WARNING: The second Author's Notes at the end of this chapter contains information about Ginny's and Draco's state of mind. It is a psychological deconstruction of the fic, not just a clarifying comment or two. If this type of nonsense interferes with your enjoyment of the fic, I recommend skiving off!

AN: A big thanks to all who left reviews, letting me know what a disaster I created by cutting this fic in half and letting total confusion reign. I am confident all will be clear at the end of this chapter. If not, keep reading the author's notes at the bottom, and you will have more information than you ever cared to have about this fic. If it's still not clear after that, I'm sorry, but I can't help you.

Three months later, she Apparated into his office late one evening. He was still at work, as always, keeping busy, moving them forward in whatever way he could, filling his mind with so much of the mundane that there was no room for anything else. He sat at his large desk, overflowing with stacks of files, rolls of parchment, and quills. He never noticed her silent entry into his world.

"Draco?"

He startled at the sound of another's voice. His head shot up. She was standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple set of black robes and black boots with her red silk hanging in a loose swirl about her face. Her eyes were dark and wide, staring at him.

"Ginny?" He stood quickly and rushed to her, silver wide with mild alarm. "Is everything okay?" It had been almost fifteen months since she had come to his office or left her home by magical means. He was surprised she hadn't splinched herself.

She nodded and saw the tension roll off his face and shoulders. He attempted to lead her into his office, into a comfortable chair. She shook her head. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes fell to the floor and stayed there.

"I want to come home." She whispered so softly that he had to lean forward to hear her.

"Yes, of course."

"Now, Draco. I want to come home, now." She heard his robes rustling and looked up. He was closing files, shuffling parchment, and moving swiftly about his desk.

"Just let me get my cloak, Gin."

"No, don't leave. I'm fine. I'll be at home when you're finished. Don't rush." He looked up in time to see her vanish, that familiar wood in her hand. He threw on his cloak, gathered the scattered rolls of parchment and dumped them into a pile. Not bothering to close up his office in his usual orderly fashion, he simply grabbed his wand and, with a crack, Disapparated home.

He took the stairs two and three at a time, rushing to their suite of rooms on the second floor. When he arrived outside the closed wooden doors, he stopped to compose himself, straightening his hair and his robes. He took a deep breath before casually strolling in. The room was empty. There was no sign of her anywhere. He ran to her closet, throwing open the door. Empty. He checked the study, the library, their sitting room, and their breakfasting area. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.

Stunned, he slumped into the large chair by the fireplace, heart pounding, face flushed. He sat there for some minutes at a loss. Was she a vision he created out of his need for her, rather than her need of him?

The bathroom door swung open.

When he turned around, she stole his worry away with one beautiful stroke. There she was, dressed in a modest white cotton nightgown, absent-mindedly brushing her silky crimson tresses as she walked into the room. If she was a vision, he decided, then he was a goddamn miraculous Seer, and he would definitely be staying put for the night. She gracefully strolled up to him, leaned down, and kissed his forehead before heading toward their bed.

When he slid into bed beside her sometime later, he hesitated before slipping his arms around her slight frame. He pulled her to him and felt her relax in his arms. Sighing gratefully, he thanked every known deity for bringing her back to him safely, for whatever measure of time it lasted. Soon her breathing was slow and regular, filled with sleep. He watched her, dreaming in his arms, for the first time in almost a year and a half.

When he awoke, she was gone. He sat bolt upright and scanned their bedroom. Then his lean frame fell back against the bed again. He rolled over to where she lay the night before. The sheets were cold but still held a touch of her sweet lingering fragrance. He racked a tired hand through his tousled platinum locks and headed for the bathroom.

Ginny stood on the balcony looking out onto the famed Malfoy gardens, her white nightgown billowing in the chilly morning wind. It was a glorious sunny morning with skies bluer than the richest ocean.

Now what? There was no comfort for her anywhere. Every time she looked into his eyes, she saw him, heard his laughter, felt his presence. Was there no respite? Was there no sanctuary? She already knew there was no justice or fairness in the world.

