Contradictus Totalus

Contradictus Totalus - Chapter Six

Hermione's eyes widened impossibly. What? Had she heard correctly? Harry?! He never mentioned ... well, if he hadn't, there must have been a reason. She was not supposed to ... oh no. What was Hermione doing here? She had no right to be privy to these secrets of Snape ... and Harry. (Although why he was sharing something like this to St.-Marie was beyond her.) Plus, if she was discovered, right after hearing such ... revelations, she doubted Snape would be very forgiving. What would happen if she was caught by Snape right now? If she was caught after learning about such a personal thing, she doubted she'd be able to leave the room with a simple scolding and a few hours worth of detention (which was horrible enough!). What would it be? An automatic failure on her Potions exam? Losing out on the Head Girl badge to Susan Bones? Expulsion? At least St.-Marie was here; Snape wouldn't dare to cast a Cruciatus Curse ...

Snape continued to speak. It sounded as if his teeth were gritted together. 'I gave Potter Occlumency lessons last year, at Albus's request. The outcome was not pleasant. There, it's out, Professor St.-Marie. Has your curiosity been sated enough for us to continue our lesson without your constant, obsessive-compulsive interruptions?'

Hermione tried to muffle her sigh of relief.

Hermione could hear the faint tone of pity in St.-Marie's voice as she spoke. 'Oh, I see. Yes. Severus, if you feel uncomfortable doing this, I understand. I want to experiment with defending against penetration of the mind, but if you ... It's not fair to you if I ask you to, Severus. Especially if your memories are particularly unpleasant -'

'Silence! Who said anything about unpleasant memories! I fail to remember mentioning anything of the sort! Professor St-Marie, you do seem to be making one too many assumptions. There is absolutely nothing wrong. I am perfectly fine.'

'Professor Snape, I am not a student here. It's incredibly rude of y-'

'We must stop delaying. We'll do this one last time. I have a class to teach in five minutes.'

There were some scuffling noises. The door swung shut. Hermione took the opportunity to slide out from under the desk. Not pausing to brush the bits of dirt off her robes, she hurried out of the room.

Outside in the corridor, Hermione gave a little laugh, just to let out the tension that had been building in her body. To think that Snape of all people would be doing something like that! She shook her head, and headed off to Potions.

Hermione kept breaking into little chuckles on her way to the Dungeons. She wasn't at all bothered when Peeves blew her a raspberry and sent little bits of translucent saliva splashing on the edge of her robe. In fact, thinking back, perhaps being paired to Malfoy wouldn't be so horrible. After all, no situation could get worse than having her hide under a desk with Snape's foot inches away from her head. She hurried to Potions, feeling more relief leave her body with every light, bouncy step. Malfoy? Hah. She could handle him. She broke into another smile, and began planning the outline for her Potions essay due soon.

Everything was fine.

* * * * *

Malfoy sat in Potions class with a piece of parchment laid out in front of him. He had been meaning to start his Potions essay. However, he wasn't feeling very productive at the moment, and the vast expanse of blankness on the parchment could attest to that fact.

He reviewed the morning's events in his head yet another time.

It had all started when he had turned around and headed back to the Survival DADA class to demand to switch partners. After all, to be paired with Hermione Granger could be nothing short of torture. She would probably nag him all through the few days that they would be stuck in the Forbidden Forest together. He wouldn't be surprised if Granger knew every single fungus and flower in the whole blasted forest, and proceeded to inform him of each and every one of their uses. He didn't need her showing off her irritating intelligence for two or three days straight. Besides, for all he knew, Granger could hex him in the middle of the woods, or push him into a swamp! Well, maybe not, but she could be put up by Potter or Weasley to do it.

Malfoy had been mulling over those thoughts on his way to the DADA classroom when something had crashed into him. And yes, it had been that Granger. What had she been doing, heading back to the classroom? She was supposed to have been in Potions. That witch seemed to show up everywhere!

And not only did she scatter his pieces of parchment and books all over the corridor, she had to insult his pride and honour as well. Pride? She knew nothing about pride. Here he was, trying to elevate the position that Malfoys held in wizarding society back to its rightful place. What did she believe in? Sticking up for house elves and stupid, media-mongering, scar-headed prats? And yet she dared to say that he had no pride? He, who had been doing his best to restore the Malfoy name?

