Full Summary:
Dropped from the Appleby Arrows after the incident, Draco Malfoy has no choice but to accept the Chudley Cannon's offer. Their Keeper-Ron Weasley with his red-hot temper-ensures that he will never be fully accepted.
Trying to navigate an increasing dependence on alcohol, avoid the incident coming to light, and stop himself ragging on Weaselbee is proving to be harder than he thought. With his life falling into shambles, his parents only make it worse with their profuse denial of his sexuality. They throw witches at his every left turn in an attempt to set him back to the "right path."
All Draco wanted to do was play Quidditch.
A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so excited to share this first chapter of Seeking Flames with you! This story idea came to StoriesbyNessie and I quite randomly and we decided it would be the perfect opportunity to co-write something together! This is also my first time doing slash and I'm really looking forward to it!
Each chapter will swap POV's, StoriesbyNessie will be writing Ron's POV and I will be writing Draco's! We will mark each chapter with the person's POV as well, to avoid confusion.
Hope you enjoy!
Also, if this is the first time you are reading Dron, I HIGHLY recommend you head to StoriesbyNessie's page and read some of her works! They are fantastic!
Chapter One: The Trade Deal
Draco
"So, once you sign this you will officially be the Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. Do you understand the terms of the contract?"
Draco pressed his lips together and glared at the stack of papers in front of him. He understood the terms of the contract perfectly, he just didn't want to sign them. Belonging to the fucking Chudley Cannons was something he certainly did not want, especially since he'd have to wear bloody fucking orange.
"Yes." he hissed out through gritted teeth.
His family's lawyer, Gerald Astor, handed him a quill and inkwell and pointed to the bottom of the top page. "Then just sign here, and we can get your money transferred to your Gringotts vault."
Draco gripped the quill a little too tightly in his hand, and the feather snapped in two. Astor sighed next to him and grabbed another. The Cannons lawyer—whose name Draco couldn't remember if his life depended on it—sat across the table with a large, stupid grin on his face.
Their coach and manager, Ragmar Dorkins, sat next to him and eyed Draco warily, probably confused as to why he was so hesitant.
Astor turned in his seat to whisper to Draco so the pair across the table couldn't hear him. "You don't have much of a choice, Draco. It's either this or your quidditch career is done. None of the other teams want to sign you after the incident."
Draco clenched his now empty fist on the table, anger increasing ten-fold. He knew no one else wanted to sign him because he had Astor go to every other team. The Chudley Cannons was a last-ditch effort, and they had accepted him gratefully, dropping their completely terrible excuse of a Seeker in favour of him. They had even offered him a pretty decent five-year contract that came with a hefty sum. It wasn't as much as what the Appleby Arrows had been paying him, but he expected he was probably going to be one of the highest-paid members on the Cannons.
"Now," Astor handed him the new quill and pointed again to the bottom of the page. "Sign."
Reluctantly, Draco scribbled his name down, the elegant handwriting staring at him from the page mockingly.
Astor clapped him on the shoulder, and both lawyers stood to shake hands. The Cannon's lawyer, with his stupid fat mitts, shook Draco's too hard and nearly ripped his arm from the socket.
"Great! Draco, will I be seeing you at the party tonight?" Ragmar asked while the Cannon's lawyer reached across the table to collect the signed papers. His thick fingers gripped his wand as he tapped the parchment to shrink them and tucked them into his robes.
Draco glanced at Astor with a pleading look. He wanted to do anything but go to this stupid party, but his lawyer only smiled and said they would both be there. Of course they fucking would, they had a lot of positive PR to make up for.
"Capital, gentlemen, capital! Are we ready to face the sharks?" The Cannon's lawyer asked, patting the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief. Draco wrinkled his nose when he stuck the now damp cloth back into his pocket. He must have mistaken Draco's disgust for being aimed at the press because he gave a small laugh.
"Don't worry, my boy! As a member of the Chudley Cannons, Mr Astor and I both work for you now! You'll have double representation out there."
Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.
With a tight-lipped smile aimed at the heavy-set man, Draco followed the group as they left the room to the press conference.
As soon as they stepped into the main room, camera flashes and people hurling questions surrounded them. Astor guided Draco towards a table set up at the front of the room where the four of them sat in the chairs placed behind it. Ragmar held up a hand and the press quieted.
"Hello, all! As you know my name is Ragmar Dorkins, I am the coach and manager of the Chudley Cannons. This is the Cannon's lawyer, Ted Grossman and Draco Malfoy's lawyer, Gerald Astor. And of course, you all know Draco Malfoy." He gestured to each man in turn. "I would like to inform you all as of today, the fifth of August 2005, Mr Malfoy has been made a member of the Chudley Cannons team!"
