Fic: Losing the Anchor (Ron/Draco, PG-13)
Title: Losing the Anchor
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/substance abuse, addiction, character death
Characters/Pairing: Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy
Summary: "Better lose the anchor than the whole ship." (Dutch proverb)
But what if you're convinced if it is really only the anchor you have lost, your ship still intact? What if you think your ship is safe when it isn't?
Word Count: ~ 2800
Author's Notes:
Written for rd_challenge, assigned genre angst,
prompt: "I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile.
How you try to fit in but you can't.
How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside."
- Girl Interrupted
Thank you to my beta ceirdwenfc for helping me out with this badly behaved story. Thank you also to my beloved thrihyrne who rose up to the challenge of helping me out yet again. This story wouldn't be what it is if it hadn't been for your input!
Losing the Anchor
"Do you have to do this?"
"What?"
"You've been drinking every single night this week!" Of course, always the same story ...
"Hermione, I had a hard day at work today --"
"And that means that you have to drink?"
"No. I don't have to, but I can. What's so wrong about having a beer when a long day's done? Merlin, get a grip! It's only an after work beer. Give it a rest."
"If it was an after work beer every now and then, that'd be one thing. It's every single night, Ron! I'm worried about you."
"Don't. Okay, love? I might have had a bit much this week, you're right. I'll be better next week, promise."
Ron had lost count of how often they had had this conversation. A new week was a new week, and resolutions all too easily forgotten.
~~*~~
The one thing Draco hated more than anything and the one thing he feared above all else was the loss of control.
His life after the war made that fear his constant companion. It might have been his father, and the way he'd just given up, so unlike a Malfoy; so unlike what he had taught Draco. Seeing his father slowly waste away made Draco doubt the outcome of the war on more than one occasion. Voldemort had been completely insane, there was no denying that, but Draco wished he could have done something differently. If only he could have done more and saved his father.
Lucius Malfoy refused to speak to his family. He barked out orders to the house-elves, but there was no word for his wife or son, neither of approval nor of disdain,. Draco knew his father to be stern. He didn't allow himself or anyone else any lenience, but to receive not one word, not a single one after they'd moved back to the Manor was just … Draco tried to ignore the fact that his father's silence made him feel increasingly helpless and - curse it all! - it made him feel sad. He'd felt helpless before; sixth year had been pretty bad in that regard. He had feared for his family, but this sadness, so profound it seemed to stem from his very core, was new. There was no mission for him to immerse himself so that he could take his mind off it.
Instead, Draco hid behind his anger. He had done so much for his damned family while his father was in Azkaban. He'd been given a task in his father's stead, a task that was bound to fail from the very beginning. And yet, for his family he had pushed through. He hadn't given up. And now this? Now when they should be rebuilding their family name in a changed world, now that his father was back to take a load off Draco's shoulders, Lucius Malfoy hid in his study. It was easy to concentrate on the anger, and whenever Draco felt particularly vulnerable, he stomped into the study and yelled at a stony-faced Lucius. He never got a reaction. Once the anger was gone, there was nothing left to hold back the sadness. Afterwards, when he had yelled himself hoarse, he lay in bed, hugging his arms around himself. Unlike before, when Lucius had been in Azkaban, Draco was unable to convince himself that his father really was proud of him, proud of what he did for the family.
With Lucius Malfoy indisposed, it was now up to Draco to uphold the Malfoy tradition -- their name and status - against the odds of a society that was trying to be anything but what it had been before. Draco tried his best, and then some. Despite all his efforts, his father remained silent. He died within a year, having slowly wasted away in front of the fireplace, surrounded by the luxuries that no longer reflected the power and influence of his pureblood name.
Not that Draco cared any longer when it finally happened. He didn't cry when his mother told him. He merely turned around and let a drop of golden liquid slip onto his tongue from the small vial that accompanied him everywhere. He smiled at his mother and said, "There's a meeting I need to attend. I have a feeling that my negotiations with the Bulgarians will finally bear fruit."
~~*~~
In the end, it was apparent to everyone around him that Draco had lost control. His mother took him to St Mungo's, ignoring his protestations that everything was fine.
Looking around the room where the group was gathered, Draco felt marginally better. There were a few familiar faces from Slytherin house. He wasn't the only one who'd had trouble adjusting in the new wizarding world. Knowing that his housemates would keep a secret, especially if they themselves had one that needed keeping, Draco felt himself relax.
