Draco ate his lunch in bed, as usual, while ignoring Ginny Weasley, also as usual. Ever since she'd woken up that morning, something had been bothering her. Draco could tell because Weasleys were notoriously inept at concealing their feelings. She'd tried valiantly to hide her fright and confusion over the last several days, but there was a troubled V in her brow that she couldn't disguise. She also couldn't help glancing at Draco at least once every other minute, and it was this gesture of hers that had grated on his nerves the most.

Now, as they ate lunch, her glancing rate had increased to once every twenty-four seconds, and the way she picked at her cheese sandwich signified that she had something she wanted to say, except she didn't really want to say it.

Draco rolled his eyes. Weasleys.

"You seem troubled. Anything you wish to share?" he asked sardonically.

"No, of course not," she denied, her eyes jerking back to her meal so fast Draco wondered how she kept them from rolling around inside her head.

"Well, I have something to say," he said.

"What's that?" she muttered into her sandwich.

"You may not know this, but I took offense at what you said yesterday."

"What did I say?" She looked affronted at the very idea that she could have offended him, which was natural for a Weasley and a Gryffindor. They never considered how their actions had consequences.

"You know, that bit about me being the last person you wanted to be hospitalized with. I can honestly say I don't feel the same about you."

He treasured the look of open-mouthed confusion on her face as he ate his own lunch with a nonchalance she couldn't possibly match.

"Is that so?"

"Oh, sure. I have a list of people a mile high I would never choose to be stuck in a hospital room with. My Aunt Bellatrix is very high on it, but as she's dead, I suppose she doesn't count. Potter is probably number one on the list. There's also Tybalt Tilly from work, who 's rather silly. A real idiot, actually. And Gloriana Borin, who, if you can believe it, is dull as dust."

"Are these even real people?" Weasley asked with an irritated frown.

"Of course they are. What I'm trying to say is you shouldn't say such hasty, untrue things. I don't think I've spoken a word to you since my fifth year at Hogwarts, and I haven't seen you since the war ended. Outside of the Prophet, I mean. Good job with that, by the way." Draco wiped his fingers on his napkin, and then placed his lunch tray on his bedside table, turning, for the first time, to look at Ginny Weasley with a stern eye. "You don't know me, so how can I be the last person you want to be around?"

Weasley's eyes were wide. "Are you trying to convince me to like you?"

"That would be intolerable. I'm trying to make my environment less hostile."

"It isn't my fault your environment is hostile!" she said in a rather loud voice that some people might consider hostile.

Draco arched one eyebrow and stared at her pointedly until she looked away.

"Unlike you," she said softly, "I can't just hide my emotions. They leak out, tint the atmosphere. I know that, but I don't know how to change it."

"I had to practice extensively to earn my impassivity. Occlumency isn't easy; it requires self-discipline."

Her frown turned into a glower. "Harry couldn't even master Occlumency." A few moments of mulish silence passed. "I have to admit that I'm impressed."

"And you hate it, don't you?"

"And I may envy you a bit. If I were an Occlumens, I'm sure the media wouldn't be following me around like they are."

"You mean like they were. No one's bothered us here except for the pushy Healers."

"Right," Weasley said, and she seemed to refrain from rolling her eyes.

The poor girl was now staring and making faces at her warm sandwich. She looked like she needed to be committed, until Draco remembered that she was committed. As was he. He would have laughed if it wasn't so damn depressing.

"Look," he said already regretting what he was about to say. "I could teach you."

She snorted, which made him regret the offer even more. "Why would you do that?"

"Well, for one thing, maybe it's the red hair, as the media likes to say, but you have an explosive temper that could ruin your image. If you don't want the media to focus on your romantic spats or for your teammates to assume you're too volatile to play first-string, you need to control it. I happen to know that the real source of your anger isn't derived from the color of your hair because, to be honest, I'd be angry too if I had to date Potter for even one year. But besides your reputation, your Quidditch career is on the line. That should be motivation enough."

"Okay, but what's it to you if I ruin my reputation or my career? Why do you care?"

"Oh, believe me, I don't. I just thought I'd do a nice thing for you...."

Weasley's brows lifted in expectation. "And in return?"

Draco smiled. "You would help me relieve the boredom."

"I am not making that deal!"

"What? No, Weasley, don't be disgusting! I mean teaching you will be amusing, and that will relieve the boredom! Circe's left tit, get your mind out of the gutter!"