His words were met with a volley of questions and even more flashes, but he held his hand up in the air and they quieted again. "We will be taking a few questions, but please, one at a time."
Of course, fucking Rita Skeeter called her question out first, her irritating, shrill voice echoed in the room. She had run a smear campaign for weeks after Draco was dropped from the Appleby Arrows, and once the Daily Prophet picked up a story, you can bet Merlin's left ball sack every other paper did as well.
"Draco, what assurances have you given the Chudley Cannons that you won't fight one of their players?" Her bright red lips curled into a sickeningly sweet smile that had Draco's blood boiling.
That bitch.
Thankfully, Astor answered for him because all Draco wanted to do was jump across the table and rip that smirk from her face. "Mr Malfoy has been taking anger management classes, and we can assure everyone that there will not be a repeat incident."
"Incident as in when Draco nearly pummelled poor Alexander Hale to death?"
Draco stiffened in his chair. He had expected that to be brought up, but hearing the words hurled at him like everything was his fault... If only they knew the truth. That fucking piece of shit Hale, he deserved what he got. If Draco could do it all over again, he would've given it even worse. It had only been four months since he had beat the daylights out of that bastard and he was disappointed that his knuckles had healed so quickly.
"We will not be commenting on that at this time." It was the only response Astor could give to a question like that, but it seemed to ignite something in the other reporters, and they all started shouting over each other.
Rita crossed her arms and sat back with a self-satisfied smile, her Quick Quotes Quill scribbled furiously from where it floated next to her head. She gave Draco a wink through all the commotion, and he balled his fists under the table.
I need a fucking drink.
He took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on a spot on the back wall like that stupid fucking anger management class taught him. Had he not been trying to calm himself down, it would've pissed him off how well it was working.
"Mr Dorkins, are you concerned at all of Draco's Death Eater past? As Ronald Weasley is the Chudley Cannons current Keeper, do you expect any animosity to emerge between them and if so, how do you plan to combat that?"
Draco stared wide-eyed at the reporter that asked that question; fucking reporters, they had absolutely no filter. He was sure Weasel was absolutely ecstatic to have Draco joining; they would be best fucking friends by the end of the season.
He nearly snorted at his own joke.
Ragmar cleared his throat awkwardly before answering; he was obviously not expecting a question like that. "Mr Weasley has fully accepted Mr Malfoy as the new Seeker. They will be teammates, and as such, there will be no hostility between them. Mr Malfoy has been the Arrow's Seeker for over five years and won them two League Cups, the entire team is very excited to have him."
Draco forced himself to keep a neutral face and not scowl at his words. He could only imagine how excited the Chudley Cannons were to have him joining the team. They've been in the bottom of the League for over a century and even dropped their current Seeker, Galvin Gudgeon, to add Draco to the team.
I'm so fucking thrilled.
He sat in silence for the rest of the interview while Ragmar and Astor answered all the questions for him. At the very end, Ragmar handed him his new Chudley Cannon jersey, and they shook hands for a picture that was sure to be on the front cover of every newspaper tomorrow.
Now back in his flat, he stared at the ugly orange thing draped over the back of a dining room chair. The large white number two and his last name stretched across the back made him want to puke. He was going to look like a glorified pumpkin in that thing.
Draco sighed and downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness that came from being a little tipsy filled his head. He wasn't an alcoholic; he could stop whenever he wanted. It was just going to be easier to get through this fucking party if he was already half-plastered before going. He knew that his parents expected him to do damage control, but that didn't mean he had to be sober for it.
Slipping on his dress robes and damning Gerald Astor and his parents for making him go to this damned thing, he Floo'd to the party.
Moments later, he stepped through the green flames of the fireplace. It had placed him in the foyer of an immaculate home, though not quite as opulent as Malfoy Manor was. The flooring was made of what he assumed was a dark oak and the walls were a homely grey. Various statues and plants filled the room, and though giving an air of richness, it still felt comfortable.
"Draco, there you are! Thought you might have gotten lost." Astor greeted with a smile from nearby.
Wished I would have, but then I'd have to listen to my parents tell me off.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's just get this over with, shall we? I don't fancy being here longer than I need to." Draco said as Astor led them into the main room of the house. The oak floors continued into a large sitting room with vaulted ceilings. There had to have been at least 50 people milling amongst the expensive-looking furniture, and he could spy even more standing outside in the garden through the glass doors.
"Ah, Draco! Good to see you again." Ragmar came forward and shook his hand. "Ready for practice tomorrow?"
