Contradictus Totalus

Contradictus Totalus - Chapter Eleven

Malfoy checked Granger's wristwatch. They should be setting off soon.

All last night, he'd been meticulously adding the finishing touches to his plan. Occasionally turning to check on Granger, Malfoy mapped the whole thing out: what to do, what to say, how to look. He practised looking tired. He practised looking indignant. He practised looking altruistic and noble and everything else that sodding Potter was. He shrugged off his outer robes, and placed them on top of Granger, carefully tucking the edges in.

As he prepared for the morning's events, he thought about the ongoing tally. He'd scored abysmally yesterday. Today, he'd make up for it; he'd show her. He'd win today.

He held his lit wand up to Granger's hand again to check the time. He smiled: it was zero hour.

'Wake up, Granger,' he said, touching the Gryffindor's shoulder gingerly.

She only curled into a tight ball. A few strands of hair fell across her face, while a few more brushed against Malfoy's fingers lightly.

Malfoy paused. In all of his preparations, he hadn't planned on how to wake her. Deciding to start the day off with a bang, he rolled her over so that she was flat on her back. She frowned slightly, and tried to push him away. Standing with one foot on either side of her, he bent over her and grabbed her shoulders.

'Wake up, Granger!' he yelled into her ear.

Hermione's eyes flew open. The first thing she saw were grey eyes staring at her, and she started. Malfoy? What was he doing in her dorm room? He'd taken up with Lavender! Or Parvati! Hermione found herself feeling rather displeased. Who'd have thought that she'd feel so strongly about a matter as frivolous as Malfoy having a night-time tryst in her dorm?

'Malfoy! What are you doing in - oh. Right,' Hermione said, remembering that she was alone in the Forbidden Forest with Malfoy, and that he was not sneaking into her room to shag Parvati. She felt rather silly, and was glad that it was dark enough for her to hide her blush. 'It's time for me to start my shift?' Hermione asked sheepishly. She tried to look at her watch, but it was still too dark to tell the time. She couldn't help feeling slightly suspicious of Malfoy: knowing him, he'd probably have woken her up as soon as she'd fallen asleep, just to be a selfish prat and to annoy her. Heaven knew why she was so tired otherwise!

'It's about four in the morning, Granger,' Malfoy said matter-of-factly. He held up his wand with its glowing tip so that it illuminated her watch face.

'Four? I slept the whole way through?' Hermione gasped. 'Then you didn't wake me up! You promised me you would!'

But the truth was that she wasn't angry at him for his broken promise. It was something more than that: she'd underestimated his capacity to be ... well, nice. Malfoy had taken her shift so that she could get a few extra hours of sleep, yet, the first thing she thought when she'd woken up was that he was out to deflower innocent Gryffindor girls. And then she'd thought that he woke her up early just to be a bastard. She felt ... uncomfortable. Guilty. She shifted uneasily, and saw that she'd been moved closer to the fire - no wonder why she'd felt so warm! - and that she somehow had his outer robes covering her.

Malfoy counted two seconds in his head, then pretended to stifle a yawn. 'Are you complaining, Granger?' he said quietly, doing his best to furrow his brow to match that of the witch sitting across from him. He didn't bother trying to copy the puzzled expression on her face - it was one of a kind. Malfoy chose to improvise by staring intently at her instead.

Without waiting for an answer, he continued, 'After all, that puts you in the lead with five hours of sleep, myself with zero.' But paradoxically, the scoreboard in Malfoy's mind had a big nought in Granger's corner, and one point in his. It was he who was a step ahead of her today. It was a promising morning indeed.

'No,' Hermione stammered, her eyes fixed on his, as she fiddled with the Slytherin crest on his robe. Then, she dropped her hands to her sides: that was his robe. He had placed his robe over her, while she'd slept twice as long as she deserved. Malfoy had done her a favour.

It was strange. It was unnerving. Hermione felt suspicion creeping over her. She was probably right: Malfoy was probably up to something. But despite her conviction, Hermione couldn't help but want to check. Test for the truth. There was only one thing to do: she gave Malfoy a tentative smile, and waited to see the results.

