Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire (Ron, Draco)

[seedee]

Characters: Ron, Draco
Rating: PG-13
Assigned Genre: Humour
Word Count: ~4500
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Draco Malfoy, soon-to-be witness in an important trial, receives death threats. All is as it seems. Basically.
Author Notes: Betas rock - especially ridicu_liz and nonconcurrence.

I wrote this for the rd_challenge. Now look at the shiny banner they gave me, although my fic was purely gen:



Originally posted here
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

"Gentlemen," Gawain Robards, head of the Aurors, said. "Who wants to tell me what happened?" He looked at the two men, Ron Weasley, one of his Aurors, and Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable.

Ron was the one who spoke first. "It started four days ago," he said.

* * *

Ron had just entered the Auror department, his robes slightly askew, coffee in one hand, a thick file in the other, when Harry asked him to come to his office. That alone was a bad sign. Harry - leader of the division Ron belonged to - didn't do many things in his office. Things he did do in his office included, but weren't limited to, catching up on paperwork once every two months, taking a twenty minute nap around noon, talking to those who'd done something he didn't approve of, dealing out shitty assignments and shagging Ginny. Ron suspected it was one of those assignments that made him question his job choice, as it was simply too early for any other option.

"Spit it out," he said after closing the door.

"Malfoy," Harry answered.

"No," Ron decided.

After nearly two decades of friendship, they'd long passed the time when they needed many words.

"You have to. You know how important he is. Bell was supposed to take over the case, but she's ill."

"Ill." Ron snorted. "That's what they call it these days." Ron had already heard about Malfoy's problems. They consisted mainly of tripping over his own ego and getting death threats.

Harry handed him the file. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't serious. I trust you."

Ron took the sloppily bound stack of parchment and glared at Harry. "Seven at the Leaky. You're paying," he said before leaving the room with the file.

He read the report at his desk, feet propped up, chair tipped back, frowning at how straightforward the case seemed to be. When all hints pointed in one direction, it either was that easy, or something was going to bite you in the arse. Considering that Malfoy was involved, Ron suspected the latter.

Around noon, he took his notes, sighed deeply - it was the sigh of the long suffering - and walked over to the Auror floo. There was no reason to delay talking to Malfoy; he'd have to do it sooner or later anyway. Time was like the planet earth; if you pushed away something long enough, it wouldn't fall off the edge; it would come around the other side and bite you in the arse.

* * *

"That's without a doubt the worst metaphor I've heard in my whole life," Draco said.

"It wasn't a metaphor, it was a simile," Ron answered.

"It's not a Weasley, it's a Granger," Draco shot back.

Gawain held up his hands to get their attention. "Auror Potter assigned the case to you, Auror Weasley, and you contacted Mr Malfoy." He nodded at Draco in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture, trying not to wince at the black bruise on the side of the man's face. "Why don't you go on?"

* * *

Three days before the trial, Draco received another one of those deplorable letters. It came with a common barn owl. As Draco was by then wary of owls he didn't recognise, he stunned the animal and caged it before taking the scroll.

The wording made him roll his eyes. 'We will find you, traitor. We will kill you. We know where you live,' sounded more like a thirteen year old than anything he'd need to take seriously. But after too many hexes to his back, an attempt to burn down the Manor, several attempts to undermine his position at the Ministry, and various other efforts to destroy his life, he was cautious. Especially with the trial so close.

He regretted his cautiousness when a far too familiar head appeared in the flames of his floo. "Weasley," he sneered. "What is your head doing in my living room?"

"It's trying to choke on the fumes because it hates its job," Weasley answered without missing a beat. "Can I come through?"

"Can I stop you?"

"'Course you can. Recall your report and I'll be gone before you can say 'I'm a git'."

"Funny." Draco gave the tiniest of nods, which Weasley obviously interpreted accurately. He stepped through, bringing a cloud of ashes, sooting all over the expensive carpet and leaving a dirty hand-print on the mantel.

"Did you find the culprit yet?" Draco asked.

"I've had the case for two hours; I'm good, but not that good."

