Summary: Ginny receives a letter from Draco early one morning. The information it contains will change her life forever. Previous one shot - now with a brief sequel from Draco's POV and perhaps more... Angst and Romance.1. The Letter by fallenwitch
2. The Letter - Part Two by fallenwitch
She heard the insistent tapping on her window early that morning. Rolling out of bed, she lifted the latch and swung the window wide open, letting in a frigid blast of winter's breath onto her face and down her nightgown. His eagle owl flew in, landing on the familiar spot amid her cluttered desk. Fishing out a small treat with one hand, while carefully removing the note from the sterling clasp with her other, she stared at the parchment while his owl took off in a flurry, treat in beak.
She held the weighty parchment, running a finger over the familiar handwriting. Ginevra Weasley. It's seal broke at her finger light touch. She quickly scanned the familiar writing before reading the entire letter slowly, drinking in each word, each phrase, each turn of his quill just for her. Her heart was pounding and her head light. This was her usual response to an owl from him.
Draco. Her eyes ran over his name again. She took two quick steps backward reaching for the edge of her bed with a trembling hand. It steadied her body as she sat down, still disbelieving the parchment she held in her hands.
Checking the outside of the envelope, she saw her name, Ginevra Weasley, in his handwriting. Ginevra Weasley. Ginevra Weasley. I am Ginerva Weasley, she thought thickly through the fog. Her cautious eyes scanned his letter again and again and again, looking... searching... for those words. She read them over and over and over... Then she threw the parchment on the floor and sat paralyzed, her head in her hands, disbelieving the reality of her situation.
Married? After eight years, the love of her life, the man to whom she would belong for the rest of her life, had just gone off and married another woman. Married her two months prior. No notice, no looking back, no questioning. Just married.
Of course there had been problems, didn't every relationship have problems? It seemed with them, the heat of the fire matched the fury of the arguments. Tons of arguments, all about various things. The push and pull of passion among two people striving to carve out a place for themselves in the world, both ambitious, both talented and smart, both craving more out of life than just settling for anything. There had been multiple break-ups, other witches and wizards, but they always ended up falling back together again.
The passion, that crazy, mind-numbing, sensory stunning passion that seemed so all consuming. One year, two weeks or three days, it didn't seem to make a difference. As soon as they were within striking distance, they were tearing and lusting after each other and always ended up in a heated mess on the bed together. Well, not always the bed... there had been her kitchen counter, the shower, his desk at work, the backseat of his muggle car...
She had willed herself to resist him, to not let him manipulate her with his wicked ways, but she always failed spectacularly. She belonged to him and would want no other until the end of time.
Wasn't it just a game they played? Time out and other people were just a game. Didn't he realize that it was never intended to be for keeps? When had he decided to play for keeps?
There was always the quiet thought that something that was this wicked, this tortuous and evil, this all consuming couldn't possibly be good for her in the long run. The passion, the possession, the jealousy. She had this idea that perhaps because they were both so obviously obsessed with each other that just maybe she really should try to find someone who was more stable, less moody, less violent and possessive. Someone who would make a good father and a good husband, who wouldn't manipulate her feelings and her body for his own ends.
So it was when she saw him last, after a year's absence. She had told herself that she was a different witch now, She was grown up and would show him that she could no longer be manipulated or played with. Of course she had longed for him during that year apart. She had thought about his eyes on her, his touch, his magical ways. No other wizard, and there had been many, ever seemed to touch her the way that he did. Each new relationship started out with much hope and anticipation, but when she was finally in the bowels of that relationship, the blood and guts of it, no wizard would hold a candle to him. He was the one who had awakened her soul as a teenager. She breathed only for him. He was the one who loved her silly, made her feel beautiful and special. She danced only for him.
It was different, and it wasn't different. Yes, they were all grown up now. But within several hours of her broom landing in his yard, they were wrapped up in his sheets, hot and sticky, as though that year was just the blink of an eyelid. She was angry and scared and confused. Angry at herself for letting him blind her with just one touch, one look, for letting herself respond so wantonly to him, for being so easy.
