Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ron Weasley sat nervously in the waiting room, legs crossed, foot bouncing. There were only two others who applied for the position—or at least, got this far—but he knew both of them and knew they were better candidates than him.

It was the Easter holidays of his seventh year, and he was at the Ministry of Magic.

As everyone around him at school made decisions on what they wanted to be, Ron still had no real clue. He just knew he needed a job as soon as possible, to help out his family financially. Nothing really called out to him until Percy wrote to him about a position opening up as an assistant to the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic. A position available only to students just graduating, and N.E.W.Ts weren’t that important. It was a way to get a leg up working for the Ministry for someone just starting out, who didn’t have as many prospects open to them… like Ron.

Not that Ron was sure if he wanted to work in the Ministry… but he wanted to make some money, and this one paid pretty well.

The door to the Junior Assistant’s office opened, and the only girl was called in. Ron uncrossed and recrossed his legs, trying his best to hide his nerves. If this didn’t work out, perhaps he could find a job in Diagon Alley somewhere. His brothers had offered him a job at their joke shop but Ron didn’t really want to work under them.

Ron uncrossed his legs again and stretched them out a bit, smoothing down his skirt. He had debated whether to dress masculine or feminine, and decided on a mix of both hoping he looked good enough. His father and brother who had jobs at the Ministry said he looked fine, but now he wasn’t sure if he should have worn trousers instead…

The door opened and the girl left, and Ron was called in. He swallowed and stood up, trying to appear as confident as possible as he went into the Junior Assistant’s office. “Hello Mr. Hensweep,” Ron said, offering his hand.

“Mr. Weasley.” Hensweep shook his hand and waved at the chair. “You’re Bill’s littlest brother, aren’t you?”

Ron tried not to wince. “Yes, sir. Did you go to school with him?”

“I did,” Hensweep said. “He always beat me out in everything I did.”

Right then and there, Ron knew he wouldn’t get the job. They talked pleasantly about Ron’s academic prowess (which wasn’t super impressive) and magical abilities, then just before Hensweep dismissed him the door opened and the Minister for Magic himself came in.

“Walter,” he said stiffly, his dark eyes pinning the Junior Assistant to his seat. “Where the fuck are the papers on the Wellis affair? I expected them in my office two hours ago.”

Hensweep rose to his feet, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I was going to bring them as soon as I finished interviewing for my assistant position, sir. I—“

The Minister held out his hand and Hensweep quickly began scrambling through his desk until he found a folder which he shoved into the outstretched hand. The Minister remained where he was, flipping the folder open and scanning the papers. Hensweep began wringing his hands while Ron stayed frozen in his seat, not sure whether to tiptoe out or not.

“This will do.” The Minister snapped the folder shut and then looked at Ron. Ron tried not to squirm as one of the most powerful wizards in the country (second only to Albus Dumbledore) slowly studied him. His gaze swept from Ron’s worn boots, up his legs, his skirt, his button-up top, and his long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. The Minister then looked at his face for a second or two before turning back to Hensweep. “Next time if I say jump, you fucking jump.”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

The Minister left, slamming the door shut behind him and Hensweep sank back down. “Get out,” he said, cementing the fact Ron lost the job.

Ron left, storming first to his father’s office to complain about what happened and then to his brother’s office to also complain. His relationship with Percy had only recently started forming into something good, after Percy left Hogwarts and stopped using first his Prefects status then his Head Boy status to lord over Ron. Percy listened sympathetically and nodded, agreeing that Ron didn’t get the job and how sorry he was, and said he’d help him apply to places in Diagon Alley come summer.

As the weeks passed, Ron forgot about the entire thing. He dismissed it from his head and focused on school and Quidditch and spending time with his two best friends—Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Before he knew it, the end of the school year was on the horizon and just before the exams… Ron received an owl from the Ministry.

“Maybe you did get the job, then!” Hermione said excitedly.

“Open it up!” added Harry, a big smile on his face.

Ron examined the envelope which stated it was from the office of the Minister for Magic… not the Junior Assistant? “I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is…” He opened the envelope anxiously and began reading the letter. Disbelief filled his head first followed closely by confusion. “What the?”

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Harry didn’t wait for an answer, he simply snatched the letter from Ron’s fingers and read for himself. “Damn, Ron! I didn’t even know this was an option.”

“What is it?” Hermione demanded, cross.

“I was offered a position as a personal assistant for the Minister for Magic himself,” Ron said a little weakly.

Hermione’s brow furrowed and she took the letter from Harry. “Wow. How did…?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even apply for anything like that.” Ron took the letter back, running his thumb across the fancy letters. “Maybe Percy said something?” But that seemed unlikely. “This is weird.”

Harry smacked his back. “Weird or not, you got a job and one better than the one you were going for, it seems.”

“Yes… but…” Ron trailed off. “It’s with him.”

Silence took his two friends and they exchanged glances then both nodded in understanding.

“Are you going to?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know.” Ron folded the letter up and shoved it back in the envelope. “I should. This is an amazing chance, even if it’s… with… well.” He swallowed. “What should I do?”

“You’re the only one who can decide that,” Harry said.

Hermione put her hand on Ron’s. “You have a couple of weeks left to decide for sure. Give it a think. Yeah?”

Ron nodded and tucked the letter in his schoolbag before going back to breakfast. He thought about it, and thought about it, and didn’t stop thinking about it. He wrote to his parents, to all of his brothers, and also talked to his sister for advice. Everyone but Percy said it was his decision. Percy told him flat out to say no. Ron wasn’t quite sure why… was Percy just feeling a little jealous?

His N.E.W.Ts came and went, and a few days before the school year ended he wrote a letter to the Ministry saying he accepted the position. It would come with a lot of benefits and a good pay. He’d be dumb to pass it up. Even if it meant working directly for the Minister for Magic.

That was the only hesitation Ron had, but he figured if things got too scary he could just quit. Still, a sort of dread filled him as he wondered what it was going to be like working under Tom Riddle…

Chapter Text

Ron stood in front of the mirror for the millionth time, trying to decide if his outfit was right or not. He turned one way and then the other before shaking his head and stripping off. It was the first Monday of summer, and he was due to be at the Ministry in half an hour. He knew he was cutting it close (he hadn’t even eaten yet!) but he had spent the entire hour and a half awake trying to figure out what the hell to wear.

He searched through his dressers and finally pulled on the same skirt he wore to his interview, and a nice dark green top to go with it, since green went so well with his fiery hair. He tucked the top in, pulled on socks and his best loafers, and then messed with his hair for another ten minutes before running downstairs. His mother was in a mood because he hadn’t eaten yet and tried to shove some food at him. He wolfed it all down as fast as he could before hugging her tightly, and going to the fireplace to Floo to the Ministry.

He had no clue what to expect but he assumed the job would be similar to what had been laid out as the Junior Assistant’s assistant. Organizing paperwork, fetching tea and snacks, watering plants, keeping the office tidy, maybe taking notes if the secretary was busy… right?

“Ministry of Magic,” he said clearly, tossing the powder in and stepping through. He was spun around and tossed out into the Flooing room of the Ministry, bumping into someone else. He apologized, even though manners dictated it was their fault for standing so close to the fireplace.

Ron ran to the lifts and went to Level One, glancing occasionally at his watch. He still had ten minutes but he felt like he was cutting it too close. Would Riddle expect him earlier than that? Should he had already been there? Or would showing up too early be rude?

As soon as the doors opened, Ron stepped out onto the plush dark green carpet that almost matched his top. He did his best now to run as he focused on the biggest, farthest door which was the Minister’s office. He breezed past all of the other offices and went through the door, into the Minister’s waiting room. The secretary looked up and frowned slightly.

“Weasley?” she asked sharply.

“Yes?” He glanced at the clock. He still had a good six minutes. Maybe he should have come even earlier…

“The Minister is expecting you.” Her face was tight and puckered, as if she had eaten something sour. “Go on in.”

Ron went to the door and paused. “Do I knock or—“

The secretary looked irritated. “I said go on in, didn’t I?”

He mumbled an apology and went into the office, shutting the door behind him. The office was enormous. There was a huge mahogany desk with a large plush chair behind it (empty, at the moment). Plants everywhere. A terrarium with a large snake in it. There was a smaller mahogany desk to the side, where Ron wondered if he was going to be working. There was a green and silver couch with Slytherin emblem embossed pillows, and loads of cabinets. Finally there was, on the far wall, a huge window that overlooked an oceanic view. In front if it stood Mr. Riddle, his back to Ron, his hands clasped behind his back. His black hair was smoothed down and he wore a very expensive looking suit.

“Mr. Weasley?” he asked without turning around.

“Yes, sir,” Ron said in a rather small voice. Suddenly he felt extremely shabby and stupid. What was he doing here? This wasn’t something he was cut out for! Working directly for the Minister himself… what was he thinking?

Riddle turned, his black eyes zeroing in on Ron. Like their meeting before, he glanced from Ron’s shoes all the way up to his ponytail. Ron shifted his weight to his other foot, holding his elbow with one hand, trying to exude confidence and brilliance while feeling like he might be sick at any second. It felt like Riddle’s scan of him this time took forever. His eyes lingered on the skirt and once again, Ron wished he had worn trousers.

“Your desk is over there.” Riddle turned back around to look out the window. “There is a pile of paperwork that I wish you to sort and stack them alphabetically by department.”

Ron hesitated then went over to the small desk, not sure how he felt about being thrown into his work without so much as a greeting… but that didn’t surprise him, considering Riddle’s reputation. “Thank you, sir. Er. For this… job.” Riddle turned again, one eyebrow raised. “I appreciate it.”

“Very well.”

Ron sat down and picked up the pile of papers, tapping them against the desk to straighten them out. “May I ask… though… I didn’t… know there was this position available, and I didn’t—“

“I didn’t hire you for small talk. I hired you as my assistant.”

Ron swallowed, going pale. “Yes, sir. Sorry.” He bent his head and promptly went to work. It took almost an entire hour and the second he said he was done, another pile appeared on his desk with the order to do the same, with the previous pile. Ron pressed his lips tight together, wishing he had known more papers would appear but he remained silent as he resorted everything. This time he separated the alphabetized ones into multiple piles to make it easier and sure enough when he was done, more paperwork appeared. He continued to work until his vision grew a little blurry and his stomach began growling. When no more papers appeared, he put everything into two giant stacks, since one stack would tip over.

“Take those to the Junior Assistant,” Riddle said without looking up from his desk. Ron bit his lip and stood up, hesitating a moment. He picked up one stack then eyed the other. Two trips? But as he started to walk away, Riddle gave an annoyed huff. “Take all the papers. Or is a simple levitation spell too much for you?”

Right. Ron got his wand out and used a spell to make the second stack levitate behind him. He traipsed out of the office and through the waiting room, down the corridor, and to the Junior Assistant’s office. Walter Hensweep was in the waiting room when he went in, and turned to glower at Ron. He waved Ron into his office and Ron put the piles of papers down on his desk. Without another word, Ron scurried out and returned to Riddle’s office.

Is it time for lunch yet? he wondered, glancing briefly at his watch on the way. It was after noon already. But he didn’t dare ask. He just slipped into the office and waited for the next order.

Riddle was standing at the terrarium now, the lid off, the snake winding its way up around his arm. Riddle turned at the door, and a thin smile appeared on his face. “This is Nagini,” he said, and the snake flickered its tongue at Ron. “Come and say hello.”

Ron inched forward, trying not to wince as Riddle brought the snake closer to him. “Hello, Nagini.”

“One of your duties will be feeding her,” Riddle said, “so you best get used to her.” He tipped her back into the terrarium and shut the lid. The terrarium was chest high, and stretched out along almost the entire wall. It was filled with plants, rocks, bits of water, and all sorts of things a snake could use. “Now.” He turned again. “Do you have any questions regarding your job before we continue?”

“I was a bit curious as to how I even got this job. Sir.”

Riddle twisted his lips into half a smile. “Are you saying you shouldn’t have gotten it?”

Huh? “Er—no—I—“

“Anything else?”

Ron drew in a breath and straightened himself out to full height. “What are all my duties?”

Riddle nodded, and began laying out the duties most of which Ron already knew about. In addition he would be expected to sit in on some meetings to take notes along with the secretary (“Having two sets of ears writing things down is never a bad thing”), feed Nagini which he had already been informed of, feed Nagini’s food, run any little errand he needed which may include taking laundry to and picking laundry up from a place in Diagon Alley, and also attending some dinner parties.

“Dinner parties?” Ron asked, eyes widening.

“Yes,” Riddle said, turning away and going to his desk. “I do not like to go to them alone. Besides, there may be things that are needed there. Like remembering a conversation. Which I intend you do.”

“Yes sir. I…”

Riddle’s eyes snapped up. “What is it?”

Ron tugged at his skirt a little. “I don’t know if I have anything nice enough for a fancy dinner party.”

“I see.” Riddle picked a quill up and dipped it angrily into a pot of ink. “In that case, we’ll have to get you something. Speaking of clothes, about that skirt…”

“Yes, sir?” Ron asked, prepared to be told to wear trousers.

“If you wear skirts, I expect stockings to be worn under. It is more professional.”

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

Riddle waved his hand and a pile of papers appeared on Ron’s desk. “Complaints, about the Ministry. Organize them by department and by complainee. Except for any complaints given by a Bertha Jorkins. Put those in their own pile. And if there is anything serious, put it in another pile.”

I should have asked when lunch is, Ron thought as he returned to his desk and began working, wondering what complaints were supposed to be serious. Most were more like gossip. He-did-this-she-said-that. Bertha Jorkins had quite a few and her pile grew to be a couple of inches tall. One complaint gave him pause. Three Ministry workers were on a job erasing Muggle memories when one of the Ministry workers kept purposely scaring the Muggles by shooting sparks from his wand and then laughing about it.

He said it did not matter, as their memories would be erased anyway, wrote the complainee. Ron debated and then put it aside, feeling that should be taken seriously.

Anti-Muggle sensitivity or lack thereof was something that bothered a lot of people about the Ministry. Especially the way Muggleborns were treated. Ron was firmly on the side of Muggles should be left alone, and Muggleborns had every right to be part of their world. A lot of people looked down on Muggleborns and dismissed them, treating them poorly, calling them names, saying awful things about them… Riddle often spoke out lightly against such sentiments but never really did anything about it.

One of the many reasons Ron had been apprehensive about working for him.

Other reasons included his desire to remain in power (he had changed the laws when he became Minister back in the early eighties, making it so he could remain Minister essentially as long as he wanted), and his well known temper.

Ron finished sorting through the complaints and then lifted his head again, his stomach growling loudly. Riddle was still working, face impassive as he wrote furiously on a piece of parchment.

“I’m done,” Ron said. Riddle remained silent. Ron waited a moment and then cleared his throat. Riddle glanced up, eyes narrowed. “I’m done with these. Where shall I take them?”

“Let me see the ones you deem important.” Riddle held his hand out and Ron took the few papers over. Riddle glanced through them, lips pressed together. “Interesting choices.” He let the papers fall back to his desk. “Take these to my Senior Assistant, including the others.”

Ron scooped up all the papers and left the office, trying to ignore the growing hunger. He went into the Senior Assistant’s office, left the papers with the secretary, and then returned to the Minister’s office with another problem. Before Riddle could give him another order, Ron asked, “Sir? Erm. Where is the… lavatory that I can use?”

Riddle looked highly amused by this question, and Ron felt himself go a bit red, realizing how crass he was being. Before he could apologize, Riddle indicated a door. “Through the room there is the lavatory.”

Ron ducked his head in gratitude and went through, finding himself in a small room with a large cage full of enormous rats. He reeled back, almost falling over at the sight. There were at least half a dozen of the rats separated into three smaller cages inside the bigger one. Nagini’s food, he thought, inching past the cage and going through the other door which was where the bathroom was.

Once he finished his business he returned to his desk where he was given more work and then allowed to go have his very late lunch at one-thirty, as long as he was back by two. Ron picked up his bag and hurried out, going to the lifts and pressing the button that would take him to Percy’s floor. Once inside Percy’s office, he collapsed down in a chair and yanked out the food his mother had lovingly packed for him.

“How has your first morning gone?” Percy inquired.

“So much paperwork to sort,” Ron moaned, biting into the sandwich. “I thought he would never release me for lunch! I’m starving.”

Percy continued to look concerned. “Has he treated you all right otherwise?”

“He barely speaks to me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ron mumbled between bites. “Just tells me to sort through everything and put things alphabetically then take them to someone else.”

“Did you imagine something else?”

He shook his head and finished the sandwich before moving on to the orange. “No, it’s what I expected… except he expects me to feed his snake.” He made a face at that.

“At least it is not a spider,” Percy said and Ron glowered at him while he chuckled. “I’m glad things are going well so far.”

Ron peeled the orange and bit into it. “Can I ask… why you wanted me to turn the job down?” Percy remained silent as Ron chewed. “Hmm?”

“It… is probably nothing,” Percy said slowly.

“What is it?” Ron asked, taking another big bite and wincing as the juice flowed down his chin and dripped onto his top. “Oh, damn.”

Percy flicked his wand to get rid of the spot and Ron thanked him. “It’s just. There are…” Percy trailed off, brow furrowing a bit as he clearly debated whether or not to tell him. “There are rumors,” he finally settled on saying.

“About what?” Ron shoved the last of the orange into his mouth then drank half the bottle of water in one go. He was still rather hungry. Percy seemed to guess this and opened his desk, pulling a chocolate bar out and tossing it over. “Thank you, you’re the best.”

“Not what you would have said a couple of years ago,” Percy said softly.

Ron flinched. “A couple of years ago you were being super pratty.”

“I was only doing my duty as Head Boy.”

“You didn’t have to go overboard with keeping me and Gin and the twins in line though—“

“I couldn’t show you special treatment!” Percy took in a deep breath and shoved his glasses up. “Never mind. I don’t want to start arguing.”

“Me either,” Ron confessed, finishing off the chocolate bar. “You were saying about rumors, though?”

“Ah. Right.” Percy adjusted his glasses again and then folded his arms on his desk. “They are only rumors, mind you. I do not know how true they are… or even how they got started. Perhaps there is a kernel of truth in there somewhere but there’s no way for—“

“Out with it, Perce.”

“The Minister seems to have an… affinity for… younger men,” Percy said and Ron froze.

“You mean…?”

Percy held his hands up. “I don’t know how true it is. Just… rumors, I’ve heard. One of which involves a personal assistant. The last time he had a personal assistant—which was almost a decade ago—the young wizard left after a few weeks, refusing to talk about why he was leaving, or his time with the Minister.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

One shoulder rose and fell. “I was told before he quit there were some complaints about familiarity, and when he left he apparently came into quite a bit of money.”

Ron began laughing. “That’s ridiculous. You think—?” More laughter. “He’s… what… in his seventies? You think he made a pass at someone my age?” The laughter suddenly stopped and his eyes got big. “You were worried he’d make a pass at me?”

Percy shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard. I’ve also heard it’s a nightmare to work directly with him, which was another reason I wasn’t sure if you should take the job. I’m only worried about you.”

Ron finished off his water and stood up. “Thanks for worrying, but I’m sure it’s just rumors. The Minister’s ancient and probably hates me anyway.”

“He hired you for a reason,” Percy reminded him.

“Yes, but not…” Ron snorted. “Don’t be silly. He probably only hired me because I was the only one stupid enough to accept.” He pat Percy’s shoulder. “I better get back, it’s nearly two. Thanks, though, Perce. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Ron went back to the lifts and on the way up he chuckled to himself at Percy’s bizarre concern although part of him remembered the lingering look Riddle had given his skirt… but that was probably just from the fact not many wizards wore skirts. No, the whole thing was a ridiculous thought and the rumors were most likely false.

Chapter Text

Ron was exhausted by the time he went home which turned out to be an hour after the hours he had been given. Riddle had him stay over to help with some more paperwork then remarked the time, as if he hadn’t realized how late it was. Ron was super hungry and as soon as he got home, he collapsed in a chair and wolfed down the dinner he had missed. His parents stayed at the table and he told them all about his first day. Arthur laughed at Ron complaining about all the papers he had to sort, and said that was ninety percent of a job at the Ministry.

He took a shower then went up and stretched out in bed in his pajamas, ready for sleep despite the fact it was only seven. He very nearly did fall asleep then got up to write a letter to Harry until he couldn’t stay up any longer.

In the morning he got dressed in his nicest trousers and a grey button-up, pulling his hair into a slightly higher ponytail than the one he had worn the day before. Breakfast, and then off to work. This time he went directly into the Minister’s office and then stopped in his tracks. His desk was covered in papers. Piles and piles of papers.

“About time you got here,” Riddle said from his desk, not looking up.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I need you to feed the rats and then you may start working on the papers. Those will need to be organized by department and put into their own piles. If you need more space, let me know.”

Feed the rats. Ron went through the door and hesitated. “Where—“

“In the cupboard underneath. Instructions are on the bag.”

Right. Ron pulled the bag and the measuring cup out, reading the instructions and then filling the food dishes, trying not to think of the rats eventual fate. He liked rats, and had had one for a couple years until it died of old age. Sorry little guys, he thought, closing the cages and wiping his hands off on a nearby towel. Taking in a deep breath (which was a mistake in the small rat room, it stunk a bit) he returned to his desk to tackle the papers.

Hours later his body ached from bending over his desk but everything was sorted into dozens of piles. Riddle had needed to conjure up a side table to give Ron the room. Unlike the day before, however, as Ron worked, people came to see Riddle. He listened in to what was going on at the Ministry, perking up slightly when he heard Harry’s parents’ name.

“James and Lily Potter are threatening to cancel their annual donation unless we go through with the Wolfsbane Welfare System, sir,” said a nervous Ministry worker. “They won’t stop bringing it up.”

Riddle sat back in his chair, face stony. That was one of the few things Ron actually knew about. Harry’s parents were staunch werewolf supporters, as one of Harry’s uncles was, in fact, a werewolf. Before Ron started Hogwarts he had had all sorts of false assumptions about the creatures which Harry immediately broke apart upon their friendship. Now he was as much a supporter as the Potters and he found it took a little bit of effort not to speak up as the Ministry worker complained about the WWS.

Personally Ron was all for the WWS and wished it would be passed. It would mean every werewolf on the register would receive the Wolfsbane potion from the Ministry. Unfortunately the Ministry felt it was too costly with very little advantage, despite the fact the Wolfsbane potion helped werewolves tremendously. Most people just preferred to shove werewolves aside and dismiss them. Including the Minister, whose anti-werewolf stance was well known.

“How many werewolves are on the registry?” Riddle asked, surprisingly not just dismissing it. Either he was more fair than Ron realized, or the Potters donated more money than he realized. Most likely the latter.

“Er. I can’t remember offhand…”

“Weasley!” Ron jumped to his feet. “Go to the DRCMC and find out.” Ron hesitated, confused. Riddle looked livid and spoke again, punctuating every couple of words in a slow voice as if Ron were “The Department. For the Regulation. And Care. Of Magical Creatures.”

“Yes, sir, sorry.”

“And hurry?”

Ron ran out of the office and to the lifts, trying to remember which level to go to. Fourth, he suddenly remembered, jabbing the button. Why this couldn’t be a flying note, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed as Riddle’s assistant that’s what he was.

He impatiently waited, tapping his foot, feeling Riddle’s anger seeping into his body from afar. As if the Minister’s glare could transcend space which it probably could. Finally the doors opened and Ron hurried out, finding the correct department and getting the information Riddle needed. He took the paper and ran back to the lifts, knocking into someone on the way and shouting an apology as he continued to run. A few moments later he was back in Riddle’s office, proudly handing him the note. Riddle just waved his hand in a dismissive way and Ron slunk back to his desk to continue working on the papers.

Once he was finished with the papers (at half past one) he had to take them to the Senior Assistant again and then was able to get lunch. This time he went to his father’s office for his short break, collapsing into a seat and stuffing the food into his face. His mother had packed two sandwiches since Ron had told her how hungry he had been the day before, and two pieces of fruit as well. He was more satisfied as he returned to the office which was a good thing since Riddle needed to go around the Ministry, and wanted Ron to follow him to take notes.

For three hours they wandered through the entire Ministry, Ron scribbling everything down as they went. I wonder when he eats his lunch, he wondered at one point, figuring it was the same half hour that he had eaten. Or maybe Riddle didn’t eat at all. Maybe he just lived on tea and cold fury.

Oh, the tea. One of the other things Ron was tired of after so little time. In the office was a kettle which Ron had to learn to correctly heat up to the proper temperature with spells (Riddle refused to have it done by fire). Then he carefully warmed up the teapot before adding the tea leaves and boiling water. He had to brew it for exactly four minutes. If it was any less or any more, he had to toss it out and start over. Most times he had to pour it through a tea strainer but at least once he had to leave the tea leaves in, as Riddle liked to read his leaves once a day. The milk had to be added first, then the tea, and then the sugar.

Riddle liked to have tea multiple times a day, and was surprisingly patient as Ron learned exactly how to do everything. He was still learning, but thought he had it figured out even on day two.

When they returned to Riddle’s office it was five pm which was when Ron was supposed to go home, but instead Riddle had him make another pot of tea and then sit and take notes as Riddle talked about some of the things discussed that day. He stood in front of this oceanic view window, sipping his tea, and talking without any pauses. Ron furiously scribbled his notes, trying his best to keep up.

“Oh, it’s six-ten,” Riddle said suddenly and Ron looked up. “Put those notes on your desk to type up tomorrow, and you may go.”

“Type up?” Ron asked, scrunching his nose in confusion.

Riddle turned, eyebrows raising. “Oh. You don’t have a typewriter. I shall get you one tomorrow. Speaking of getting you things… come here. No, come here,” he said when Ron didn’t move. Ron set his notes down on the desk and approached the Minister. “Turn around.” Ron turned, not sure what was going on. Suddenly Riddle seized his shirt and tugged the collar open, looking at the tag. Without even asking if it was okay, he tugged at Ron’s waistband and looked at the tag there, too. Ron froze at the feel of the Minister's hands on him like that. One hand was on his back, the other hooked into the top of his trousers to tug open. He could probably even see Ron's underwear. What the fuck? “I needed your sizes.”

“F-for what?” Ron asked, too afraid to move even though the Minister took his hands off of him.

“Face me when you speak,” Riddle commanded.

Ron turned around and swallowed. “What did you need my sizes for, sir?” He actually wanted to ask why he couldn't have simply asked for his sizes and felt the need to grab Ron, but then changed his mind. Riddle was a strange person and probably wasn't even thinking about the fact he had peered into Ron's clothes. Or something. Right?

“There is a dinner party on Friday night that you will need to attend with me,” Riddle said, turning away. Ron may needed to face him, but he didn’t have to face anyone apparently. “You did say you had nothing, didn’t you? Therefore, I shall get you something to wear. Shoe size? All right. You may go.”

Ron returned to his desk, grabbed his bag, and gladly left, trying to push down the weirdness of what just happened. He was exhausted and ready for bed, but stayed up for a while talking with his family and playing a board game with Percy and Ginny. He finally retired at nine and fell right to sleep.

