This is based on/inspired by the song 'Read 'Em and Weep' by Meat Loaf.

We started out with a bang and at the top of the world
Now the guns are exhausted and the bullets are blanks
And everything's blank

- Meat Loaf, 'Read 'Em and Weep'

She sat alone in her father's study, quill in hand, staring at the blank sheet of parchment in front of her. She'd been there for hours already, trying to think of what exactly to write to her sister. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions that she knew would forever remain unanswered. She just wanted to make sense of this – to understand how her sister could just throw everything she had ever known away. It didn't seem fair that her sister found it so easy to abandon her.

She wanted to leave her sister with a letter, knowing that she would never have the courage to confront Andromeda in person and give her the fiery speech she so deserved. She had a slight flare for dramatics and wanted Andromeda to know just how deeply she had been hurt.

They'd been so close before all this – at least, Narcissa thought they had been close – and it didn't make sense how Andy could just leave as if... as if it had meant nothing to her and she wouldn't be leaving a gaping hole in her place. And it didn't. Make. Sense.

How could she just throw everything away? Did family mean nothing to her? Narcissa could give her an entire list of reasons to stay; show her what being a Black meant – security; respect; power. How could she not want that?

And she hadn't even stayed around to explain herself; hadn't given Narcissa a chance to tell her good-bye, with just a touch of a sarcastic thanks. She hadn't even waited for the smoke to clear from the tapestry; leaving in the middle of the night for a muggle boy – and the deceit that had gone into hiding that affair, Narcissa would never know the full extent of.

And the parchment was still blank.

If Andromeda were only here then she might be able to know some of the turmoil that she was leaving behind; a distraught mother, an uncaring father, an aunt who just wouldn't stop gloating about her perfect son. But she just couldn't find the words to write it all down – she knew what she wanted to say, but the quill would freeze half-way to the parchment and leave messy ink blots across the otherwise blank page.

But she could see the words in her eyes, reflected in the clear glass of the window – words that she would later try to deny; words like love and loss and loneliness – and in a fit of desperation she couldn't help but wish to see her sister one last time, and...

...she didn't know what would happen then. She didn't know if it would make any difference at all in the grand scheme of things. There would be no well-wishes. There would be no declarations of love. They would still be fighting for opposite sides in this war; if one were to prosper it would be at the expense of the other.

Staring at her reflection in the black glass, she watched with a strange sort of detachment as her features blurred and distorted; her lips moving slightly with softly whispered words that weren't intended for anyone to hear but needed to be said regardless, trying to build a cry up to a scream.

They had let the past slip away, and she desperately wanted to put the future on hold – to have one final night with her family still whole – but the present was nothing but a hollowed out dream. She'd been dying for house trying to fill up the holes with some sense.

She wanted to know why her sister faded and threw it away; she wanted to be able to give her all the reasons – tell her what everything meant – and maybe – just maybe – it would be enough to change her mind.

But no. That would never happen.

It felt like she was alone in the house – alone in the world – and the rooms were all empty and the candles were dark. Her parchment a mess of ink swirls and drying patterns and creases from where she had been folding down the corners, but still. No. Words.

And the tears finally spilled over, ruining the parchment further, but remaining unnoticed as she continued to stare blankly at her reflection. Pale and unmoving, unblinking; dark shadows under her eyes and hair a tangled mess framing her face telling of many sleepless nights.

Her hand clenched into a fist, snapping the delicate quill in half and leaving a small pin-prick of blood in its wake. And suddenly, she was moving. Dropping the quill to the wooden floor; crumpling her sheet of parchment and throwing the torn remains into the fire; shoving the contents of her father's desk onto the floor and ignoring the ink pooling at her feet and staining her expensive shoes.

Her tears fell harder, running angry and silent and deep, and she cried. She cried for her sisters and her mother and her father and herself.

She cried for all the hours they would be spending alone.

She cried for all the dreams they would ignore.

She cried for all the promises that they had promised to keep, but wouldn't be kept anymore.

She cried for the magic that they had discovered together.

She cried for the blood that they had lost.

She cried for the secrets that they had somehow betrayed.

She cried for the memories still alive in the house.

She cried for all the lies they had believed.

And most importantly; she cried for all the things that could never be said.

She braced herself against the desk; looking up through her lashes at the room reflected in the window, startling at the shadowed figure standing in the doorway.

"You know you shouldn't be in here."