Fancy Dress Party

Chapter 65: Fancy Dress Party

Fall 2006

The bell on the door tinkled behind them as it pulled itself closed. Annie scanned the crowded little shop that was empty of other customers besides herself and her husband. Racks upon racks of colorful costumes and shelves of hats and wigs on Styrofoam heads stood together cheek by jowl. The walls were lined with displays of accessories and makeup.

Jane deserves to be drawn and quartered for this, Annie grumbled to herself. "Maybe we'll get lucky and one of the kids will come down with something. She can't argue with that excuse," she said aloud but under her breath.

George merely laughed at her. "I think it sounds like fun."

"You would," she said accusatorially.

Their good friends, Jane and Alec Macgruder, were hosting a fancy dress party during the upcoming weekend at their home in London. Annie confessed that out of all the people in the world, Jane was likely the only one who could manipulate her into putting on a costume and parading herself in public – although her dearest school friend had called in several favors to do so.

At least it's for charity, Annie consoled herself, hoping the denizens of London's newest animal shelter duly appreciated the sacrifice of her dignity, such as it was.

While Annie was petulantly wallowing in self-pity, George perused the racks. A few moments later, he pulled out a Darth Vader costume and turned on the accompanying lightsaber. His eyes lit up with delight when he discovered the weapon made the famous humming-swishing noise when it moved.

"Oh, cool!" he exclaimed unreservedly.

Unable to sustain her fit of malcontent in the presence of his childlike playfulness, Annie laughed at him as he lunged and feinted. "How old are you again?"

The answer, of course, was that they were both breathing hard on thirty. She couldn't decide if his immaturity in the face of the passage of so much time was inspiring or daunting.

George ignored her jibe and flipped through the rack of costumes eagerly, as if searching for something in particular. A few moments later he gave up, sighing in disappointment as he pulled out a hanger. A flowing white robe dangled from it, along with a ridiculous double-bun wig. "They don't have the wrought iron bikini, more's the pity," he lamented.

Annie flicked the wig disdainfully with her finger. "I am not wearing that stupid hair. And why didn't Leia ever get a lightsaber of her own, I'd like to know? She'd've been just as good a Jedi as that git Luke ever was."

George shrugged as he put both costumes back on the rack.

Meanwhile, Annie pulled out a witch and wizard combo, replete with pointy hats and black, tatty robes frayed at the hems. "This is perfect, don't you think?" she proposed without any real conviction.

"Ha, ha, ha," George deadpanned. "You're hilarious."

"Where's your sense of humor gone?" she teased him as she put the costumes back on the rack.

"The same place your imagination's apparently hiding," he countered.

There was a short pause while they both searched the racks for more inspiration.

"Here we are!" George announced as he pulled out a suit of faux armor and a frilly, pink, organza-supernova of a gown. "Knight and damsel."

"Not bloody likely," she replied. "Absolutely wretched, that is," she added, screwing her mouth in distaste as he held the lurid pink thing up to her while holding the silver-lame armor against his body.

"You're right: it's too obvious. Everyone would know it's me right away," he said as he tossed the costumes back onto the rack, then slyly laid a hand on the small of her back, resting on her tattoo.

Annie stuck out her tongue at him even as she felt a little thrill at his touch.

Then George set the cone-shaped, tulle-draped hat on her head, laughing. "But you.... Nobody would recognize you in a million years! Damsel, indeed. Wench, perhaps...."

"Get bent," Annie snapped, bumping him aside with her elbow. She pulled out another suit of armor. "I'll be Joan of Arc and kick your arse."

"Didn't she get burned at the stake for having ideas above her station?" George parried, rubbing the spot on his ribs where her elbow had connected.

"Not before she kicked a whole load of uppity English male arse," Annie retorted.

They put the armor back and returned to browsing.

Annie pulled out a mad scientist lab coat and hunchbacked assistant duo next. "May I please wear the hump?" she pleaded.