*

Day three found a typewriter and three large bags on Ron’s desk instead of paperwork. Riddle was reading some reports, the chair turned away as Ron went in. Ron went over and peered into the bags. In the first bag was more masculine clothes for a fancy dinner party. Two suits and two sets of nice robes. In the second bag, feminine party clothes. A skirt, two blouses, two dresses, and more feminine robes. In the third were shoes—one set masculine loafers, one set low-heeled shoes—and a couple of pairs of stockings.

He hadn’t expected all this.

“Sir?” he ventured.

Riddle turned his chair around, setting the papers down. “What is it?”

“This is… a lot,” Ron said nervously. “I can’t afford all of this. Do you want me to just pick one outfit?”

Riddle looked furious. “They are already paid for. I got them for you. I need my assistant looking nice when we are out, do you expect to wear the same damn thing to every party? No,” he answered before Ron could. “Go try the clothes on.”

Ron took the bags to the lavatory and tried everything on. They all fit perfectly, although the skirt and one of the dresses were a bit shorter than he liked; he usually wore his skirts down to his knees and these were above his knees. Still, free clothes. He couldn’t complain. He got dressed back in his regular outfit and returned to the office, thanking Riddle until Riddle snapped at him to get the notes typed up.

*

“Dinner party?” Molly asked that night as she filled Ron’s plate with food. “I didn’t know you’d be doing that sort of thing…”

“I didn’t either,” Ron said, shoveling the food into his mouth. Today he had been kept until nearly seven. Was this going to be a regular thing or was Riddle just testing him at the start? “I think it’s the one Percy’s been talking about. I’m not sure though. There might be multiple that night. Anyway, the Minister gave me clothes.”

“Gave you clothes?” Molly sat down, pursing her lips. “Are you sure?”

“He said he expected his assistant to look nice and that he got them for me,” Ron replied. “He even got me some feminine clothes, so obviously he doesn’t care if I wear skirts which is nice since I wasn’t really sure.”

The first time he had ever worn a skirt was when he was ten. The Weasleys had been visiting family for a wedding, and the twins had switched his clothes with Ginny’s. Ginny preferred trousers and refused to switch back. So Ron put on the dress and realized he liked how it felt, and how it looked. After some discussion, his parents agreed to get him mixed clothing. Even his school uniforms were mixed—some trousers, some skirts.

After he finished eating he stopped by Percy’s room to see what dinner party he was going to and was informed it was at the Crouches, and he assumed Riddle would be there. Ron was relieved he’d at least have his brother there then went to show Ginny his new clothes and tried on the prettier dress for her. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever owned. It was silky and fitted him perfectly, with off-the-shoulder, loose sleeves, a laced up back, and a rather poofy skirt. It was a deep purple with gold trim, and made him feel a bit like royalty. He twirled, the skirt swishing around him.

“I can’t believe he just bought that for you,” Ginny said, reaching out to touch one of the sleeves. “It’s so pretty.”

“Me either.” He had thought, at first, maybe it wasn't abnormal but with everyone in his family saying how weird it was the Minister got him clothes, now he was unsure. Perhaps they were donated clothes or something? That would make sense, and explain why they were just given to him. Although he couldn't imagine anyone donating the purple dress...

Ron twirled again and then shooed Ginny out of his room so he could change into his pajamas. Then the two of them plopped onto the floor, eating snacks and chatting until he was too tired to stay up any later. He fell asleep, dreaming of the dress.

*

Thursday was spent keeping his head down as Riddle raged at various employees. He seemed to be in a very foul mood that day and took it out on everyone, including Ron. Nothing Ron did seemed to be right and he had to redo things multiple times which at least gave him some more time to try the typewriter if nothing else. It was a bit difficult, figuring out how to use the contraption. He was very slow and awkward with it. At lunch he talked to Percy who brought a typewriter home with him that night for Ron to practice on. Ron banged away at the keys and fiddled with the various knobs. He wasn’t much better by morning but at least he was getting somewhere.

On Friday morning (soon it would be the weekend, and he would be free!) he came in to the order to feed Nagini. His heart sank as he went into the little side room, picking up one of the rats and bringing it back to the office. Nagini seemed as excited as a snake could be as Ron opened the lid and set the rat down inside. He shut the lid and then sat at his desk, glad his desk faced away from the terrarium so he didn’t have to see what was going on, although he could hear the terrified squeaks. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see Riddle watching the feeding with a strange look of calm on his usually angry face.

“What did you bring to wear?” Riddle’s voice suddenly broke into Ron’s focus on the typewriter. He glanced up, confused. Riddle’s calm look quickly dissipated into a stormy one. “For the party?”

“I… forgot about that,” he admitted, cringing.

“You forgot about it,” Riddle repeated. His voice was very flat which somehow made it worse.

Ron quickly thought of a solution, even though it meant giving up relaxing for half an hour. “I’ll run home on my lunch break and grab something. Is there anything you’d prefer me to wear…?”

“I don’t give a shit what you wear, as long as you look nice,” Riddle snarled, going back to the papers on his desk. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Get me Jeannine.”

Ron scrambled out of the room to fetch the secretary, and then returned to his desk, flinching as Riddle tore her a new one, screaming and yelling about something she had gotten wrong in her notes. He then flung the papers at Ron and told him type them up with the correction, since he couldn’t trust his own secretary. Jeannine bowed her head and quietly left, though not before shooting a furious look at Ron.

Ron was released at two to go eat and he shoved his food in his mouth as he hurried to the Flooing room, ignoring the looks people were giving him. Perhaps it was rude to eat and run through the hallways but he didn’t really care since he had to eat something.

He went home, shouting an explanation to his mother as he hurried to his room, grabbing the nearest bag. It was the feminine clothes. He took the skirt, a blouse, and his new shoes, then, since he didn't have anything for stockings, pulled a pair of tights out of his dresser. He arrived back in Riddle’s office at exactly half past two, gasping for air as he dropped the bag next to his desk, feeling rather proud of himself for making it back on time and managing to get food in him.

“Weasley,” Riddle said and Ron stood back up. He had a strange expression on his face, that made Ron feel slightly uncomfortable although he didn’t know why. “I do not appreciate you panting like an animal, nor should you be sweating like that. Go clean yourself off.”

“Sorry, sir.” Ron went into the bathroom to wipe down his face before returning to his work.

Chapter Text

At five-thirty Riddle sent Ron to get changed, so he got dressed in the lavatory. The clothing felt very nice and very expensive. He touched the skirt, wondering how much it all cost and why Riddle had done it. Just for an assistant who had been working a couple of days? His mind went to the conversation with Ginny, and he knew it had to be donated or something like that; nothing else made sense.

He returned to the office where Riddle was dressed in a very nice suit and extremely expensive-looking robes. He eyed Ron up and down and gave a very tiny nod of his head, meaning he looked okay enough. Ron then followed him out, through the Ministry as he explained what to expect since Ron had never gone to anything like this. Ron listened intently, nodding, and promising to stay quiet and only speak when spoken to.

He expected they would go to the Flooing room so he was surprised when they went to the front doors instead. Hardly anyone used the front doors—actually, nobody was supposed to really use them except for, apparently, the Minister. Ron opened one for him and they went out into the London street where a very flashy car waited for them. A young man opened the backdoor and Riddle climbed in. It took Ron a second to follow as he had to adjust his skirt before sliding in. The door was then shut. The backseat was luxurious and there was a blackened window separating them from the front.

“I prefer to take the car,” Riddle explained, when Ron seemed confused. “Much more style, don’t you think? It is inspired by the Knight Bus.”

Just then the car turned on and lurched forward so violently that Ron was thrown against the door. He quickly got buckled after that, clutching the seat belt whenever the driver decided to make another jump through the country. Riddle somehow remained unruffled and unmoving, as if he were magicked into his spot. He stared out the window as Ron did his best not to slide everywhere.

As the car made its way to its destination, Ron began to grow nervous. The closest he had ever come to the richer side of the wizarding world was through Harry and his family, but the Potters never acted rich and certainly not snobby. Dinners with them tended to be chaotic and fun and messy.

It took around half an hour before the car rolled to a stop in front of a large country manor in the middle of who-knew-where. Ron unbuckled and got out on his own but Riddle waited for the driver to open the door for him. He stepped out, smoothed his suit down, and started walking briskly to the front door with Ron at his heels.

The Crouches were a fairly political-minded family, or at least the grandfather was. From what little Ron knew of them, the grandfather worked at the Ministry (and was Percy’s direct boss), the son did nothing, and the grandson wreaked havoc at Hogwarts ever since he arrived two years after Ron started. Sixteen-year-old Bartemius Crouch the Third stood by his grandfather, eyes wide when he saw Ron with the Minister. Instantly, his face returned to a smiling one and he shook Riddle’s hand happily.

“If you needed a personal assistant, Bert here was thinking about finding summer work,” Mr. Crouch Sr. said, patting Riddle’s back.

“He is too young,” Riddle replied, a thin smile on his face. “Besides, I would prefer a long-term assistant. Perhaps in the future, young Crouch. In any case…” He put his hand on Ron’s back. “Weasley here was a good choice.” Ron tried not to puff up at the sudden and surprising compliment. “Is your son joining us tonight?”

“Ahh, Barty doesn’t like these sorts of things,” Mr. Crouch said as he guided the Minister and Ron through their house and to a large dining room where others already waited, where Riddle finally removed his hand from Ron’s back—Ron wasn’t sure why he had kept it there for so long, though figured Riddle just forgot it was there or something.

Ron recognized several families. There were witches and wizards from several of the Sacred Twenty-Eight… including one of his friends. Relief swept through Ron as his gaze caught Neville Longbottom’s, and the two smiled at each other. Ron was unable to sit with him, however, and had to sit next to the Minister who was seated at Mr. Crouch Sr’s right hand. Across from Ron sat Crouch the Third, who kept giving Ron rather dirty looks.

A moment later the doorbell rang and the final guests showed up, one of which was Percy who shot a smile at Ron before taking his seat somewhere in the middle of the table. As everyone got settled, Ron realized everyone was either from the Sacred Twenty-Eight or else very high up in the Ministry. As the house-elves began serving everyone, the chatter began which was mostly political. Ron focused on his food (and trying to figure out which fork to use) and mostly didn’t pay any attention until he heard the WWS brought up. He tilted his head slightly, listening in as a few people down the table from him began complaining about it and their complaints reached the Minister.

“I have not decided on a course of action,” Riddle said, sipping his wine. “There are quite a few influential people who do believe that this would be in the public’s interest…”

“Oh, pixie piss on that,” said a witch who Ron didn’t recognize. “The public’s interest would best be served if all the werewolves were executed!”

“Some of them can’t help what happened to them,” said Neville’s mother; Ron knew that Frank and Alice Longbottom were also friends with Remus Lupin. “We should help them. Not destroy them.”

“I agree they shouldn’t be killed,” said a man who Ron was fairly sure belonged to the Nott family. “They should all be rounded up and put in some sort of reservation. Locked up. They can tear each other up, if they wish, and not risk anyone else.”

“If we gave them the Wolfsbane potion, they wouldn’t tear anyone up—including themselves,” said a woman who Ron didn’t know by name but knew worked on the same floor that the Minister’s office was on. He had seen her twice, and made a mental note to find out her name.

The talk continued until a cold voice spoke out saying the entire conversation was too distasteful for a dinner. Ron glanced down and winced when he saw the speaker had been Lucius Malfoy. Riddle agreed with Malfoy, and the conversation changed to another political topic that didn’t interest Ron.

After the supper was over everyone retired to a spacious room where there were desserts, plenty of wine, and soft music playing out of a record player. Ron itched to make a beeline for Percy or Neville but obediently stayed by his boss’s side, following him from person to person until they reached the Longbottoms.

“I didn’t know you took the job,” Neville said after the two of them took a few steps away from the adults.

“Yeah, I decided during the N.E.W.Ts,” Ron replied, twisting the stem of the wineglass between his fingers. “I struggled with some of them and knew this would be the best opportunity for the time being.”

Neville mouthed ‘working with him?’ and glanced sideways at the Minister with a questioning expression. Ron grinned and shrugged, and Neville grinned back. They didn’t have any longer to talk as Riddle was walking away from the Longbottoms and looked back at Ron with an angry frown. Ron said goodbye to Neville and followed the Minister over to the Malfoys which he wished he didn’t have to. Draco was there, and kept making faces at Ron who did his best not to make any faces back; he had to be on his best behavior and he didn’t want to do anything to make Riddle mad. That included staying at Riddle’s side and not being able to talk to Percy until Riddle wandered that way for a bit.

The post-dinner mingling took a lot longer than Ron expected it to. When he was told a dinner party he assumed it was just… dinner. Not all this. Not something that lasted hours and hours. He tried not to fidget, or drink much wine even though he was rather bored. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was there since he wasn’t taking notes. At least Percy was there as another assistant, and he saw a couple other older people with younger ones at their elbows that he assumed were Ministry workers and their assistants.

Least I’m getting paid for this, he thought, finishing off his second glass of wine. A house-elf offered to refill it but Ron shook his head. He didn’t want to risk getting even tipsy, though several people around him were definitely getting drunk. Riddle had had several glasses of wine but he was obviously still in full control of himself. Whenever he finished a glass he handed it to Ron to get it refilled. The first time it happened Ron thought he didn’t want the glass anymore and disposed of it, and Riddle hissed out that no, he had wanted more wine. Ron apologized.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, the party was winding down. Percy had left over an hour ago and Ron was glad that it seemed like they were finally leaving too. He followed Riddle out of the house and into the car, struggling to stay awake despite the lurching.

“You did fine,” Riddle said after the car hopped a few times.

Ron’s eyes went wide and he sat up a bit. “I did?”

“Other than using the salad fork for the fish, your manners at the table were decent. During the rest of the evening you stayed by my side as needed. The incident of the wineglass aside, yes. Acceptable.” Ron struggled not to grin and failed; first the compliment in front of Crouch and now this? Riddle frowned. “You look like a demented Jack o’lantern. Stop it.”

Forty minutes later—at just after midnight—the car came to a stop in front of the Burrow. Ron told Riddle goodnight and then tumbled out of the car, so tired he had a difficult time getting to the door. Inside his mother was still awake, waiting for him. Sleepily he gave her a brief rundown of what happened including the fact he had done ‘fine’, ‘decent’, and ‘acceptable’ which seemed like great praise coming from the ice cold Riddle. He apologized for not being able to talk to her more and then somehow got upstairs to his room where he collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep, fully dressed.

*

Monday morning, Ron didn’t want to get out of bed. Saturday and Sunday had been absolutely lovely (Saturday had been spent with Harry and Hermione, and Sunday had been a completely lazy day at home including a nice, long masturbation session; he had been rather pent up since he had done anything in the week of work due to being so tired), and the thought of returning to work just wore him down. I’m an adult now, it’s what I have to do, he reminded himself.It took him a while and like his first day he found himself rushing at the last minute to finish getting ready, get food in him, and get to the Ministry. He arrived five minutes early, skidding to a halt outside Riddle’s door to catch his breath before strolling in.

“About damn time!” Riddle snapped, looking furious. “Where have you been?”

“It’s… only eight, that’s when you told me to come in,” Ron said, faltering slightly.

Riddle’s nostrils flared slightly and he stormed over, causing Ron to wince. “I needed you half an hour ago.” He physically grabbed Ron’s shoulders and turned him to face the door, fingers digging into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt. It hurt. “You are to go down to the fucking DIMC and ask them why the fuck my gift to the French Minister had been delayed.”

“DIMC?” Ron asked as he was shoved forward back out the door.

“Department of International Co-operation!” Riddle snapped. “For FUCK’S sake, Weasley, you’ve been here how long and haven’t learned the abbreviations!” The door slammed shut, and Jeannine, the secretary, snickered.

Ron shuffled and then hurried forward, ears burning. How long? A week! And nobody told him to learn the abbreviations, nor provided him with anything to do so! Though he supposed he should have learned on his own… or remembered all the departments… which seemed an impossibility at the moment.

He stepped off at level five, knowing exactly where to go as this was where Percy worked. He made a beeline straight for Percy’s office, knowing he’d know who to ask. Percy was unfortunately busy with Crouch, and Ron had to wait a few minutes, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hoping Riddle wouldn’t get too mad at him taking so long. Finally Percy excused himself and went over.

“Yes?” he asked, sounding rather harrowed.

“Riddle wants to know why his gift to the French Minister has been delayed,” he said. “I don’t know who to ask. Crouch? The French ambassador? Someone else?”

“I will inquire about it,” Percy said. “Wait in my office.”

Ten minutes later Ron returned to Riddle who was beyond mad. “What took so long?” he asked in a freezing cold tone, glowering at Ron as if he were ready to kill him.

“Mr. Crouch was—“

“I don’t care,” Riddle snapped. “Well? Why was it delayed?”

Ron tried not to squirm. “The chocolates—the Bursting Bonbons. Erm. One of the ingredients that Honeydukes uses to make them burst in your mouth is actually considered… not illegal in France, but it’s erm… well it’s heavily—er—“

“Out with it!”

“Regulated,” Ron got out. “It’s heavily regulated, sir, and they had to keep the chocolates for examination and—“

“Merlin,” Riddle groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I thought the Trading Standards Body took care of that. Damn it all to hell. Go to them and find out why that wasn’t taken care of last year and this time try to return before we have to clock out for the day, hmmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

He went back to the DIMC, wishing he could go to Percy again. Instead he went to the Trading Standards Body, feeling incredibly awkward as he asked the division head about the ingredients for the Bursting Bonbons and why they were still heavily regulated in France. The division head threw her hands up and said they couldn’t wave their wand and expect everything to happen in an instant, and that it took time, and that headway had been made as they were now heavily regulated instead of being illegal. Ron returned to Riddle who cursed him out and sent him back down to tell them they needed to do better. Ron was cringing when he did, going flaming red as he stammered out to a witch many times his senior that she needed to do better, adding quickly that it was Riddle’s words, not his.

“The Minister expects everything he says to be law yesterday,” she growled. “He needs to understand that especially when it comes to international affairs, things take fucking time. And you can tell him I said that!”

Ron returned to Riddle and relayed the message, and Riddle said curse words Ron never heard before. Thankfully this time Riddle went himself, though he had Ron follow. Ron witnessed a shouting match that brought Crouch and Percy into the division head’s office, and Crouch tried to smooth Riddle’s ruffled feathers. Riddle turned and left the office without another word, simply snapping his fingers for Ron to follow. Ron and Percy glanced at each other before Ron scurried after the Minister.

By the time he got to his desk and actually sat down, he was already exhausted. He wanted to fold his arms on the desk and put his head down but knew that was out of the question. He had notes to type up and papers to go through and rats to feed and tea to make and things to fetch. He didn’t get his lunch until one-forty-five and was too afraid to go back to Percy’s office, so instead he hid out in his father’s office to gobble his food down and nearly cry about what happened that morning.

“I had to tell Mrs. Bancroft she needed to do better,” Ron whined.

“Everyone knows the sort of man Riddle is,” Arthur said, trying to comfort his son. “I doubt she took it personally from you.”

“It was still embarrassing.” Ron broke his muffin into pieces, pushing crumbs into his mouth. “What if he makes me come down here and yell at you?”

Arthur smiled. “You don’t need to yell, you can just tell me whatever he says and I’ll pretend you yelled. How about that? I’ll insist you were positively terrifying to anyone who asks.”

Ron snorted, but smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

At least Percy didn’t seem upset with Ron, who actually got to go home when he was supposed to and managed to finally have dinner with his family. Percy explained that Riddle and Bancroft often butted heads, also trying to comfort him. Ginny laughed at the image of Ron telling some division head that she wasn’t good enough, and Ron threw a roll at her, getting in trouble with their mother.

A couple of hours later, Ron lay in bed thinking about his day. His mind kept drifting not to the Bancroft incident, but the fact the Minister had grabbed his shoulders so hard. He had bruises there, or did until he used a potion to get rid of them. Uncertainty filled him as he debated whether to say something or not. There were incidents at the Ministry all the time however he doubted many of them were a boss handling his employee so roughly. It seemed wrong yet he didn’t think there was anyone he could ask. He certainly didn’t want to make it a problem with the Ministry, or the Minister himself. He did not want to make Riddle angry.

So, after much thought, he decided to let it rest. It was an accident, and if it happened again—well, then he’d decide what to do.

Chapter Text

The next two days were relatively quiet compared to Monday, other than receiving his first pay which was very exciting and also more than he was expecting; he had arranged it so it would go directly into his parents’ vaults though he knew this made his parents uncomfortable and he’d need to go get his own vault soon. He wished his parents would accept more money, yet knew they wouldn’t.

On Wednesday, twenty minutes before five, Ron was asked to go to Diagon Alley and fetch a book that Flourish and Blotts had for Riddle. Ron blinked a few times, wondering why the bookshop couldn’t send it by mail but he got up and went to the Flooing floor, going into the Leaky Cauldron. He always enjoyed going into Diagon Alley… it made him think of school, even though he was now graduated.

He strolled down the sidewalk, not hurrying but not dallying either. Just glancing into a few windows and at one point admiring the newest broom for a few lingering seconds before he made his way to Flourish and Blotts. He got in line at the front and asked for Riddle’s book.

“You aren’t the Minister, nor are you one of his assistants,” the clerk said.

Ron hesitated. “I’m his new personal assistant.”

“Anyone can come in and say that. Where’s your proof? A note from him?”

“I… he didn’t give me one,” Ron admitted.

“No proof, no book,” the clerk said firmly. “This is a rare book, and it’s more than my job’s worth to give it to some random boy who has come in claiming to work for the Minister. He hasn’t had a personal assistant for years, anyway. Get lost.”

God DAMN it! Ron thought, hurrying back to the Leaky Cauldron, Flooing to the Ministry, going up to Riddle’s office, standing there as Riddle cursed him out for failing at such a simple task while he wrote a note out, and then hurrying back. It was nearing five-thirty by the time he got the book to Riddle, and then Riddle had more work for him, so Ron didn’t get out of work until after six. Or so he hoped.

“Go see IMA,” Riddle commanded.

“IMA?” Ron asked, expecting another lecture about abbreviations.

“Internal Ministry Affairs?” Riddle didn’t lecture this time, merely gave Ron a dark look. “You need your Ministry ID anyway. Then that will be proof for any errand I send you on.”

“Where is the IMA?” Ron asked.

Riddle sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together on the edge of his desk. “Did you study anything about the Ministry before you took this job?”

Ron ducked his head, going red. “No sir,” he admitted.

“You took a job, knowing nothing about it.”

Ron wondered if he was about to be fired. “I needed a job, sir.”

“Did you want this job?”

Ron didn’t know what to say. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have taken it,” he finally settled on.

“Are you enjoying your work?”

He was stunned to be asked that from the Minister. Actually, he was a bit stunned to be having a conversation with the Minister that didn’t involve being told what to do, or curse words. “It’s… hard work, but I don’t mind hard work.”

Riddle leaned forward. “You initially applied to be the Junior Assistant’s assistant, correct?” Ron nodded. “Do you know why you were offered this instead?” He shook his head. “When I saw your application, it seemed to me that you were in desperate need of a job.”

Ron clenched his teeth at that, burning with a bit of shame at the fact his desperation had been so obvious. And the way Riddle said it… just as-matter-of-fact. He just hoped Riddle didn’t know it was because of money reasons mostly, although everyone knew that the Weasleys didn’t have much.

“Since you applied for the other position, I figured you needed something as soon as school ended,” Riddle continued. “Something that did not rely on N.E.W.Ts. Something that will pay decently. I know my reputation. I know people dislike working for me despite the fact I get the job done, and I get it done well. I needed someone who seemed as though they really needed this job. Who would be willing to work for me despite everything, and you appeared to be the perfect candidate.”

He ducked his head, the shame worse. So it was because he was the only one stupid enough to take the position. Bloody hell.

“Someone who would do the work and keep their head down and not complain. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron promised.

“Also…” Riddle trailed off.

“Also?” Ron asked when Riddle did not continue.

Riddle’s gaze briefly went down Ron and then back up. Ron waited but instead Riddle tilted his head to one side, then slowly smirked. “It is on Level Eight. Go down the main corridor and take the first right. Is that simple enough to understand?”

“Yes. Er. Thank you, sir.”

“And Weasley?” Riddle asked as he opened the door. Ron stopped, waiting to be admonished. Instead, “You have done quite well as my personal assistant thus far. I do not regret—yet—offering you this job. Just don’t make me change my mind on that.”

“No. Thank you,” Ron said again, and went to the IMA which was of course closed for the night, so he had to return to Riddle who said he’d have to go first thing in the morning instead and then thankfully sent Ron home. It wasn’t until just before he sleep that he wondered why the Minister had looked at his application at all…

*

After checking in with the Minister and doing about an hour of work on Thursday morning, Ron went to the Internal Ministry Affairs to get his photograph taken and his ID made. Just before noon it was delivered to him and he sat there looking at it for a moment, feeling proud. Ronald Bilius Weasley, along with his birthday, his employee ID number, his family rune, and Minister for Magic’s Personal Assistant printed along the bottom. He couldn’t admire it for very long, however, as Riddle dumped several bits of parchment on his desk to type up and copy then deliver to various departments. Then at one point he was summoned down to Percy's office to fetch a large gift basket from the Canadian Minister for Magic (after everything checked out) which Riddle set aside to take home.

If he went home.

That was something Ron wondered about sometimes. Riddle was always there when he arrived, and still working when he left—other than the night of the dinner party which didn’t really count. Part of him wondered if Riddle just slept at the Ministry… or if he even slept at all.

There was just something so wrong with the Minister, and everyone knew it. And it wasn’t just because he was in his seventies and still looked like he was in his forties or fifties (that was easily explained with magic or potions, not that anyone would accuse him of that to his face). He had been right: he had a reputation. A lot of people called him a cold-hearted monster. Quite a few disagreed with the fact he was still Minister, and would remain Minister for the foreseeable future. He had become Minister when Ron was just a baby, so Ron never knew a life where he wasn’t in charge of the whole country, but his parents had often spoke about it as he grew up. That it wasn’t right for a man to take over like that. But nobody dared oppose him, because he was so powerful and, when he wanted to be, charismatic.

“You don’t want him as Minister but you want him as your enemy less,” was something Ron heard when he was younger. Now he fully agreed with it, after a week and a half of working directly for him. The thought of opposing Riddle made him weak-kneed and frightened.

Riddle had a firm grip on the country, and there didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do about it.

*

“Sir?”

It was Friday morning and Ron was in the middle of organizing papers when a thought entered his head, one he really wanted an answer for. He tried to avoid talking to the Minister unless he was spoken to first, but Riddle had been in a good mood that day so far, so he decided to take the risk.

“Sir?” he tried again, figuring if Riddle ignored him again, he’d give up.

But this time Riddle looked up, irritated, obviously, with the interruption. So much for the good mood. “What is it, Weasley?”

He almost didn’t answer however suspected if he backed down it would annoy the Minister even more. “Most of this paperwork is for other departments,” he said, lifting up one of the pieces of parchment. “Why is it here and not where it’s supposed to be?”