She gave him a calculating look, but Draco already knew he'd won her over. The corner of her lips was tugged up into a half smile and trembling as if she was fighting it. At least he'd done what he'd set out to do and wiped the ugly scowl off her face.

"Alright, fine," she said, composing herself. "I'll let you teach me Occlumency."

Draco rolled his eyes again. "How kind of you."

Once the Healers had considered them strong enough to be out of bed for longer than their daily exercise period, they'd made the sitting area by the window a little more comfortable with a small table for tea or card games. Now they sat in the armchairs facing each other. The glowing orbs of light floating on the ceiling were dimmed for the evening hours, and the light of the moon hadn't quite yet risen over the London skyline.

"Listen, before we begin," Weasley started, but Draco interrupted her.

"Ah, ah. There's no backing out. My sanity depends on this."

She expelled a nervous giggle, and that, partnered with the shocked look on her face, had Draco wondering about her sanity.

"Well, you see, about that...."

"I know you like the sound of your voice, but it's unnecessary in these lessons, Weasley."

She bit her lip and looked down while Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good," he said, drawing his chair a little closer to hers. He reached for her hands, but she jerked away. "Physical contact helps." Her hands drifted back in his direction, and this time she allowed him to grab them.

The feel of skin on skin was surprisingly welcome, Draco thought as he looked down at their joined hands. He hadn't realized until now that he'd been missing physical contact. Sure, every time he saw the Healers they couldn't resist poking and prodding him, but Draco hadn't felt a welcome touch in ages. He had been so used to his mother touching his shoulder, kissing his head, and grasping his hands—just in sheer relief that he was still around for her to do so—that he'd taken her gestures for granted. Weasley's fingers were cold, and when he looked into her face, he saw terror there.

"I haven't practiced Legilimency in a long time, so I don't know how well this will work," he informed her.

Maintaining eye contact, she asked, "Do you have to use it to teach me Occlumency?”

Draco shrugged. "We could try without it, but the easiest way to tell if you are learning is by using an offensive approach. Here, just look into my eyes—yes, I know it's intimidating, but you can do it—and we'll... start."

He concentrated his consciousness into a point and channeled it into Weasley's eyes, imagining a bottomless well and himself falling into it, but... something was stopping him. Draco pulled back, his grip on her hands loosening in surprise.

"What am I supposed to do?" Weasley asked, oblivious of Draco's confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, examining her now with more consideration than before.

"Nothing! You didn't say to do anything."

"What were you thinking about?"

She blushed and looked away. "Nothing in particular."

Hmm. Interesting. He'd have to analyze that reaction at a later time.

"Fine. I was just going to dive in first, so you'd know how it felt, but let's go ahead and set up your defenses." Weasley nodded and watched him attentively, so he continued. "The easiest way to begin is to use visualizations. Imagine a door, and think of yourself locking whatever you're trying to hide behind the door. When your mind comes under attack, bring up this door to keep the Occlumens out. As time goes on, you won't need the visualization anymore.

"So," he said, grabbing her hands again. "Think of a door and tell me when you're ready."

Weasley closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Draco noticed how light her eyelashes looked laying so close to her skin, and he knew redheads were supposed to be pale, but Ginny Weasley wasn't. Even if the mess of freckles dotting her face and arms didn't make her skin appear darker, her career required her to spend hours at a time in the sun, and maybe most redheads burned, but she tanned. He took stock of the weight of her hands. Her grip was firm and a little bit clammy, but he could feel the calluses resultant from clutching a broom daily.

When she opened her eyes, he suddenly noticed the color: a light brown edged with a darker brown. Nothing fancy. They were kind of flat and pretty unspectacular, but there was something behind them that prevented him from entering her mind, and that intrigued him.

She squeezed his hands and said, "Ready."

Once more, Draco concentrated on siphoning his consciousness into the darkness of Weasley's eyes, and once again he was met with resistance. No, that was an understatement. It was as though a brick wall had been constructed just behind her pupils. Her mind was completely protected.

"Is something supposed to be happening?" she asked.

"Yes, Weasley, something is supposed to be happening," Draco said through a clenched jaw. "I can't get in."

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm just naturally gifted."

Draco scoffed. "If you're naturally gifted, then I'm a poor man, and the last time I checked my bank vault, I am far, far from poor."

Weasley rolled her eyes. "Then what's the problem?"