George appeared to consider the idea thoughtfully for a moment. "Eh," he said noncommittally, shrugging. "Let's consider it a maybe."

Annie sighed as she put the costumes back. "Do we have to go as a matching pair?" she moaned.

"You tell me," George replied, riffling through a new rack.

"Do we have to go at all?" Annie asked with her fingers crossed. Perhaps if they failed to find suitable costumes, they might avoid the whole business and just post their generous donation from home?

He answered her with a question of his own. "You'd rather stay at the Hill with the thundering herd than have a night out with me?" he cried, incredulous and sounding a little offended.

"Probably," Annie replied, but let him know she was teasing through her smile. It wasn't the idea of going out, or spending time with him she was finding unpleasant.

George snorted in mock-indignation and turned back to the job of finding a costume.

But Annie pressed on with her argument. "I mean, it's not like we'll just be us two. It's a bloody party. We'll have to chat and be polite to people." And lie about our lives, she whinged to herself.

It was an aggravating chore, forever carefully editing one's conversation, making sure not to give anything away. Sure, she shared a lot of her life in common with other Muggles: she was a working mother of five, wife of an independent businessman, enjoying the country life in Devon. One might think she could chat for hours about her life.

The problem was that no one else's husband commuted daily to work in London or Scotland through the fireplace in the living room. No one else employed a live-in house-elf to help out with the custodial duties. No one else's family kept up with the Quidditch standings or flew on brooms for entertainment. And each of these things were fundamental aspects of their lives.

"It's all so tiresome," she sighed.

"When did you get so old and boring?" he ribbed her.

Annie stuck out tongue again, recognizing her cause was lost. George had always loved a party. Damn.

"Aha!" George exclaimed as he pulled out Superman and Wonder Woman uniforms. "I'm begging you! Please say yes!"

Annie swallowed her amusement at his unbridled enthusiasm and put on a scowl. "You wish," she sneered. But her withering look was betrayed by her subsequent giggle at his waggling eyebrows.

"I thought I'd made that fact reasonably clear," he pouted. Crushed, George replaced the costumes.

Annie laughed out loud at his theatrical disappointment before turning back to the rack in front of her. "As much as I'd love to see you in those tights – absolutely not. I've had five children and I've got the thighs to prove it. Ugh."

She was slightly startled when she felt George sidle up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. "I very much like your thighs," he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, then brazenly groped her arse.

Annie quickly scanned the room, noting that while they were the sole customers present, they were also being recorded by security cameras. "Duly noted and much appreciated, love. However, let's keep the subject of my thighs between the two of us," she suggested as she spun around in his arms to face him.

George hummed contentedly as he grabbed her arse with both hands now and pressed her firmly against him. "Is that an invitation?" he asked, taking an earlobe in his mouth.

Annie smiled. "Rain check?" she offered as his kissing grew more insistent and her resolve to resist weakened. "At least until we can find somewhere slightly less illegal than a public place of commerce?"

George smirked as he released her a few moments later. "All right. Let's just pick something quickly so we can get out of here, then."

"Fine by me," Annie agreed, eager to get the trial over with and move on to something more pleasant, as well.

A few moments later....

"Oh my God!" George moaned.

"What?" Annie demanded, alarmed.

George slowly drew out a French maid costume, his eyes wide and jaw slack as he took it in. "Oh, pretty please!" he whined. "I'll do anything!"

Annie smirked, irritated that he was apparently not taking the job of finding a suitable costume even the slightest bit seriously, and what did that say about her allure? "Will you be wearing one to match?" she snapped.

George's shoulders drooped. "Maybe not quite anything," he mumbled.

Annie patted his cheek, flattered in a small way that he'd even suggested the idea. He did always make her feel desirable, she conceded. "Sorry, love. Now, let's get serious about this, hmm?"

But George was not yet completely deterred. "Try it on for me, at least?" he whispered in her ear.

Annie shook her head as she relieved him of the burden of the ridiculously tiny dress, then resolutely put it back where it came from. George whimpered dejectedly as he watched her bury it back on the rack.