'I'm just ... surprised. Why did you - I didn't think you'd do such a thing. It was ... nice.'

Malfoy paused in his tallying of the overall scores from today and yesterday. That was a real smile. It was wishy-washy, and could've been described by such Hufflepuffian words such as 'promising', 'compassionate', 'apologetic', and the like, but still, that didn't negate the fact that Granger was smiling at him, practically thanking him for doing what she damn should have known he'd do! He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was only getting ahead of her. That was all. He had to throw her off-track again. Malfoy feverishly skipped ahead - he was supposed to say, next, that he'd added more wood to the fire, even though it might attract creatures from the forest, because it was cold. And then she was to say how stupid it was to do something like that. And then he was to counter it with - he was supposed to counter it with ... He couldn't remember, but he'd be fine for now, as long as Granger didn't say ...

'Thank you.'

And he could get his bearings again, as long as she didn't ...

She smiled that damn little half-smile again.

Malfoy promptly forgot his line. This all wasn't part of the plan! She was supposed to be her bitchy nagging self and say something about how he'd tended the fire incorrectly. He had it all thoroughly thought through! She was the very type of person to have picked out little anal mistakes like that.

Averting his eyes, Draco nodded his head uncomfortably, running a hand across his face. He hoped that Granger wasn't noticing his discomfort. Feeling unduly awkward, he muttered, 'Five minutes.' Fuck the plan!

She nodded, no longer smiling, but Malfoy could still see something that, irritatingly, still hid playfully in her eyes, even in the faint blue light of his wand. But before anything more could be said or done, she stood up, folded the robes carefully, placing it on a clear patch of ground nearby, then walked off silently into the morning darkness. It seemed she had noticed his discomposure. Damn!

Malfoy slumped down onto the neatly folded robe, getting dirt and pine needles on what had been jet-black material. Strangely, he didn't care in the least: things had been going so well up until now.

No, things were still going well! He still had his point. He'd earned it, staying up the whole night, planning what he was supposed to say in the morning. It was his point, it was ...

A lie. He knew the unspoken rules of this competition. And he'd lost the point - he'd lost nerve, and stammered, and had erased everything. She was ahead. Again.

Malfoy spat into the fire, feeling distinctly un-Malfoyish but nonetheless enjoying his vague feeling of rebellion. The competition was stupid, anyway! Pointless and stupid! Granger had ruined the whole thing, anyway. Malfoy resolved to stop keeping count, to end it. Who cared about the tally? Certainly not him.

Malfoy looked up again, to see Granger walking back towards him. He extinguished the fire and stood up.

Malfoy didn't want to talk any more then he had to. He longed to return to what he knew - of a Granger who didn't thank him for plots that he came up with; of a Granger who threw smiles in his direction, and not just of someone who happened to be standing behind him; of a Granger who didn't risk her life to save his. Sodding Granger! He longed for the familiarity of the Slytherin Common Room. It was as dark and shadowy as the Forbidden Forest, but Malfoy knew it - it was predictable, safe, familiar. There, he was always guaranteed to get the seat near the fire. There, when he bit people, they didn't bite back. There, there was no Hermione Granger.

He uttered a low 'Dirigere Objectus', and without a word exchanged, they set off.

Malfoy noticed his robes smelled faintly of vanilla. In this cold morning in this bleak forest, it was nice to smell something so warm and familiar. He inhaled again deeply, not stopping to wonder where the smell came from.

* * * * *

'So you're telling me I should drop S.P.E.W.?' Granger said, turning to look at Malfoy incredulously while hopping nimbly over a pile of animal dung.

'Obviously, Granger. Not only is it -'

'Exactly! So you, too, think it's a lost cause! Though I'm not surprised, come to think of it.'

Malfoy sighed. It was past noon, and they'd been talking for less than a minute, and already, he was wondering (not for the first time) what had possessed him to start speaking to Granger again. Oh wait, there it was: boredom.

