Her Shoes

“She’s gotta way with words . . .” That would be my beta, t_stevenson. To my grammar goddess Lady Lynn, a bouquet of lovely lilies to you (is that better? wink wink). Another shout out to Wildcatcdc for her ideas and support. She’s amazing.



I went back and forth between a pair of gorgeous Giuseppe Zanotti two-toned cutout sandals and these Valentino’s. I ended up with going with Valentino because of the color and lines – it was too damn hot. And coupled with the outfit, I thought she would look striking! However, I’m sharing the other because I do love them too.



Giuseppe Zanotti (http://images.saksfifthavenue.com/images/products/04/404/0917/0440409174337/0440409174337R_300x400.jpg).



Valentino: http://s2.thisnext.com/media/230x230/Valentino-Mena-Day-Wear-Pumps_CB545468.jpg



Outfit is Catherine Malandrino’s Flower Cutout Top & Pencil Skirt (http://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/products/mn/BG-1ZRN_mn.jpg)



Again, thank you for the great reviews. Put your seatbelts on, Hermione is taking Draco out for a ride!



DREAMWEAVER: your surprise!



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It was Saturday evening, and Hermione, Pansy and Ginny were sitting in the curly-haired brunette’s flat, dressed in a mix of soft cotton shorts, fitted tops and low-slung pajama bottoms. The three women were indulging in their second bottle of wine. Open cartons of Indian take-away were lying on the low coffee table in front of them.



“We need a plan,” Pansy mulled as she popped a Samosa into her mouth.



“Fucking wanker. I’m going to kill him,” Hermione snarled as she took another sip of her wine. She was staring heatedly at a fixed point across the room.



“Language, Hermione,” Cecilia clucked good-naturedly.



“Apologies, Cecilia,” Hermione muttered without looking up. She’d been told to mind her language every fifteen minutes or so by now; it had become rote.



Hermione had been at a low, simmering boil since receiving Draco bloody prat Malfoy’s owl three days prior. After her little chat with the Minister, she had been working diligently on the Muggle technology project, preparing for her meeting at the DM Investments’ offices at the end of the following week. She had been conspiring with her two female friends and Draco’s grand-mère for more than an hour on how to make that conceited, smarmy Slytherin pay for his misdeeds.



Hermione had told Cecilia, Pansy and Ginny about Draco’s owl and all he had attempted to do thus far in trying to keep Hermione at bay. The ladies were now equally livid. Currently, they all were indulging in listing out all of Draco’s cons.



“Draco has certainly mucked things up, hasn’t he?” Cecilia huffed.



Ginny poured herself more wine and sat back on the floor, gazing up at ceiling. “What can we use against him?”



What to use against him? What to use against him? What to . . .



A wicked little smirk slowly quirked Hermione’s lips. “I know exactly what to use against him.”



Ginny, Pansy and Cecilia immediately straightened, giving Hermione their utmost attention. Hermione’s tone had turned deadly. She knew exactly which buttons to push, and how to drive him to the edge. She was going to make him pay, and dearly, at that.



“He’s his own worst enemy. I do, in fact, have several weapons,” Hermione continued. “His jealousy, his possessiveness and, well, me. I’m going to need a bit of help though.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully.



Oh, he’d underestimated a scorned woman’s scheming abilities and desire for revenge. Arse! She wasn’t the brightest witch of her age just because of her book smarts. Everyone forgets what she did to Umbridge, how she punched said berk in the face, how she lured Remus in werewolf form away from Harry, how she caught and blackmailed Rita Skeeter and then there’s Marietta Edgecombe. To this day, there weren’t enough cosmetics to cover the up the ‘SNEAK’ pockmarked across her forehead.



Oh yes, she was going to exact her revenge and drive Draco Malfoy insane.



Completely, utterly, maddeningly, certifiably insane . . . with jealousy.



Smiling, Ginny poked her shoulder. “What about us? We’ll help.”



“And Narcissa will help, dear. I’m sure she can keep us informed of Draco’s habits at the Manor,” Cecilia added.



Pansy’s eyes widened and she began to grin like a loon. “I don’t believe that’s exactly what Hermione means. Of course, she’ll need our help and Narcissa’s, but . . .”