"Oh, that brokenhearted puppy look is absolutely devastating, George," she giggled, "but the answer's still no. I wouldn't be caught dead in that in public!"

Another few minutes passed. Then, simultaneously, they both pulled out pirate costumes, laughing at each other when they realized the coincidence.

"Looks like we can finally agree on something," he said.

"Adventure on the high seas?" she concurred.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a spot of pillaging," he corrected her, snaking an arm around her waist once more. Leaning in closer, he said softly, "Booty should be involved at some point of the process," as he groped her arse once more.

Annie smiled sarcastically. "There looks to be only one fitting room. You go first," she directed him, pushing him gently toward the door.

He emerged a couple of minutes later, dressed in the costume and shouting, "Avast, ye hag! Prepare to be boarded!" He then chased her around a rack a few times, bellowing, "That's quite a treasure chest you've got there, arrrr!"

Annie laughed so hard at his antics, she got hiccups. "Yes! Perfect!" she cried, fending off a few more gropes and shoving him back into the dressing room.

"Your turn, matey," he growled when he reemerged, dressed normally once more, eyebrow cocked.

Not entirely sure she trusted the mischievous look on his face, Annie shuffled into the little room.

As soon as Annie was ensconced in the dressing room, George darted over to the counter. Waving the clerk close enough for him to whisper, he said, "Hey, mate, do me a favor and put one of those black-and-white frilly numbers in the bag before the missus comes out."

The fellow chuckled conspiratorially. "Sure, mate. What size?"

George grimaced, only then realizing the gaping whole in his brilliantly diabolical plan. "Damn. If I guess wrong, I'm screwed, aren't I?"

The clerk shrugged. "Or not, more like."

George chewed on his lip for a moment until, right on cue, inspiration hit. He held up a "eureka" finger for the clerk's benefit, commanding him to wait silently for his next instruction.

"How goes it, Annie, love?" he called out. "Have you got the right size?"

"Yes, I think so," she replied.

George metaphorically kicked himself for his stupidity. Did I really think she'd announce it? I am a bloody wanker.

Annie emerged from the dressing room a few moments later. The fringed ends of the scarf wrapped about her waist dangled down to her knee, and the clingy trousers did a lovely job showcasing her muscular, shapely legs. For the life of him, he'd never understood her odd, obsessive hang-up with her thighs – they were positively delectable, in his opinion. She spun around, and he noted her arse looked pretty damn delicious to boot.

George chuckled. "You sexy swashbuckler, you."

Annie scowled at him, hands on her hips, and stomped her foot. "I'm fearsome, dammit! You're shaking in your shoes!" she snapped.

The clerk laughed from behind the counter.

"Quite right, my dear. Now, shuck it and let's finish up," George said and gestured for her to hurry, a new plan forming in his mind.

As soon as she was safely back inside the dressing room, George assured the clerk the plan was still on with a confident wink. He wandered over to the accessory wall, selected two eye patches, a hook, and a shoulder parrot. Annie brought her costume to the counter, joining him as he emptied his arms of the accessories.

"All ready, then?" he asked.

Annie looked over the stuff he'd just unloaded. "George, you idiot! You forgot swords!"

"Ah, damn. You're right. Nick over there and get us some, would you?"

Annie rolled her eyes as she turned to walk away toward the accessories. "It's a piss poor pirate who forgets his sword," she grumbled.

The clerk winked, instantly and wordlessly cabbaging onto George's plan with just a discreet point of his finger toward the tag on the collar.

George eyed her as she made her way to the other side of the store, covering for clerk who was checking the size on the pirate costume. "Too right, love," he called out after her. "Make sure mine's bigger than yours, if you don't mind."

"And if I do mind?" she retorted, calling out from across the store.

"We'll arm wrestle for it," George suggested as the clerk darted into the stock room for the other costume.

A minute later, Annie came back with the swords. "Where did he go?" she asked, puzzled.