They had planned for a week of visiting, but she fled after two days, scared and confused and wanting out. She knew he didn't want her to leave, but he didn't stop her going. He asked her to marry him, but he never told her he loved her. She didn't believe he was serious. He had simply thrown that at her on her way out. There was no ring, no roses. It was typical of him. She dismissed it as more manipulation. If he really wanted to marry her, she reasoned, he would come after her and do it properly. He never did.
She would never be his wife. His family never approved of her. She had been to the Manor on one or two occasions, years ago. It was awkward and painful, so obvious they thought her ill bred and unworthy of their son. Surprisingly, Lucius had been much more accepting of her than Narcissa. Narcissa absolutely hated her. She was clearly not amused at another witch coming into her son's life, especially a low class tart like herself. With Lucius, it was as though an unseen wink and a nod had passed between father and son. The silent, mutual understanding of what this type of relationship was all about. It would pass, and he would find an appropriate wife.
Married? Who would be his match if not her? She was his match and his passion and his love. That much she knew. How could he have gotten married without her? How could he have gone behind her back and gotten married to some unknown witch without even speaking to her about it? After eight years, didn't he at least owe her that courtesy? You don't belong to some one from the age of sixteen to twenty-four then in the course of less than eight months run off and marry someone else. It just wasn't done. It just couldn't be possible.
It had been eight months since she fled out of his house. But he was always on her mind, never far away from the conscious work of her day or her life. He had always been the silent lining to her life, despite any outward appearances, and he had just yanked that away from her. She wasn't really sure what this marriage meant. He was gone to her now, that much was apparent, but she didn't know how it was that she was suppose to go on with her life without him. She had never been without him, not since before she was sixteen years old. He had always been there for her. She would simply owl him or floo him or grab him in the halls. It didn't matter what had happened the day before, the arguments, the hateful words, the threats, he was always there for her. Now he was there for another, and she was truly alone for what felt like the first time in her life.
A week ago, she had sent him an owl, filled with this and that, mostly just to let him know she was thinking of him. She was making contact with him the way they had always made contact with each other. He would come to her or she would go to him, and that had always been the way of their world.
What was that he had said? She picked up the parchment from where it lay on the floor. Still want to keep in contact. What the fuck was that? He went off and married some other witch and yet he still wanted to be a part of her life? Who the hell did he think he was? He could bloody well SOD OFF! Exactly what kind of contact would that be? Between his sheets or hers? That was the only kind of contact they had.
No, that wasn't fair. That was totally unfair. It was the fact that they each understood the pain and the loneliness and the weaknesses of the other and accepted them that had created their relationship in the first place. She had believed in him, and he in her. They had bonded and each helped to create the other. She was as much a creature of his creation as he was of hers. The outrageous passion, the sex, the insane desire between their mutual sheets was simply an outgrowth of this, but had at times taken on a life of its own. One could hardly exist without the other.
She cast a wry smile. What witch would allow her husband to have 'contact' with his former lover? A former lover who possessed and owned her husband in no uncertain terms. It would never happen. She would not allow it to happen. He had made the choice. He had chosen another. He would have to live with the consequences just as much as she would. She would not become his mistress or his plaything or his toy to be used when wanted and then discarded. She had too much pride for that. Unless his new bride was a fool, she couldn't imagine any wife of his allowing even a friendship between the two of them to continue. That would be understandable, since neither of them had ever proved capable of keeping their hands off the other in all the eight years of their turmoil.
She sat up, folded his letter, walked over to her closet and placed it in the box which contained all of his other letters. Then she sat down, quill in hand, to write him a response. With a rock in the pit of her stomach and bile in her throat, she began. Draco. She would wish him and his new bride well, promise to keep in touch, then drop off the face of the earth hoping to hell he would hurt as much as she did. G.
And so began the rest of Ginny Weasley's life. That part of her life which would no longer contain Draco Malfoy, that part which would be forever separate from that which had gone on before. She was determined to forge a life for herself filled with all sorts of things that a life should contain, another love, different from that which came before, a love which would be solid, sustaining, and passionate without the hurt or the darkness. But she would never dance again the way she danced for him.
