Contrariety

CONTRARIETY

CHAPTER 2

Draco slammed the bedroom door behind him and made a quiet growling sound as he surveyed the room.

Harry was about as impressed with his accommodations as his roommate, and he sighed as he took in the grey brick walls, single table, and bunk bed.

"I demand revolution!" Draco announced, storming past Harry to the tiny window at the far end of the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"And the top bunk. There must be a revolt and I must sleep at least six feet off the ground. This is how it must be."

"Fine," Harry sighed, slipping his shirt off and climbing under the scratchy covers of the bottom bunk. "Just be quiet, I need eight hours." He wasn't in the mood for any of this.

"Yes," Draco agreed. "You definitely need your beauty sleep."

*

The castle's battle horn, functioning as a rather startling alarm, sounded at exactly five a.m. the next morning. It surprised Harry so badly that he rolled out of his bed and landed in a heap of itchy blankets on the cold stone floor.

"Malfoy," he shouted over the incredible blare.

There was no answer.

"Malfoy, do not pretend that you're sleeping through this."

Still, there was no answer.

Harry managed to untangle himself from the woollen straightjacket and stood on his mattress to peer over the edge of Draco's bunk. The Slytherin was still sleeping peacefully, curled up in a ball with a look of cosy contentment replacing his usual unpleasant expression. Harry had to admit that there was no denying this boy was out cold, and he had no idea how he was going to wake him up if he was sleeping through what could only be compared to a nuclear explosion.

So Harry poked him twice in the forehead.

A hand quickly shot up out of the blankets and wrapped around his finger. "Do not make me shut your ears in the oven again," Draco mumbled sleepily.

"Malfoy, you're not at home."

He opened his eyes slowly and focused an irritated glare at Harry. "What time is it?"

"Five."

"P.m.?"

"A.m."

Draco dropped the captive finger and shoved Harry away and off of his perch. "Then bugger the hell off, Potter," he grumbled and then rolled over.

Harry put his hands on hips in a way that he was certain would be considered rather imposing, had anyone been looking at him. "We have to get to breakfast and then to practice," he said in his most commanding voice. "You know, with the other Seekers, if you'd recall."

"Where's the bathroom?" Draco asked the wall. "I need to shower before I go anywhere."

"I... have no idea."

"What?" He looked utterly horrified as he rolled over and jumped down from his bunk, landing cat-like and crouched at Harry's feet. Soft pillow creases covered one of his cheeks, making him look youthful and adorably unsettled, and Harry was most certainly not staring as he stretched back up to his full height. "We have to find one then, obviously!" He grabbed Harry by the forearm and began tugging him to the door.

"Wait, Malfoy. Shirts, trousers, cold, cold castle!"

"I am wearing trousers," Draco said and tugged harder. Harry had just enough time to grab his sweats from the previous day before he was dragged out into the corridor.

Predictably, he ended up topless at the breakfast table. Draco sat across from him with his pillow creases and sleep-puffed eyes, absently brushing his cute, messy hair off his forehead and picking delicately at a bagel. He was already flirting with Lolita.

Bobby was babbling something about having to pee and wishing they had been told where the toilets were, but Harry was too filled with blind rage to pay any heed to the kid. Draco had forced him from their room, made him wander around cold and half-naked, and now he was ignoring him in favour of that little tart with the big eyes and the tanned shoulders. The least he could have done would have been to apologise.

"Morning," said Krum, dragging a massive sack behind him as he waddled toward the Seeker table. He flopped down beside Bobby and grabbed an apple. "I haff uniforms; vee leave for pitch now. Headmistress there to oversee, tell if I am to be Quidditch instructor during off-season."

"What?" Draco said, shaking his head and squinting, generally making a show of his incomprehension.

"Don't be such a git," Harry spat at him. "His accent's not that thick, you understood him."

"Jesus, Potter, is it that time of the month?"