Riddle set his quill down. “People like to send things directly to me for some reason, instead of where they are supposed to go as if I have all the time in the world to read every damn thing that comes across my desk.”

Ron looked at the paper in his hand. “Oh. Er. Why can’t I just take the papers where they’re supposed to go as is? I mean, without alphabetizing them and such?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a bad question.

Sure enough, Riddle was furious now. “Because, Weasley,” he said in that slow, cold voice, “just because I get sent these papers without any order does not mean I wish to foist them upon my employees in the same disorder. I prefer things to be neat and organized. I also prefer not to be asked stupid questions every ten fucking seconds.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Ron went back to his work, carefully organizing the papers alphabetically. Fifteen minutes later he came across a problem that needed another question. After debating it for a moment and checking a list in his desk, he cleared his throat, preparing for the anger. “Sir?”

“What the HELL is it now?!” Riddle yelled.

“This one is all in runes. Does it get sent to the same place or does it need to be taken to the RSAT?” He was proud of himself for knowing the abbreviation. On Thursday, he complained to Percy about that whole thing and on Thursday night Percy brought him a list of all the departments and the divisions in the Ministry. It was a much longer list than Ron expected, but he made a copy of it to study at home and set Perce’s copy in his desk.

Riddle didn’t even seem to notice, though he did calm down. “Ah. Yes. Precisely.”

Ron set the runic letter aside and continued his work, a little proud of himself. Then he gathered everything into three piles with the runic letter in his hand and took the piles to the various departments that they were supposed to go to. Finally the runic letter went to RSAT—Runic Study and Translation. The secretary for that division was a very young wizard who was rather cute, too. Ron handed the letter over and introduced himself. The young man said he had remembered Ron at school, and introduced himself as Basil Knowlton, a Ravenclaw who had been in the twins’ year.

“I remember when you joined the Gryffindor team,” Knowlton said, leaning against the desk and gazing up at Ron. “You were fantastic.”

Ron tried not to blush. “Thank you.” They chatted for a couple more minutes before he realized how long he had been there. “Er, I best get back before the Minister…” He trailed off.

“Yeah. Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

“Perhaps,” Ron agreed, and returned to the Minister’s office with a smile on his face which was quickly wiped away as the Minister demanded to know what took so long, and that he needed to do this, and needed to do that, and he wasn’t paying Ron to dawdle on his errands. Ron apologized and returned to his desk, his mind on Knowlton.

*

Ron didn’t get home until nearly six, and he stayed up very late since the next day was a Saturday, going to the Leaky Cauldron for some drinks with the twins and Harry. Something he regretted come morning when his mother was shaking him awake, telling him that a note from the Ministry had arrived for him marked emergency. Ron sat up in bed, blinking sleepily as he took the note and ripped it open. I need you NOW was all that was written. Swearing, he stumbled out of bed and got dressed, nearly falling down the stairs as he went to get something to eat. He only had time for some toast before Flooing to the Ministry.

It’s Saturday, he thought bitterly as he went through the nearly empty corridors. He hadn’t been told he’d be called in on a weekend… There didn’t seem to be anyone else on Level One—not even Jeannine was there. Ron cautiously entered the Minister’s office and found Riddle waiting by the window.

“About time,” he said, turning around. “Something has come up. I have a sudden meeting tonight and I need some information gathered and put together in some notes.” He picked up a thick file off his desk and shoved it into Ron’s hands. “Go through this and type up a summary—or hand write it, if that is quicker, just make sure your writing is very neat.”

Ron plopped down at his desk and flipped open the file, reading up on the past ten years of incidents regarding Muggleborns and duels. He took notes as he went, head throbbing slightly from the lack of sleep and the drinks from the night before. Gotta make sure I always go to bed early, he thought, stifling a yawn. Once he was done (which took nearly two hours) he carefully typed up two pages of summary. He handed those to Riddle and was given an even thicker file to work on. This one was regarding incidents with the families of Muggleborns.

“Is something going on?” Ron asked as he sat back down.

“Issues with Muggleborns regarding their safety,” Riddle muttered, not looking up from the pages he was reading. “There have been claims saying that Muggleborns are informing more than just their immediate family about themselves and their magical ability, and the PFP want it… dealt with, saying that if Muggleborns wish to live in our world they should simply leave their Muggle family.”

PFP, Ron thought with a shudder. A very horrible group that called themselves Peace For Purebloods, which really meant hatred for Muggleborns. It was led by a disgusting witch named Bellatrix Lestrange. Related by blood to Sirius Lupin, although since his birth family had disinherited him and he was officially a Potter, that didn’t mean much of anything. “You’re not actually listening to them, are you?” he asked, without thinking.

Riddle’s eyes flashed at that and he looked rather amused. “As Minister, I am to be fair which I intend to be. I shall listen to everything being said and come to my own conclusion on what needs to be done. Finish that summary, Weasley. Actually. No. Stand back up. No, come around your desk.” Ron went around his desk, heart pounding as he wondered if he was about to get fired. Riddle stared at him—his gaze sweeping up and down—until he began frowning. “Did you forget what I required of you?”

“Erm.” Ron had no idea what he was talking about.

“You are wearing socks. I asked that you wear stockings with your skirts.”

Ron glanced down. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, I was in such a rush this morning since you said it was an emergency—“

“I don’t give a fuck about your excuses.” Riddle pointed his wand at Ron and his socks began growing and stretching, sliding up his legs as they also became thinner and more see-through. “Do those fit?”

“Yes sir,” Ron said in a small voice. The fact someone else had manipulated the fabric to slide around on his legs clear up to his thighs like that made him feel uncomfortable, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Do you need something to keep them from falling down?”

Previously Ron had always worn tights, so having stockings that ended on his thighs was a new experience. He was dimly aware of what girls typically wore—garters or stocking suspenders—but didn’t have any real knowledge. “No, sir, they should stay,” he settled on saying, figuring they’d stay up long enough to finish his work there.

“They better. Rolled down stockings are worse than socks, and if I see them down, Weasley…”

“I understand, sir,” Ron squeaked out. He returned to his chair and as soon as he sat down he knew they’d start rolling down. He just didn’t know what to do about it. “May I go to the lavatory?”

“Hurry up.”

Ron hurried in and yanked his skirt up, doing a sticking spell along the tops of the stockings to keep them in place. It was going to be a bitch to rip them off later, but he’d deal with that then. He returned to his desk, put his head down, and went back to work.

“And Weasley?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You are needed at the meeting this afternoon,” Riddle said. “To help take notes.”

Ron’s heart sank as he realized this was going to be an all day thing. Worst of all was actually going to the meeting a few hours later and being surrounded by PFPs. There were half a dozen of them, and they demanded a new law be enacted stating if a Muggleborn wished to be part of wizarding society they must forsake their Muggle family completely. He felt disgusting as he wrote the notes down of what was being said although he wasn’t the only way notes were being taken: Riddle had had Ron bring with him an enchanted typewriter that also recorded down everything being said.

Riddle listened to the PFPs, saying he understood where they were coming from and that it did seem to be in everyone’s best interest if a Muggleborn chose one life over the other. Ron grit his teeth as he wrote that down. Then Riddle went on to say that laws like that couldn’t simply be enacted without any reason behind it, and that he had done the research and found no evidence that Muggleborns’ families knowing caused any particular problem.

“It’s just the nature of it,” said one PFP angrily. “They wanna be with us, they should prove it. It’s not that their families knowing is causing problems, really, but the more Muggles that know, the more dangerous it is!”

“Enact the law and erase the memories,” stated Bellatrix Lestrange, eyes glittering.

“It would be best to put together a petition with irrefutable evidence backing up your claims about the danger. Unfortunately as it is, my hands are tied. The majority of the Ministry do not agree with this sort of thing, so it isn’t something I can just…” He snapped his fingers. “If you truly want this to happen, then do as I suggested. But even then there is no guarantee.”

“Fire all the Mudbloods and Mudblood sympathizers from the Ministry, then you’ll get what you want,” growled a wizard. “Including that Weasley assistant there.”

Ron stiffened at hearing his name, and glanced up, seeing all eyes on him. He quickly bowed his head and returned to scribbling notes down, heart pounding a little bit. He wasn’t in any danger… was he?

“Society frowns upon a dictatorship,” Riddle replied easily which made Ron wonder if he knew how many people called him a dictator in the first place. “We do not wish for a war, now, do we? Well. Perhaps you do, but I most certainly do not. I understand your frustrations however this situation demands caution.”

They finished the meeting twenty minutes later, and Ron and Riddle returned to the Ministry where Ron put his notes locked in his desk for Monday to start typing up. Riddle reminded Ron that the contents of the meeting were top secret, and he must not tell anyone what had been discussed.

“I won’t,” Ron promised, grabbing his bag before heading home. “Er. Sir?” Riddle glanced over. “For what it’s worth… I don’t see any point in making Muggleborns give up their Muggle families. It just seems cruel and unnecessary.”

“I am very grateful to have my eighteen-year-old personal assistant’s opinion on such a divisive and consequential political situation,” Riddle said dryly. Ron pressed his lips tightly together. “Goodnight, Weasley.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

My third week already, Ron thought on Monday morning as he strode into the Minister’s office. He spent the entire morning crosschecking his own notes with the magicked typewriter’s notes and then retyped everything out in a more consistent fashion. Following that, he also typed up a summary of the meeting. While doing all of this he also had to feed the rats, make tea twice, deliver papers for various departments, and take a short break to join Riddle in an impromptu meeting with the head of the law enforcement department regarding some attacks the previous night, on Muggleborns. Ron wondered if it was the PFPs taking their anger out after the meeting…

Back in the office, Riddle asked Ron to stay through his lunch break and simply eat while he worked. Ron reluctantly agreed (he knew he was technically allowed to say no however the thought of telling the Minister for Magic ‘no’ felt wrong). So he ate while he worked, doing his best not to drop anything on the papers. Riddle did not eat, which made Ron wonder again about him.

Finally he grew near the end of typing everything up, relieved the end was in sight. As he started working on what would be the final page, he felt a strange sensation inside of him. Well. Not strange necessarily; one he felt plenty of times before. Just… not one he expected to randomly start feeling on the job. He shifted his weight in his seat and concentrated harder on the notes. Or tried to. It was an overwhelming feeling yet distracting enough. He felt himself go a little flush as heat spread through his face and his crotch.

“Is there a problem?” Riddle asked when Ron squirmed again.

“No, sir.” He straightened up and focused on typing, doing his best to ignore the horniness. It surprised him a little, suddenly feeling so… stimulated at work, though realized he probably shouldn’t; one spent so much time at work that one was bound to feel that way eventually. He finished the summary, bound the pages together magically, and took it over to Riddle’s desk.

He didn’t have an erection yet however suspected it wouldn’t be long unless he intervened, so he excused himself to the lavatory where he ran cold water onto his wrists. That didn’t cool him down as much as he thought it would so after a moment of thinking he undid his trousers so he could do a spell on his underwear, making sure if he did get an erection there wouldn’t be any bulge. He rebuttoned his trousers, washed his hands off, and returned to his desk. As he crossed the room, he felt Riddle’s eyes on him.

“Did you need something, sir?” he asked before sitting back down.

“The notes that I asked for would be helpful,” Riddle replied sarcastically.

Ron blushed deeper and bound the notes together before putting them on his desk. “Sorry, sir. Er. Bit of an emergency.”

“Hmph.”

Ron continued to feel rather horny until it finally started fading around the time he was to go home, if he was allowed to leave on time which he wasn’t. Riddle kept him until nearly six before releasing him, and by the time Ron got home he felt completely normal again. Still, after supper he locked his bedroom door and, stretched out on his bed, began stroking himself. Slowly at first and then faster, squeezing himself in the way he liked. His wrist was used to this movement and his body reacted accordingly. Yet it didn’t feel quite the same as it did earlier, and when he came into his hand it didn’t have the impact he was expecting. He felt a little let down, actually, and after cleaning himself up he went to bed confused.

*

Ron was working rather blissfully, as he had the office to himself. Riddle had gone off to a meeting that Ron didn’t need to be at so he felt more relaxed than normal as he organized papers and typed up notes. He even hummed to himself a bit. Often, Riddle played classic music which was fine but currently the office was completely silent; Ron rather wished he could have a little radio or something for times like these.

There was a knock at the door and before Ron could say anything, the door opened. To his surprised, Basil Knowlton came in with a thick folder in his hand.

“Hi,” he said with a dashing smile.

Ron stood up. “Hi. Er. Mr. Riddle isn’t here at the moment…”

“I know.” Knowlton approached Ron’s desk. “I was asked to bring this and the secretary told me to put it on your desk.” He set the file down then glanced around the office, giving a whistle. “Fancy. Blimey, is that a snake?”

“Yes, her name is Nagini,” Ron answered.

Knowlton looked back at Ron. “How have you been doing?”

Ron felt a tingle of pleasure at him wanting to stay and chat. “I’ve been pretty good, how about you?”

“Oh, pretty good myself,” Knowlton said, leaning casually against Ron’s desk. “You know, I was surprised that your desk was in his office. Aren’t most assistants either in their own office or else just outside?”

“Er. I suppose so,” Ron said slowly, having not thought of that before. “I don’t know. I guess he likes having me at hand for when he needs anything.”

“You like it here?”

“It’s interesting enough,” Ron laughed, not wanting to get into everything else at the moment. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it and while he was fine complaining to his family or friends, Knowlton wasn’t either… yet. Perhaps a friend eventually. Or more. He hoped, a bit, for more. He was hot. “How about you? Do you enjoy your job?”

“Ohhh, so-so,” Knowlton replied, running his fingers across Ron’s desk. “I’m hoping to get a proper job in the Runic Translation division eventually but the only thing open when I applied last year was secretary. Did you take Study of Ancient Runes?”

Ron shook his head. “Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. I—“ He stopped, going a bit pale as he heard voices outside the door. Jeannine… and Riddle. “Er. He’s back. I should… ah…” Ron quickly sat down. “Thank you for bringing this by, I’ll make sure to—“

The door burst open. “Weasley! I need you to…” Riddle stopped in his tracks, staring at Basil. “Who are you?”

“Basil Knowlton,” he said quickly, offering a hand which Riddle didn’t take. “I work in the RSAT department. I had to bring something for your assistant.”

“And did you?”

Knowlton blinked. “Did I what?”

“Bring it?”

“Oh! Yes, ha-ha. I gave it to—“

“Then you can go.”

Knowlton looked slightly taken aback but he smiled and nodded. “Sure, yeah, sorry.” He looked back at Ron, winked, and then left. Ron gave a small smile in return, feeling rather tingly.

Riddle strode over to his desk and sat down. “Was he bothering you?”

“Oh! No, sir, he was just dropping off this file.” Ron tapped the folder on his desk. “I haven’t looked at it yet, since he brought it right before you got there,” he added, knowing that was going to be the next question. “If there isn’t anything else you need right this second I’ll get started on it?”

Riddle pressed his lips thin then slowly smiled. “Not at the moment.”

Ron nodded and flipped open the file, reading through the report on some old Ministry files that had been found written entirely in runes. It hadn’t been anything overly important, just a meeting between RSAT and the Minister sometime in the eighteenth century. Ron read through the entire thing then went through it again slowly as he wrote down a short summary which he deposited onto Riddle’s desk. Riddle glanced it over then waved his hand, not wanting to read the folder himself.

“Shall I return it to RSAT?” Ron asked.

“It’s only a copy, put it in the disposal bin.”

Ron took it over to the large stone bin, dropping it in. One of his other weekly duties was to set fire to the contents of the bin and then sometime over the weekend someone would clean out the ashes. As he crossed the room he was aware of Riddle standing up and moving, but he didn’t know where Riddle was going until he dropped the file into the stone bin. As soon as he did—before he could turn around—Riddle was suddenly right behind him, reaching around to drop something in as well. Ron jumped slightly and was about to move when a hand came down on his shoulder. He automatically flinched, remembering the other day when Riddle grabbed his shoulders hard enough to bruise. However this was a gentler touch.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Riddle said.

“It’s okay, sir,” Ron replied, not sure what to do. He felt a little trapped with the bin in front of him and Riddle behind him with a hand still on his shoulder.

“Was that young man bothering you earlier?”

Ron furrowed his brow. “Who?”

“That Knowlton fellow,” Riddle explained.

“Oh!” His eyes widened slightly. “No, sir, he was just dropping off the file, that’s all.”

Riddle narrowed his eyes slightly. “Jeannine said he had been there a couple of minutes before I arrived. If someone is bothering you, do not hesitate to say that you have work for me that you need to take care of.”

“No, of course not. I mean yes. I mean.” He shook his head. “I will.” He realized it wasn’t so much that Riddle was concerned that Knowlton had been bothering him, but that Knowlton had been keeping him from doing his work. “It was only for a moment in any case.”

“Very well.” Riddle was still right behind him, hand on his shoulder; Ron was uncomfortable. “I’ll need you to stay late tonight, I have a meeting at six which will require your presence to take notes.”

Ron’s heart sank. “Very well.”

Finally Riddle released him, and Ron returned to his desk.

A few hours later, at six, Ron was ready for the meeting but was not ready for who it was with. He tried his best to conceal his surprise as Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, came through the door. Dumbledore glanced at him and gave a small nod before sitting down across the desk from Riddle. Ron sat in an extra chair behind Riddle’s desk, parchment and quill ready.

The meeting was regarding the newly opened position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Apparently, Riddle constantly sent Dumbledore lists of applicants who were never hired, and he wished to discuss why since they were all very well experienced. Dumbledore answered that it wasn’t that they weren’t experienced, he just felt a little uncomfortable at having a Ministry worker as a teacher.

“By the tone in your voice, I am assuming you think they would be loyal to me and not you,” Riddle said smoothly, leaning back in his chair as he fixated his dark gaze on the Headmaster. “Perhaps… a spy?”

“Of course not,” Dumbledore answered, just as smoothly. “I just don’t wish for any of the positions at Hogwarts to become… political.”

“Yet you hired a werewolf a few years back.”

Dumbledore gave a small smile behind his beard. “Remus Lupin is a very intelligent, and very experienced wizard. I hired him for his quality as a teacher. His… illness had no bearing on his ability to teach.”

Riddle had his wand in his hand and was idly twirling it. “He missed a few classes. You had to employ another teacher to take over, did you not?”

“An assistant teacher at the time,” Dumbledore said. “Severus Snape only became our Potions master in 1994, when Horace Slughorn retired. Until then, he was only in an assistant position.”

Ron tried not to make a face, since when he started school Professor Snape was in charge of the first through third years which meant Ron and his friends had him every single year until graduation, and Snape hated Harry’s father, so he took it out on him, Ron, and Hermione. Actually, he hated all Gryffindors. Ron was very glad that he didn’t have to deal with that sour twat anymore.

“And there is also the issue of exposing innocent children to a werewolf,” Riddle continued. “Putting them in severe danger every single full moon.”

“You made your opinions clear when we met after Lupin quit,” Dumbledore said stiffly. “We do not need to go over them again.”

“I’m just meaning… you were willing to have someone like him be a teacher, and not someone like, say, Amycus Carrow. One of my best Council guards and very knowledgeable of the… subject.”

“I have looked over Mr. Carrow’s application and don’t feel as though he is a good fit at the moment.”

Riddle’s eyes blazed. “Care to elaborate?”

Dumbledore smiled widely. “Not particularly, no. I was made Headmaster of the school, and am quite competent at my job and therefore my judgment on the matter of teachers should not be called into question.”

“On the contrary, Professor, nobody’s judgment should be above question,” Riddle said. “Especially when it comes to our precious youth.”

Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows. “Including yours, Mr. Riddle?” Riddle’s smile was very thin and rather snake-like. “Not that it matters,” continued Dumbledore as he stood up, “but I have chosen someone to become the Defense teacher already, in any case.”

Riddle rose quickly as well. “And who is that?”

“Actually, one of your workers who wishes to take a short break from their job,” Dumbledore said.

“All the workers I suggested wish to make it a career,” said Riddle suspiciously.

“Oh, she wasn’t on the list you sent me.”

“Who?”

Dumbledore clasped his robes in preparation for leaving. “Alice Longbottom. I believe she is taking a gap year between retiring from being an Auror and becoming an office worker?”

Riddle pressed his lips tightly together. “I believe so, yes. I wasn’t aware she applied.”

“Yes, last week. Perfect candidate, don’t you think? Now. If there’s nothing else, I need to be going. Have a good evening, Minister. Mr. Weasley, it was good to see you again.” Dumbledore turned around and briskly left the office, shutting the door behind him.

“Fucking imbecile,” Riddle snarled then held up a finger. “Do not include that in the notes, and erase it from the typewriter as well. Now.”

Ron hopped up and bent over the small table where the typewriter was automatically copying everything down. He spun the knob to make the paper go up a bit and then just as he was running his wand along the fucking imbecile and everything that was said after, Riddle got up and angrily went past him. As he did, it almost felt like his hand brushed against Ron’s bum. He nearly jumped but managed to stay still and erase the bits that needed erased before turning the typewriter off and straightening up. Discomfort filled his body at the fact the Minister’s hand had touched his bum like that, however he quickly dismissed it. Riddle was not paying any sort of attention to where he had been going. It had clearly been an accident.

“Sir?” Ron managed to get out, as Riddle paced back and forth. Riddle stopped and gave him such a furious stare, that Ron shrank back, too scared to ask if he could leave now.

“What is it?!” Riddle demanded.

“I erased it,” he said, since he didn’t know what else to say.

“I am so glad you are able to follow the orders I give you,” Riddle snapped before pacing again. Then he stopped again. “Tell me. How do you feel about the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers you learned under during your time there?”

Ron swallowed, clutching the notes to his chest, thinking of the seven very different professors he had had. Their first year teacher had been a rather boring witch named McCoy who left at the end of the year to ‘go find herself’ and then disappeared without a trace. Second year had been Lockhart and boy what a fucking mess that was. Third year, Lupin, definitely the best. Fourth year had been Mad-Eye Moody, a very strange and paranoid wizard. Fifth year had been a rather young, very gorgeous witch from the Macmillan family who shocked everyone at the end of the year by running off with the Muggle Studies professor, Quirrell. Sixth year had been their second best teacher, a very strong witch named Dorcas Meadowes who was almost as good a teacher as Lupin. And finally their seventh year was another snoozefest under a wizard named Michael Michaels who was about as interesting as his name.

“I never really had any issue with them,” he said. “I particularly liked Professor Lupin though.” Riddle’s eyes flashed, and Ron flinched, but didn’t back down. “He was an excellent teacher.”

“He could have killed you.”

“He took the Wolfsbane potion and was locked up, sir,” Ron explained. “He was no danger to anyone.”

“Hmph. You may go, we’re done here. I will need you to come in a little early tomorrow, however. Seven-thirty.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron locked his notes up in his desk then grabbed his bag. “Goodnight.” But Riddle was pacing again, muttering angrily to himself and not paying any sort of attention to Ron anymore.

Chapter Text

“Weasley.”

Ron jumped to his feet. “Yes sir?”

“There is a dinner party on Saturday evening I will need you to attend with me,” Riddle said as he read through some papers. “The dress code is a little fancier than the previous one so you will either need to wear a suit or one of the dresses, along with dress robes. I shall pick you up from your house at six-thirty.”

Ron sank back down. “Yes sir.” He picked his quill back up, about to start working on some notes when a thought crossed his mind. “Er. Mr. Riddle?” Riddle froze then slowly glanced up, his head not moving. “I was wondering if perhaps I could have my lunch at one today. If that’s possible.”

Riddle’s eyes flickered back to his work. “I cannot promise anything. As the work varies with what I need, and what happens, I can never promise a set time for lunch. Is that going to be an issue going forward?”

“No, no,” Ron said quickly. “No, I just wondered if I could have it at one today, not… not every day.”

“Why?”

Ron bit his bottom lip, feeling awkward. He hadn’t expected to be questioned and frankly, it was none of Riddle’s business. “A friend who works here has lunch at one and we were hoping to catch a moment to chat.” That was… close enough to the truth. Knowlton wasn’t exactly a friend however that part didn’t matter.

Riddle waved his hand, dismissing the conversation but at twelve-fifty-five he told Ron to go eat. Ron thanked him and grabbed his bag, hurrying down to the RSAT department where Knowlton was just getting up to leave for his lunch. He looked excited at the sight of Ron and the two went to one of the staff break rooms. Hardly anyone was in there, yet the two chose a small table in the corner where they ate and chatted. It was clear Knowlton was flirting, and Ron reciprocated, a pleasant, tingly feeling vibrating through his body. He had only gone on a couple of dates during his time at Hogwarts, all of which fizzled out pretty quickly other than a brief fling with one of the Hufflepuff Chasers in their seventh year that actually lasted a couple of months until Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff, and Cadwallader took it personally that Ron had blocked every single shot he took at the hoops.

They were in the middle of reminiscing about something that happened in Ron’s fifth year and Knowlton’s seventh, when the door to the staff room flung open. The Senior Assistant’s assistant popped his head in and made a face when he saw Ron, telling him that Riddle needed him for something.

“I’m on my lunch break,” Ron said, his sandwich half-eaten in his hand.

“You can tell him,” Hodgewell said, slamming the door shut.

Ron swore and shoved his food back in its bag, apologizing to Knowlton. Knowlton promised it was fine and said he hoped they could have lunch together again soon. “Maybe. It’s hard for me to get out at a certain time.”

“Or maybe dinner, then?”

He froze at the sudden question, the tingly feeling turning into a mixture of excitement and arousal. “When?”

“Saturday?”

Ron shouldered his bag, trying not to sigh. “I have something I need to do for Mr. Riddle on Saturday evening.”

“Oh. Perhaps lunch on Sunday, then.”

“All right…”

“Leaky Cauldron at one?”

Ron smiled. “Sounds good. I… I’ll see you later.” He hurried back to the office where Riddle was storming around, furious because he couldn’t find the notes from something or other, and was refusing to listen to Jeannine. Ron quickly found the notes and handed them over, and Riddle plopped down at his desk without even thanking him. Annoyed that his lunch was cut short for that, Ron sat at his own desk and returned to work.

*

The rest of the week went by quickly and before Ron knew it, it was Saturday. He spent the afternoon with Harry and Hermione since their N.E.W.T results had finally arrived. They met up at the Potter’s residence and tore their envelopes open at the same time. The results were not surprising at all. Hermione got Os in everything, Harry got some Os, mostly Es, and one A (in Potions, because Snape hated him), and Ron got Es and As. James decided to celebrate by attempting to bake a cake which turned out to be quite a disaster, and Lily had to fix it. Still, the five sat in the living room eating the cake and toasting the three graduates.

“I dunno what I’m going to do now,” Harry said, taking a swig of his butterbeer.

“You don’t need to worry about finding anything anytime soon, unless you want to,” James reminded him, which sent a jealous twist in Ron’s stomach.

