Author's Note: First let me thank everyone who had reviewed, alerted, or put this story on their favorites it means a lot to me. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Do I really need to say that I don't own them? I'm just playing with someone else's toys and do return them in the same shape I have found them (well that may not always be the case).

He opened the journal to the last entry, he started to read….

~~^~~Journal Entry~~^~~

I've spent the last week rereading what I have wrote in these pages, since the news came that tomorrow they were going to allow any couple that married under the marriage law to divorce if that is what they choose. I have no doubt that the moment midnight comes he will be giving me papers to sign to dissolve our marriage, which I will sign so that maybe he can be happy.

As I read over the passages covering the first year of our marriage I am saddened by how naive I was. That first year was me doing all the adjusting and changing to appease him, to keep from being yelled at for some small infraction; breathing too loudly, hair in the bathroom, among countless other things that I did that annoyed him. The day after my birthday that year I was so alone that I stopped by my parents house to pick up the otter my mum got me when I explained a patronus and told her what mine was. I miss her terribly, she never missed my birthday. The same night I brought it with me I packed it away though he didn't say a word about it the total look of disgust on his face that I had a small stuffed animal on what was supposed to be my bed made me hide it in my trunk.

I wasn't allowed in his bedroom or in the basement, I was hardly allowed in any other room or when I entered a room he would leave it. I had had visions of shared meals and evenings, for being so bright I was so stupid. The day that really stabbed me was our anniversary, he left before I woke that morning and didn't return until the next day. I'm sure he had spent the day or at least the night with his preferred whore.

The next year evened out some, I became accustomed to what he expected from me. I stayed out of his way most of the time, but we still had to meet the sexual requirement of the marriage law, which I tried to enjoy myself in. I did learn in the year to keep my mouth shut if I liked something he did to me, if I said anything about enjoyment he never would touch me or do what he had done again. It was too bad that it took about seven different things that I enjoyed to figure that out. I know I must have seemed like an ice queen, I ended up just lying there not giving any indication if I liked anything or not.

By the third year I had mistakenly thought that he had become accustomed to me in the very least, that was until I found out I was pregnant then miscarried. I had never thought before in my life that I would miss something so much that I never even really had in the first place. I had been delighted when I found out that I was carrying his child, I had thought that he would surly appreciate the baby I would give him. When I told him that I was pregnant he looked so relived I can only assume that it was because he wouldn't have to lower himself to come to my bed any longer at least for a while. When I first noticed I didn't feel right I didn't say anything for several days, I didn't want to be a bother to him. The night I loss the baby I was standing at the sink after I had ate supper, the pain that hit me was so sharp that I doubled over and screamed. I barley remembered him coming into the kitchen and picking me up off the floor, he carried me to the floo taking me to St. Mungo's. After they told me what happen I couldn't help but cry, I tried not to. I had learned to not show weakness to him, I had asked him to stay with me that night. I needed him and I had thought that he would be sympathetic since it was his child, but he had some excuse as to where he had to be.

In the months that followed I was convinced it was my fault, something I did wrong so I read everything I could get my hands on about conceiving. It wouldn't happen the next time if I could do anything to stop it.

I noticed after that he stayed home more, he would watch me though I pretended not to notice. I convinced myself it was him showing that he cared for me. Of course I found out later that he was told to keep an eye on me for signs of depression, soon as he didn't see any I was ignored again. There were no more suppers together, no evenings spent reading.

The sad thing that hit me in that time was that I knew I loved him, his faults, his bristling sarcastic tongue and all. All I wanted was to save him, give him the life he deserved to live after all he had sacrificed for everyone. I know that makes me sound like a martyr, I am not I just didn't believe that he deserved to be locked up in Azkaban for less crimes than others paid their way out of. What I felt wasn't the bright flash of a young love that would only end the first time something else came along, but a feeling deep in my soul that I couldn't deny any longer. It was the kind that made it hard to breathe when you thought about not ever being with that person again, I didn't even care how he treated me anymore.

After two more miscarriages they said that it was all my fault that I couldn't carry a baby, it had something to do with the Cruciatus curse, honestly I didn't pay attention after the healer said that he would petition for us to not be bound to the copulation required by the law. It was the only other time I asked anything of him, I asked him to stay with me. The bastard huffed out an almost laugh before saying 'I don't think so'. I knew that he would always blame me for what I could not give to him, he would hate me for not being able to bear a child. I curled into myself that night, knowing that when the time came, when the whispered rumors about divorcing would be allowed I would give him up to find what he needed as I had no delusions any longer that it was me.

The day Harry asked me about loving him it amazed me that I was able to keep from crying when I said that I did love him but I would leave with my shattered heart when the day came. I didn't tell Harry about not being able to breathe when I even thought about it.

Now I sit here writing this I am finding hard to catch my breath, soon I will be giving up my whole world. Soon I will have to leave this room that has been my sanctuary and prison for the last five years, sign my name to a paper that I want nothing to do with then walk out of this house for the last time and learn to breathe again with the crushing weight on my chest that I know is my broken heart.

~~^~~End Journal Entry~~^~~

Severus reread the pages many times before he closed the book, his hand automatically went to the chain he wore. He had jaded her, he knew that fact as well as he knew that the same was done to him. When he got around to asking about her feelings it was too late for her. He set the book aside and the glass he had in his hand. Standing he went to the opposite wall, looking at his refection in the mirror that hung there he finally said,

"You know the feeling all too well don't you? To have your heart shattered and stomped on. You made her feel the same way, only worse." He drew back his fist punching the mirror, the glass shattering around his hand embedding small shards into his fist. He laid his head against the wall next to the mirror as he only concentrated on the pain in his hand.

Author's Note: Comments really do make me smile and brighten my day. Also I wanted to let you know that I have a couple of Severus/Hermione videos on youtube, the link is in my profile.