The meeting with Miss Allaway was a wash. She was barely paying attention. Fortunately, she had read the case notes and made sure that Blaise Zabini had first chair. She just needed to be there to make sure the firm would win the case for one of their oldest clients– in age, as well as time in a client-litigation relationship.
On the other side of the table, Anthony Goldstein, the opposing counsel, was representing the mediwitch Miss Allaway apparently had grievances with.
Blaise was paying close attention and was asking all the right questions to see if there was a legitimate case. Hermione tried to concentrate – to keep her thoughts off last Saturday – but the whole thing seemed like a joke. She was suing the woman because her breasts were real, no magic involved!
She tried to show some interest and pay attention, honestly, she really did try, but her first attempt was in vain, all she could do was stare at the bookshelves behind Anthony and see if there was a better way to organize the legal tomes. It appeared they were already arranged by subject and then alphabetically by author's last name, which was precisely how she would have done it.
The snicker from Anthony drew Hermione's attention back to the room at large. Miss Allaway was going over her suit. "She's very hard to shop for."
"Your sister?" he interjected, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, my sister! She has everything. The only thing I knew she wanted was nicer breasts. She didn't like hers. She thought they were small and unshapely."
Hermione rolled her eyes behind the folder containing the case file. She couldn't believe the firm was paying her to listen to this tripe. It wasn't helping as a distraction in the slightest. She started to doodle in the margins of her notes while glaring at Anthony, who continued to question her client. She didn't know what he was saying, because let's face it, she had more pleasurable things on the mind, but it was her job to intimidate the defendant, and she wasn't Hermione Granger if she couldn't intimidate a measly Ravenclaw.
"I went to Healer Naumov, he had been recommended. We discussed the importance of them feeling natural. This was a priority. My sister is a very natural woman. Scars give her the heebie-jeebies." She shuddered, "So, he says, let me show you an example of my work. He calls in his Mediwitch. Her," Miss Allaway pointed to the lady across the table from them. "She unveils, she's full, soft, without a hint of a blemish. I almost signed up and my breasts are beyond reproach."
"And you're claiming you paid the Healer based…"
"Yes, based on her false implants. And what does my sister get? These hard little petrified lumps! She jumps rope, they don't even move. And the scars?" She scoffed. "My uncle slits his wrists with more finesse. And then I find out she doesn't have implants at all. Hers are real. The total fraud."
Hermione couldn't help it. She had to tune this out; otherwise she'd be on the floor laughing; especially when Anthony asked why she was suing Miss Eszes instead of the Healer. He's an empty pocket in another jurisdiction and she's collectible. She decided she'd let Blaise handle this and focused on her doodles instead, but only after sending Anthony another glare first.
Unfortunately the attempt at distracting herself was just not working. It was either pay attention to the disposition going on– which she couldn't do, less she give herself away by laughing like a hyena– or relive Saturday. Neither was working very well for her, her fingers were starting to fidget and she began squirming in her seat. She looked to Blaise and wondered if it was him in the Zorro costume. He seemed like the kind of guy to like carrying a sword.
She was almost drooling at the thought of being fucked against the conference table, audience be damned, when Blaise started questioning the mediwitch.
"Miss Eszes, you knew Healer Naumov was using you as an example of his work."
She really couldn't be bothered with this; she knew there was a case of misrepresentation of sales of goods. So instead she tried reciting the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, but that only lead to thoughts of her – yes, she had thusly decided to claim him as her own, and let's face it, Zorro is a very lame name – masked man. She tried naming the periodic table, thinking that since it's a lot longer than the uses of Dragon's blood, and it's something she should have learned in Muggle Secondary school– which she did not attend– it would actually require a lot of thought. Did it work? No. She made it to terbium when she realised there were only twenty elements left. Twenty!
Luckily, before she could interrupt this disposition and start one of her own on Blaise, they called an end to the meeting.
