Draco woke the next morning to excruciating pain in his head. The light streaming in through his window only made it feel worse. He glanced witheringly at his watch on the bedside table, which read a bleak seven thirty. That gave him half an hour to gain his bearings before class started. To aid him in recovering from the pounding migraine, Draco grabbed his wand and cast a charm on his eyes to make the light seem dimmer to him. As he pulled on his robes, he thought about what had happened the night before. Weasley had told him exactly what they had to do and he, frankly, had agreed completely. Today they would go to see Dumbledore and explain to him in minute detail what happened when Weasley touched the book: the possession, the vision, and that it needed to stop unless Dumbledore's initial motive had been to cause their insanity. It made him feel worse just thinking about a meeting with the cheery Headmaster. Draco had no necessity to feel any more nervous than he did already, working for the...wrong side.

Goose sauntered into the room, fearless in the middle of a clique of ego-driven Slytherins who thought he was a bug put into the house by Dumbledore to rip its dignity to shreds. They glared at him nastily and he shot a chipper grin back at them, along with a genuine "good morning," of course, a phrase never used before by proper Slytherins. Draco finished getting dressed and steered his first year friend back out of the room and up the stone steps into the common room. It was still rather difficult to walk, but Draco could feel his ankle was healing. It felt slightly better than his ribcage or his sinus cavities, anyway.

"Morning, Draco, want to get some breakfast? OJ and toast?" he said, not one bit phased by Draco's huge bruise and somber expression.

"I suppose that would be in order," Draco agreed, seeing the several people in the common room glaring at him and readying their wands to attack if he made any abrupt movements. That was the only thing they reacted to, really. If Draco stood completely still, they might stop sensing him and go back to talking. Leaving with heads held high (rather hastily), they hurried off towards the Great Hall.

The toast tasted delicious to Draco as he munched on five pieces at once while sitting at the empty end of the silver and green-adorned table. Goose was explaining how unfair Snape was and that, as a teacher, he should take more pains to establish a trust among the student body, otherwise...as he said, they wouldn't care about learning potions-making skills.

"It's a very important part of our magical education. And the fact that he's the creepiest and meanest guy to ever walk the earth doesn't help his reputation. He's completely biased against all the houses except Slytherin, which is not a problem for me, obviously, but I still think students should be treated equally and with respect! No wonder he's never gotten the DADA position," Goose said passionately, grinding his hash browns into a homogeneous pulp, adding ketchup, and heaping a forkful into his mouth, followed by a bite of pancake sopping with syrup. Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and answered him thoughtfully.

"He's been through a lot, Professor Snape. He's still a good teacher, though. He knows what he's doing better than any and all the rest of the teachers here. I would trust him with my life, even if he didn't like me."

"I'm sure there are some who would disagree with you. In fact, I know a few personally," said a voice to his back.

"Ginny, good morning!" Goose sang cheerfully. Draco turned round to see her glaring at him. He glared back with an equal intensity. This was when they would secure a meeting time.

"You'd better be careful, or you won't live to see lunch," she said with steel in her voice. They gave hateful glares to one another for another long moment.

"Fine," Draco drawled at her. "I'll heed your warning for now. You could sic your brother on me. But you'll regret you said that to me, Weasley."

She raised an eyebrow at him, turned on her heel, and walked away with a haughty expression etched into her features. Draco smirked, thinking Granger must have taught her how to do that. He turned back to his toast as if nothing happened and continued to eat, glad that the situation would be taken care of today.

"What was that? How did we get from some people disliking Snape to your death preceding lunch?" Goose asked him confusedly.

"Nothing. We were arranging a meeting time for today in the code of our usual conversations. Goose, you need to learn some rules about purebloods. One of those rules is that Malfoys and Weasleys don't have to start a conversation before bestowing death threats upon one another. It's just in our respective natures." Draco hoped Goose wouldn't press the subject too far.

"Why are you meeting at much? Is she your hot date, Romeo and Juliet style?" He winked at Draco with a good-natured grin.

"First of all, you're way too young to be thinking like that, second, I don't know what Romeo and Juliet means, and third...no. We're going to see Dumbledore about some problems," Draco muttered miserably.

"Oh. This is about those weird trances you go into when you're around her, isn't it?"

"Partly," Draco admitted resignedly.

