The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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4-2-10 F


Luckily, I narrowly missed having to post on April Fool's Day (April 1st in the U.S.A.) It would have been terrible having to post a preachy homily on the virtues of abstinence instead of my chapter. Narrow escape there.


Well, does everyone have their dancing shoes on? Lucius wanted me to ask, but I'm absolutely not going to inquire if anyone forgot to wear their underwear. He'll just have to discover that for himself, so be careful out there on the dance floor.


The orchestra is tuning up. Ready?

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Chapter Forty-Three

The Yule Ball

Lucius walked out of the wardrobe wearing a tuxedo, this time pairing it with a waistcoat in green brocade and a dark green bow tie.

Hermione’s eyes traveled from her husband’s shiny, black shoes up to his shimmering platinum hair and sighed in pleasure. Then she frowned. “Is that a different tux? How many tuxedoes do you have? I thought you didn’t like them.”

“I’ve never counted them,” Lucius replied, fiddling with his cufflinks. “I’ve only brought six to Hogwarts, however.”

“Six! Why so many?” She wandered around the wizard, scrutinizing his suit from all angles. “This one is more, um, sexy, somehow.” A surreptitious pet on the back of his trousers made Lucius smile.

“It’s cut in the continental fashion – more form-fitting in the chest and waist with a bit of flair at the coattails. I didn’t want to appear too starchy tonight, while also presenting an air of sophistication that says, ‘Don’t bother me’ to the hordes of officials attending. I want to enjoy the dancing with my wife. Besides, at the start of the ball, I’ll be wearing what I call my Ostentation Robes over the tux, designed to intimidate.” Lucius returned to the wardrobe and pulled out an ornate set of robes with fur trim and embroidered sleeves, which he shrugged into, smoothing them over his tux.

“Ostentation or grotesque?” she asked, amused.

“Both,” Lucius preened, turning to give his wife the full view of his resplendent garments. “For the first few minutes I’ll wear these robes, telling the world I’m a dynastic Pureblood and reminding them of my money and my dangerous, Death Eater past. When the impression has sunk in, I’ll remove them, in essence coming down to their level, silently saying I am willing to be one of them for the evening. Also,” a slyly amused edge entered his voice, “those robes are damned hot and I refuse to wear them all evening, getting heatstroke, when their message can be just as effective worn for fifteen minutes at the beginning of the ball.”

“You have quite an interesting grasp of the social impact of your wearing apparel. I suppose it’s from generations of Purebloods all trying to impress one another?” Hermione was fascinated at this new facet of Lucius’ snobbery.

“Precisely,” Lucius nodded, pleased that his wife appreciated his social circle’s superior psychological acumen.

In spite of herself, Hermione was a little overawed at the Machiavellian depths of her husband. The robes really did make one feel insignificant next to such opulence, as though she were in the presence of royalty. Then he twitched the robes into place and for Hermione, the dangerous, princely Death Eater disappeared and it was just Lucius and one of his familiar mannerisms again, that funny robe twitching he did.

“So your tuxes have different messages?” Hermione snickered at her unabashed, elegant, clotheshorse spouse.

“You’d be surprised,” Lucius answered imperturbably, dropping off his posh robes for a minute and pirouetting slowly in place. “If I had worn this continental tux to our Step Two evening, what would have been your reaction?”

“Well,” she circled him again, touching various points on the sleek suit, “I think we wouldn’t have made it past the soup course.” Hermione came to stand in front of the handsome wizard and reached up to straighten his bow tie, just to touch him some more.

“I agree.” Lucius raised his chin to accommodate Hermione’s tie adjustments. “The tux I wore that night – what did it say to you?”

“You’ll laugh,” Hermione shrugged.

“I won’t. I know what my tuxes are designed for,” he averred.

“You looked wonderful, of course, but the word I would use is ‘respect’.” Hermione’s hands slid down her mate’s chest to settle at his waist.

“Very good. I wanted you to know that with the uneven dress code between us that night, I was going to observe the protocol without trying to seduce you – during dinner, anyway.” He lightly ran his hands down Hermione’s back to her waist, holding her as she was holding him. “You look absolutely stunning. I certainly do dress you beautifully,” he smiled proudly, laughing when Hermione grimaced, remembering her horrible wardrobe choices. “I hope no one tries to take advantage of you, looking as irresistible as you do. The white color should look virginal, but on you it makes a man want to lock you away for his personal, private use.” His expression turned anxious, “You have your wand for protection, don’t you?”