Hermione stood suddenly, walked over to her fireplace and grabbed some Floo powder. “Three is a good number, don’t you think? Let’s make some Floo-calls, shall we?”



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Hermione picked up her copy of The Daily Prophet and smirked gleefully as she thumbed through the gossip pages to Ginny’s ‘blind’ item.



Which very single, beautiful, brainy brunette is being courted by not one, not two, but three handsome and prominent wizards? The irony? She’s a former Gryffindor and her suitors are all Slytherins. Her former beau, who must no doubt be crying into his firewhisky by now, was also a Slytherin. Talk about house unity!



She was going to have to ask Ginny to tone it down; ‘beautiful, brainy brunette’? Merlin, that was just a little over the top. She sipped her tea, imagining Draco’s face when he saw this little tidbit. She knew he read the newspaper cover to cover, and he had mentioned that he enjoyed reading Ginny’s blind item column. He liked to make a game of trying to guess who she was referring to.



Of course, what Ginny had written for this morning’s paper was plainly obvious, just as Hermione had requested.



Smiling, she folded her paper neatly and concentrated on the day’s work. She had a very busy week of lunches, drinks and dinner dates scheduled this week. She also had a very important meeting with DM Investments on Friday afternoon. She asked Davis to secure a list of everyone who would be there. The attendees were Draco and five of his direct staff, all male. She’d be the only woman. Typical Malfoy, the chauvinist pig, only had men at the very top.



He was just making her more and more angry.



Oh dear, she thought, glancing at her calendar, she was going to be late for their little gathering. More’s the pity, she sighed, she’ll just get there when she gets there. She hummed happily, summoned Davis into her office to discuss the memo from the Muggle Prime Minister that had just crossed her desk, and with the day’s work to focus on, she put Draco Malfoy firmly from her mind.



The rest of the week was exceptionally busy. She arrived very early to the office daily, dashed out for her lunch date, rushed back to get more work done, Floo’d to meet her other date for drinks then Apparated to her dinner date. She made sure to look stunning, wearing daring dresses and fabulous shoes everyday. One never knew where and when Colin Creevey, top photographer for The Daily Prophet, might be lurking.



The week was a whirlwind. Between a rotating schedule of lunches, drinks and evening meals with her tempting trio of Slytherins, Hermione was sincerely enjoying herself. Ginny had posted additional column drops in the newspaper, leaving very few to wonder on the identity of her mystery men.



What bombshell brunette was seen in a posh Diagon Alley restaurant dining tête-à-tête with a dashing and delicious green-eyed Slytherin? Hmm, are they really just friends?



Luncheon rendezvous? Our comely, curly-haired Gryffindor was seen in the company of yet another sensuous Slytherin. Sssh . . . Nott a word!



Tall, dark and handsome has been in hot pursuit of a certain gorgeous Gryffindor. Was that a ring gleaming on her finger? It’s too soon to tell, but this courtship is setting everything aBLAZE!



By the time Friday afternoon dawned, she felt as if she were walking on a cloud; everything was going exactly according to plan. She had spent the bulk of her week in the company of three gorgeous, charming and witty men. All who made her feel desirable and sexy. She had a spring in her step as she arrived at DM Investments’ office building in Muggle London.



She stepped out of the lift with her briefcase in hand, strolled up to the receptionist and announced herself. The young girl behind the desk looked up as Hermione said her name and stuttered that the selfish sap and his staff were waiting for her in the conference room down the right hall, fifth door to her left.



Hermione thanked her and slowly sashayed down the hallway. A few men stopped to admire the soft swivel of her hips as the very confident, uber-stylish and erotic-as-hell goddess glided by them. She gave a little smirk and made her way towards the fifth door on her left.



She was already fifteen minutes late. She slowed down her stride just a tad, no sense in rushing. After all, they couldn’t begin the meeting without her. She exhaled a sigh of pure unadulterated bliss.



‘Ah, here’s the door!’ She smiled, squared her shoulders, turned the handle and waltzed in. As she entered, five men jumped up from their chairs and one platinum-haired prat remained seated at the head of the table, his eyes taking her in from head to toe.