All at once, he caught sight of red hair. A Weasley? What difficulties could the new world possibly present for a Weasley of all people? They were bound to feel right at home amongst the blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers! Draco was intrigued.
~~*~~
Draco smirked as Ron stuttered through his introduction, looking down at his hands, his face a nice shade of magenta. At least his fellow Slytherins had style. He himself had kept his speech short and sweet. It was one thing to admit to himself that he was struggling - not that he ever would - and quite another to share this with a group of people he didn't know or trust. It was only a matter of time until he got this issue under control again. He was only doing this to get his mother to quit harping at him.
~~*~~
Ron almost backed out of the room again when he saw what looked like a Slytherin house reunion. He would have if he hadn't seen the Hufflepuff whom he remembered to have been in sixth or seventh year when he started at Hogwarts. Ron took a deep breath and entered.
He was nervous. His urge to leave and just return to his flat grew more insistent by the minute. Why did he even bother? It wasn't as if anyone cared about him any more. Ron hadn't seen his family in months. Hermione had left. He was alone and well and truly fucked. He hated being alone. He got stuck in vicious circles of equally vicious thoughts. There was only one way these days to break out of these thoughts - beer, Firewhiskey, potions, just anything that made him forget - but there had to be another way. There just had to be!
When it was Ron's turn to introduce himself, and tell the rest of the group why he was here, he started to say something he'd voiced in his head something short of a thousand times, only to falter mid-sentence. He made it through to the end, and it actually felt good simply to voice it all for once. He looked up and saw understanding in the faces around him. Not sympathy, not pity, not annoyance at his weakness - understanding. Ron looked around and his lips perked up into a tiny smile of hope, meeting some smiles in return and unexpectedly even a small nod from Draco.
~~*~~
They were introduced to a tight and very inflexible schedule. Most of his fellow patients - inmates, Draco thought - seemed to accept this readily. Draco didn't like the fact that others told him what to do, where to be at a certain time, how to behave. It was humiliating.
Draco let his gaze wander as the people around him busied themselves with completing a list of persons they planned to apologise to once their stay at St Mungo's was over. Draco wasn't going to apologise to anyone. If anything, people should apologise to him!
He found that the only other person not writing was Ron Weasley. He'd assumed that of all those present, Ron would have an unending list of people he wanted to tell he was sorry. His family alone would easily fill two pages. But then, maybe Weasley was too stubborn to admit he'd been wrong. Draco wouldn't put that past him.
He decided that rather than staring, he might as well go over and talk to him. He might get a rise out of him, and that was always definitely worth it.
"Weasley?"
"What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing. Really? Lucky you. I want my life back."
That his confession so easily left Ron's lips surprised Draco, who was surprised to find that he admired Ron for the bluntness with which he was able to state such an enormous, and utterly personal, fact. He also found Ron's openness, especially since they weren't even acquaintances, let alone friends, vaguely distasteful. Overall, he was too stumped by Weasley's behaviour to even think of mocking him and answered with equal honesty.
"I think I can relate to that. Actually, when I think about it, I might be better off with a new life all together, because this one sucks."
They looked at each other, with Ron looking away first. He fidgeted with his hands and said in a restrained voice, "Hermione quoted something to me when … well, she said something like, 'We don't get to choose what sort of life we get, but we get to choose what to do with it.'"
Draco snorted as he made a sweeping gesture around the room. "Looks like quite a few people make pretty bad choices."
"It does, doesn't it? I told her back then that I didn't find that quote particularly comforting." He looked back up and smiled ruefully.
~~*~~
They had been told to think about their lives after St Mungo's and now met to exchange ideas and discuss plans.
"And what about you, Ronald?" the Healer asked. Most of the group had already indicated that they'd be moving back in with their families and loved ones, or - and this concerned mainly the purebloods among them - were moving into their own place, with an option to attend regular meetings at St Mungo's.
Ron blushed. He couldn't return to his family - he just couldn't. Hermione was out of question as well. He'd lost his flat when he couldn't afford to pay for it any longer. The thought of having to move into one of the facilities run by the hospital gave him the creeps just thinking about it.
"Um, I - I. Well, you see-"
"He'll share my flat with me." Draco spoke up firmly and clearly.
Ron's head shot up. "But-" He realised the Healer was watching their exchange with interest. "I mean, yeah. I am. I am moving in with Mal- with Draco."