And just like a few hours earlier, she rushed off to the loo. She was in front of the mirror again, with the sink running, and all she could think about was the Halloween party.
Hermione walked up the steps of The Gwydion, a posh hotel that was very out of place along the coast of Cornwall. Granted, no muggle could tell that it existed, but there it was situated between a warehouse and a decrepit office building, right along the harbor, for anyone– well anyone with magical blood– to see.
When she reached the entrance, the Valet opened the door for her– all the while fucking her with his eyes. The looks he gave her sent a chill down her spine; she loved the power she had over men. Sure, when she was younger, she didn't give a hide about her looks– school was her number one priority, after all, just ask Ronald Weasley. But now, with no education to hold her back; at the top of her field, the number one barrister at the firm, a client list that contained the crème de la crème of wizarding society, she could take the time to look her best.
And boy was her best drool-worthy. Today, her riotous curls were straight and sleek. She may not have grown much, possibly only an inch in the five years since she left Hogwarts, but her curves definitely came in. Hermione was a knock-out and she knew it. And by the way the Concierge was eyeing her while she walked through the lobby, she didn't need a reminder. Men reminded her of the power she had every day.
Before entering the ballroom, Hermione rushed to the ladies' for a final check of her costume. She wanted it to be perfect. The Falmouth Falcons were hosting the lavish event, and since she was the one who brought them to the firm, it was important that she make a good impression.
When she went into Madam Malkin's and told them she was going to a masquerade, she was surprised with how few costumes they had available. The few that they did have were too gaudy, too slutty, or just too unsightly to wear to this type of event. She quickly left and tried a small shop that was hidden in Knockturn Alley.
Her jaw dropped when she entered the store and she was just about to run away when a woman with the sweetest voice welcomed her to the Smitten Kitten. She tried to will the blush away from her cheeks as she turned to the direction the tinkling sound came from and smiled at the small pixie woman.
"How can I help you, dearie?"
"Oh, um, I'm not sure I'm in the right place." Hermione desperately tried not to stutter and just barely managed to keep her voice even. "I was just at Madam Malkin's and they didn't have what I needed so they sent me here, you see."
The pixie woman, Hermione decided to refer as Tink, nodded. "So a costume, I take it? Well, we are a tad limited on our selection, but what is it that you need?"
She decided a look around the store may be worth it now. She did spaz out fairly quickly when she entered and Tink deserved more than a cursory glance. While the store did hold some, questionable paraphernalia, it also housed some clothing racks in the corner; and she did spy a couple masquerade looking masks next to those, other, kinds of masks.
"Well, I'm supposed to be attending a Masquerade Ball this Saturday. A major client of our firm is throwing it, and everyone I work with and plenty of our other clients will be there," Hermione said, while walking towards the other end of the store. It looked promising.
Tink was sizing Hermione up and down. "Let me guess, you're the professional woman who wants to let loose, especially when no one will know who you are?"
Hermione could only nod, not fully listening. She found a beautiful mini-dress hidden behind some skankier pieces. "You definitely have the legs for that. And I have just the mask."
Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione knew Tink was right. She could tell why every man she walked by thus far couldn't take their eyes off of her. She was a bombshell. For a second, she had second thoughts about the costume and wearing it in front of all her peers, but she dismissed it just as fast as the thought appeared. She straightened her hair in anticipation for this evening, and knew that if her trademark curls were visible in any capacity, she would be spotted in a heartbeat.
The dress she wore was a black and gray combination of silk and velvet. While it completely covered her top half – long sleeves, up to the neck, a hood – the bittom half barely went past mid-thigh. The back had a nice bow detail that gave it some femininity. There was a good six inches of skin showing before her black thigh-high stockings started. She completed the outfit with five inch gray Mary Jane stilettos and a black and gray mask that covered most of her face. She was a beautiful vigilante.
She did a final spin-around while looking at the mirror, fluffed out her hair a bit, reapplied her lip gloss, and proceeded to join the merry-makers in the ballroom.