“Of course. Right here,” she patted the space between her breasts. “As I remember, my ‘serviceable’ white panties and bra only made you want to peroxide your offended eyeballs.” She smiled back at him, “The elves said you told them to burn my perfectly good underthings.”

“And good riddance, too.” Lucius shrugged back into his intimidating robes and held out his arm, “Shall we go?”

***

Muted cacophony reigned as all the students, staff, and a few visiting dignitaries and the School Governors crowded the Great Hall, some milling aimlessly, some searching for seating, and the rest talking together in countless clumps of excited teens. The annual Yule Ball was just beginning; the doors had been thrown open only moments before to a forested fairyland of tall orchard trees standing at the edges of the converted hall, sheltering the dance floor from high above with their outspread branches. Tiny lights were woven in the boughs lending a romantic atmosphere to the hall, while myriad blossoms tucked into vines climbed the walls and dotted the along the sides of the floor, delighting a reveler with unexpected scents if one drew near them.

Narcissa had volunteered to decorate the space and Lucius thought it looked very alluring and festive – and age-appropriate for their young charges. He had vetoed her original idea of recreating Versailles as too sophisticated and jaded for a ball designed for children. Besides, he’d lived with that overblown drawing room in his home for years and wasn’t enamored of the gilded style.

Lucius stood with Snape on the tree-decorated dais at the end of the Great Hall, his stance projecting cool authority and sophisticated elegance, while his mind was miles away on more personal thoughts. He had hosted many of this type of event at his home, and this evening he easily managed to give the impression of remote patriarchy for the benefit of the parents and the School Governors who had decided to attend to keep an eye on their possibly perverted Headmaster. Snape was right at his side, acting as an added protection against the Ministry arses.

Snape scanned Lucius’ blinding fur and embroidered outfit and murmured, “And you made fun of my Head Governor’s robes. Are you trying to convince the School Governors that you’re a tosser so they won’t bother you any more? I know I’m convinced.” The dark-haired wizard affected surprise, “Oh! But that would only mean the male students would be in danger, instead. A pity my reminding the Governors that Rita Skeeter never intimated you were fond of males would fall on deaf ears. Perhaps if I started a rumor you were a eunuch?”

Lucius merely gave Snape a quiet, vulgar finger-salute, hidden from the throng by the fur trim of his robe, while nodding regally to the Minister and his wife passing below.

Both men had agreed to stay on the dais unless they were dancing with one or the other of their wives or Luna to avoid any unnecessary difficulties. In addition, Hermione had recruited Narcissa to keep an eye on any incautious, nubile young students who attempted to accost Lucius or her own husband. The dais was off-limits to all students.

Lucius watched the crowd while wondering if he could maneuver Hermione past her antipathy for his vast drawing room at home. Maybe she would be willing to renovate it with a design of her own choosing. Frankly, he wouldn’t care if she turned it into a second garage for that automobile she’d dangled in front of him – the one large enough for their future children. He might present the redecorating idea to her as a way to rid the estate of any of Narcissa’s lingering influence, but not until after they’d succeeded in celebrating at least a year of marriage. He had a ways to go before his relationship was solid enough to withstand the subject of that troublesome drawing room.

His glowing gray eyes followed his wife as she wended her way through the crush of evening gowns and dress robes. Lucius was staying docilely on the raised dais at the back of the hall with Severus, but neither of them was conversing with the other at the moment; both of them were tracking their wives in the crowd around and between greeting and socializing with the adult, invited guests who had perforce to mount the dais to exchange civilities with them. The set-up had an unintended bonus of giving the two men an additional cachet, which Snape didn’t want and Lucius didn’t need.

Narcissa was circling the edges of the hall, double-checking the decorations and answering questions about seating. Hermione was patrolling semi-secluded corners caused by the foliage, then slowly working her way toward the main hallway. The alcoves behind the suits of wizard armor out there were the worst for juvenile assignations.

The blond Headmaster had put the entire student body through a rigorous morning of exercise in an effort to stem the potential for mayhem at the ball with unruly tempers. So far it looked like his plan was working, but it was early yet.

As she moved through the Great Hall, Lucius enjoyed seeing Hermione’s dress flow like liquid silk, caressing her luscious little body in a sparkling, snow-white haze. She looked incandescent with her porcelain skin and his wedding gifts gracing her throat, ears and hair. The diamonds and emeralds in the vine design were perfect for the evening’s décor. He was gratified that she had brought the parure to Hogwarts. She looked like a tiny Titania among the great room’s bowers of leaves; her soft cheeks had a lovely glow and her shoulders and arms were a delicious ivory pink that her husband found enchanting.

