See Chapter One for disclaimer

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Chapter Two: Five of Wands

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

"Gracious!" exclaimed Narcissa, distastefully taking the waterlogged invitation from Hermione. "What on earth happened to you?"

Hermione wrung out the hem of her costume, deliberately making a muddy puddle on the Malfoys' hand-knotted rug. "You sent an open-topped carriage for us, and it started raining. An Impervius Charm only goes so far, particularly when the carriage drops one off at the end of the lane instead of at the front door."

"An oversight, I assure you," cut in their host, his dismay even more convincingly feigned than his wife's. Both were clad in dressing robes that concealed their costumes, appearing for all the world as if they hadn't sent their own coach to make Hermione and Ron unfashionably early.

Narcissa sniffed. "The enchanted barouche has been reserved for family use for so long that I'd completely forgotten its dislike for those whose, ah, acquaintance it hasn't made, particularly those not of old family."

"I'm an old family," said Ron, whose chest-puffing would have been more effective had he not been wrapped in sodden wool. "And so's she. I married her, didn't I?"

"Ah ah ah!" admonished Lucius. "It would be wise to get out of the habit of referring to yourselves in your own persons. Tonight you shall be known as- ah- who is it you're supposed to be?"

"Abelard and Heloise," said Hermione through gritted teeth. "Two tragic lovers from the eleventh century."

"Was the tragedy that Heloise didn't know the Contraceptus charm?" asked Narcissa, all innocent curiosity.

"They were Muggles," put in Ron, helpfully. "He wrote about the church, I think, and she was his muse."

"She does rather resemble a piece of Gothic architecture, now that you mention it," commented Narcissa.

Hermione just managed to keep from hexing the smug look from her hostess's face, but it was a very near thing.

"But where are our manners!" exclaimed Lucius. "Taddy!" A house-elf appeared at his elbow. "See that our guests are dried and made comfortable while we finish dressing."

"That won't be necessary," said Hermione angrily, withdrawing her wand.

"Ah ah ah!" exclaimed Narcisssa. "No wands allowed! We can't have the threat of harm occurring in our household, especially around one so advanced in her delicate condition. You'd think you'd never been to a Wizard's ball before!" She gave a trilling laugh that reminded Hermione unaccountably of Bellatrix.

Hermione caught her husband's eye. He was nodding his head vigorously.

"May Taddy take your bag as well as your wand?

Seething, Hermione stuck her wand into her bag, discreetly activating several nasty hexes for anyone other than her or Ron who attempted to open it, and handed it to the house-elf.

"If Mister Abelard and Missus Heloise would come with Taddy?"

"Take as much time as you need," Lucius called after them. "As you can see, you are the first to arrive."

Hermione didn't trust herself to respond. They followed the house-elf around an enormous hardwood dance floor where a band called Mr. Pointy and the Vampire Bats was tuning up and into a private sitting room, where a tea service and plate of biscuits waited by a crackling fire.

Taddy snapped his fingers, and Hermione and Ron were suddenly dry. "If Mister Abelard or Missus Heloise requires anything else from Taddy, be ringing the bell."

"That will do, Taddy," said Hermione, much relieved to see several comfortable-looking chairs. "Please let us know when Harry Potter arrives."

"Taddy is sorry, Missus Heloise, but Master and Mistress say that Toddy may only use costume names until the unmasking."

"Fine," said Ron. "Bring us some cocoa while you're here."

Taddy snapped his fingers, and a silver pot of cocoa appeared next to the biscuit tray.

"Thank you, Taddy."

"Yah, fanks 'addy!" said Ron, whose mouth was already filled with chocolate biscuit.

The elf somehow managed to bow disapprovingly and disappeared with a soft pop.

"Have I mentioned that I hate the Malfoys?"

"It was your idea to come tonight, Hermione."

"Have I mentioned that I hate it when you're right?"

"Dunno. It's never happened before," said Ron, pouring himself a cup of cocoa.

