Title: The Seeker's Keeper
Characters/Pairings: Ron/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings (highlight to view): Mentions of torture
Wordcount: ~ 4200 words
Summary: When the series of Chudley Cannons' injuries culminates with a death, Ron Weasley is charged with finding out what's going on.
Author's Notes: Originally written in 2009.

When one was a social pariah, one cultivated coping mechanisms. When one was an ex-Death Eater in a post-Voldemort Britain, one developed them quickly. Shockingly, Draco Malfoy's method was to keep his head down and his mouth shut. The practice had served him well over the past seven years. So, one could scarcely blame him for his current predicament. He was in no way responsible for the wand pointed at his bare chest like there was a bull's-eye painted on it. He honestly hadn't done anything to cause someone to steal his wand and bind his hands. And he certainly hadn't said anything incendiary enough to warrant the Silencing Charm he was under. Draco Malfoy had mastered his more annoying, attention-grabbing tendencies a long time ago and he had not brought this rather humiliating dilemma on himself.

No, if anyone was to blame for the fact that he was cold, wet, aching, and lying on a filthy locker room floor, it was Ron Weasley.

And, if he got out of this situation intact, Draco had every intention of letting him know that.

"I really hate to do this," his assailant assured him, his eyes filled with seemingly genuine regret. "I'd had very high hopes for your future with us."

Draco could only quirk an eyebrow at this. He'd always thought he was just tolerated. Now he was confused in addition to miserable and afraid.

"Unfortunately, I worry that you know too much and, well, precautions must be taken and all that. Still, it's my hope that our relationship can survive this…minor violation."

Had Draco been capable of sound, he'd have scoffed at the sentiment. Minor violation? Accidentally knocking into someone was a minor violation. This was a full-fledged infraction.

"However, I fully intend to Obliviate you afterwards, so I believe this will all work out for the best." The man knelt before Draco. There was a burgeoning mania in his assailant's eyes that Draco hadn't seen since his seventh year. It was the intoxication of absolute power and that was not good. Fear pooled in Draco's stomach and he tried to scramble away to no avail. Draco just managed to erect his mental shields when he felt the tip of a wand touch his forehead. "Now, let's see what you know."

Seven days prior…

It had been a trying week for the Chudley Cannons. First, their Keeper, Gaynor Few, had come out on the bad end of an encounter with a Venomous Tentacula. Then came the news that his recovery would not be of the speedy variety. Due to a lack of spare Keepers, new owner Avery Rosin turned to the Department of Magical Games and Sports for advice. Much to his shock, the Cannons' Ministry representative, Ron Weasley, was appointed as a substitute Keeper until such time as a proper replacement could be found.

This peculiar turn of events was followed by the tragic news of Seeker Galvin Gudgeon's death by drowning in his own tub. The preliminary investigation of the scene of death turned up a wine bottle spiked with a Sleeping Draught. In a matter of hours, Gudgeon's death went from an accident to a murder and the suspects were quickly pared down to one Draco Malfoy, second-tier Seeker for the Cannons reserve team. Malfoy's subsequent arrest was front page news as was his nearly immediate release from Auror custody due to lack of concrete evidence and his controversial appointment as the Cannons' new official Seeker.

All of this was plenty to be getting on with, but, alas, when it rained for the Cannons, it poured.

Nine days prior…

"You want me to do what, sir?" Ron Weasley asked, certain that he had not heard his superior properly.

Richard Cavendish, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, met Ron's incredulous gaze with a steady one of his own and said, "There is something rotten going on with the Cannons, Weasley, and I want you to go in and ferret out the source."

"But…I'm not a spy, sir." Ron couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. His unsuitability for spying had been painfully pointed out to him some three, four years previous when he'd flunked out of the specially truncated Auror program that had been designed for Harry, himself, and few of the Seventh years that had joined the Aurors after the Battle of Hogwarts. He couldn't think of a single more embarrassing event in his life. That he was being asked to do the very thing he'd been told he was rubbish at was galling.

