Mmm... naked Ron
Jul. 2nd, 2005 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaebilityContinuation of this.
Determined to console or, at least, occupy his over-excited mind, Ron tried to concentrate on something other than his naked body and poor performance with Hermione in the hallway, lest he ended up crying into his muffin or blowing his nose into his toast. Ron wasn't the bawling type, prone to anger and sullenness but rarely tears, but his breakfast food was asking for a good what-for.
He steered his thoughts to the coming school year. It'd be fun, and if not fun, likely interesting. Maybe the new Defense teacher would be a bird rather than a creepy old man (Professor Lupin was excluded from this list, of course). Or maybe Dumbledore would give up on finding a suitable replacement and teach the class himself. He certainly had enough experience. And he was the most powerful wizard alive. Certainly those two things would come in handy. Or maybe the position would go to sniveling Snape. Ron grimaced, picturing a victorious Snape usurping the Defense throne.
That'd be a nightmare, to say the very least. More like the seventh circle of Hell.
Ron scrubbed his underarms furiously and dismissed the thought. It wasn't healthy thinking of Snape so early in the morning. So instead he studied the row of shampoos that stood along the small shelf in the shower. Susanna's Shining Shampoo with Rose Hips and Barn Shallow Egg Shells was either Mum's, Ginny's, or Bill's and Algernon's Hair Soap for the Busy Wizard or Witch, Now with Less Bubbles for the Magic User On-The-Go could have belonged to any member of the house, but Herbal Refreshment was definately Hermione's. Not only was the bottle plastic rather than glass, but it had a non-moving picture of a non-distinct flower and a coupon promising the to give the owner fifty pense off his or her next purchase on the front label.
Out of curiousity, he opened the lid, fumbling a bit and cursing the Muggles for their strange contraptions, and delicately sniffed the contents. The was no question now, he immediately recognized the soft scent. If Hermione came too close he could catch a faint whiff of what he now knew was her shampoo. It was nice - light and unoffensively sweet. But it was imitation herbs, crazy Muggles never used the real stuff. His mother used to make the family's shampoo from the small window garden she had in the kitchen. Lavender, thyme, mint... But now, in the Black house, she had to buy almost all of the family's supplies. Ron frowned and the muscles in his chest tightened; Christmas would be tough this coming winter.
In his hands the shampoo bottle whistled - he had unconsciously squeezed it - and again the scent filled the tub. He rather liked it, even though it was imitation. The smell was quiet but definitely present, like the first bloom of spring rather than the heavy, humid nights of summer.
Briefly he thought of using it, but quickly he set it down on the yellow-stained shelf. It wouldn't be right, using her personal things. It fell somewhere between theft and perversion. He adjusted the bottle a few times on the shelf until he was satisfied that no one would notice that it had ever been touched. If Fred and George found out...
'Sides, he didn't want to use it all up. With her thick and heavy hair, Hermione needed all the shampoo she could get. An image of her in the shower, dripping wet and covered with conveniently placed bubbles filled his mind. A Venus in a shell, only with wash cloths and bars of soap instead of blossoms and nymphs. He wet hair, shimmering like silk in the steam of the hot shower would drape around her shoulder... "Ron," she'd breath (it would be a whole lot better if his name were Darien, or Julius, or Alexander, but it was too late to change that now), "Ron, could you wash-"
"-Faster? you'll use up all the hot water before your brothers have had a chance to get in there."
Ron dove for the tap and turned until cold water poured down. "Sure, Mum," he said through now chattering teeth, "Be right out."
He sighed as her footsteps retreated and stared forlornly up through the stream of water up at the mineral encrusted shower-head. Like the rest of the Black estate, it sagged sadly between the airs of old majesty and rotten lost glory. The wallpaper was pealing and the pastoral scenes faded and often stained. The sink, shaped like a scallop shell, had dark stains at the faucet and the drain, making it looked more like a bloodied hand than a oceanic creature. The bath tub rested on iron feet which had once been painted black. Some of the color remainded but over the years much had fallen off leaving the claws to rust.
The house didn't feel like a tomb - oh no, that would mean that the act of dying had finished. Instead the inhabitants had the unique pleasure of witnessing the actual progress toward death.