~~*~~
Ron wasn't alone any longer. He still missed his family as well as Harry and Hermione, but at least now he had Draco. Part of him realised that creating his own world with just him and Draco - a world where he felt good and safe and oddly enough, because this was Draco Malfoy, his childhood enemy, worthy - wasn't the solution of his problems, but what did that really matter when it made him feel all right?
It did most of the time anyway. Draco had managed to return to a resemblance of his old life, which meant he was away most days, meeting important people and doing important things. Ron was left behind with lots of time and little to do. He started to collect newspaper clippings of all Cannons games, ordering old copies from the Prophet's archive to complete his collection. Quidditch, especially the Cannons, made him think of his childhood, of his family - his brothers - the twins - Fred. Draco returning home in the evenings was like a light at the end of the dark tunnel of his memories. Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept him going.
~~*~~
Draco didn't like Weasley all that much. He was okay to have around, yes, but mainly it was easier to forget about his problems, to pretend he was doing okay, despite what other people like his mother had to say, when he had someone with him who understood him. Just one drop wouldn't hurt, would it? No, it had been a hard day, and really it was only a drop for each of them and they had been abstinent for the last couple of days. Really, they were doing well.
Of course, they never stopped at just one drop.
~~*~~
The fireplace at Grimmauld Place flared to life and Ron's very dishevelled head appeared in the green flames.
"Harry! Harry, come quick! Oh Merlin …" Ron ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Oh fuck, what have I done?"
"What's the matter?" Harry looked up, surprised to see Ron who had been absent from his life for the better part of the year.
"It's him, I don't know how much he took. Hell, I'm totally shit-faced myself. Help me, Harry!"
"I'm coming through. Step back, Ron." That simple statement calmed Ron more than it should have, considering that Draco was still out cold on the couch, not moving. Ron wasn't even sure if he was breathing. But Harry was on his way. Everything would be fine. Harry was on his way. Ron sobbed with relief.
The next thing he knew he was flat on his back, winded and his head hurt where he'd hit it on the coffee table. He blinked a couple of times. Then he saw Draco on the couch and he wasn't breathing! "Shit!" He jumped up and stumbled towards the couch, only to be held back and turned around. Harry looked intently at him.
"Ron! Calm down! What happened? What did you guys take?"
Ron merely pointed towards the couch and continued to mutter, "Oh Merlin, fuck, what did I do? Shit, shit, shit …" Somewhere beyond the haze of vagueness of what he'd done that day, Ron felt a pang of guilt that Harry so acceptingly agreed to help when he had every right to be disgusted by Ron's renewed failure to stay clean.
"Malfoy?" Harry approached the lifeless figure and knelt down beside Draco.
"Please, Harry," Ron staggered slightly and grabbed the mantle for better balance, "just do something. Please ..."
Ron sank down beside the fireplace, resting his elbows on his knees. He fisted his hair, pulling hard just to feel something other than the helplessness.
~~*~~
When Draco woke, he looked up into Ron's face. Distantly he heard Ron's relieved, "Oh, thank Merlin, you're awake!" Draco didn't remember what had happened, but it was like the countless times before: the pain, the craving, the guilt, the thrill, the elation, the nothing. This wasn't ever going to stop; he was caught in a vicious circle. He didn't just lose control time and again - he had never reclaimed it in the first place. Draco closed his eyes, all his weariness of life crushing down on him. How was he supposed to go on like this?
~~*~~
Ron sat anxiously by Draco's side, repeating his mantra of, "Please wake up, please wake up, oh god, please wake up!" over and over again in his head. He stared at Draco's face, waiting for the tiniest sign that he had regained consciousness, that he was all right. His arm twitched as Ron restrained himself from reaching towards Draco's pale, thin hand lying motionless on the quilt.
After a while - minutes? hours? days? - Draco moaned a quiet "Wha -?" and Ron felt his heart leap to his throat. It was as if he'd suddenly come alive again. He jumped up from his chair and bent over Draco, brushing back his fringe. "Oh, thank Merlin, you're awake!" There was hope left after all.
~~*~~
They stood beside a freshly dug grave. Ron stared at the headstone in complete disbelief. Everything had been going so well, hadn't it? Maybe they'd been an odd pair, but they'd been good for each other, hadn't they?
Ron felt someone grip his shoulder. He felt a slight tug and looked up into his father's face. "Come on, son," he said. "Let's go home."
Ron let himself be steered toward the gates by his father. Before they left the graveyard, Ron turned around, trying to make out Draco's headstone, but it was now indistinguishable from the rest. His father's arm around his shoulder both comforting and unrelenting.