A/N: Mind the gap!

25 June 1999

Daphne was already seated by the time Hermione walked in. She spotted her at a small table near the window, sipping from a long stemmed glass of what looked like elf-made wine and dressed impeccably. The dusky, rose colored robes the blonde wore complemented her coloring well and clung to her every curve, and Hermione wondered if she ought to have dressed up a bit more for their lunch.

Peeking down at her own spaghetti strap top, denim jeans, and wedge sandals, she worried she might stand out a bit more than she'd intended, especially near a window. While muggle fashions had grown more common in wizarding establishments lately, she had a feeling this place might be a bit more traditional.

Curse her for letting Daphne pick the spot.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

An elderly wizard in traditional robes stood behind a small podium nearby, and Hermione looked toward him as he spoke. His gaze was traveling downward from the top of her head and it didn't seem as if he approved of what he saw.

"If you're looking for a public washroom the nearest one is at the Leaky Cauldron."

Well that was nice.

"I'm meeting someone here, actually."

The wizard's thick brows rose but he nodded and let her pass as she made he way toward the window. Daphne spotted her in a moment and raised a hand in greeting before rising as she reached the table.

"There you are," she said, her voice soft and cheerful as she leaned in to lay a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Had to stop at Gringott's." Apparently, six vaults were no longer enough to contain her wealth now that she'd empowered Bergsling to handle investments for her. She'd had to open another that morning.

"Sounds like an awful lot of fun," Daphne teased. "I hope you don't mind I ordered you something to drink." She motioned toward an untouched glass on the table, and as Hermione took her seat she nodded in thanks.

The pumpkin juice was crisp and clean in her mouth, not too sweet to be refreshing like what had been served at Hogwarts.

"I've got new samples in, by the way. I've brought them to look over whenever you're ready."

Daphne was patting a binder she'd just set on the table and Hermione eyed it with dread.

"More colors?" She asked. The last time Daphne had brought a binder she'd spent nearly an hour trying to decide between shades of white.

"It's about texture this time, really. I think we've already narrowed down what you want as far as color goes."

"Right. Maybe after lunch?"

Daphne tucked the samples away again, shrinking them and slipping them into a purse near her feet.

"Have you decided on which estate you'll be using for the event, by the way?"

Hermione took another sip of pumpkin juice and shook her head.

How she had been roped into letting Daphne Greengrass plan a society wedding for her, she would never know, but she liked to think it was because she was a spectacular friend rather than a push over.

"I haven't even had a chance to visit them all. It's only been a week."

"Good Lord, how many properties are there?"

Hermione counted in her head for a moment before answering. "Seven."

Daphne arched a brow.

"What on earth were the Lestrange's doing with seven estates?"

"One of them is an old Black property, I think. I'm trying to convince Andromeda to take it, actually."

"And the rest?" Daphne seemed genuinely interested.

"Ancestral things. Only two or three are still livable as far as I know. The rest are ruins. Oh! And there's a townhouse in London I'm having cleaned out."

Daphne's eyes brightened.

"Where? We've got one in Mayfair Court."

"That's the place."

"Excellent! I'll make Daddy open ours and we can be neighbors for the Summer!"

Hermione smiled. It would be nice to be near her friend, even if it did mean giving her wedding planner greater access to her person. It would certainly be less awkward than staying with her former boyfriends parents as she was now. It wasn't that she didn't love the Weasley's—Molly and Arthur had been warmer to her in the past week alone than her parents, adoptive or biological, had ever been to her—but the subtle suggestions that she spend more time with their elder sons were beginning to wear. The Weasley's understood her circumstances, but they were romantics, and she knew they hoped that a love match with one of their sons could overcome the damoclean sword hanging over her neck and make her a part of their family more permanently. For her part, Hermione held out little hope.

She had researched more in the past school year than she ever had before, and yet her labors had yielded no fruit. The binding she had been thrust into as an infant was permanent, of that she was certain. Before her next birthday she would be married, and it wouldn't be to a ginger.

"What's on your mind, then?"

She looked back up at Daphne, whose chin was propped in one hand as she peered across the table at her.

"Wedded bliss," Hermione joked.

Daphne laughed.

"Oh to be sure. I can't imagine how you ever think of anything else, with such a handsome groom."

Hermione made a face.

"He's not that bad," she said.

Daphne only shrugged. "I suppose not, but he's no Ronald."

Hermione faked a retching noise.

"Oh please, don't pretend you don't see it too. I have it under very good authority that snogging his speckled face is what got you into this mess in the first place."

"He told you?!" Hermione was practically shrieking, and Daphne laughed, casting a quick muffliato to keep their conversation private.

"Don't blame him, I can be very persuasive without a top on."

"You hussy!"

"Hardly," Daphne snorted and the sound was so unladylike it gave Hermione pause. "I never allow them beneath my knickers, dear. That honor is reserved for my future husband. Besides—" she took a sip of her wine and smirked, "it's not as if the two of you were doing anything very interesting when you were…interrupted."

