The Ron Chronicles I

All was relatively quiet in the Weasley household. It was the second week of the summer holidays, which would usually mean that the noise in the family home would be unbearable. However, on this day, Ron was alone. The rest of his family was either working or shopping or conspiring or just plain avoiding being at home.

Tomorrow was to be a very special day: Molly Weasley would be turning 50. Ron was left home alone while everyone else carried out their plans or shopping sprees to surprise her. But he was lost as to what he should give her. As usual Ron was having difficulty being creative; why couldn't he be like Charlie? Charlie always knew exactly what to get someone.

He slouched through the house, feeling somewhat lonely as he went from empty room to empty room. He sighed to himself and mooched from the living room, past a pile of washing waiting to be ironed, and into the kitchen. He lowered himself down onto one of the chairs that rested behind the dining table. Millimetres before he hit the smooth wood of the seat, he stood up abruptly. Looking down, he saw some jam on toast that he had almost sat in. It was not until the house was empty that he actually noticed just how messy it got in his house after their arrival home from school. He could not fathom how his mother coped with the chaos.

He recalled how, when everyone returned from school, the Burrow was spotless. Every item was in its place and everything had a fresh, clean scent to it. Ron took a cautious sniff and exhaled. Now the house smelled of old food, sweat from the back garden Quidditch games and vague chocolate and sweet scents gone horribly wrong. The last was courtesy of Fred and George, of course. His mother was constantly running behind the boys cleaning up after them and trying to keep her house tidy. Often he saw her shake her head and purse her lips and just sit down in her favourite armchair and try to knit her stress away.

In fact, Ron could recall several days in the past week when he had watched her dashing about the house. She always had her wand stretched out in front of her, casting more spells and incantations in her battle for tidiness than Ron actually knew existed. By the end of the day, when dinner was finished and all the plates had been washed and put away, she was so tired that she would fall asleep in the nearest armchair. Her snores would reverberate loudly throughout the house, causing many a snigger from her children.

Ron sensed an idea coming slowly. Mum was always tired from cleaning up after them...maybe for her birthday...he should clean for her! He glanced around the kitchen and grimaced. What a task! The dishes were piled in the sink and he could see messy, muddy footprints coming from the back door and tracking through to the living room. Well, no matter, he knew most of the spells his mother used. She had used them often enough while he was around...Surely he could perform them easily enough.

He strode from the kitchen, definite purpose in every stride as he made his way towards the bedroom. He knew that magic was forbidden during the holidays, but with the amount of magic that floated around his house all the time, a few spells would go totally unnoticed. Fred and George got away with it quite regularly, even though they thought he did not know. If the Ministry saw anything out of the ordinary, they would not suspect teenage boys sneaking around to clean. He snorted at the very idea.

Ron opened his school trunk and grabbed his wand. He made his way back to the kitchen, Wingardium Leviosa-ing things along the way into their proper places. Finally, he returned to the crowning glory of the mess: the kitchen. Mentally rolling up his sleeves, he pointed his wand at the huge pile of dishes. He struggled a bit internally for the correct Charm but when he cast it several of the uppermost dishes turned disturbingly floppy and yellow. On closer inspection he realized that they were rubber chickens! Holy hell on a stick!

He ran over to the former-dishes and poked them gingerly with his index finger. He closed his eyes and winced as he touched them, fervently wishing that they would suddenly change themselves back. As his fingers came into contact with the slightly damp rubber, he groaned and opened his eyes. He pulled his wand out again and began firing out as many spell as he could think of to try to change them back.

Ron muttered a string of curses as each spell failed to produce the desired result. Instead he ended up with a bunch of silver goblets. Sighing, he placed the goblets on the counter and proceeded to wash the dishes by hand. 'Well,' he thought, 'the floor should go better then...I know I can do the floor cleaning charm.' He just hoped that his mother would not be too angry and could turn the dishes back to normal without too much work.

He ran his fingers through his hair and took a long, deep breath. He rolled his shoulders and bounced up and down on his toes. Feeling thoroughly prepared, he pointed his wand at the floor and recited the incantation to render the surface spotless. His heart leapt into his throat, along with a feeling of extreme sickness, as the floor turned a bright, vibrant shade of purpleish-pink.