"Who'd have thought," Draco muttered. He looked at the report that Weasley laid out on the table after he'd sat down without waiting for an invitation.

"Four anonymous letters, all with the same content, sent within the last two weeks," Weasley summarised. "Do you think it has something to do with the trial?"

"Do I think quiche is best made with Gruyère?" Draco asked back. "Another letter arrived yesterday." Draco put the scrap of paper on the table next to the others. "I also have an owl."

"You have an owl?"

"You have a hearing problem?"

"You want a kick in your pretentious arse?"

Draco took a deep breath. "As I was saying," he said. "I have the owl that delivered the letter. It's a barn owl. It's in the owlery, making a racket. You might want to have a look at it."

"Let's go," Weasley said, seemingly glad to be able to move. He followed Draco, who feared for his Chinese vases. They were dangerously close to Weasley's too long limbs that flailed all over the place as he walked down the hallway.

* * *

"You're kidding," Ron said. "I don't flail when I walk, and I didn't even touch your itty-bitty vases."

"Of course you don't flail." Sarcasm was dripping off Draco's voice. "It's a progressive way of moving. Or was it character dance?"

"Gentlemen," Gawain said for the second time. "Why don't we go back to talking about the case? Auror Weasley's report says that he traced the owl back to the post office in Diagon Alley. No one could remember who sent owls to Mr Malfoy. Is that correct?"

"That's correct, and it's no surprise," Ron said. "People usually hire an owl and send them off themselves."

"Yes, of course," Gawain agreed; he knew the procedure. "What happened next?"

* * *

The owl was a dead end. Ron finished the day without any real success and met up with Harry at the Leaky Cauldron.

On the next morning, back at the Ministry, he decided to look more closely at the possible motive. He was reading through the file of the Lestrange trial that was going to take place two days later, when the secretary of the Auror Department, Mrs Parker, delivered a message.

'Another letter. DM,' it said, and attached to it was said letter.

The threat was a bit different this time. 'Be careful where you're going, we're watching you.'

Ron winced - not because of the letter, but because of the consequences. He sent a note to Malfoy, told Harry what he was going to do and then went home to pack a change of clothes. He didn't like the assignment, and he liked Malfoy even less, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take his job seriously.

Only half an hour later he climbed out of Malfoy's fireplace, brushed off the ashes and waved at the little elf that cleaned the carpet.

"Is it really necessary that you stay here until the trial?" Malfoy asked in that irritating drawling tone he used more often than not.

"Can you think of any other reason I'd be here?"

It had taken twelve years to catch Lestrange. Malfoy was one of the main witnesses, the trial was only days away, and there were anonymous threats. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the letters and the trial were related in some way.

* * *

"Did anything unusual happen that night?" Gawain asked.

"If we don't count that I've never before heard anyone snore through three thick stone walls, then no. Nothing unusually happened," Malfoy said.

"We could count the five times Malfoy had to use the loo, I reckon," Ron said thoughtfully. The bandage that covered his right ear made him look lopsided. "I'd been suspecting food poisoning until he confirmed that it was normal. Not that 'normal' would be the word I'd have chosen..." his voice trailed away.

Gawain slowly but steadily developed a headache. "Go on, Mr Malfoy."

* * *

It was a long night. Draco cast silencing spells after Weasley started snoring, but he still couldn't sleep. The mere thought that someone else was in the guest room, snoring - he shuddered at the thought - made it impossible to even come close to sleep. He went to the loo just to leave his room and hear if Weasley was still at it (yes, he was), and finally, around three in the morning, Draco dozed off.

When he woke up, it was still dark. He got up and ordered the elf to wake Weasley. In the meantime, he drank a cup of coffee and ate a French croissant.

"Is there any reason to be up in the middle of the night, or are you just that obnoxious?" Weasley asked Draco ten minutes later. Draco was fascinated by the mop of exploded red hair and pyjamas that had surely seen the fall of ancient Egypt.

* * *

"That's not what happened," Ron said, scowling at Draco. Gawain thought he heard a muttered 'arsehole', but he chose to ignore it.