"I'm not asking you to spy, Weasley. I'm asking you to investigate." Cavendish sighed and scrubbed his hand wearily over his face. "Three major players, four now counting Few, injured in less than two years, all towards the end of their contracts. All with injuries so severe they can't play for months. All replaced by superior reserve players. It's too convenient to be coincidence. We can't afford to ignore the obvious any longer, especially not now that Gudgeon's death has drawn the Aurors' attention."

"They'll know what I'm up to, sir," Ron protested.

"You are their Ministry liaison, Weasley," Cavendish said before Ron could continue. "It is your job to work in the team's best interest. If that means stepping in as Keeper in the pre-season while making sure that there's nothing untoward going on in the club, then so be it.

"Now get out of here and prepare for your first day of practice. Report to me at least every three days."

"Yes, sir."

Three days prior…

Were Draco Malfoy the type to cry in the shower, he'd have been curled up in a ball sobbing. Every inch of his body ached. He couldn't remember ever being so filthy in his life. Rarely had he felt so utterly reviled and helpless. Still, he forced himself to lift his sore arms and rinse the conditioner from his hair.

"Is practice always like that for you?"

Draco snatched up his wand and pointed it in the direction of the unexpected voice even as he wiped the water from his eyes. When he could see, he saw Weasley leaning casually against the entrance to the showers staring at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. His grip tightened on his wand and he forced himself to stand up straight. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of Weasley. "What do you want?"

Weasley shrugged but didn't move from his spot in the entryway. "Just checking on you, is all. That was a rough practice."

"Look, we both know that you don't give a damn about me, so just say whatever you're here to say so I can finish my shower in peace."

Frowning, Weasley took a couple of steps into the room. Draco reached behind him and turned off the water, his eyes never moving from his unwanted companion.

They stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity. Draco wished he'd get to the bloody point already. Finally, Weasley broke the silence. "You're shaking."

"I'm cold, wet and naked," Draco retorted. "What do you expect?"

"You also waited until everyone else had gone before showering." Weasley edged a bit closer. Draco's knuckles turned white from holding his wand so tight. "According to Dorkins, that's always been the case with you, which is odd because I can't think of anyone more committed to their personal hygiene than you."

"Your point, Weasley." Dear Merlin, why wouldn't he just go away?

"You're afraid of your teammates."

"I'm not afraid of anyone."

"Then why are you pointing your wand at me?"

"Because I don't trust you." Weasley was just out of arm's reach now. Draco didn't know how much longer he could stand his ground. Merlin, but he was tired. "What do you want from me, Weasley?"

"I want you to put the wand down," Weasley answered, sounding, for all the world, like he was trying to talk down an agitated hippogriff. "I want you to realize I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Until recently, my last memory of you involved you punching me in the face."

Slowly, Weasley raised his hand. If he thought Draco was just going to surrender his wand, he was out of his mind. Draco opened his mouth to say just that when his knees gave. Weasley caught him, somehow managing to cradle Draco on his lap while pointing his wand in the opposite direction.

"The current theory," Weasley began as he silently Summoned a towel, "is that you killed Gudgeon so that you could be the first team's Seeker." Weasley wrapped the towel around Draco's waist. "Somehow that doesn't seem too likely."

Draco was going to pass out. He could feel it coming. Before he succumbed to the inevitable, he turned to Weasley. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Still three days prior…

Draco awoke in a cooling bath. His body no longer ached. He was clean. Most important, however, was that, despite not recognizing his surroundings, he felt he wasn't in imminent danger.

He eased out of the tub, dried off and put on the clothes that had been left for him. He was surprised to find that they were his clothes and that his wand was at the bottom of the pile. After briefly considering Apparating to his flat, Draco opened the bathroom door and stepped into the room beyond.

Ron Weasley stared at him from his perch on his sofa's arm and the scene in the shower room came back to Draco. "Where are we?"

"My flat."

"What did you do to me?"

"Put pain-relieving salts in your bathwater and gave you a painkilling potion." Ron tipped his head toward his kitchen. "I left some food for you. It's just takeaway pizza, but it's good."