*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*

Morning classes passed relatively well, including another humorous mishap with Neville and his cauldron and Potter getting forty points taken away from Gryffindor for reacting to Draco's mere comment that it was good they wouldn't have to be chasing after Sirius Black anymore, as he was dead. It only took a small dose of one of Snape's simpler potions to restore Draco's hair to its usual length and stop it from attacking him in manner of boa constrictor. But overall, the disgusted look on the dream team's faces and the slight smile he got from the Slytherins was well worth the trouble, leaving a more confident feeling in him for his meeting with Dumbledore. He was even happier to overhear that the first Hogsmeade weekend would begin that Friday. When he left double potions, he steered straight toward the formerly forbidden charms corridor, where Weasley informed him earlier to meet her. She was leaning casually against the wall, reading a book. Or was she? No, she was drawing once again, her fair face scrunched in concentration with every pencil stroke she made.

He stopped in front of her and then leaned against the wall beside her mockingly. She pretended not to notice him.

"What are you drawing?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing of consequence to you," she said simply, closing her book inside the other and placing it inside her bag, as if she had waited for his cue to do so. Draco furrowed his brow in annoyance, she was such a self-righteous- no, he forced himself, just let it go.

Around the corner came two figures, bickering loudly. They stopped abruptly when the sight of Weasley and Draco registered in their vision. Taking their wands from their robe pockets, the pair stampeded down the corridor towards them, looking about as lethal as insulted hippogriffs.

"Malfoy! Get away from my sister you git!" Her older brother yelled, skidding to a halt and eyeing Draco suspiciously. He stayed where he was, smirking slightly, and gave Weasley a look that clearly told her Draco had done something earlier that probably wasn't the wisest.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

He only smirked more widely at her.

"Ginny? Are you okay? Come here, Ron will make sure Malfoy doesn't hurt you or anything," Hermione fussed, sounding like a neurotic mother, obsessed with the sheltering of her children.

"Hermione, I'm fine! Honestly!" she exclaimed, walking away from Draco but having to push Granger away from her gently. Draco couldn't stand how they were treating her. It was so condescending. She was if anything, superior to them, to the groveling followers of Potter. How could she allow it? He wouldn't.

"Don't you ever let your sister stand up for herself, Weasel?" he asked silkily, approaching the taller boy boldly. "Or do you always make foolish assumptions and insist on protecting her as if she's only a two-year old? Does that thrill you, Weasel? Do you get an ego boost from being able to save your poor, sweet, innocent sister from the jaws of evil?" Draco's voice overflowed with his cynical mentality, trying to articulate the bitter rage he felt towards them. "She's a lot less naïve than you make her out to be. Let her act on her own! Can't you find anything else to do in your spare time? Hook up with Granger or something," he suggested flamingly, gesturing at her with a dismissive hand.

Ron's ears were swiftly turning as red as his hair. Draco knew from past experiences that this was not a good sign. They were now definitely a shade darker than his hair. He had never seen the Weasel's ears that color. Draco swallowed in sudden fear. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say to someone with his wand out, less than a foot from his chest.

"Excuse my remarks, they got away from me a bit at the end there-"

But the older Weasley had not seemed to hear this or the reproaches coming from his sister and he had also seemed to have forgotten his wand. Instead he sent a swift blow to Draco's gut. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. He was on his knees, coughing with an uncontrollable intensity. The breath leaving his lungs wouldn't return to him and his eyesight was wavering, blurry. All he could see was three blurbs in front of him, fighting with each other to get towards him, or to get away from him. He couldn't tell which. Then he lost consciousness and fell back to the hard floor with a whomp! which ensured another migraine later that day.

*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*

"Thank the pixies, he's coming around," Draco heard Madam Pomfrey mutter, fussing about everything down to the state of his pillow, as usual. He opened and closed his eyes several times, trying to piece everything together. He could feel and move his head, but he felt like his torso had been completely cut off, twisted about, and stuck back on again in a rough fashion. Draco groaned drowsily and turned his head to see Weasley, Weasley, and Granger all wearing the same expression of surprise, though the Weasel seemed to be holding back a triumphant grin.

"Mr. Malfoy, I hope you don't mind, I need to see the areas where you were injured. Peeves can be quite dangerous when he wants to be. It's a lucky thing these three were here to help you!"

Draco paused in his thoughts, perplexed at what she had just told him. Peeves hadn't been the attacker, it was...oh. Might as well play along so as not to get into a game of complicated finger-pointing. With a small smile at Ron just to scare him, he hesitated in speaking...they all leaned forward with incisive eyes...and he affirmed what she said, laughing to himself at the small moments of pleasure he could snatch here and there. He pulled off his black robe and unbuttoned his neatly pressed, white shirt with considerable difficulty (although, of course, he didn't show it). All four others in the room gasped at the sight. And as Draco looked at himself, he realized they were right in doing so.

