furnished for him.

"Turning in so soon, Weasley?"

The icy crisp sound of Draco's voice made Ron shudder, reminding him once again that this was actually happening. Looking up, he saw Draco turning around to face him, cold grey eyes scrutinizing him from beneath impossibly dark eyelashes. "There's nothing better to do tonight, Malfoy. We have a curfew, after all, and there's certainly nothing for us to talk about." With that, Ron pulled the coverlet over himself and turned to face the wall.

Suddenly, the room was bathed in darkness as Draco extinguished his own candle. "Night, Weasel," he heard him mutter.

"Night, ferret," Ron responded before shutting his eyes.

"My dear Father and Mother," Draco began, quill scratching delicately on the parchement. Once he'd finished arranging his things in cold silence, he'd realized that there was really nothing to do in the Tower at night this early in the year. So, settling down at the hard oak chair, he'd decided to write a quick note to his parents.

"I'm afraid there's been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz. But, of course, I'll manage to rise above it. I know that's what you'd want me to do. But you see, my roommate is...well, frankly, quite below my status level, and not the most well brought up young man. I'll try not to let myself be brought down to his level, and I'm going to petition the Head of House to try and switch rooms as soon as possible. Give everyone my best. Sincerely, Draco."

As he closed his bottle of green calligraphy ink, he heard shuffling behind him. Turning, he saw Ron climbing into bed, the thin orange coverlet he'd brought rustling against the tatty pajamas he'd changed into earlier. The faded orange surrounding him clashed horribly with his flaming red hair and the multitude of freckles splayed across his round face. A strange flushed feeling flooded over him, but he immediately shook it off. "Turning in so soon, Weasley?" he asked, trying to cover for his staring.

At the sound of his voice, Ron stared up at Draco, scowling slightly. "There's nothing better to do tonight, Malfoy. We have a curfew, after all, and there's certainly nothing for us to talk about." For some reason, that remark sent a pang of resentment through Draco's spine. He agreed, of course, but hearing it from a Weasley made the whole experience seem even more surreal. Looking at his finished letter, he shrugged and doused his candle. Making his way to his own bed, he crawled under his thick forest green blanket, his satin pajama pants whispering as he slid underneath. "'Night Weasel," he muttered as he settled back against the pillows.

As he shut his eyes, he could have sworn he heard Ron say, "'Night Ferret," as he drifted off to sleep.

So, whadya think? Oh, and BtO readers who are like, "Why are you doing this instead of BtO?", well...I'm stuck. So it'll be a bit longer. Probably my birthday at the earliest (the 30th). So enjoy this other stuff for the time being.