"Let's go," Krum interrupted. "Vee meet her at front doors... Potter, vehr is your shirt?" he added quietly as he stood.

Harry didn't respond.

A small crowd of Durmstrangs stood in the entrance hall, laughing and chatting happily. In the middle stood a small witch with a satin top hat covering bobbed white hair and a long cigarette holder dangling from one hand. She was wearing tiny stiletto heels and crimson lipstick, and patted a rather pale girl on the behind as the crowd began to disperse.

The girl winked at Draco as she passed and he nodded unenthusiastically.

"Hello," the little woman said in a husky voice, eyeing each of them in turn. "I'm Headmistress Lombard. And you must be Draco Malfoy."

Draco smiled. "Indeed I am."

She nodded slowly and took a slow drag from her cigarette. "So, how is your father these days?"

"I didn't know you were familiar with my father," Draco said coyly.

"Hmmm," she replied, a sly little grin curling her lip. "We knew one another when were younger. When he looked more like you." Her smile dropped a bit and she glanced at Harry. "Of course, he always did prefer them tall and dark. Tell me, is Severus still the Potions Master at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry answered, completely lost for any idea as to what was going on in this woman's mind. "He's here, you know."

"Ah, yes, of course. I have yet to see him." She took another slow drag from her cigarette and sauntered away toward the doors.

She led the Seekers across the muddy grounds to an impressive Quidditch pitch and stopped before a row of five racing brooms lined up on the grass. "Well," she said once everyone had stopped before her. "Get explaining, Vikky."

Krum hurled the monstrous sack at the Seekers and motioned for them to put on their gear as he shuffled around to the opposite side of the brooms. He looked blankly at the four of them as they got ready and said, "Vell, vee vill start vith zee timing und rassing followed by a small two-person rass and zen zehr vill be zee vinner who vill get-"

"What is he trying to say?" Draco blurted out, extending one arm out toward Krum in an exasperated gesture and looking wide-eyed and frustrated at the Headmistress.

She nodded, puffing on her cigarette a few times before flicking in onto the grass and putting it out with the pointed toe of her dainty shoe. "You're all going to race around the pitch, three laps, and then the two fastest will race each other. The winner out of that match will be awarded points. The Seeker with the most accumulated points by the end of the three weeks will be the one to compete in the game against Beauxbatons. Is that clear?"

She repeated what she had just said in Spanish and Lolita smiled.

Draco seemed pleased by this and was the first to grab a broom and mount it, grinning broadly and already looking victorious.

When Lombard saw that each of them had mounted and were ready, she snapped her fingers lazily and crossed her arms. "Well, go," she said, as if the snap should have been an obvious signal to begin.

Draco was the first to take off, speeding ahead of the others and streaking around the first corner. The cold air stung Harry's eyes as he followed suit and quickly caught up. The new was broom faster than he was used to and somewhat too touchy, and he couldn't keep track of Draco through the screen of tears clouding his vision. Soon, though, he had reached the other boy and they were neck-and-neck ahead of the others, pressing themselves down over the broomsticks to gain speed, leaning into the corners, and they remained tied for two full laps. Draco tried and failed twice to cut Harry off and three times to knock him off his broom, but the smaller Gryffindor soon overtook him and was the first to complete the three laps.

Touching back down, Lombard nodded unfathomably and watched as the others came in. Bobby took some time in finishing and essentially put on display for everyone the fact that his current lankiness was a new phenomenon. His legs dangled awkwardly below him as he flew, and he struggled to lean down against the broom handle and keep his arms pinned to his sides at the same time. He was flushed and embarrassed when he reached the others and pointedly avoided eye contact with everyone.

"Harry, Draco, away you go," Lombard said in bored tones as she lit another cigarette.

They mounted their brooms again, Harry wishing desperately for some sort of a break between the races, and readied himself for another go. Lombard snapped her fingers and smiled around the stick in her mouth as they took off.

