AN: I stumbled across this simple fic while cleaning out my files. I decided to take it out, dust it off, clean it up a bit, and post it. It is written in a style very different from Quidditch. I hope readers will give it a whirl and let me know what they think.

“Gin?”

He looked around the corner and into the small sitting room. Empty. He walked quietly down the hall, boots echoing against the wooden floor. Turning sharply, he glanced into the kitchen. There were signs of life in here, stacks of dirty dishes and cups, an empty bottle of firewhiskey. With several waves of his wand, the dishes were gone, the countertop clean. No signs of life remained. He opened her Muggle refrigerator and noted a bottle of orange juice and several boxes of Chinese take-out.

“Ginny? Honey, it’s me.”

He continued to make his way around her small flat. The door next to the kitchen opened onto a large sunlit room with tall windows. There was a huge half painted canvas standing on an easel, paint tubes, brushes, and stained rags were thrown about. Leaning against the walls, on all four sides, were dozens of pictures, all in various states of completion. The air held the pungent odor of oil paints and thinner. He glanced down and saw his eyes, those magnificent silver greys, staring up at him from a half-hidden painting. He turned and closed the door.

His hand was curled into a half fist as he knocked gently on her bedroom door. “Gin?” He waited an appropriate amount of time before knocking again. No answer. The door swung silently open, his hand on the knob. It was dark. The shades were drawn, the curtains closed. He reversed the nighttime spell, and small shafts of sunlight began to stream into her room, peeking around the cracks in the shades and the sides of the curtains.

As he looked over at the huge bed in the middle of the room, he saw a small lump enmeshed in a snarl of sheets and bedcovers. He sighed, walked over to her, and pulled the covers off of her head. He was met with a tangle of crimson silk and a scowl. She tried to pull the covers back over her head, but he held them firm.

Opening her eyes a crack, she stared sleepily up at him before closing them again and turning over.

“Ginny.” He said softly. “I just stopped by to see how you’re doing. I hadn’t heard from you in awhile.”

She mumbled something incoherent. He turned her half over, facing him. Without opening her eyes, she spoke again. “What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?” He stroked her hair.

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

Her eyes fluttered open at this. Then she lay there staring at him, ever the intruder.

“I thought you might want some dinner or maybe a little company.”

He was no longer looking at her but staring down at the folds in her blankets, all twisted and tangled at odd angles with her wrinkled sheets.

“I’ve already eaten.”

She rolled over, dismissing him. He sat there, on the edge of her bed, looking at her silken tresses, her creamy white shoulders dusted with the lightest hint of cinnamon freckles.

“Gin, don’t do this.”

Silence.

He leaned over, wrapped his arm around her, and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

Her senses were suddenly assaulted by his cool touch, his hot breath against her neck, and his familiar scent searing her lungs. This was followed by the crack of his Disapparation, as his side of the bed lightened. She rolled over onto her back, pulled the covers up to her neck, and closed her eyes again.

Six months later, he stood outside her door and rang her Muggle doorbell. Several minutes later, she opened the door and stood aside for him to enter.

“Hullo, Gin," he said, stepping past her into the small living room. She was wearing a simple black dress that fell in a flurry just below her knees. Her red tresses were swept up into a large silver clasp on one side. She picked up her black silk robe and cloak.

“You look beautiful, Ginny." he said quietly, watching her intently. She looked up. Her eyes met his for a moment before turning away. He helped her with her robe and her cloak before putting on his own, over his Muggle trousers and shirt.

“There’s a new place in Diagon Alley. I thought you might like to try it.” He looked at her tentatively. “May I?” She nodded. He gathered her into his arms, holding her closely for the first time in many months. His body ached to really hold her, to lose himself in her scent, her fire, her desire. He steadied himself. With a wave of his wand and a crack, they Disapparated together.

As soon as their feet hit the pavement, they were accosted by flashes of light and shouting. Draco threw his arm protectively around Ginny, attempting to shield her from the throng of reporters barking questions and flashing cameras. He felt her stiffen and grip his waist with an iron lock. He tried to push forward to the restaurant but was trapped by the crowd. Silently cursing himself, he quickly took out his wand and swiftly Disapparated them back to the Manor.