"So that's what colour puce is," he murmured.

Ron rolled his eyes to the heavens and offered a quick prayer for help. He shifted from foot to foot and worried his lip nervously between his teeth as he thought. 'Should I try? No, don't even try. You might end up with the floor being made out of mushrooms...let's not bugger it up more...just find the mop...the mop.' He took a deep breath. 'It's ok, mum likes purple...and pink. It'll be fine.' He continued to reassure himself that his mum would appreciate the...facelift he was giving the kitchen and dishes as he mopped...really.

His back began to ache and tense as he pushed the mop into the last brightly coloured corner. He smiled with satisfaction as it gleamed before him. He gathered several stray items up in his arms and walked awkwardly out of the room, trying desperately not to drop it all. He dropped the pile onto the sofa and surveyed the state of the living room. His back twinged in anticipation as he realised exactly what he had let himself in for. He set his face into a grim line of determination and began to clean faster and more efficiently than he ever had in his life.

As he cleaned, he kept thinking that maybe he should just clean the kitchen and living room instead of the whole house. Two rooms were more than he had ever done at one time before and she would surely be appreciative. His shoulders began to tire from the sweeping and the idea became more and more appealing. No, he could keep going. He must. Finally finished with the living room, he headed for the closet. He had only opened it on a few occasions and all he remembered was the foreboding sense of doom that seemed to envelop it. He opened the door cautiously and almost fainted as he peered in. Ton upon ton of, well, stuff was piled in, on and around each other and he had no idea where to begin.

As he started clearing a path through the piles of this stuff, he could have sworn that the cupboard had been magically enlarged. Although, knowing his dad as he did, it most probably had been. He pulled out box after box of old toys, photo albums and Muggle artefacts that were his father's 'research' for work. With a crash, a large box of plastic items, which he could only guess at the purpose of, fell on the big toe of his left foot. He screeched out a curse and hopped up and down, clutching his foot, until the sharp pain began to dull.

With a glare Ron stared down at the floor, searching for the offending item. He saw what looked like a Muggle snow globe and picked it up. It was heavy! Stupid thing had nearly taken his foot off! He shook it around a bit and the sand swirled around a brightly coloured tent. He stared curiously into the globe and suddenly felt a familiar sensation; he felt something tugging on his navel and he fell to the soft floor.

As his eyes caught up with his body, he looked around himself. "Buggeration," he mumbled. "Who the hell leaves a portkey lying around in a bloody cupboard?" He harrumphed loudly as his surroundings filtered through, into his brain. He was in a large tent that was filled with rich, deeply coloured fabrics that hung from the rafters in swaths. There was a rather overpowering smell that reminded him faintly of the heady aroma in the Divination classroom.

"Bloody Fred," he wittered to himself, "and bloody George. I bet it's them!"

He slammed the snow globe down on a mahogany table nearby in frustration as he tried to work out how on earth he would get home.

As he concentrated, soft Arabic music began filtering through his consciousness. He heard the sounds of bare feet pattering across the silky floor of the tent. In slow motion he raised his head. Surrounding him were twenty dusky, bare-chested Arabic men, their well-oiled chests gleaming in the soft light.

"Bloody hell," he moaned.

He put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. His head jerked up suddenly as he felt a multitude of hands grabbing at his clothes. In spite of his yelps and cries of protest, he rapidly lost more and more of his clothing. They were, much to his relief, replaced. Much to his chagrin, they were replaced with a sheet arranged in a complicated variety of knots. He carried on protesting as the multitude of masculinity pushed him into a room with the low, flickering glow of hundreds of candles.

The men sat Ron down on an oversized pillow. Two positioned themselves at his feet and another two sat at each hand. One other sat behind and above him and grasped his head. The men began rubbing his head, hands and feet, releasing tensed muscles. Then the show began.

Ron could barely register what he was seeing before him as well over a dozen men began to take their places in a formation. A ripple went through them as they began to sway hypnotically to the beat of the subtle music that infused the air. Their browned, muscled skin rippled as they began to gyrate and swivel their bodies. Ron did not quite know what to do with his eyes as his words of protest died in the air before him. He felt more awkward than ever before in his life.