AN: I have completed the next chapter, which is the story from Draco's POV. It is also angst ridden. If you've simply had enough of this kind of thing, try my new fic, Quidditch, for snarky humor and a bit of fun.
He gazed at her from across the darkened room, asleep in their large bed with only the moonlight splayed across her soft features, her body hidden in the shadows of bedcovers and blankets. Wasn't that the way she was this wife of his, all softness and shadows?
When he met her, he had been living alone in France for a year and a half. His French was just passable; he had interpreters for that kind of thing, and her English was about as good as his French. Had it taken him a year and a half to even notice her existence?
She was a clerk working for the firm across the hall with whom Malfoy Industries shared building space and also some minor business deals. It was in the middle of one of these negotiations that she had been sent to deliver some random papers. He was standing in front of his secretary, reading the early morning owls when she stopped in front of him.
He looked up, and she was staring at him, a stack of parchment in her small hands. She looked at him as though she had never seen another quite like him. She had been awed and taken aback and too shy to even speak to him. He remembered her holding out the stack of parchments with two shaking hands, waiting for him.
He said something to her, but she simply stared at him, apparently mute. Then she returned his words with her own, in rapid French, by-passing all understanding. He had simply smiled a bit and nodded. She was dismissed and left.
She showed up in his office on a regular basis after that, bringing various things from across the hall. His secretary became quite friendly with her, and they would frequently take lunch together. He made a point of learning a few French phrases for her, and she had done the same with his English words. That was it.
He owl'd Ginny many times over the year and a half he had been in France. She ported over after he had been in the country for about six months. They spent a glorious week in the south of France, just the two of them, amid a sea of muggle strangers. Nothing lit his blood on fire the way that witch did. He could not get enough of her, her smile, her scent, her limbs entangled in his, even her temper and her willful ways.
There were only mild power struggles, no heated arguments or fights that time. They both seemed to sense the limited time they had together, unsure when they would see each other next. She was always so damn busy with her studies and 'life' in London. Holidays were out, had been ever since he had met her, what with his parents and hers... He didn't fit into her life, nor she into his. He didn't give a damn about all that, never did. He loved Ginny Weasley with a passion and a fire he held close to his heart, and had vowed long ago he would never release her, ever.
The weeks and then months following their last rendezvous had left him lonely, achingly lonely for her, and vulnerable beyond all reason. She took weeks, sometimes months to return his owls. Her response to his mention of a visit, either way, was only lukewarm. No, he would not release Ginny Weasley from his heart, but what if she let go first? What if she, as unbelievable as it seemed, was moving on with her life, growing up, and away from him?
He had seen her change from a fiery but shy sixteen-year-old to a beautiful, head strong, ambitious twenty-four-year-old woman. She could be downright intimidating to him at times with her brilliantly quick mind and razor sharp wit.
He was aware of the loose status of their relationship. There was a time, years ago, when he had felt constrained and confined by their claustrophobic way of relating. He had distanced himself and encouraged her to do the same. He was a twenty-year-old, hot-blooded wizard just out in the wide wizarding world exposed to all sorts of witches and opportunities which seemed to present themselves at every turn.
She had been devastated. Yes, he loved her, but he wasn't ready to, Lady forbid, get married and settle down, which is what he knew she wanted. She never said this outright. That wasn't her way, but he knew every miniscule detail about her mind and her heart, and it was painfully obviously they were going in two separate directions. Sharing was not her way, and so she simply let him go. He could tell it was killing her to do so, but she let him go, never saying a thing, just turning away.
When he looked back, she had just been accepted into The Advanced Healing Institute in London. She was in a serious relationship with some wizard she had hooked up with during her work there, a fellow Healer. They had been dating for over a year, and it looked like it was headed for much more. He owl'd her, and she, of course, had responded as she always did.