This time, Draco managed to flatten himself completely against his broom. He was actually quite a distance ahead of Harry and when he turned around to see where his opponent was, he smiled viciously and somehow began to move even faster. His arms were pressed firmly against his torso, his legs folded against one another around the broom, his head down and pointing straight forward, making him perfectly aerodynamic in a way that Harry was sure must have taken the entire summer to perfect.

He managed to copy Draco's posture and pressed forward, quickly gaining on him as they rounded the fist corner. By the next, he was directly behind the other boy, and as they finished the first lap they were completely tied once again. When Draco glanced to his left and saw Harry there, he cursed under his breath and tucked his head down, gaining a few inches that Harry easily took back by imitating him yet again.

By the third corner of the lap, Draco was beginning to fall behind and was swearing loudly. Harry wasn't surprised when he felt him bash hard into his side and throw him off balance, but the speed at which he was travelling and the unfamiliar curve of the pitch were too much, and he overcompensated. He slipped off to his right and slid limply from his broom in one agonizing second. His arms flew up over his head and he instinctively grabbed onto Draco's robes, tearing them as he took hold with both hands. Draco tried to bat Harry away, but was yanked hard to one side and slipped off as well, hanging on to his broom by one hand. It began to jerk to the left and flew in tight, fast circles, throwing the boys out into an awkward, acute angle. It wasn't long before Draco lost his grip and both boys fell to the ground, Harry breaking the other boy's fall with his own body.

"Way to go, Potter," Draco groaned and rolled off of him onto his back. "You ripped my new robes, you bastard."

Harry's lungs were mutinying and he couldn't draw in enough breath to snap back at him. He lay gasping, watching helplessly as three sets of feet dashed toward them over the pitch. He felt someone lift him up by his underarms and he squinted up into Bobby's concerned face. "You okay?" the Scot asked quietly.

Harry nodded and stepped back. "Personal space," he hoped he didn't mutter too loudly.

"Well, you're both disqualified for this round," Lombard said, sounding amused and brushing a bit of dirt off of Draco's shoulders for much longer than was absolutely necessary.

"What?" the Slytherin asked, his eyes on the Headmistress' chest as her hand withdrew.

"And that'll be a detention for you, Draco, for pushing the kid off. Meet me in my office after lunch."

"I have Muggle Film Studies."

"Skip it," she ordered loftily. "I'll speak to Severus - he's teaching it while Professor Ebert's away." Next, she turned to Lolita and said something softly and quickly in Spanish.

"What did you say to her?" Draco asked, pouting a bit.

"She wins by default. Five out of the original ten points. Are you alright, Potter?"

"Yeah," he gasped, glaring at the small woman. Her robes were rather low-cut and hardly appropriate for a professor. This was simply not acceptable. "Fine."

"Excellent. Off you go then."

*

Later that afternoon, Harry sat in the dusty Muggle Film Studies class, waiting for Snape, and trying not to notice that Ron was rather battered when he limped in five minutes after the lesson was supposed to start.

"What happened to you?" Zacharias asked, compassionate as ever, as Ron carefully placed himself down into the seat next to him.

"Flew into a goal hoop," he muttered into his bag, his right eye blackened and swollen shut. He awkwardly dug out a quill and a piece of parchment with the arm that wasn't bent into a sling and watched disconsolately as both items fluttered to the ground at his feet.

"You what?" Hermione asked, looking up from her reading for the first time since the she had entered the classroom. "Oh, Ron. No one saw it, did they?"

"Nice, Herm," said Harry, sympathizing with his friend's pain. His own back was quite badly bruised, although he had not mentioned this to anyone. He hoped that Draco would keep his mouth shut - he didn't want to be used as some sort of example for the little ass to compare himself to when trying to convince some random girl that he was completely fantastic and deliciously masculine.

"Well, we don't want to embarrass Hogwarts, do we?" Hermione asked snottily. "Too late now, I suppose."