"Well, you more than made up for it by not telling me that no wands were allowed."

"I thought you knew. You know just about everything about Wizarding culture nowadays. Haven't you read up on what these things are supposed to be like?"

"Oh gosh, Ron, I've been so selfishly pursuing legal reforms and introducing basic concepts of justice to Magical Law Enforcement. I really ought to have been reading up on arcane and largely useless social niceties on the off chance that I ever get invited to a pureblood's ball!"

"No need to get shirty with me, Hermione. I was just asking."

"So what else do you know about balls that I ought to know?"

Ron stuck his hand between his legs. "They're awfully hard after seeing you in that wet dress."

Hermione scowled at him. "Don't be disgusting, Ron!"

"Well, they are! What better way to get the Malfoys back for acting all superior than to dirty up their sitting room a bit?"

Hermione paused, taking in the sofa's tasteful grey-blue silk upholstery and imagining her gorgeously costumed husband squirming and moaning on top of it while underneath her. It was very nearly enough to override her sense of decorum.

"It's a bad idea, Ron. We can't cast any silencing or locking charms without our wands. Anybody could walk in."

"C'mon, Hermione. Are you going to make me walk around with this great stiffie all night?"

"You'd do that anyway. I know what the sight of women in costumes does to you."

Ron's ears were red again. "It'll be discreet if I do you standing behind the sofa. I can say I'm giving you a backrub if anyone comes in, since they won't be able to see above our waists."

"You're not exactly quiet during sex, Ron. They might think I was trying to murder you or something."

Ron nipped at the nape of her neck, which made her shudder. "Any fellow'd love to go that way."

At that moment, the band struck up a quiet jazzy number that sounded slightly familiar to Hermione. At her lack of protest, Ron lifted the back of her skirt with one hand and wrapped his arm beneath her protruding midsection, pulling her tight against him. His erection twitched beneath the layers of wool and cotton. Even now, the concrete evidence of his desire for her flooded her with warmth.

"All right," she gasped as his other hand slid up the bodice to gently tweak her sensitive nipple.

"Merlin," groaned Ron, swearing as he tried to release his erection from the costume. He finally managed to throw the bottom of his tunic over his arm, exposing himself for a moment before bearing down into his wife.

They both gasped at his entry, and he began thrusting erratically. "Hermione!" Ron groaned, running his hands over her belly and buttocks. "Merlin, I've been wanting this all day."

"Mmm, Ron," she replied, trying to figure out the best way to stimulate herself while no part of his anatomy was anywhere near her clitoris. She settled for squeezing her thighs together and rubbing against the back of the sofa. His thrusts were quick and short, each punctuated by a soft grunt. He slid his hand up and squeezed her breast, which caused her to gasp in pain.

However, Ron didn't interpret it as such. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, hands squeezing both breasts so hard she cried out.

"Aughh! Let go!" Thankfully, he did, and dug his fingers into the back of the sofa.

"I'm gonna-!"

Hermione screwed up her mouth in concentration, but no matter how hard she squeezed him inside while rubbing up against the sofa, she wasn't going to make it. Her breasts were still throbbing from his ill usage.

With an inarticulate cry, Ron thrust into her hard and deep, spilling himself inside her. Hermione was bent over the sofa, feeling the last twitches of her husband's orgasm subside, when he collapsed dramatically over her, resting on her back.

He kissed her neck. "That was brilliant."

"Ow! For God's sake, get up! Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you that breasts aren't squeeze toys, especially now!"

Instead of answering or apologizing, he withdrew from her suddenly, causing fluid to trickle messily down her legs. This was the final straw. "Ron! You might have warned me! I don't have my wand, remember? I can't just Evanesco this away!"

"Shhh!" said Ron, quickly lowering his bliaud. "There's someone at the door."

To her dismay, he was right. A pair of shoes was blocking the light at the base of the closed door, and they weren't moving. Someone was listening, if not looking through the keyhole.

"Give me your handkerchief," she hissed.