“Now that I have my N.E.W.Ts, I can get the job I applied for last week,” Hermione said before taking a sip of her drink. The news surprised the two boys and they inquired about what she was doing, since she had been quiet about her post-graduation plans thus far. She beamed and looked at Ron. “I’ll be working at the Ministry, too! I’ve applied for a position in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department, Being division.”

Ron’s face split into a grin. “Well done!”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to start improving things for house-elves,” she said, taking another swig.

Harry reached over and pat her knee. “You will. Argh! This makes me feel worse about not doing anything, now that you’ll both be working in the Ministry.” He made a face. “I dunno if I want to work there… No offense, you two, but… yergh.”

“At least I won’t be working directly with the Minister. Honestly, I haven’t a clue how you do it,” Hermione said.

Ron shrugged. “It’s not so bad, really. I mean, he yells a lot but mostly at other people, not me.” He looked down into his own bottle, and frowned. He nearly said the hardest part was hearing Riddle trying to be ‘fair’ to people like the PFPs but that would probably be giving away information he wasn’t supposed to. “It pays well. Oh, shit, speaking of my job I should get home and get ready.” He drank the rest of his butterbeer and hopped up, grabbing his N.E.W.Ts. “I’ll see you later.”

Once home, he spent a long time in the shower wondering again just how much he enjoyed his job. With his N.E.W.Ts he could probably find something else… though where? Transferring to somewhere else in the Ministry so quickly might make the Minister dislike him, and that wasn’t a good idea. Nor did he want to work for any shops, or Gringotts. Stay put for now, he decided, stepping out and drying off.

He put the suit on, and pulled on the masculine dress robes. Standing in front of the mirror, he smoothed his hair back into a low ponytail and then turned, admiring his reflection. The suit fit so well… and the shirt was a deep green that went very well with his hair. He turned again then went downstairs to wait for Riddle to show up.

The car came to a stop at exactly six-thirty, and the driver got out to open the door for him. Ron slid into the backseat, greeting the Minister and then holding onto the seat to prepare himself for the lurching.

“Tonight is important,” Riddle said, as he gazed out the window. “You must be on your best behavior and do nothing to insult the hosts. No matter how you feel about them.”

“Where is the party?” Ron asked nervously.

Riddle finally looked at him. “The Malfoys are hosting tonight’s party. As I thought,” he sighed when Ron inadvertently made a face. “I thought you did not get along with them. You best not let your feelings show, Weasley.”

“No, sir,” he promised, hoping he could control any expressions that might appear.

Malfoy Manor was absolutely enormous and rather intimidating. Ron got out of the car, neck craned back a bit to look up at the place, letting out a low whistle. Riddle brushed past him and Ron scurried along behind. A house-elf opened the door, bowing at the guests and leading them to the room where everyone was gathering before the meal started. There were already several guests, most of which Ron didn’t really know although he recognized a few students from Hogwarts.

Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy greeted Riddle with smiles, and Ron with frozen, stiff smiles. Ron put on the most charming smile he could muster, greeting them back, glad Riddle wasn’t sticking around to chat with them much. Instead Riddle went over to a small group of people, two of which belonged to the PFPs from the meeting. One was the leader, Lestrange. Ron stood by Riddle’s side, feeling nervous that the whole evening would be all… anti-Muggleborn. Slytherin Pureblood bullshit. How many in the room were from houses other than Slytherin, he wondered? Besides himself, of course.

A wineglass was placed in his hand so at least he had that to focus on, doing his damnedest to control his face as he heard Lestrange complaining about Muggleborns. By the time he was halfway done with his wine, dinner was served and everyone went to the other room. Ron sat next to Riddle near the head of the table, and kept his head down. To make sure he used the correct silverware, he ate only what Riddle ate and used the same cutlery as him.

Partway through the meal, he felt Riddle’s knee bump against his own. Ron moved his legs a bit to keep out of his way but Riddle’s knee bumped again, and Ron couldn’t move his legs anymore without bumping into the witch to his left, which he definitely didn’t want to do. After a minute, Riddle shifted his leg so it rubbed against Ron’s shin. It made him acutely uncomfortable even though he knew it was an accident. Riddle didn’t even give a shit about his personal space.

During the meal, Ron finished his wine and was given more. He wanted to ask for water yet nobody else was drinking water except for a heavily pregnant woman. So he had to settle for more wine, drinking it slowly so it wouldn’t be refilled. Except after the meal when everyone went back to the room they had been in before to mingle, Ron was given another glass of wine. He didn’t drink it, only held it as he followed Riddle around, not even thinking that anyone would be paying attention to him.

“Weasley, accompany me to the water closet,” Riddle said. Ron followed him out of the room, down a hallway, down another hallway, and then stopped in front of a door. There Riddle placed his own wineglass into Ron’s hand then stood there for a second. “I asked you not to do anything to offend the hosts,” he finally said.

“I… wasn’t aware… that I was doing anything wrong?” Ron asked.

“You’ve hardly touched your wine,” Riddle said.

“Oh. I’ve had two glasses already,” Ron explained. “Is there any way to get—“

“That is some of Lucius’s finest stock,” Riddle hissed out. “It is exceedingly rude not to drink it.”

“Oh!” Ron looked down at the glasses in his hands. “I… didn’t know, sir, sorry. Erm. I’ll drink it.”

“And you better look as though you like it,” Riddle added before disappearing into the loo. A moment later he reemerged, took his glass, and led them back to the room where everyone was.

Ron did drink his glass, and then was about to say no when a house-elf started refilling it but a sharp look from Riddle stopped him. So Ron sipped at it, well aware the alcohol was starting to affect him. His body grew very warm and buzzy, and he felt more pleasant than he did earlier as he finished the glass off. This time when it was refilled, he didn’t argue.

He didn’t get as pissed as he had been when Gryffindor won the Quidditch up in his seventh year, but he was getting close to it by the time Riddle decided to leave. Ron stumbled a bit as he followed Riddle, thanking the Malfoys for a wonderful evening in a rather loud voice. For some reason he found their expressions to be funny, and once the door shut behind them he began giggling as he traipsed after the Minister, weaving a bit and nearly falling once.

“For fuck’s sake, Weasley!” Riddle snarled, opening the car door for him.

“Sorry sir,” Ron giggled, falling into the car. “Oops! Sorry. Ahahaha…! I didn’t… wasn’t gonna drink but they kept and then you kept telling me and welp!” He giggled again then hiccuped. “Sorry. Was I being bad?”

Riddle furrowed his brow slightly at that and didn’t answer.

“Ooops!” He crashed into the door as the car hopped through space, and then struggled a bit to sit upright.

“Merlin,” Riddle groaned and grabbed Ron, yanking him back into a sitting position. “When I told you to drink their wine, this is not what I meant.” His hands were still on Ron. “Thank Merlin you didn’t do anything stupid while we were there.”

“Sorry,” Ron said again then hiccuped. “Sir?”

“What is it?”

Ron wriggled a bit, not sure how to say that Riddle still had his hands on Ron. One hand was holding his arm and the other crossed over Ron’s body, on his thigh. As he tried to figure exactly how to say could you remove your hands from my body in a polite way, the hand on his thigh slid upward. Ron’s chin snapped up and he stared at the Minister in shock.

“Is there a problem?” Riddle asked in a strangely soft voice.

“Ah—ah—you’re, erm—“ He broke off into another hiccup. “Sir…”

Suddenly the Minister was looming over him, the hand on his thigh moving farther back until it was partway on his buttocks, and then the Minister was kissing him. His lips met Ron’s, pressing in hard. Ron froze in complete shock, unable to move. It was like cold water being flung on his body as he sobered up a bit.

What the fuck?

The Minister is kissing me?

He’s touching my arse?

WHAT THE FUCK?

Before he could gain control of his body again, the Minister slid away from him and was on the other side of the seat, looking out the window again. Ron trembled and scooted as far from him as he could get, a shudder going through his entire body as his stomach churned.

“Sir,” he said again, his voice hoarse.

“What is it?”

“That—you—“ Ron had no idea what to say. What he was supposed to say. Or how to even say it. Riddle was the Minister for Magic. His boss. And he just… felt Ron up and kissed him.

Riddle looked a bit cross as Ron didn’t finish his sentence. “Is there a problem, Weasley?”

“Yes!” he squeaked, heart pounding hard in his chest. “That wasn’t… something… I like…”

“What wasn’t something you like?” Riddle asked, sounding confused.

Ron opened and shut his mouth a few times. “You just kissed me!” he blurted out, feeling his face go red with humiliation and shame. “As well as touched my bum—“

“Weasley,” Riddle said in an icy cold voice, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Wh—? But you—“

“You are drunk,” Riddle said flatly. “Obviously you are imagining things. Things I do not appreciate. Frankly, your accusations are extremely offensive.”

“Huh?” Ron swayed a bit, feeling dizzy as bewilderment consumed him. “But… you…”

Riddle held up a hand. “I shall overlook such a vile accusal this time, however if you continue to make such charges in the future you will be fired, do you understand?”

Ron’s head thumped and his stomach churned even more. Then he bent forward and threw up onto the floor. Riddle let out a disgusted sigh and did a spell to make the vomit disappear. Ron sat up, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he moaned, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. The vomit? Or the accusation? Because it wasn’t… Riddle had done it… hadn’t he?

Suddenly Ron wasn’t so sure. Had that happened? But why the fuck would he imagine the Minister grabbing his arse and kissing him? That made no sense. Of course, the Minister doing it made no sense either. So… which was it? His head swam and he felt like he might be sick again, but this time managed to keep everything down.

At least the Burrow wasn’t too far from Malfoy Manor, so it was only a couple more minutes before they arrived. Riddle stayed where he was as Ron fumbled with the door, the tears sliding down his cheeks now.

“Weasley?” Riddle asked as Ron somehow managed to get out of the car without falling over. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron shut the car door and stumbled to the front door, pausing to throw up again in the bushes.

Luckily this time nobody had stayed up for him and he was able to get to his room without anyone seeing him in the state he was in. He stripped off to his boxers and fell onto his bed, rubbing his face against the pillow as he tried his best to figure out what the hell happened in the car. It had felt so real. It was real! Wasn’t it? Why, though? Neither made sense—it happening, or Ron imagining it. He wasn’t… attracted to the Minister in any way, so why would he conceive of such a thing happening? Except Riddle actually doing it also made no sense whatsoever. And his coldness after… nothing in his tone or body language made him seem like a lecherous old man, just an irritated, confused one.

Ron rolled onto his side and curled up into a fetal position, head pounding until sleep finally overtook him.

Chapter Text

When Ron finally woke up on Sunday morning he felt disoriented, sick, and headachey. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom where he clutched the sink, vague memories of the night before swirling around his head. Eventually the memory of the kiss emerged, and he saw in the mirror how pale his face got. Fuck, he thought, turning around and leaning against the sink, putting his head in his hands. Now, in the light of day and with a hangover instead of drunken goggles, the whole thing seemed fucking ridiculous. Of course the Minister for Magic hadn’t fucking kissed him or grabbed his ass. He must have misconstrued the situation somehow. Riddle must have leaned in close to try to help Ron into a safer position or something. Something! Not… that.

I accused him, he realized with a churn of the stomach. I accused him to his face. FuckfuckFUCK! He tried desperately to remember exactly what Riddle had said in response. Your accusations are extremely offensive, Ron recalled dimly. Along with the promise that his vile accusation would be dismissed this time. If he continued, he’d be fired. Then Ron had thrown up in the car.

“Oh, bollocks,” he moaned, rubbing his face. There was a tap at the door which sounded like a heavy pounding, and Ginny asking him to hurry up. Ron rinsed his mouth out, splashed some cold water on his face, then staggered out.

Ginny peered at him. “Hungover?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “I’m fine.”

Fine? That was an understatement. He had imagined the weirdest shit and spoke it out loud to the Minister. Accused him of kissing him. Him! Someone around fifty years his junior! Except…

Something else swam in his brain and it wasn’t until he reached the kitchen that he remembered what Percy had said on his first day. That there had been accusations before, with his previous personal assistant. No. Not accusations. Rumors. Nothing proven.

So what did that mean?

Maybe in my drunken state I remembered what Perce said and imagined a bizarre occurrence, he thought as he sat down. I’m not attracted to him, so why would I? He put his head in his hands, trying to sort everything out as his mother slid breakfast in front of him. He mumbled a thanks and began eating, wishing he could disappear into a hole for the rest of eternity. He dreaded going in the next day…

“You look rather ill,” Percy said as he sat down across from him.

Ron looked bleakly up, wishing their mother wasn’t there so he could ask him again about the rumors. “Had a bit too much wine last night is all.” He sat back, running his fingers through his tangled hair, getting them caught.

“Where was the party?” Molly asked, setting breakfast down in front of Percy.

“Malfoy Manor,” Ron replied, making a face. “It was about as awful as you could imagine.” He poked at his own food, the memory… the image… whatever it was of Riddle kissing him filling his entire head. It felt so real though. That was the problem. It had felt so real—still felt so real! He could feel the Minister’s lips against his own, and his hand sliding up his thigh and around it to his bum. How could he imagine that? Yet… how could it be real? “Augh!” he moaned, dropping his fork and covering his face again.

“Do you need some potion for your… hangover?” Molly asked in a slightly irritated voice.

“That would be lovely, Mum. Thank you.” He was relieved when she left the kitchen to go fetch the potion, and as soon as the door swung shut, he lowered his hands. “Perce, quick question before she returns.”

“Hmmm?” Percy was reading the Daily Prophet, not really paying attention.

“Those… rumors you told me about. On my first day. Were they… big rumors? I mean…” Ron bit his lip, struggling through his headache to figure out how to say what he wanted. Percy was staring at him now. “Do you think it actually happened? The Minister, I mean. With the… er… younger men.”

Percy set his cup of tea down, shock filling his face. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Ron said. “I was just curious, is all.” He quickly picked his fork back up, hoping to look innocent. He didn’t want to tell anyone what happened because he didn’t know if it did happen or not. It was confusing, and sent his mind in a spin.

“It happened long before I was there,” Percy reminded him. “I can only attest to what I was told when the news arose that he had a new personal assistant. A young personal assistant,” he added.

“What exactly were you told?”

But Molly returned, setting a vial down. Ron thanked her and chugged the liquid down, sighing when almost immediately his headache and fogginess began fading. He didn’t get a chance to talk to Percy again until later when they were both outside in the garden, and Percy told him precisely what he had heard.

Riddle had had two incidents regarding his possible… affinity for younger men, as Percy put it. The first happened in 1984, a couple of years after Riddle became Minister and before he changed everything so he’d permanently be Minister. He apparently started paying close attention to a wizard in his mid-twenties who worked in the Internal Ministry Affairs department, and soon the wizard gained a promotion followed by a hefty raise. There was no evidence of an affair, as the wizard was a very hard worker. After a year, however, he moved to America and got a very prestigious job at their Ministry, thanks to, rumor had it, a glowing recommendation from Riddle.

Then in 1990, Riddle hired a personal assistant (his second, in his career as Minister). Soon the assistant was heard to be having difficulty in his position, and began complaining to some of his work friends that the Minister was ‘overly familiar’ although he never explained exactly what that meant. He grew unhappier with each passing day and finally quit, selling his house and buying a new one in the middle of no where; one of the workers at the Ministry remained in contact with him and reported that he didn’t seem to need a new job, as he had suddenly come into a decent amount of money.

“Neither really mean anything, strictly speaking,” Percy said, adjusting his glasses. “There is no… actual evidence. Only the rumors, and the previous assistant’s claims of ‘familiarity’ which nobody really knew for sure what that entailed. It simply concerned me when you were hired, since you are only eighteen and very inexperienced so it seemed strange he would hire you for your abilities. No offense.”

“None taken,” Ron muttered. “He told me why he hired me, though. It was because he could tell I was desperate for a job, and he knew I’d work without complaint because of that.” He scuffed the toe of his trainers against the ground, marking up the dirt a little.

“Ron… did something happen?”

Ron shook his head. “No. I was just curious. Honest.” He plastered a smile on his face. “I’m meeting someone for lunch so I better get ready.”

He wasn’t quite sure if his lunch with Basil was supposed to be a date or not… he assumed it was, since initially he had been asked for dinner. So he got dressed in nice clothes and went to the Leaky Cauldron, slipping into a booth to wait. As he did, his knee jiggled a bit as he kept thinking back to the night before. A thought he desperately wished to ignore or push aside, yet it kept filling his head. The Minister’s face in his… lips… hand… Merlin.

Basil showed up and Ron had to focus hard on shoving everything into the back of his mind. They greeted one another then ordered their food before sitting down in the booth again, making small talk while they waited. Ron put an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, gazing across the booth at Basil’s handsome face. Their knees kept bumping together but unlike when it happened with the Minister, it didn’t bother Ron. He was glad it didn’t seem to bother Basil either.

After they ate they took a stroll in Diagon Alley, stopping by Florean Fortescue’s for some ice cream then dipped into a little alley to snog. Basil pressed Ron against the brick wall, hands sliding down his waist onto his hips. Ron let his arms dangle loosely over Basil’s shoulders, eyes closed as they kissed—

The Minister

Ron’s eyes opened and he jerked back, bumping his head against the wall.

“Is something wrong?” Basil asked.

“No, no,” Ron promised, leaning in to kiss some more. Somehow he was able to make his mind go fairly blank, and the rest of the snogging session went by without any other issues. They finally pulled apart, both flushed and grinning as they went back onto the main street to return to the Leaky Cauldron. After they made plans for Friday night, they went their separate ways. Ron returned home and went straight to the shower so he could wank a bit. Except partway through, the night before poured back into him and images of the Minister while wanking off was not something pleasant at all. Ron gave up and got a proper shower before heading to his room to take a nap.

*

He was dreading Monday morning and went in with an aching stomach. Riddle was already in his office, naturally, though didn’t even look up as Ron crept in. No words were said, and Ron sank down in his seat hoping to get through the entire day without mention of—

“I wanted to remind you that next time you attend one of the parties, to please be careful of how much alcohol you consume,” Riddle said, still focusing on his papers. “Understand?”

Ron cringed. “Yes, sir.” He picked up one of the folders on his desk, not sure whether to apologize or not. Or even what to apologize for. Throwing up in the car? Probably. His claims that the Minister kissed him? Ugh. But were they claims or did it happen? Careful not to move his head, Ron glanced up to shoot the Minister a quick look.

He looked in his late forties or early fifties (definitely not seventy-something), with glossy, smooth black hair, very pale skin, and black eyes. Ron supposed years ago he was handsome but for one, he was far too old for him and for two, his political opinions differed greatly and Ron found that distasteful. There was nothing about the man that seemed attractive to Ron in any way…

So he was shocked when, that afternoon, he started having thoughts about him again. It started suddenly, out of no where. His body grew warm and his cock grew tingly. Almost simultaneously the image of Riddle popped in his head. He nearly gagged, and jerked back in his seat.

Where the fuck had that come from?

At least they were just images in his head and not… whatever happened Saturday night. They were just thoughts, nothing feeling real or physical. Yet they were disturbing nonetheless. Especially as he grew hornier and hornier as the minutes passed by. He shifted and squirmed, trying to keep his breathing steady and hoping he didn’t look too red. Riddle wasn’t paying attention but it was a mistake to look over because as soon as Ron had a real visual, it was like a shock to the groin.

“Did you say something?” Riddle asked, when Ron made a slight gasping sound.

“Erm—I—I don’t feel well.” Ron shoved the chair back and ran for the lavatory, not even caring how rude he was being just going off like that. He slammed the door shut behind him and bent over the sink, clutching the edges as his erection grew stronger. “What the fuck?” he whispered, staring wide-eyed at his reflection.

Merlin, it was like torture. Thoughts—very dirty thoughts—of Riddle wormed their way through his brain, and each one made his body want more. The ache was so strong he very nearly ripped open his trousers to shove his hand in there, but somehow managed to keep himself from doing such a thing. Instead he flicked the cold water on and shoved his whole head in. There was a brief instant of wanting to drown himself to get rid of the feelings and then he yanked his head back, water flinging everywhere.

The urge persisted. Worse, really, as the images of the Minister became lewder. Fuck, am I attracted to him? he wondered, leaning forward and letting his hair drip into the sink. No. That was stupid! Yet… his body was telling him otherwise, at the moment. Why Riddle and not Basil? He tried to focus on Basil but those pictures dissolved back into Riddle. Riddle. Riddle.

Worse of all came the impulse to run through the door and throw himself at the mercy of the Minister. Beg him to be touched and fondled and fucked. Merlin, Ron wanted to be fucked bad. He wanted hands on him and a dick inside of him.

STOP IT! You’re at WORK! He sucked in air and fumbled for his wand, trying to figure out a spell to quench the flames consuming his being. He needed some sort of relief… Fuck, he thought again, fighting off the urge to reach in to masturbate. He was hard and throbbing, and the touch of the fabric against his dick was maddening. He had never felt this horny before. Ever. What had triggered this? Had anything? Or was it just random hormones?

He couldn’t do it, couldn’t take it another second. The need overcame sensibility, and he unbuttoned his trousers, pulling himself out. As soon as his skin made contact it was like electricity zapping through him. He had to stifle a moan, using his other hand to cover his mouth. Swiftly he began stroking himself and it only took a few strokes to come. He grit his teeth, forcing back any sounds he threatened to make back in his mouth.

The release felt so damn good, yet the fire still scorched him. He was limp for now, but it wouldn’t be long before he started wanting to come again. Cheeks red, he stuffed himself back into his trousers and used spells to clean everything up, including a spell to clear any smell that might linger in the air. He washed his hands, dried his hair with another spell, then, making sure he looked decent, marched out.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Riddle demanded as soon as Ron stepped back into the office.

“I threw up,” he croaked out. “I don’t feel good. I—I feel really, really sick.” Riddle just stared at him with narrowed eyes. “I think I should go home.”

“For fuck’s sake, go to the IMA and get some potions to get rid of any ‘tummy ache’ you might have,” Riddle sneered. “I have papers for you to go through, and some files that need taken care of—“

“Sir.” Ron swallowed, averting his gaze because it was making him hornier looking at the Minister. “Please may I go home for the day? It won’t happen again. I promise. I just… really don’t feel well. Besides, I do not want you to catch anything if it’s something contagious. Please?”

Riddle’s eyes somehow narrowed even more as he drummed his fingers against the desk. Ron tried not to imagine those long, slim fingers around his cock. “This is irresponsible behavior, Weasley. You are in the adult world now, and can’t simply not do your work on a whim.”

“It isn’t a whim, sir, I really… don’t feel good. Please. I—I believe I have a couple of sick days, don’t I?”

Riddle grit his teeth. “Fine. Go. But you better be back in the morning, and better. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ron ran over to grab his bag. “I will be. Thank you. I—I’ll see you tomorrow.” He fled from the office and ran as fast as he could to the Flooing room where he went home without pausing for a breath which was a mistake, being spun around in the fireplaces when you were already breathless.

Nobody was home when he arrived. A miracle. He bolted up to his room and shut and locked the door. Then, after a moment’s thought, he also soundproofed his room before stripping all his clothes off. Naked, he lay in bed panting for air and staring at his ceiling as he tried to get a hold of his thoughts (which was difficult since all he wanted to get a hold of was his cock).

First genuinely thinking the Minister had kissed him and grabbed his ass, now this.

He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back as another wave of need coursed through his body, at the thought of Riddle kissing him and touching him. More images—filthier images—filled his brain and he let out a sound that was a mixture of need and disgust. Why was he having these wants all of a sudden? Why someone he didn’t previously find attractive and didn’t like? Why his boss? Why so overwhelming he fucking masturbated at the Ministry of Magic, in the Minister for Magic's private lavatory?

The lust grew, as did his dick. Since he was home, he gave in. Except he needed more than just a wank. NEEDED. He went to his closet and dug out a locked box, inside of which held a dildo he had purchased the previous summer. Using a spell to stick it to the floor and another spell to lube it up, he crouched down and eased it inside of him.

It felt like his brain was going to explode into a million pieces, as pleasure consumed him. It felt good to be able to let out a moan as he pulled up and then slid back down. It was a bit awkward crouching in place using only one hand for balance however he needed his other hand to massage himself. While he fucked himself on the dildo, he did his best to keep his mind blank but it kept wandering to him.

Then, slowly, his mind did go blank as the stimulation built up and finally overtook him. He cried out as he came again, body twitching, legs wobbling. He started to fall over though managed to catch himself and get on his knees, raising up to get the dildo out of him then collapsing next to it. He lay there, panting again for a different reason, mind very groggy from the orgasm.

After quite some time he pushed himself back up to clean everything up before tiptoeing down to get himself cleaned up. As he showered, he thought about everything that had happened. Nothing made sense. Nothing whatsoever. It all felt like a fever dream. Saturday night and then… this! It was almost as if someone had put a love potion in him—no, not a love potion. Some sort of lust potion. Those existed, however they were very illegal. Which was a bit of a laugh, since love potions weren’t. Though love potions just made one feel all romantic and lovey, not… wanting to get their brains fucked out.

There was still the lingering want of sexual stimulation but it had thankfully faded quite a bit after the second orgasm, or maybe the shower had calmed it down. Ron stepped out and dried off, putting pajamas on. Going downstairs, he made himself some tea and sat in the living room with his feet up on the couch, trying to puzzle out exactly what happened. Except he couldn’t, other than a lust potion which also made no sense.

Unless.

His eyes squinted as one possibility filtered into his brain. The twins, popping a lust potion or something in his food for a laugh. Although he knew if it was them (which it had to be, what else could it be?) surely they hadn’t meant for it to be so strong. Perhaps it was something they were working on.

“Those fucking idiots!” Ron got up, prepared to go to Diagon and give them a piece of his mind before slowly sitting down again. No. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of yelling at them. They’d just find it hilarious. They’d tease him and make crude jokes.

Except would they have done this? Would they have gone this far, even if they meant it to be not as powerful? a voice whispered. He shook his head, not really sure. It did seem particularly mean even for them, but what else could it have been? The horniness had been too sudden, too strong, too overpowering.

He searched his mind for possibilities yet nothing came up. By the time his mother and sister returned home, he still had no fucking clue what happened, and decided to simply put it aside for the time being unless it happened again. After all, what else could he do? Go see a Healer to get his blood tested? If it was the twins (which he doubted now) he definitely didn’t want to get them in trouble.

Perhaps a fluke, he decided later that night. Perhaps he did get indescribably horny out of no where. He knew perfectly well that a libido could go nuts… That must have been all.

Chapter Text

A box sat on Ron’s desk when he went in on Tuesday. He figured it was papers so he put his stuff down, got the typewriter ready, and unlatched the box. To his surprise inside was an assortment of vials. Stomachache, one read. Headache. Heart burn. Indigestion. He ran his fingers across the brightly colored glass, brow furrowed.

Riddle was not in the office but still outside talking to Jeannine, so Ron had to wait a moment before he came in. “Sir?” he asked, shutting the box. “What…?”

“That is in case you take ill again,” Riddle said, casting a quick glance his way before heading to Nagini. He reached into the terrarium and she slithered up his arm and across his shoulders. “I cannot have my personal assistant disappear suddenly like that again. It caused me all sorts of issues yesterday.”

