Notes: Thanks to those who've decided to chance reading this so far and an extra thank you for those who've chose to review. I appreciate it! Again, I don't own any of these characters, and I credit the HP Lexicon for checking accuracy and spelling of HP universe details.
CH. 3. Ron Learns About Bluffing
The wind was harsh and cold in Ron's face as he jogged his way from the apparation point to work the following morning, squeezing in a bit of extra exercise in an attempt to boost his performance on his practicals. Last night he had dreamed again of being out in the field, of leading his own team with coolness and confidence. He wanted to be the bloke in those dreams.
He was really quite nervous about this evenings training session. It was bad enough for Harry and Hermione to see his weaknesses in battle situations, and they had both tried to push Ron against his magical and physical block. Hopefully this new instructor would be able to ferret out a way for him to work past whatever was keeping him back. Kingsley's words came back to haunt him as he neared the Ministry and entered to head up to his office.
Too much of an open book. No darkness hidden in your soul. The words taunted at him; never before was Ron so upset that he lacked a bit of the devil. He absently waved at other MLES officers in his department as he passed, only to nearly crash into Mrs. Wattle's beefy frame blocking the corridor. Ron gave a startled squeak, and promptly blushed at how ridiculous it sounded.
"Mr. Weasley. A word, please."
Ron swallowed and nodded, following her into her office. Now what had he done?
"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley. Good. I've been in a discussion with some of the other trainers, and we've come to the decision that we can offer you only one more opportunity with the first practical."
"What?" Ron blurted, forgetting himself. He leaned forward on the desk, both hands splayed across the random folders resting there. "I thought that as long as I was in this position, I could still take advantage of the training sessions and have a go at the practical to get into the field!" He noted the disgusted look on Mrs. Wattle's face and settled back into his chair.
"Yes, you are correct. At your current position, you are able to attend any of the field officer training sessions and retake the practical as many times as necessary. There must be a limit though. You need to advance from probationary status eventually, and there are only two paths. The first would be as a MLES field officer, and the second would be as a MLES research officer. Both are very respectable and honest jobs, serving your fellow wizards and witches. I really would encourage you to consider accepting one of the positions in Records."
"But Mrs. Wattle," Ron said in a carefully measured voice so as not to anger her, "I would be so much more useful in the field rather than locked in the law library with records and documents all day. I know I have the capability to pass that practical. I would rather have another chance at that."
She eyed him for a moment, her penetrating glare boring into his gut. "Mr. Weasley, I know that you are a war hero, and that you have a few important friends in the Ministry. The MLES is not in the habit of indefinitely extending a MLES officer's probationary status. You however, have had a luxury that most other new MLES members haven't enjoyed. If you take the records position now, your employment with us is secure."
Ron pursed his lips, considering his options. "And if I choose to stay where I am and attempt the Field Auror practical again?"
"You will need to pass the written and physical in good standing when it is offered next month. Otherwise, I'm afraid that the department will have to release you. I'll need to know your decision by the end of today."
With a great sigh, Ron rose from the chair. This was it, then. The last chance to have anything resembling his dreams. Ron hoped Harry had recommended a phenomenal instructor. He was gambling on it. "I intend to pass the next field practical. I've asked an Auror to aid in my drills, and I plan to revise with an Unspeakable for the written portions." Ron straightened his posture so that he towered over his supervisor. He tried to bluff a confidence he didn't quite feel inside. "I will not be trapped in a file room for the next twenty years," he added.
"Very well, if that is your choice. You're excused now," Mrs. Wattle said softly, not looking up from her paperwork. As Ron exited the office, he missed her satisfied smile.
wwwwwwww
The vast sparring room was dimly illuminated, decorated with a scattering of large, blocky, stone shapes and false walls to be used in training scenarios. The cushioning charm on the floor absorbed Ron's pounding steps as he rushed into the facility. He was only slightly late, due to his last minute wibbling about looking like a fool before an Auror that Harry obviously respected, and he truly hoped it wouldn't make much of a bad first impression.