They began jumping and twisting and turning their bodies in time to the, now louder, music. Ron winced as the men pulled some moves he knew he could never attempt. Despite his awkwardness, Ron felt himself relaxing and giving in to their hypnotic movements. There was some sort of incense and the men rubbing at him caused all thought to leave his head.

He felt a doziness sweep through his body as torches on the walls flared into life. A comforting warmness took him over and he felt his entire body slump into a relaxed heap. The thought that he could not believe that he was enjoying being in a room full of sweaty, half-naked men meandered lazily through his head. He mentally shrugged and sank deeper into the sumptuous cushions.

Suddenly, the group danced over to him and the men attending him picked him up easily. Automatically, Ron tensed. They moved to a pillowy bed and lowered him gently face first into it. At once, he felt hands all over the back of his body and a moan escaped as he felt the first knead of a knotted muscle. But wait; was that a hand on his arse?! Still in the back of his head, this disturbing thought was moving rapidly forward...there was a hand belonging to one of several bare-chested, sweaty half-naked men kneading his bum!!!

He concentrated every ounce of his mental power onto his right arm. He could feel the slight burning hotness of concentration building at the base of his skull. He willed his relaxed body to cooperate with his wishes. In a burst of energy, he managed to raise his right hand just enough to lazily bat the hand away from his derriere. He gave a sigh of relief as the oil-coated hand retreated to a place further up his back.

Ron giggled slightly as one of the men hit a ticklish spot. 'God,' he thought languorously, 'what's wrong with me? I can't believe I just giggled.' But really, he didn't even care. This was heaven. After several minutes of kneading Ron's entire body, minus the rear, he felt his body being lifted again and turned over. He watched detachedly as they massaged perfumed oil into the already slick skin of his chest. Then dry hands were on his face and he simply closed his eyes to revel in the feelings. The hands were all over his body again and the feeling of intense relaxation they created in him was amazing. However, when he felt a hand on his most private parts, the haze parted and Ron shot straight off the bed with a strangled yell.

He turned to face the bronzed crowd of muscular Adonises, hastily pulling the sheet tightly around himself. "You... You... Just NO!" he stammered. "You lull me into a false sense of security, then try to cop a bloody feel." His cheeks were flaming so brightly that he felt that his whole body could spontaneously combust at any second.

"Who would have thought that housework could lead to a world of shame and embarrassment?" he mumbled to himself.

The dusky men looked at each other with confused expressions. They then turned their faces back to Ron and began to advance on him once more. With a cry of dismay, Ron dropped his sheet and ran on wobbling legs toward the entrance as though his life, or perhaps his state of virginity, depended on it. His name, "Weasley", printed in bold on a placard stopped him suddenly. He grabbed for the item it seemed to identify as his and immediately he felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

He fell in an undignified and naked heap on an unidentified floor. He raised his head and surveyed the surroundings. He gave a loud cry of relief as he realised that he was in his parents' bedroom. He scampered through the door quickly, hoping fervently that no one had come home as yet, and darted up the stairs. He opened his bedroom door and grabbed the first item of clothing that he saw. He pulled on some faded jeans and a T-Shirt and flopped on his bed, feeling thoroughly exhausted by the day's events.

Just then, he heard someone call his name. Getting up carefully he made his way back down the stairs. He had never been this relaxed in his entire life and reflected on how unstable it made his trip down the worn steps. Finally he reached the bottom to find his mother gazing in wonder about the living room. He followed her into the kitchen and she giggled like a girl as she saw the floor and gasped at the dishes. Ron scuffed his feet and looked at the floor wishing to be squeezed into one of the cracks.

"The closet aside --honestly, that thing is atrocious-- this is amazing. Did you do this for me?"

Ron turned his face to her and saw love and pride in her eyes. The tips of his ears pinked and he nodded.

"Sorry about the floor and the dishes," he said contritely.

"Pssh...I did that myself a few times." She looked closely at Ron then said, "Honey, why are your arms all oily?"

Ron's face turned a violent brick red and he mumbled something incoherent and rushed to the shower. 'Merlin's beard, what a day!'