You didn’t have any personal assistant for eight years. “Thank you.”

He set the kit inside his desk and then got to work, reading through files, copying notes down, binding papers together, writing summaries, taking papers over to the stone bin to toss. He felt a little weak still from all that happened before but at least he wasn’t horny anymore, and he wasn’t having weird thoughts about Riddle.

At least not until later in the day, though they were a far, car cry from what happened the day before at least.

Ron was on the other side of his desk after making tea, bent over as he pulled some papers over. Riddle had stepped out to talk to the Junior Assistant briefly and returned. As he walked past Ron, Ron felt a hand against his arse. He straightened up in shock, turning to stare at Riddle who was already at his desk, sipping his tea.

I know I felt his hand, he thought, heart pounding hard. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth. “Please don’t do that.”

Riddle looked up over his teacup, sipping before setting it down. “Do what?”

“… that,” Ron said, stepping back. “You…” Riddle raised his eyebrows. Merlin, it sounded so stupid if he said it out loud! More than stupid!

“I what, Weasley? Hurry up. We both have a lot of work to do, and I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stand around, gaping like a fish.”

Ron closed his mouth. He knew he needed to say it—because it happened, he knew it happened—yet all he could think of was being drunk on Saturday night. Except if this happened then had that happened? “I think you brushed against me when you walked past,” he said lamely.

Riddle’s brows snapped downward. “Is that all? For fuck’s sake.”

“It felt like…”

“What? It felt like what?” Riddle leaned back in the chair, eyes blazing. “Clearly you have something very important to say, so say it before the sun goes down.”

“It felt as though you touched me. On my… backside,” Ron forced out.

Riddle stared at him for what felt like an eternity. “This again.” He picked his teacup back up. “Weasley, you are not drunk this time so I would be very careful about what you might say, as you do not have an excuse this time.”

Ron clutched the papers to his chest. “It felt on purpose.”

“Right.” Riddle drank the rest of his tea and slammed the cup down so hard it shattered. Blood oozed from a cut on his hand. “Damn it all to hell! Weasley, I don’t have time for your insane allegations, especially not today. If you have some bizarre fantasy, keep it to yourself.”

“Bizarre…?” Ron felt very indignant at that. “Sir, you touched my arse.”

Riddle was busy repairing his cup and fixing his hand. But at that he slowly looked up, the blaze gone from his eyes and replaced by iciness. There was something terrifying in Riddle’s face that made Ron step back, bumping into his desk. “Take your lunch break. And think very carefully about your future here at the Ministry while you do.”

“I—ah—the meeting—“

“I’ll have the typewriter set up, and you can copy the notes later,” Riddle said in that scarily calm voice. “You need to leave my office right this second before I genuinely get angry at your falsehoods.”

Ron took his bag and left, hands shaking a bit as he went. Falsehoods? No! Riddle had! He had, and Ron—he wasn’t making it up—bizarre fantasies?! What the hell? He wasn’t having bizarre fantasies about the bloody Minister!

Except the previous day he did.

But that didn’t count. Did it? If it was a potion then it didn’t count but what if it wasn’t a potion? What if Ron really…?

No, no, NO! he thought desperately, shaking his head as he stormed through the Ministry. He wasn’t sure where to go. He didn’t particularly want to see Percy at the moment, not with the conversation they had Sunday. Nor did he want to face his father. And it was too early for Basil’s lunch. So Ron went to one of the staff rooms and flung himself on a couch, startling the sole Ministry worker in the room.

“Bizarre… show him… can’t believe… it did. He did!” Ron tore open his lunch bag, yanking the food out furiously as he mumbled to himself. As he chewed, he glowered at the far wall, taking mental notes to try to organize everything that had happened.

One. Saturday night while he was drunk the Minister either kissed him and felt up his arse, or Ron imagined it.

Two. Monday he got unbelievably horny and had weird, disgusting, filthy thoughts about the Minister. Either potion-induced, or naturally.

Three. The Minister touched Ron’s arse again today. Or he imagined it. Again.

Ron swallowed, the sandwich forming an uncomfortable lump in his throat as it went down.

Four. The Minister had two previous rumored incidents involving younger male Ministry workers, which may or may not have actually happened.

The thought of Riddle losing himself like that was laughable, though. Riddle was so cold and unflappable, it was impossible to see him as someone who lusted after young wizards… or lusted after anyone period. He had never married or even had a partner of any kind during his entire life. Even the historians who looked back on his years at Hogwarts couldn’t scrounge up a girlfriend or boyfriend. As far as anyone was concerned, Tom Riddle was celibate.

Which made it silly to think that he had gone after two younger wizards at the Ministry. Or was going after Ron. An eighteen-year-old. Plus it wasn’t as if he protested Ron’s accusations, he had dismissed them as if they meant nothing. As if they hadn’t really happened.

Putting it in that perspective made Ron feel both better and worse. Better because he understood now that he was imagining things, worse because it meant he was imagining things about bloody Tom Riddle. Even if it felt real, even if it felt like he wasn’t imagining it… seeing the response from Riddle just—

Argh! Nothing makes SENSE!

There was nobody to even talk to about all this because talking about it would mean confessing things he did not want to confess to. Not a single thing that happened. Especially the lewd thoughts about the Minister which made… made…

Ron blinked and then sat up a bit more, a new thought popping into his head. That didn’t make much sense, but made more sense than anything else regarding his horniness. Maybe it was a lust potion. Just not from the twins… but from someone mad that Ron was the personal assistant to the Minister.

Needing answers, Ron finished off his food and got up to hurry back except he had forgotten the Minister had a meeting so he was obliged to wait in the waiting room for a good twenty minutes while Jeannine smirked at him the entire time. Ron smiled blandly back, wondering if it was her. She hated him. She made that very clear. Had she…?

When Ron was allowed back in the office, he sat down at his desk and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry for my… accusations earlier,” he said, starting with that since he knew the Minister would want to hear it. Riddle gave a small nod. “I’ve not been feeling well and I guess when you brushed past me I thought your hand touched me when it was probably just your arm, accidentally.”

“I accept your apology, Weasley. Thank you.”

“I did have a question though,” he continued, and Riddle raised his eyebrows, obviously a little surprised. “Have people… wanted this position before? Your personal assistant, I mean. I know you said I got the job because… I needed it, and all that but… surely there have been a lot of people who wanted this job, too.”

“What are you trying to get at?” Riddle asked.

Ron swallowed, not sure how to continue. He certainly didn’t want to admit what had happened Monday! “I wasn’t sure if there might be people who would be angry about me getting this position, and might… take it out on me or something.”

Riddle tilted his head to one side. “Has anyone done anything or said anything to you?”

“Well. Er. No… not exactly…”

Riddle waved his hand. “Then stop worrying so much. And get back to work, I don’t have time to answer these ridiculous questions. Actually, come here.” He crooked his finger and Ron went over, suddenly afraid his butt would be touched again. Instead some papers were shoved in his hand. “The entirety of my meeting just now, from the typewriter. Read them, write up a summary.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron returned to his desk and began working.

*

Two days passed without incident as Ron felt more and more crazy. When Harry visited him on Thursday night, he almost told him everything before changing his mind because of how fucking insane he sounded. He felt a bit alone and confused, wishing there was someone to go to…

On Friday, determined to focus on his work and not let his mind wander to weirdness, he plopped down at his desk and began organizing, writing, reading, binding, tossing out, feeding rats, feeding Nagini, making tea, and doing all of Riddle’s errands around the Ministry. One such errand took him to the same floor as the RSAT department so after delivering the papers he swung by to see Basil and chat with him for a few minutes. They were still flirting shamelessly when Basil’s boss came in and had to quickly stop, bidding one another farewell as Ron left.

Back in Riddle’s office, Ron went over to make the third pot of tea of the day. While he prepared everything, Riddle came up behind him. Ron tensed slightly as the Minister stopped so close Ron could feel the brush of his suit. Real, he thought, doing his best to ignore it. This is real.

“What are you doing?” Riddle asked in a low voice, right in his ear.

“Making your tea?” Ron asked, avoiding turning his head because if he did he knew he’d be hardly an inch from the Minister’s face.

“Did I ask for tea?”

Shit. “Erm. Well. No, however you have tea this time of day pretty much every day so I thought…” He faltered a bit and swallowed. “Sorry, sir.” He quickly dumped the water out and put the kettle aside to cool down. At least he hadn’t used up any tea leaves.

Then the Minister said something odd. “Are you trying to anticipate my needs, Weasley?” Even odder, he said it in that low voice still. It sent a shiver down Ron’s spine.

“I was trying to be—“

“Face me when you’re speaking to me.”

Ron slowly turned. It was awkward because Riddle didn’t move to give him any space, and Ron had to contort himself a bit not to bump too much into him. Still, part of his arm and leg did, though the Minister didn’t even blink. Ron then stared at Riddle, head throbbing because they indeed were hardly an inch apart now. The Minister was a couple of inches shorter than Ron and his head was tilted a bit to look directly into his eyes. Their bodies were so close… far too close…

“I was trying to be helpful,” Ron said again, pressing back against the cabinet where all the tea stuff was located. His hand slipped a bit and knocked into the kettle. “Fuck!” he cried out then clamped his non-burnt hand over his mouth, going red even though the Minister swore more than that. “Sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Let me see.” Without waiting for permission, Riddle grabbed Ron’s right wrist and held it up to inspect the searing red streak along the side of his hand. Riddle’s fingers were cool, pressed against Ron’s wrist as he twisted slightly, bending in. “It is not that bad. Come along, I have some ointment.” He began walking, still holding onto Ron’s wrist so he pulled Ron behind him as they went to another cabinet. Finally he let go so he could rummage around for a little pot of glistening green salve. Ron started to reach out so he could open it and get some however the Minister opened it himself and stuck his finger in, scooping some up. “Give me your hand again.”

Riddle took his wrist once more with one hand and then put his finger against the burn mark. The instant relief felt good, although the way Riddle slowly—very slowly—slid his finger along Ron’s hand did not feel good. It felt uncomfortable. Ron kept his mouth shut as Riddle slowly rubbed the salve in. What made it even worse was the fact Riddle wasn’t looking at Ron’s hand, he was looking up into Ron’s face.

“There.” Riddle let go and put the jar up before cleaning his hand off on a handkerchief which he tossed at Ron. “Now get back to work.”

Ron dropped the handkerchief into the dirty laundry hamper which sat in the rats’ room. He took his time so he could catch his breath and try to calm down. None of that was pleasant. Not being practically pinned against the tea cabinet, nor the way Riddle was… rubbing his hand… or the look given. And Ron knew damn well none of that had been imaginary. Yet it also didn’t really mean anything… It could have meant something yet also didn’t have to. Riddle was just weird.

Or am I making excuses? Ron wondered as he returned to his desk. Excuses for what? The Minister being… touchy…? Did I imagine it all? He felt the panic of craziness start to seep back into his head.

“By the way.”

Ron let out a slight breath and looked over. “Yes, sir?”

“In a little over two weeks I will need to be in attendance of the Quidditch World Cup, as Wales will be competing. I will need you with me. It will be at the very least an overnight trip to Spain.” Riddle dipped a quill into ink and bent over his desk, writing something, not realizing what he had just done to his assistant.

“World cup?” Ron asked faintly.

“Yes, the Quidditch World Cup,” Riddle replied, irritated. “It’s being held in Spain and since Wales will be competing, I will need to be there and I expect you to be there with me,” Riddle said slowly, as if to a child. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Ron pressed his fingers down along the edge of the desk, barely able to contain his excitement. “That means… you’ll probably… we’ll probably be in the… the… Top Box… won’t we?”

Riddle frowned. “Yes, of course.”

World Cup… Top Box… Ron could not stop the grin that formed on his face. Oh, wait till everyone at home hears about this! He had gone to the 1994 World Cup which had taken place in England, and although he and his family had pretty good seats they weren’t Top Box. My brothers are going to be so jealous! As he worked his head buzzed, and he could not wait to get home. He had to shake himself out of his thoughts multiple times to focus on his tasks and had already forgotten the incident at the tea cabinet.

“Weasley, you’re grinning again. I do not mind smiles however it is a bit disarming to see all of your teeth.”

Ron tried to tone down the grin. “Sorry.”

To his surprise, Riddle actually smiled. “It is all right. You must like Quidditch, then. Hmmm?”

“Oh, I do,” he said, fighting off the urge to start the grin once more. “I got to go to the last World Cup and it was amazing. I never thought I’d get to go to one again. Even though I’ll be, er, working. I’m just really excited.”

“Do you enjoy the minor league?”

Were they really having a conversation? “Yes. I’m a Chudley Cannons fan.”

Riddle raised his eyebrows slightly. “Interesting. Well. I am glad to know you will enjoy your trip to Spain. I am looking forward to it too.” Something gleamed in his eye but he bent his head down to continue writing. “Do you have anyone who will miss you, if the trip is extended?”

Ron blinked. “Erm. What do you mean?”

“If the game lasts a while, as some games do,” Riddle clarified.

“No, I mean. Miss me? I’m sure my family will but, well, they’re used to me being at school so a couple of nights won’t really be anything big.”

“No… girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”

Okay this conversation turned weird. “I would prefer to keep my personal life and work life separate,” he finally said, channeling Percy’s no-nonsense attitude.

Riddle looked up again. “I meant no offense.” He looked more amused than anything else, at least. “Now before you start back on those papers, I have some others here you need to take a look at and get a summary typed up for me soon, and also take these to the Portkey Office and while you’re down there I need you to pick up some files from the BRC…”

*

After a weekend of being free from work, Ron came back on Monday feeling loads better. It helped a bit that he talked to Percy about job stress, and Percy said that that could be a difficult adjustment from school. Since the weirdness had kicked off after he had gotten drunk, Ron simply assumed it was that. Which was also when he decided that if he started imagining anything again, he’d quit. Clearly the pressure of the job or perhaps Riddle’s temperament or something was causing him to crack, and if it continued… well, he’d remove himself from the stress.

It also helped that Riddle was out of office a lot on Monday, leaving Ron things to do on his own. Including deciding when he could take a lunch break. So at twelve-fifty-five he gathered his things and cheerfully went down to the RSAT department, only to find an unfamiliar face behind the secretary’s desk.

“Hi. Is, er, Basil Knowlton here?”

“Knowlton?” The girl pressed her lips and creased her forehead. “Merlin, no, he was fired. Fucking awful time to get fired, too, leaving me to do twice the work. You know, I’m supposed to be helping with translating runes not being a damned secretary!” She threw some papers down. “Did Riddle send you with something?”

“No. I was just… looking for Basil,” Ron said faintly. Fired? “Why was he fired?”

“Oh, I would love to sit here and have a nice chat with you, yes!” she said sarcastically. “Just ignore the millions of things I have to do.”

Ron quickly backed up. “Sorry, sorry.” He considered briefly seeing when Hermione’s lunch was since it was her first day but he didn’t want to disturb her and instead retreated to Percy’s office, chewing on his sandwiches and wondering why Basil had gotten fired. It made no sense! Basil was a good worker, as far as he could tell, and things had seemed fine on Friday morning when they last saw each other…

That’s when he realized he had no way of contacting Basil. Basil never mentioned where he lived, and without knowing generally then an owl probably wouldn’t find him. Or maybe the twins might know? Except probably not. Ron had no clue where random kids from his year lived other than his friends.

Maybe someone from RSAT knows, he decided, except he didn’t get any chances to go down that day until he was released at six. When he hurried down to the office the only person left was a different rune translator who had no clue who Basil Knowlton even was. I’ll try tomorrow during lunch, he thought as he hurried to the Flooing room and headed home, feeling miserable.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday, Ron gave up trying to figure out how to contact Basil. Nobody in the department he had worked in knew anything about his personal life, and the Internal Ministry Affairs refused to give out any information due to privacy. Nobody would tell him why he had been fired, either. He was told either ‘I don’t know’ or ‘none of your damned business’.

When Riddle let him to to lunch at just before noon, Ron went down to the DRCMC since he knew Hermione had her lunch at noon too. She was just leaving to eat, and her face lit up when she saw him; together they went to the nearest staff room and spread their food out on the table.

“How has your job been?” he asked.

“It’s been… interesting,” she said carefully. “I knew coming here that most people view house-elves as little more than property, but it is hard dealing with it.”

Ron reached over, his hand resting on hers. “That will change eventually. You’ll change things.”

“I hope so.”

He squeezed her hand and then went back to eating, the two of them falling into easy conversation. He felt a special connection to Hermione due to their history. They had properly dated for about two weeks in their fourth year until Hermione came out as a lesbian to him, and so he came out to her as gay. They continued to date, bearding for one another until she felt more comfortable and actually came out to everyone else later that year.

After he returned from lunch he sat at his desk, struggling to focus on his tasks. Not just because of Basil’s sudden disappearance, but also from feeling a bit tired from his job. He had stayed rather late Monday and Tuesday, which frustrated him a little; the hours were not what he expected… and it was starting to get to him. Although, he reminded himself, he was going to get to see the World Cup soon. Which was a very nice perk. Was it worth the stress, though? And the hours? Was the pay worth it?

“Weasley.”

He shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, sir?”

“Stand up. Come over here.”

Ron stood up and walked over to the desk, at first towards the front but Riddle motioned for him to come around to the same side as him. “Is something wrong?” Ron asked.

Riddle was staring at him with narrowed eyes. Not at his face, but at his body. Specifically his legs. Ron shifted his weight nervously, not liking being stared at and not knowing why he was being stared at. He was wearing tights under his skirt, like Riddle requested. Suddenly Riddle stood up. “Do this,” he said and held his arms straight down his sides. “Fingers pointed down. Yes. Like that. All right. That skirt is not as short as I thought it was.” He tilted his head, still staring down at Ron’s legs. “I suppose the style makes it look a bit shorter.”

“I will wear longer from now on,” Ron promised.

“Oh, no, that is fine,” Riddle said, mouth twisting into a strange sort of smile. “You could wear shorter, if you wanted. I was merely curious about the length.” He reached over and, with the tip of his finger and thumb, grabbed the very end of the skirt. Ron froze, shocked. “You should wear skirts more often. They suit you.” He let go of the skirt and then sat back down. “You can return to your desk now.”

Ron swallowed, the argument stuck in his throat. “Of course.” He turned to leave and then let out a yelp of surprise as his bottom was touched. Most definitely touched. Riddle’s hand pressed against one of his cheeks and almost squeezed. He whirled around to see Riddle writing something. “Sir!”

“What now, Weasley?”

Ron backed up. “You grabbed my bottom. I felt it. I know I did, you—I’m not imagining it,” he said quickly before Riddle could deny it. “I know I didn’t imagine it.” Riddle set his quill down and steepled his fingers, giving Ron a long look. “That isn’t—appropriate or—I don’t—I can’t—“ His words tangled together and he felt his face go red with a mix of vexation and embarrassment. Something inside him built up, trying to burst out. Then, without even thinking, he said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Riddle looked more curious than anything else. “Do what anymore?”

He shook his head, feeling bad for giving up after only a month. But there was no possible way he could continue with... this! Not the hours, or the... grabbing. “This job. I—I quit. I’m quitting.”

Riddle leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Funny. I’d almost think you meant it.”

Ron blinked, not expecting that as a response. “I do mean it. I quit.”

“I did not grab your bottom.”

“Then I’m imagining things, and the stress of the job is making me go crazy,” Ron replied. “I quit.” Saying the words felt good. They were a relief, and he stood a bit straighter. Everything felt better, actually. He felt lighter.

However, Riddle began laughing. “Do you genuinely mean to quit?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Ron answered, crossing his arms across his chest tightly. “I don’t think this job is cut out for me. I appreciate you giving me a chance but it’s… not something I can continue to do.”

Riddle cocked his head to one side. “Weasley, do you remember those forms and contracts that were sent to you when you did accept this job?” Ron slowly nodded. “Do you recall anything about them?”

“Most of them were regarding the secrecy needed to be your assistant, and non-disclosure agreements.”

“Yes. Anything else?” Ron sought out in his memory. It hadn’t been very long ago. “Nothing that might pertain to this situation?” Riddle asked.

“To…? Er. No.”

“I see.” Riddle sat up and scribbled a note. After he finished he folded it carefully and tapped it with his wand; it zoomed to the door and Riddle opened the door with a wave of his hand and then shut it after the note left. “I think there are some papers you should look over before you make your final decision. Why don’t you sit down and at least finish what you were working on, then once the papers get here we can discuss this more. Hmm?”

Ron wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He figured saying he quit meant he could just leave. “I don’t…”

“It is important,” Riddle said, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Go sit down.”

Ron trudged back to his desk and slowly began working on the notes he had been typing up, as confused as if someone had hit him with the confundus charm. What am I doing? he wondered as his fingers sought out the correct keys. “Sir—“

“We will discuss it when the papers arrive,” Riddle interrupted.

It didn’t take too long, really. About fifteen minutes later there was a tap at the door and a harried looking worker popped her head in saying she had the papers that Riddle asked for. He told her to bring them in then dismissed her while simultaneously motioning Ron to come forward. Ron put his stuff aside and went over to the desk, wondering how things were going to do. What the papers were about.

Riddle was glancing over them and then smiled when he reached one, pulling it out of the pile and sliding it over. “Read that. Third paragraph.”

Ron spun the paper around and bent down, skimming to the third paragraph. The undersigned hereby agrees to continue rendering services and fulfilling all obligations and duties outlined in this agreement through and including the thirty-first of August, 1998, without exception or early termination unless otherwise authorized by the Minister for Magic.

Ron stared in utter disbelief, rereading the lines and then looking up in horror at the Minister. “This wasn’t there before.”

“Pardon?”

“This… this line.” He tapped the paper. “It was not in the agreement before. I’ve never seen that before in my life. I—I didn’t agree to this.”

Riddle tugged the paper back. “This is your signature, is it not?”

“It is but… I didn’t… that… that part was not there before.”

The corner of Riddle’s mouth quirked a little upward. “Are you claiming that someone went in after you signed it and added an addendum without your knowledge?”

“I don’t… I don’t know but that wasn’t there, I know it wasn’t there.”

“Are you quite sure?” Riddle’s eyebrows rose high. “Because it seems like you’ve been imagining quite a lot of strange things lately.”

Ron pulled the paper back to reread the lines, searching his memory for any familiarity. Slowly he shook his head. “No. It’s not possible, I would have remembered this. I would have…” Wouldn’t he?

“I’m afraid, Weasley, this puts your quitting in new light.” Riddle took the paper back, adding it back to the stack and straightening them out. “Breach of contract is a serious matter, and the Ministry will pursue things legally.” Ron staggered back, one hand on his stomach. “You agreed to work at the very least until the thirty-first of August. You signed it.”

“It didn’t say it before,” he muttered, reaching up to push his fingers through his hair, forgetting it was tied back and getting his fingers tangled. He swore and pulled his hand free, ignoring the fact his hair was now a mess.

Riddle smiled. “Do you still wish to quit?”

He felt very sick, and rather trapped. He wanted to snatch the papers back and tear them up. “My memory,” he realized. “We can go back and look in my memory of when I signed the papers.”

“Weasley…”

“It will show that that was not there!” He felt triumphant for about two seconds until…

“If you wish to fill out an application form for access to a pensieve, feel free,” Riddle said, waving his hand. “It usually takes around a month for an application to be processed, examined, and decided upon; if it is deemed imperative enough for the use of a pensieve, you will be added to the wait list which is currently two weeks. So around six weeks, I believe, total?”

“But you have one,” he said lamely. “Can’t we…?”

“Ah, Weasley, that is for my use only,” Riddle said, shaking his head in a disappointed manner. “If it shown I have given my assistant special favors… now, what would that do?”

“If it is shown you’ve been touching your assistant inappropriately, what would that do?” Ron retorted hotly.

“I see.” Riddle’s face went blank. “You are threatening me. Feel free to try, however the IMA is already aware that you have expressed a desire to quit—“

“Because of what you’ve done.”

“—and attempting to slander my name will only prove to be against you,” Riddle continued, ignoring him. “Look. It is only for a couple more weeks. Is that so bad? If you still wish to quit come the thirty-first of August, then you will be free to do so.”

“What happens to me if I still quit now?” Ron asked.

Riddle arched his eyebrows high. “As I said. The Ministry would pursue things legally, and you would lose. There would be financial consequences and possibly, depending on how things went, some time spent in Azkaban for breach of contract.”

Ron shuddered at that. “All that for quitting?”

“You signed your name,” Riddle said, tapping the stack of papers.

“Yes, but it wasn’t there before,” he argued. Riddle didn’t respond to that. “It’s not—“ He stopped, and grit his teeth. “I know I took my lunch already but may I take a short break?”

“Right now?” Riddle shrugged. “Normally I would say no, however… yes, you may take a fifteen minute break.”

“May I take those papers to look over them?” He held his hand out and Riddle gave them to him. “Thank you, sir.” He left the office, heart thudding. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, repeated in his head as he stormed to the lifts and went to Percy’s floor. Unfortunately his brother was busy so he had to wait in his office for half of his break until Perce showed up. Ron immediately leapt to his feet, shoving the piece of paper at him. “Look! LOOK! I swear to Merlin, that wasn’t there—third paragraph—what the fuck? Is that normal? Did you sign something like that when you started?”

“Calm your broom,” Percy said, adjusting his glasses as he took the piece of paper and sat down. “What in blazes is going on? Third paragraph?” He peered down at the paper. “What is going on? Did they try to fire you?”

“No! I tried to quit!”

“Quit?” Percy was startled. “I thought you liked your job?”

“I liked the pay, but the pay isn’t enough to make up for—“ For Riddle grabbing my ass. “For the stress,” he said, sinking back down in his seat. “I tried to quit and Riddle gave me that, telling me they could make me pay if I quit? Or I could go to Azkaban for a while?”

“Unfortunately, it seems so,” Percy said, running his finger along the sentence, rereading it. “It does not list out what could happen, so the Ministry could potentially do either. Or both.” He looked up at Ron again. “Looks like you can’t quit until the end of August.”

“But it wasn’t there when I signed it, I swear it wasn’t,” Ron said. “I wanted to try to look into a memory but Riddle said between waiting for approval and the wait list, it wouldn’t be for ages. I—am I going crazy?”

“Crazy?” Percy smiled. “That’s the twins, not you. Why do you think you’re going crazy?”

Ron pulled his ponytail around and began chewing at the end, folding one arm across his chest as he sank lower in his seat. “Because I would have bet my life that that bit there wasn’t in the form when I signed it. Could it be altered? Later? Added? Can you tell?”

“It would be highly unethical even more highly illegal for that to be done,” Percy said, giving Ron the paper back. “Whom do you believe did it?”

“I don’t know.” Ron averted his gaze, not wanting to blame the Minister. It was so fucking ridiculous. “All I know is that when I signed it, it didn’t have that, so someone changed it.”

“I… don’t think anyone changed it. Why would they? To make you work the summer without quitting?” Percy looked puzzled. “Though it is strange. I didn’t have anything like that when I was hired on. Perhaps it was because the Minister was worried you would quit quickly.”

