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"Where's my son?!"
Lucius Malfoy came storming into the Hogwarts hospital wing; grey eyes wild, lips dry, strands of pale blonde hair coming undone from his otherwise perfect ponytail. In his right hand he was clenching his serpent cane.
The always calm and collected matron of the school, Madam Pomfrey, was waiting for him by the door. She didn’t seem fazed by his threatening demeanour, no doubt having seen it before and knowing all too well that it came from a place of worry.
“Mr. Malfoy, come in.” She spoke in a mild voice. “They brought him in a half an hour ago, he lost a lot of blood on the way over.”
Lucius’ eyes widened at her words and his heart hammered in his chest when he asked the grey-haired woman: “Is he alive?”
“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey stated. A sigh of relief escaped Lucius’ lips. For a second he was reassured, thinking that everything would be okay. “But,” Madam Pomfrey continued, “the spell was very strong and cut his chest deep.”
Lucius’ heart sank. That wasn’t what she was supposed to say. She was supposed to say that Draco had been roughed up, but that he was stable. She was supposed to say that despite him having been hurt badly, he was now resting after receiving treatment. She was supposed to say that all he needed was time to get back on his feet. She was not supposed to say but.
“Can I see him, please?” Lucius asked as composed as he was able to, although he was raging on the inside.
Still trying to keep the situation calm without giving him any false hope, Madam Pomfrey spoke again. “I’m doing everything I can but his wounds were already infected when he arrived.”
Lucius didn't have the patience to talk to the matron anymore. All he wanted was to see his son. He pushed past her through the door and into the large infirmary. It was empty but for one bed at the end by the large cathedral windows, where a pale blonde young man was lying on his back with his eyes closed. When Lucius first glanced at his son's face, it didn't seem like anything was wrong. It simply looked as if he was sleeping, quite peacefully even. But then Lucius' eyes travelled downward towards Draco's torso. His shirt had been removed for treatment and his chest was covered with compresses and bandages in a futile attempt at stopping the bleeding from whatever spell had hit him. They were already soaked through with crimson liquid.
Lucius was not easily knocked off his perch, but seeing his son in this state, made him feel lost. It was an emotion he wasn’t used to at all. He wasn’t a helpless sort of man. There was always something he could do: a palm he could grease or someone he could threaten. There had never been a situation he wasn’t able to control. Until now. It was so unfamiliar to him that for a good minute he simply stood in the middle of the large room staring at his injured son, his arms weighing heavily by his side. Then apathy lost its grip on him and he came to himself, hurrying over to his son, calling his name as he went.
“Draco!”
At those words, Draco's eyes fluttered opened. "Father," he sighed, looking relieved at seeing him.
Lucius sat down on the bed next to him, focusing on his son’s face and trying to ignore the bloodied bandages on his chest. He gave Draco as confident a smile as he managed to produce. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to worry more than necessary because his father could not keep it together.
"I did exactly as you said, father," Draco spoke, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't and now had to explain himself. "I held my head up high."
There was a large lump in Lucius' throat and he had to swallow hard before he could open his mouth and speak. "I know, I know," he replied in a hushed voice. "I know you did everything just right."
"Even before we started dueling, I was aiming to his right," Draco continued, his voice a little raspy.
"I know, I know." Lucius tried not to let the anguish show on his face, but he wasn't doing a good job at it. It was curious, he thought to himself, how the frosty appearance he had become so proficient at presenting to the world, melted away so easily at the sight of his son in this powerless state.
Like an echo, Draco repeated himself: "I was aiming to his right."
"I know," Lucius said, a little louder this time. He was thinking maybe Draco couldn't hear him properly, and he didn't want him to waste his energy repeating something that didn't even matter in the first place.
"Save your strength and stay alive," Lucius begged his son. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Draco listened, closing his heavy lids. Lucius dared to look at his son’s chest then. Quietly, he watched as the boy’s mangled frame rose and fell with every fragile breath he took.
At that moment, the door to the hospital wing slammed open. Lucius jumped a little. The sound was so sudden and loud in the otherwise silent room. He turned to see Narcissa, his wife, standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened in fear and her face covered with a pained expression.
"Narcissa!" he called out to her.
