A Bridge Over Troubled Water

by

Shaneey

Chapter One

I'’m not sure what to say…

August 28, 1994

Though this may have surprised many of his Gryffindor classmates, death had never been a part of Draco Malfoy’s life.

In fact, Draco Malfoy had never truly known anyone who had died. Both his paternal and maternal grandparents had passed away before his birth. There were no cherished great uncles or great aunts or great cousins that could have died of old age. (In fact, there were no uncles or aunts or cousins that weren’t either disowned or serving a life sentence in Azkaban.) He had no opportunity to get close or care for anyone who had died. No one had ever contracted a life-threatening illness or injury in his presence. Never.

Except for Narcissa Malfoy.

As Draco sat by his mother’s bed, he couldn’t help but notice the sallow color of his mother’s already pale skin. Nor could Draco ignore the emaciated hand that grasped his.

When Draco had been told of his mother’s illness, it hadn’t registered immediately.

She had looked fine at the Quidditch World Cup, perhaps a tad thinner than normal, but now, a short week before Draco began his fourth year at Hogwarts, the blonde could no longer deny the existence of this illness, nor could he ignore the certainty of his mother’s passing.

Passing. He hated the euphemism, but it hurt to think “dying” in reference to his mother.

He had spent hours next to her, watching her struggle to sleep; watching her struggle to eat; watching her struggle to speak. As the hours had passed, he had become almost desensitized, drone like, until the thought hit him, and he truly understood what his father had meant when he said his mother was ill, that it was unlikely she would recover. Until now it had only been words, words he knew but didn‘t quite understand. Now it felt like he was drowning in the knowledge.

His mother was dying.

Draco felt his throat tighten, and his vision started to blur, but he wouldn’t cry in front of his mother. She had taught him that a true pureblood never showed distress of any kind for any reason, but no matter how hard he tried the feeling wouldn’t go away. He almost felt ashamed, guilty even. His mother had fought so long against this disease, and he couldn’t even stop tears.

Draco gently removed his hand form his mother’s weak grip, and walked out of her bedroom.

He might not be strong, but he wouldn’t shame his mother by crying in front of her.

August 30, 1994

“

Young Master, yous mother is wishing to see you, sir, “the house elf had said earlier that afternoon.

It was evening now and Draco found himself watching his mother sleep yet again.

He gazed at her, still shocked to his very core.

Her words had left speechless, shaken, and completely stunned.

Even as her speech had rambled and her voice had trembled, the message was just as earth-shattering, maybe even more so than if it had been delivered in his mother’s usual clear, concise manner of speech.

She didn’t want him to follow in his father’s footsteps, that she had made clear.

She didn’t want Draco to support what his father had always referred to as a “Glorious Vision”, the Dark Lord’s vision.

She had whispered to him of what Draco’s father had said to her when he assumed she was sleeping. His mark was growing darker, and neither his father nor she could see any other reason for this than the Dark Lord’s approaching return. How, she knew not, but Narcissa Malfoy was almost certain of its inevitability.

She wanted to be sure that Draco would stay safe, and, as she had told Draco over and over again in their short conversation, The Dark Lord’s service was not safe. He would only leave it broken and jaded if he left it at all.