"Of course." Draco forced out, the lie burning his throat. The very last thing he was ready for was practice tomorrow.
"Great! Let's get you introduced to the team. Do you need a drink?"
Draco nodded all too enthusiastically and was handed a glass of firewhiskey on the rocks a moment later. Frowning at the ice watering down his drink, he took a sip and tried not to down it all in one gulp.
Ragmar led them around the room, introducing him to various people that Draco couldn't give a rat's arse about and whose names he forgot by the time they moved on to the next. He didn't really understand why he needed to be introduced to these people or even the team for that matter. He already knew all the Chudley Cannons members, having played against them for the last five years. All he wanted to do was crawl back to his flat and drink himself to sleep, but the weight of his lawyer's hand on his shoulder as they walked about the room reminded him he had to stay. Had to play the perfect Malfoy prince.
Their small group approached the back of a very tall, wide-shouldered man that Draco recognized as the Captain and Chaser for the Cannons, Aiden Cooney. They were the same age and he wasn't much taller, but his muscular body instantly made Draco feel like a small child with his slender physique. Of course, he was surrounded by women, all angling for a chance to get into his trousers.
"Draco, meet your Captain, Aiden Cooney." Ragmar introduced them, and they both shook hands. Aiden gave him a lop-sided grin that had Draco's stomach flipping. The man was quite handsome with his curly, dirty-blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The smile caused a dimple to form on his left cheek that only increased his attractiveness. Maybe the Chudley Cannons wouldn't be so bad.
Stop it, Draco. You can't fancy your teammates. You know what happened last time.
"Nice to formally meet you, Malfoy. Can't wait to see you in action tomorrow, you always gave Gudgeon a run for his money."
Draco snorted, "As if it was much of a challenge. I'm pretty sure that bloke was near-sighted."
The group that surrounded him laughed as if he had just told the joke of a century. Draco scowled at the people on the outskirts of their conversation. He was all too familiar with the leeches that came with the profession, always trying to get this or that—whether it be money, cock or both.
Aiden gave him a tight-lipped smile as if to say he understood, and they parted ways when Ragmar gestured for him to continue through the room. Draco downed the rest of the contents of his glass, and before he could even mention something to Ragmar about a fresh drink, it was refilled by a floating bottle. A house-elf stood off to the side, dressed in the familiar rags of indentured servitude, and he gave a small bow to Draco as the bottle floated back to the bar.
Draco inclined his head in return, much to the surprise of the house-elf, before turning back to Ragmar. They were now closer to the patio doors, and Draco could see just as many people outside as there were inside. Balls of fae-light floated through the air, making the whole scene look quite charming. All Draco wanted to do was turn tail and run; he really hated these fucking parties.
"Draco, this is Kit Dufort and Olivia Greene, the Cannon's Beaters."
Ragmar's voice pulled him from his inspection of the exterior, and his eyes shot open in surprise at the pair in front of him. Truthfully, he hadn't seen many of the other team's players off their brooms, so he had no idea what most of them looked like standing up. He was quite surprised to find Olivia was only a few inches shorter than him while Kit was almost half his size. Was he part-goblin? Would it be rude to ask?
Olivia flipped her light brunette hair over her shoulder and shook Draco's hand. "Dufort and I are very easy Beaters to work with. Don't get in the bludger's way and we won't have any problems, yeah?"
Draco blinked, it was like he was looking at a much taller, brown-haired version of Ginny Weasley. Suddenly overcome with the urge to call this woman Weasellete, he had to stop himself before he accidentally blurted it out. Kit shook his hand next, the stocky, strong arms nearly twice the size of Draco's.
He only nodded in greeting, obviously a man of few words. Ragmar gave the short man a look as if to say 'be nice', but it was fine with Draco, he preferred to do as little talking as possible.
After a small, dull conversation that Draco participated very little in, they left the pair to retreat outside in search of the rest of the team. The only ones left were Chasers Elijah Haywood and Zachary Wallace, and of course, he couldn't forget their Keeper Weaselbee. He couldn't decide if he was looking forward to that introduction or not.
Elijah they found easily enough, the nineteen-year-old living up to his immature age and participating in a drinking game near the outdoor bar. A crowd surrounded him, chanting his name as he sucked a body shot off a very willing woman. Draco grimaced when Elijah noisily slurped the alcohol from the giggling witch's belly-button. His black hair fell across her stomach, and when he sat up after drinking it, his hazel eyes twinkled mischievously amongst the cheers surrounding him.
Great, a party boy.