Without him, there was nothing left for her on this earth. Where was he? Why had they taken him to a place where she could not follow? She had willed herself to die, to gloriously sink six feet under into that quiet netherworld where no cannons roared, where only the beautiful silence of the unknown penetrated. It was simply not her time. She was a prisoner trapped in a life she no longer desired. No human touch could breach the walls of her self-imposed quarantine, where she lay unreachable and unable to reach out.

The only thing she could hear was the whispering of his love for her. The only thing she could feel was his heart reaching out for hers. It was his crazy, persistent love for her which sent her crawling and scrapping up those merciless, dank tunnel walls towards the faintest hope of light, however misguided that might be. She was terrified, unsure if his love could penetrate the fortress of insanity around her. She was standing on that balcony, staring out into the brilliant morning sun, when he found her.

"Ginny." He said with relief in his voice. She turned at the sound, red silk swirling in the morning breeze, face flush with the cool breeze. She smiled weakly before turning around again.

She was so ethereal now that she resembled spirit more than human. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in the nape of her neck, pulling her close.

"You're freezing." He admonished lightly, looking down. She wore no shoes or slippers of any kind. He took off his robes and threw them around her before quickly leading her back inside and closing the balcony doors.

When he left her, bundled in multiple blankets in front of the fire, she was quietly sipping a large cup of tea, the firelight throwing specks of amber into her wide brown eyes.

A month later, he came home late. He had missed dinner and many hours after that working on several important projects and proposals. He crept up the stairs and slipped noiselessly into their bedroom, knowing she had gone to bed hours before.

She heard his quiet footsteps on the staircase and the door swinging open. He peered around the corner. She caught the surprise and delight on his face when he saw her. It pleased her that she was still able to give him some small amount of joy. She stretched and yawned and walked over to greet him, frowning at what she saw. He was obviously exhausted. His beautiful silver eyes were worn, his shoulders sagging, and his usually meticulous robes were wrinkled.

"You're tired." She whispered, cradling his face in her hands, studying him for the first time in months. He smiled and shook his head as he reached down to give her a light kiss on the cheek.

"Just a long day, that's all." She nodded before releasing him, watching him head toward the bathroom.

When he returned, freshly showered and clad in his usual pair of green pajama bottoms, she was awake and watching him.

"Bed?" He asked, holding out a hand to his wife. She nodded and slipped her hand into his. They crossed the length of the room together. He pulled down the sheets for her, then turned to go around to his side of the bed. Before he could take another step, she had her hand on his arm, staying him. He automatically turned to her. "Need something, Gin?"

She nodded before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his lips, ever so slowly, down onto hers. With the lightest touch imaginable, she insistently rubbed her lips against his, softly tickling him with her tongue. She pressed the length of her body firmly against him and heard the catch in his breath. He was holding back, unsure of what she was asking of him. It had been so long, she didn't know how to ask. Pressing her lips hungrily into his, she pulled his unsuspecting body flush against hers, waiting impatiently for an answer.

When he invited in her, she was assaulted by the wonder of him; the scent of his freshly washed body drenched her, the feel of his wet hair scorched her. Her body ached for his cool touch on her skin, his hot breath against her neck, and his searing kisses on her wanton lips. He was undeniably glorious. How could she have been so blind to his beauty? How could she have discarded him so carelessly? Where had this overwhelming, burning love for her Slytherin been hiding? It was unbelievable to her that he was still here with her, like this, again.

His hands were tentative on her, as he let her lead. She reassuringly pulled him closer. He was treating her like a broken china doll, and she couldn't blame him. She was broken, shattered beyond belief, and desperate for him in her tenuous state. He was the only thing left which made any sense to her. She took his right hand and placed it firmly on her left breast. His eyes widened in surprise at the lack of clothing underneath her bathrobe. Then she yanked him forcefully on top of her as they fell onto the bed.