'You know what, Granger? I don't care. I'm tired of having you put words in my mouth, tired about hearing about spew, and tired of listening to you lecture -'

'Well I really don't care, do I. It's not fair for the house elves to be -'

'And the house elves don't care either, Granger! Get off your sanctimonious high horse. Pretend you're not always right. Then you'll see: they're happy to be working. Ripping them out of their world would be - Merlin's beard! If you'd stop being your moralizing Gryffindor self and -'

'They're not happy! They're only resigned to their fate. They've been brainwashed. Conditioned. Bullied. Accustomed.'

'Granger, we learned the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood last year. What are you trying to teach me? The Twelve Adjectives Describing House Elves?'

'Hilarious, Malfoy. So witty and hilarious. You know, Malfoy, adding sarcasm really doesn't -'

'But it's making this conversation a lot more interesting.'

'No, it's just making you sound stupid.'

'I'm not the one with sad little notions for freeing house elves. If that's not -'

'They are not sad little notions!' Hermione watched as Malfoy buffed his nails on his robes deliberately as he walked, sending a clear message out to her. She took a deep breath, wanting to, needing to, being forced to explain herself. 'Why is it that goblins, who are just as different, can go where they please, can bet money, can get married, can own property?' Hermione's thoughts flashed back to all of the books she'd read. Beheadings by their masters. Severe punishments for petty mistakes. It was wrong. The house-elves deserved to be freed, and since no one else seemed to be taking initiative, she'd be the one to do it. Why couldn't -

'Because they had it in them to want it enough!' Malfoy had ceased in giving himself an imaginary manicure. He threw his hands up in frustration, pausing, knowing he'd have to back up his point to Granger, something he'd never been arsed to do around Pansy or Goyle or Crabbe. He searched his brain, trying to think back to Binns' disgustingly dull lessons for specific examples. 'There were the major Goblin Revolutions of 1776 and 1789, all fought for the very things you mentioned. But the house elves never, ever took initiative. Why give freedom to those who aren't prepared to deal with it, who don't even want the trouble of filling out bleeding Ministry income tax forms and -'

Hermione couldn't help from responding, 'Because they were domesticated so early in history that -'

'Domesticated? You're saying they're domesticated? Your dear little humanoid, emotionally developed, "we-need-equal-rights-too" house elves are domesticated?' Malfoy was now staring at her, smiling gleefully.

Why was it that with Ron and Harry, they never seemed to pick up on these things? Only Malfoy, of all people! Hermione tried furiously to clarify what she'd just blurted out. 'Well, in the sense that they're, er -'

'- animals. Pigs for porkchops. Lambs for mutton. Dragons for steak. House elves for housework. That's what you think they are, then? Not as noble as I thought then, Granger. Even you've got that disgusting, colonialistic, imperialistic side to you.' Malfoy took pleasure in watching Granger's eyes narrow as he exposed the hypocritical side of her that she'd obviously never taken into account. It felt good. This was new territory, yes, but Malfoy's excitement at needling at Granger, pushing at her, being an obviously better thinker than Weasley or Potter, overcame his need for familiarity.

'Er, Malfoy, that's a bit of pot meets kettle, isn't it. You're telling me that I'm just like some imperialistic Pureblood? You? When you seem to be begging for the honour of eradicating all Muggle-borns in the world? When you've been blinkered all your life -'

'Don't try switching subjects, Granger. I'm telling you the truth that none of your brave little Gryffindor mates dare to. That no one else probably even sees, blinded by your holy, Gryffindoric aura. Listen to yourself! You might be gushing on about spew, but really, you've just as little respect for the elves as the average wizard has. You're as pathetic as wizards who boast about the length of their magic wands to compensate for something else.'