He glared at her and began to open his mouth to say something. However, Hermione circumvented him and said breezily, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. My apologies on being late, I’m afraid I was detained at a lunch meeting. Please forgive me.” She pouted prettily and batted her lashes at the group of men dressed in Muggle suits.



They hadn’t been able to take their eyes from her since she had entered the room. She held her head high, shoulders squared and radiated an air of confidence. Of course, she knew they were also taking in every inch of her; she had dressed quite carefully for this afternoon’s meeting. First impressions are the most important.



She wore a beautifully feminine ensemble. Her blouse was black with a cutout floral detail along the front, back and down the sleeves. The tiny cutouts offered admirers a tantalizing hint of the creamy, delectable bare flesh of her shoulders and chest. It had stunning bracelet sleeves which ended at her wrists. The ruched waist ended exactly where her skirt began. The brilliant blanc pencil skirt also had a delicate floral motif. A simple, slim belt emphasized her diminutive waist, while calling attention to the lush curves of her hips and bottom.



Out for blood, her shoes matched her mood. The 4-inch heels appeared to be coated in a high glossy lacquer of crimson red so bright they captured and reflected light as she walked. The small side bow only added to the shoe’s elegance and chic style. They were, to put it mildly, killer red stilettos.



Hermione had slicked her hair back into a mid-high ponytail, leaving her curls to fall loosely behind her. She wore heavy mascara, no eyeliner, simple pale grey eyeshadow, faint pink blush and blood red lipstick. The faint scent of orange blossoms danced delicately in her wake.



She glided to the large conference table and looked around. “Where shall I sit?”



At the question, the men slightly stumbled over themselves as they all rushed to pull out chairs for Hermione to choose from. She laughed daintily. “Thank you so much, gentlemen.” She walked, swaying her hips gently, to the head of the table next to the fuming ferret’s right hand side and took the proffered seat Devon Williams, whom she danced with at the party that now seemed so long ago, held out for her.



“Devon, so lovely to see you again.” She gave him a genuine smile before sitting down and slowly crossed her legs. “Shall we begin, gentlemen? Please let me introduce myself. I’m Hermione Granger.”



A snort to her left caught her attention. She turned with her eyebrows raised to glance at the blond sod. “Malfoy?”



“We all know who you are, Granger.” He looked at her with an air of disdain; he reclined in his chair, elbows on the hand rests and finger interlaced.



“Well, Malfoy, I wouldn’t want to take anything for granted.” Turning to the other five men, she smiled again. “I’m flattered that you all know who I am, but I’m afraid I don’t know who all of you are, with the exception of Devon, of course.” The man in question grinned as she placed her hand on his arm. A sandy-blond haired man across from her cleared his throat.



“Roger Patterson, VP of Marketing, lovely to make your acquaintance, Ms. Granger.”



“Thank you. I hope I’m not being rude, Mr. Patterson . . .”



“Uh, Roger. Please call me Roger.”



Was that a low growl to her left? Hermione grinned and purred out, “Roger, then. If I may ask, Roger, are you a wizard?”



“Oh yes, Ms. Granger . . .”



“Hermione.” She smiled at him.



He gulped. “Pardon?”



“Please, call me Hermione.” She swiveled her chair so her back was now to the tow-headed twerp, and she looked around the table. “I insist, gentlemen. We’ll be working very intimately together and I anticipate we will all become great friends.”



Oh, yes that was definitely a snarl! Looking to Roger’s left; she nodded at the honey-brown haired man grinning at her. She realized that she had met him at the Ministry in Kingsley’s office when she and the pouting pouf made their original presentation.



“Allan Tumblestone, Senior Director of Research & Development. I’m a wizard as well, Ms. . . uh, Hermione.”



“Oh, Allan, of course. We met at Ministry. My sincerest apologies. I promise that I shan’t ever forget you again. You and I will definitely be working very, very closely. I can’t wait for your opinion on the Muggle scientists I’ve identified in my report. Oh, and Allan?”



“Yes, Hermione?” he responded, a little smile playing around his lips.



She leaned in. “You do forgive me, don’t you? For not recognizing you right away?”



Sighing into a wide grin, he answered, “Oh yes, of course. It could happen to anyone.”



“Hermione.” A smooth voice from the bespectacled executive sitting to Allan’s left caught her attention. “My name is Jackson Weathers. My role is Director of International Business Development. I’m a Muggle. But I do hope you won’t hold that against me.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.



