If Only I Could Move These Lips…

Bu Headupintheclouds

…We wouldn't be here in the first place.

Taking a breath, she steeled herself to say the words that had been haunting her mind for months. She mulled over them in her head, wondering what about them made her lips so often refuse to form them when they'd had the chance. Every day and every night for months, years, they had plagued her. Kept her up at night, kept her mind chewing them, tasting them, wishing to try them out with her mouth. And sometimes she did. But he was never around to hear them.

Skipping over the pleasantries and formalities, she began to review the core of her message: 'over.'

It meant an ending; she'd never done well with those. She'd never been the one to find the words to end something on her own terms; and the terms of others', as she'd learned long ago, were all too often cruel. So many times, she's had everything worked out all possible scenarios as bases in her mind, covered. And yet never had she been able to end something. Instead she would slide by, waiting for it to be done for her. And it had never done her harm up until this point.

It was late at night again, which found her alternately pacing in front of her desk or pausing with her quill hovering just above the paper, the words fully formed but unable to spill from her inky quill.

Writing was the only way to contact him these days; she couldn't bear to lie to his face any more. He always asked the same questions: how was the boy, was she being faithful to him, was she helping the Dark Lord, did she have any news?

And the answers she gave were always either half-truths or flat out lies.

How was the boy?

"Fine, getting along with his school work, living up to his father's expectations." In reality, he was torn up; and retreating further and further inside himself as the days slowly passed her by. She hadn't had a proper conversation with him in months.

Was she faithful?

"Always."Heavens, no. There are many ways to get what you want in this world, and she had fallen into the simplest means of that. And many times, that had been affection. It was something her husband never to this day showed her.

Was she helping the Dark Lord?

"But of course!" Never on her life would she go back to the sad and sorry state she was in when her husband worked for him. She would never allow herself to become like him. There were very few things she was truly resolved to, and that was one.

Did she have any news?

"None at all." In truth, she had plenty of news. She just refused to give it to him. He'd always had other means of getting information when he'd been at home; why didn't that carry on now?

She began to cross the paper with her slanted, flowy script, only to decide the words were too cordial, delivering the message to easily. Words like these shouldn't flow; they shouldn't have uniform columns and perfectly formed letters. At the very least, the script should be shaky, salty splatterings of tears making the letter unreadable in places. Unfortunately, that was more than she could muster for her former 'lover.'

You see, love was never something you could term the time they'd shared; more like a co-manipulation. Somehow, it outlasted many of the marriages of their day, but it also didn't mean much to start with.

For a while, she'd tricked herself into believing their marriage could be 'saved,' their 'spark rekindled.' But after wasting a lot of time and a substantial amount of money, she had realized there was no spark to start with, and thus nothing worth salvaging.

Balling up the parchment and tossing it aside, she started anew. And somehow this time, the words readily supplied themselves.

Husband of Mine,

I wish I could say I love you…. Or that I ever did. Failing that, I suppose I should inform you of my wish for your well-being, but moreover the wish for both me and your son to move past this.

Lucius, we were never friends. We only convinced each other we were lovers, and I really have little to say to you.

Power got the best of you, and almost demolished me in the process. Young Draco, Merlin knows how he is these days; he doesn't talk to me. I don't think he talks to anyone. You were his hero, Lucius. And now he has no one to depend on.

And for that reason, I need to save us both the last fraying shreds of dignity we have, and try to create a life without you.

I could wish you luck, but it's not something I want you to have.

Suffice it to say I hope you survive.

Narcissa

She carefully bent the top to meet the bottom edge, running her thumbnail across the crease to secure it. She folded it over once more.

Satisfied, she stabbed a little hole in one corner, threading it with a piece of yarn, then tying it onto her owl, Syracuse', leg.

She didn't need to inform the owl whom it was for; it knew somehow.

And she watched as it streaked across the sky to deliver the news.

She wished, later on, that she had felt her heart breaking, or some sense of bereavement; it would've meant she hadn't wasted so many years of her life.

Instead, she felt freer than she ever had been before, her breathing came easily. So did her smile. The air surrounding her in the room felt less oppressing, more tangible.

Taking a deep breath, she merely enjoyed the night air. It seemed to be filled with prospects and hope for the future.

Although she was a little late, Narcissa convinced herself it was good she'd found the courage to start at all.

A/N: Long time, no read? Indeed. Hah. Bad rhyme, sorry. It's late, I have places to be, so goodnight, my lovelies. Oh, and I hope to post a chapter of BfAtWW tomorrow…. Wouldn't that be lovely? It would, indeed. But only cuz my more wonderful, taller, older HP twin wants me to. Good night, then. Sooner than the time it took to get this to you, I hope. In the meantime, climb walls. It's fun, and you might learn to trust people….