"Do you want to tell us what happened instead, Auror Weasley?" Gawain asked.

* * *

There was no way in hell that anyone would be able to sleep on a bed that was as hard as the one in Malfoy's guest room. It took hours until Ron fell asleep, and he woke up before the first rays of sunlight broke through the darkness of the room.

He showered, dressed, went through his morning routine of sit-ups, push-ups and a few minutes of meditation, and then went down the stairs to the kitchen. Wimpy, the little elf Ron had already met the day before, made him a cup of coffee and gave him something buttery and French to eat. Once Ron had managed to convince the elf to talk to him, Wimpy happily told him about his life. Ron already knew he was a free elf - Wimpy wore a red button down shirt and a yellow pair of shorts - but Ron was surprised to learn that Malfoy himself had given Wimpy clothes.

It took more than an hour before Malfoy showed his well-groomed head. "Are you doing something productive while you're drinking my coffee and eating my food?" he asked.

"I'm watching your back," Ron answered, thinking that it was going to be a long, long day.

And Ron was right. It was a long day.

Malfoy insisted on going to the market, which, judging by Wimpy's reaction, he'd never done before. Ron reckoned that he was trying to be as annoying as possible. When they came back, another letter was attached to the front gate. A sticking charm made sure it stayed where it was.

"We're going to stay here from now on," Ron decided. "No more excursions."

"But I have several errands," Malfoy whined.

"Not today, and not tomorrow. You can go out all you want after the trial is done."

* * *

"It was imprisonment," Draco said. "That's what it was."

"It was standard Auror procedure," Ron answered, "and a favour to the world, if you ask me."

Gawain looked from one to the other. It was like watching a tennis match. "Were there more threats?" he asked before one of them decided to use a racket.

* * *

Wimpy made them tea and served strawberry cake. Draco watched - not very pleased - how Weasley talked with the elf, praising the cake and carrying his dirty plate to the kitchen himself.

Mr Big Auror agreed to spend the afternoon outside on the terrace. It was surrounded by the house on three sides with an open view onto a lush lawn. The sun was shining; the sky was blue; the peacocks were frolicking. By all means, it should have been a peaceful time and a lovely day. If it hadn't been for Weasley.

They argued about Quidditch, they argued about politics, they argued about the trial, they argued about restaurants, they even argued about Honeydukes chocolate. Weasley claimed that the best sort was milk nougat chocolate with a caramel centre, while Draco maintained it was dark chocolate with chili and passion fruit.

"Chocolate has to be sweet," Weasley said. "Sweet and sticky. Otherwise it's not chocolate."

Draco groaned. It was a sound that rose from the depths of desperation. "If I performed Legilimens on you now, do you think I'd be sucked in by the vacuum in your head?"

Weasley snorted. "You wouldn't even come close to what's in my head."

The conviction in Weasley's voice was almost adorable. "A thick head won't help you against a trained Legilimens." It was part of Draco's job at the Department of Mysteries. He didn't think that there were many people who'd be able to shield their mind against one of his spells.

Weasley was smirking, though. "It's all about the technique," he said. "While I was never an outstanding Legilimens, I was always quite good at Occlumency."

Quite good, Draco repeated in his thoughts. Firstly, it probably was an exaggeration, and secondly, quite good wouldn't be enough to keep him out of Weasley's mind. "Let's find out," Draco suggested.

"It'll be my pleasure," Weasley answered.

The spell was on Draco's lips before Weasley had closed his mouth. The element of surprise was an advantage, no matter how good Weasley was. "Legilimens," Draco said, pointed his wand and focused his magical energy. He started to get worried when Weasley didn't stop smirking and didn't break eye contact.

With the wave of the spell, Draco let his mind go, sent it to find Weasley's. He found it, and immediately started to claw at the familiar wall that was the first defence of an Occlumens. It never took long to break it down. What was interesting, was what lay behind, the strategy the Occlumens used to deflect the invading spell and shield his own thoughts. Draco felt the wall crumble and prepared himself to take the next step.