His whole stomach and sides (usually pale and white) were a ghastly yellowish purple, with a quickly developing patch of blue in the dead center where Weasley had got him. Speaking of whom, he no longer appeared remotely triumphant or the least bit satisfied. His face had taken on an ashen hue and he was frowning in shock. Weasley flushed and clasped her hands in front of her, staring not just at the bruise but looking up at him in question. Granger merely stared at him disbelievingly.

"What did Peeves hit you with, Mr. Malfoy?" demanded Madam Pomfrey breathlessly, poking at his bruises gingerly.

"Er...it was a bookcase. Slammed the top corner right into me, it was not a nice sensation. I happen to be very delicate physically, as well, which is not helpful," he lied with an improvisational elegance.

The three at his bedside let out a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey, however, seemed concerned by Draco's fragile stature.

"Why, that's terrible! You don't have hemophilia, do you?"

"No, I don't," he said in mild exasperation, having no idea what it was, though it sounded rather threatening.

"Hema-what?" Weasley the taller broke in curiously, though Draco knew he was just too scared to think he might have actually, seriously harmed anyone. Granger answered him in her all-knowing whisper.

Pomfrey made a potion to heal bruises more quickly and forced Draco to drink every last drop of it. The taste was bitter and thick; Draco couldn't stop drinking glasses of water for the next five minutes, trying to get the horrid sense of it from his mouth.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy," she began, launching into a speech laden with important information that Draco would have to know, "I would like you to stay here overnight so that I can monitor the effects of the potion...meanwhile, I think a little chat about Peeves is in order. I'll go see Dumbledore and bring him down here to see you, Mr. Malfoy, and you can give him a full account of what happened. Finally! We may be able to get rid of that atrocious, pesky Poltergeist." And with her speech concluded, Pomfrey swept briskly from the room and down the corridor. Granger sank into her chair, as did the two red-haired siblings beside her.

"I couldn't have done that, Malfoy. I mean, punching you once is what you deserved for how you've been today, and I do not feel guilty about that, but this...are...what the bloody hell happened to you?"

Draco turned to his Weasley for a moment, as if asking her what he should do. She nodded affirmatively. Draco took a breath.

"Well, if you hadn't assumed that I was trying to hurt her, perhaps I could have explained what was going on. I could have. I wouldn't have, of course, but that isn't the point in question," he paused to enjoy the moment of frustration apparent on all three faces. "It's good that Dumbledore is coming," he went on, forcing them to listen to his unfocused rambling, "because I must confess that I am quite annoyed at him, and-"

Weasley had reached the end of, in Draco's opinion, his very short patience span (and attention span at that).

"Why shouldn't I have assumed you were going to hurt her? I ran into you pinning her against the wall at the beginning of the year! What am I supposed to think, Malfoy?" He had shoved his finger in front of Draco's face and was pointing accusingly at him, fuming in a bright red and looking, as usual, to Granger for justification in his argument.

"I wasn't hurting her then, either, Weasley. You just have a very shallow opinion of me."

"Yeah, I wonder why. You- you mangy bas-"

"Ron!" Granger chided him.

"Git," he finished, not sounding a bit satisfied. "Maybe I don't care if you've got"

"Ask her!" Malfoy shouted at the top of his voice, taking a fistful of the Weasel's robes in his hand and pointing at his sister with the other. Her brother loosed himself from Draco's grasp with a tight-lipped expression and glare reserved only for Malfoys and turned to Weasley.

"Well?" he asked her, rather violently. She appeared to be fighting back a horrified expression.

"He's right," she let out. "Malfoy never tried to hurt me, Ron. The reason he's all beat up is b- is because some Slytherins," (she said this word with obvious disdain) "have taken a disliking towards him. He was defending me. That's also why he has a bruise on his face, and, if you didn't happen to notice before, a twisted ankle." She looked at him as if this was a big step she was taking towards confronting her brother. Draco felt a surge of pride for her for, fortunately, only a brief moment.

"How did you know about my ankle?" Draco realized and said at the same time, surprised.

"I-I saw you limping towards the willow last night," she told him reluctantly, biting her lip and pushing a stray lock of vibrant hair behind her ear. Draco shook his head sullenly and pulled the covers up past his chest to cover the evidence of his weakness. It was just an instinct.

"Why didn't you just defend yourself?" the Weasel posed incredulously, smiling a bit at Draco's plight. He raised a blonde brow and fixed his piercing gray eyes on Weasley's amused blue ones.

