Author's Note: You guys, I am so sorry it took THIS long to come out with anything new! I only have the usual excuses to blame—work got crazy, I'm in training for a half marathon...basically writing got neglected.

But I've missed this series, and I've had this chapter rolling around in my head for awhile, so I finally buckled down and got it all out on (digital) paper. As a forewarning, this is the last chapter of this story. There is more to come in the companion story, A Revelation of Desire, but as for Narcissa's side of things, they will end here.

Here's the usual disclaimer that I don't own anything except for my own words (and any mistakes; there was a LOT of 3 am writing going on here). And with that, I hope the final chapter was worth the wait—enjoy!

It is warm outside; a pleasant evening touched with a gentle breeze and the lingering scent of lavender that floats upon it. I take a deep breath of it as I sit at the small table on my balcony, inhaling the air until it fills every part of me, closing my eyes against the setting sun beyond the horizon. The colors of the sunset run together behind my closed eyelids until they are just one permeating flash of light the color of a satsuma. It isn't altogether unpleasant, and when I open my eyes again I can finally read with some clarity the Daily Prophet article I've stubbornly ignored all day.

MALFOYS WELCOME NEW ADDITION

When I first saw the headline, I had scoffed at the fact that they had made the front page. I shouldn't have been surprised, perhaps—they had been doing so for months that sometimes felt like decades. My ex-husband was thrilled at it, of that I was certain. He did always enjoy preening before a crowd.

I laugh to myself, thinking on how he can show himself off as much as he wants now, and return to the newspaper.

Lucius and Hermione Malfoy (née Granger) are the proud new parents of a daughter, Lyra Aurelia Malfoy, born at 8:23 am on the 3rd of June.

Such an innocuous date, I think to myself. Of course the Prophet wouldn't mention that it marks to the day when I left my former life forever. Two years to the day, in fact. A part of me thinks that that cannot possibly be right, but I remember it all so clearly.

Silence follows the deafening thunder, their shock at being discovered making them both gape at me, twin horrified expressions on their faces. I cannot help but laugh.

"You don't think I was unaware of this, do you?" I ask. "I would have thought you knew better. It isn't as if you've been subtle about it."

"I-" the girl starts to speak, her voice still hoarse from screaming my husband's name. She apparently decides against that and promptly shuts up.

"How long have you known?" Lucius asks. He's slipped back to that expression of arrogant neutrality he wears so well.

"Oh, ages now. You confirmed it with your little stunt at the Ministry Christmas party."

"I knew someone would see us!" The girl hisses at my husband. She is red-faced and mortified.

Good.

A look passes between them, an entire conversation I cannot understand conveyed without a single word. The girl is first to break eye contact, and she shakes her head.

"I need to leave," she mutters, reaching shakily for her clothes on the floor.

"Hermione-" my husband starts, but she glares at him. I'm almost impressed at how she shuts him up with a single glance.

I don't move, but merely avert my eyes as she hastily dresses herself. When she dashes off, she pauses in her rush past me at the doorway.

"I...I'm sorry." She dares to meet my eyes, brave little Gryffindor that she is. She's crying, and I very nearly feel bad for her. An unfortunate part of me can understand what my husband might see in her. The other, much larger part of me thinks that I would love to hex her with something particularly nasty- but that would achieve nothing useful.

"Get out of my house," I say instead. She listens without a moment's hesitation.

Whenever I think back on it, I always wonder why I stayed as long as I did. That thought always makes me feel foolish, though I know I had my reasons at the time. As it stands, everything seems to have worked out fine.

The highly anticipated birth has been followed by the wizarding world since it was first announced in January. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy divulged the news of the pregnancy mere weeks after their wedding- a private affair attended only by close friends and family- among them Harry Potter, of course, but missing the other third of the famous Golden Trio (and the former Miss Granger's onetime flame), Ronald Weasley.

My eyes drift from the page in bored irritation. I have read and reread the details of my ex-husband's wedding countless times. The Prophet seemed unable to run an issue without at least one mention of it for months. Each day I found myself waking up to a different inane detail, from reports on her dress to speculation on where it might be held- undoubtedly so some lucky reporter might be able to weasel a way in. On especially slow news days the paper would run editorials that often featured wild theories about the couple themselves. I particularly enjoyed one that suggested my ex-husband had concocted a convoluted plot to become the next Dark Lord, beginning his inevitable reign by kidnapping and brainwashing the most famous Muggle-born witch of the era. The absurd complexity of it made me laugh.