Being Ronald Billius Weasley had too few perks to ease the innumerable defects.
Determined to console or, at least, occupy his over-excited mind, Ron tried to concentrate on something other than his naked body and poor performance with Hermione in the hallway, lest he ended up crying into his muffin or blowing his nose into his toast. Ron wasn't the bawling type, prone to anger and sullenness but rarely tears, but his breakfast food was asking for a good what-for.
He steered his thoughts to the coming school year. It'd be fun, and if not fun, likely interesting. Maybe the new Defense teacher would be a bird rather than a creepy old man (Professor Lupin was excluded from this list, of course). Or maybe Dumbledore would give up on finding a suitable replacement and teach the class himself. He certainly had enough experience. And he was the most powerful wizard alive. Certainly those two things would come in handy. Or maybe the position would go to sniveling Snape. Ron grimaced, picturing a victorious Snape usurping the Defense throne.
That'd be a nightmare, to say the very least. More like the seventh circle of Hell.
Ron scrubbed his underarms furiously and dismissed the thought. It wasn't healthy thinking of Snape so early in the morning. So instead he studied the row of shampoos that stood along the small shelf in the shower. Susanna's Shining Shampoo with Rose Hips and Barn Shallow Egg Shells was either Mum's, Ginny's, or Bill's and Algernon's Hair Soap for the Busy Wizard or Witch, Now with Less Bubbles for the Magic User On-The-Go could have belonged to any member of the house, but Herbal Refreshment was definately Hermione's. Not only was the bottle plastic rather than glass, but it had a non-moving picture of a non-distinct flower and a coupon promising the to give the owner fifty pense off his or her next purchase on the front label.
Out of curiousity, he opened the lid, fumbling a bit and cursing the Muggles for their strange contraptions, and delicately sniffed the contents. The was no question now, he immediately recognized the soft scent. If Hermione came too close he could catch a faint whiff of what he now knew was her shampoo. It was nice - light and unoffensively sweet. But it was imitation herbs, crazy Muggles never used the real stuff. His mother used to make the family's shampoo from the small window garden she had in the kitchen. Lavender, thyme, mint... But now, in the Black house, she had to buy almost all of the family's supplies. Ron frowned and the muscles in his chest tightened; Christmas would be tough this coming winter.
In his hands the shampoo bottle whistled - he had unconsciously squeezed it - and again the scent filled the tub. He rather liked it, even though it was imitation. The smell was quiet but definitely present, like the first bloom of spring rather than the heavy, humid nights of summer.
Briefly he thought of using it, but quickly he set it down on the yellow-stained shelf. It wouldn't be right, using her personal things. It fell somewhere between theft and perversion. He adjusted the bottle a few times on the shelf until he was satisfied that no one would notice that it had ever been touched. If Fred and George found out...
'Sides, he didn't want to use it all up. With her thick and heavy hair, Hermione needed all the shampoo she could get. An image of her in the shower, dripping wet and covered with conveniently placed bubbles filled his mind. A Venus in a shell, only with wash cloths and bars of soap instead of blossoms and nymphs. He wet hair, shimmering like silk in the steam of the hot shower would drape around her shoulder... "Ron," she'd breath (it would be a whole lot better if his name were Darien, or Julius, or Alexander, but it was too late to change that now), "Ron, could you wash-"
"-Faster? you'll use up all the hot water before your brothers have had a chance to get in there."
Ron dove for the tap and turned until cold water poured down. "Sure, Mum," he said through now chattering teeth, "Be right out."
He sighed as her footsteps retreated and stared forlornly up through the stream of water up at the mineral encrusted shower-head. Like the rest of the Black estate, it sagged sadly between the airs of old majesty and rotten lost glory. The wallpaper was pealing and the pastoral scenes faded and often stained. The sink, shaped like a scallop shell, had dark stains at the faucet and the drain, making it looked more like a bloodied hand than a oceanic creature. The bath tub rested on iron feet which had once been painted black. Some of the color remainded but over the years much had fallen off leaving the claws to rust.
The house didn't feel like a tomb - oh no, that would mean that the act of dying had finished. Instead the inhabitants had the unique pleasure of witnessing the actual progress toward death.
Being Ronald Billius Weasley had too few perks to ease the innumerable defects.