Elijah had just been added to the Cannons last year. His skill as a Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team was well-known, but his lack of discipline and renown as a glorified walking butterbeer was even more so. It ensured he had very few offers once he applied to the British Quidditch League and was forced to accept the Chudley Cannons'.
"Y'all ain't ready for this next one!" An American accent cut through the cheers, and Draco found the source instantly. It wasn't hard to miss a cowboy hat amongst a crowd of English. Zachary Wallace, the only American in the British League stood next to Elijah, holding a bottle of what looked like Dragon Barrel Brandy in the air.
Draco had forgotten how low the Cannons had sunk that they had to resort to outsourcing their players from fucking America. He could spy the tendrils of long brown hair from under that ridiculous tan hat, and when he winked his turquoise eyes at the fangirls in the crowd, Draco swore he heard them swoon.
Ragmar whistled next to him, the sharp sound cutting through the crowd like a whip. Obviously reluctant to break from the group and alcohol, Elijah and Zachary slowly made their way over. Once they had seen Draco standing with him, however, they instantly turned into the fangirls they had just left.
"Draco Malfoy! Wow, so nice to meet you!" Elijah all too enthusiastically shook his hand, Zachary following right after.
Flexing his fingers to bring the feeling back into them, Draco bit back the insult that nearly rolled from his tongue. They were going to be his teammates, and he couldn't have them hating him before they even had the chance to practice together.
"Likewise." There, that was a satisfactory reply, right? The glance of approval Astor gave him made him think so.
"Oh, man! This is so cool, I used to have your trading card! And now we'll be playing together!"
Though only six years older than Elijah, his comment made Draco suddenly feel very old. At least he wasn't the oldest, that belonged to Kit at twenty-nine, and he was pretty sure all the other players were in their twenties as well.
"I remember that match y'all had last year against the Harpies, where you caught the snitch in under twenty minutes!" Zachary said in his southern accent. "Their Seeker was madder than a wet hen. Bet she coulda chewed up nails and spit out a barbed-wire fence!"
Draco stared at him like he had ten heads while he laughed at what was apparently a joke. Was that... was that English?
Elijah clapped him on the shoulder, his olive-skin contrasting against the dark blue tee Zachary wore. "Sorry. Zach can be a bit too American at times, he likes to speak in riddles."
"They're sayin's, Eli. 'Sides, Draco understood me, right, bud?"
Draco arched an eyebrow at the nickname. Never in his twenty-five years of life had anyone ever called him bud. Astor must have seen the look of annoyance in Draco's face because he quickly struck up a conversation with the two Chasers.
Taking a deep breath, Draco scanned the other guests scattering the lawn. He needed to get a handle on his anger and continued his breathing exercise while trying to focus on anything other than the southern twang leaving Zachary's large, stupid mouth.
From the other side of the yard, he spied the familiar width of Aiden, minus his entourage—though a few females still mingled nearby eyeing him like a buffet. Someone was standing with him, but with the darkness settling in around them, Draco couldn't quite make out who it was. It was obviously a man, as the figure was taller than Aiden, though not as muscular. A ball of fae-light floated past them, illuminating their silhouettes and he was finally able to make out the wizard speaking to Aiden. The red-hair and freckled face was unmistakable.
Weasley.
Apparently, Ragmar caught him looking because they broke from the exhibitionists—much to the delight of their awaiting crowd—and made their way over to the pair. As they neared, Draco could see a large toothy grin spread across the red-heads face as he spoke to the blonde.
Bet he loves to suck up to the Captain. Just like in school.
Blue eyes made even brighter by the ball of fae-light near them, Ron flickered his gaze to the approaching trio. The smile instantly vanished from his face as he discovered Draco amongst them. The extremely obvious carefree stance he had been sporting while speaking with Aiden, turned rigid and hostile at Draco's presence.
For some reason, this infuriated Draco, and he suddenly found himself looking for a way to strike out. With a wavering gaze to Aiden—who was smiling at Draco—Weasley showed his weakness.
Must have been angling for something. Two can play at this game, and I'm probably better.
"Hello again, Aiden." Draco greeted the Captain with a sultry smirk. His fourth glass of firewhiskey was making his head swim in that familiar puddle, and his smile might have been a bit sweeter than what he intended. But Weasley's glare told him it had worked and he felt satisfaction bloom in his chest.
"Oh, Weasley. Didn't see you there."
The blue-eyed glare turned even more menacing at Draco's greeting, and he tried to bite back a chuckle. Stoking the flames of Weaselbee's anger had been a favourite pastime of his, and it had been years since he had the chance to do so. With a reddened face, Weasley spat out his reply.
