Chapter Text
Ron Weasley was fucked. He got off the lift and stepped on to the least crowded level of the Ministry. All the usual sounds that filled the ministry were absent. The lack of rushing footsteps, loud convos, casual murmurs, breathless assistants made for a foreign atmosphere.
He walked through the hallway passing doors with gold plated labels on top— Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic— and finally reached his destination. The Minister’s Office.
His morning had started off well. Ron managed to not burn the eggs today and even got to eat it with his girlfriend who had been rather busy for the past two months with the latest proposal for Goblin rights.
Hermione Granger, an avid activist for equal rights for all living beings, had gotten into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures straight out of Hogwarts (“of course you’d get it Mione, they would be blind not to take you with your ten OWLs!”) and worked her way to being assistant head of the department. However, it came with an insane workload. Not that his crazy girlfriend was upset about it.
Ron himself had gotten into Auror training, passing the entrance exam on his first try at 17 years of age, along with his best friend Harry Potter. He had been a fully trained Auror for two years following a year of training.
In all those years working in the Ministry, he had muddled through without making any waves or screwing up. Until now.
The Ministry favoured paper aeroplanes over owls, called interdepartmental memos, for communication. It was one of the many genius ideas that had revolutionized the wizarding world. A work environment without owls flying about or smelly droppings!
The common ones were pale violet coloured. The department heads and other important officers had special red ones so they could be prioritized over the others.
But the ones to look out for were the green ones. They carried messages or, if one was very unlucky, summons from the Minister for Magic.
Ron had been in the middle of telling a joke to Susan Bones—who worked in the administrative section and had come by to pick up a case file—and Seamus Finnigan when a green coloured memo entered the department office.
The whole room fell silent as everyone dropped what they were doing and turned into horror-struck statues, praying they were not the unfortunate ones with the summons to hell. A lot of breaths were released when the evil aeroplane finally landed.
It took a moment for Ron to realise that it was on his desk.
He was aware of the weight of a hand on his shoulder shaking him and heard Seamus urging him to go open it but everything seemed very distant to him. He felt like he was floating about in an abyss with nothing to ground him.
“RON!” A yell straight into his eardrum woke him from his dissociation. Susan looked at him with pity in her eyes. “There’s no point in delaying it.”
He straightened up from where he was leaning against Seamus’s cubicle and headed for his own.
Everyone had their eyes on him, awaiting his fate. He took the memo in his hands and read the words written in it.
Read it again.
And then once more.
Someone cleared their throat loudly.
“Well?” demanded Dawlish. Even the couple who came in that morning to report a theft was eagerly waiting for his response.
Ron became very aware of his own dry throat. Somehow he forced the words out. “Summons.”
All hell broke loose. Gasps echoed in the room and condolences were passed.
Ron Weasley knew that he was fucked.
“Rotten luck mate,” Jorkins came up to him and clapped him on his shoulder, “Best not to keep him waiting.”
Susan walked over to him. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.” She looked at the unoccupied cubicle next to his.
“Where’s Harry?” she asked him.
Ron tried to act like his world wasn’t falling apart. “Probably got stuck in the coffee line again.”
Ron told Seamus, “Tell him that I love him and to tell Hermione that I love her.”
Seamus just laughed at him.
Susan looped her arm with his and pulled him towards the door. “Stop being so dramatic. The Minister’s not going to eat you alive.”
Unknown to Ron, mere minutes after he left the room, a very pissed off Harry Potter entered it, a half-full coffee cup in his hands, muttering under his breath about handsy ministers.
“Hey Harry!” Harry was determined to ignore his morning encounter with a certain pervert. He pasted on a grin and walked towards Seamus. “What’s up?”
Seamus grinned back at him, “Got a love confession for ya”.
Harry was going to kill that slimy bastard and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.
“What?” He was proud of himself for not letting any of his murderous thoughts affect his tone.
Seamus grinned wider, “Yeah, Ron wants to let you know that he loves you. Pass that on to Hermione too.”
Harry’s rage melted into confusion. “Ron wants me to tell Hermione that …he loves me?”
Harry was relieved this had nothing to do with him.
“He wants you to tell Hermione that he loves her. Honestly mate. Have you gone loopy?”
“Must be all that coffee you inhale.” Parvati Patil cut in. She looked at the cup in his hands and suggested, “maybe cut down on those?”
Harry shielded his precious coffee from her judgmental eyes. “Ron can’t tell that to her himself because…?”
"He got a summons," yelled Edgecombe from her desk, her usual red-painted lips curving into a mischievous smile. "From the Minister himself."
“WHAT?”