He looked down at her, awash in red silk and staring back at him. Their eyes locked. She was reaching out for him, drawing him into her world, and he found himself painfully lost in her, in a way he had almost forgotten. But his body remembered hers well, the familiarity of her intoxicating scent, the seductive silky soft skin against his, and her burning desire igniting his. She was moaning and arching her slight frame towards his. He reached for her and touched her and held her in ways so long lost, they were new to him again. It was a delight so intense he almost cried out. This was his Ginny, the passionate woman he had fallen in love with, the witch of his desires, whom he could not believe was making an appearance once again in their marriage after being absent for so long.

He couldn't stop to think or make sense of the scene because she was calling to him, in the way that she always called to him, and he went to her with excruciating abandon. Cradling his long lost beloved in his arms, he set a slow and tender pace which grew increasingly insistent. He watched her every movement, her every reaction, right up until the moment he closed his eyes, overwhelmed. When they collapsed upon each other, many minutes later, they were both spent and oddly warm.

She held him closely, not wanting the moment to slip away, not wanting him to move. Eventually she relented and released the lock her legs had around his waist. His weight shifted off of her and onto his side.

He looked down at her, amazed at the life he saw in her eyes, a small fire he had not glimpsed in too many months. His heart was full of hope at the sight of her like this.

Six months later, Ginny Malfoy was back at Madam Malkin's refitting her robes. She had finally regained sufficient weight to fit back into most of her previous clothes, getting the remainder altered to her new, seemingly smaller size. She stopped by Flourish and Blotts and a few other stores on the way to Draco's office.

"Draco?"

"Be right with you, Gin," he yelled as she plopped down on the chair just outside his office, thumbing through the latest edition of Witch Weekly. Oh, she had her morning edition of The Daily Prophet tucked away for later but first things first. While she was waiting, she chatted a bit with his secretary and listened to the WWN on the contraption Draco had purchased for her last month. She couldn't say she cared for it much, but she wanted to please him, and so she carried it around for odd moments like now. Minutes later, she felt a kiss on her cheek and looked up. Draco was holding out his hand. She quickly packed away her WWN contraption and stepped out of his office with him.

In the middle of Diagon Alley, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her for all of the wizarding world to behold. He buried his face in the nape of her neck, soaking in the glory of her. "I love you, Ginny." He could hear her smiling as she kissed his neck and drew him closer. When he released her from his embrace, he slid his arm around her waist, and they walked down the alleyway to lunch.

"Why don't you order something for me?" He nodded at his wife's suggestion. Lazy witch, never wanted to be bothered to look at a menu for more than five seconds. As he was giving the menu a cursory glance, he heard her shout and looked up.

"Harry! Oh my gosh, how are you?" She was up and across the courtyard faster than a Golden Snitch. He rose and slowly made his way after her. He stopped midway. Potter had his five year old son in hand, and Ginny was on her knees talking to the boy, who was the spitting image of his father, right down to his remarkable green eyes.

"Potter." He said warmly, shaking the other wizard's hand.

"Malfoy." Harry returned before turning his gaze on Ginny talking to the boy. "Ginny looks great."

"She's come a long way." The boy was holding a child's version of the Golden Snitch, much larger, infinitely slower. Soon he was chasing it with Ginny in tow, laughing and yelling, and Draco found himself mesmerized by the sight. "A Seeker in training, Potter?"

"Yeah, well, you know how it is." Harry stopped and added. "He sees me play and wants to play as well."

"Looks like he'll be moving up to the real thing soon." Harry said nothing, just nodded silently.

"James!" He shouted some minutes later. "We've got to get going. We're late as it is. Say good-bye to Aunt Ginny." The boy took the Snitch out of Ginny's hands and gave her a big hug as he ran back to Potter's side. Ginny rushed to Harry and gave him a hug.

"He's gorgeous, Harry. Come by soon and bring him for a visit, will you?"

"Of course. We'll floo you soon." Turning, he added. "Malfoy."

"Potter. Good-bye James." "Bye."

Draco watched Ginny's eyes follow the pair across the street and into the crowds before settling back at their table. He said nothing and kept his eyes on the menu while she sat, staring at the crowds.

"He looks just like Harry. Don't you think?" She mused.

"Just."

"Oh Draco, stop that." He laughed at this.