When he finally saw her at her flat in London, his Ginny was all grown up and staring back at him with much changed, older, wiser eyes. He bemoaned the loss of the girl he had loved. Yes, it was selfish, but he missed the total possession of her, the taming of her wild spirit, the restraining of her ambition until she was focused only on him. When he had obtained this, he let her go, and she would never be the same girl again, not for him.
Immersed in the loss of his one time love, he now reveled at the woman she had become. She was cool, confident, and so achingly beautiful to him. She ran circles around him with her wit and her stories and her grand ambition. She had turned into more than he had ever reckoned she would. She had passed him long ago, and Lady knew where she would eventually land.
He was stuck working under his Father's tutelage at Malfoy Industries, as he had been doing since she had seen him last, and was slowly working his way up. It was a steady path with nothing to prove. She had put herself out there for all the world to evaluate, and had clawed her way up with sheer brains and talent. She had no money, no connections.
She wasn't intimidated by him or his wealth or his status. She was the only person in the world who saw him, with all his faults and weaknesses, without the cover of his Malfoy guise.
And she was staring at him, knowing his weaknesses and desires had wrecked their once powerful and innocent first love. No one would ever get that close to his soul, to his complete vulnerability again. It was too much power in the hands of another.
At that moment, he didn't care about her life, her ambitions, or her other love. When Draco Malfoy reached out recklessly for Ginevra Weasley, he was taking his heart's deepest desire into his arms, damn the consequences. To his astonishment, she fell into them with abandon. She clung to him, tore at him, and lavished him with all the love his body had been aching for since he had been with her last. When he lay, sweaty and gasping in her arms, he realized what this redhaired witch from her dirt poor, Muggle-loving family was to him. She was his heart, his soul, and his whole goddamn world. He would never be complete without her, and he had been a fool to let go all those years ago. He vowed he would never let go again.
But by this time, the world had changed. Draco Malfoy no longer controlled Ginevra Weasley. She would keep him guessing, off kilter just a tad, and on his wizard's toes for the next many years. As much as he tried to pin her down, she would elude him. He was insane for her, and she ran circles around him, infuriating him. What the hell would it take for her to trust him again, to understand that he would never, ever let go again? Apparently Hades would have to freeze over first. The goddamn witch had too much power over him, knew his vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Why the hell she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin, he would never know.
He had been alone in France for over a year, with no Ginny in sight, when he met his future wife. She had been enamored with him from the first. Late one evening, he was leaving his office, when she was leaving hers. They had a quick bite to eat together, and from there things had moved quickly.
Cecile was the world's opposite of Ginny. She was soft where Ginny was hard. She was weak where Ginny was strong. She was vulnerable where Ginny was impenetrable. Perhaps it was this weakness and vulnerability and total lack of worldliness, which had drawn him to her. She needed him, absolutely and totally. He feared if he let go, she would collapse completely. She worshipped him and deferred to him and listened to his words as though they contained all the wisdom in the world.
For Draco Malfoy, who had been bested by Ginevra Weasley one time too many, it was heady stuff. Here was a witch who would let him care for her and love her and let him bring them forth into the future together; one who wouldn't be fighting him tooth and nail for control every inch of the way. He would be in control, always. He would dictate, albeit lovingly, what was best for her. It was the way of the Malfoy men and had been since time immemorial. And he was tired, he had been in the working world for many, many years, alone and struggling. He wanted to settle down with a wife and child. He wanted to come home to someone who would be waiting for him.
When he thought of Ginny with her ambitious career choice and her intolerance of his intrusion into her life, he cringed. Did she think him too weak for her? At one time he would have laughed out loud at the suggestion, but he was not laughing now. Not at all.
And so he owl'd the love of his life, begging her to come and see him in France, offering to come to London. He would meet her anywhere in the world. He just needed to see her. It had taken him many weeks to pin her down to a date and time. When she eventually showed up at his house in Paris, she was exhausted and preoccupied with events in London.
He finally managed to wrestle that witch down, and she came to him with the same abandon she always had. She held him and touched him and loved him until neither could breathe. When she lavished her attention and affection on him, there was no other. There had been no others. It had always been Ginny, only Ginny. How could he ever want another? She was glorious to him, always.