Draco glanced at the pizza box on the counter and frowned. "You don't like me." He returned his gaze to Ron and stepped further into the room. "In fact, you hate me."

"I'll admit there was a time when I would have loved nothing more than seeing you taken down a peg or eight."

"So you're being nice because you want something. What do you want from me?"

"Eat first and I'll tell you."

Draco arched a questioning brow.

"It's not poisoned or anything." When Draco didn't move, Ron said, "I'm not going to hurt you, Malfoy. I'd just have to fill out a bunch of paperwork and I have enough already."

Without taking his gaze off Weasley, Draco walked to the kitchen and took a slice of lukewarm pizza out of the box. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed then threw Weasley a challenging look. "I'm eating."

"Something's not right in the club."

"So?"

"I need to find out what that is."

"And you want me to help you?"

"Why not?"

"Because I have to work with these people."

"Why is that?"

"What?"

"Why do you have to work there? I never thought you'd go the professional Quidditch route."

Draco glared at Ron as he started on his second slice. "Why do you think, Weasley? No one else would hire me."

"Ah." They lapsed into a tense silence. Finally, Ron said, "Help me and I'll help you."

"How?"

"There has to be someone somewhere who's willing to hire you."

"There's not."

"What do you want to do?"

"Something out of the public eye—research, maybe."

"I'll see what I can do."

"I'll hold my breath."

"Whoever's targeting the team could just as easily target you."

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"You said the theory is that I killed Gudgeon to take his position."

"Yes."

"That makes the motive ambition, but it assumes it's someone trying to move up in the team."

"So?"

"Gudgeon's death is just like the other players' accidents. Had he been doing anything else, he'd have probably suffered some severe injury that couldn't be linked to anything specific. He'd be out of the way for someone more talented to take his place. The motive is still ambition but the culprit isn't someone trying to make the main team."

"It's someone trying to improve the team," Ron interrupted. "That makes sense. The team has been doing better the last few years. It's no longer assumed that they'll be at the bottom of the League. You've been thinking about this."

"Of course, I have, Weasley. I'd be stupid not to. A simple risk assessment explains who's in danger and who'll be promoted. Even though I was just the second-tier reserve Seeker, I was promoted because I'm the best Seeker in the club. You were accepted as Keeper because all of the other Keepers in the club are actually worse than Few. Despite having worse nerves than a first year, you had moments of brilliance when you played for Gryffindor, so you'll do in a pinch."

"Careful, Malfoy. There was a compliment buried in there."

Draco rolled his eyes as he left the kitchen and sat in Weasley's threadbare armchair. "I'd be happy to insult you if that'll make you feel better."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley replied easily. "So, if someone's trying to develop the team's talent, then I should be looking at the management, not the players."

"That makes Rosin and Dorkins the two most likely culprits. Only the owner and the manager have any real team-building ability."

"Dorkins doesn't seem the type. He's so…"

"Hapless?"

"Affable. But Rosin has only been owner for fifteen months. The accidents started before he took over from his father."

"He still had access to the players. Besides, he's a Ravenclaw."

"Meaning?"

"He's smart enough to figure out how to get away with it."

"So how do we prove it?"

Draco shrugged. "I clarified the problem. It's up to you to find the solution."

Two days prior…

Ron had floundered for a solution until he looked at Rosin's N.E.W.T. scores. Rosin had done well in all of his classes, but he'd excelled at Potions and Charms. Much like Malfoy. Gudgeon's death and the other accidents—acute Tentacula poisoning; hiccupping so severe, it took months to cure; a Chaser somehow becoming convinced that he was a famous W.A.D.A.-trained actor, a Beater's sudden phobia of flying objects—sounded like the result of elaborate pranks gone wrong. Something else Malfoy was known for.