He dipped his expensive (no less than seventeen Galleons and nine Sickles worth, to be exact) eagle-feather quill in his inkwell, lowering it to write the first word on his parchment. Damn! A big blob of ink had splotched on the parchment.

He sighed angrily, and not just because of the black stain sitting in the middle of his otherwise blank piece of parchment. 'Scourgify,' he muttered.

After Granger had remarked outright that Malfoy had no pride, Malfoy had felt that he could not go and beg to that St.-Marie witch to switch partners. He wouldn't give Granger even the opportunity of believing that her words had scared him into trying to weasel out of being her partner. A few days alone with Granger was nothing compared to the disgust that he would feel if she thought that he was too weak, intimidated, or downright scared of being her partner for this final task. He'd show her. He would not back out of being her partner, and let her have the satisfaction of thinking that she had intimidated him - oh, not that Malfoy cared what Granger thought, of course. Gryffindors were simply not supposed to gloat at Slytherins, especially not Malfoys. It was not in the natural order of the world for such things to happen.

So that was that. He would be partnered with the bushy-haired know-it-all. Well, since she was such a big know-it-all, at least he'd probably get a higher mark on this task. Yes, she was an insufferable Gryffindor, but at least she would prove to be a more useful partner than Goyle, for example. On any day, Goyle could be replaced by one of the logs from the Forbidden Forest and no one would be able to tell the difference.

Malfoy sighed again, dipped his quill into the jar of ink, and began writing the first paragraph of his essay. He was far from feeling cheered up. However, he did feel a brief stab of gratefulness that of all the annoying partners that "Fate" had chosen for him, at least he was stuck with a useful, annoying one.

* * * * *

It was the day of the final task.

All of the students slated to be sent off to the Forbidden Forest had a distracted, nervous air to them. Lavender sat at the Gryffindor table, and was demonstrating to an anxious-looking Parvati how to fold a leaf into a cauldron, using her napkin. Parvati was in turn explaining to an equally preoccupied Lavender the many different methods of vanquishing a dragon. ('Well, you could try the Slashing Spell. The incantation for it is Subsechio. Or was it Subseco? Or maybe it's ...') Neville sat at the table, shoving his scrambled eggs around his plate so much that they looked more like Crup droppings than anything remotely edible. He fingered his wand in his other hand, and Hermione could hear him muttering spells under his breath. ('Impedimenta, vena conglutino, aquapurgo ...') Harry was busy wrapping Spellotape around his glasses, and for some strange reason, reciting rapidly the mating habits of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks under his breath. Ron sat next to Harry. The four pieces of toast that he had put on his breakfast plate remained untouched, and he kept shooting glances at Hermione, while muttering under his breath. Hermione could only hear a few snippets: 'Can't believe ... Malfoy ... hexes ... stubborn ... Nepal ...' Ginny then took the time to sit down next to Neville, and her presence seemed to be therapeutic. Neville had calmed down a bit, and was now telling Ginny about all of the fungi that could be found in the Forbidden Forest and what their uses could be. Everyone was grateful that Neville had finally stopped muttering spells while fiddling with his wand - he had set Seamus Finnegan's hair on fire, and burning hair was a most unpleasant smell.

Hermione was far from feeling relaxed as well. Her right leg kept bouncing up and down in a frenetic dance. She had given up trying to finish off her toast, and was currently trying to read the paper. It did not seem to be working: for the first time in her life, she failed to register what she was reading. She skipped past 'Manticore Disapparates from Department of Magical Creature Experimentation - Ministry in an Uproar', and didn't even scoff at the article advising readers to 'Use Tea Leaves to Predict You-Know-Who's Whereabouts!'

Finally, the bell signaling the end of breakfast reverberated throughout the Great Hall. The Gryffindor sixth and seventh-years pushed themselves away from the table. It was not that they were actually looking forward to the final task; most of the students just wanted to start it as soon as possible and get it over with. As little as they were looking forward to this final task, it was much better than sitting at the table twiddling their thumbs and staring morosely into their untouched bowls of porridge.

Instead of heading off to Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors headed outside, towards the Quidditch Pitch. There, students from all of the houses were congregated, all standing in little hushed huddles.

As Hermione passed a pair of Ravenclaw seventh-years, she heard them muttering among themselves angrily. 'Why ... final task ... interrupting our NEWTs ... You-Know-Who's return ... not even proven ... off their rockers ...'

