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.