"Hermione!" Ron said, sounding rightfully offended.

"Ron, we need to make a good impression. We can't run around flying into things and being tardy all the time."

Before anyone could respond to her heartless logic, the door slammed open and Snape stormed in, pushing a large television on a cart in front of him. He did not speak until he reached the front of the classroom and had seated himself testily on a creaky, wooden stool. He twirled a bit of his dark hair in his fingers, looking ominous and pale in the bright light of the classroom. He glared at each student in turn as if he suspected him or her to have been formulating complex conspiracies against him while he had been absent.

"I will be filling in for my three weeks here until the usual professor returns," he announced, his hair and pallid face gleaming in the proper lighting. "In the mean time, do not expect biting commentary or any sort of learned critique from me. I am here to give those of you not involved in the workshop assignments and to grade them as I see fit, is that clear? We will be watching a flim today. 'Filthy Waltzing', or something ridiculous like that. Someone put it on; I cannot be expected to use this Muggle telly-vidgeon thing." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the cart and held the cassette as far away from himself as he could manage, as if it were somehow poisoning him with its sheer Muggle-ness.

Hermione sprang from her seat straight away to tear the video zestfully from his outstretched hand. She slid it in and threw herself excitedly back down into her seat as the rest of the class watched her movements with detached annoyance.

The movie was longer than Harry had ever realised. After what had to be years of that crap, he was struggling to stay awake and was leaning his head heavily against the heel of his hand. Snape appeared to be attempting to remain conscious by keeping his eyelids peeled as far back as possible, and he had ceased to blink for some time by the final dance number. Once the battle horn had sounded three short blasts to signal the end of the period, the professor turned his wide eyes on the class and made a strange face that some may have interpreted as a genuinely impressed smile.

The students filed out of the room in record speed, Ron shuffling as fast as he could to keep up with his friends.

There was fifteen minutes in between Muggle Film Studies and dinner, and Harry decided to drop his things off in his room before heading down to the Great Hall. Draco was nowhere to be found when he walked in, and Harry was glad. Really. He was not in the mood for Draco's jokes and pushy constitution.

Of course, the tiny room was colder when he was alone in it, and his breathing echoed oddly against the stones that surrounded him. He had never noticed just how dark their tiny space was, just how little light filtered in through the dirty glass of the ancient window. It would have been silly to light a candle already, and he was only going to be in the room for a minute or two, but the dim atmosphere in there strangely unsettled him. There were cobwebs on the ceiling and piles of dust in the corners, rather telling stains on the bedclothes and an annoying pile of perfectly folded designer robes on the single table available for the both of the occupants.

"Do not eye my clothing like that, Potter," Draco drawled, stepping casually into the room. He was flushed and sweaty and carrying his own shirt in his hands. His hair was wet and messy and he was breathing somewhat heavily. "I've seen what you wear every day. I don't want you pawing through my things."

"Where have you been?" Harry asked a little hysterically. This was not how Draco wandered around usually. He was a mess, he was glistening, he was suddenly not quite as pale - he looked alive.

Something terrible must have happened. That was it. Something absolutely horrendous must be going on in another part of the castle causing students and faculty alike to run for their lives, becoming sweaty and out of breath and forcing them to strip simply to keep from overheating as they ran for their lives. There was no other possibility here.

"Detention," Draco replied, eyeing Harry oddly and making a production out of stepping around him as if he were a leper.

"Naked detention?"

"Gardening, you fool. Lombard has a Wizard's Jungle beneath the castle, and it needed some serious weeding."

"Oh, I bet you did some weeding," Harry hissed nastily before his mind caught up to his mouth.

"I'm sorry?" the scantily clad boy asked as he slowly wiped his abdomen down with a towel. "That wasn't quite the sanest of responses. Take a breath and try again."

"Dinner time!" Harry informed him and then stomped out of the room in a huff.