Edgecombe seemed thoroughly entertained by his reaction. She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face, as though she’d had her fill of gossip for the day. “Yeah. A memo flew in, a few minutes back. Ron just left to see him. I’m curious—what did he do to get a summons, that too so early in the morning?”
She gave him a sly look, as if expecting him to know the answer. Harry gave her a distracted shrug. Why would he call Ron?
"We're bound to find out anyway," Edgecombe smirked.
Back at Level One of the Ministry, Ron took a deep breath before knocking on The Door. He got a response but it didn’t come from within the room.
“Weasley, you’re here already”, said a voice behind him.
Ron yelped and looked back to see the freaking Minister. “Sir!” He dropped into a hasty bow.
“Come in,” the man said, brushing past Ron into his office.
Ron wondered at the coffee stain on the older man’s robes before entering the room.
“Shut the door behind you.”
He stood straight, hands tied behind his back, in front of the most important man in Great Britain.
Tom Riddle became the Minister for Magic at the age of twenty nine, the youngest to ever become one.
Ron remembered the Daily Prophet at the time. The man had graced the front page every day for months. Ron had been in his fifth year when Riddle had gotten elected. Riddle had been a familiar face in the Daily Prophet even before then, making waves in the Ministry ever since he entered it right out of Hogwarts.
His OWLs and NEWTs were said to be the highest ever scored. Hermione had been very disappointed when she found out that she hadn’t broken his record but she had gotten close.
The man was both Prefect and Head Boy during his time at Hogwarts. He was the Slytherin Heir and a halfblood, making him favourable to both traditionalists and their oppositions.
The public loved him. When it came out that Riddle was running for Minister, two out of the only four candidates had dropped out instantly. No one had been surprised when he had won. It didn't help that he looked the part too. Somehow even his red eyes added to his appeal.
Everyone either wanted him or wanted to be him.
Ron often felt like he was too good to be true. How could someone be this smart and look this good? Life was so unfair.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a voice urging him to sit.
“Be seated, Weasley”, Riddle gestured at the chair in front of his desk. He must have charmed the coffee stains away as his robes looked pristine as always, not a wrinkle or stain in sight.
Ron sat down, swallowing hard.
The Minister leaned back and stared at him with narrowed eyes. He looked like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn't look like he was going to order Ron’s execution.
A few minutes passed by. The room was in silence.
Finally, the Minister spoke.
“What happens in this room must stay in this room. Is that clear, Weasley?”
“Yes, sir.” Despite his worries, Ron was very curious as to why he was called. Maybe the Minister had found a mistake he made in one of his case reports. Maybe a high profile client complained about him. Oh Merlin. Was he going to fire Ron? But why would he call him into his office to-
“Tell me about Harry Potter.”
Ron blinked.
That was the last thing he had expected Riddle to say.
“What,” Ron asked dumbly.
Riddle looked annoyed. “Did you not hear me? I said—”
“It's just that,” Ron began and then mentally kicked himself. He had just interrupted the Minister. What was wrong with him? Hermione was going to kill him if the Minister didn't get there first.
Riddle looked displeased at the interruption but didn't rebuke him. “Yes?”
“Um, may I ask why?”
Riddle considered his words.
"As you may already know, Kingsley will be Head Auror following Scrimgeour's retirement."
Ron nodded.
"Kingsley is currently my personal bodyguard. To find a replacement, I sought his input. He spoke highly of Potter’s abilities. However, I cannot make a decision based solely on Kingsley’s word. I need to learn more about Potter to determine if he's truly suitable for the job."
That lucky bastard. Being the Minister’s personal bodyguard was no small feat and came with a better salary package.
Ron spoke, “Sir, Harry and I were in the same year at Hogwarts, both of us in Gryffindor. We have been friends since day one and in my opinion, he's perfect for the job. He's trustworthy, loyal and very dedicated to his work. He was number one at Defence and Dueling consistently throughout school. He wasn't that great at theory but he's got a good head. He's an excellent Auror and—”
Riddle raised a hand to stop his rambling. “If I wanted to know of his skills in the field or his work ethic, I would ask his superiors, Weasley. Tell me about his personal life.”
“Uh,” said Ron eloquently.
Riddle tilted his head. “Family. Friends.”
"His parents were killed when he was just one, betrayed by a jealous friend over some feud. Pettigrew framed his godfather, Sirius Black, who was wrongfully imprisoned. Harry lived with his Muggle relatives until Sirius adopted him in our third year, along with Profes—Remus Lupin. He’s been friends with Hermione and me since our first year. He gets along with people well. Still friends with plenty of others from Hogwarts—our yearmates, the Quidditch team, and the Auror department as well.”