George pretended to ignore her question and examined the swords instead. "Ah, an excellent blade, this.... Nice heft," he said as he slashed it through the air.

Then he spun around to face Annie again. "Hang on," he cried, theatrically slapping his forehead. "We forgot mustaches and beards! And big gold hoop earrings!"

"For crying out loud, George!" Annie barked, clearly exasperated with him.

"Maybe they're over by the wigs. Have a look, hmm?" he suggested.

"You're absolutely useless, you know that?" she muttered.

"Yes. Yes, I am. Yes, I do," he agreed meekly.

Annie sidled up to him, a sly smile on her face. "What's got you so distracted? Are you still thinking about my thighs?"

George coughed in order to disguise a swallowed chuckle, then smiled. Not far from the truth at all, love. "You know me so well," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Now hurry up so we can get the bloody hell out of here."

Annie winked at him, then trotted off to the back of the store once more.

Meanwhile, the clerk came out of the stockroom carrying a large bag already packed and gave George a covertly reassuring wink, indicating the mission had been accomplished. He began to total everything up, including the artificial facial hair Annie returned with a few moments later.

"All set now, I think. Have fun!" the fellow chuckled after them as George bustled Annie out of the store, making a fuss about carrying the bag himself.

"We will!" George called out over his shoulder.

"Cheers!" Annie said with a smile, offering the helpful chap a wave.

*

It was the rarest of occurrences, like a blue moon on her birthday: Annie had the house to herself. No kids. No husband. Not even an elf disrupted the profound peace of Mole Hill that afternoon.

It was Saturday, the day of the fancy dress party. She and George had duly distributed their children for the evening: the twins were having a sleepover with Teddy at Andromeda's, Merrie was at Roxy's, and the littlest girls would be with Granny for the night.

And Winky was... well, to put a polite spin on it, she was off on a date for the weekend. Or as George had wickedly muttered, "She's on the prowl! Got herself an itch to scratch, our little Wink."

Oh God, that is so weird, Annie thought with a shudder, then promptly scolded herself for being so judgmental. After all, this was an entirely different species she was dealing with. Not to mention an intensely private, personal matter.

Still... eish!

Annie had recently learned that female house-elves had a strong sense of their biological clocks, so to speak, and Winky was currently hearing hers ticking loud and clear. Strangely, since caring for and protecting a magical human family was so important to them, marriage and a two-parent family unit of their own were not notions elves ascribed to for themselves. Instead, a "randy" female (George's term, not hers) would leave her home for a short time, search out a receptive male, and let nature take its course. Elves were a love-'em-and-leave-'em sort of race, apparently; all elvish children were reared by their mothers alone, and very few ever had contact with their biological fathers.

It was not unusual for elvish sons and daughters to live with their mothers for the entirety of their unnaturally long lives, inheriting their position within a wizarding house upon their mother's death. But since Winky was a free elf, her position within the Weasley household a paid one, it was unclear whether her son or daughter would follow this tradition.

The more insensitive or greedy of wizardkind often made it plain they preferred to take female elves exclusively into their employ, thereby ensuring a future increase in the labor force without significant increase in expenditure. For while elves were never compensated beyond the merest room and board, the magical contract that initially bound them to a new family was a difficult bit of magic to perform successfully. Every elf master knew it was far simpler to inherit an elf than to recruit one. Only the most accomplished of magical solicitors could be entrusted not to leave potentially damaging loopholes in the spell, and they were paid handsomely for the job.

Still and all, Annie was terribly curious about the process to come. How long would Winky's pregnancy last? What would it be like to have an infant elf in the house? Were they cute? Did they nurse? If not, then what did they eat? Neither George nor any of his family were of any help at all in the matter, having no prior experience with elves.

Annie had been mindlessly folding a load of laundry as she'd pondered the Winky situation. Now finished, she gathered up the basket and trudged upstairs, lamenting the fact that laundry never took a vacation. After distributing the children's clean clothes, laying them on their beds for them to put away when they got home tomorrow, she carried the remainder into her room. She put her pajamas away in her dresser drawer, then took the last few t-shirts into the closet to hang up.