Ron slowed to catch his breath and took a moment to absorb the surroundings. The room was really quite big; it was arguably twice the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though the ceiling wasn't nearly as high. The soft lighting cast by lanterns fixed on the false walls contributed to the eerie feel of the room, which reminded Ron of a gritty, dark, back alley. There were small groups scattered about and working on drills, reminding Ron of his own botched attempts during the first few weeks in this strange world of Ministry employment. Auror or MLES candidates, Ron assumed when he recognized several of the trainees while they ducked spells. As he made his way to the men's locker rooms, he noticed another group of fully robed Aurors joking and laughing at a set of tables in one corner. None of them seemed to be impatiently scanning the room for a latecomer, so Ron ducked into the locker room to slip on his training robes.
The material was snug and cool against his skin as he hastened to dress – he really ought to thank Hermione for laundering them one day -- though the comfortable familiarness of the training robes didn't do much to ease the frantic beating of his heart. What if he made a complete fool of himself in front of some esteemed Auror? It was bad enough that many Aurors looked down on the MLES as people who couldn't handle the dedication, stress, or intense training conditions that an Auror required. Ron had been guilty of the same belief until he realized that most duties of the MLES were nearly the same in a general sense, with less inflation of the ego. It was just that the Ministry and the wizarding world as a whole held Aurors in a higher esteem because they dealt specifically with dark wizards, no matter how many dangerous criminals the MLES hit-wizards took down. In any case, Ron would be considered doubly pathetic if he couldn't even pass MLES Field Squad training.
Quit thinking like that, Ron admonished, or you'll bugger this up before the first hex.
He paused before the mirror for one last peek at his training robes before exhaling in a nervous puff of air.
"You're not regulation, I'll have you know," his reflection prattled back at him. "They're entirely too tight around the shoulders, and will impede your wandwork. And the length…"
"Thank you," Ron snapped, interrupting his reflection. "They fit well enough when I first bought them," he said aloud before trailing off with, and I'd assumed that I'd be in official Auror's robes not long after. Why was he standing here, arguing with a mirror anyhow?
Ron exited the locker room, and when his eyes readjusted to the dim light, he searched the room with apprehension. Had the Auror taken one look at Ron and marked him off as hopeless because of his miserable record? He watched the group near the tables again and tried to quash the nervous fluttering in his stomach, idly watching two of the women's ponytails swinging as they participated in the conversation. When his insides were firmly under control, he tossed up a brave façade and approached them, not quite intruding on the Aurors, but near enough to draw attention. Most of the group had their backs to him, but a tall, dark haired bloke tipped his head in greeting and nudged one of the women.
"Looks like your Magical Law Enforcement Squad field candidate is here," he said with an undertone of mockery in his voice. Some of the other Aurors openly snickered and Ron licked his lips in distress. The woman turned, her blonde ponytail whipping across her back.
"It's about time you dragged your sorry-self over here, Weasel. I hope you don't expect to waste this much time every evening!"
Ron's jaw dropped and he nearly let his wand slip from his fingers when the owner of that ponytail whirled around and revealed himself to be distinctly not a woman. What in the bloody hell was Harry thinking?
"Harry. You. Train me." Ron could barely form a coherent thought within the cacophony of words swirling in his mind. What in the bloody hell was Harry thinking?
Draco Malfoy's lips twisted in a satisfied smirk as he waited out Ron's mental backfire.
"Fortunately, I've been asked to assist in improving your physical performance, because your verbal skills are quite obviously beyond hope."
Ron snapped his mouth shut before something else blithering slipped out. He made an abrupt turn and stalked away from the group, who were now laughing loudly at some private joke that Ron was certain featured him. Even with his long, brisk steps, Malfoy caught up and matched pace. Ron didn't stop until he was safely obscured by one of the false walls. He spun to face his companion, blinking several times.
Yes. Still Malfoy. Standing there with his head cocked like some bird of prey, his light hair slicked back in a rubber band and his eyes sharp as shards of broken glass. Harry had plainly gone mental from all the various people whom had rooted around in his mind at Hogwarts. Of course Hermione had encouraged this as well, and there was certainly nothing wrong with her brain. Ron decided he ought to say something soon, because Malfoy's stare was becoming unnerving.
