The Unlikely Side Effects of Floo Powder
By Miss Augurey
The Malfoy Family originated over five hundred years ago in the South of France and has, to this date, been a pure blooded wizarding family and one of the most elite lineages in the wizarding world. Currently, we are worth over one million galleons and growing, though I will not divulge the actual sum. We have businesses in ten different industries, in twelve different countries and I am currently acting as advisor to the board until the newest head turns eighteen and becomes CEO. Floo Powder? I do believe that we used to monopolize the market until . . . oh, well, I didn't know that wasn't your question. . . . of course not. Only simpletons floo—neither I nor any of my family would ever do such a thing.
--Narcissa Malfoy, Acting Head of Malfoy Industries Inc, Interview in Witch Weekly
Last Time:
"Is this hell?"
*
Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes, causing some of the dust clinging to her lips and her eyelashes, to fly off onto the grimy floor.
"Don't be an ass Malfoy," she said quickly, eyeing him with her eyebrows raised.
Draco's usually white blond hair was now gray from the coating of dirt and dust, and his usually spotless robes were wrinkled and as dirty as she had ever seen them. Forgetting that she too must be in disarray, Hermione smirked as she watched Draco inspect his own cloak. He looked up quickly and she couldn't help but snicker at the way his hair had gone completely floppy after the tumbling in the fireplace.
Draco scowled back at her, and was about to say something when he finally took in the state that Hermione was in. The frown melted into a mischevious sneer almost immediately.
"You should probably check that your skirt is long enough, Granger, before sprawling out on the floor like that . . ." he drawled as Hermione looked down and gasped. " . . . Because as much as I will love telling everyone at school the exact color of your knickers, I'm not exactly sure how much longer I can stand the peep show."
Red in the face, Hermione smoothed out her skirt and crossed her legs as Malfoy started laughing. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked snottily as she carefully rose from her position on the floor beside him.
He eyed her again and his head darted to the side just enough so he could glimpse up her skirt again before she stepped away. When he saw that she hadn't noticed, he smirked up at her. "Only that the site of an ugly mudblood's knickers is enough to send any decent man off a nearby cliff."
Hermione rolled her eyes again and stared down at him condescendingly. "You never stray far from those two insults, do you?" she asked, "and to think I never wondered why everyone said you had the intelligence of a gnome—and the face of one too," she finished, just loud enough for him to hear.
Draco's smirk faded and he glared up at her.
"Just because someone as backwards and asexual as you can't see what a perfect specimen I am doesn't mean that all the other girls haven't noticed."
"Pansy doesn't count," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing. "And for your information, it would be scientifically impossible for a human to be asexual, unless the . . . ." she continued
"Yeah, well, the exception always proves the rule," Malfoy sneered. "And trust me, Pansy is one in many. If you don't believe me, ask your Gryffindor pals when we get back," he finished, getting up and facing her, arms folded.
Thinking that her eye muscles might break from all the overuse, Hermione rolled her eyes again. "But before we get off topic," she started sarcastically and then looked around. "Where are we?" Her voice was suddenly a little quieter, a little less sarcastic.
Draco uncrossed his arms and looked around him at the shack that they were standing in. Squinting his eyes and wiping the dust from his eyelashes, he took in the line of shot glasses on an old wooden counter and the three or so barstools scattered around the room. There were tables every few feet, covered in cobwebs, and a few glass bottles smashed on the ground or sitting on the tables—for what, from the look of them, must have been centuries.
Hermione began backing up, trying to get a better look at her surroundings, when she heard the muted crack of wood under her feet. Her shoes now rested partway on the rotted out floorboards that she hadn't seen, and, as they began to crack, she strained to keep her balance and not fall into whatever was below them. Her arms windmilling, her body began falling backward; she didn't even have a chance to cry in surprise before she felt her self losing her balance.
Then, Draco's hand shot out, grabbing her hard around her upper arm, pulling her back onto stable floor. He didn't even look her way as he continued to grip her arm and study his surroundings.
"I think . . . that this is a pub," he said, almost mesmerized by the sight of total disaster in front of him. "A very old pub," he finished, finally looking over at Hermione, who was beginning to squirm uncomfortably in his too tight grip. She met his eyes quickly and wrenched her arm free.
"Thank you," she said stiffly, looking anywhere but at his face and taking the chance to notice exactly where they were. Gasping at the sight of a few deep red stains on the wooden tables, she inhaled enough dust to start coughing. Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust as she began choking on the thick air.
"We should get outside before you hack up a lung or decide to jump onto another one of those cute little rotted spots in the floor again," he said, turning toward the door that he hoped led outside.
Hermione followed him as he walked through the pub, avoiding any suspicious looking spots in the floor and reaching the door with a sigh as her coughing stopped. As they walked outside, she squinted in the morning light, hoping that her eyes would adjust soon enough.
Draco turned around to face the building that they had just stepped out of, glaring up at the old wooden boards crudely fitted together, the chipped paint and the sign that hung just above the door, lopsided and almost illegible.
"The . . . Dusty Dog," he read with some difficulty. He laughed to himself. "Is that how the location came out?" he said to himself, as he shook his head. "We must be pretty far from Hogwarts—Hermione," he called over his shoulder, "look at this. I think we have a problem."
But there was no answer from Hermione and he didn't hear her turn around. Frowning and beginning to question why he even tried, Draco turned around.
"Hermione, I'm trying to . . ." he began annoyed, but his voice dropped off as he saw what Hermione was staring at.
Before them, across a small paved road was an expanse of fields, green with the beginnings of crops. Beyond them, small hills rose, covered in grass and black and white spotted things. But lying in front of all of it, was a sign, freshly painted with newly planted shrubbery surrounding it, that neither of them could take their eyes off of:
WELCOME TO PATUKSY, KANSAS, HOME OF THE MIGHTY WILDCATS!!!