Hermione's mouth fell open. 'That - that's not only an absolutely beastly analogy, Malfoy,' she began, and picking up steam, continued while staring pointedly at him, 'but something that I see you doing more often than -'

'Overcompensation, Granger,' Malfoy rushed on hurriedly, 'is unpleasant to observe. I freely admit that I like having House Elves around. I'm obviously admitting that I'm not as perfect as this little Gryffindor witch here.' Malfoy paused and gave Granger a significant look, ignoring her ironic laugh. 'You've the notion that you're not only smarter than myself, but somehow morally superior as well. I apologize, Granger, for telling you what no one else seems to ever have: besides being an arrogant, obnoxious, self-righteous Gryffindor swot, you're just like me -'

'That's not true, Malfoy! What do you know, when you're in your own little bubble? When you're so coddled and sheltered and so bloody ignorant that -'

'We're not talking about me right now, Granger, so shut up. No matter who or what I am, that doesn't get rid of the fact that you're -'

'Shut up, Malfoy! Just -'

'- everything that you look down on. You're one of us evil Slytherins, only much more hypocritical and misguided than any of us could ever be.'

Granger recoiled. 'Malfoy,' she muttered weakly. 'Don't - don't you dare try to compare me to - when you've never done or seen or known a-anything -'

Malfoy took a perverse pleasure in seeing her out of control again. He hissed, 'It doesn't take an idiot to see ... the way you're forcing house elves into freedom, that's as bad as anything a big bad Dark wizard is doing to Muggles.'

'No! How dare you - that's a lie!'

CRACK!

'What the bloody hell was that?' Malfoy demanded, looking around wildly. He thought back to his first year, the very first time he'd entered the Forbidden Forest, and had seen that unicorn-blood-sucking thing. Anything could happen in the forest. He'd forgotten that until now. But now ... Malfoy was reminded of the sound of a tree branch scraping against a window, of footsteps following him, eyes stalking him. The noise was the sound of something unknown, something that Malfoy didn't want to face, couldn't face. Something that he was helpless against.

'Let's go,' he said shortly, grabbing the sleeve of her outer robes.

'Don't you dare -'

Malfoy wanted to throttle her. 'Granger. Don't be stupid. There's something out there, and you're just trying to get in a row.' Cursing himself for sounding so weak and pleading, Malfoy gave Granger's sleeve a brusque yank, and ignored her protests when a piece of fabric tore away. Right: her cheap, shoddy robes. He stuffed the rag into his pocket carelessly, and broke into a quick run.

'Bastard!' Hermione muttered as she began running behind Malfoy. She wanted to throttle him. Too bad she'd lost her wand, and needed his.

It figured that Malfoy would get scared of some random noise - for that was all it was, right? - and force her to be dragged behind him. He probably didn't even know where he was running to, only that he had to get away from whatever that noise was - probably just some tree branch falling, really. And honestly, the way he'd just yanked her sleeve, as if he had any right to -

She ran straight into Malfoy's back. 'Ouch! Malfoy, why -' She then was lost for words as she took in the surreal sight in front of her.

'Bloody hell!' Malfoy muttered. Right in front of them was a tree. It was a huge oak, reaching high above the leafy canopy, with a trunk so large both he and Granger could have sat inside it. Yet this large, grandiose oak tree, seemingly invincible, was on fire. Flames licked up the side of the tree, a smoky haze obscured their vision. Both of them watched in silence as the branches crumbled, and sparks were constantly spat out with loud cracks. The tree seemed to groan, and it was on the verge on falling over. It was as if its insides had been hollowed out.

'We have to put this fire out!' she cried between coughs. It was already burning out of control. The tree would fall and set the whole forest on fire! The damage done would be -

'No, look! Granger! There. We've reached it! The Portkey! Come on!' Malfoy said suddenly, interrupting Hermione. She turned so quickly, her neck cracked as loudly as the sound of someone Apparating.

There it was, the simple little seed assigned to them. It was floating in mid-air, glowing bright blue, about fifty meters away from them.

'Come on!' Malfoy said insistently, taking a step away from the tree, while covering his mouth and nose.

'No, wait, we should try to put the flames out first,' Hermione said, just as firmly, stepping forward, pulling him in the opposite direction with one hand, while wiping her eyes with the other. 'We can't let it set the other trees on fire!'