“I don’t…” Ron trailed off, feeling defeated. “S’not fair. I want to quit! I can’t do the job anymore. It’s too much for me. It’s making me go all… cracked.”

“Well, unfortunately it seems you will have to keep working for a few more weeks,” Percy said. “It does say the Ministry can terminate your position, so perhaps if you ask the Minister he will consider letting you go?”

Absolutely not, he thought angrily. He might be the one to have done it in the first place. He couldn’t accuse the Minister of adjusting a contract, though. He couldn’t even accuse the Minister of grabbing his bottom, really. It was too embarrassing to confess, even if it did happen—which Ron suspected now actually did. Which means…

“I don’t think he will.” Ron stood up since his short break was now over. “Thanks anyway, Perce. I’ll see you later.”

He returned to Riddle’s office and slumped at his desk, not doing his work. He just stared at the typewriter in front of him, trying to figure out what to do or how to get out of it to no avail. It’s just until the end of August, he thought, sitting up a bit straighter. A month. You can do this. You can deal with another month.

Except he was very unsure about that when Riddle returned from wherever he was and went right over to Ron’s desk, coming around to the back and leaning in. One hand was on his desk and the other was on the back of his chair as Riddle bent in very close. “Have you made your decision, Weasley?” he breathed out into Ron’s ear.

“I will not be quitting,” he said, avoiding looking at Riddle. “Not until my contract is up.”

“Good.” Riddle’s hand moved from the back of the seat to Ron’s shoulder and squeezed. Ron glanced a bit, looking at Riddle’s hand on him. “I’d hate to lose you. I’d also hate to take you to court over such a trivial matter. I would, don’t get me wrong. I’m just glad I don’t have to.” Another squeeze and Riddle went to his own desk.

Ron bent his head and worked, doing his best to ignore the Minister except for taking orders for the rest of the day. His realization in Percy’s office buzzed around his brain. It was real, it was all real. It had to be. Because today the bottom-grabbing definitely happened. It wasn’t his imagination or an accidental hand brush, it was a squeeze. So the ‘accidental hand brush’ from before happened, and the kiss happened—the Minister had kissed Ron while Ron was drunk. Then denied it. And denied everything else. Making Ron think he was crazy.

As subtly as he could, he looked at Riddle, wondering why? It made no sense. Yet it happened. And now he was stuck with a handsy boss for another month. You can do it, Ron thought, looking back at his work. One month, and then it’ll be over.

Chapter Text

For a couple of days, nothing seemed strange or different, Work proceeded as normal, and Riddle didn’t try to harass Ron in any way. Ron focused hard on his work, doing his best to tune the Minister out except the take orders. He was aware the Minister was watching him a lot, but that could have been for a number of reasons. In fact, it got to the point where Ron started questioning his own sanity again about making stuff up… when Riddle touched him again. He was taking papers over, setting them down in front of Riddle so he was slightly bent over, when Riddle’s hand went to his bottom and squeezed.

Ron whirled around, smacking his arm away and glaring. “Don’t fucking do that.” He stood there, breathing hard, waiting for Riddle to deny what just happened.

Instead Riddle raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Why not?”

What? That… was certainly not the response Ron expected. “You—“ Words refused to untangle in his mouth and he couldn’t really speak, too shocked at Riddle admitting to touching him. “You…”

“I what, Weasley?” he asked smoothly. “Out with it.”

“This is why I’m quitting,” he finally snapped. “You touched me, you’ve been touching me, you—you denied it before but you’re not now and—“

“It seems pointless to deny it now,” Riddle answered with a shrug. “Is that everything? If so, please get back to work. We have a lot of things to take care of today.”

Ron stepped back then slowly returned to his desk, stunned. Confused. He stared blankly at the papers in front of him, head in a daze as he tried to sort out what just happened. He’s not denying it anymore. His fingers traced along some papers as another thought broke through the cloudiness. An idea, really; something he had thought about before but couldn’t, since he wasn’t sure. But now he was sure.

When Riddle let him go on his lunch break, Ron headed straight for the IMA. He wasn’t sure exactly who to talk to, so he went to the front desk and said, “I need to make a complaint about… an employee.”

The girl looked unimpressed as she sorted through some files. “That would be Mr. Teller.” She jerked her thumb towards one of the doors. “I think he’s back from his lunch.”

“Thank you.” Ron knocked at the door and was glad to hear a voice telling him to come him. He slipped through, shutting the door behind him, and took a seat when asked.

Mr. Teller was probably around his father’s age, with a pair of round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He seemed very no-nonsense, and had a bit of a… Percy-or-Hermione air about him. “How can I help you?” he asked in a kind voice.

I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner, Ron thought, that voice already making him feel better. “I wanted to make a complaint about another employee who has been… touching me. Inappropriately.”

Teller made a sort of harumphing noise and pulled some papers out, licking the end of his quill before dipping it into some ink. “Name?”

“Mine or…?”

Teller peered at him over his glasses. “Yours, please.”

“Right. Er, Ron. Ron Weasley.” He began squirming a bit, knowing what was about to happen and feeling strange about it. Admitting that the Minister himself was doing that? Suddenly he was afraid he wouldn’t be believed. It was the Minister’s word against his, after all.

“And who is doing this to you?”

Ron swallowed, afraid now. What if he wasn’t believed and then the Minister found out and took it out on him? His limbs felt heavy and his hands felt like giant balloons, all puffy and tight. He couldn’t breathe anymore.

Teller frowned. “Mr. Weasley?”

No wait, Riddle had said something. They’re aware of your desire to quit and any attempt to slander my name would be against you. Oh. Merlin. He had forgotten that.

“I…” No, he had to get it out. He had to say it! Even with his intention to quit, surely they’d see… they’d understand he was being honest… “I…” He couldn’t wimp out. He had to tell… except it did sound so… ridiculous… the Minister touching him in an improper manner. The Minister! Who had been Minister for as long as Ron was alive! Slander my name.

Shit.

“I have to go.” Ron jumped to his feet and fled the office, running clear to the lifts and pressing a random button. There wasn’t anyone else on the lifts so he was able to sink against the wall and cover his face. Coward, he thought miserably.

*

That night he lay in bed, curled on his side, wondering what to do. If there was anything to do other than simply… be grabbed occasionally by Riddle. Or kissed. Ugh! Hopefully not kissed again. He couldn’t remember it clearly due to his drunken state but he was sure it was awful. Is that why he had me drink a lot that night? he wondered. So I’d be drunk and he could make a pass at me and then say I was making it up? That was something he would have previously thought was far-fetched but now… he wasn’t so sure. Note to self: do NOT get drunk again at any parties.

There was a dinner party coming up on Friday, and Ron was dreading the car ride there. He hoped it was somewhere close, so they wouldn’t have to spend very much time together. I’ll also have to be very careful to make sure I don’t drink too much, he thought, rolling over and curling up even more. Even if he expects me to.

*

In the morning, Ron almost put on a skirt then changed his mind; he wanted Riddle to see as little of his legs as possible. He ate his breakfast slowly before finally forcing himself to Floo to the Ministry and go up to Riddle’s office. Pausing at the door, he took in a deep breath and went in. Riddle wasn’t there. His breath escaped into a relieved sigh and he went to his desk, setting his bag down and hesitating, seeing a box on the desk with his name on it. Frowning, he picked it up and turned it over, not sure what it was. A present? Something similar to the stomachache cure set he was given previously? He opened the box and his eyes widened at the sight of a very pretty, very fancy pocket watch. It was white gold with little gems embedded in the hands.

He checked the card again. Yep, his name.

The door opened and Riddle came in, eyes zeroing in on Ron. “Good morning.”

“Er. Morning.”

“I see you found your gift.” Ron’s chin jerked up. Gift? Riddle smiled. “Do you like it?”

“A gift?” he asked and Riddle nodded. Swallowing, he put the watch back in the box and snapped it shut. “I can’t accept this, sir.”

“Oh?” Riddle walked over to him. “And why not?”

“I can’t accept a gift from you, not like this,” he said, trembling slightly as Riddle came around the desk. Behind him. Too late to duck out of the way. Instead he turned, facing him. “First of all I have my own watch, from my family. Second of all I believe this is a bribe.”

“A bribe!” Riddle’s eyes lit up at that. “How very amusing.” He was an inch from Ron, and Ron pressed back into the desk, feeling trapped. “Here I thought I was being kind, giving my personal assistant a present for doing such excellent work.”

“It’s a bribe,” Ron said, voice hoarse, lips dry.

“A bribe for what?” Riddle inquired.

“Not… saying anything about… what you’ve done…”

Riddle laughed. “Oh, my dear boy, you cannot tell anyone about what’s transpired, because nobody will believe you.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Even though you did nearly make an attempt yesterday. Mr. Teller came to me. Concerned because of what you said.” Ron swallowed, trembling a bit. “I told him that you were just trying to figure out a way to get out of your job sooner.”

“I…”

“However, I don’t appreciate the fact you did that.” Riddle’s hands shot out to the desk and Ron was pinned. “In fact, I am quite angry about it.”

“Then fire me.”

Riddle stared deep into his eyes for what felt like an eternity before he moved his right hand. It darted up before Ron could even react, and was around his throat. Ron’s eyes went huge and he threw his hands up, grabbing Riddle’s wrist. “If you try to tell anybody your silly little lies about me, you will regret it. Do you understand?”

Ron tried jerking Riddle’s hand free. “L-let go! Let go!”

Riddle squeezed gently. “Do you. Understand?” Ron nodded quickly and Riddle released him. Ron tried to get away but Riddle put his hand back down, once again pinning him to the desk. “I’m not trying to be your enemy, Weasley, but if you put me in that role then you will find I make a terrible one.”

An escape route. Ron slid back, his bottom on the desk. He knocked over some papers and pushed aside his typewriter as he slid back, pulled his legs up, swung around, and hopped off the other side. No longer pinned. Riddle straightened up, looking irritated but staying where he was.

Ron put a hand to his throat. “You can’t do this. You can’t… threaten me and grab my bottom and choke me and get me drunk and kiss me and just—not have any repercussions!”

“Can’t I?” Riddle asked, lips twisting into a smirk. “Says who? You? What are you going to do about it? You already failed to tell the IMA that I was… touching you inappropriately,” he said in a mocking tone. “Are you going to tell them that I grabbed your throat now? It doesn’t look good for you, Weasley. Don’t forget that. You will just seem desperate to get out of your job.”

“Why are you keeping me as your assistant if I’m saying such things about you?” Ron demanded hotly.

Riddle shrugged. “You signed an agreement. I take those things very seriously.” He picked up the box with the watch, tucking it into one pocket. “If you don’t like my gift, how about lunch? I know a very nice place—“

“Absolutely not. I will not spend one more second around you than I have to.”

“Very well,” said Riddle, clasping his hands together. “Then I expect you to have lunch with me, as a work order. I will need my assistant with me.” Ron clenched his teeth. “You will get paid for it. A working lunch.”

“I don’t want to.”

Riddle let out a long sigh as he headed to his desk. “That’s the unfortunate thing about work, Weasley. We all must do things we don’t want to to get by. No?” He sat down and picked up a quill. “Now, if you don’t mind, there is a lot to do and you need to clean up that mess you made. Hurry up, get on with it.”

Ron slowly picked up all the papers he pushed off the desk and sat down, straightening them up while trying not to feel terrified about everything…

*

They went to a fancy place not too far from the Ministry, where the Minister obviously went often. They were ushered to a back table, hidden from the rest of the place. That made Ron worry but lunch went… rather silent without any issue. At least until near the end when Riddle reached under the table and slid a hand onto Ron’s knee. Ron jerked back, nearly knocking his glass of water over. Riddle gave him a blank stare.

“Don’t,” Ron warned through gritted teeth.

“You really shouldn’t act out in such an establishment, Weasley,” Riddle said, putting his hand back on Ron’s knee. Ron physically tried to move his chair back but it was stuck fast to the floor. “Something wrong?”

“Let me go,” Ron hissed out.

Riddle smiled. “No.” The hand slid up onto Ron’s lower thigh, and Ron’s heart began pounding. Here? In the middle of a restaurant? He reached under and grabbed Riddle’s wrist, trying to jerk his hand away. Riddle’s hand stayed firm on his thigh. “You seem to have lost your appetite.”

“Let my leg go and let my chair go.”

“No. Eat your food.” When Ron didn’t move, Riddle leaned closer, still smiling. “If you don’t take your hand off of mine, we’ll simply be forced to stay here longer and my hand will remain there for longer. The sooner you let my hand go, the sooner I’ll let you go.”

Ron slowly withdrew his hand, flinching as Riddle’s hand slid up even farther. It was square on his upper thigh and then tilted inward a bit. Ron started to grab at his hand again but Riddle removed his hand while also releasing whatever spell he had put on Ron’s chair. Ron scooted a little bit away and bent his head down, focusing on finishing his food as quickly as possible.

It’s all out in the open now, he thought as they headed back to the Ministry. Another month. I can do this.

Things got better as nothing else happened that day nor the next… but the next day was also Friday and there was to be the dinner party he had to attend to. During the day, Riddle told him he’d prefer it if Ron wore a skirt or a dress to the function. Ron flat out said no, and Riddle said if he didn’t wear a dress or a skirt he’d transfigure Ron’s suit into one and it would be a hell of a lot shorter than Ron would probably feel comfortable with. So during his lunch break Ron returned home to fetch one of the dresses, wishing desperately he could just stay home. Not return. Run away. Disappear.

How did one disappear from the man in charge of the country?

The rest of the day slipped by and at five-forty Ron went into the bathroom to change. He had the dress halfway on when he heard movement outside the door. He froze, staring in horror… but nothing happened and the footsteps retreated. Breathing a sigh of relief he slipped the dress on and used a spell to button up the back before fixing his hair and leaving. Riddle was already changed so there was nothing else to do but walk through the Ministry to leave. They were both silent on the lift ride, Ron standing as far from Riddle as he could.

“I won’t bite,” Riddle said, not looking at him.

I don’t know if I believe that, Ron thought, not moving.

“Really, now.” Riddle turned his head slightly. “You are being silly. This is a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

“To you harassing me?” Ron demanded.

Riddle snorted and turned back to face the lift doors. “I have not even begun,” he said just as the doors opened. “Come along,” he added after leaving, since Ron was frozen. “This is part of your job which you’ve agreed to.” He turned fully around. “Unless you’d rather go to Azkaban.”

Ron slowly followed Riddle, his limbs heavy and loose. How is it possible I’ve been forced into a position where it’s either be sexually harassed by the Minister for Magic or go to Azkaban? It’s ridiculous! Ridiculous, but true, and he did not want to go to Azkaban at all and that was the only reason he forced himself into Riddle’s car. He pressed against the door, trying to keep as much space between them still, which made Riddle laugh.

“You act as though I will attack you,” he said.

“I don’t trust you not to,” Ron muttered, tucking his skirt under him and huddling. “You essentially threatened it five seconds ago in the lift. You said you have not yet begun to—to harass me.”

Riddle merely smirked before looking out the window. The car hopped and drove around the countryside for about forty minutes before it came to a stop in front of a country manor. Ron got out of the car as quickly as possible and then followed Riddle to the door. Tonight’s dinner party was being thrown by the Lestranges, which made Ron feel ill. Definitely a very pureblood-focused party… and sure enough, not a single guest was a Muggleborn, or pro-Muggleborn. Except for Ron, who felt frightened. He hated to stay close to Riddle, but did so. However despite the wine given to him he was not going to drink it all no matter what Riddle said.

The dinner went by without anyone talking to Ron (which was fine by him) and then the socializing after was mostly spent in silence for him, too. He stayed at Riddle’s elbow, getting his glass refilled whenever Riddle handed it to him, and making sure he only took tiny sips of his own drink.

“Sooo, Weasley,” came a voice, and he jerked around to see Pansy Parkinson standing there, her blonde hair pulled up in some weird do. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here as Riddle’s assistant,” he replied.

Parkinson wrinkled her nose a bit, making her look more like a pug than before. “I’ve always wondered why you sometimes wore skirts. Are you a pillow biter?”

Ron jerked slightly at the insulting term but before he could say anything, Riddle swung around. “What did you call him?”

Parkinson suddenly looked ashamed, and slightly shocked. “Errrr. Ahhh. I, er, well…”

“She called me a pillow biter,” Ron said. Part of him wasn’t thinking at all, and the other part was thinking to make her look worse, to make her face what she said.

But it backfired.

Big time.

“Oh,” Riddle said and reached out, touching Ron’s head. “Not yet.”

There was a burst of laughter and Ron stood there, clutching his glass so tightly that it ended up breaking. The laughter swirled around him as he realized Riddle was definitely one of them, and was fine being in the open about his intentions towards Ron. He also knew not a single one of them would come to his defense. There were even a few Ministry workers there and all Ron could think of was, did they know, when I was hired, what Riddle wanted?

Then it all crashed into him. Not a pillow biter yet.

Meaning Riddle intended…

Riddle intended.

Ron dropped the broken glass and began moving, pushing his way through the assholes snickering at him, ignoring Riddle’s command to return to his side. He pushed through, pushed past, and ran outside into the chilly night air, nearly tripping over the front steps. He staggered a bit then came to a halt, bending forward, hands on his knees as he gasped desperately for air.

“When I tell you not to leave my side,” Riddle said, coming outside and slamming the door shut behind him, “you fucking listen to me.”

Ron straightened up, staring wide-eyed at Riddle.

Oh, not yet.

“Fuck you,” Ron told the Minister for Magic and then pulled his wand out and Apparated home.

Chapter Text

Ron barely slept Friday night. He kept hearing the laughter, seeing the faces staring at him… hearing Riddle… not yet… Disgust kept tearing him out of his sleep and at one point he had to go throw up. I am not going back to the Ministry, he decided once dawn finally came. At least it was a Saturday and he didn’t have to. Unless a note showed up for him… which it didn’t, thank Merlin.

He was able to spend his weekend alone. Harry and Hermione came over at one point, wanting to do something, but he told them he wasn’t feeling well and stayed in bed. My boss wants to… No. He couldn’t even finish that thought. Plus… it was probably a joke. Right? A disgusting, horrible, inappropriate joke, but a joke nonetheless. It had to be. If Riddle really meant anything like that, he wouldn’t announce it to a whole group of people even if they were loyal to him.

Right?

Saturday went, Sunday went, and then Ron woke up on Monday morning, not sure what to do or how to feel. Before long his mother was knocking at his door, telling him he needed to get up for work. Ron said he wasn’t feeling well and burrowed under his covers. Molly came in, tugging the covers away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What potion do you need?”

“Nothing, Mum,” he complained, putting the pillow over his head. “I feel terrible today.”

“Ron.” Molly sighed and sank down on the edge of the bed. “I know work isn’t as glamorous as you thought it might be, but you can’t simply give up.” She put a hand on his back. “It’s something you have to do.”

“Mmph,” was his response.

“The Minister will not be happy.”

Fuck the Minister, Ron thought. “Mmph,” was all he said.

Molly sighed again and got up. “Suit yourself. I can’t force you. I will say, though, that eventually you’ll be moving out of this house and you’re going to have to pay bills and buy groceries and buy things you need.” Ron winced. “You can’t simply skip work when you feel like it. You’ll get fired.”

I wish. “I know. I… I’ll go tomorrow, I promise.” Lies, but she didn’t need to know that.

Molly left and Ron stayed in bed until about noon when his mother came back up saying someone from the Ministry was there to see him. Ron slipped his house robe on and shuffled down the stairs, peering around the corner. He didn’t recognize the twitchy man but he certainly recognized the handwriting on the letter he held. The wizard said he was delivering a message from Mr. Riddle.

“He said this is for you today,” the wizard said, handing Ron one envelope, “and that if you continue this, then this is for tomorrow.” He handed Ron a second envelope, tipped his hat to Molly, then disappeared through the fireplace.

Ron stood there, staring dismally at the envelopes, suspecting what was inside. He didn’t want to open them around his mother, though, so he went back to his room and tore open the first one.

Weasley

I don’t appreciate the attitude you gave me Friday night but I shall overlook it this time. I will also overlook your absence today as another one of your little sick days. However you are expected to be in my office by eight am tomorrow. If you do not care to do so, please open the other letter sent.

T.M. Riddle

Minister for Magic

Ron opened the second envelope and immediately felt faint. It was essentially a summons to the Wizengamot, saying if he continued to refuse to work then his court date would be the fourteenth of August. He immediately folded the letter back up. Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit. He hadn’t expected… he rather hoped… but…

He fell back, covering his face. It’s only a month still, he reminded himself. Less than a month at this point. It’s already August. Less than a month of his perverted jokes and grabbing your ass and then you’ll be free. Unless you seriously want to go to Azkaban for breaking a contract you signed… even though it never had that info before…

Ron swore, and sat back up. He had to return to work the next day. He had to, because he didn’t want to go to Azkaban or pay the court fees which the second letter stated he would have to do. Court fees, fees to the Minister, fees to the Ministry… stuff he couldn’t afford.

“It’s fine,” he told himself, curling back up in bed. “You can do this.”

*

Ron was careful about his clothes, making sure nothing fit his form too well. Not that it probably mattered. His mother seemed cheerful to see him at breakfast and he forced a smile on his face that he didn’t feel. If you only knew, he thought, glancing around at his family. He wished he could tell them however it was utterly pointless. He couldn’t do anything, and them knowing would only be embarrassing.

Fifteen minutes later, Ron walked into Riddle’s office at exactly eight am. Riddle was sitting at his desk, tapping his quill against the surface as he waited.

“Good,” he said when Ron came in. “I was not looking forward to taking you to court.” Ron remained silent as he sat down and tugged the papers over that were sitting on his desk. “You will not ignore me, either. I am your boss.”

“Maybe you should act like it, then,” Ron muttered.

Riddle dropped the quill and stood up, going over. Ron clenched his teeth as Riddle came around behind him and bent in over his shoulder. “What was that?” he whispered into Ron’s ear.

Ron focused on keeping his breathing even, despite the fear pulsating through his body. “What would you like me to do today?”

Riddle let out a soft laugh, his breath rolling across Ron’s ear. “I don’t think you want to know what I’d like you to do today, Weasley.” He stood up, fingers brushing up Ron’s arm as he did, lingering on his shoulder. “As for what I need you to do, those papers you were about to work on, and then I have several notes I need typed up, and other notes that need gone through and organized and… really, missing one day caused a lot of work.” Riddle strode back to his desk. “I hope you are done with your sick days.”

Ron remained silent, kept his head down, and got to work. Less than a month, less than a month, he kept telling himself, but every time he did the Minister’s sick joke from Friday night burst into his head: oh, not yet. It was a relief to be released at noon for lunch, and he went directly to Hermione to have lunch with her.

“What happened to you this weekend?” she asked as they settled in one of the break rooms.

“Wasn’t feeling well,” he replied.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Annnnnd… what, you refused to take a potion to help?”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. “You know perfectly well potions only go so far,” he said, and then decided to at least give her a little bit of truth. “This job is stressing me out. That was the big problem. Mentally I’m… I dunno.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I’m going to quit, once my contract is up.”

“Contract?” she asked, bushy brows furrowing together. “What contract?”

“Ahh. Er, well, I signed a contract that stated I have to work until the end of this month,” he said, mouth full.

Hermione chewed and swallowed before saying anything else. “When?”

“The thirty-first—“

“No,” she laughed, “I mean, when did you sign it?”

“All those papers I got after accepting the job,” he said. “Remember? You saw them.”

“Yes, I did,” she replied, “and I read them all, remember? You asked me to look over them because you weren’t sure what some of the things meant.” Ron stared at her, his sandwich falling from his hand. “I don’t recall anything about having to work until any specific date.”

He slapped his hand against the table. “I knew it!” he said in a strangled, hushed tone. Hermione jumped. “I fucking knew it! I forgot you looked over the papers.”

“You knew what?” she asked.

Ron glanced around to make sure nobody else was close enough to hear him as he bent in closer to her. “That the papers were altered!” Hermione gave him a look. “They were, though. There’s now a clause stating I have to work until the thirty-first of August or else they’ll take me to court and I could be fined and sent to Azkaban.”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.

“There is, I saw it. It was added in, and has my signature at the bottom.”

She shook her head. “It’s completely illegal to do something like that. I doubt the Ministry would do that.”

Ron sank back. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am!” she protested. “I just… I only mean, who would do that?”

“The Minister,” he grumbled. “He doesn’t want me quitting. He added it in.”

Now Hermione looked very skeptical. “Riddle?” she asked. “Why would he do such a thing? I know he’s…” Now she glanced around and bent in. “I know he’s a terrible person and I am willing to believe he’d do terrible things, but not that sort of terrible things.”

Ron badly wanted to tell her about what was going on. However the mere thought of confessing made him break out in a sweat. Even if she believed him (which he wasn’t entirely sure she would, as much as he trusted her)… the fact of the matter was it was humiliating. Being harassed like that. Besides. Even if Hermione knew, it would still be a Ron-versus-Riddle matter and everyone else would take Riddle’s word for it, and Ron would be further humiliated. All he would achieve by telling Hermione was her knowing and it hurt too much to do that.

“Do you really think he did?” she asked when Ron remained silent for a while.

“Someone did,” he sniffled. He considered asking her if she would back him up regarding the fact the date had never been there when he signed, but he did not want her to risk her job, or be the reason she was fired. She was so passionate about change for house-elves (for good reason), and he couldn’t take that away from her.

After lunch he returned to Riddle’s office, glad to find it empty. He was able to get plenty of work done before Riddle returned with a few Ministry workers at his heels, all of them talking and arguing about something. Ron kept his eyes pointed down on his work but his ears up; apparently there was a magical attack on Muggles. Or at least most of the Ministry workers said it was an attack. One was saying it was an accident, and Riddle said he was leaning towards it being an accident until further evidence was found. One by one all the other workers left except for one who stood there, glaring at Riddle.

“You know damn well it was those PFPs,” she said in an accusing tone.

Riddle raised his eyebrows. “I know no such thing, Henthorn. All I know is that it looks as though something backfired and—“

“Backfired,” she snorted. “They killed two Muggles. Killed. And hospitalized three others! Sir, this is… the PFPs are getting bolder and more dangerous with each passing week. We need to do something.”

Riddle sat down and crossed his legs. “Give me evidence it was the PFPs, and I will.”

Henthorn stood there for a second. “I’m sure you would,” she sneered before leaving the office, slamming the door shut behind her.

Ron hoped Riddle didn’t see his eyes widen or his lips press together in an attempt not to smile or laugh. Riddle didn’t say anything, not for nearly a full minute. Then he picked up his teacup and threw it across the room. Ron jumped as it crashed into the wall and shattered into hundreds of pieces.

“Fix that,” Riddle snarled.

Ron scrambled out of his seat and used a spell first to gather as many of the pieces as possible and then a spell to try to repair it. “There’s too much, er, pulverized,” he mumbled.

Riddle drummed his fingers against the desk then stood up. “Stay there,” he commanded and then walked over. Ron was kneeling on the ground and suddenly felt very vulnerable and very uncomfortable as Riddle approached him. He started to get up but Riddle took two big strides and put his hand on Ron’s shoulder, preventing him from getting up. “What did I tell you? I told you to stay there.”