With time, though, the ever-professional Prophet settled on merely reporting every minute detail of what they named "the wedding of the age." I counted myself unbearably lucky that I decided to move to my home in France- an ironic sort of wedding gift from my parents that made me wonder if they knew from the beginning that it would end up this way.

Perhaps, on some level, I knew it as well, and I stayed as long as I did in hopes of proving them wrong. It seems better than the dismal reality I remember.

Days pass. I consider the bag in my wardrobe- that was my immediate thought after finding them- but Lucius begged me to stay (as much as Lucius could beg, anyhow) in order to 'sort through everything', and with what I assume is a temporary bout of insanity, I agree to it.

He informs me that he's ended things with the girl. I know it's a lie- not that it's over, he's been upset enough to confirm that- but I know it wasn't his decision. I can only conclude that the girl found herself shocked back into her odd sense of morality and broke it off with him, likely before her boyfriend learned of the affair.

The days that follow that announcement are absolutely miserable. Cold indifference, rather the hallmark of our marriage, transforms into bleak hostility. Lucius refuses to acknowledge anyone except to growl orders at the house elves or snap at my general presence. If I thought he was unbearable when simply unable to see her, it was nothing compared to the torture brought forth by the end of their relationship.

It's easy enough to ignore him for most of the day, at least. I've taken to sleeping in a separate bedroom during the nights, and in the daytime Lucius prefers to shut himself away in his study for hours at a time.

Whenever he emerges from it, the house elves seem to disappear in an instant. I can't entirely blame them; I have no desire to be in Lucius' presence either. Depending on how the rest of the day has gone, he announces himself with anything from a lethargic grunt to an icy rage. After whatever meals we share within the cavernous dining room, we once again retreat to our solitary lives.

I had always held deeply the beliefs of a pureblood marriage, of the traditions it encompassed for a union meant to last a lifetime. But the insanity of it all makes me question my own determination to keep my marriage intact when each day—each hour—pushes me closer to breaking.

I skim the rest of the article with only passive interest, merely to see if there is anything worthy of note.

Mr. Malfoy's only son Draco had no comment to this reporter about the birth of his former classmate's child with his father, but sources say he is happy for it. There remains no word on the opinion of Draco's mother, the first Mrs. Malfoy.

An unattractive snort escapes me, making me glad I am alone. The Prophet has yet to get a word from me on my opinion of anything regarding my former husband's new life, but that is certainly not for lack of trying. They have attempted incessantly to gain any sort of information from me, practically since the moment I left him.

Much like the day I caught the girl and my husband in the manor, it is raining on the otherwise ordinary June morning when Lucius spots my bag in the foyer.

"You're leaving," he says simply, no inflection in his voice.

"I'm going to the house in France. I assume I'll be left alone there."

"You will."

One good thing about Lucius that I could always say was that he always understood what was said. He had always seemed to have an innate capability to grasp the subtleties of conversation, without needing the words. It read like a more socially acceptable form of Legilimency; a useful sort of gift to have. It also makes our parting conversation much easier to bear.

There is no need for me to tell him that I will be getting divorce papers drawn up in France; the tense set of his jaw and steely tick of his eyes tell me that he is already aware of it.

"Well then," I finally say, "I'll be off."

Lucius nods. I don't turn to see if he watches as I apparate away, erasing over two decades' worth of marriage with one simple flick of my wrist.

The article ends on an irritating note:

Our sincerest congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy on the birth of their daughter. We wish the best for their family.

There is no accompanying picture; a small blessing. There had been no pictures of their wedding either (I had heard through friends that press had been strictly forbidden), but a few months before the event the Prophet published engagement photographs of them. It was bad enough to see them across the front page of every paper in the country, matching grins upon their faces as they gazed at one another with sickening sweetness, every so often leaning into one another for a kiss. I have no desire to see their obvious delight with their offspring.

Finally finished with the exhausting read, I realize that I must have been sitting in the same spot for awhile, and that the sunset is nearly complete. The last vestiges of daylight disappear into nothingness as the sun finally slips below the horizon. Just as the darkness settles, I hear a voice from within the house.

"Cissa? Sorry I'm late...are you ready to go?"

I smile, tossing the paper aside, forgetting about it immediately. I have a date that's waiting for me.

The end!

PLEASE don't hate me for leaving it there! I know it's a jerk move to end it like that, but this was always Lucius and Hermione's story, and Narcissa's involvement in it is now complete. There's a very good chance I'm going to write a (probably one-shot) story on her new relationship, so if you're interested in that then stick around! And bear with me, since clearly I'm not always great at posting.

Any thoughts/questions/guesses as to who Narcissa might be dating, leave a review! I love reading them all.