Lucius was well-acquainted with the baby-soft skin of her… all in all she was a fiery piece of work that made Lucius glad he’d worn his Quidditch cup tonight to hide his reaction. Aside from all the nasty, grabby hands on the dance floor, it wouldn’t do to scare the kiddies with his ‘Eiffel Tower’. He still got a chuckle out of that one - Hermione had let him in on the joke a few days after their Step Two evening.

She hadn’t agreed to play with Step Six yet, but he had retrieved the four sets of cushioned handcuffs from his collection and he knew she was weakening when he found that they had been moved around in his nightstand. Furtively checking the merchandise, was she? Lucius took a deep breath to still the inflation threatening in his trousers.

Down on the dance floor Hermione peeked over her shoulder at her husband. Yes, he was tracking her through the crowd, being able to see over the heads of the students from the dais with his greater height. Those eerie, exotic eyes of his really should be declared a medical hazard - her heart rate sped up and her hands went clammy as her body’s reactions split in two different directions. She was incredibly aroused, but she was also frightened.

She couldn’t put it off any more. Tonight her sexual education would be enhanced once again, this time in a way she wasn’t sure she would like. She admitted that all the other experiences she’d been introduced to were things she now enjoyed and when would she ever have thought being spanked would hold any allure whatsoever? But it did. Her privates clenched just at the idea of Lucius upending her over his knee.

She was learning the fine art of romantic perversion from a master, so she supposed she hadn’t anything much to worry about. He knew what he was doing with his many small, digital forays into her rear interior – he’d been doing it to her for months beginning with his first little finger’s intrusion into her backside. He had claimed it was only his little finger, but it had felt like Big Ben had punctured her butt. She still had the initial reaction of trying to reject his insertions, but it was more a twinge now, instead of a desire to leap through the ceiling.

Hermione tried to put the evening’s private finale out of her mind as she took her time patrolling the dance floor and all those gloomy nooks in the main hallway where amorous couples might lodge themselves. At each shadowy spot she left a small itching charm, which would bother anyone staying longer than five minutes; it would only fade when they removed themselves from the shadowy area.

The male staff would take care of any more obstreperous behavior in the farther reaches of the school and grounds, but Hermione had her wand in the specially designed pocket in her cleavage just in case. Students’ wands had been banned from the festivities and collected as a deterrent to impulsive, youthful antics fueled by the unknown agonist.



Maybe it was lucky Harry and Ginny had been unable to come to the Ball. Their plans had been derailed when Ginny succumbed to intense morning sickness. They’d brought back their splendid, little souvenir from Romania and Hermione was thrilled for them, but sad that she couldn’t visit them right now, either. She missed her friends and grew homesick sometimes.

When she heard the small orchestra starting to play, she hurried back to be with her husband for the opening dance. She already knew he was an excellent dancer; her face heated remembering the carnal display he’d put on at the nightclub where she’d been punished. That overt, sexual shimmy likely wasn’t going to be repeated tonight, but she wanted to dance with him again. She wanted to be in his arms.

When she managed to return to Lucius’ side on the dais, she saw that Snape and Narcissa were already dancing, totally engrossed in each other and Lucius had removed his 'ostentation’ robes. Hermione looked sideways up at the gorgeous, sophisticated man beside her in his sexy tux and her heart twanged and stumbled. He was scanning the hall, watching for any unorthodox activity, his head high, his bearing arrogant and austere. With a sense of doomed kismet, the tiny, stubborn, unyielding bit of self she had been valiantly withholding, trying to protect her heart, quietly went to join the rest of her, clasped in his unknowing hand.

Hermione despaired even as she accepted the inevitability. She was completely in love with the poncy pillock! It was terrifying and exhilarating and calming all at once. He matched her, challenged her, provoked her, but she had never felt so alive as when she crossed swords with him. She wasn’t sure she could place herself at such risk by actually telling him; handing him such a powerful weapon would take all her courage. Hermione slipped her small hand into his large, warm one and he smiled slightly and squeezed her fingers as he continued to peruse the crowd, unaware of the emotional cataclysm going on next to him.

A few minutes later, when Lucius decided that there weren’t going to be any disruptions for a while at least, he led Hermione down onto the dance floor and turned her into his arms as another slow song began. In his normal way, Lucius held out his hand for the traditional waltzing stance, but Hermione ignored it and attached herself like a sweet, soft limpet to his chest, her own hands reaching up to slide around his neck under the fine strands of his hair.