"I was only joking, Gin. Yes, James looks like a mini-Potter. Unfortunately, he'll probably make a hell of a Seeker one day as well." He stopped and turned his infernal Malfoy stare on her. "Happy?" She nodded.

"Do you ever think about it?" She queried.

"Of course I do."

"How do you know when it's time?" He put down the menu and looked at her with those magnificent silver grey eyes that she loved so much.

"I don't know." She was watching him, those luminous pools of wavering brown focused on his every movement, his every breath. An unsuspecting wizard could drown in those things, he thought vaguely, returning her stare.

"I think I know." He looked at her, surprised. She pulled out a small glass vial and handed it to him. He turned over the familiar vial in his elegant hands.

"We're pregnant?" Those words slipped out of his disbelieving mouth.

"Yes, we're pregnant." She ran a hand, reassuringly, over the side of his face, her eyes searching his. "She's due in seven months so that should give you plenty of time to get yourself ready. Don't you think?" His wife was staring at him, waiting for some kind of sign from the Slytherin.

A moment later, he had her firmly in his arms, comforting her with his touch. "God, Ginny. Are you sure?" He felt her nod against his chest. As the blood rushed back into his head and his breathing returned, he closed his eyes and hung onto his wife, afraid to move for fear his world would implode on him again. He was damn near paralyzed, unsure of what to say or do next. Sensing his discomfort, she spoke.

"It's okay, Draco. Really. I want to do this if you do." As the color began to return to his fragile world, he looked down at his wife, now staring up at him, concerned. He smiled, his hand on her face.

"It's all I want, Ginny." She looked at him. Her eyes closed as he drew her to him again, cradling his wife and his unborn daughter to him with the greatest of care, reveling in the thought of their love creating life, again.

Author's Notes 1: Thanks for hanging in there to the end. I hope things are crystal clear now.

Author's Notes 2: Psych 101 in session. This was a simple fic about the process of loss and grief and moving on. The death of a child is the most devastating and life changing event in the life of any parent unfortunate enough to experience such a loss. We meet Ginny in the midst of a Complicated Bereavement. Complicated (not as in complex) because of the episode of Major Depression she is experiencing in addition to her grief. Bereavement and Major Depression are close cousins with many overlapping signs and symptoms; however, it is the depth, duration, and degree of disruption of Ginny's functioning (The poor witch can't even get out of bed or tolerate living with her husband in the home they shared with their son.) which tips the scale in favor of a Major Depression.

Classic symptoms of Major Depression displayed in this fic include: anhedonia (loss of pleasure in life - even her beautiful Slytherin means little), loss of appetite and weight, hypersomnia (sleeping too damn much), cognitive dysfunction (difficulty concentrating, inability to make simple decisions), social isolation (a bottle of firewhiskey does not count as a friend), and a preoccupation with death (above and beyond wanting a reunion with her son).

What about Draco? (No, his beauty does not confer immunity.) Every grieving process is an individual journey. Draco's method of grieving is as valid as Ginny's. He is driven by guilt and fear in addition to loss. Immersing himself in work gives him some semblance of control and the illusion of moving forward. It also affords him a reprieve from his pain, distracting his heart and his mind. Will he fail Ginny as he failed their son? Will she die as well? Here he is truly helpless. There is nothing he can do other than love her, watch over her, and hope she doesn't self-destruct. Fortunately, he has enough ego strength to stand by and let her do what she needs to do without personalizing it in a destructive manner. (I wouldn't write my Draco any other way.)

Many couples do not survive the death of a child. The loss of an only child carries a special burden. Because grief is such an individual endeavor, it can lead to misunderstanding and alienation when parents of a lost child grieve in markedly different ways. Ginny and Draco do not fall into this trap, despite their differences, because I am writing this fic and would not allow them such folly. In reconstructing her life, Ginny is drawn back to what created its foundation before her son was born, her love for the Slytherin and his love for her. When she is able to reconstruct her life, she begins to move forward, although forever changed.

I always worry that deconstructing a fic in such clinical terms takes away from the reading experience. My fics tend to revolve around psychological issues because life is one big psychological bath to my way of thinking. I hope this odd post-chapter ride was of interest. Class dismissed.