And then the wall was gone.

Draco looked at what was behind and only a fraction of a second after he realised at what he was looking, he recoiled, gasping and panting, his eyes open in horror.

Weasley was still smirking.

* * *

Gawain was confused. After describing different flavours of chocolate, Draco Malfoy had stopped talking and was now sitting in his chair, staring, his eyes unfocused. "Did anything happen?" Gawain asked slightly concerned.

It seemed to snap Draco out of his stupor. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing happened at all."

The self-satisfied smirk on Ron's face made Gawain doubt it. "Mr Weasley?" he prompted.

* * *

Every Occlumens is only as good as his defence strategy. Ron remembered the words of his instructor clearly. "Close your eyes," the instructor had said. "Concentrate. Let your mind find something that is strong enough to block out everything else. Maybe it's a memory, a wish, a dream or a picture. It doesn't matter if it's happy or sad, if it's real or a fantasy. The only thing that matters is that it is strong."

Ron had searched his mind. He'd considered many things but for some reason his mind had always gone back to one thing.

Draco Malfoy, the bouncing ferret. And that's what he'd thrown at Malfoy, and Malfoy had never had a chance; Ron had known that.

He watched Malfoy flailing and sputtering with a satisfied grin on his face. "Do you want to try again?" he asked.

Malfoy only glared.

* * *

"Auror Weasley?" Gawain asked. Ron hadn't said a word and seemed to be in the same place as Malfoy.

"Yes? I'm sorry. Lost in thoughts for a moment. As Mr Malfoy said. Nothing happened."

Gawain still didn't believe it, but let it go anyway. "Did any letters arrive during the evening or the night," he asked instead, and both men answered with a shake of their head. "Any other notable occurrences?"

Ron's smirk grew wider. "Dinner that night was excellent and definitely notable. Wimpy certainly knows how to handle a pan." He snickered into the palm of his hand. Gawain noticed that it was swollen and bruised.

Draco's lips were a thin white line and he'd gripped the armrests of his chair hard enough for his knuckles to stand out.

"So you spent another night watching Mr Malfoy, Auror Weasley?"

"Yes," Ron said.

* * *

After dinner Malfoy went to the library to read, a glass of wine in one hand, a pair of glasses that would have put Percy's to shame in the other.

Ron went to the kitchen to find Wimpy. The elf was standing on a stool, wearing a bright blue apron and cleaning the kitchen window. Ron had worked with elves before. They were strong magical creatures, intelligent and often fiercely protective. Their weak points were low self-esteem and a reluctance to make decisions on their own. Wimpy was one of the more progressive elves, though. When Ron talked to him about possible dangers, about the things Wimpy could do to protect the house and Malfoy, the elf listened carefully, his eyes huge and attentive.

It wasn't yet midnight, when Ron went to the guest room. He slept better, despite the uncomfortable bed, the hideous tapestry and the stifling atmosphere of the old house. He got up early, as it was the day of the trial, and he wanted to be prepared.

"Aren't you looking smart, today?" Ron said when Malfoy came down the stairs, dressed up for the occasion.

"Aren't you looking like a red-headed, freckled sidekick?" Malfoy answered dryly.

Ron grinned. "Aww, you missed me."

They weren't allowed to apparate anywhere close to the Ministry. High-level security measures were in place with only one open floo. Ironically, the security measures weren't in place to protect Malfoy. The most protected person of the day was Lestrange, who'd gotten dozens of death threats since he'd been arrested.

Ron and Malfoy waited for their designated floo slot, and at precisely 9:38am, they stepped through the flames.

* * *

"We waited for hours," Draco complained. "Nothing to eat, mud water that was labelled 'tea' for whatever reason, and I wasn't even allowed to call my elf."

Ron rolled his eyes. They'd never been alone in the waiting area, and the tea had actually been good - just like the little sugar-sticky buns that Malfoy had refused to touch because he'd claimed they were worse than the tea. "Malfoy was questioned around noon for the first time and had to go back in around four in the afternoon."