“Definitely not. I believe in . . . equal opportunity. I see you’re American. I love all things American.”



A loud thump on the table interrupted whatever Jackson was about to reply and a terse voice issued out, “Get on with it!”



She pivoted more so the whining wanker had a clearer view of the back of her chair. Hermione looked at the next man who answered her gaze with a low chuckle. “Justin Devereaux, Head of External Communications and Public Relations. Muggleborn, like yourself and Devon.”



“We have so much in common already, Justin.” Hermione winked before giving Devon her full attention. “And Devon, no, don’t tell me. You’re Vice President of New Business Development.”



“Yes, Hermione. I’m flattered you remembered.”



Placing her hand once again on his arm, she purred in a low voice, “We’ve met twice and our dance was very memorable.”



Growling. He was definitely growling. She adjusted her chair once more, sat straighter and plucked absentmindedly at non-existent lint from her blouse; pointedly ignoring the idiotic imbecile to her left.



“Well, now that we’re all introduced and are on our way to becoming friends, let’s begin, shall we? If I may?” She leaned over to her briefcase, pulled out several folders and handed them out to all in the room. She purposely left the one for the sulking snake slightly further away from him, forcing him to have to stretch and lean forward in order to reach it. “On behalf of the Ministry and British Government, I want to thank DM Investments for your cooperation, partnership and, of course, monetary support on this very exciting venture. In the reports before you, you’ll see I’ve taken the liberty of putting forth our recommendation on the products we feel are best to bring to market first. Additionally, I’ve done extensive research on various Muggle scientists and have compiled names for consideration. Allan, thank you for sending over your recommendations in advance, as you can see we agree on two of the candidates. I think we should set up a meeting as soon as possible since you and I are both in agreement. The others can wait until you’ve done your own thorough investigation of their credentials.”



She flashed him a bright smile. He gave her a lop-sided grin. She was positive she heard a pencil crack to her left.



Hermione was on fire. She presented an intelligent, well-thought out, organized and impressive report on the next steps of the project. The following two hours were spent reviewing her ideas and the DM Investments plan. They debated a few points but were able to sketch out a roughly outlined and agreed upon timeline. All the while, Hermione maintained complete composure and control. She laughed and joked with the men around the table, while balancing a perfectly professional demeanor and feminine air.



The grumpy git said next to nothing. He’d occasionally pepper the conversation with one word replies or terse, short comments.



When she sighed and rose from her chair, it caused all the men to jump to their feet with the exception of the pouting prat. Hermione wet her lips and placed a delicate hand to her chest. “Gentlemen, we’ve been working for two hours non-stop. May I request a short recess?”



A chorus of ‘oh, of course’, ‘are you tired’, ‘may I get you something’, ‘do you need anything’ and ‘I’ll send for tea’ rose up at once, earning a throaty laugh from the tiny witch. “I’m fine. A break to make a quick call and some tea would be lovely. Then perhaps we can return and wrap up. Allan, perhaps we can also coordinate our calendars to see when it might be best to meet with the two scientists?”



The men excused themselves and each exited the room. Hermione dug into her briefcase, pulled out a brand new iPhone and made her way to the expansive windows behind the asinine arse.



His austere and arctic tone interrupted her scrolling through her contact list. “Since when do you have an iPhone?”



Not bothering to look at him, she continued her scrolling and said, “It was a gift.”



“From one of your ‘handsome and prominent wizards’ no doubt,” he sneered.



Honestly, did the man only speak sneers? She really must warn him about the potential for wrinkles. “Ah, here it is.” Pressing a button, she held the mobile up to her ear and turned around, giving the prick a good view of her backside, which she wiggled as she paced.



Her face lit up as she purred out, “Hello . . . still here . . . mmhmm . . . yes, we’re still on . . . oh, that sounds lovely . . .” She gave a throaty laugh, her ponytail flying about as she continued, “oh, yes . . . well, I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him, won’t you? . . . no, he’s already claimed Saturday night . . . you’ll have to wait your turn, like a good boy . . .” Her voice lowered and she touched her fingers to her throat, “you’re wicked . . . no, that night is booked . . . booked . . . taken . . . nuh-uh . . . my, you’re impatient . . . no, you’ll have to wait . . . don’t be angry . . . I’ll make it up to you . . . mmm . . . well, I have to dash . . . yes, tonight . . . bye.”