Ron looked down then shuddered as Riddle’s hand slid up to his face, along his jawline, and under his chin, to jerk his head up. He found himself looking up, up, up Riddle’s body… with his head too close to a part of Riddle’s body he wanted no where near. They remained like that for far too long, Ron desperate to pull away but too scared to, Riddle staring down at him.

“Tomorrow, you will wear a skirt,” Riddle said, shoving Ron’s face away and returning to his desk.

“I don’t—“

“It is not up for discussion.” Ron did another sweeping spell to try to get any remaining bits of china and then put everything in the stone bin, getting a new teacup for Riddle. “While you’re over there, make me some tea. Hurry up.”

Ron started working on the tea, teeth clenched together as he tried to banish the image of being on his knees at the Minister’s feet.

*

The next day Ron put on one of his longer skirts, that came past his knees. He still felt too exposed as he walked into Riddle’s office and sat down, hoping Riddle wouldn’t say anything about the length which he didn’t. Instead he did something else. Not that Ron noticed at first.

After about an hour of work when Ron sat down, he tugged at his skirt, feeling as though it were riding up a bit. It felt a little too short. An hour after that he tugged again, as it was definitely too short at that point, coming up above his knees. No amount of tugging would pull it back down into place, though, unless he pulled it down past his hips! He still didn’t think anything of it until an hour after that when he realized it was so short that if he put his arms straight down, his fingertips went just past the edges.

He realized then Riddle had done something to make it short. Glancing up, he saw Riddle watching him with amusement. Obviously waiting for something to be said. Ron considered saying something then changed his mind and went back to work, hoping the skirt wouldn’t get any shorter which thank Merlin it didn’t. Still. It was short now, and he hated it. If he was anywhere else it wouldn’t be too short for him but around Riddle it made him hyper aware of his body and legs.

Then, just before lunch, as Ron fixed some tea, Riddle came over and slid his hand onto Ron’s bottom to squeeze and said he rather liked that skirt on him. Ron spun around, furious. “Are you going to reimburse me for the clothes you just ruined?” he demanded.

“How did I ruin your clothes?” Riddle asked.

“You made my skirt shorter.”

“Did I?” Riddle looked very amused. “Well. Shall I make it up to you?”

Ron didn’t like the way that was said and pushed himself back against the tea table. “Er—“

Riddle leaned in closer. “I can, you know. Make it up to you.” He glanced down Ron’s body then back up to his face. “If you let me.”

“I don’t—“

Riddle’s hand was then on Ron’s thigh, just below the skirt. Ron tried to jerk his body away but there was no where to go as Riddle’s hand slid up. So he did the only thing he could think of which was punch Riddle in the jaw.

Perhaps not the best solution. Although an effective one.

Riddle stumbled back and Ron dodged free, going to the other side of the room and trying yet again to tug his skirt down. “You little…” Riddle pulled his wand out and Ron couldn’t move. Shit. “How dare you lay your hands on me!”

“Ironic, considering what you just fucking did!” Ron spat out, struggling against the spell holding his feet into place. “Let me go. Let me go!” He started panicking as Riddle reached him and expected… well… he didn’t know what to expect, really. Even with everything that had happened to him so far and the sick joke Riddle had made, he still didn’t think Riddle would take things too far. Bottom pinching and maybe an attempt at another kiss and thigh touching was the extent of it.

But apparently not.

Riddle loomed over him and Ron held his hands up in a manner to defend himself, not knowing he wasn’t defending the right spot. Riddle’s hand moved… and was under Ron’s skirt before he could realize what was happening, and cupping him.

Cupping him.

Riddle’s hand was on his dick.

Ron was too shocked to move and Riddle squeezed… and squeezed harder… and then it was painful. Really painful. Ron was brought back to earth and he yelped in pain, grabbing Riddle’s wrist and trying to get him to let go.

“Don’t you ever hit me again,” Riddle said, giving a harder squeeze, sending a wave of pain through his body. “Got it, Weasley?”

“Y-yes…”

“Yes what?” He held Ron’s dick even tighter through his underwear, squeezing so hard… “You will call me ‘sir’ again, or else.”

“Yes sir,” Ron managed to get out.

Riddle released him in both the physical and magical sense and Ron backed up quickly, hurrying to his desk which he stood behind for semi-protection. He quaked a bit though the indignity of it all was being swept aside for anger. Anger he couldn’t release because no matter what he did, the Minister had more power than him in every sense of the word.

“Weasley?”

Ron didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him.

“Weasley.”

“Yes, sir?” he whispered, still not looking, not able to bring himself to look at the man. He felt so trapped and scared and angry and he had no idea what to do or how to get out the situation. It felt like devil’s snare wrapped tightly around him, squeezing him, squeezing the life out of him. He couldn’t turn anywhere or do anything, could only get sucked in until the Minister decided to let him go.

“From here on out, I want you in nothing but skirts or dresses. Understood?”

Ron let out a quick breath. How the fuck did he end up like this?

“Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Despite everything, Ron still didn’t expect things to go too far. The ball-grabbing was done out of anger, not for any perverted reason. Other than that it had been jokes, innuendos, and ass-grabbing. And the kiss. He figured… he assumed… things would remain at around that level of harassment. And that’s all that really happened the rest of the week. On Thursday—the day after the ball-grabbing incident—nothing happened, and on Friday Riddle gave Ron’s ass another squeeze. Well, tap. Well… all right, more like a slap, really, which Ron did his best to ignore. There was no dinner party that weekend, and Ron spent Saturday and Sunday with his friends and family. Then Monday came and went without anything happening, to Ron’s relief. Riddle looked at him a lot and definitely looked at his legs a lot but other than that… nothing.

Tuesday morning, Riddle said he had an important appointment Ron would need to go to as well. He needed to speak to someone whose name Ron didn’t recognize. Ron was given his break at noon and then at one, the two of them headed to the Flooing room. He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, and when Riddle told him the name—Wendyll—he still had no clue. He struggled to remember what Wendyll was, or if it was the name of someone… and then he stepped through the emerald green flames to find himself in a very chilly, rather gloomy room.

“Ah, Mr. Riddle,” said a wizard, hopping up from his chair by the fire as Riddle came through right on Ron’s heels. “Good to see you again. How’s things?”

“Fine, Mr. Elliot, fine.” Riddle strode over and stuck his hand out. Mr. Elliot pricked Riddle’s finger with a needle spell in order to do another a spell to examine the blood. “No potions?”

“Not today,” laughed Elliot then he looked at Ron expectantly as Riddle cleaned his finger off. “Hand?”

“Give him your hand,” Riddle said.

Ron went over and the same process was done to him. “All clean,” Elliot said.

Ron was confused but he didn’t say anything or ask what was going on. Instead he accepted the heavy, magicked coat that Elliot gave him and started to grow warm until he was taken through the small house where two more wizards joined them, and out into the cold, cold air. Where are we? he wondered, clutching the jacket tightly, wishing he had more on his legs than stockings. They were by a bunch of rocks and the ocean. A grey, angry ocean. Elliot waved goodbye as the two new wizards led Ron and Riddle down to a boat that definitely didn’t look safe enough.

“Where are we going?” Ron finally asked as one of the wizards helped him into the boat.

“Azkaban, of course,” Riddle said calmly. “I have an appointment there with a prisoner.”

Ron paled as he huddled on his seat. “Oh.” The wind whipped bits of the ocean up but they didn’t come into the boat nor did they hit Ron; the water was held back by a spell which he was grateful for.

Soon the two wizards were propelling the boat through the water. Riddle stared off into the distance while Ron huddled even more, staring at the land until it disappeared and then trying not to freak out at being in the middle of the ocean in a rowboat. He drew his legs up and wrapped the coat around them as well before burying his cold nose in, and closing his eyes.

After what felt to be an eternity, the boat slowed. Ron peeked up and saw a cropping of rocks with an enormous stone building rising up. Azkaban, he thought, shivering despite the magic keeping him warm. Oh, Merlin.

They climbed off the boat and onto rocks then were led up through a creepy-looking door where they had to have their blood examined for potions again. Ron also had to leave his wand which made him feel naked. Riddle, as Minister, was permitted to keep his. Ron was informed the only two people who were allowed to keep their wands in Azkaban—besides the Aurors—were the Minister, and Albus Dumbledore.

Once all that was taken care of, they were led through dingy corridors with jail cells on either side. Some of the prisoners inched to the bars to see who was coming, but hardly any of them made any noise. Empty, blank, dead eyes followed them as they went, and Ron wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to throw up. At one point they had to press up against a jail cell as a Dementor glided past. Coldness seized Ron and unhappiness started creeping through his brain. A few flashes of miserably memories popped up in his head and then it was over as the Dementor disappeared round a bend.

As they started walking again, Ron glanced at the cell they had been against since the person inside could have easily grabbed the Minister and tried to take his wand. There was a witch huddled in the far corner, hands over her head, rocking back and forth, sobbing to herself. In no condition at all to try to take a wand. Ron swallowed, and stayed even closer to the Minister and the Aurors.

Finally they reached a floor that didn’t have a dozen jail cells. Instead there was an empty room where Ron had to wait, and long corridor, and at the end of the corridor was the cell with the prisoner Riddle was visiting. One Auror went with Riddle down the corridor while the other Auror waited outside the chamber door, leaving Ron sitting in the room by himself. He perched on a bench and hugged the coat, wondering how the prisoners didn’t freeze to death wearing their tattered prison robes.

He heard very faint voices down the corridor and was a bit curious as to who the prisoner Riddle was visiting. Someone who did very, very horrible things judging from the fact they were isolated.

Ron yawned and leaned against the wall despite the iciness of the stone. He closed his eyes and then, after a few minutes, started to grow colder. Also sadder. His eyes flew open and he stared in horror at a Dementor floating on the other side of the chamber. He opened his mouth to call out for one of the Aurors, but all that came out was a squeak.

The Dementor grew a bit closer and Ron felt everything inside of him pulsing with fear, sadness, and cold. Memories were torn from his brain. Most were small things, that he didn’t realize still hurt him—things like when he didn’t get on the Quidditch team in his fourth year—but then the memories of Riddle surfaced. Touching him, squeezing him, kissing him…

“No,” he managed to whisper, shoving himself back into a corner. “Help. Help?” His voice cracked and barely went anywhere, and he felt trapped, and so scared, and wondered if this was it. If the Dementor was going to suck the life out of him. How could—where were the Aurors? Weren’t they supposed to prevent this sort of thing?

In the car… Riddle leaning in… at the dinner party… oh, not yet… Ron kneeling before him with his hand under his chin…

Ron slithered to the floor, shaking hard as the coldness grew stronger and—

“Expecto patronum!” came a voice. A giant snake patronus was flung to the ground and shot out, chasing the Dementor away as Riddle emerged from the corridor. “Really,” he said in a disappointed voice.

“Sorry, I don’t know how that happened,” said the Auror that was with him.

“Are you all right, Weasley?” Riddle stood before him, hand out.

Ron ignored the offer and got up on his own, shivering rather violently. “As well as can be expected,” he managed to say through chattering teeth. “Anyone got any cho-chocolate?”

Riddle actually pulled a small bar out of his own pocket. “I never come to Azkaban without some. Here.”

Ron hesitated but took it, too miserable to be suspicious at the moment. He broke off a piece and as soon as it melted in his mouth he began to feel better. “Thank you,” he said, realizing he needed to be polite in front of other people. “For the chocolate, and for saving me.”

“Of course.” Riddle brushed himself off. “Now, shall we go?”

They left the prison and Ron shivered in the boat all the way to the mainland, slowly eating the chocolate bar which helped the sadness though not the cold. He felt mostly better by the time they reached Wendyll though exhausted, and wished he could go home. To his surprise, once they went back to the Ministry For Magic and got back in Riddle’s office…

“You went through quite a shock,” Riddle said. “Why don’t you take an early day? You can do these notes up tomorrow.” Ron grabbed his bag, not needing to be told twice, and headed for the door. “Weasley?” Ron paused and looked at him. “What do you say?”

“Thank you,” he said again for the second time. Riddle smiled and nodded, and Ron gladly left.

*

The next day he was in a semi-decent mood, determined to continue to ignore the harassment. Besides, the World Cup was that weekend! He’d be going to Spain overnight and get to see the World Cup from the Top Box! He was very excited.

The day started out as normal. Work, tea, feeding mice, work, rushing around, delivering to departments… by noon he was ready for his lunch break and by one he was very ready for his lunch break. He finished typing up some notes and stood up, taking them over to Riddle’s desk. He set them down then turned to leave but Riddle held up his hand, indicating for him to wait.

“A moment, Weasley,” he said, rising out of his chair and coming around the desk. Ron’s heart began pounding and he resisted the urge to run away. “I wanted to check in with you.”

“About what?” Ron asked.

Riddle leaned slightly against the edge of his desk, giving that horrifically charming smile. “Oh. A lot of things, really. Are you all right after yesterday?" Ron just shrugged, and didn't say anything else. Riddle tried again. "Also regarding this weekend. Are you prepared?”

“I… believe so, yes.”

“Make sure you pack everything you need,” Riddle told him in a condescending tone.

“Do—will—will you require me to wear skirts at the event?” Ron asked.

Riddle raised and lowered one shoulder. “I would prefer it. You do look very good in skirts.” He reached out, tugging the edge of the skirt, and Ron regretted asking. “Your legs are fantastic. You should show them off whenever possible.” His fingers slipped under the hem of the skirt, rubbing against Ron’s thigh. Ron stepped backwards, and Riddle’s hand fell away. “Something wrong?”

“Do you need anything else at the moment?” Ron asked through gritted teeth.

Riddle laughed. “Many things, my dear boy.” He stood up and one hand darted out, grabbing Ron’s wrist. “You don’t have to look so frightened of me. I won’t bite.” He took a long step so he was suddenly behind Ron, his other arm coming around to grab Ron’s other wrist. “Yet,” he whispered.

Ron somehow managed not to elbow Riddle in the stomach or face and instead started struggling to get his wrists free. “Let go of me.”

Riddle jerked Ron’s wrists forward, planting Ron’s hands firmly on the desk. “Very well,” he said and released Ron’s wrists… only Ron couldn’t move his hands. They were now stuck to the desk. And Riddle was right behind him, almost pressing against him. He could feel Riddle’s body through his clothes.

Could feel something rather hard pressing against his thigh.

Fuck.

“Let me go,” he snapped, struggling against the spell which was a mistake since that meant pushing back into Riddle’s body.

“You seem eager,” Riddle laughed, sliding one hand onto Ron’s hip and the other around, closer to Ron’s crotch.

“Let me go,” he said again, more panicked now. He stopped struggling because he didn’t want to be wiggling against Riddle. “Let me go!”

“I will,” Riddle promised, his right hand sliding towards the bottom of Ron’s skirt and then up it, onto his thigh. His inner thigh. “Soon.” His hand kept creeping along, closer, and closer until it slid right onto Ron’s crotch.

“STOP IT!” Ron screamed, panicking hard and trying to rip his hands off the desk. “Let me go RIGHT NOW! Don’t—don’t touch me! Oh Merlin, no! Stop!”

Riddle’s hand was rubbing now, gently. “Shhh,” he whispered into Ron’s ear. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“No. No!” He felt like crying and his body started trembling; this was far, far from anything he expected might happen and he hated himself for being such a coward and crawling back to work. “Let me go, you fucking asshole!”

“Quiet,” Riddle commanded, still rubbing, and now pressing harder against Ron.

“LET ME GO!”

“One last warning, Weasley. Stop shouting.”

Ron grunted as he tried again to rip his hands free. His feet were stuck to the floor too. “I swear to Merlin, you piece of shit, if you don’t let me go—“

“You’ll what?” Riddle asked, squeezing gently. Ron gasped out. “Now then. If you won’t be quiet on your own… I don’t like hearing your sniveling… silencio.”

“N—“ The word stopped in Ron’s throat and his mouth opened with no sound coming out. He tried to cuss, to shout, to scream, to no avail. Not a single sound came out, not even a squeak. Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes as Riddle continued rubbing his cock through his underwear. He was getting hard. That was the worst part. He knew, deep down, it wasn’t anything he had control over but it made the whole situation worse, as if his erection was giving Riddle permission to do these things.

Riddle let out a soft moan as his hips rocked against Ron, rubbing… almost humping. Then he ripped Ron's tights so he could put his hand into Ron’s underwear, and as soon as his fingers made contact, Ron’s entire body jerked back, pressing against Riddle. “You like that,” he chuckled, grinding up against him.

No. Stop it, please, Merlin, stop! he begged silently, a few tears trickling down his cheeks as Riddle wrapped his fingers around Ron, stroking carefully and smoothly, as his body began grinding more. Riddle moaned again, loudly, and began going a bit faster with both his fingers and his hips. Ron was pressed against the desk, unable to do anything as Riddle humped him.

“Yes, oh yes, fuck yes…”

Riddle kept his left hand firmly on Ron’s hip, his right hand massaging. Ron’s eyes were squeezed tightly closed, unable to believe this was happening. It felt so… unreal. Was he really glued to Riddle’s desk with the Minister jacking him off and humping him? It was a far, far cry from ass squeezing. He felt so fucking stupid for thinking nothing else would happen, that that’d be it. Then again how could he even begin to imagine this would be the outcome?

His body began humming, building up to an orgasm that he did not want. If he came, then Riddle would insist it was evidence that Ron enjoyed it. He tried to prevent it from happening but Riddle’s fingers were nimble and good at what he was doing, and he soon coaxed the orgasm out. Ron let out a silent gasp and his toes curled tight in his shoes as he ejaculated into Riddle’s hand and his own underwear. He bent forward slightly, panting, body still quivering a bit.

“Good boy,” Riddle murmured, pulling his hand out of Ron’s underwear and putting it on his back, pushing him forward so he was bent over the desk. Then his hand went to Ron’s other hip as he held him in place, humping harder. “Yes… yes…!”

Ron lay against the desk, eyes closed again, pretending he was anywhere but here. This is a nightmare, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real, I’m still in Azkaban and the Dementors are planting false thoughts in my head…

Then a very real thought entered his head and his eyes flew open. He couldn’t do anything about it yet, until the silencing spell was removed from him. So he continued to lay there, cheek rubbing against the wood as Riddle grunted behind him, quickening his pace until he, too, came. He let out a shuddering cry as he did and then bent over Ron, panting as well.

“You fit so nicely against me,” he breathed into Ron’s ear, stroking his cheek. At least he was using his left hand which wasn’t covered in Ron’s cum. “Just as I thought you would.”

Riddle pulled away and went into the bathroom, releasing Ron from his bonds as soon as the door shut. Ron stood up and stumbled back, feeling dizzy and furious. He wanted to leave right there and then but 1., still had the silencing spell on him and since Riddle was a powerful wizard it would probably take a powerful wizard to remove it and 2., his underpants were oozing cum now and he had damp stains on his skirt and he did not want to walk through the Ministry like that. So he waited until Riddle came back out of the bathroom, and pointed to his own mouth.

“Oh, right.” Riddle snapped his fingers, and Ron had a voice again.

Instead of screaming or cussing or anything, he simply marched past Riddle into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it with a spell. Not that that’d do much against Riddle. Then he tugged his skirt, tights, and underwear off so he could clean himself off then use spells to clean the cum off the fabric as well as repair the tights as best he could. Once that was all done he got dressed again and leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection. His eyes seemed almost as hollow as the prisoners he saw in Azkaban. Which reminded him…

He washed his hands off and stormed back into the office where Riddle was calmly at his desk as if nothing happened. Ron stood on the other side, hands curled into fits, jaw jutting out a bit. Riddle finally glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Weasley?”

“You didn’t need me to go to Azkaban yesterday,” he spat out. Riddle simply raised both eyebrows now. “You didn’t need me at all. You just took me there to… to… to show me what I’d have to deal with if—if…”

Riddle propped his elbow on his desk and rested his chin in his hand, a smug, stupid smile on his face. “If what?”

“If I quit, after what you just did to me. Or tried to hurt you.”

“Fascinating theory.” Riddle sat back, his chair creaking a bit. “Is it working?”

Ron breathed in slowly, wanting to say no, wanting to scream and cuss and all that. Wanting to hex and curse that disgusting face. Wanting to fight back… but too scared now because yes, it worked. It worked very well. Ron was terrified of ending up in Azkaban now, more so than before.

“Because that is what you would deal with,” Riddle said, when Ron remained silent. “For probably… at least six months, I’d say. Unless I managed to get you in for longer.” He twirled his wand between his fingers. “Is that something you’d enjoy, Weasley? That cold, terrifying rock in the middle of the North Sea? Dementors around you every single day?”

“You let that Dementor come in on purpose,” Ron accused.

Riddle’s smile somehow became smugger. “Prove it. Wait. You can’t. You can’t prove anything. Not the Dementor. And not what happened today. After all… even if you applied for a jaunt with the Pensieve… memories cannot be used in court, as they can easily be tampered with and there are a great many witches and wizards who would do anything to tear me from power, including sending in a young boy with altered memories to try to bring me down.” He let out a sigh. “It’s a marvel, what lengths people would go to, isn’t it?”

“You piece of shit.”

“I’m still your boss,” Riddle said darkly. “Now get back to work.”

Ron just stood there, trying to think of anything—anything he could do to… stop this… end this… destroy Riddle’s life… only Riddle was right, it would be Riddle’s words versus Ron’s, and memories could be altered.

Slowly he turned and went to his desk. He was fondled… touched… wanked off… and humped… and there was not a fucking thing he could do about it.

Not caring what Riddle might think or say, he put his head in his hands and cried.

Chapter Text

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

After crying for a moment Ron got up and, not even waiting for permission, grabbed his bag and left. He stalked down the corridor, heart pounding, leaping into his throat. He knew his face was red and a bit puffy, and he was sweaty, and shaking a bit. He wanted to go home but he didn’t want to go to Azkaban and what if Riddle decided that him going home yet again meant…?

He also didn’t want to go anywhere near anyone he knew so he went the break room on that very level, since barely anyone ever used it as pretty much everyone on the floor had their own office except for a few secretaries who already had their lunches. Sure enough, the room was empty. Ron flung his bag on the floor and collapsed onto the old couch shoved in a corner.

WHAT THE FUCK.

He put a muffling spell on the pillow and then screamed into it. Then he simply lay there, trying to grasp what happened. What the fuck happened. Because what the fuck.

He could still feel Riddle’s hand in his underwear fondling him, grasping him, stroking him. Could still feel him behind him, humping him. Could still feel Riddle’s own erection pressing against his ass. Could still feel everything.

Could still feel the cold desperation from Azkaban, and the Dementors…

He shuddered and curled into a ball, clinging to the pillow now. Okay, he thought, trying to focus on logic. You’re smart, you can get out of this. How, though? There was no out, not until the end of the month. Except he couldn’t do it again. He could not deal with what just happened happening again. He’s got you cornered, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of escape.

He got up and began pacing; it felt good to stretch his legs, to walk back and forth, to feel nothing but air surround him. Fact. If you try anything, he’ll send you to Azkaban. He stopped there and began chewing his thumbnail. If you quit, he’ll send you to Azkaban. If you tell anyone… he’ll somehow send you… No. Now he was getting confused. If he told anyone, Riddle would have it dismissed. All right, so what? What evidence do you have on your side?

Nothing. Except Hermione knowing the date wasn’t part of the contract he signed. I can’t do that to her though, he thought as he began pacing quicker, biting his thumbnail so hard it broke through to the skin and started bleeding. She’ll probably lose her job if she stands up for me.

Could he tough it out? He thought again of Riddle’s hand in his underwear, jacking him off, and shuddered. He didn’t want to tough it out—he shouldn’t have to tough it out! Riddle was molesting him and there should have been consequences but there wasn’t, and it wasn’t fair or right.

Money and power, he thought miserably as his break came to a close. He hadn’t eaten, but he wasn’t hungry. Actually, he thought he might vomit. I can’t touch him. So that means he can touch me as much as he likes. At that, Ron did bolt into the little tiny stall to throw up into the toilet. After he cleaned himself off, he returned to the office. Riddle said nothing, and Ron simply sat down and stared at the work he was supposed to do. He tugged the pile of papers closer and thumbed through a few of them before shoving them away, folding his arms on his desk, and putting his head back in them. He waited for Riddle to say something but the Minister continued to remain silent.

After about an hour, Riddle said, “At least pretend to work when someone else is here.”

Ron wearily sat up and started typing nonsense on the typewriter just before someone came in for a short meeting with Riddle. Dkwlhendnhs dlsksng iwjlcvotjfhd tthsns weaaanfsndkspsls thals thihdjhs. He continued to type, his eyes pointed in the right direction but not seeing anything. The very second the door shut, Ron’s head was in his arms again.

“Are you going to act like this for the rest of the week?” Riddle asked.

Ron didn’t move, though he responded with, “Did you even hire me to do work or to assault me?”

Riddle snorted. “Don’t be silly. I hired you for both.” Ron looked up, not sure if he even felt surprise at that anymore. “I’ll allow you this little tantrum today but tomorrow you will return to your normal working pace, as it is in the contract. Plus don’t forget: the World Cup this weekend.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Ron put his head back down, no longer excited for the game. No longer excited for anything. He just needed the day to be over so he could go hide out in his room… and as soon as the clock struck five he left, not even waiting to be dismissed. Instead of his bedroom, he went for the bathroom when he got home and stripped off, stepping into the blazing hot shower. It hurt but also felt so good, like it was burning the touch of Riddle off of him. He moaned a bit, tilting his head back as the heat pounded at his flesh, turning him very pink. Every time the water started cooling, he turned it hotter and hotter until there was no hot water left. There was warm water, but that wasn’t enough.

He dried off, got dressed in pajamas, and went to his room to burrow under his blankets. He didn’t even go to supper, nor did he respond when his mother came to check on him. He just lay there, staring at the wall, trying to get rid of the disgusting images that filled his head.

*

Thursday came and went. Riddle barely spoke to Ron except to give him a few orders, and Ron did his best to pretend he was somewhere else as he worked. It barely helped, but a little help was better than none. He skipped lunch however when he went home he did join his family for dinner, silently poking his food around until he managed to take a few bites. Molly was very worried about him and after they were done eating she did a few spells to check up on him and make sure he wasn’t getting sick.

I wish I would, he thought as he curled up in bed later. Something horrible and disastrous that would land me in Saint Mungo’s until September.

Unfortunately he was perfectly fine, and had to go to work the next morning. For the first few hours things continued as they did the day before but at around eleven, Riddle said he had a present for Ron. Ron blinked, cowering back in his seat a little bit… afraid of what the ‘present’ might be.

Riddle produced a small box and set it on Ron’s desk. “Open it. Now.”

Ron reached with shaky hands and took the lid off, to find a miniature suitcase inside. It was blazing orange with his name Ronald Weasley done in a similar black logo like the Chudley Cannons. The handle and clasps were shiny black metal, and there was a little switch to pull to make it grow to full size or shrink back down to small along with everything inside. The whole design was sleek and pretty.

