"Four hours is not enough notice." Violet Stringfellow flung a pair of stockings across the room towards a magical laundry chute, yelling to her mother, who she knew couldn't hear her on this side of the house. Violet could have an orgy in her bedroom and never get caught. She would, of course, get caught and reprimanded eventually, because her grandfather seemed to be all-knowing and was the most frightening man she had the misfortune of knowing, but she would never cross him like that. Yarrow Stringfellow gave her everything she had, but sometimes it was hard to be a caged bird, only allowed to spread her wings under the allowance of her keeper.
Violet usually didn't have very much of a reason to leave the house. The thought of having her grandfather's mythical "henchmen" following her around undetected, like her mother had warned, was a large turn off, even if it might not be true. Spend too much time around a halfblood? Kiss a man on her doorstep after a date? Merlin forbid she do anything she liked. Nowadays, when she did have to face the general public, she made a project out of it. Four hours wasn't enough time. She could spend four hours alone in a bath.
She got to work immediately on her hair, applied a bit of makeup, and chose a dress that nobody in her home would approve of. A pink number that fell below her knees, even with her legs as long as they were, but was a little tight on her breasts. Sometimes they felt more like a burden than a blessing, but every so often, she was kindly reminded just how gifted she was.
If they wanted to give her four hours notice, she would give them a show. Her family had always been fairly neutral in politics and opinion, but she didn't care that they'd donated money to the Auror department. Why couldn't Reed go? Her mother herself didn't seem to be too busy. Sure, Violet might've spent the entire day in nothing but a robe, painting the same uninspired replications, portraits, and landscapes. Instead, she marched out of her room with a white cloak draped over her shoulder, not knowing what the weather would bring in London town. Scotland was almost always cold, even though the sun was out.
She walked down her pebble driveway, closing the distance to it's wrought iron gate and the Anti-Apparation charm. With her wand in her left hand, she zipped through air and space to land her two feet on the ground of a London street, feeling a touch nauseous from the trip. She glanced around quickly while she composed herself, knowing her usual spot was almost always clear of muggles, but fixing their memories wasn't that hard anyway. The red booth on Whitehall would bring her where she needed to go, and with the drop of a coin, her heels landed on the black marble floor of the British Ministry of Magic's Atrium. Removing her cloak, she slung it over her arm and marched onwards with determination and her eyes forward.
The lift wasn't better. Its zipping and jerking left Violet clutching her stomach when she finally set foot on Level 2, walking hesitantly towards the large Oak doors that the Auror's Office hid behind, the cubicles filled with the passionate, hard-headed, and fearless. Violet felt like a child among them. Luckily, her boobs weren't far beneath her chin, so she couldn't easily forget.
With her usual wide smile, Violet approached the desk of who she assumed was a secretary, realizing as soon as she reached the counter that she had no idea who she was supposed to ask for.
"Er..." She sputtered awkwardly, trying to organize her thoughts in a scramble of unpreparedness. "Hi there. My name is Violet Stringfellow." Her voice was soft, but her height had her towering over the witch and her desk. All of this was strange. The witch blinked at her, evidently waiting for her to continue. Violet floundered.
"My parents, Lydia and Alder Stringfellow, sent me..." She paused again, hoping she wouldn't have to say it out loud. It didn't seem that she would get relief. Damn it, she should've gotten a name... "They donated to the Auror Office and sent me to... Fill out the paperwork... Or whatever."
Why was she here? She hated people.
The witch took her time in getting out of her seat and wordlessly shuffled over to a private side office, returning after a few moments with a tall, husky man with facial hair so thick around his mouth, she wondered how he found the hole to feed himself. But finally there was someone that didn't make her feel like such a giant. That witch had a serious frumpiness issue.
Violet beamed at the man as if he was an old friend, holding her hand out for him to take as soon as he reached her. "Hello," She chirped cheerfully, an act she was used to preforming, the lines she knew well. "I'm Violet Stringfellow. I hope I'm not interrupting anything, my parents sent me..." She paused, feeling a twinge of spite creeping up to her lips. "... without much notice." With a smile, she began following the man to the back of the Auror's Office, allowing the stumpy witch to take her cloak with a terse smile.
After a short, tiresome conversation about all of the things that he wanted to show her, which Violet responded to with eager nods of encouragement, they were joined by another wizard who, to Violet's delight, was much easier on the eyes. Tall and broad, she scanned his face immediately for recognition. He must be older. Her charismatic grin was, however, met with an unfortunate indifference that floored the confidence she had built up with the original wizard. He was cold. Violet, however, thought herself quite proficient in warmups. He hadn't even introduced himself, in that low, silky rumble of a voice that too had surprised her, when George Fritz "left them to it". Instead, he was walking away, leading her with an unforgivingly quick pace. Hesitating and unsure, she jogged to catch up.
By the time she was able to match his stride, she looked up at him with eyes bright and friendly, expecting him to look back. He didn't.
"I didn't introduce myself," She said, thankful that she wasn't out of breath yet. "I'm Violet. I think I missed your name when George introduced you." She smiled, hopeful that he might show her some hint of warmth in his response. And perhaps slow down a bit.