“Who the fuck was that?”



Did his throat hurt from growling so much, she wondered. Perhaps she’ll recommend some nice lozenges; she made a mental note to have Davis send him some on behalf of the Ministry. She turned back towards the table and slid back into her seat to put away her phone. Arranging her papers, she began to make notes on her report.



“Granger? I’m waiting.”



Without sparing him a look, she continued to go over her meeting notes. “Best to get settled, then. It’ll be a long wait.” She opened her calendar.



She didn’t flinch when his fist came heavily and violently down on the table. Well, that was quite unnecessary, she mused. He could have cracked the table. Her hands were now shuffling through the report. She wouldn’t allow him to ruffle her cool and carefully constructed walls of ice.



Scribble. Tap, tap. Scribble. Shuffle. Scribble.



“Damn it, Hermione. Look at me.”



At that precise moment, the door opened, letting in a young boy pushing a cart piled high with tea, scones and tea sandwiches. The DM team filed in as well and resituated themselves around the table. Immensely grateful for the timely interruption, Hermione thanked whoever was in charge of her karma. Finally, things seemed to be going her way.



“The tea service looks lovely. Thank you.” She sat back and gave a kind smile to the boy who was shyly placing everything in the center of the table.



They worked diligently and efficiently for the next hour. By the end of the meeting, next steps, crucial deadlines, roles and responsibilities had been identified and ironed out. Hermione was elated. It had been an exceedingly productive meeting. She was sincerely impressed with the team and could honestly admit that she was looking forward to working with them.



A knock at the door interrupted them as the meeting came to a close. The door opened tentatively, revealing the young woman from the front reception area. “Uh, pardon the interruption. But, there’s a visitor.”



Clearly irritated, the ponce ground out a harsh, “Tell them we’re in a meeting.”



The receptionist grimaced. “He’s rather insistent, sir.”



“Well, who is it then? Out with it,” the dumb dunce snarled.



Hermione sat back and began gathering her belongings. Pens, they were just easier to use as opposed to quills sometimes. Report with notes, calendar, business cards. Where was her briefcase? Ah, yes, there by her chair.



“Well, Mr. Malfoy. It’s Mr. Blaise Zabini.”



Hermione leaned over to whisper in Devon’s ear that she would owl him tomorrow with the Minister’s availability. He nodded.



“Tell Blaise to wait in my office.”



Swallowing nervously, the receptionist looked away from the pompous piece of dragon dung. “Well, he’s not here to see you, sir.”



Stillness.



Hmm, he’s breathing rather loudly, Hermione thought, then realized . . . ‘Oh, no,’ she corrected herself, ‘that’s hissing.’ Yes, that definitely sounds like hissing.



She admired her nails; perhaps she’d have the girls over a manicure night. Cecilia would enjoy that.



The young woman cleared her throat



Wait for it, Hermione, old girl. Wait for it.



The girl suddenly gushed out a statement in one huge breath while shifting her eyes towards Hermione. “He’s here for Ms. Granger.”



Hermione deliberately glanced up in mock surprise then allowed a small smirk to play at the corners of her lips. She rose slowly from her chair, bent down and picked up her briefcase. She nodded at the men around the table while continuing to ignore the seething Slytherin to her left.



Her voice tinkled sweetly as she bid them farewell. “Thank you, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing you all again, quite soon I hope. I’ll be in touch.”



They rose as she walked from the room. All eyes on her bum, she was quite sure. Goodness, her hips had never sashayed, wiggled and jiggled as much as they had today.



Hermione thanked the sweet receptionist at the door and exited the conference room. A smug smirk was still firmly in place.



As she made her way down the hallway towards the reception area where the magnificent, dark-skinned wizard was waiting for her, she thought she heard the distinct sound of . . . something very heavy . . . hitting a wall followed by what could have been a ‘get out, all of you, just get the fuck out.’



However, she couldn’t really be sure.



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Hermione is my personal hero. Did you hear her roar? Who’s in charge now? The dragon or the lioness?