“I don’t want this,” he said, shoving it away.

“Too bad,” Riddle replied, shoving it back. “It’s for this weekend, for our trip to Spain.” ‘Our’ trip, as if they had decided together to go on a little jaunt. “It has new clothes in it, too,” he added.

Ron’s face twisted slightly. “I’ll pack my own clothes tonight, in my own suitcase.”

“Tonight?” Riddle arched his eyebrows. “My dear boy, we’re leaving in two hours.”

Ron stiffened at that. “What?”

“It will take quite a few hours to get there and cross the borders, and once we arrive I will have to meet with some of the officials,” he said, referring to the Spanish Ministry. “We will need to leave here by one.”

Ron stood up, fingers curling on the desk. That didn’t make very much sense. Unless… “So we’re only going to be there tonight and then leave right after the game tomorrow?”

Riddle looked confused. “No. We are staying tonight and tomorrow night.”

“Wh—“ Ron stopped and swallowed nervously. “You said it was overnight.”

“I did not,” he said, folding his arms. “It is a two night trip. Tonight and tomorrow night, I told you that.”

Ron searched his memory but it was firm: Riddle had said ‘overnight’ which implied one night. Not multiple nights. “No, you didn’t. I told my family I’d be leaving tomorrow morning—“

“There simply would not be enough time if we left in the morning,” Riddle argued. “We are leaving at one. And you will be with me.” He then let out a ‘tsk’ing sound. “Good thing I bought you clothes, since you are so unprepared for the trip. Good thing I didn’t need you to bring anything else, besides yourself.”

For some reason up until then, it hadn’t hit Ron that this meant he was going to be staying somewhere with Riddle. Not just one night, now, but two nights. Panic and anger seized him.He slammed his hands down causing Riddle to jump slightly. “YOU SAID ONE NIGHT!”

Riddle straightened up and adjusted his tie. “Do not raise your voice at me, Weasley. Do not slam your hands like that either. You are acting like a toddler.”

“Where are we staying?” he demanded. If they had a tent, like most the wizards did for the World Cup in 1994, then he could insist on his own little tent. Or there could be multiple rooms in the tent—right?

“A little… oh, I don’t know, bed and breakfast? Inn? Something like that. Near the pitch,” Riddle replied as he returned to his own desk, clearly bored of the conversation.

Inn. Ron stared at him, afraid to ask. Yet he needed to. After getting the courage he managed to ask in a very small voice, “One room or two?”

Riddle sank back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, eyes fluttering up to meet Ron’s, his lips twisting into a heinous smirk. “One.” Ron’s heart felt ready to explode and as he opened his mouth to argue, Riddle rested his finger against his head, leaning into it. “You will sleep on the couch.”

“The couch.”

“Yes, it has a little… living room sort of area and a kitchen area, and the bedroom. I will have the bedroom, you will have the living room. Is that to your satisfaction?”

Slowly he exhaled as he sat down, heart returning to a somewhat regular pace although it was still beating a bit hard. Not in the same bedroom, he thought with relief, lifting his very shaky hands to the typewriter to try to get some more work done. Then he paused. “I need to inform my family I am leaving today.”

“Can’t you do that on your break?”

“When am I getting my break? It’s less than two hours till we leave.”

Riddle sighed and waved his hand impatiently. “Go on, then.”

*

After informing his father about the sudden change in plans (struggling to keep himself together and not have a complete breakdown), Ron holed himself up in one of the loos to sit on the toilet with his head in his hands. Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this.

Two nights in an inn with Riddle. What the hell was he going to do? He would have to be on alert every single second to avoid getting in any… compromising positions. To avoid being humped again. Toyed with. If he had had time to research beforehand, he might have found something to bring with him to help. Some sort of potion or something to force Riddle to be unable to touch him. Which might be good to look up anyway, once I get home.

Taking in another deep breath, Ron returned to the office and ignored Riddle for the remaining hour and a half. Not that Riddle seemed to mind. At exactly one, he got up and grabbed a miniaturized suitcase from his desk, informing Ron it was time to go. Ron got his own new, fancy suitcase and miserably followed the Minister through the building, trying to ignore the fear clawing at his insides.

He wasn’t entirely sure how they were getting to Spain… but they did get in the car outside the building, Ron pressing himself as far from Riddle as he could get. The trip was quite short, only a few hops and less than half an hour to Dover. There they took a broom across the English channel to Calais (only one broom, so Ron was forced to sit behind Riddle and hold onto him; yuck) where they checked in with the French Ministry for Magic which took a couple of hours of mostly sitting around filling out forms. From there they took a portkey to near the French/Spanish border where they spent another hour filling out forms to cross the border into Spain where more forms were filled out. Ron didn’t remember having to do as many form-fillings as this when his family visited Bill in Egypt… but maybe it was because they were traveling as civilians and not members of the Ministry.

Finally they were free to go where they spent several hours traveling by broom (once again, one broom, Ron holding onto Riddle) with an escort from the Spanish Ministry, to the village of Valumbre. It was very late by this point and Ron was ready to fall asleep. It took a while longer before he could, though, as Riddle stayed up with the Spanish Ministry workers for a while at the inn, having a small meeting in one of the rooms. Finally it was time to go to their room which was bigger than Ron expected.

“I’m exhausted,” Riddle said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He went straight into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Ron stared at the closed door before setting his suitcase down and making it bigger. He searched for pajamas and the only thing he found was a thin, see-through nightie. What the fuck, he thought for the millionth time. He shut the suitcase and got ready for bed wearing the same clothes he had been wearing all day. It felt kinda… gross… but there was no way he was putting that nightie on. Riddle might have shut the door, but Ron didn’t trust him.

In fact he didn’t trust him so much that despite being so sleepy it took him a long time to actually fall asleep. He curled up on the couch with the blanket tight around him (putting a spell on the blanket so it couldn’t be easily taken off of him), staring through the darkness at the closed door. He’s right there, on the other side. Finally after what felt like an eternity Ron fell asleep…

As soon as the door to the bedroom opened, Ron was awake, sitting upright and preparing to defend himself. Only it wasn’t still the middle of the night, it was morning. Riddle was in pajamas, heading to the bathroom, ignoring Ron as if he wasn’t even there.

Ron exhaled and swung his legs around, taking the spell off the blanket but keeping it around him until Riddle came back out of the bathroom fully dressed.

“Good morning,” Riddle said pleasantly. “Sleep well?”

Ron got up, taking his suitcase into the bathroom without a word. He slammed the door shut behind him and locked it with a spell so he could get ready without fear of being barged in on. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he searched through the suitcase for what he was supposed to wear. There was a short black skirt and a tight white top which he supposed was for today. Unfortunately there were no normal underwear or tights. Instead there were thin little lacy panties, suspender belt, suspenders, and stockings. Reluctantly he put all of them on and slipped his feet into the black shoes provided, feeling uncomfortable. The skirt felt too short. He tugged at it and saw that the tops of his stockings and the bits of suspenders could be seen.

This is ridiculous, he thought, tugging the skirt again and then doing a spell to make it a bit longer. He didn’t dare make it too long since he knew Riddle would just shorten it again, but long enough to cover any bare legs and suspenders. He fixed his hair and strode out into the room where breakfast was cooking.

“You look very nice,” Riddle said, eyes grazing down Ron’s legs.

Ron ignored him still and sat at the table to eat his breakfast in silence. Or tried to. Riddle explained to him about what was going to go on that day. Ron only half-listened, as Riddle’s voice made him squirm with discomfort. He kept hearing it all breathy and in his ear. You like this… Ron no longer felt hungry and shoved his plate away.

“What is expected of me?” he asked, cutting off the Minister and not even caring.

Riddle raised his eyebrows, face going all pinched. “What is expected of you, Weasley, is to be quiet and not be rude. Can you at least manage that?”

“Gladly.”

*

The day was very long and very tiring. The morning was quite boring as Riddle knew Spanish, so he and the Spanish Minister spoke rapidly together without Ron knowing what was being said. He felt a little lost until one of the Spanish Minister’s assistants approached him and spoke English to him, and the two began chatting, getting along nicely. In fact when the game started later that day, the two sat together so the assistant could translate anything needed. Luckily Quidditch was an international language in its own, and Ron didn’t need any help understanding the game. He cheered for Wales, booed the Spanish team… though he did applaud when Spain won, telling the other assistant congratulations.

Then the night stretched on with celebrations from Spain, and Ron spending the time talking to the assistant. They exchanged addresses and planned on writing to one another

Actually, all in all, the day was very nice, and Ron had a good time and was in a good mood when they returned to the inn… forgetting entirely it was just the two of them now.

“Shame Wales didn’t win,” Riddle said. “Still, a prosperous evening.”

Ron collapsed on the couch, kicking his shoes off; his feet hurt from wearing heels all day, even if they were very small heels.

“Weasley. Fetch me my bathrobe. It’s in my room.”

Ron groaned as he got back up and headed into the bedroom without even thinking. He should have been paying more attention. Should have summoned it (or even told Riddle to summon it himself, with as much as he didn’t care anymore). But he wasn’t thinking, and he went into the bedroom over to where the bathrobe was tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. His fingers touched the terrycloth just as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Ron looked up, and Riddle’s lips twisted into a nasty smile.

Chapter Text

Ron stood there, feet stuck to the floor through bone-deep fear, heart ready to explode out of his chest. For a dizzying second he had no fucking clue what to do or how to react—his mind had gone completely blank as the panic bloomed within him. And then he went for his wand.

“Oh, you left that out in the other room,” Riddle said pleasantly, leaning back against the door frame as Ron patted at his skirt. His voice was smooth, washing over Ron with a calmness that only made the panic spike even more. Ron could feel it… cold and gripping, clinging to him. Holding him down. Trying to.

Ron jerked his head up. “Let me out.”

Riddle tapped his own wand against his chin in a slow, deliberate rythym. “Hmm?”

“Let me out,” he said again, rasping, eyes flickering towards the door. “Let me OUT you son of a bitch!”

Riddle stepped aside, doing a little flourish towards the door, as if that was expected of him. As if he were playing the part of a gentleman. Ron bolted towards the door but of course it was locked. The handle quickly became slick with his sweat as he he jerked and pushed and tried desperately to get it open. His breaths came out in sharp, raggedy hiccups and then he held his breath as Riddle’s soft footsteps came close.

“Weasley.”

His hand went to Ron’s shoulder and Ron jerked forward, spinning around and pressing back against the door. Everything inside of him felt hollowed out, and he knew—knew with sick certainty—what was about to happen. Or rather, what Riddle was going to attempt. The knowledge of Riddle’s intent hung in the air between them… made his entire body feel as cold as ice. There was no fucking way in hell he was going to just let it happen. He was going to kick, scream, punch, elbow, anything and everything.

“You touch me one more time and I’ll—I’ll hurt you,” Ron hissed out, flattening himself against the door even more. Riddle smiled, almost patiently. “I’d rather be in Azkaban,” he added.

“I believe you mean that, at this time,” Riddle said, eyes raking over Ron’s trembling body. “I don’t think my threat is very effective anymore, is it?” Ron shook his head wildly as what hung between them grew thicker, more palpable. More real. “Shame. It’s worked so well until now.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, the plan is to fuck you, Weasley,” Riddle said simply.

Hearing it said out loud made Ron gasp slightly. His hand maneuvered for the doorknob again but of course it was still locked tight. The words sliced through his body, digging deep into his marrow as he twisted the knob around, his hand shakier and shakier with each passing second. “Leave me alone, just leave me alone!” he cried out.

“Why should I?” Riddle asked, eyes half-lidded, smile curling in sick amusement. “That is why I brought you here. I thought a bed would be nicer.”

Ron glanced towards the bed then back at Riddle as his legs started turning into jelly, as if hexed. No, Merlin no, no, no, NO! “You touch me, I will kill you.”

“Hah. Good luck with that.” Riddle stepped even closer, his scent crashing into Ron. “Better wizards than you have tried.” His hand moved forward and there was no where for Ron to go. A whimper escaped as Riddle’s fingers caressed his cheek and then his own hand darted out, slapping it away. “Feisty.”

Riddle grabbed Ron, and Ron tried to punch him. Riddle seized his wrist and twisted Ron around who attempted to elbow him in the stomach. Riddle easily got out of the way and then yanked, forcing Ron to bend backwards. One hand gripping his wrist and twisting his arm upwards, the other hand sliding to Ron’s exposed neck.

“I like feisty,” Riddle whispered in his ear then spun, twisting Ron with him and shoving him towards the bed, clearly expecting him to fall onto it.

Ron wavered but managed not to trip backwards. Instead he put his head down and charged forward to headbutt Riddle who was not expecting the move. Ron slammed into him and the two went back, crashing into the door. That’s when things became a blur. Ron shot his hands and feet, elbows and knees out to fight. Some made contact with Riddle, some didn’t. Riddle actually let out a slight cry of pain and then backhanded Ron across the face hard. Ron stumbled back and then Riddle had his wand out.

Ron was expecting… well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. His hands flew up to defend himself even though that made no difference whatsoever.

“Stupefy.”

Ron flung himself to the side…

And everything went black.

*

Groaning, Ron slowly came to… eyes fluttering open to find nothing but an expanse of blurry whiteness above him. He blinked a couple of times and things came into focus. Or rather, the ceiling came into focus as that was what he was staring at. He blinked again then turned his head one way and then the other as he attempted to move his arms, unsure as to why he couldn’t until he looked.

He was bound.

His eyes snapped wide open and he began struggling, grunting as he tugged at the ropes that were tying his wrists tightly to the bed frame, biting into his flesh. His skin burned slightly with the frantic movements.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Riddle said from where he was seated nearby.

Shit, shit, shit, SHIT! He thrashed harder, letting out quick gasps as he struggled against the bindings. “Let me go, oh, no, oh, Merlin, let me go—shit—“ He gave a mighty tug resulting in nothing more than his arms hurting. A few tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as Riddle slowly rose. “Why are you doing this to me?” he sobbed out.

“Because I want to,” Riddle answered, as if it were obvious. “Ever since I first saw you, I’ve wanted to fuck you. I did try to be nice about it.”

“NO!” Ron screamed as Riddle shifted onto the bed, straddling his legs. It was a nightmare. In bed, the Minister on top of him. And it was only going to get worse. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what was about to happen to him, nor did he want to. Nor, again, was he going to simply let it happen. He intended to do everything in his power— as little as it was at the moment—to get away. “GET OFF OF ME! STOP!”

Riddle shrugged. “Scream all you like, the room is soundproof.” He reached down with his wand, pressing it gently to the base of Ron’s throat. “I’d prefer you not to, of course, although I do admit your screams are rather pretty.” He ran the tip of his wand down onto Ron’s chest. “The question right now is whether I’d prefer to fuck you with you screaming and thrashing about and acting as if you don’t want it—“

Ron gagged at that. “I don’t, you piece of shit, I DON’T!”

“—or if we should arrange things so you’re giving back to me,” Riddle continued, ignoring him.

“I’d NEVER.”

Riddle laughed and then did a spell, making Ron’s top wisp away into nothing, leaving his chest bare. Riddle’s left hand pressed gently down on his abdomen, fingers splayed; the other hand still held the wand which now began tracing designs along Ron’s chest. “There are three ways to get what I want. I could use the Imperius spell.”

Ron froze at that, his entire body going rigid in shock at the Minister casually saying he’d use one of the Unforgivable curses. His mouth opened and closed with no sound coming out.

“Or I could give you a lust or a love potion,” Riddle continued, swirling the end of his wand in a circle around one of Ron’s nipples. His left hand slid downward slightly, finger tracing along the top of one the grooves that made its way down into the skirt. His fingers at least stopped at the top of the skirt. For now. “Or I could threaten you.”

“I’d rather go to Azkaban,” Ron spat out. He considered struggling further, trying to buck Riddle off of him however he knew wriggling his body around with Riddle straddling him like that would only excite the disgusting man more. So he lay completely still. He lay still and tried to focus on trying to undo the knots in the rope with silent, wandless magic. Neither of which he was very good at.

“I know you would,” sighed Riddle, his left hand skimming across Ron’s midriff as he maneuvered it up to his chest, thumb flicking gently across his nipple which sent a shock through his body. “Did you like that?” Riddle asked, surprised, as Ron’s body twitched slightly at the touch.

Instead of vocally answering, Ron worked up some saliva and spit it out directly into Riddle’s face. Riddle jerked back slightly and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it off. “If you want to fuck someone so bad, go fuck yourself.”

“Hilarious,” Riddle said dryly, tossing the handkerchief aside and then grabbing hold of Ron’s throat. Fingers worked up to the hinged of Ron’s jaw, squeezing hard, forcing his mouth open. Riddle bent in even closer and spit directly into Ron’s mouth. Ron began choking and gagging, struggling once more as he flung his head to one side to spit Riddle’s saliva out. He continued gagging, almost throwing up. “Now then, as I was saying. Threatening you no longer seems to work so I need someone else to threaten.” Still gripping Ron’s jaw, he jerked his face to look back at him. “You do realize how easily I could fire your father and brother, yes?”

“You have no legal reason to fire them.”

“I had no legal reason to fire that disgusting secretary that you were flirting with yet I managed nonetheless.”

Ron’s eyes widened slightly. “Basil? You—you fired Basil for… for…”

“Flirting,” Riddle confirmed. “I do not like competition.”

Ron didn’t have much capacity at the moment to feel anything more than a brief flare of guilt. Then the idea of his father and brother being fired consumed him. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say what he really wanted to say. Mostly because it was hard. “You’re going to rape—“ his voice broke there, cracking in half along with his soul. Swallowing, he tried again. “You’re going to do that to me regardless, there’s no reason to fire my family.”

Riddle made a ‘tsk’ing sound. “Don’t use that word. It’s so… harsh. Ugly. And honestly, if I was going to do that to you… ‘regardless’… I would be inside you right now, not talking to you, now, wouldn’t I?”

I would be inside you right now. Those words felt like they were already inside him, ripping him apart, driving deep into his soul. He wanted to scream yet it was pointless. Wanted to fight yet he couldn’t. He was trapped—utterly trapped. Everything inside him suddenly felt like it was shrinking in on himself, curling up like paper being near fire.

He choked slightly, when he tried to speak, then managed to get the words out. “No matter how you spin it, it’s rape. You—you’re planning on—on—raping me. That’s what this is.”

“Not if you consent.” The wand trailed down in a silken, serpentine path, drifting past his bellybutton, brushing against his heaving stomach, to the top of the skirt. “I’d prefer if you consented. I am a great lover, you know.” Another tremor within Ron, and an involuntary whimper at the word. Riddle bent in close, his lips hardly half an inch away, his breath caressing Ron’s face. “I shall give you the best fuck you’ve ever had, or will ever have.”

This isn’t real, this isn’t happening. “You’re psychotic.”

Another sigh and then Riddle swung his leg around, getting off of Ron. For a split-second he had hope that Riddle was going to give up… however instead Riddle grabbed the skirt and pulled it down, past Ron’s now-kicking legs and off his body. Ron pressed his legs together and drew them in, trying to shield himself now that he was laying there in nothing but his undergarments.

Riddle took in the sight, a strange expression filling his face as his gaze slowly made its way from Ron’s feet, up his stocking-clad legs, past the suspenders, panties, and belt, over his midriff, and onto his face. “Beautiful,” he whispered along with a sigh. “You are so beautiful.”

He started to lean in again and Ron took the opportunity. One knee bent in even more then his leg shot out, foot colliding with Riddle’s face. Riddle made an almost inhuman shriek as he jerked backwards, faltering slightly, then straightening up with one hand covering where Ron had struck.

“You little bitch,” Riddle growled as blood flowed from his nose. “I can and will throw your father into Azkaban indefinitely! I will find a reason to do so, and once he is in there you will have to live with the knowledge your own father is being tortured day in and day out by Dementors, locked away… confined from everyone including visitors… never seeing his family again. You will never see him again!”

Riddle used a spell to staunch the bleeding then got the handkerchief from the floor to clean himself up. Then his wand was aimed at Ron, and Ron pushed himself back against the headboard… but all that happened was the disappearance of the ropes. Ron’s arms fell, and he pulled them in to rub at the sore spots on his wrists.

Ron scrambled off the bed, yanking the blanket with him to cover himself up. “You can’t. You wouldn’t.”

Riddle’s eyes gleamed with an insane ferocity Ron had never seen before. He shuddered violently, seeing something in those eyes that terrified him more than the threat of rape. Something tumultuous and dark, more dangerous and violent than he previously expected the Minister to be capable of.

“Make your decision now, Weasley.”

Then before he could react—

“Or perhaps if that isn’t enough, I could find someone to go and rape your sister—“

“NO!” he cried out, physically lunging forward as if Riddle were going to go right this second. “Leave her out of this! Leave her alone! I—I’ll… I will. Okay? I will.” He shakily climbed back onto the bed, the threat to his father and sister filling every inch of his body. He pushed the thoughts of them out of his head, pushed everything out, focusing only on trying to get through what was about to happen. His entire body felt heavy, protesting every single movement he made; he had to exert a lot of effort to lay back down.

Riddle gave a soft snort. “Good boy. You’ve finally come to your senses.” He stepped closer, unbuttoning his top as he did. Ron felt a thick lump in his throat, and more tears came to his eyes as he focused on not running away, not fighting, not arguing. He kept himself as still as possible though every muscle was tense. “Don’t worry. This will feel very good.” He tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside, his pale chest gleaming in the dim light as he knelt on the bed, once more looming over Ron.

His hand went straight to Ron’s crotch and Ron instantly squeezed his legs tightly together. Not that it made a difference. Riddle began rubbing Ron through his panties as he bent in and began kissing at Ron’s neck. Ron grit his teeth, forcing his legs to somewhat relax again. Riddle’s tongue swathed a path across Ron’s throat and onto the other side of his neck as his fingers slipped into the panties and began stroking his cock.

Ron closed his eyes. Whether it was being touched again or the threats, something had shifted inside of him; he felt distant and numb. As if this were happening to someone else’s body. He only hoped that feeling would continue…

Riddle pulled away and told Ron to take the rest of his clothes off. It took a second for the words to worm their way past the numbness but Ron sat up and undid the suspenders, unhooking the belt and then rolling the stockings down with thick, unwieldy fingers. The panties were last. He shoved them down and kicked them off before laying back, eyes closed once more.

“Now my clothes,” Riddle whispered.

Ron reluctantly sat back up and had to shift into a kneeling position on the bed as Riddle was standing up. He unbuttoned the trousers and shoved them down along with Riddle’s underwear, ignoring—trying to ignore—what sprang free. Ron didn’t look at it, didn’t acknowledge it despite the fact it was so close to his face. A tiny thought popped up in his brain: was he going to have to give Riddle a blowjob? But Riddle merely stepped out of his clothes and gently pushed Ron back, telling him to roll over.

No, Riddle only wanted one thing.

Ron rolled over, his arms hooking around the pillow his head lay on, gripping the softness as tight as he could. His ass felt cold in the air, despite the warmth of the room, and then Riddle did a spell to clean him out. Then Riddle was on the bed again, skin against Ron’s skin as he straddled him. Ron pressed his face into the pillow, breathing more rapidly than before as Riddle’s hands slid onto his ass and squeezed.

“Isn’t this much better?”

Ron remained silent as a finger pressed against his entrance, although a slight gasp emerged as the finger slid into him. Slowly it pushed in, going deeper and deeper until Riddle’s fist rested against Ron’s cheeks. Then he pulled it out just as slowly and pushed in again, this time with two fingers. Ron bit into the pillow as the two fingers began working at him, a third soon joining. He wished Riddle would just get it over with.

As if reading his mind, Riddle pulled his fingers out and then put the same hand on Ron’s head, curling the fingers around to his mouth. Ron clamped his mouth tightly closed, but the tip of his middle finger worked its way in so he could taste the lube and his own asshole.

“Good boy.” Riddle strokes down Ron’s back and then squeezes a cheek again as something else pressed against Ron. It felt bigger than Ron expected, from when he was humped. Too big. The realization of how much this was going to hurt proceeded the pain as Riddle thrust himself in.

The shock was great, more than he expected. A cry of pain came out before he bit into the pillow again, tears rolling down his cheeks as the Minister pushes more and more of himself into Ron, the length feeling almost unending. Riddle gripped Ron’s waist tightly as he continued to work himself in even deeper until he was finally all the way in.

“Yes… oh, Merlin, yes… just as I imagined…”

When he pulls out, it feels as though its taking all of Ron’s organs with him. But of course he doesn’t pull out all the way, only to the tip so he can shove in again. Harder, quicker. Painfully. Ron let out another cry before gritting his teeth, grinding them together as Riddle began grinding against him, finding a rhythm for his own enjoyment. Ron pressed his face into the pillow again, wondering what would happen if he suffocated himself and died. If Riddle would carry out his threats. Or just keep fucking his dead body.

He didn’t want to think about that.

One of Riddle’s hands shifted to his shoulder, pulling him back against him. “Come on, Weasley, you can do better than that. Doesn’t this feel good?”

No. He ignored Riddle and remained frozen, focusing instead on trying to ignore the feeling of Riddle’s cock inside of him. It was difficult as each movement scrambled his insides, scrambled his brain. Riddle was angled slightly, and it kept pressing against that sweet spot, sending jolts of pleasure through Ron’s traitorous body. He knew feeling pleasure was something else entirely, and that it wasn’t the rape… yet he couldn’t help but hate himself as his own cock began to grow erect. As if it were giving permission for what was going on.

Riddle moaned, rocking into Ron’s body. “Yes, yes, yes!” His fucking became harder, more frantic, more desperate. His cock slid in and out, pounding into Ron, sending waves of pain and pleasure through his body.

He wasn’t sure how long they fucked. It felt like an eternity to him, each second stretching out as if some bizarre time spell had wrapped itself around them. His mind floated away, curling into a corner, far from the moment. The numbness in his body spread. Everything felt too heavy. The fucking even stopped hurting, though his body clearly enjoyed the pleasure. Riddle reached down and began jerking Ron off to the same rhythm he was giving, his voice hissing in Ron’s ear, begging him to come, it’d feel so good, go on, come, come for me.

His body did orgasm at some point, spilling out onto the bed and Riddle’s hand. Shortly after, Riddle came too, slowing and then stopping, holding Ron against him as he filled him up. He then gave a couple more thrusts before finally pulling out, some of his semen oozing out along with his cock. It dribbled down Ron’s thigh.

“Yes,” Riddle moaned, flopping into bed next to him. “That was as I’ve imagined. You are so good.”

Ron’s mind was being pulled back into his body, against its will. He didn’t want to return, he wanted to go farther away. But then there he was again, aware and feeling everything. Another tear slipped out. Riddle’s hand reached for his face but Ron rolled out of bed, ignoring the pain.

“Unlock the door,” he said hoarsely, cum dripping down his legs.

Riddle studied him for a moment then flicked his wand. Ron flung the door open, grabbed his wand, and went into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He flicked on all the lights, turned the shower on, and then curled up under the blazing hot water and cried.