Narcissa's eyes met Lucius', before they moved on to Draco in the hospital bed. When she saw him covered in the bloodied bandages, she clasped her hand over her mouth. Her already pale skin turned even whiter.
"Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?" she cried out to her husband and rushed towards him and Draco.
Lucius didn’t answer her. He didn’t know what to say. His words weren’t able to reach this moment.
When Narcissa reached the hospital bed, Lucius stood up and let her have his place. She immediately sat down next to Draco, took his weak hand in hers and squeezed it. Then, to Lucius’ great surprise, she turned back to him, fire in her eyes and accusation in her voice.
"Who did this? Lucius, did you know?"
Draco's eyes opened again. Unable to speak with a full voice, he whispered: "Mother, I’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me."
Narcissa immediately turned back to Draco. She looked at him, studying every inch of his face. Her one and only child. The joy of her life. Perhaps the only thing she had ever done right in this world. He had grown up to become such a handsome and smart young man. How she had been blessed with him, was beyond her ability to comprehend. Desperately trying to hold back her tears, all she could say was: "My son."
"We played piano," Draco recalled and a shade of a smile crossed his lips.
Narcissa smiled sadly back at him as memories of his childhood flooded over her. Draco next to her on the piano stool in the living room, struggling to find the rights keys for the melody.
"I taught you piano."
"You would put your hands on mine," Draco continued. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he tried his best.
Whenever he got frustrated with learning music, Narcissa would patiently put her own slim fingers on top of his stubby ones and guide him to the right piano keys. Sometimes he would pretend to get fed up so they could play together like that, and even though Narcissa knew she shouldn’t give in to him, she always did.
Narcissa lifted one of those hands up to Draco's face now and softly brushed some of his hair away from his forehead. She could feel his cold sweat against her fingertips. "You changed the melody every time."
A small laugh that sounded more like a cough, escaped Draco's lips. "I would always change the line."
Narcissa shushed him. "I know, I know..."
"I would always change the line," he repeated.
Then, ever so softly, Narcissa started singing: "Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf."
It was a simple musical scale that she had used to trick Draco into learning French when they played piano together. Few knew that he was not only an excellent pianist but also had a lovely singing voice. It was too bad that he only shared that talent with his parents in the comfort of their home.
"Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf," Draco harmonised back at her, although it was barely audible.
Narcissa cupped his cheek with her hand. "Good," she praised him, barely able to hold back her tears now. She continued singing the scale: "Un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf."
Draco began harmonising back at her again. "Un-deux-trois..." he started, but then fell silent. The hand that Narcissa had been holding in hers suddenly went from weak to limp, and his head heavily lulled over to one side.
Narcissa froze and her eyes widened as she stared at her son. "Sept-huit-neuf!" she loudly spoke more than sang, while grabbing at Draco’s face with both hands, in hopes that he would hear her and continue to sing. If only he would continue to sing!
"Sept-huit..." she sang again, her voice cracking while tears started streaming down her face.
But Draco wasn't going to harmonise back at her. He wasn't going to sing. From this point on, his voice was silent. At this realisation, Narcissa let out an agonizing scream that rang throughout the hospital wing, before she collapsed over her son. She held onto him as tightly as she possibly could with both arms and wailed in sorrow.
Behind her, Lucius had been standing rigid and silent the whole time his wife had been comforting Draco in his last moments. Observing the two of them interact had felt like standing on the outside looking in. Watching them like that, he was, for a moment, able to push away the unimaginable. But when Narcissa let out that scream, he was ripped back into reality - into a world where things that should never happen, had just happened.
He looked at his wife who was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably on top of Draco's body, and he could feel her pain in the core of his bones. He never knew that torment like this existed, let alone that he would ever experience it. And the worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. He had failed at protecting his family - the only job he was ever good at. For the first time in his life he felt completely and utterly helpless. Never had he been in this deep, and for a moment he wondered if perhaps it would be easier to just swim down.
Silently, Lucius’ feet traced the steps from where he was standing and over to the hospital bed. He quietly sat down behind Narcissa, and ever so gently, he reached out for her and put his hand on her shoulder. Then he leaned over her and wrapped his arms around both her and their son.