"Because I choose my battles, unlike you," he responded acidly. It took Granger a few minutes to calm her boyfr- erm, best friend down again, though she seemed rather perturbed at his comment herself.

"Just tell us what's going on," she asked them cautiously. Weasley looked at Draco now for confirmation, but he was unsure, so he led his gaze upon his glass of water by the bedside instead. So Weasley decided to explain for them, a determination present in her at certain moments, only when it had to be there. The story took a long time to tell and by the time she had concluded, on an unsteady note, the company was staring into the floor, all feeling too awkward to speak.

"So we decided to meet with Dumbledore and see if there is any way to stop this...except...except this happened to come up quite unexpectedly."

"I'm sorry I didn't try to solve the problem immediately," an elderly voice added from the doorway.

It was their headmaster, a very solemn expression worn into his face, ready to confront the festering situation.

"How long have you been listening?" Draco tried to ask without sounding guilty.

"Long enough, I believe, Mr. Malfoy. Now, may I see those bruises of which Madam Pomfrey was informing me?"

He pushed the blankets down slowly, trying to will the bruises away, but the vast spots of blue and purple blared up at Dumbledore. He furrowed his snowy brow and rubbed his chin, looking at Draco with concern.

"Poppy will have to give you a much stronger dose of potion to heal those, I'm afraid, since they were not inflicted by a bookcase," he remarked pointedly, a bit of a twinkle in his eye. The others blushed furiously and became quite interested in their shoes, though Draco kept staring up at the old man.

"Professor, I didn't make that up," Granger put in, looking quite apprehensive of having her prefectship removed.

"Worry not, Hermione. I know that. But you did aid in the story, didn't you?"

Granger fell silent.

"I did," Draco confessed.

"And I admire your tact and almost-successful attempt to keep the story simple, but you need stronger medicine. Wizard hands make deep impressions on wizard skin. They are much more damaging than a mere poltergeist with a piece of furniture, Mr. Malfoy."

"Fantastic. Stronger bruises. I mean, better potion to heal them. But what about You Know Who?" Draco didn't care a whit about his physical well-being. He wanted the torture of his mind to cease and they were wasting time. He was stumbling over his words trying to attain his goal in bringing the conversation around to the right topic.

"Patience," chuckled Dumbledore, sitting down on the opposite side of the Hospital bed, "is a virtue, Mr. Malfoy. And his true name is Voldemort, not You Know Who. Use the proper name."

Draco cringed shudderingly at this, as did the two Weasleys. Granger sighed impatiently. Dumbledore, as if reacting to this, turned from Draco towards the others.

"Ronald- Hermione- would you please allow us to speak privately? I trust you both completely and am quite confident that you will extend every possible support to Mr. Malfoy and to Ginny, but I must talk to them about some confidential information."

Granger and Weasley nodded and said goodbye to the remaining red-head, and left, wearing disgruntled expressions at not being allowed to stay. Draco and Weasley turned to Dumbledore with fright. Would they be punished for this brawl? What was so confidential?

"A breakthrough of this magnitude in one evening is...extraordinary. None of the teachers could transform any of the documents properly into a readable material. Not even Professor McGonagall. I must say you are very talented, Ginny. But we need you both to go back there again. The whereabouts of Voldemort may be found in one of those coded documents, and that would be invaluable to the Order's goal."

"But Professor! I was possessed again! How am I supposed to ignore that, when it could happen at any time?" Weasley sounded desperate and Draco could understand why; if he was claustrophobic and hated a house because he had been possessed inside of it, he would make the same argument...in a more violent way.

"Easily. Whenever you touch one of the objects, think of someone you love. Think of your parents, your friends. Voldemort can't break through that barrier. And it is the objects which open you up to him. It isn't the house. They are connected with him just as the diary was, and so, logically, when you put yourself on the other end of the line, it becomes nothing of a task for him to possess you. This system will disgust him and hold him back at the same time. You may have to practice willingly calling people to mind; the defense is sometimes challenging to control by oneself. Just think of it as an invisible Patronus. Is that suitable?"

She looked highly relieved, as if this made perfect sense to her, though it sounded like a psychologically-satisfying answer only, to Draco. "Yes," she answered Dumbledore, smiling at him as if he was a wise grandfather taking time to try and explain some valuable advice for learning how to fly a broom to his dearest granddaughter.

"And as for that annoying little occurrence about once a day when Weasley just happens to make me relive every horrible memory I have while she can't help but look on too? What shall we do to resolve that?" Draco asked testily.