"You expect me to wipe my nose on it after you've got all that mess on it?"

"Sod off, Ron," said Hermione, at the end of her patience. She yanked the handkerchief from his sleeve and set to cleaning herself- an awkward task when bending at the waist was so difficult.

"Why are you mad as a milk-fed Knarl? You told me orgasms helped with your back."

"MY orgasms, you great pillock!"

"Didn't you have one?"

"No, I bloody well didn't! Generally, the odds are greater that a woman will achieve orgasm when her comfort is remotely considered by the partner," spat Hermione.

"All I bloody think about is you when we're having sex," exclaimed Ron angrily.

"No, all you bloody think about is what gets you off! I've had it, Ron! As of tonight, your selfish cock is denied earthly paradise until you perform some serious penance, preferably in the form of highly skilled cunnilingus, on which I have a number of highly informative books with very simple illustrations. That's oral sex. On me," she clarified, at his look of confusion.

Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you have books about that?"

"Because I'm secretly a lesbian. Honestly, Ron, did you ejaculate your brains as well? I read up on female genitals because I'm female!"

"Hermione, just calm down. You're getting upset over nothing."

"True, I am upset over a decided lack of something."

"Sorry?"

She made an exasperated hiss. "Never mind. Here's your handkerchief. All the wet is probably yours, anyway."

"Keep it," said Ron with a scowl. "I'm going to go find Harry."

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare walk out that door!"

"Why not? Afraid of not having anyone to yell at? I don't want to be your whipping boy tonight."

"I didn't want to be your butt boy tonight either. I guess neither of us is getting what we want tonight. Except you, and I'm already regretting that."

"I hate it when you get mad like this. Your voice gets all shrill, and you get all red and sweaty."

"If the only time you see her shrieking, red, and sweaty is when she's yelling at you, then you're definitely doing something wrong."

Hermione and Ron spun around to find the door wide open and Severus Snape smirking at them from beneath a black silk domino.

Hermione gaped. From the over-large nose to the impeccably tailored black teaching robes, it was unmistakably him. She could even make out the scarring on his neck where Nagini had attacked him the last time she had seen him.

"How - ?" Hermione began.

Ron let out a loud guffaw. "Brilliant!" he said in an admiring tone. "You even sound just like him." He approached Snape and looked him squarely in the eye. "It's bloody fantastic! Did you use Polyjuice? Must have been some pretty old hair if you did."

Snape ignored Ron and turned to Hermione. "Lucius sent me to fetch you. They've started receiving guests, and they'd like you be announced."

"No thanks," said Hermione, with a quelling look at her husband. "As you can see, I'm in no condition to be ascending or descending stairs with impunity. I think we'll just mingle tonight."

"As you wish, Miss Granger. Pardon, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's Ms. Granger, actually," said Hermione.

Ron slung his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Well, now that you've tricked my wife into properly cocking up our secret identities, what say you give us a hint about yours?"

"All in good time. If you're determined not to have an entrance, I shall go make your apologies to our host and hostess. Good evening, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger."

"She's Heloise tonight," said Ron, "and I'm Abelard."

Snape's eyes flicked to Ron's groin, then met Hermione's. She was surprised to see a spark of humor dancing in their depths. "That would explain a great deal," he said blandly, turning to leave.

Hermione giggled as Snape closed the door behind him. "Perhaps he's right."

Ron looked at his wife suspiciously. "What?"

"If I wanted great sex, I shouldn't have dressed you as a eunuch."

"WHAT?"

Hermione's frustration flared again. "Did you even read the history I gave you?"

"Abelard was a eunuch? How'd he manage to get Heloise pregnant?"

"Abelard was made a eunuch by Heloise's uncle because he got her pregnant," said Hermione. "Too bad you didn't make any objections at a time when I could have changed our costumes."

"We'll just tell people we're King Arthur and Guinevere" said Ron.

