Intervention

IslandPrincess1

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 28/09/2006
Last Updated: 28/09/2006
Status: completed

Draco attempts suicide, and is saved in the nick of time by a certain someone. A study in dark humour, please forgive me.

Chapters

1. --

1. --

A/N: Hi there, second Drinny fic and for some reason, this feels more like another drabble than a complete story. On the other hand, this is the result of only having an opening line and being interrupted by a friend to go home in the midst of inspiration. (Don't worry though my friend, I forgive you… I think.)

Anyhoo, this is an attempt at dark humour, dealing with suicide, and well… I blaming the interruption for the madness at the end. I don't think it went the way it was supposed to at all and no amount of fixing seems to work.

Disclaimer: *shuffling through papers, finds one* Ah yes, here it is, according to this here letter from Ms Rowling's lawyers “All HP Characters, Creatures, etc., are the property of one Ms JK Rowling. All crappy plots belong to fans.” So yeah, story is mine, everything else is hers.

*****

Intervention

*****

Oh bugger… it didn't work.

That was the first thought that came to Draco as he lay on the dry, grassy riverbed looking up at the old bridge. Of course, given previous attempts, he should not have been surprised that this latest one didn't exactly come to fruition. It was beginning to look more and more as if it was damned near impossible to kill a wizard, and in particular by Muggle means.

Oh well, on to the next plan: poison.

Exhaling heavily then, he took one last glare up at the rusted, ancient overpass and tried to roll over to sit up. But that quickly proved more difficult than he thought it would be. He must have hit the ground with more force than it looked.

Bugger, he was hoping to die not get injured. Getting injured implied recuperation, and in this instance, by force. Recuperation meant being cared for and fussed over by his now rather clingy mother and her horde of house elves at the manor until he got well. Getting well, meant that he would be fit as a fiddle, ready to go out into the world proudly flaunting the Malfoy name… and having to start this whole suicide-thing all over again.

Sod that, if at first you don't succeed, try and try again.

With a grunt, much swearing and the last of his disposable strength he rolled unto his side and used his wand to push himself upright.

At once all injuries made themselves painfully known.

His head was spinning, his ribs were sore—possibly (hopefully) broken—and everything from the waist down felt as if it had been run over by a Bludger. If he attempted Apparation in this condition he was sure that: one, it would hurt more, and two, he would most certainly be splinched. Being splinched though, despite the gruesome mental images that it conjured, was a relatively bloodless and (unfortunately) apparently non-fatal affair. He would have to go the long way back up to the bridge.

Damn it, where the hell was a broom when you needed one?

Oh, that's right; he had left his to get run over by the train to make his suicide look like a horrible accident. That ought to teach him about over-planning.

Ignoring the pain as best he could then, Draco forced himself to stand and after a moment more to shake off and assess the damage, (and verifying, much to his chagrin, that he really was still alive) staggered back up the riverbank to the railway bridge. With luck, and judging by how tortuous this movement proved to be, suicide attempt number two would do the trick. Just his luck though, that when he finally stood at the top of it he noticed two things: one, it was an unnecessarily cheery evening, complete with rose blush sunset and warm, perfumed air, and two, someone else was coming along.

Who they were or why they happened to decide that this was the day they would go wandering out in the middle of nowhere was beyond him. He didn't really care either, as long as they quickly left. He was none too keen on feigning well-being and casual afternoon sunset-watching for as long as they lingered. He had his death to get to.

But the sight of the person sent all thoughts of suicide (for the first time in a long time, more specifically the end of the Second War where the “great and victorious” Harry Potter won it for them) racing from his head. Of all people to be wandering this path of railway was none other than Ginny Weasley, the youngest of Potter's blood-traitor and hopelessly impoverished adopted family. He actually stopped, slightly slack-jawed (and in this case not entirely of shock) to look at her. And then he speedily regained some semblance of sanity and composure to taunt, “Well, well, well, if it isn't the Weaselette.”

The “Weaselette” looked sharply up in his direction and then paused herself. A moment later she scoffed and said, “What do you want, Malfoy, shouldn't you be home hiding under your bed?”

At once he glared at her and retaliated, “Shouldn't you be off somewhere trying to bonk Potter? Or hasn't he tired of that Mudblood yet?”