She nearly dropped the basket on the floor when she saw it: there, prominently displayed on a hanger dangling from a hook beside the two pirate costumes for tonight, was the French maid outfit from the costume shop.

"You bloody prat!" she laughed aloud. Did he go back to the store afterward? Or did he somehow sneak it out right under my nose? she wondered. Either way, she reckoned she'd been played for a fool.

She touched the cool, smooth black satin with her fingertips, fluffed the lacy white ruffles peeking out from beneath the hem. He really wants to see me in this?, she mused, flattered and a little surprised by a few flutters of arousal at the thought. The house is empty....

Annie's mind started working, a plan beginning to form. George was off for the afternoon on a collecting trip in Cornwall, hunting for pixie nests. (For what reason, she'd been disinclined to ask.) With her cell phone, she took a picture of the costume on its hanger and sent it to him with a message.

WTF?

A few minutes later, she received a text response.

You found it! Tonight?

Of course she'd found it. He'd very obviously wanted her to do so. But there was no way in hell she would be wearing it tonight at Jane's blasted party. No, the pirate costumes would definitely be put to use in public.

She decided to have a bit of fun teasing him in the meantime, though.

Annie put on the maid costume, replete with fishnet stockings, black suspender belt, matching black bra underneath. She was rather impressed he'd gotten all the sizes right – she hadn't dreamed he paid that kind of attention to those sorts of things. She tied on the ridiculous little apron, donned the comical little cap atop her short curls. Finally, she slid her feet into her black high heels she saved for the rare occasion she needed to wear something other than trainers.

Now for a laugh! Annie lay with her back on the floor and took a picture of her legs propped up and crossed at the ankles against the wall. She sent it off to George with a message.

Sooner, rather.

She went back to the closet to finish putting away the t-shirts. She'd only managed to get one on its hanger before he texted her back.

Oh my. 2?

Two p.m. was more than an hour away! She'd be damned if she was going to sit around for a whole hour, wearing this bloody costume, twiddling her thumbs. Cheeky bugger! This git clearly needs a lesson in manners when it comes to sex games.

She marched over to the large mirror in the closet. Bending over a bit, she took a photo of her backside in the mirror, giggling less at the silly big bow and piles of ruffles than at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. She reckoned the sight of the suspenders peeking out from under the skirt ought to make him smile, though. Once again, she sent it to George with a message.

Try again.

A minute passed before her phone buzzed to alert her there was a new message.

You're a cruel woman. Give me fifteen minutes more?

Surely he's collected enough bloody pixie-whatever by now! She lay on the bed on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air. Her bosom was barely covered by the lacy ruffle at the plunging neckline that, in actuality, made a mockery of the word neckline, falling nowhere near her neck at any point. It took almost a minute before she managed to find the right angle, but she finally got a photo she liked.

Now, I think.

Thirty seconds passed.

On my way, love. Don't move from that spot!

Ten seconds later, Annie heard a familiar pop just behind her at the foot of the bed. Giggling, she feigned surprise. She rolled over to face him, theatrically putting her hand to her mouth. "Ooh, sir! You're home early! And you've caught me having a lie-in on the job!"

"It's impossible to find decent help these days!" George chuckled lustily, conjuring a feather duster and tossing it at her. "You've been shamefully neglectful of this bit, I've noticed."

He pulled off his dirt-smudged and spider-webby t-shirt and kicked off his old trainers, leaving only a pair of baggy cargo pants that hung low about his hips. He took a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, smiling with delight at her willingness to play along.

Annie bit her finger in a manner she hoped he'd find provocative rather than ridiculous. "Will you be docking my pay, then?" she pouted.

George spelled his hands clean, then slipped a finger under the elastic garter, stroking the back of her thigh where it was exposed. "That depends. Do you promise to correct your errant ways?"