"The costumes are clearly French. We've already been introduced to our host and hostess as Abelard and Heloise," pointed out Hermione. "Besides, you haven't got a sword."

"How could you DO this to me, Hermione?" exclaimed Ron. "I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Nobody looking at me could call your virility into question," said Hermione waspishly. "And Peter Abelard was much more than a eunuch. He was one of the great thinkers of his age, a theological prodigy, and one of the most handsome, sought-after men in Paris."

Ron looked slightly mollified. "You still ought to have told me."

"It's not my fault you couldn't be arsed to read the three very short paragraphs in which I summed up Abelard's life and most enduring works."

Ron glanced at himself in the mirror. "I guess it's okay. It's not like anyone here is going to know who we are, anyway."

"Professor Snape did."

"It isn't really Snape. It's probably Neville dressed as the scariest thing he could think of."

"I know that," said Hermione. "Look, I'm starting to get tired. Why don't you go get us some punch and let me know if anyone we know has arrived yet."

"Good idea," said Ron, absently stroking his beard. "Er, are you still mad at me?"

Hermione absently picked up a teaspoon from the tray and tapped it against her palm. "Furious. You'd better leave before I start yelling again."

Ron didn't need to be told twice. When the door closed behind him, Hermione sank down onto the loveseat with a sigh. It was a marvelous piece of furniture, and its overstuffed arms felt as if it had been designed specifically to support a pregnant woman's back.

She pulled her thick plait forward over her shoulder and leaned back with a moan, back muscles relaxing for the first time in days. Exhaling, she leaned back even further until her head was tilted back over the arm. When she opened her eyes, she found herself gazing at the far side of the room upside-down.

It was a curious sensation to perceive a carpeted ceiling and a bookshelf that seemed to float above the plaster floor, when she knew it to be the reverse. She smiled, remembering a prank she'd played on her father as a child, handing him a book wrongways and claiming, straight faced, that it had been printed upside-down by mistake.

It was a pretty bookshelf- slightly pinkish beech wood with an inset foot that made it seem like it was floating above the baseboard. It was filled with volumes in jewel-toned leather bindings. Bibliophilia getting the better of her, Hermione eased herself out of her stretch, struggled to her feet and slid an emerald-colored volume from the shelf. She examined the titles on the books' spines and shook her head.

Apparently, some sixteenth century Malfoy had practiced law and amassed volumes upon volumes of domestic and international Wizarding statutes written in the driest, least imaginative Latin she had ever had the displeasure of reading. It was, without a doubt, the dullest book she'd ever read- and that was saying something. Stifling a yawn, she returned it to its shelf, pushing it forcefully between the other volumes so that it hit the back of the bookcase with a thump.

She was surprised to hear the thump echo faintly.

Intrigued, she partially removed a second volume and shoved it back into the shelf. Again, the muffled echo. She walked to the side of the bookcase and grinned to find that its kick plate was about a centimeter above the floor.

She'd found a secret door.

Hermione surveyed the bookshelf's immediate vicinity, seeking a means to open the door. The wall sconce, the likes of which opened every hidden door she'd seen in films, didn't budge. After attempting to pull forward every volume on the shelf in hopes of opening the door, Hermione gave up. It was probably required a password for entry, anyway.

Hermione poured herself a cup of cocoa and wandered over to the picture window, which was enchanted not to transmit the sound of the rain pounding against it. When lightning flashed, she could just make out twelve carriages- all with closed tops, she noted with irritation- queuing in the lane to be emptied at the front entrance. The thunder was a soft rumble through the charmed glass, barely audible over the music and conversation in the next room.

She lowered herself into the window seat, dreading the small talk she'd be forced to make once she entered the ballroom. The band was covering a Celestina Warbeck tune- the one about love being like an Entrail-Expelling Curse. Staying in the sitting room all evening was seeming like a better idea. Lightning split the night again, the blinding bolt illuminating the low ceiling of rainclouds and turning the world outside black and white. Hermione could make out the tiny figures of the house-elves assisting cloaked revelers out of their carriages. It still rankled that nobody gave the house-elves so much as a glance for their assistance.