Draco stood up, but he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. That's what these lessons were supposed to be for: a distraction, an occupation, an activity. Anything that wasn't lying on a hospital bed trying to forget that he was supposed to be "ill." What a load of hogwash. If he was ill he'd remember it! But he didn't remember anything after getting a drink... somewhere. On some day? At noon. No! Dusk? Well, it didn't matter. Draco Malfoy was being held hostage at St. Mungo's, and he didn't like it. As soon as he got out of there, his funding would end, that was for sure! Harsh? No! No one treated a Malfoy this way with no explanation (or even with one) and got away with it.

"The problem is that I literally hit a wall. I keep meeting it and bouncing back. If you were using Occlumency properly, I would get in, but there wouldn't be anything to see except what you allow me to see."

Weasley stood up all huffy. "Well, I would know how to use Occlumency properly if you could teach me!"

Draco was starting to think her emotions were ruled by her hair, and now he wondered who'd had it worse in their relationship: Weasley, who'd had to deal with pompous Harry Potter, or Potter, who'd had to deal with emotionally unstable Ginny Weasley?

"Oh, enough. I wasn't insulting you," Draco said. "For once."

Now they were both standing, and it was, Draco had to admit, awkward. To give himself the appearance of purpose (and it was important to always maintain that appearance as Malfoys should never dawdle uselessly), he went to the window and looked out at the Muggle streets of London. He didn't look at anything in particular, and really wasn't taking in any of it, but he knew he looked pensive, and that was all that mattered. He stayed posed there until Weasley cleared her throat, and then he turned around as if surprised to find he wasn't alone.

"I'm glad it didn't work," Weasley said, and that blasted wrinkle in her forehead returned. Hufflepuff's fancy badger! She acted as if she was in the middle of a crisis or something, and it was ruining Draco's attempt to ignore said crisis. "There's something I've been hiding, and you should hear it from my mouth, not my thoughts."

Oh, what now? "Go on," Draco said with a severe expression on his face that only seemed to make her more nervous. She sank back down into the chair, her fingers gripping the arms for support.

"Have you tried opening the door?" She pointed to the other side of the ward at the door leading out into the corridor.

"No. Why would I?"

"I don't know! Why wouldn't you?" Now she looked annoyed. Great. "Do you think we're here fairly? I don't. So I went out into the hall to have a look around."

"And?"

"Well, I found out that the door should have been locked!"

Draco suddenly became more attentive. "Locked? But only closed wards have locked doors."

She nodded significantly, her eyes wide and grave.

As he took a few steps closer to her, he asked, "Weasley, what ward are we on?"

Her first attempt at answering came out an unintelligibly whispered mumble.

“Try that again?”

“The Janus Thickey Ward!” she snapped.

Well, that made no sense. Only patients with permanent spell damage or mental instability were kept in the Janus Thickey ward, and Draco had neither suffered permanent spell damage nor been declared unstable. As far as he knew. This was absolutely ridiculous! Could this be an honest mistake?

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She stood up from the chair, outraged. “Yes, I'm sure! I saw the plaque on the door, the name of the Head Healer for the ward, and our patient charts. I'm positive.”

"And you weren't going to share this little fact with me?" he asked, absolutely furious at her gall. How long had she been planning to keep this information from him?

"Yes, I thought about being petty and keeping it from you, but what does you knowing change? Nothing! We're still stuck here. We still don't have any answers!"

"Maybe we can get them now! Perhaps there has been some sort of mix-up. We need to let the Healers know!"

Weasley sneered—actually sneered!—at him. "Now who's being foolishly optimistic? The Healers haven't listened to us before today. What makes you think they'll listen to a couple of people they think are too damaged and dangerous to leave in an unlocked room?"

Her eyes, the eyes he'd only just thought flat and unspectacular, actually blazed with the fire of her emotion. Draco knew best how to be cool, not just in his manner, but also in his very mood, but she... she was like a burn. You didn't know it was there until you touched it, and then all the pain poured out. She was painful to look at in all her burning, angry glory.

"I am not damaged! I am perfectly sane, and I will not abide by this!"

"Then, please, go ahead and fix it. Use your Malfoy influence and make things right!" She stormed back to her bed and petulantly wrapped herself in her sheets, turning her back on Draco.

He looked around the ward, but what else could he do but the same? It wasn't until he was likewise ensconced in his uncomfortable bed that the truth he'd just learned and the one he'd instinctively known finally collided, refusing to be ignored any longer. And that was the game he'd been playing all along, wasn't it? Ignorance wasn't really bliss. He should have known better.

He and Weasley were in a mess of trouble.

Well. Shit.