"When does it usually take place?" Dumbledore questioned, readjusting his glasses analytically.

"Well, it's totally unexpected. Usually whenever I see her for the first time in a day...not always, though."

"It never happens when we're expecting to look at one another. I've noticed that it is taking place when we...catch each other's eyes unintentionally," Weasley added to his statement. Evidently she had been thinking on this more observantly than Draco had.

"Hmm," Dumbledore murmured gravely.

"What?" They both said in worry, looking at him in dark anticipation.

"I can only see one solution to that problem. It will be very difficult. Very difficult indeed, for both of you."

"What is it?" Draco asked boldly. He could do anything as long as it stopped the visions from coming to him. No matter if it was a spell or a complex potion or charm; whatever needed to be done could be achieved in a simpler way than being tormented by memories constantly.

"You must...get to know each other. Become colleagues at least, if not friends. You must learn to tolerate, anticipate, and have forbearance with each other's actions without being violent or drawing back without contact. Contact is the only this can be stopped. Communication and alliance and contact. No surprise glances, no unexpected approaches. You must know each other. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Dumbledore smiled for just a moment. They nodded vaguely at him.

But suddenly Draco's brazen confidence had faltered. Spend time with Weasley? That was certainly worse than any sort of magic. Their families were set against each other in instinct, how could they possibly learn to get along? Why of all people did they have to learn how to? It would be incredibly taxing to his self-control, Draco knew that. But if it was necessary, and it did seem logical, then he would try. In addition, if they could break the Malfoy-Weasley boundary, that would protect them both from any future problems similar to Draco's. And as long as Weasley was going to be alright, Draco supposed it was worth...as long as he would be alright, it was worth it. He stared at Weasley, who also seemed to be scrutinizing the matter, though they had both already answered his question. It looked vital to her...and to Dumbledore. To Draco, what would happen in life would happen, but why not help out the ones who would keep their loyalty to one another, and optimistically? It was better then laying himself bare until danger came around, with every man for himself. Yes, Draco concluded, I may be a fatalist, but at least I'm choosing the "good" people. Am I? As if on cue to his thought, Weasley looked up and affirmed her acceptance of the headmaster's idea.

"You have a deal, Professor," Draco said, holding his hand out.

"Don't shake my hand, Mr. Malfoy. It is she with whom you are going to become more familiar."

He didn't know whether to scowl or grimace, but smiled politely instead, maintaining his temperament. Somehow it made him look as though he was about to be ill. Weasley put her hand out with some trepidation and shook his. It was a firm handshake, but short. Neither one knew how long to touch the other's hand.

"Now that's settled, I must go and take care of some pressing matters concerning the anxious situation of Minister Fudge. He's been awaiting me all morning. Please excuse me." At that, Dumbledore exited the room, leaving Draco and Weasley feeling terribly awkward.

"So, if I'm destined to know you better than I do now, what should I call you? Weasley is much too general. Your brother in his tremendously thick-skinned mentality would probably think I was addressing him. But on the other hand, you know I can't call you...Ginny. It's such a filthy pet name; it wouldn't be at all acceptable."

Weasley rolled her eyes in exasperation, the awkwardness broken.

"What's your full first name?"

"I don't like it," she said, shifting in her chair.

"I don't care if you don't like it, I would like to know what it is."

"Virginia."

"Virginia. Yes, I think that can make do. It sounds noble enough," Draco declared, as if it was of everlasting importance.

"Well, don't say it that way."

"Say it what way, Virginia?" He smirked at her.

"Oh, you are so aggravating! Have I told you that?" she said angrily, turning to face away from him.

"Plenty have, but it sounds so much better coming from you, Virginia," Draco teased mercilessly.

"Stop it! You're worse than my pompous brothers."

"Hey! Don't insult me!" Weasley said, having just reentered the room accompanied by Granger. He looked eagerly at both of them and rubbed his hands together. "So. You get to find out where You Know Who is first, eh? Lucky gits."

"How do you know-"

"Extendable ears," Virginia answered, cutting off Draco's question.

"A magnificent development that's been selling in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for about two years now. They're all the rage with students trying to listen in on test planning" (Hermione shot him a reproachful glare) "or, in our case, secret discussions between the most powerful wizard alive and his two trustees," Weasley said in an announcing voice, handing Draco a piece of flesh-colored string to examine.

"Oh, so that's why Dumbledore was whispering to us about punishing the two of you. I didn't understand until just now. Thought he was going a bit insane on us," he said, handing it back. Weasley flushed as Granger paled. Virginia suppressed a smile.