With a contented sigh, she sank against him and rested her cheek just above his collarbone with her face burrowing into his neck, her breasts cushioned on his sternum. Her high heels brought her head up under his chin and, after his initial surprise, he rested his cheek on her sleeked back curls as they swayed to the romantic tune. Lucius caught her favored, fresh herbal scent and suddenly his heart double-thumped and lost a beat, then sped up making him slightly dizzy.

Holy Hecate’s hole! So this was what Snape felt for Narcissa. Lucius blinked and missed a step, caressing his wife’s back in mute apology as he tried to assimilate the tumultuous, stunning, and quite wonderful new knowledge pounding around in his heart.

He was finally in love. Incredible! He had thought he was incapable, but he just hadn’t known her. It was an indescribable, rather fierce pain in the region of his heart that made him feel a little weepy, but also quite glorious. He remembered this sensation or something like it. It was what he’d felt when Draco was born, but this version was more concentrated with a strange urge to beat his chest and shout his feelings from the top of the Hogwarts flagpole.

At once, his devious Slytherin mind clamped down on the wild desire to make any overt display and his heart gave another thump. Allowing her to know would be the most frightening thing he’d ever done. He wasn’t sure he could do it. Maybe it was enough for him to know. Lucius frowned. The painful truth was someday, sometime, he would have to let her know he was in love with her and then he would be vulnerable to her every whim. Wouldn’t he? Was that how love worked? What if she never fell in love with him? And how could she with such an age difference?

The romantic song ended and Lucius realized he’d missed most of it ruminating on his uncertain fate now resting in the small hands clasped around his neck. When Hermione loosened her arms, Lucius convulsively clutched at her for a second, his instinct to keep her against him almost overwhelming. With a deep inhalation, Lucius dredged up a weak smile and allowed his sprite to move back a step.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been floating in her own happy space, hugging the man she loved, listening to his heartbeat, but she couldn’t help feeling him tense up a few times during the dance. As she stepped back, she said, “Are you all right, Lucius? You seem rather tightly wound.” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I have to make another pass at the edges of the outside hall.” She pulled his face down close to hers by a thick lock of his hair, whispering, “If you’re worried that you’re forcing me into what you want tonight, don’t. I’m willing.” She kissed his cheek and slipped into the crowd of dancers waiting for the next song to begin.

In a trance, Lucius moved back up the steps of the dais, his mind in a fog. Snape had already returned to the dais and was standing, arms folded forbiddingly across his chest, surveying the students for possible miscreants. Narcissa had coerced him into a severe, form-fitting, shorter robe of midnight blue; the only bright spot was his formal white shirt showing at the collar and cuffs. Incongruously, his severe suit had two ornate cuff-links of large sapphires framed in diamonds, but they were his only ornament.

In a confused fog, Lucius mindlessly homed in on his longtime source of camaraderie and comfort as he came to stand shoulder to shoulder with the dark-haired wizard, not even razzing him on the gaudy, jeweled cuff-links Lucius knew must be from Narcissa. The elegant blond’s breathing was somewhat erratic and a flush pinkened his normally pale cheeks. A slight smudge of coral lipstick adorned one side of his face.

Snape left off following his own wife around the perimeter of the dance floor with his onyx gaze to assess his best friend’s uncharacteristically flustered countenance. “You have a lip print on your cheek,” he divulged in his laconic tones. “I imagine it rates higher than that handprint you sported a few months ago.” He went back to scanning the floor.

“I’m in love with her.” Lucius was near to hyperventilating, his face a picture of shocked dismay and wonder.

“Ah.” Snape glanced at his friend again with more interest. “Congratulations, Lucius. Your epiphany. I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t look like you’re happy for me,” Lucius groused as he saw the somber face of the other wizard.

“My face merely reflects your own visage, Lucius. You look like you want to flay her rather than love her.”

Lucius’ face evened out, erasing the mask of mistrustful dismay that had decorated it. His reaction was partly from trying to control his fear, but it dawned on him that he was a little angry with her – for finding her way into his heart. Only Draco had ever done that. He wanted to be in love. He really did. But this feeling of loss of self into another’s keeping was harrowing.

Under the strains of another song, Lucius asked, “Did you feel like you had lost yourself to Narcissa when you fell in love? Is this normal?”