“He's practically part of my family…” Ron trailed off, catching sight of the expression on Riddle’s face.
Riddle looked…
Well, he didn't look pleased.
“All that is public information, Weasley. What I want to know about is his private life. Any… discreet relationships?”
His eyebrows dipped as he tried to process that. “I don't understand, sir.”
“Is he involved with anyone romantically?”
What the fuck.
Riddle clarified, “I want to know who is close to Potter, as it will, of course, affect me as well, if I choose him.”
That made sense. Kind of.
“No sir, he’s not involved with anyone at the moment.”
As far as Ron knew anyway.
“And in the past?”
“Harry did have a thing with Malfoy back at school,” Ron answered hesitantly.
"Draco Malfoy?" Something in Riddle’s tone set off a warning in his instincts, urging him to run—far away.
“Um yeah. But that didn't last long.”
“I was under the impression that they didn't get along in school.”
“Yes sir.” How the fuck did he know about that? “But Harry always had a thing for ars—uh, people he didn't get along with. He used to rant about Malfoy quite uh passionately”—Harry was going to kill him— “and uh well, they say there's a thin line between love and hate and all that…” he trailed off.
Ron hurried to continue because Riddle was starting to look pissed off, “But that's all in the past! Harry came to his senses and now they're just friends. Kind of.”
“I see.” The Minister’s face was blank but the kind of blank that terrified even war-hardened veterans.
Ron wasted no time in continuing. He knew he was rambling but he couldn’t stop. He felt like he had done something wrong.
Ron didn't know what but he didn't want to wait around to see what Riddle would do to him.
“Then there was Warrington—Cassius Warrington. We didn’t get along with him back in school—Warrington played Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Harry ran into him once in Diagon Alley after we graduated. We were in the Auror Training Program at the time. They went on a few dates, but it didn’t really go anywhere. From what Harry told me, Warrington was an arse... but he was tall, hot, and his di—certain qualities had made up for it.” Ron abruptly clamped his mouth shut as he suddenly remembered exactly who he was talking to.
Minutes passed by. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock.
Ron could feel tiny drops of sweat trailing down his spine. This was it. His career was over. He’d had a good run, all things considered. His mother had never approved of his dangerous job so at least one person would be happy about it. Maybe he could work in the twins’ joke shop.
"So what you're saying is that …Potter is interested in tall, good-looking men with difficult personalities and tends to fight with those he's attracted to?"
Was there a right answer to that question?
“Yes?” Ron replied uncertainly.
Turns out there was.
Was Riddle smiling? It was a slight upturn to his lips at one end but it was there.
Holy shit.
The twitch of his lips was quickly corrected as Riddle collected himself.
“Hmm. I did not ask for his dating profile, Weasley, but no matter.”
Riddle did ask for Harry’s dating profile but Ron had enough sense in him not to point that out. Years of being with Hermione were finally paying off.
Riddle leaned forward, his fingers steepled on the table. “Now tell me, what does Auror Potter do outside of work?”
“You mean his hobbies?”
Riddle gave a noncommittal hum, his gaze sharp.
Ron was so confused.
“He loves Quidditch. He played Seeker for Gryffindor since first year and he still plays pickup matches with our friends and the department. Then…what else? He hangs out with us in pubs after work on Fridays. He likes to cook.”
“What does he like to eat?” Riddle interrupted.
His skepticism must have been written all over his face for Riddle elaborated, "Potter could be impersonated by someone to get close to me. It's crucial to know his likes and dislikes if he is to be my bodyguard."
Then why aren’t you asking him?
Ron, being the exemplary subordinate that he was, simply nodded along.
“He’s not picky about food, but he’s not into spicy stuff. Oh! The guy’s crazy about treacle tart—he’d eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.”
“That’s, uh, pretty much it,” Ron resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck. “You should ask Hermione if you’d like to know more, sir. She’s more go—”
“That’s enough, Weasley. You may go,” Riddle cut him off, dismissing him with a graceful wave of his hand.
“Thank you, sir.” Ron stood up, gave an awkward bow, and all but sprinted toward the door.
He was just shy of freedom when Riddle’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Weasley.”
Ron internally winced. So close. He turned back to face the man, who now had a stack of files in front of him that hadn’t been there seconds ago.
“I trust you understand that this conversation is to remain confidential.”
“Yes, sir!” Ron replied hastily.
Riddle didn’t bother with a response, and Ron wasn’t about to stick around for one.
He had survived! With his job and dignity intact. That was cause for celebration.
As he got on to the lift and made his way to his department, he wondered if there was more to what had just happened.