Annie drew the feather duster slowly down his bare chest. "You taught me all my errant ways."

George's hand was exploring under the ruffled skirt, caressing the hill of her hip, playing with the garter belt. "You've been an excellent pupil; I'll grant you that much."

Annie sat up then, thrusting her chest out a bit, and almost laughed when his eyes immediately fell from her face to her nearly exposed breasts. "And judging by the uniform you've provided me, decent help isn't precisely what you're looking for, either."

"Aren't you a clever one?" he murmured, his hand cupping her arse.

When he bent to kiss her breast, she noticed his hair smelled like sunshine and forest. His broad, sturdy shoulders were still faintly sunkissed from their annual summer family reunion at the shore; the freckles that appeared every summer, then faded through the fall, were yet gracing the skin of his back and chest.

"Far too clever for such menial work, that's for certain," she retorted sassily, winding her hand behind his neck and her fingers in his hair in order to weakly hold him in place.

"I agree," he mumbled against the flesh of her bosom.

Without lifting his head away, he climbed fully onto the bed. Then they shifted a bit, until he was sitting back on his knees between her legs.

She leaned back, propped herself up on her wrists, and raised her knees to face him better. "I deserve a promotion."

"Done."

George ran his hands along the stockings from ankle to thigh and up under the skirt. Annie felt herself flush slightly. He discovered now that she wasn't wearing underpants and began teasing her with his fingers. She ran her hand down his chest to his crotch, felt his erection through his trousers, and caressed it.

"And a raise," she demanded.

"You can tell you've already got it," he countered.

He cooperatively helped her remove his pants. She settled back into her former position, lying back on the bed but propped up on her elbows. He hovered frustratingly above her without touching. Annie arched her back a bit, straining against the costume, striving for contact.

"And a more comfortable uniform," she insisted petulantly. "All this lace is itchy."

He guided her hand back to his erection. While she stroked it, he reached around her back and unzipped the little dress. She shimmied a little, and it fell down her arms, exposing her sheer black bra.

"I'll go you one better – how about no uniform at all?" he offered, kissing her nipples through the nearly transparent fabric of the bra.

Annie lifted her hips and George eased the dress down past her waist. Then she kicked her legs up into the air as he lifted it the rest of the way off, tossing it to the floor. He gazed at her for several moments, taking in the view: black bra, black garter, black stockings. Then he eased her heels off her feet, setting each ankle on one of his shoulders as he did.

"Christ, woman! This should be illegal," he uttered in a semi-groan, his hands running down her legs toward her hips once more.

"Is that the next little fantasy of yours? Playing with handcuffs?" she teased him, her body responding to his insistent caresses. "You can wear the bloody cop costume, if so."

George chuckled. "But I'm always the perpetrator," he insisted. He bent to kiss her belly, her thighs now on his shoulders, his hands at her hips. "Always the naughty boy."

"Mmm," Annie half-hummed in amusement, half-moaned with pleasure. "That's quite enough chitchat, don't you think?"

George kissed his way up her torso. She rose to meet him, and he reached behind her as their lips finally met, unfastening her bra.

"Back to work, then?" he whispered.

Annie helped him slide the straps off her arms. Then she reached for the forgotten feather duster. She ran it down along his bare chest and stomach, teasingly caressing his erection with it. She sighed with delight when he moaned.

The games were over, now. For both of them. He took her hips in his grasp, and she shifted slightly, positioning herself to welcome him.

"I saw the price tags for all these things, you know. This little charade is rather dear," she whispered.

George slid inside her with painstaking slowness. They began to move against each other, relishing the sensations made almost torturous by his deliberately languid pace.

"Worth... every... bloody... Knut," he groaned.

Author's Note: I really wish Brits celebrated Halloween like we here in the U.S. do. But since they don't, I had to orchestrate another excuse to get George and Annie to dress up in costumes. Just a silly bit of racy fluff that I haven't posted anywhere else before this: especially reserved for my readers here at TPP! Hope you enjoy!