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief and not a little bit of contempt. Not proven? The Daily Prophet had finally bought into the idea, judging by the slew of articles surrounding Voldemort's return. Even Cornelius Fudge had admitted that Voldemort had returned! What more proof did they want? Did they need to see Voldemort sashaying down the main street in Hogsmeade to be convinced?

Hermione was tempted to give those students a good, long lecture, but seeing Cho Chang standing nearby, and seeing the pained expression on Harry's face when he saw her, she opted for the road of self-control. She instead joined in with her fellow housemates in their own little huddle.

'All right!' called Professor St.-Marie. 'When you and your partner's names are called, please come up and use the Object Specific Four-Point Spell. Then, you'll touch your one-way Portkey, and ... that'll be it.'

Hermione took a deep breath. She saw Ron clutching his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white. She looked down to see her wand being held in a death-grip as well. She tried to loosen her hold, but found that she could not. For some reason, she just felt a need to be holding tightly onto something safe and secure. After all, in less than five minutes, she'd be thrown into the forest with Draco Malfoy who, in her mind, was anything but.

Hermione was vaguely aware of names being called all around her. But the impact of what would happen when a name was called did not truly hit her until she heard the rather ominous call of 'Weasley, Parkinson'.

There was a minute of farewells. Ron managed to give off a cheery-sounding 'See you in a bit, mates!' to everyone, despite the almost green tinge on his face. He turned around and took a step towards Snape and St.-Marie. Then he turned around again to face his housemates.

'All of you, be careful. Don't turn your back to anything ... or anyone.' Ron tried grinning nonchalantly, but couldn't quite pull it off. His attempt at sounding flippant failed miserably, and Hermione could hear in his voice the serious undertone.

Hermione watched as he headed towards Professor St.-Marie and Professor Snape, who were both standing rather far apart from one another. She watched as Ron tapped his wand on a Portkey - the one that would be hidden somewhere in the forest that he had to find - to cast the Object Specific Four-Point Spell. Watched as he smiled half-heartedly in response to something St.-Marie said, watched as he averted his eyes from Snape's penetrating gaze, watched as he gave his partner, Pansy Parkinson, a suspicious look. Finally, Hermione watched as he and Pansy each grabbed their one-way Portkey - a mushroom. Hermione counted down silently with them. Three seconds ... Ron was glaring at Pansy. Two seconds ... he was rearranging his grip on his wand as to not lose it. One second ... he turned and gave Hermione one last look. His eyes showed ... POP! And Ron and Pansy disappeared in a burst of brilliantly-coloured light.

Hermione felt a twinge in her stomach. Somewhere in that huge forest - Hermione had never really appreciated the size of the Forbidden Forest until now - was Ron, stuck with Pansy Parkinson of all people. Somehow, they'd have to slog their way through goodness knew what to find a little Portkey disguised as a leaf, or maybe a log, with only their Object Specific Four-Point Spells to guide them.

Before she could worry further, she heard her name, connected with the name of her least favourite person in the world - barring Voldemort, she supposed - being called. 'Granger, Malfoy.'

Hermione felt herself saying good-bye to Harry, Neville, Parvati, and the rest of her housemates. She wished Ron was there for her to properly bid farewell to. Saying good-bye to someone who was leaving was vastly different from saying good-bye to someone when you were the one to go.

Hermione walked to where Snape, St.-Marie, and Malfoy were waiting. Her gait was a reluctant one, but she would rather be hexed with the Furnunculus Curse than let Malfoy know how much she was dreading being sent to the Forest with him.

And how she did dread it! It was strange. The day before, she had been in such a relieved mood that she had managed to convince herself that being partners with Malfoy would not be the horror that Ron claimed it would be. The day before, Hermione had thought she'd be able to function perfectly around Malfoy. She'd ignore all of his immature and rude comments, and would go off and find the Portkey. She'd leave the forest with a nice high mark, and that would be it. The day before, she would never have given Nepal a second thought.

