A/N: Many thanks to my beta i was BOTWP, and to my favorite Brit picker dramione84.

Hermione Granger hated flying. She had zero interest in brooms. So what exactly had possessed her to check "attending" on the invitation to the 344th Annual Flying Showcase and Regatta?

Daphne Greengrass, her coworker and friend, had described the Regatta as fashion week for the broom industry, whatever that meant. Daphne had also told her that it would be the perfect opportunity to rub elbows with the upper crust of society, and Hermione could not pass up a chance to network with those on the Wizengamot who would be hearing her new proposal for proper living conditions for house-elves, right? Ugh. Daphne knew her too well. Now Hermione would be forcing herself to spend hours in a field of purebloods during one of the hottest summers on record, all for the sake of hobnobbing. She just needed to make a quick stop first.

She knew she must look like quite the sight. It wasn't everyday that you came across someone in a fascinator in the middle of the supermarket. Hermione hadn't been able to bear the thought of stuffy wizarding robes in this heat, opting instead for her best British wedding attire; a lovely pink sundress, flat sandals, and a pink tulle monstrosity on her head. She hadn't planned on stopping, but Daphne had mentioned that she'd bring a picnic basket packed with food, and asked if Hermione could bring something to drink. She eyed the different colored bottles in front of her at the Tesco as she worked to determine which liqueur would best beat the sweltering heat, as well as appease the sophisticated tastes of her companions.

As a witch who had been raised by Muggles, Hermione still felt a bit out of her element in these situations. Firstly, she wasn't much of a drinker. She knew all about gillywater and firewhiskey, but neither of those sounded right for this event, nor were they available at the Muggle supermarket. Her parents weren't known for drinking more than a glass of sherry in appropriate social settings, and she'd never spent enough time in Muggle atmospheres that involved alcohol to truly know what was popular.

Hermione's eyes stopped on a familiar looking bottle. Pimm's No.1. Her mind vaguely recalled her mother mentioning Pimm's being a perfect mixer with lemonade and fruit for a nice summer cocktail. That should do it. She quickly snagged two bottles off of the shelf, then made her way over to an aisle with bottled lemonade, and added two more bottles to her basket. She could already picture the pureblood aristocrats turning their noses up at her choice of drinks. That's what they get for inviting the Muggleborn "princess" to their Regatta, she thought. And, honestly, weren't regattas normally for yachts and boats? Leave it to the purebloods to take a Muggle term and bastardize it for their own use.

After purchasing her drinks, Hermione had to walk a couple of blocks till she found a deserted alleyway in which she could apparate to Daphne's. Hermione barely had time to say hello and let out a sigh of relief at finding Daphne was similarly attired, before Daphne held out the rusted kettle that would serve as their Portkey. She felt the familiar feeling of a hook yanking her belly button as they were whisked away to an expansive field somewhere outside of Bristol.

"Looks like we made it just in time!" Daphne breathed out, then promptly grabbed Hermione's arm, pulling her towards the queue for entry.

Daphne tossed the rusty kettle into a collection bin at the gate. Both ladies had to show their invitations, then submit to searches with the probity probes before being waved in. Paths were marked off throughout the field by happy little dancing flags that called out directions such as "Lavatories, this way!" and "Drinks stand, over here!" Daphne immediately turned down the path with the flag that yelled out "Prime seating, follow me!" Hermione followed behind, her bottles clanking noisily in their bags.

"Is the seating first come first serve?" Hermione asked.

"For the most part, yes," Daphne said. "Luckily we're meeting up with some of my friends who should have a blanket all set up for us."

Hermione scowled. While she and Daphne had formed a close friendship over the last few months, they had run in very different, and hostile, circles back in school. "Which friends?" she asked now, though she was sure she wouldn't like the answer.

Daphne didn't meet her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual," she replied airily.

"Pansy?" Hermione asked.

Pansy Parkinson had been one of the most popular girls in their year at school. She'd also been one of the meanest, as those things often and inexplicably go hand in hand when you're young. Hermione knew well that Daphne and Pansy were still very good friends, but where Pansy was bitter and cruel, Daphne was sunshine and sweet. Daphne had yet to convince Hermione and Pansy to socialize with each other.

Daphne shook her head. "No, you lucked out. Pansy wasn't able to make the Regatta this year. Something about shoe sales in Milan."

"Malfoy?" Hermione inquired, naming another of her schoolyard bullies.

"He'll probably be here," Daphne said. "Not sure if he's sitting with us though. He hasn't come around much since he and Tori broke things off."