The door opened and she turned to find a curious something standing, or rather, squatting in the doorway. It was apelike in appearance and seemed to be covered from head to foot with silky strands of bright orange fur, which obscured its face and body shape.

"Oh, hi, Hermione," it said in a dreamy female voice

"Luna? What on earth?"

"I'm a Demiguise," she explained, pulling the fur aside to reveal her blue eyes.

"I thought Demiguises were a bit more- er- neutral colored."

"A common myth," said Luna earnestly. "My field research has concluded that Demiguises don't actually turn invisible. Their fur actually has the ability to turn the same color as its environment, so they only seem invisible!"

"So why the orange?"

"Simple: someone always comes to fancy dress functions dressed as an orangutan. I figured if I could find that person and stand next to them, it would appear like I was really changing color like the Demiguise."

Hermione smiled at her friend, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes.

Luna sat down next to her on the window seat. "You're tired."

"And grouchy."

"It seems silly to come to a party when you're tired and grouchy, unless you're dressed up as Severus Snape, like that fellow who told me you were in here."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"Oh good, I'll help you change your costume, then. You'll make a much more accurate Snape if you make it clear that Snape was attacked by a flock of Winksquifflers."

Hermione stared at Luna. "What?"

"It's a theory of Daddy's that he's written about in this week's Quibbler. It goes like this: Severus Snape was Dumbledore's spy and a potions master, right?"

"Right," said Hermione, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"So he would have known that Nagini posed a threat to him. He would have built up an immunity to her venom or have an antidote on hand, maybe even a bezoar, thus allowing him to survive the snakebite. However, the bite weakened him, so when he stumbled out of the hidden tunnel, he was ravaged the Winksquifflers that nest in the Whomping Willow."

"But Professor Snape died from blood loss. I saw him die."

"You saw what he wanted you to see," said Luna matter-of-factly. "He even said on the first day of class that he could put a stopper in death."

"So, Professor Snape died from these winksthingees."

"Winksquifflers," corrected Luna, "and no, they attacked him, but he didn't die. Daddy thinks Professor Snape left the wizarding world to star in an international tour of 'Phantom of the Opera,' but I'm trying to get him to leave that part out. It can't possibly be true."

"It can't?"

"Of course not. Professor Snape was a baritone, not a tenor."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand. "I see."

Luna's fur had fallen into her face again. "Unless Daddy means that Professor Snape was playing the female lead. That could actually happen, especially given the side effects of Winksquiffler bites."

Hermione gave up the fight to control her mirth and embraced her friend. "I'm so glad you're here, Luna."

"Thank Neville, he's the one who invited me. He and Hannah are on the outs again, and I already had this Demiguise costume from my field research."

"You expected to blend in with someone in an orangutan costume while in the field?"

"No, silly!" said Luna with a laugh. "The costume is normally purple."

"I'll bite. Why is it normally purple?"

"Because it's a color that Demiguises never are. I thought the novelty would attract them."

Hermione just managed to keep from spraying now-cool cocoa on the Malfoy's carpet. "Would you like to go back in to the party? They'll probably send someone after us if we're too much longer."

"I suppose," said Luna, "though I'll have to come back in here later. When I told Narcissa Malfoy about my costume, she said she hoped I'd disappear often, and I'd hate to disappoint her. Here, let me help you up."

Hermione was about to wave off the proffered hands but thought better of it. However, Luna's vigorous tug threw her off balance, and she stumbled into a marble wet bar on the wall near the picture window, stubbing her slippered foot on something below the boot rail.

There was a soft grinding sound from the wall, and once she had recovered her balance, she was surprised to see that she'd somehow triggered the secret door.

The two women approached the aperture together, and Hermione was shocked to see a house-elf cowering in the tiny room behind the bookcase, and not just any house-elf.

"Winky? Is that you?"

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