Notes: This is a slash story, with an eventual Harry/Ron/Draco pairing. This is being written because of the mass of fics out there that claim this pairing, but end up being Harry/Draco with a Ron third wheel pity boink. This one's all about the Ron.

Over and Underby SwallowCliff

prologue

Teeth clenched and muscles strained, Ron Weasley dove into a roll to dodge the spell his opponent cast. He swiped the sleeve of his training robe across his forehead, and after a few moments of catching his breath, he peeked around the thick Oak trunk that he was hiding behind.

"Don't make it so easy, Weasley!" she called out. Ron wasn't quick enough to scramble out of the way, and felt his body freeze-up from the petrificus totalus had cast. He swore silently in his mind.

"That's three times today, Weasley!" The woman snapped this as she stood over his still form and nudged his arm with her boot. Ron's nose itched from the acrid combination of sweat and leather, but he couldn't move to soothe the tickle. Bugger it all.

"Finine incantitum!" she continued, pausing in her berating to release him from the spell. "How exactly do you expect to survive in the field if you can't even avoid getting hexed in general MLES training?"

Ron pushed himself up for the soft dirt, determined not to let his superior see him wince. He swallowed his irritation and met the examiner's gaze. Mrs. Wattle was older, with sensible, short cropped hair and a face whose sternness rivaled McGonagall's. She wasn't exactly the most pleasant woman for Ron to be around, but he needed to impress her in order to secure a field position in the MLES.

His miserable performance of late most likely wouldn't gain him any sympathy.

"Weasley," Mrs. Wattle began, her voice clipped, "you are a very tall individual and your bright hair is a target. If you are so intent on moving out from behind a desk from your current position, you will need to work with these vulnerabilities to improve your performance."

Ron tucked his wand into a sheath strapped to his trouser leg beneath his outer training robes. He could already feel his anger and humiliation forcing a flush to redden his ears and cheeks. He released his breath in a hot puff of air and replied, "I understand."

He made to walk away from the training field when Mrs. Wattle's voice drifted towards his back. "Perhaps you might consider asking an Auror to work with you? This drill is something they complete early in their training, and they might share a few tips with you."

"Right," Ron grunted, his irritation seeping into his voice. He walked in silence until he felt the cool tingle that indicated he had breeched the anti-apparation wards that enveloped the training field, and disapparated back to the cottage he shared with Harry and Hermione.

Hire an Auror. Well, that was the trick, wasn't it, Ron thought as he shrugged off his training robes and flopped onto the settee. Nearly two years ago, fresh out of Hogwarts, the Ministry fell over themselves to offer all sorts of positions to the students in Ron's year. They were widely recognized for standing up for themselves against the easy path, and for supporting Harry Potter as he defeated Voldemort in an intense confrontation. Seventh year students from all four houses were sought after by anyone looking to plump their staff with a 'battle hero'.

Hermione and Padma had been courted by the Unspeakables, which only took on a recruit or two every few years. Ron joined Harry and a number of other students in the Auror training program. Because many Aurors had been injured or killed in battle with Death Eaters, the ranks were depleted and the Ministry was eager to hire fresh talent.

Ron failed at Auror training spectacularly. He had bitten his tongue against lashing out as Harry, Ernie, Malfoy, Zabini, -- Lavender Brown for Merlin's sake – seemed to glide though simulations and exams.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry and Hermione had sympathized the day Kingsley Shacklebolt had pulled him aside and suggested it was time to try something else. He had smiled sadly and had handed over Ron's latest practical results.

"Ron," Kingsley had said, "to be an Auror, one has to have a bit of darkness hidden away, buried in their soul. You, my friend, "Kingsley shook his head, "are just too much of an open book. I'm sorry."

Ron had wallowed around the flat for several weeks, firewhiskey clutched in hand, until Hermione had mentioned that the MLES had opened applications. It was a step below an Auror, but he would still be able to help people the way he wanted, and wasn't he always a step behind Harry in everything anyways? A bit slow on the uptake regarding everything? He had toddled off and submitted his application that very same day.

That's what mum should rename me, Ron sulked from where he was sprawled on the settee after his confrontation with Mrs. Wattle. Ron hasn't-a-clue Weasley," he mumbled, forcing himself to stand and head for the bath. He peeled off his sweaty training uniform, leaving a trail of soiled clothing that tapered off near his bedroom. He settled into a hot shower and tipped his head into the spray, so that the water slipped over his jaw and shoulders like the massage of a thousand tiny fingers.

Bloody hell. This wasn't supposed to be happening again.

