All the bridges that you burn come back one day to haunt you. One day you'll find you're walking lonely. Baby, I never meant to hurt you. Sometimes the best intentions still don't make things right….All my ghosts they find me; like my past they think they own me. In dreams and dark corners, they surround me till I cry, I cry…You can walk away, run alone, spend all your time thinking about the way things used to be. If love feels right, you work it out; you don't give it up…

Tracy Chapman

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Draco caressed the cold, stone wall with the palm of his hand; allowing himself to feel the texture of the notches placed there. Each line roughly carved into the stone represented the end of a month, every twelve months compounded into a year, eventually forming eighteen years' worth of markings bred into the unforgiving wall.

Once more, he picked up a small, jagged rock and pressed it with calloused and dirty hands into the wall; for what he prayed would be the last time. It dragged down to form an uneven line, a scratched marking that would suffice nevertheless to serve its purpose. Clamoring down onto the floor, causing a resounding echo through the walls over his dingy entombed room, Draco waited.

Looking down at his worn hands, he imagined what he must look like. There were no mirrors in Azkaban, so it had been eighteen years since he'd last seen his own face. The sorrowful, and empty expressions of his fellow prisoners were all he'd had to keep him company during the duration of his sentence; along with the hollow, bottomless, cruel, abyss under the hood of the dementors.

It seemed plausible to assume that he must look like a fusion between father, Lucius, and his Aunt Bellatrix after she had tipped the brink of insanity. He could feel that his hair had grown out past his shoulders, like his Father, except that instead of being pristine and refined it was dirty and knotted like Bella's twisted and mad curls.

He didn't need to look at a mirror to know that his eyes were sullen and clouded after being surrounded by misery all of this time. His body was thin and frail, his skin greyed and worn. The only part of him that had remained undestroyed was his spirit, although it had certainly taken its share of torment and that had definitely taken a toll on him.

Closing his eyes tightly, he shut himself out of the small room he was confined in by entering the corner of his mind that still recognized the light and envisioned her face. The last moment he saw her, she was sad and yet she still radiated beauty. It had been almost two decades, but he could still swim through the depths of her deep brown eyes within the confines of his thoughts, still remember the warmth of her touch, the soft feel of her hair, still recollect the resounding vibration of her soulful voice, and still remember every detail of her illuminating smile if he tried hard enough.

He knew that she no longer loved him after what he had done, but he was indifferent to the fact. It didn't matter what she felt towards him because it was his love for her that had sustained him through of all of these years. He owed her everything. Without that force to hold onto he would have lost it years ago. He had watched countless wither away, go insane, and even die from the effects of Azkaban. Knowing there were worse fates to suffer than loving a woman who must hate you, he felt fortunate; blessed even.

Often, he wondered what she was doing with her life now. Did she marry? Who was her husband? Had she become a mother? What did her children look like? Was she healthy? Had she healed from her sorrows? Was she happy like he hoped she was?

At first, his memories of her had only served to torment him and remind him of all he had lost. Eventually, he came to appreciate the power love had to break through the darkness that consumed him and those thoughts became his savior.

"Malfoy!" The guarded barked at him from the other side of his cell. Draco's eyes snapped open and he was abruptly pulled away from the oasis of his mind.

"Get up," ordered the guard.

Shakily, Draco managed to use the wall to support his weightlessness and stood up in the center of his cell, as was protocol.

The guarded took out his wand, waved the cell door opened and walked towards him. He picked up the lock that was attached to his shackles and inserted his wand into the keyhole, causing them to dissipate and vanish.

"Follow me, your collector is here," instructed the guard.

"Collector?" Draco's voice broke as he spoke. He had little need to talk during his time here and had almost forgotten the sound of his own voice.

The guard ignored his confusion and proceeded to walk out of the cell. Glancing at the line filled one final time, Draco said a mental goodbye to his prison. On unstable footing, he then did his best to keep up with the guard who was walking several paces ahead of him.