When his feet hit the floor, Draco loosened his grip on Ginny and leaned down to look at her face. She unexpectedly grabbed him around the waist with both arms and buried her face in his chest. He held her close, rubbing her back and stoking her hair. “I’m so sorry, Ginny," he murmured over and over. She stood there, leaning against him, and he stood there, disbelieving that she was allowing him to comfort her. She, who had been pushing him away for the past twelve months, was now clinging desperately to him. He held her for as long a time as she would allow, soaking in her tears, her pain, and her wonderful scent.

What the hell had he been thinking? Damn that restaurant owner, who had obviously alerted the press. Draco was seething, but he was mostly furious with himself for not being more careful. He was out and about everyday and didn’t really think about it, but Ginny had not been out in over a year.

When she finally pulled away, eyes puffy and filled with tears, he gently suggested they eat at the Manor. She nodded in agreement.

“Let’s eat upstairs, shall we, Gin?”

She took the hand he offered, leading her slowly up the grand spiral staircase to their suite of rooms. When he opened the door to their bedroom, she stepped in gingerly, looking around, eyes wide and dark.

It was odd to be back within the confines of these particular four walls, she thought, looking around at all the elegant furnishings and fabrics and tapestries. She wrapped her hand around the post of their bed. She had forgotten how rich the greens, the silvers, and the blacks were. A thin finger ran gracefully down the complex pattern of the grain in the mahogany wood.

He watched her walking around their bedroom; touching and looking, opening a drawer, pulling down a book, glancing out the window. It was odd to see her here again, almost a stranger to this intimate setting.

She peered inside his closet and saw rows and rows of his fine clothes. Her hand reached out and touched one of his many cloaks, the elegant black woolen one she had given him for their first anniversary. She had forgotten about the cloak until she saw it. They had reservations for dinner and a play that night but never made it out their bedroom door. A half smile fell upon her face, the first smile of any kind to grace her face in over a year.

The scene, which echoed painfully with its familiarity, had shaken loose various sticky cobwebs from some long hidden trap in her mind. It was a place where only banished and unwanted memories resided. She had chased them from her active mind months ago. They fled in terror to this dark, web infested corner of her mind, biding their time, waiting patiently for her to awaken them again. It was this unexpected burst which flooded her face with that weak smile. But this smile was hidden from him now, buried in his closet and lost to him.

Many things were lost to him now. His Ginny, his beautiful winsome Ginny was lost to him. He stood there, not knowing if she would ever truly come back to him or not, but he belong to her now. For him, there was no other. There would never be another for him like her. So he waited and carried on, hoping she would be able to find her way back to him, because he could never help her find her way home. Only she could do that. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her enough or provide for her or even protect her. It had to do with things very different from all that. He watched her poking her fingers very carefully, very gingerly into the fabric that was their life together, hoping its web would entangle and ensnare her once again to become his.

Ginny sat on the side of their bed, looking at the small table beside it. She saw those magnificent silver greys looking back at her, so vibrant and full of life. He watched her carefully as she picked up the picture, smiling and waving back at her. She was mesmerized by that smile, by those uniquely platinum blond locks, and by that look in his eyes, staring out at her. He held her gaze, those glorious eyes in the picture, and she returned their gaze with such an undisguised longing that it took his breath away. She sat, staring at the picture for many long minutes, unable to tear her gaze away from his face. Then she closed her eyes, held his picture to her chest and laid down.

“Ginny?” He quested cautiously as he went to her side.

She shook her head and looked up at him for a moment before closing her eyes. In an instant, she was lost to him all over again. He hesitantly slipped away from her side and walked noiselessly to their bedroom door. As he began to swing the door closed, he heard a soft voice.

“Draco?” He stopped, holding his breath.

“I’m here, Gin.”

He saw her raise a fragile arm, and he went to her. She took his hand and pulled him down onto the bed beside her. He sat, facing her. She crawled into his lap, her arms around his waist. He gently stroked her hair.

As he watched her, his battered heart let out an anguished, piercing cry. She was so thin now, fragile, and tenuously holding on to what remained of her life force on this earth. Gone was his voluptuous beauty with her generous hips and curves, her childlike innocence torn away and faded. What he held in his arms was but a shadow of what he had fallen in love with, but he would love her until the day she passed from this side of the veil to the other side, a place where she would be beyond his touch and his aching love. If it was possible, he would love her then, still, and follow her into whatever eternity awaited them, together.

AN: Remember this is the first part of a two part fic. This is not the end, yet.