"You better watch out, Malfoy. From what I hear you're supposed to play nice, or you might get kicked off the team. Wouldn't want you to fight someone."
He sneered at Weasley's words before steeling himself. Draco picked an invisible piece of lint off his black jacket; he couldn't let Weasley get the better of him. Opening his mouth with the intent of hitting him where it hurt, he stopped himself as a hand landed on his shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. Draco gave Astor a vicious glance and his lawyer eyed him as if to say 'watch yourself.'
The triumphant grin only lasted for a moment on the red-heads face until his coach began to lay into him. It was like being at Hogwarts all over again, listening to a teacher yell at Weasley for something Draco started, and he was all too happy to listen to it.
"Weasley, when we signed Malfoy on, you agreed that you could handle yourself. Are you going back on that?" Ragmar glowered at him, and Draco could see Ron shrink like a child under his stare.
"No, Sir." He mumbled out, face turning eight shades of scarlet as he looked to the ground and chewed on his lip nervously.
"You're a damn good Keeper, so I won't drop you if you act out, but that doesn't mean you're safe from drills." The coach threatened with crossed arms.
The red-head nodded, and before Astor could continue to chastise him, a shout across the garden turned the party towards it.
"Aiden! We need your opinion on something, would you come here please?" A drop-dead gorgeous blonde witch stood with a group of giggling females, waving the Captain over.
Shooting the men an apologetic look, Aiden approached them, their giggles increasing as he smiled.
Draco was all too happy that his reputation of being cold-hearted kept the women from dangling off him. He had made one too many cry when they tried to get into his bed. All they wanted was his fame anyway, to use as a means of furthering themselves. No, his lovers had always been secretive and discreet.
And men.
It was his best-kept secret that he was gay. Almost no one knew of it except for his parents and lawyer. Even they had been as oblivious as the rest of the world until the incident. Now, his parents were always adamantly trying to convert him and set him up with some witch or another. It annoyed him to no end, and he'd have the whole bloody world know of his sexual preference if it wasn't for the assured scandal it would cause.
At least, that's what his mother told him. Draco was always reminded of how hard Astor had worked to keep what had happened those few months ago a secret.
And his parents had paid them very handsomely to keep their giant trap shut.
With Aiden now gone, Weasley's interest in continuing the conversation deflated immediately. After a moment of awkward silence, he excused himself to retreat inside. Draco ignored the feeling of annoyance that sprouted as he watched the red-head all but run inside.
"Well, I'll leave you to mingle, Draco. See you bright and early tomorrow! We're all excited to have you as part of the team." Ragnar smiled and left as well, following the same path as Weasley.
"See, this wasn't so bad," Astor said once they were alone. "You behaved very well tonight."
Great, now go run along and give my parents all the details.
"Yes, I'll give myself a fucking pat on the back," Draco replied sarcastically before downing his drink. "If I'm done playing nice, I'm leaving."
Astor sighed, "Well, at least you kept up the facade around your new teammates. Very well, you can go. Try to get some rest and behave tomorrow!"
Draco was all too eager to leave and he eagerly escaped to the interior, downing his fifth glass of firewhiskey while he walked. He barely even registered the faces that passed him as he made his way to the Floos.
Once back in his flat, he took a moment to relish in the silence. He preferred his solitude—he didn't have to worry about anything here. Not being nearly as drunk as he wanted to, he Accio'd a bottle of his preferred liquor—vodka. One thing he could admit muggles had going for them, they sure as fuck knew how to make alcohol.
Pouring it into a glass, and not even bothering to make a mixed drink, he downed it in one gulp. The bite of Balkan 176 proof burned his throat as it settled warmly in his stomach. He'd never admit to anyone that he preferred a cheap muggle vodka to a fine firewhiskey, but alone in his own flat, he sure as hell could indulge in it.
After a few more shots, he fell into his settee, thoughts swimming through the muck the alcohol turned his brain into. A grin spread across his lips as he recalled the embarrassed look Weasley sported while being yelled at by Ragmar.
Though short-lived, it had been the most fun Draco had at those types of parties in years. Making fun of Weaselbee had ignited something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He almost felt...
Playful.
Memories of their school days crossed his mind while he laid there in the silence of his flat. Ron's short temper always had him doubling over in laughter and all too eager to toss another insult or jab at him. The song he and the Slytherins had created all those years ago waded to the surface.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
Chuckling to himself, Draco downed another drink, settled back on the cushions and closed his eyes. The calming warmth of the alcohol spread through his body and a small smile graced his lips while he hummed the song.
After a short while, he fell asleep to the brilliant thought of singing it all day at practice tomorrow.