An icy wind blew through my silent room, but I did not feel it. It was January and I had opened the glass-plated window in the hopes of getting a breath of fresh air, thinking then I might find some type of solace. That was hours ago, though time meant nothing to me. Now any feeling I had in my body was gone; whether from the raging blizzard pushing its way inside or the sadness that had consumed me, I did not know. A strange new numbness I had never known before coursed through my veins like a virus, and I had always been the king of staying immune.
It felt odd sitting on the edge of our bed that day, all alone, without her…not being able to move from the thought and not really wanting to anyway. I was simply an object taking up space on the spacious four-poster, not really existing in any plain of reality. And still I sat there, not knowing whether I was alive or dead, but quietly wishing for the latter. Then at least I wouldn't have to deal with the harsh realization of being alone for the rest of my days, without the one I truly cared for, without her by my side in our bed.
My abnormally dry eyes had been fixed open too long and I took the opportunity to blink now that I had seemed to gain some type of consciousness. I had been sitting in this stunned daze for nearly ten hours, I realized as my eyes drifted to the sundial on my snow-covered dresser. I painfully got to my feet and walked stiffly towards the window and slamed it shut against the howling wind, suddenly noticing the purplish color of my fingers for the first time.
The room felt empty and particularly grey as if it knew as well as I did that she would not be returning home, and it seemed to grieve along with me. Somehow my legs took me to the mirror hanging on an adjacent wall, as if wanting me to feel the horrible stab of guilt again. My eyes gazed at the pale faced young man before me, disheveled and beaten, clothed in blood stained robes. The scarlet token…interrupting my perfect platnum hair and dulling its natural shine. Her blood, a piece of her. The man seemed to know what I still tried to refuse.
She had been lying lifeless on the carpeted floor of the entryway, blood still spilling from her blanched and bruised wrists when I returned home from business in the city. I should not have been shocked to see her in that condition, indefinately asleep in her own pool of blood, but I was. The girl had begged me that morning not to go, not outwardly, but her eyes betrayed her pleadings. Yet I payed no attention, she knew who I was before it happened, that tipsy-turvy thing she called a relationship.
The wind and snow had raged all day while I was away, as if fortelling the fatal and desparate act being planned. And then there she was. I apparated to St. Mungo's with her motionless body draped in my arms, blood sticking to her red curls, but no magic could repair the self-inflicted hurt. And so she left me to join the immortal beings that habitate the heavens, watching the foolish men below. Disobeying me for the first and only time by not returning.
She was the epitome of all that was good in my world. But I could not say it. My upbringing had made it impossible for such emotions. One not so special day I tried to tell her, but the words never came out. She smiled at me, beaming at me with her soft emerald eyes and I thought she knew. Maybe if I had said it out loud, she would have had a reason to stay in this mortal world. And then those hungry eyes of earlier that morning, asking for me to stay, to tell her what she so desparetly needed to hear. Her family had turned her away because of the choice she had made, and I never said thank you. I did not understand what her sacrifice meant, and I could not comfort her. And still she stayed with me, until that morning.
My legs began to manichally move to the armoire and the man at the mirror disappeared. Somehow I managed to propell myself towards the shower, clutching the mismatched clothes in my hands, as if afraid to let them go, to lose something else.
"Go home Mr. Malfoy," the Healer at the hospital told me. "You need some time to collect yourself before you and the family begin to make funeral arrangements."
I didn't object at the time, for I did not want to dishonor her memory in front of the witch, but I knew her family would not come. I would be the only one at her grave, for everyone had turned away from her just like they had to me. And so we clung to each other. But it was not enough for her, and now I was alone.
She killed herself because I could not give her more. It was the only thing she asked for, but I was not able to reciprocate her sacrifices. Yet, as the scalding water poured over my gaunt face, I wished I had.