"Maybe not by your standards," said Hermione ruefully, "but it was the most interest I've ever exhibited."

Daphne tutted. "Not long now, love. Another three months and I'm sure our dear professor will have you expressing quite a bit of interest."

"Slag."

"Prude."

"Have you had the lobster bisque here before?"

"Yes, it was quite good."

The two of them studied their menus for a bit after that, and Daphne ended her noise blocking charm when the waiter approached.

"Beg Pardon, but we've just received an owl for a Miss Lestrange. The owl was quite persistent and is waiting for a response in the kitchens. Do either of you—"

"I'll take that," Hermione said, snatching the scroll out of the man's hand and giving him a forced smile. "And we're ready to order if you don't mind taking it."

When he had gone, Hermione opened the missive under Daphne's eager gaze.

"Is it from him?"

"I'm sure it is." The bastard hadn't spoken a word to her since the last day of class, and yet he expected her to put her plans on hold to respond to him immediately when he deigned to communicate with her. It was Hogwarts all over.

She read the note and crumpled it in her fist. He could keep waiting for all she cared, and his bloody demon of an owl could rot in the kitchen.

"I'm sure that will end well," said Daphne as Hermione tucked the scrap of paper into her pocket.

"He can wait," said Hermione.

Daphne arched a delicate, pale brow. "We are talking about the same man, aren't we?"

"Shut it and let me see those bloody samples."

At the end of their meal, after Hermione had spent roughly half an hour fondling bits of fabric and had eaten half a bowl of the most delicious lobster bisque she'd ever tasted, she pulled the note back out again.

Daphne, who was becoming quite tipsy, managed to hold her tongue as Hermione unfurled and read it again.

Hermione,

As you have taken the liberty of skipping our appointments for the past several weeks, I have taken the liberty of scheduling one for tomorrow evening. Make yourself available to me from seven until midnight, and find something appropriate to wear. The dress is formal.

Severus

PS: I detest the color scheme Miss Greengrass sent over last week. NO PINK.

"Bastard."

"No sonnets?"

Hermione tossed the crumpled parchment to Daphne, who read it amusedly until the last line, at which point she gasped and glared down at it.

"Fucking prick. If he wants to make changes he can bloody well involve himself in the process."

"I'm afraid this is as involved as he gets," said Hermione.

And she wasn't lying. Though he had insisted on weekly dinners in the Headmasters quarters during the previous school year (and even exchanged his ability to discipline or take points from her for the honor) he had always left it to her to both coordinate a meal with the house-elves, and to carry their conversations. That hadn't prevented him from making scathing remarks when he had been displeased by either, but he seemed to view it as her duty somehow.

She crumpled the note again as Daphne handed it to her.

His manners now that she was out of school seemed to have worsened. She had hoped that being on equal footing once she graduated would help them to communicate more effectively, but she saw now that it had been a dream.

Severus Snape was not the sort of man who changed. He treated his students much as he treated his staff, and she assumed that meant his wife would merit little more consideration, Lady Lestrange or not.

"Fuck him." Hermione took another sip of pumpkin juice, though she was quite full.

"If you think it will improve his mood."

Hermione gave Daphne an unamused look.

"Oh, you meant it in the rude way."

"If he can't be bothered to ask me to an event properly, I don't see why I should feel obligated to attend. It's not as if we have appearances to keep up." And Merlin knew that was the truth. The news of her inheritance and the unfortunate betrothal that accompanied it had spread like wildfire throughout Wizarding England. Speculating about and gawking at the long lost Lady Lestrange had become something of a sport to the magical population, and her relationship (or lack there of) with the dour Headmaster of Hogwarts had been dissected relentlessly. Thankfully, any gossip about their relationship having been unprofessional on any level prior to the revelation of her status had been soundly dismissed. All she had to worry about now were her fellow students pitying glances and the jealous gazes of every woman over fifty any time she went out in public. The Wizarding World's matrons, it seemed, were taken with the dark hero Severus had been cast as since the end of the war.

"You owe him nothing," Daphne agreed. "I know you have to marry the man, but that doesn't mean he's allowed to treat you disgracefully without consequences." She tapped her long fingers on the tabletop and tilted her head to the side. "You know who you ought to talk to?"

"Who's that?"

"Narcissa Malfoy. She's been a married Lady longer than either of us has been alive, and by all accounts she handles Lucius beautifully."

Hermione arched a brow.

"If by 'handles' you mean, 'allows to commit genocide' then yes, beautifully."

"Don't be difficult. Political differences aside, I've never caught wind of Lucius straying from Narcissa's bed, or treating her as anything less than divine."

"Political differences? They tortured me in their home!"

"It was war," Daphne dismissed.

"It was evil."

"Yes, well I didn't say she was perfect, only that she knew how to keep her husband on a short leash, a skill I think you might benefit from."