"You are the 'excellent instructor' that Harry wants me to run drills with to prepare for the next MLES practical?"
"Why, I'm flattered, Weasley," Malfoy replied with an aloof tilt up of his pointed chin. "He said all those lovely things about me? My, how times have changed. Imagine my delight when Potter asked me to hex you several hours every evening for nearly a month. How could I pass an opportunity like that up?"
Ron was too stunned to speak for a moment. His eyes involuntarily darted over Malfoy from head to toe. It occurred to him that he hadn't really seen Malfoy up close in nearly two years. Sure, they were in the same group of Auor recruits, but they'd been split into two training groups based on last name. Malfoy hadn't gained much height in those two years, but his hair was noticeably longer, even swept back in the ponytail. His Auror robes appeared impeccable as always, and his face was a virtual mirror to how he looked at Hogwarts, right down to the furrows between his brows that appeared when he sneered.
Ron chose not to wonder why he would be so intimate with the lines on Malfoy's face.
"Of course, if you always have that ridiculous expression, it's no wonder that Potter had to enlist the help of the best young instructor the Ministry has seen in years." Malfoy's drawling voice pulled Ron from his odd musings, and his attention snapped back. Malfoy was watching Ron carefully with a strange, amused glint in his eyes.
"How can you be the 'best young instructor'? You've both just completed your second year of training! You've still got a year left," Ron protested weakly.
The humor in Malfoy's eyes vanished, replaced with an unusually sober expression. "I take my work very seriously. Third year of Auror training is when you specialize, not that you'd know from your miserable stint as an Auror."
"Hey, there's no need…!" Ron began, but Malfoy cut him off.
"Your dear Potter is the sparkling diamond in their field unit, but I am their new secret weapon. I know things about advances in dark magic that younger Aurors can't even imagine. I have connections the ranking Aurors can only dream of. The older, higher ranking, experienced Aurors recognize my value though, and they've compensated me accordingly. I double their chances against Dark Magic users, and they know it. Now unless you'd like to stand there and wank to the stories of my great achievements for a little longer, I suggest we get some actual training in so I can asses your meager skills."
Ron just blinked, too astounded for words by the utter mass of arrogance that had just walloped his ears. He shook his head clear when he saw Malfoy's lips moving without catching a word. "What did you just say?" Ron asked, cringing at thought of having to ask him to repeat himself. Malfoy probably thought it was a great sin and insult that Ron wasn't basking in every word he spoke.
"I said, give me your wand. Will I need to repeat everything twice to get through your thick head?"
"My wand?" Ron asked, immediately wary. "Why in blazes do you need my wand?" He tightened his fingers around the wood and smoothed his thumb over the surface to reassure himself of its presence.
Malfoy touched two slender fingers to his forehead and glanced at the floor for a moment before meeting Ron's eyes. "Let's pretend I know what I'm taking about, and you're a clueless idiot. That shouldn't be terribly difficult for you."
Ron was completely confused. "How am I supposed to pass drills without my wand, Malfoy?"
"Weasley, I could have told Potter to stuff it when he asked me to help you, but I agreed because the thought of you running around in the field with mediocre MLES training would be a blight on our generation of students. I could just as well be at home enjoying a bath right now. Now. Give. Me. Your. Wand."
Ron inspected Malfoy's face for any signs of trickery and found none. The heaviness of Malfoy's gaze induced a wave of goosebumps to roll across his skin, but he felt compelled to meet those piercing eyes directly. He handed over his wand, letting it slide from his fingers reluctantly when Malfoy's fingers wrapped around the length. The image of those pale fingers on his wand gave him an odd shiver. Malfoy nodded slowly, and slipped Ron's wand into a pocket on his robes.
"Er.. now what?" Ron rasped out, his voice catching on the vowels from the tightness in his throat born from nerves.
"Now, Weasel," Malfoy hissed, the smirk creeping back across his lips when he pulled his own wand and aimed it at Ron's chest. "You run."
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