Don't Miss You At All - Draco
The years passed. Draco returned to London and resumed his position in his business. He never touched alcohol. He was never with a woman. He never took his wedding ring off.
He had grown up. The responsibility of a regular job ceased to eat away at him and became familiar, eventually even comforting. The careless attitude of his youth settled into a refined sophistication. The hard corners of his eyes softened into murky depths. Anyone who spoke to him knew he had, in his short life, met with tragedy. Pain matures people in a way time simply cannot.
No matter how discreetely or how forwardly he asked, he couldn't attain any information about Ginny. He supposed it was better that way. If he knew she was unhappy it would destroy him. If he knew she was seeing someone it would kill him. No matter how she was, news would only reopen those old self-inflicted wounds. Yes, it was better no one would tell him anything.
He had long since moved out of the penthouse and returned to Malfoy Manor. His mother had died. He had seen Ginny at the funeral, but she had kept so far away from him and he made no effort to get closer. It was a large, mostly empty house, but it suited him now. It felt without the way his heart felt within.
Three years passed, then a fourth. His business had never been this good. He had friends with whom he went out, friends with whom he played Quidditch once a month, friends that were always trying to set him up with this girl or that. He never did let them, but he had found a way to happy. His life was full. He had his job, his house, his friends, his library...
He stood at one of ceiling to floor windows in the library with his hands in his pockets. The fire was roaring behind him. A tray of hot food was waiting for him on a small table. All he could do, though was stare out into the night. It was snowing. The fire reflected in the glass, turning the snow an orange red to unfocused eyes.
He wasn't thinking about Ginny because he didn't miss Ginny, not anymore. Time had closed those wounds. The scars were still there, sure, but they didn't hurt. He wouldn't let them hurt. He didn't miss her at all. The absence she left in his life certainly wasn't the reason he stood at that window until his dinner was long cold and fire was almost out behind him.
A few days later he was walking to lunch with some associates and they passed a small park. He stopped to watch the children running and laughing. One of them reminded him of someone...it certainly wasn't her. Their laughter, their smiles, had not made him remember hers. He didn't miss her.
His associates had stopped to wait for him when they realized he was behind them. He caught up and went on with his day. No, he didn't miss her.
So what if he didn't know who he was without her? So what if he still felt his hand ache to reach for hers whenever he watched the sunset. She was just a distant memory.