Unfortunately, that was yesterday. Today, as she marched up to where Malfoy stood, she wondered if she should wear something a little heavier, to be able to face the bitter cold of the Nepalese landscape. She felt completely different. The edge of the forest was only a few hundred metres away. Even though it was only the edge, Hermione could see the forest's gigantic trees with their long branches clearly. Underneath the trees, she could see little bushes that seemed innocent enough, but Hermione knew in reality they really hid dozens of vines covered by prickly thorns that would draw blood upon contact. The opposition that Hermione was about to face loomed in front of her, and Hermione no longer felt the lightness and bravado she had yesterday.

Malfoy watched as Granger walked up to where he and the professors stood. She walked in a confident stride that reminded Malfoy that he no longer felt so sure about having Granger as his partner. She was able to be so confident, heading into the Forbidden Forest with only a wand for protection, she who had been with Potter and Weasley on all of their midnight jaunts together. Perhaps yesterday he was satisfied that she would be his partner; after all, with her high marks, magic skills, and need to succeed, she surely would not be a disadvantage to Malfoy, but that was yesterday.

Today, Malfoy felt only apprehension. He had unpleasant memories of the Forbidden Forest from back in first year, and consequently, throughout his years at Hogwarts, he chose to avoid it as much as possible. But now, being so close to its edge made him feel incredibly doubtful and nervous, although he would never admit it to anyone, especially not to that Granger.

Today, the Forbidden Forest looked especially, well, forbidding. To Malfoy, it was a labyrinth that he would have to navigate, despite its sheer unnavigableness. Malfoy knew that in it, there would be dozens of creatures that he'd never even heard of before, ready to pounce on him. There would be other creatures too, that he'd read about in The Monster Book of Monsters. Yet somehow, the moving illustrations in the books he'd read would never be able to convey the same feeling as meeting them face-to-face. In short, Malfoy was not foolish enough to hope for an easy journey through that dark forest with Granger. He doubted that even by the end of the task, when he and Granger finally succeeded in tracking down the damn Portkey, that there would be any feeling of jubilation, triumph, or happiness. In the end, all of that effort of going through the forest would only bring ... what? An empty, tiredness, and an urgent need to be away from Granger.

'All right,' Snape said. Malfoy heard the amusement in his voice. It was easy enough for him to find humour in the situation, the sadistic bastard. 'This flower seed shall be the Portkey that you must find. Cast your Object Specific Four-Point spells on it now.'

Malfoy stared at the little round object. It looked rather healthy and strangely attractive in its simplicity, and only needed a bit of cultivating for it to grow into a flower. This little thing would be what he and Granger would be going through the trouble to try to find. It truly would be akin to searching for a needle in a haystack, as the saying went. He suddenly felt grateful for the Object Specific Four-Point Spell. 'Intendo objectus,' he murmured, while tapping his wand gently on the little seed. Granger did the same.

'And here is your one-way Portkey,' St.-Marie said, much too cheerily for Malfoy's taste. In her hand was a shriveled, dry, little twig.

'And now, I'd like to ask both of you to grab on to the twig.'

Malfoy felt slightly foolish, but he still stepped closer to Granger and grasped one end of the fragile little twig. Little bits of it floated to the ground, and he had to loosen his grip to avoid losing the rest of the stick.

Malfoy stared levelly at Granger, holding the opposite end of the twig that would take them into the forest. He was pleased to see that she no longer was looking as confident as he thought she had earlier. He did not even mind when she narrowed her eyes back at him, because he could see the apprehension that mirrored his own in her eyes.

St.-Marie gazed at the two students standing in front of her. They stood there, each holding within their fingers the end of a fragile, twisted little stick. Little bits of it had already fallen to the ground, but the two of them avoided losing more by holding the twig a bit more gently.

'You will be going in three ... two ... one ...'

As Draco and Hermione challenged each other with their eyes, they felt an invisible hook grasp their navels and give a big yank. They were dragged away from the Quidditch Pitch, from the Hogwarts grounds, from everything that they knew. They saw only darkness around them. They heard only wind whistling around their ears. They felt only the dry, crumbly texture of the twig connecting the two of them together. A thin bridge of wood that they strove to keep intact. The bridge that would lead them to the deepest part of the Forbidden Forest, where few people had ever entered.

As he felt his legs connecting with the solid earth again, as he felt his legs automatically bend to absorb the impact, as he felt a few more chips of the stick scrape off, Draco recalled the last words of St.-Marie, spoken right before he and Granger had left the familiarity that was their lives at Hogwarts. She had said, 'Good luck.'

Merlin knew he would need it.