When he awoke the next morning and discovered her trying to slip out the back door, he was devastated. Was this all he was to her? Would she ever allow him to be more to her than this? He called to her, begging her to stay, but she didn't heard him. She never heard him anymore.
In his desperation, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, using their mutual chemistry to his fullest advantage. His magnificent silver grey eyes filled hers until she could see nothing else. He asked her to marry him, but she pulled away and muttered something incoherent as she flew out the door. He watched her flee the scene, noting she never once looked back.
He felt then that he knew the truth of their relationship. No, he hadn't let go of her; she had let go of him. She had been telling him the same thing over and over again for years, and he had not wanted to acknowledge the truth of it. There was no going back. When he severed their relationship four years earlier, that was the end of it. He would never regain her complete trust, and she would never be fully satisfied with him again. All the glorious sex and love would never be enough of a web to ensnare and entangle her to become his once again. So he watched her go, knowing she had never fully belonged to him at any point in the last four years. Something inside of him broke that day. No, he couldn't name it, but he would never be quite the same wizard again.
So he had gotten married to this fragile thing in his bed, who loved him with all her heart and mind and would never belong to anyone else, would never want anyone but him. It had been enough. His heart was broken, and he was lonely and lost without his Ginny, but Cecile had healed him in unexpected ways until he felt that he should accept this course in life now that all other paths were closed to him. Yes, of course he loved her.
He helped her care for her dying Father, and paid for the renovation of her family's modest home. He had even allowed her to bring her ailing Mother to live with them in Paris. He was fulfilling the traditional Malfoy role with his wife, but he was ready to return to London having had his fill of France and the French.
Eventually he moved her back with him, after the death of her mother, and ensconced them in the east wing at Malfoy Manor. The move had been difficult for her; she didn't take to the English or their ways. She felt isolated and lonely, having never been away from her remaining family and friends before. She was clingy and needy.
One day at the office, a familiar owl made its way to his window, pecking and screeching and making a pest of itself in a way he had greatly missed. Ginny's owl flew in with a vengeance and stuck out its leg for him. He took the parchment with ease and threw an owl treat at the feisty creature before it took off through the open window. He watched the direction of its flight with some interest.
Draco. She had read the papers and knew he was back in town. She wanted to meet for lunch and suggested he bring his wife. She wanted to meet her. G.
He had not heard from her since he owl'd her over a year and a half ago with the news of his marriage. She had banished him from her life then, even though he half-heartedly believed it might be another way. There were no half measures with Ginny. He was delighted with her owl, hoping to rekindle their friendship in some way. Hell, just seeing her again would do his soul much good.
A week later, he sat alone in Cyprian's Cafe, waiting for Ginny. Cecile had steadfastly refused to come with him. She did not want to meet this witch who had been such a big part of his life for so many years. Draco did not push. He knew his wife well enough to know when she was scared and intimidated and fearful of not measuring up to the Witch she had created Ginny to be in her mind.
Then he saw her making her way through the crowds to the large cafe. She was wearing a long green, woolen cloak, hood up and exposing just the barest hint of her crimson silk. He would recognize her familiar bearing anywhere, and his heart jerked. Then she was in the door and scanning the room until her shining brown eyes locked with his, and she let out a dazzling smile for him. She threw off her hood and walked to him.
He stood and they hesitated, unsure of the appropriate thing to do. She sat quickly, after a brief hullo. He sighed silently at the change in their status, gone were the careless embraces and warm kisses. She was all talk, nervousness causing her to fill the large space with stories and bits and pieces of all kinds. But he could see her staring at him and wondered if she knew the truth of him.
"Cecile?" Draco told her that his wife had begged off this particular lunch, claiming a headache and had taken to bed. Ginny raised an eyebrow at this and frowned. Ginny had never taken to bed for any reason other than sex as far as Draco could recall.