It was on rare occasions that he left his cell in that past eighteen years; he was fed there, bathed there, and slept there. Four times a year they put all of the prisoners into a room together while they cleaned the cells and re-assigned prisoners if they suspected they were trying to communicate with each other. Relationships formed the risk of having an uprising, or escape attempt. Not only was interaction between prisoners discouraged, but it could be punished. Never had he spoken to another prisoner, it wasn't worth the risk. The only cause he'd had to speak was to briefly respond to the guards who had rarely acknowledged his existence before now. Being a compliant prisoner was the only thing that kept you alive and away from the dementors.

The guard stopped at a large bolted door and proceeded to undo the locks. It took quite a bit of time before it swung open leading them into a long hall. The light emitted from the hallway blared at him and burned his eyes; he wasn't used to it anymore, his cell had always been consumed with darkness.

At the end of the hall, they approached another large door with significantly less security than the one they had just passed through. The guard stopped and turned around.

"Alright Malfoy, when we get into the next room you will be surrendered over to your collector. Your probation officer should be in touch with you soon after you leave here to inform you of your restrictions and requirements of your release. You're not a free man yet, but you don't have to say here any longer."

It didn't seem real. He had hallucinated about leaving this place before. He wasn't going to believe this was happening yet; he needed to go back to his room, feel the markings in the wall and recount them. They were the only real, tangible thing he owned. The only foundation he could rely on to show him the truth of his reality.

The guard reached into his jacket and pulled out a parchment along with a short quill. His release papers.

"Sign here," he ordered, pointing to a line at the bottom of the document.

With quivering hands, Draco managed to place his signature on the designated line. The guard rolled it up and began to open to door.

The next room was even brighter than the hallway and burned his eyes. There were two couches lined up against the wall for those waiting for prisoners to be released, and there was a window that allowed in actual sunlight; real light. It was the first thing Draco picked up on. It was difficult to remember what sunlight looked like before that moment.

Perhaps this wasreal? Perhaps it was safe for him to believe in this moment after all?

Then he heard the voice that convinced him he must be dreaming after all.

"Merlin's beard Draco…is that really you?"

Draco looked up towards the voice that had acknowledge him…said his name. He hadn't heard his own name since the day of his sentencing.

Looking up at the speaker, he waited for his eyes to focus through the haze of the sunlight, and refused to believe what they were showing him.

There she was; an angel in the midst of hell. The only person in existence who had to power to restore his broken soul.

He was looking at her like it was absolutely impossible for her to exist. She thought, for a moment, that maybe he had lost his mind during his sentence, and no longer knew who she was.

"Draco, it's me…Hermione Granger. I'm your collector."

The confirmation of her name shattered his doubt and his soul stirred with a feeling of hope.

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A/N: That's the end of Bridges! Omg, Wow! It doesn't seem real to me…This story is only partially through though! Now we move onto the sequel: Picking Up the Pieces, where I will begin cleaning up this gigantic mess Draco and Hermione made so that Dramione can live on! (Yes, this is where all the romance and the good stuff will happen) I like a little tragedy before my romance. Mix a little sour with the sweet and you get some damn good lemonade (if you know what I mean *wink wink*) Man, my dorkiness has reached a new level…

Thank you so much to every single one of you for reading, and an even bigger thank you to all who took the time to review! I adore you! You power my writer's engine!

Also, in honor of the completion of Bridges I am offering a little Writer's Challenge for all you aspiring authors who may be interested in participating:

Bridges Dramione Writer's Challenge:

Music is a powerful thing. This entire story was inspired by the song Bridges by Tracy Chapman.

At the beginning of each chapter in Bridges are lyric excerpts, along with the Artist who wrote/performed them. I used those songs to inspire the chapter they headed. If you search any of these lyrics (along with the artist) you will easily find the full song that they came from.

Write a one-shot Dramione based on the one of the songs used in Bridges.

Post a review to the final chapter of Bridges (or private message me) and let me know the title of your one-shot, which song(s) you used as inspiration, and I will read and review it. I will give a shout out to my favorites (which will be all of them) in one of the A/N sections of Picking Up the Pieces. I

This is a great opportunity for writers to get some extra exposure and feedback, and a fun way for me to pass the time (and expose you to my awesome taste in music). Never written a fanfiction before? Doesn't matter! Give it a shot and remember to have fun with it!

I'll see you at the sequel! Thank You!

Jazzy 1