Unfortunate Events

Event Thirteen: The End, Part Three

Seconds later, Draco appeared, landing gracefully on his feet. He spun around, eyes wild until he spotted Hermione. 'That was a very stupid thing to do. You could have been gravely injured,' he said slowly, as if each word required a great deal of restraint.

Like he really cared. Hermione ignored the hand up he offered her, brushing the grass from her dress as she stood to her feet. 'Where are we?' she demanded.

Draco looked over at the house, his brow contorted in confusion. 'I don't know.'

'Do you think I'm stupid? Of course you know! That bag of Fizzing Whizzbees was a Portkey and those have to be registered with the Ministry of Magic. Now tell me where we are.'

Draco folded his arms across his chest and begrudgingly admitted, 'We're in France, at one of my family's properties.'

'France is only an hour ahead. It shouldn't be this dark outside.' Hermione's train of thought was thrown from its tracks by a more pressing matter. 'Why did Sharon have a Portkey to this place?' Her ran wild, conjuring possibility after possibility, each of them increasingly salacious. 'Is this where you've been? Rendezvousing around the globe while I've been nearly sick over you?' Hermione's throat suddenly closed up on her.

'Of course not!' Draco hissed, his cheeks flushed with anger.

'Less than a minute ago you lied to me about knowing where we were. Why should I believe a word you say?' Not waiting for an answer, she turned her back on him and tried to assess the situation. International Apparation was out. That she'd made it all the way home from Capri had been a miracle in itself, and she couldn't bet on being granted another. The last thing she needed in her life was to leave part of her body behind with Draco. After all, she'd recently given him her heart, and look what poor care he'd taken of it.

Though she couldn't Apparate, she could walk away. Having resolved on that, she hadn't even taken one step when a strong hand grabbed her elbow. She spun around, ripping her arm from Draco's grasp.

'Where do you think you're going?' he asked.

'Away from you,' Hermione snarled, raising her right hand to slap him. One of his pale brows arched in derision, as if to say, 'Really?' Curling her hand into a fist, she held it against her leg, digging the knuckles into her thigh.

'What's wrong, Hermione? Tired of hitting me? Or is it just this side of my face?' He turned his other cheek towards her, tapping his index finger against his jaw. Taunting her.

'I should slap you, but right now I can't even stand to look at you, let alone touch you.'

Draco blinked, but the show of vulnerability quickly disappeared. Straightening to his full height, he sneered down at her imperiously. 'Then by all means, run away. Again.'

Hermione lifted her skirts, ready to comply when a sharp crack split the air.

'Master Draco,' an overexcited House Elf squeaked out, then jumped back as if startled when he saw her. 'Mistress Hermione!' he gasped. The House Elf, one she'd never met before, bowed low before her. 'Snotface is pleased to meet you. He is so happy you and Master Draco-'

'Not another word, Snotface,' Draco barked. More calmly, he added, 'And get off the ground. You look ridiculous.'

The poor creature scrambled from the grass, curtseying and bowing as he tugged at his long ears and wrapped them over his eyes. His lower lip quivered under his spindly nose. 'Snotface is sorry, Master Draco,' he warbled, his voice thick with the agony of disappointing his owner. 'Snotface did not mean to make Master Draco angry. Snotface got everything ready, just as Master Draco wanted.'