Hermione was sailing though her own apprenticeship at whatever it was she did for the Unspeakables. Harry flourished as an Auror, and he had already been paired with a seasoned partner. Ron… worked at a desk, completing paperwork for the MLES, and dreamed of working in the field. They'd been very accommodating, allowing him to repeat the practical several times. He liked to pretend it had nothing to do with friends in high places and everything to do with them seeing potential.

And now they wanted him to find someone to hold his hand. Marvelous. Why did the idea of this seem so worrisome?

Ron exhaled a deep sigh and rested his forehead against the slick tile of the shower stall. As the water stream danced across his shoulders and spine, he tried to bury the sense of foreboding that haunted him whenever he considered his future. Leaving one arm braced against the wall, he trailed fingertips over the muscles of his stomach to touch himself, pushing the disappointment from his mind with a random fantasy. Not for the first time, he imagined Hermione stepping into the shower, her face flushed and her hair frizzing into delightful spirals from the steam. Between the steady movements and tight grip of his hand and the tantalizing visions his mind provided, his worries temporarily dissolved and swirled down the drain as he drowned in sensation.

Feeling a bit more refreshed and secure of himself, Ron stepped into a pair of worn, low slung trousers and headed into the kitchen for a snack. He was surprised to see Harry seated at the dining table, across from a sandy haired fellow who was intently slicing thin wafers of cucumber. He hadn't expected Harry home for another two days, and when Harry nodded in greeting, Ron cocked a curious eyebrow before ducking into the pantry.

He was acutely aware of two sets of eyes following his bare back while he reached for a tin of biscuits. Cucumber-Boy was Harry's latest beau in a string of relationships that seemed to fizzle out quickly after an initial explosion of passion. More than once, Ron had apparated or stumbled out of the fireplace to the sight of Harry 'entertaining'. It wasn't that much of a shock; Harry had made his preferences known late in seventh year, but Ron found the sight of flat, bare chests pressed together quite interesting for reasons he didn't want to dwell upon. Once he'd even caught Hermione watching with glazed eyes and parted lips, so he reckoned that the unsettling feelings were quite normal when one caught one's friend in the midst of shagging.

"Ron, you haven't fallen asleep in here, have you?" Harry's voice pulled Ron from his odd musings about Harry's sex life.

Ron stepped out of the pantry, tin of biscuits secure in the crook of his arm, and joined Harry and Cucumber Boy at the table. "Sorry, I was just replaying the practical in my mind."

Harry smiled warmly at him. "That's one of the reasons I rushed to finish my latest assignment early. I wanted to see how you'd performed." Harry turned his attention to his guest. "Steven, Ron's been training on the side to became a field MLES."

Ron snapped the biscuit he held in half from the force of his grip. So Steve then. He didn't like this Steve, who sliced cucumbers and tomatoes as if they were volatile potions ingredients. He plastered on a neutral face for Harry's sake.

"Field MLES. How smashing! That's a wonderful path for those to take who aren't good enough to be an Auror like Harry and I." Steve waved his knife in his air to punctuate his sentence, bits of vegetable flinging across the kitchen. Ron wanted to shove the remainder of the cucumber up this Steve's arse. Of course, Harry's toy of the month might enjoy that too much…

Harry must have sensed Ron's anger simmering below the surface. He looked nervously between Ron and Steve and gripped his teacup tighter. "Field MLES are very important in handling issues that aren't specifically linked to dark wizards. You've been practicing for months Ron, yes?"

Ron nodded and swallowed a bit early; the dry biscuit scratched at this throat and he nearly choked. Hell if he was going to admit his failure to Harry with this twat present. "Er… yes. Hard work. Curses and defense, just like early Auror training."

"Oh yes. They do learn some of the more basic and simple things, don't they? That's cute. I'm sure they have their uses in locating lost pets and whatnot. The department likes to keep their MLES officers pretty to show off at functions and things." Steve glanced across the table to eyeball Ron's bare chest and stomach rather obviously before turning his attention on assembling little sandwiches, completely missing the look Harry was shooting him from across the table. "It must be a breeze for you, Ronald," Steven continued, "after all that Auror training. Unless you didn't retain anything when you were forced out."

Harry hopped up from his chair at that point and circled round the table to assist Steve with the sandwiches. He met Ron's eyes with an expression that begged, let it go. Ron gritted his teeth against the retort that welled up in his throat. How pathetic, the things he did to keep Harry happy. Ron wondered if it was normal for someone to roll completely belly-up just to keep the smile on the face of one of his best mates.

"Yes. Well. I actually need to be reviewing my Kitten Rescue 101 manual for the next practical, so I'll just be heading into the sitting room then." Ron stood up from the table, indulging in one disgruntled glare at Steven before exiting the kitchen. He could feel Harry's eyes following his retreat, but he refused to feel any guilt. Instead, he flopped his lanky body across the settee of sulking again and shut his eyes.

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