Gawain nodded. He'd listened to Draco's testimonial. The verdict hadn't been spoken yet, but it was looking good. "Why didn't you leave the way you came?"

"Mr Malfoy was hungry," Ron said. "He insisted on going to his favourite Italian restaurant in Diagon Alley to pick up pasta."

Draco scowled. "It was a conspiracy."

"A conspiracy?" Gawain asked.

* * *

They flooed to the Leaky Cauldron after the trial, as Draco felt hungry. He hadn't had linguine al pomodoro in weeks. Draco didn't particularly like pub atmosphere and hurried to the back entrance, Weasley in tow, tapped the bricks and entered Diagon Alley.

"There you are, scum," someone said from behind, and Draco had a wand at his throat before he could react.

Everything happened very fast after that. Out of nowhere, five men in Auror robes appeared - one of them was Potter - overwhelming the two men and one woman that had threatened Draco. They were disarmed and arrested.

Draco looked first at Potter, then at Weasley in disbelief. "You used me as a decoy," he said.

"'Course not," Weasley answered. "We just made sure nothing happened to you."

"You used me as a decoy," Draco repeated, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it had all been a set-up.

"Are you sure? As far as I remember, I tried to stop you from coming here."

Draco was scandalised. Potter and Weasley had done nothing to solve the case without endangering innocent citizens, but instead had used an unsuspecting victim as a defenceless decoy. It was inconceivable.

* * *

Ron was snickering. "That's how you summarise what happened? Endangering an innocent, unsuspecting victim? Lighten up, Malfoy. We arrested a niece and two cousins of Lestrange. They wanted revenge and now they are waiting for their own trial. That's a success, not something to sulk about."

"Great," Draco muttered. "Another day with muddy tea and cardboard food."

"And then?" Gawain asked. "What happened then?"

"Nothing. I brought Malfoy home and then went home myself to catch up on some sleep." Ron was trying to look innocent. Gawain knew that look. He'd seen it far too often when Ron and Harry had still been partners.

"And your injuries?" Gawain asked, pointing at Ron's head, his leg, his wrist.

Ron waved his hand in a non-committal way. "You know, four brothers, Quidditch, stuff."

Gawain raised both eyebrows. "What about you, Mr Malfoy, is there anything you would like to add? Did anything else happen?"

Draco shook his head, matching the expression of innocence, which was even less convincing. "No, that's all. I would have signed the report if you'd sent it to me, but I appreciate that you took the time to talk to me in person."

"May I ask what happened to your face?"

"Naturally," Draco said. "I was flying with my new firebolt and collided with a bird. It was a big one."

Gawain wondered if they expected him to believe that or if they just knew that as long as none of them reported a work related incident, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't force them to talk. He kept looking at them for another few moments, waiting for them to speak, but they just sat there. "Get out of here, both of you," he finally said.

* * *

The crowd in Diagon Alley grew steadily as the Aurors investigated the crime scene. People were pointing at them, talking, drawing conclusions at seeing a Malfoy once again surrounded by Aurors. Ron understood why Malfoy had pulled the hood of his cloak down to his nose so that his hair and his other distinct features weren't visible. Ron had done the same, as he was still recognised as 'Harry Potter's friend'.

The minute they were done, they apparated directly to the living room of the Manor.

Ron would have never anticipated what happened next.

Wimpy came running out of the kitchen, a frying pan raised high above his head, yelling something Ron didn't understand. His voice was shrill, and before Ron could react or even comprehend what was happening, Wimpy hit Malfoy with the pan. It was a solid blow to the side of Malfoy's head, and he went down like a sack of rice.

Ron was stunned but had enough presence of mind left to whip out his wand. He shouldn't have done that.

Wimpy was fast. The elf wheeled around, let out a shout and hit Ron's wrist squarely with the pan. Ron's wand flew through the room, hit the wall at the other end and fell to the floor.

"Elf!" Malfoy croaked from the floor. His head was still obscured by the hood, though, and Wimpy didn't seem to hear him.

