A/N: A little thing I wrote a few months ago after I finished reading Deathly Hallows for the second time. It's just something I couldn't get out of my head. Enjoy! -bc

We're sitting in the drawing room. I've pulled up a chair to the table next to the fire. I'm bent over and writing furiously on this piece of parchment. I can see you out of the corner of my eye, and I can tell you're wondering what I'm doing. You see me write in my journal every night, but now, as the scratching from my quill nearly echoes through the room, you become curious.

I can feel you trying to reach into my head. Over the years of our marriage, you would, without permission, read my mind and delve into my thoughts. You didn't trust me, and you still don't. Over those same years, I began to fight back. I learned to keep you out of my head. I wanted to keep my thoughts to myself.

As I look up, I can see your eyebrows furrow. You do this when you can't read me. I'm expecting your face to become red, like it does when you're furious. And you usually get furious at me for not letting me in. Well, I'm sorry, dear husband, but I'm sick of your mind games.

I'm expecting you to lunge out of your chair, grab me by the shoulders, and ask me, "What have you done now, whore?" I've not done anything. I never have. The moment we were married, I played the part of submissive, passive wife. I even gave you a son. But when you suspected me of sleeping with Avery, you inteded to slap me across the face until I confessed. I never did sleep with him, and my face was bruised for days.

Because I never confessed, you kept my wand from me. My wand, Lucius. The one thing that keeps me attached to this world. The one thing, besides my precious blood, that keeps me from being the one thing you hate most.

Finally, I let you enter my mind, and you saw that all Avery and I did was have conversations about our children, our siblings, our partners. You never realized that I was, and still am, in need of a friend, since you will not speak to me since the Dark Lord's demise.

We should be in Azkaban, you know. You know why we aren't there? Me. I lied to the Dark Lord's face, made it look like Potter was dead. I wanted our son to be safe. And in turn, Potter kept us from Azkaban. He let us free.

I know you'd rather be dead. You're now living with the fact that Harry Potter let you free, and that kills you.

And I know you're suffering from the fact that Bellatrix is dead. I know you slept with her. You slept with my sister, the one person I ever trusted. And you know what I felt after she died? Nothing. You made me feel absolutely nothing after the death of my sister. I actually wanted her to be dead, after she betrayed me like that.

I can't be with you anymore, Lucius.

And now, right before I stand up and hand you this letter, you bring your hands to your eyes. You know what's coming. You can see the tears coming from my eyes and the sweat glistening on my brow.

I hope you change your ways, Lucius. I hope you come to realize that I don't want to lave you. I haven't been without you since I was seventeen. I know nothing but you. But I have to leave you, for my sanity.

I'm leaving, and if you feel the need to come find me, please do.

Love,

Narcissa