Hermione scoffed.

"I think the woman who tried to leash Severus would win several nasty bites for her efforts."

"I keep telling you his bark is far worse. He was an absolute puffskein to the Slytherins."

"Lucky for you," said Hermione dryly.

Someone nearby cleared their throat.

Daphne kicked Hermione under the table and flashed a brilliant smile just behind her.

Hermione turned in her seat to see whoever had interrupted and immediately regretted it.

"Hermione, what an absolute pleasure to see you here."

"Hello Cormac."

The man grinned wide, reaching up to ruffle his blonde hair and winking down at her as he did so.

"You know I've been meaning to owl you. I wasn't sure if you'd heard I was bumped up to first string with the Wasps." He winked at her and Hermione felt herself grow queasy.

"I think I did hear that," she said. "Congratulations."

"McLaggen, isn't it?" Daphne, never shy, smirked up at Cormac and leaned back in her seat, the picture of ease.

"That's right. I play for the Wimbourne Wasps."

Hermione watched as Daphne waited for him to ask her for her name in return, and when no such invitation came, her blue eyes flashed.

"That's Quidditch, isn't it?"

Hermione took another sip of pumpkin juice to hide her smile as Cormac spluttered and tried to keep on the charm.

"I must confess I don't follow the sport closely," continued Daphne, as she rose from her seat and pulled Hermione up with her by the arm. "I find it intellectually barren, and most of the men who engage in it equally as dull witted."

"Hang on—" Cormac tried to cut in, but Daphne, it seemed, was uninterested in letting the interaction continue.

"If you'll excuse us, dear," she said to him as she pulled Hermione closer, "We were on our way out."

Just then, several things happened at once. Cormac reached for her, his hand wrapping around her wrist to keep her where she was, and an owl screeched somewhere nearby. As that was happening, a bright light flashed somewhere in front of her and Hermione winced.

"Stupefy."

She wasn't sure how long it took for her to hex McLaggen, but it couldn't have taken long. She was still seeing spots by the time he hit the floor, and it took several seconds more and a litany of swear words from Daphne before Hermione registered that there was a reporter with a camera standing on the other side of the window, a great big flash aimed in her direction, and a huge, self satisfied smirk on his face.

She barely managed to close her eyes before the light flashed again.

"Come on," she said, turning and grabbing Daphne by the arm as she guided her back toward the kitchens.

"Fucking paparazzo," the blonde swore.

"Miss! You can't go in there!" called a distressed sounding waiter.

"The hell I can't," Hermione muttered as she pushed her way through with Daphne.

Unfortunately, they had barely cleared the doors when something large and winged flew straight for Hermione's head, tugging at her braided hair with sharp talons and screeching for all it was worth.

Daphne shrieked and a full blown commotion broke out as people ran to help.

Hermione, panicking by now, couldn't seem to find her bloody wand. It probably didn't help that she was too busy batting away the creature dive bombing to her to make a proper search of the little bag she carried with her.

"Get it off!" shouted Daphne.

Hermione felt something sharp pinch her ear.

"Son of a bitch! Filthy fucking bird!"

"Stay calm!" screamed Daphne. "Immobulus!"

Her heart still racing like it was at the Royal Ascot, and a fresh stinging across her knuckles, Hermione risked looking up.

The demon bird was hanging in the air, frozen with a lock of her hair in its beak. Dark as night and thoroughly plump, it could only belong to one person. One awful, entitled, arrogant person.

"I'm going to kill him," she hissed, yanking her hair away from the owl. Several of the strands broke, caught tightly between the razor sharp halves of the beak. "I'm going to murder him, and then I'm going to feed him to the thestrals. No one will be the wiser."

"Well, only the people in this kitchen," said Daphne, who was still panting.

"Are you alright, Miss? Bloody bird's been here for more than an hour and won't leave." One of the cooks was pulling the owl out of the air and folding its wings against it carefully.

"I'll take it with me," Hermione said, and held a hand out for it.

The woman looked back at her worriedly, as if she thought the owl might not deserve whatever fate Hermione had planned for it. And perhaps she was right to be concerned.

"She knows the owner," Daphne assured, her voice taking on the lovely lilt she used when she was trying to be persuasive. "She'll take it back where it belongs."

The cook handed the creature over without another word and Hermione took it by one filthy, scaled leg, dangling it beside her and turning to Daphne.

"It was lovely seeing you," she said, voice stiff. "I'll owl you when I'm in Mayfair Court."

"You'd better," said Daphne.

And then Hermione excused herself, searching the kitchen until she found its exit and leaving through it. The black owl hit her thigh with every step she took, a weighty reminder of her new purpose in life.

She was going to take the bloody owl, and feed it to Severus Snape bit by bit, and when she was done, she was going to bludgeon him over the head with its carcass for good measure.

All she had to do first, was find the bastard.