Hermione nodded in understanding. It had been well-known even in her circles that the engagement between Draco Malfoy and Daphne's younger sister Astoria Greengrass had ended badly. Tori, as Daphne referred to her, had been quick to denounce Malfoy's name and reputation to anyone who would listen. If Draco showed up today, and if Tori was around, there would most assuredly be a scene worthy of the trashiest soap opera. As much as Hermione loathed Draco Malfoy, she hoped for his sake that he'd be smart enough to stay far away from their area.

"Ah! Here we are!" Daphne said, heading down a short path with flags shouting "The primest of the prime! Come this way, and prime seating shall be thine!"

"This is going to be so great!" Daphne chattered on. "The races will be right over us!"

"Yay," Hermione said unenthusiastically.

"Oh, hush you," Daphne laughed. "Just think of the contacts you'll make today. House-elves all over wizarding Britain will be singing your praises by this time next month!"

"Yay!" Hermione said again with slightly more cheer. "I'm just ready to get off my feet. It was a bad idea to wear brand new sandals."

"Honestly," Daphne said as she brandished her wand. "It's like you forget you're a witch." With a quick flick of the wand, the ache in Hermione's feet eased.

"Cushioning charm?" she chuckled.

"A modified one, yes." Daphne tucked her wand back into a pocket in her dress, then stopped to scan the crowd.

"Daphne, darling! Over here!" Hermione heard Tori's voice call out. Off to her left, she saw the dark-haired witch waving them over.

"What is she wearing?" Daphne grumbled. "I told her that I would be wearing blue! She just had to wear it too?"

"At least it's a darker blue," Hermione reassured her. "Almost navy, really. And her hat is tan."

Having had no siblings of her own, Hermione had trouble understanding Daphne's relationship with Astoria. More often than not, the two sisters acted more like arch-enemies than women who'd grown up together. They always seemed to be in competition, as Daphne's comments on Astoria's outfit proved.

Truthfully, Hermione saw no similarities in their attire. Daphne was a vision in a pale blue sleeveless dress with a full, flared skirt and matching fascinator. Astoria's dress was off the shoulder, fitted, and a very deep navy. On her head, she had donned a tan hat that reminded Hermione of an American cowboy hat, with a fuller brim, and peacock feathers reaching high into the air. Daphne's blonde locks were pulled back in elegant, 40s-esque curls, while Tori had left her raven hair down in loose waves. If it weren't for their similar facial features, one may never know the women were related.

They approached the blanket where their party was seated. The blanket covering the ground was a mix of pale yellow swirls on a white background, and Hermione was already feeling dizzy looking at it. She easily recognized several of Daphne's friends.

Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode were seated on one corner of the spread sipping what looked like champagne out of flutes with twisted glass stems. Their shoes had already been removed and placed next to them, and they flattened their dresses over their crossed legs. Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theo Nott were clustered off to the side and sheltering themselves under a tree while they passed a pipe between them. Goyle was tugging at his collar, and Theo had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. It seemed decorum took a backseat in this heat.

"Oh, look!" Tori practically squealed. "Daphne's brought her little Muggleborn friend! How charmant!"

Tori had conjured a group of squashy little chairs, and sat daintily perched upon the center chair. Hermione recognized Flora and Fauna, the Carrow twins, seated on either side of Tori. Someone had conjured little feathered fans to circle the ladies in an attempt to keep the heat of the sun at bay.

"Tori, shut up," Daphne replied. "We all know you're not French, so quit acting like it. Come on, Hermione."

Daphne ushered her over to a spot near the tree that the men were huddled under. "Honestly, Tori has just been insufferable since she ended things with Draco," she said in a low whisper. "She's started using those annoying little French terms, and I swear she's trying to make her accent even more posh than it already was. I think she knows she screwed up by letting Draco go, and is hoping if she sounds fancier, then she'll be able to snag a bigger fish next time."

Hermione chanced a glance over at Tori as Daphne began pulling items out of her picnic basket. "Thanks," Hermione said, taking the glasses from Daphne. "So, she ended their engagement? Why?"

"Who knows?" Daphne shrugged. "She just said that Draco had changed, and wasn't who she'd thought anymore."

"Hmm, I wonder what that means," Hermione mused. She pulled out her Pimm's bottles to start filling glasses. "Now, I'll warn you. I've never tried this drink before. Supposedly it's what they serve at Wimbledon and the like. I'm not even sure how much to serve though."

Daphne laughed. "I'm sure that two highly accomplished witches such as ourselves can figure it out."

And with that Hermione began to pour.