'Are you taking the mickey? The bloody Portkey's right there, and you want to play tree-hugger?' The glow of triumph waned. They'd found their Portkey. They'd survived a night in the Forbidden Forest, had survived each other; their final task was almost over, and Granger wanted to postpone their victory to save a bloody tree? Two seconds ago, Malfoy felt so elated, so triumphant, that he'd even forgotten that Granger was a stupid Gryffindor, but now ... he wanted to throttle her hard. Again.

'Whatever.' Malfoy threw his hands up in exasperation. He turned to head for the Portkey.

'Wait!' Granger called. Malfoy stopped, despite himself.

'What?' he said, trying to sound sufficiently annoyed.

'I heard something,' she said in a hushed voice, barely heard over the crackle of the fire. Her eyes were red from the smoke.

Malfoy immediately tensed up. His chest grew tight. There was something in Granger's voice that made him think of tree branches scraping against windowpanes, eyes stalking his unprotected back. It was late in the afternoon, but suddenly, everything went cold. He became aware of the smoke that was slowly wrapping itself around his body and Granger's, as if they were both in a cocoon. Or caught in the spinning web of a spider.

'I thought I saw an animal in the shadows there ...'

'Don't be silly,' he responded with fake bravado. 'Come on. Let's go now while we're close.' He strained his eyes to try to catch sight of the Portkey through the smoke.

'No, Malfoy. I really -'

'Bit too early in the day for you to be scared of the - oh, shit. Merlin's ... Granger, don't move,' Malfoy whispered out of the corner of his mouth. The Portkey was only fifty meters away from them. If they both ran for it right now at top speed, they might be able to ...

Of course, she moved. And then, she froze.

There was a face emerging from the white veil of smoke. The first things that could be seen were violent blue eyes, the same electric blue of a lightning bolt tearing a hole in the sky in a storm. There was intelligence in those flashing blue eyes, but it was the barely-contained violence, rage, and cruelty that stood out more. But Malfoy and Hermione's own eyes were drawn to the mouth. There were three rows of sharp teeth - wild, jagged, seeming to burst out of the confines of the mouth. This mouth was one that had seemed to be developed for one purpose only: to sink into fresh, tender, moving flesh; to tear, to rip, to gnaw.

'Oh. Oh my. Malfoy, don't move ...'

The creature moved through the veil gracefully, despite its loping steps. The head was covered by a generous mane of hair, which led to the body of a lion, covered by dried blood. Its body seemed to be impossibly long as it slowly pierced the wall of smoke, almost like a snake emerging from a hole fluidly. Another step forward. This creature was far worse than any snake though: four feet, ending in cruel claws, ideal for ripping open flesh, soon broke through the smoke.

'Granger, I'm taking out my wand. Follow my lead.'

Another step. A scorpion's tail now. Bobbing up and down with every breath, poised to strike. From the tip of the tail trickled a dark, foul-looking poison. The stench was more overpowering than the suffocating smoke. It smelled of creatures unknown, the kind that hid in dark corners, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

'Malfoy, your wand. Take it out.'

Another step. Cruel-looking spines jutted out of the tail. Dried flecks of blood marred the otherwise untarnished silver blades. This was a creature who was no stranger to violence and death.

'Granger, this is ...'

Another step. The leaves underfoot smoked as poison was leached out of the cruel stinger, splattering on the ground. The white wisps joined the smoky haze already draped like a curtain around Malfoy and Hermione. The overwhelming smell of acid and sulphur, death and decay combined, made both Malfoy and Hermione recoil. It was no longer the smell of the burning tree that bothered them. They both backed up a few steps together trying to break out of the hellish ring. The smoke wrapped around them, always pushing them back forward to face the creature.

'Malfoy, this ...'

It was a Manticore. And with every second, it was coming closer.

For the first time since they saw the Manticore, Malfoy and Hermione shared a look, acknowledging each other for the first time. With one glance, each could see his or her own fear mirrored by the other. With one glance, it was acknowledged that one wand between the two of them was not enough to fight off the beast. With one glance, it was confirmed: they both would have to run.

Whether they could run fast enough was a different matter.