Severus gazed at his friend with unaccustomed sympathy, “You’ve always held yourself apart, Lucius, like the island Donne’s poem warns against. I think because of it, you’re more than usually terrified, but yes, loving someone means you are no longer separate and complete unto yourself. The fear is normal, but it fades as you learn to let your happiness reside outside your own resources.” He smiled, “Finally, it has tolled for thee.”

Lucius came out of his funk, confronted with the usual tussle of Snape’s irritating Mugglisms. “I assume this Dun fellow is using some sort of geographic metaphor for this sense that I’ve given up a large chunk of me to her.

“Oh, don’t be modest, Lucius. You know you’ve given away all of you to her. Narcissa’s going to be ecstatic.”

Lucius grabbed his comrade’s arm in a vice grip. “One word, Severus. One word to her and I’ll hex your balls into dragon dung.”

Snape had the gall to laugh out loud, “With your wonky wand? Anyway, I won’t have to say a word. She’ll know. You can probably fool Hermione, but you won’t be able to keep the knowledge away from Cissy unless you wear a sack over your head. She knows you too well. Even now you’re starting to look sappy.”

Lucius dropped Snape’s arm and feverishly ran a hand down his face for the telltale signs, then his eyes narrowed, “Truth?”

“Sorry, old boy. Truth. Never mind.” Snape decided to be merciful to the suffering Slytherin, so he tried to paint a future Lucius could understand. “This is going to gain you a tremendous amount of approval. Think of it as another way to manipulate both Narcissa and Hermione. You’re in love, therefore, they’ll need to reciprocate in multiple ways to show their affection and support for your condition. No need to put up a banner proclaiming your feelings, though. Let it sink into their consciousnesses naturally. They like that. It will make them think they’ve discovered the sensitive, secret, soft you hiding within your gruff exterior. It works rather well overall.”

“Is that what you did? Did you go soft inside?”

“You’ve known me for how many years? Have I changed in any intrinsic way?”

“Noooo,” Lucius’ twisty mind was turning over possible ways his new condition could be turned to his advantage. “You do sunbathe nude now, but I count that as an improvement over that pasty skin color you had before.” Finally, the elegant blond smiled. “I’ll think this over. Thank you.” He strode off, down the stairs of the dais and into the throng to dance with a waiting Luna, feeling lighter and more positive about the momentous adjustment in his emotions, which he knew he couldn’t control, but now felt more at ease with. If Snape could sail over this hurdle, so could he.

Snape looked after the departing blond and shook his head. “For someone so intelligent, you can be such an idiot, sometimes, Malfoy,” he murmured fondly. “You always have to have six ways to sneak up on a simple idea. Hermione is going to have her hands full for a long time.” A quiet smile lit his face as he went back to following his beautiful wife in the Great Hall. He really was happy for his friend. Love, as he could personally attest, was a precious commodity and Lucius had finally found a share for himself.

Hermione had a great deal to think about as she idly traversed the hallway outside the decorated Great Hall. Her patrol didn’t take long as few couples could withstand the itching hex she’d placed in all the good snogging spots. She had to suppress a giggle as she watched Kingsley and his wife wander past, scratching their ribs, but her mind quickly returned to her painful, stunning epiphany.

Sadly, she saw a future for herself of year after year after year, desperately loving her tall, virile husband while he merely took advantage of her body, teaching her more and more sexually depraved acts, which she would accept in lieu of anything deeper from him. The picture looked bleak, with nothing but the promise of inevitable heartbreak. Was this what love did?

Hermione stopped in her tracks, making three dignitaries from Durmstrang nearly plow into her from behind. Profuse apologies were offered all around as the Slavic gentlemen enjoyed their view of the slim form and surprisingly lush cleavage of their host’s young wife. Hermione extricated herself from some rather effusive compliments, then darted off to an empty classroom, pacing up and down the central aisle between the desks for long moments as she hashed out her turbulent thoughts.

She had never been a quitter, so why was she expecting to live a defeated life with a man who didn’t love her? There was no reason why he couldn’t come to love her. Granted he’d been married to one of the most beautiful witches in their world, but he had said explicitly that he had never loved Narcissa. That left the way open for her, right? A martial light entered her soft, brown eyes, a gleam both Harry and Ron had learned years ago to run from when it was focused on them.