For the hundredth time, Ron doubted the wisdom of agreeing with Malfoy's deduction. The man had already been arrested for the crime once and, if he had done it, the best thing he could do was deflect suspicion onto someone else. Then he remembered how the rest of the team practically slaughtered Malfoy during practices. He was sure the Beaters intentionally hit the Bludgers at him. Since half of the Cannons consisted of former reserve teamers, the very people Malfoy spent most of his career playing with, Ron couldn't believe that the brutality was a new development. Malfoy would have to be insane to want to put himself in his current situation and Malfoy seemed too subdued to take on his teammates.

Purposefully putting Malfoy out of his mind, Ron gathered the N.E.W.T. scores, the team scores and the financial reports from the last two years and took it all to Harry.

"You really think Rosin's responsible for the Gudgeon murder?" Harry asked incredulously. "And the incidents with the other players? All to get better players?"

"Just look into it for me, yeah?"

"I thought Cavendish didn't want the Aurors involved? Doesn't he want the DMGS to handle it internally?"

"Yes, which is why I'm asking you to do this as my friend. If you find something and you think I'm in danger then you can act like an Auror."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine."

The hot water beating down on Draco strung the open cuts and bruises crisscrossing his torso. He clenched his teeth and methodically washed. After ten minutes of concerted effort, he slumped against the shower wall and gave his weak limbs a break before starting on his hair. Two minutes later, he decided that his hair could wait until he got home. Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his wand and headed for his locker.

"You're here late," a voice said as Draco opened his locker. Avery Rosin leaned against the end of the locker bank, eyes trained unwaveringly on Draco.

Draco leaned against his locker and stared back, wand held firmly against his thigh. "I'm not one for communal showers."

"Ah." Rosin sat on the end of the bench running down the aisle. "I hear you've been visiting some mutual friends."

"Do you know Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, too?" Draco asked innocently.

"I mean," Rosin said, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes stretching his mouth, "our athletic friends. How is Mr. Jenkins?"

"Oh, he's preparing for a revival of 'Alas, I Have Transfigured My Feet.'"

"I see. I didn't realize you two were so close."

"I've called on him occasionally. Do you mind if we have this conversation some other time, preferably when I'm dry and dressed?"

"Come now, we're all friends."

"Yes," Draco said, "but I find my toilette to be a very private thing. I'd even go so far as to use the word intimate."

"Of course. Forgive me," Rosin said, standing. He paused at the end of the row before turning back. "Did you know that my grandfather won the Cannons after winning a chess game? No one remembers how the stakes got so high, but he won and the Cannons passed into our possession. Alas, Grandfather didn't have the first clue what to do with a sports team. Neither did Father. The Cannons have deteriorated into the laughingstock of the League and our family with it."

He should have seen it coming. He had seen it coming, but Draco had barely lifted his wand before it was sailing across the room into Rosin's hand. Rosin bound his hands and Silenced him in quick succession. The force of the spells knocked Draco off-balance and he crashed to the floor.

"Ah, Malfoy," Rosin sighed. "I've had my eye on you for some time now. I remember watching you play at Hogwarts. You were very impressive as long as you weren't playing against Gryffindor. The Gryffindors did have a way of getting to you. Still, you have the makings of a great Seeker. If only you hadn't decided to play detective with Weasley. That can't be overlooked. I have plans you see.

"I really hate to do this. I'd had very high hopes for your future with us."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at this. He didn't know what was more astonishing—that Rosin had been aware of him since school or that he wasn't merely a tolerated evil to boost the team's standing. Not that it mattered at the moment. This little episode was bound to end badly for him.

"Unfortunately, I worry that you know too much and, well, precautions must be taken and all that. Still, it's my hope that our relationship can survive this… minor violation. However, I fully intend to Obliviate you afterwards, so I believe this will all work out for the best."

Rosin knelt before Draco. Fear unlike anything he'd felt since the war pooled in Draco's stomach and he tried to scramble away. Draco just managed to erect his mental shields when he felt the tip of a wand touch his forehead. "Now, let's see what you know."

Draco hid in his memories of The Occupation. The depth and variety of the horrors Voldemort visited on his family that last year skipped through his mind like a cruel picture show. The image of himself sicking up in a corner after his aunt forced him to Cruciate Luna Lovegood was fading into something worse when Rosin was suddenly out of his mind.

