Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Sixty-Four: Forever

Violet

A week dragged by. Make it eight.

Those eight weeks stretched into eight months.

The sun never broke through the clouds and the weight in my chest never lessened; time had no meaning anymore.

I slept with his note under my pillow and re-read it countless times before I fell asleep, memorising it.

My efforts to shift back to his reality so far had been in vain. Each time I'd open my eyes hoping to be back in that church. Or at my old dormitory at Hogwarts. Or on the sofa at the Hall, warm, safe, content-- but to no such luck: I was still trapped inside the hospital, where I would probably now stay until I was old and grey and eventually - dead. If I hadn't been so emotionally numb and empty after all those months, I might've even shed a tear or two at the fact.

It's a simple life I now lead: I stare at blank walls all day and I think, I eat, I sleep, I think some more, I breathe (sort of) and I mindlessly drift through each identical day not feeling entirely attached to my body. Like my mind is floating in some void elsewhere, as though perhaps there's an alternate version of Violet Lockwood out there somewhere, universes away, twirling about in some cold, blue bathroom... And I'm happy for her. Truly, I am.

One grey morning, in God knows what month, I sat on my hospital bed staring out of the barred window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass one by one and absently fiddling with my emerald ankle bracelet.

I was busy admiring the jewels and playing over the heavy-hearted memories that came attached to them when Erika burst back into the room.

I was always escorted to and from the dining room by a nurse, as I wasn't permitted to walk alone. They thought me dangerous -- a wild, untamed animal. Erika on the other hand, was allowed to wander the ward as freely and as aimlessly as a ghost.

I glanced up, my expression never reverting from its deadpanned state. She was holding a rolled up newspaper in her hands.

She waved the paper and strode purposefully towards me; the recognisable, knowing glint in her eye made my interest spike. Erika and I had gotten to know each other at a deeper level these past two months; I had told her in harsh detail about my grey past, and she hers.

Erika was in the hospital for numerous reasons; manic depression being the greatest influence. I was confused, because in all these months I'd spent in her company I had witnessed no trace of abnormality; she didn't seem sick at all.

It made me wonder if my sense of normality for the real world was slipping. What if Erika only appeared normal because I'd forgotten what 'normal' actually looked like? The thought was unsettling.

She slammed the paper down on my bed with triumph. It was open to a page near the back, the print too small to make out clearly. She jabbed a yellow painted fingernail on one bold heading. "Mason Brocklehurst. That's the name of your old, pervy step-brother, no?"

The heading was bold and felt like slap to the face: MURDER CASE OF SCHOOLBOY MASON BROCKLEHURST CLOSED AFTER FINALE COURT HEARING.

My wide eyes drank in the short report with piercing disbelief.

The murder of seventeen-year-old Mason Brocklehurst has been deemed a cold case after the court hearing last Tuesday. Spokesman Tim Perlman gave this statement at the crown court after the trial: "The family of this young boy are devastated by their tragic loss. To lose their child at such a prime time of their youth has brought such turmoil and grief. The house party the Brocklehurst's children hosted on New Year's Eve in which the tragedy took place has provided little evidence for the case, despite countless interviews with guests, DNA testing and autopsy reports." Spokeswoman E.J Adaline had this to say: "The murder is a mystery. The body was found severely strangled, and although the murder weapon was not found at the scene and has still yet to be found, officials have confirmed either a rope or tie was used. A camera was also found alongside the body, but all efforts to restore the photographs inside have been futile."