Her features warped into one of deepest hate, her brown eyes as fierce as a wild cat's and her flaming red hair becoming a lion's mane. She drew her wand, he flinched and she smiled, and angry as she was, it looked completely malignant.

“That's my friend you're talking about,” she said through clenched teeth. Noticeably though, there was a faltering in her posture at the word “friend”.

He did not fail to notice it… and the possible avenue for a quick death he had been waiting for. Shaking off the beginnings of fatigue that were now seeping into him from the pain, he drawled, smirking, “Some kind of friend, she barely waited for your back to be turned before sticking the knife. Of course given his track record, I'm not surprised Potter didn't drop you sooner. I hear the smart ones are always the naughtiest.”

In that moment she looked so furious he thought she would scream, and her hand was trembling uncontrollably where she gripped her wand. Good, it was working; now all he had to do was keep it coming.

“And he doesn't have to worry about paying for her family either, the Dark Lord made sure and took care of them for him didn't he?” he continued, sneering now.

But he must have slipped up, for Ginny did not respond. As a matter of fact she just shut her eyes, took a calming breath and then replied coolly, “You're pathetic Malfoy, you always were and you always will be.”

Disappointed, he tried again, but surprised himself by admitting, “I never pretended otherwise.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he hastily amended, “I never pretended to be something I'm not, what you interpreted is all on you. You, on the other hand, if Potter had told you to beg at his feet you would have jumped at the chance.”

She was angry again in an instant; Draco braced himself for the attack… and once again was to be disappointed. For while he was bracing himself, ready for her worst, his body finally remembered its injuries and he collapsed into a heap where he stood. He would know no more for hours.

Ginny, on the other hand, forgot all her anger the minute his legs gave and was at his side and rolling him over to her before his body had even settled unto the earth. He did not respond, and noting this, she quickly ran her wand over him, letting the Healer in her take over. Clearly he was very badly hurt, and though she would hate herself for doing it, she would hate herself even more if she left him lying there like that. He could die.

With a sigh then, she drew her wand, cast “Mobilicorpus!” and Side-Along Disapparated them away.

***

Bloody hell, what do you have to do to die in peace around here?

It was the only thought that came to Draco when he opened his eyes to find himself swathed in the soft, but clinically white sheets and robes of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Yet again, he was still alive, and yet again, he did not have to look far for the reason. She was currently curled up in a chair beside his bed, her long red hair tumbling down her shoulders and back, her gentle, even breathing a hypnotic lullaby willing him to rest again.

He hoped she knew that when she awoke he was not going to be grateful, explaining or happy.

As if on cue, she woke up then. He had just plopped back unto his pillow cursing Merlin when she opened her eyes and looked across to him. From her position, with arms wrapped round her knees and her head resting on the caps, she watched him unnoticed, and wondered. Wondered at what could have brought Draco Malfoy to a bridge in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday afternoon.

It appeared that he had fallen from the bridge, or at least that was the official conclusion the other Healers had come up with after examining him. That was what would be in the report to his mother, the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, and his official records. But from her memory something about that didn't ring true. She remembered Malfoy from Hogwarts and the way he used to play up every injury for sympathy, but here he hadn't done that. As a matter of fact when she had met him at the tracks he had been standing up and making all attempts to keep his injuries unknown.

And the only reason she could think of as to why this was the case was absolutely preposterous, he would never do something like that.

Watching him curse though, it began to look more and more credible, and especially when he said, “I wonder where they keep the dangerous potions… maybe I can chat one of the Mediwitches into giving me a pint of arsenic….”

“What?” Ginny exclaimed, sitting up sharply.

He blithely turned towards her, “Oh, you're still here… well, might as well—where do you all keep your potions? I don't think they've given me enough.”

Ginny studied cautiously, “Are you feeling any pain?”

“Yes, my heart's still beating,” he replied.

Shocked, but not entirely sure he was really serious, she replied, “We don't practice euthanasia here, but if you would like, I can direct you to a kennel.”

“Very funny, Weasley… now where are those potions again?” he asked.

She folded her arms and glared at him, “Weren't you listening, we-don't-practice-euthanasia, if you want to die go jump off a bridge.”

“I tried that this afternoon, you were there I recall, note that I'm still breathing,” he replied.