The elf kicked Ron's knee and then raised the pan again. Ron ducked, which softened the blow to his head, but it still hurt enough for him to see stars.

Then Wimpy screamed again, but this time in horror. He pointed at Ron's head, and Ron realised that the pan had pushed back his hood. "I has killed master," Wimpy wailed, now looking at Malfoy. "I has killed master!"

But Malfoy wasn't dead. Ron reckoned it took more to kill the blond.

"What did you teach the elf?" Malfoy wheezed. "What the fuck did you teach it?"

Ron snickered, even though his head was hurting, his wrist was throbbing, and Merlin, the kick to his knee had been well-placed. He winced as he tried to put some weight on that leg.

Wimpy was still standing with the frying pan in one hand, now looking less like a warrior and more like a picture of misery. His eyes were huge and tears were flowing down his cheeks; the corners of his mouth were quivering.

"Wimpy is so sorry, sirs, so sorry," the elf said, his voice shaking. "Wimpy didn't want to hurt you." He snivelled. "Wimpy was just defending as Auror Weasley has taught..." He wanted to say more, but the words were lost between sobs, and he was trembling from head to toe.

Malfoy, uttering colourful curses, picked himself up from the ground. Ron stopped laughing when Wimpy lowered his head and whimpered softly. Malfoy came closer, and Ron drew his wand, ready to step between the elf and his master. But Malfoy crouched down and spoke in a low but firm voice. "See that man with the red hair? It's his fault. We're going to blame him. Now stop crying, take your pan to the kitchen and bring me a headache potion, would you?"

Wimpy nodded. "Yes, sir, Mr Malfoy, Wimpy is so sorry." He sobbed again and then disappeared.

Malfoy straightened up slowly and looked at Ron. "Weasley." He he spoke the word calmly. "You nearly got me killed twice today. I recommend you leaving my premises now." Ron opened his mouth to disagree, but Malfoy shook his head. "Thank you for your cooperation, Auror." Then he turned around, his robes billowing, his hair flying. The picture was spoiled by him stumbling at the end of the turn - Ron assumed he was dizzy after the blow to the head - but Malfoy just stalked off toward the kitchen.

* * *

"You could have filed a complaint," Ron said as they waited for the elevator - Ron had to go up, Malfoy had to go down.

"You could have told everyone and make a mockery of me," Malfoy answered.

Ron hesitated and then said, "I'll be at the Leaky Cauldron tonight."

Malfoy's elevator arrived, and he stepped inside, looking at Ron, smirking. "Thank you for the warning, I'll make sure to stay away."

Just as the door closed, Ron saw Malfoy wink at him and he thought the smirk was changing into something warmer. He laughed at himself and replayed in his head the scene he'd witnessed the day before. Malfoy was sprawled on the floor, Wimpy with the frying pan raised above his head standing next to him.

Ron wanted to fix it in his memory forever. After all, every Occlumens is only as good as his defence strategy.

* * *

The End

Comments

[thimble-kiss.livejournal.com]

*giggles* That was so funny! I loved Ron's Occlumency and Wimpy's surprise at the end. And Robards was right, it really was like following a tennis match with all the insults and sniping lobbed back and forth. I think my favourite lines may be these:

"It wasn't a metaphor, it was a simile," Ron answered.

"It's not a Weasley, it's a Granger," Draco shot back.

*snickers*

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you, that comment makes me happy. Making someone giggle was my only intention when I wrote this story. And I want to rescue Wimpy so badly.

Also, I was ridiculously proud of that simile I came up with, only to have my inner Draco look at me as if I'd gone insane. So those lines were practically inevitable. *sighs*

[tree00faery.livejournal.com]

*still giggling* this was adorable and funny and amazing! I love all the witty (and not so witty) banter. Great job!

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Aww, thank you, so glad you liked it. ♥
Please keep in mind that all not so witty banter is solely to blame on the characters :P

[annietext.livejournal.com]

I'm giggling so much at this. Any chance there'll be more about Wimpy? He might be a great leader for the house-elf rights movement.

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Aww, thanks. Not sure about Wimpy, but you never know. :D