This Hermione was the warrior of the Golden Trio and now she was on a new crusade for her own future. First plan: deliver herself as a seductive victim to Lucius’ bed tonight for that anal sex she hadn’t been anticipating with pleasure before. She still couldn’t quite muster up any real enthusiasm, but she was going to bring Lucius to his knees providing him with his fondest wish. The man lived for his sexual smorgasbord and Hermione decided then and there she would be his every delicacy, his every meal. She was going to find a way into his heart through that impressive cock of his. Failure was not an option. Feeling much better about her future, Hermione sailed back into the ballroom.

Up on the dais Snape was vastly entertained by Narcissa, who spotted Lucius walking back to the raised platform with that coral lip print still on his cheek. She yanked on her ex’s sleeve and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, wetting it with her own spit. Lucius reared back in dismay as he saw what she was about to do, but her grip was firm and he got his cheek washed before he could do anything to evade her without making a worse scene.

Snape saw him snarl something to her and her shoving his handkerchief in his face showing him the lipstick. The embarrassed chagrin on Lucius’ face as he darted a look up at the dais and realized that Severus had seen it all, was one of the highlights of the annoying evening for the dour, black-eyed wizard.

Lucius shot a withering glare at his friend’s grin and swept Narcissa into his arms for the waltz, ostensibly to rattle Snape’s cage, but mostly so he could ask her if all the lipstick was gone. He supposed it really didn’t do to go around with lipstick on him, but in a secret spot in his heart he was rather thrilled. His wife had marked him! Lucius swept his gaze over the crowds, looking for Hermione, Narcissa’s voice becoming a buzz in the background as she chatted inconsequentially about the cramped overnight accommodations in Hogsmeade for the out-of-town dignitaries.

Buoyantly hopeful of her new plan, Hermione returned to the ballroom just in time to see her husband swirling by in the waltz with his ex-wife. They looked so well together, both gorgeous blonds, both aristocratic with that natural, sophisticated flair – Hermione paused for just a few seconds watching the lovely couple. Then she saw Lucius scanning the room as he danced. When his eyes lit on her by the door, his head lifted and he smiled just for her. Hermione’s breath caught. Oh yes, he was going to have the time of his life when the ball was over, if she had to stand up for a week afterward with a sore bum. He was probably smiling at her just to sweeten her up for the treat he wanted. She could live with that. Hermione smiled back.

Draco slid through the double doors a moment later to stand beside his petite stepmother; in silent accord they both moved a short distance away from the ever-opening doors to stand at the edge of the dance floor among the tree decorations. He wore a dark suit, a crisp white shirt, and black narrow tie, all of which made him look quite handsome, but he had no intention of circulating in the ballroom. “The grounds are swept for now. I’ll do it again in half an hour," he reported, watching wistfully as his parents went swirling by.

“Are you still sad that they aren’t married any more, Draco?” Hermione asked, seeing his tristesse.

“No,” he shook his head, “you were right. I know that. They are both happier now than they were together,” Draco replied calmly, his eyes trained on the couple. “Mother actually hums as she does her flower arrangements. I never heard her do that at home. It still boggles my mind that she should favor Snape, but he does make her very happy.”

A small smile lifted his lips as he slyly glanced down at his new stepmother, “And Father looks chronically fatigued from your undoubtedly brisk games of ‘hide the bludger’, but he seems happy, too.” A sharp, little elbow smacked his ribs, but Draco only laughed, his fine gray eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m going back outside before any of those piranhas in evening gowns find me here in the ballroom. It’s easier to hide in the dark.” He stepped away, saluted the little witch with a jaunty wave of a black, leather-clad hand, and whisked out the door again, his flaxen hair flopping loosely over his brow as he fled.

Draco’s ill-fated attempt to tame his hair had further unseen ramifications; he had given his jar of Potentate Pomade to one of the house elves to quietly get rid of, but the thrifty elf had instead used it to grease the axles on the thestrals’ wagons. No one could understand why the Hogwarts carriage house was suddenly overrun with vermin, but Crookshanks was in predator heaven and the boys’ dorms no longer had their pest problem.

~~~~~

As the ball finally came to a close, happily the few arguments and short outbursts of juvenile temper all happened outside the ballroom and the many attendees returned to Hogsmeade hostelries or to the dorms well pleased with the evening of dancing and socializing. Some of the older students had managed to find private crannies not hexed by Hermione’s itching spell and were enjoying afterglows in spite of the vigilance of the staff - but it was always so.


tbc...

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Did you enjoy the dance or did you find one of those non-hexed crannies? With whom? So, are any of you itching, perchance?


This week, the pics on the LJ are for the Yule Ball. Don't miss them.

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/65902.html


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