This time she was so shocked that she stared at him for a full minute with her mouth opened slightly. Draco returned her gaze, but realising that she was not going to do anything else, threw aside the covers to be on his way. Of course, that was when he noticed his bandaged legs.

If he was going to go anywhere any time soon he would require assistance.

Sighing resignedly, he turned back to her and said, “Say Weasley, would you mind doing me a favour and wheeling me out of here, I can't get to the stores myself.”

It was then that she recovered though, and asked worriedly, “Malfoy, are you alright?”

He couldn't believe his ears; did he look “alright”?

“No thanks to you—and magic—I'm as fit as a fiddle,” he told her, his voice filled with contempt.

“Were you… you were going to kill yourself…” she said, eyes widening in what he guessed was horror. What, was it so hard to believe that Draco Malfoy wanted to do himself in?

He rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed again, accepting defeat. But then she was up out of her chair and at his side and asking, “Why? You're free, you've been pardoned, and last I heard you were living off your inheritance… why were you trying to kill yourself? What reason do you have for trying to kill yourself?”

He refused to answer, but then she sat on his bed and, tightly gripping his chin, turned his face to her. He made no attempt to stop her but would not look her in the eyes until she said, “Malfoy, why were you trying to kill yourself? Tell me or so-help-me-Merlin I will do all in my power to make sure you live a long and healthy life.”

He sighed again and relented, “Do you know what it's like to live everyday with the world hating you? Everywhere you go, no matter how much money you have, your name is mud? People you once considered friends turning their backs on you, slamming their doors in your face, not even bothering to invite you to a party that your family instituted for respectable pureblood families centuries before half of them even existed? No, I guess you don't, but if you did you would know why I want to die.”

Ginny tried very hard not to, but she couldn't help it, she laughed. Draco sharply snapped his gaze to her and found her head thrown back, tears beginning to pool at the corners of her lashes, mouth wide as the happy (though somewhat forced) sound poured out. If she really thought about it this was not exactly the way to respond after someone poured their heart out to you and in particular someone suicidal, but somehow Draco's reason for suicide was so ridiculous it was laughable.

Draco, by contrast, was seething. He didn't have to tell her a thing, she made him tell her, and then she just laughed in his face? He always knew she was a no-good blood traitor.

“It's not funny Weasley!” he snapped.

She stopped immediately, but only to say in her most (he felt) patronising tone, “I'm sorry, it isn't. But Malfoy, there are far better reasons to kill yourself, remember you're still free, pardoned and filthy rich. So what if no one likes you? Not everyone in the world ever will like you, and that never stopped you being a spoiled bastard before.”

“You don't understand! I have no one, no one outside Mother to talk to. Every single damned day, it's just her and the house elves, and if I feel like variety, an owl or two, but that's it. What kind of life is that Weasley? How would you feel if you lived like that?” he demanded.

She actually paused to consider it and then replied, “I have to admit that is bad, but it could be worse. You could be in Azkaban… or gotten Kissed, you're alive and free and don't have to listen to them if you don't want to. As a matter of fact, if your father was still alive I'm pretty sure you would not.”

He refused to acknowledge her logic.

“Are you going to help me die or not?” he asked.

She exhaled slowly, and then replied, “Since you asked… I'm going to help you live Malfoy, whether you like it or not. If no one else is going to talk to you, then I will.”

Draco sighed, since the day he had met Potter and his friends he knew they were nothing but trouble.

And then suddenly there was the sound of voices in the corridor, and the one he heard clearest set his teeth on edge.

“Do you know who I am? Get out of my way! My son is in there!”

His mother had come.

Ginny flew off of his bed at once, and snatching up her cloak from the chair, said, “I'll be back later, don't you dare die until then.”

Looking to the door she was about to head to, he could only reply, “I won't have the chance.”

She stopped and looked back and smiled, a bright, happy and slightly mischievous smile, and then disappeared through the door. Draco was left staring at the door though, in complete surprise. What was that and where had it come from? He had only seen her use that smile on Potter? What on earth…?

And suddenly, for the second time that day but possibly the first time in his life, he completely forgot his suicide plans and could not wait for “later”.

Fin.

*****

A/N: Yeah, that's it, next time my friend, you will freeze.

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