Blinking his gaze into focus, he looked up to find Weasley standing over him attempting to immobilize Rosin. Summoning all of his strength, Draco scooted under the bench. Minutes later, a nasty-looking hex forced Weasley to duck to the floor.

Weasley rolled under the bench and reversed the spells on Draco, his ears pricked for the sound of Rosin's footsteps. "I'm going to get you out of this."

Draco didn't bother responding.

After listening for a few seconds, Weasley slid out from beneath the bench, motioning for Draco to follow. They were halfway to the exit when Rosin said, "Surely, you didn't think it was over."

Suddenly, the door to the locker room flew open and chaos exploded around them. When the noise and hexes died down, Draco opened his eyes to find Potter stared down at him, incredulity in his eyes. Draco couldn't blame him. Weasley lay on top of him, protecting him from stray curses.

"Er, Ron," Potter said. "It's over. We got him."

Weasley blinked up at his friend then pushed off of Draco. "Are you hurt?" he asked as he helped Draco to his feet.

Draco took a quick self-assessment. The whole ordeal had added more scrapes and bruises but, all in all, he was fine physically. He was more concerned by the mental assault. He'd work on packing those particular memories away later. "I'm as well as can be expected."

"We're going to need you to come down to Headquarters," Potter said before Weasley could respond.

"I figured." Draco headed toward his locker, uncomfortably aware of his now filthy towel then turned back. "Have you seen my wand?"

An Auror he didn't know handed Draco his wand. He thanked the man before continue toward his locker. He'd almost reached it when Potter called his name. He glanced at Potter over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Erm…" Potter paused and glanced uncomfortably at Weasley. Weasley arched his eyebrow and tilted his head toward Draco. Sighing, Potter looked at Draco and gave him a pained grimace. "I'm sorry I arrested you last week."

Had this been any other time, Draco might have made some snarky remark. Fortunately, it had been a very long, very painful day and it just wasn't worth it. He nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to his locker. "I'll see you at Headquarters."

It had been almost a week since Rosin's arrest and the media was still having a field day with the story. Ron was no longer temporary Keeper and, though there was more work in his inbox than usual, his life was returning to normal. Well, mostly normal. He couldn't get Malfoy out of his head. He hadn't spent much time with him, but Cannon Malfoy didn't mesh with the memories he had of School Malfoy. Ron found he wanted to get to know the man who'd helped him figure out what was going on with the team.

Armed with a bottle of Firewhiskey, Ron Apparated to the address Ragmar Dorkins had given him and, after a brief battle of nerves, knocked.

Two minutes later, Malfoy stood in his doorway stared at Ron in obvious confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"We had a deal," Ron said with a shrug. "I'm making good on it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me in and I'll tell you."

With a look that clearly said Malfoy very much did not want to let him in, he nevertheless stepped back and opened the door. Ron entered the sparse, painfully neat flat and offered Malfoy the bottle.

Malfoy didn't take it. "Why are you here, Weasley?"

Ron shrugged, pulled an envelope from his robe pocket and handed it to Malfoy. He watched Malfoy read the letter inside, his expression morphing from annoyed to surprised. "This is from Rathco Labs. They're offering me a position?"

"An interview," Ron corrected. "In light of the whole Rosin debacle and your role in it, he agreed to let you interview for a lab assistant. It's not much and he might not hire you, but I did say that if you helped me, I'd help you."

"I thought you'd forgot."

"It just took awhile to arrange, is all."

They stood staring at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Malfoy broke the silence. "Was there anything else?"

"Offer me a drink."

"Why?"

"It's the friendly thing to do."

"We aren't friends."

"We could be."

"Why would you want to be my friend?" Draco asked.

"Seems like you need one."

"Do you plan to drag me into any more mysteries?"

"That's Harry's job, not mine."

"Then we'll see how it goes," Draco said, taking the Firewhiskey and heading for the kitchen. "I've had enough danger for a lifetime."