Then she asked him a long series of questions about his life with Cecile. How they had met. What she was like. Where her family was from. He could see the surprise in her face when she learned that Cecile was a clerk from an unremarkable wizarding family in the rural French countryside. He told her of Cecile's struggle with England, of his wife's fragile disposition, and of her tendency to avoid things rather than confront them. Ginny listened, rapt with attention.
He thought it rather ironic that when he finally had her attention, all she wanted to talk about was his wife. So he turned the tables on her and proceeded to ask her about her life, her loves, and her future. She was ever the evasive Ginny, sliding in and out of one relationship after another. Would she ever want to settle down? She laughed, but he had caught her eyes and saw the terrible pain contained there in.
He reached across the table and touched her hand. She did not pull away, but her heart came tumbling out. She had to see him to know the truth of the matter, to know what witch had captured his heart while she wasn't looking. She needed to know that he was in love and deliriously happy with his wife, that she was all to him that Ginny could never be, that she was his rightful partner in every sense of the word. She needed him to tell her that, and he was failing spectacularly every step of the way.
No, Ginny. His wife was not his match, not even close. With each passing day and every moment, he realized that was why she was his wife. If he couldn't have his Ginny, he would not tolerate some faded imitation of her. Cecile contained no portion of his thoughts or feelings for Ginny. She was separate and apart. He did not say this to Ginny that day. He didn't need to. She knew the heart of him, as ever.
When their lunch was suddenly over, and she unlocked her eyes from his, they rose. Then they were lingering outside the alleyway next to the cafe. She was so close to him. He could sense her body pulsing for him, and he desperately wanted to reach out and pull her to him, to feel her again, to drink in her precious scent, to entangle himself in her all over again, to make it be the way it was, to take his Ginny back.
She was staring at him, wind blown and shaking in the frigid January afternoon, errant strands of red silk floating against her sea of freckles. And she was breaking him, absolutely, totally, irreversibly breaking him, right on that alleyway in the middle of that blasted winter's day. He knew he had already sold his soul, in weakness, to another, vanquishing any right he had ever had to her. Yet here she stood, staring at him in the way that she had always stared at him.
He couldn't help himself. He reached out for her. She made no move toward him. He didn't give a damn. He grabbed her and pulled her toward him. As he put his arms around this feisty, broken-hearted witch, he felt her collapse against him. He cradled her to him in a way he had not done in many, many years, not since she was little more than a girl, and he was the young wizard who had awoken and stirred her soul beyond reason.
In the midst of this painful embrace, he realized with heart breaking clarity that he still stirred her soul, and she still loved him beyond reason, far more deeply than her actions had ever led him to believe. It was at that moment, that Ginny Weasley became Draco Malfoy's forever undoing. He was bound to another for eternity, but she would forever own that part of him which was most sacred to him, that part which no one else would ever touch or even know existed.
When he completely forgot himself and began hungrily, desperately kissing her and grabbing her in their crazy way, she went completely stiff in his arms. Minutes later he came to and released her slowly from his embrace, not looking into her eyes. She quickly held his face in her hands, gently, firmly focusing his eyes down on hers. Yes, there was pain and excruciating sadness among a dozen other complex emotions floating in that infernal sea of brown, but it was the disappointment which he could not bear: disappointment for his lack of belief in her love for him, in his settling for much less than he should have in a wife, and for being tempted to seduce her once more in a most inappropriate fashion. He was, indeed, too weak a match for Ginny Weasley.
He watched her walk away that afternoon until she was lost in the crowd at Diagon Alley. Then Draco Malfoy turned and walked slowly back to his wife and his life which were apart and separate from the world he had created with his redheaded witch. Ginny Weasley had just let go for the last time, and he knew she would not be returning again. He knew that she now knew the truth of him, but he also knew the truth of her, the truth which she had successfully let elude him for the previous five and a half years. Ginny Weasley, despite all of her stubborn, willful, hard-headed, and infuriating ways, belonged to him and only to him. She would love him as he would love her until death took them both at some point long past the present. This fact, alone, would keep him warm through the many long years ahead.
Author's Notes: Thanks for reading. -fallenwitch