Contradictus Totalus

Contradictus Totalus - Chapter 4

Draco Malfoy entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with his head held high and his chin raised proudly. He walked in a graceful manner, with a careless ease. To some people, he may have seemed like a cement statue at this moment. Not to Hermione though. She noticed that his jaw was tight, and that his hands were clenched. But only Hermione had noticed these little details. Only Hermione had bothered to watch him leave. After all, only Hermione had seen Malfoy in a less than perfect state.

Harry and Ron had paid him no attention, looking at each other and at her. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron spoke before him. He fumed, 'Why did you stop me?'

'Because I didn't want you wasting our House Points on him. Besides, I don't care anymore! He's only wasting his breath when he insults - '

'All right, you might not give a damn what the bastard says about you, but I d-'

Ron's outburst was stopped by a rapid shushing from Hermione as they entered the threshold of the classroom.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had undergone many decorating changes throughout the years, from Kappas in cages to technicolour kittens on the wall. Hermione looked around the classroom, hoping to glean a bit of information about the teacher by looking at the walls. She was rather disappointed.

The walls of the classroom were bare. The flowery wallpaper that ruled in Umbridge's reign had been covered up by some sort of enchantment (perhaps a Cover-up spell?). The orchids were now shoddily hidden under cold, grey, stone walls. Shoddily hidden because they could still be spotted lurking out from under the rough stone walls. Hermione didn't know which was worse, Umbridge's revolting kittens, or these cold, bare walls that made her think of dungeons and Malfoy and Slytherins in general.

The desk at the front of the class was bare as well, although Hermione suspected it contained a lot more than it seemed to, what with the many drawers and compartments, all obviously locked up very tightly.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed towards the seats somewhere in between the center and the back of the class, off to the right. Their seats were far away enough to avoid the wrath of a particularly moody or vindictive professor, but close enough to the front to assuage Hermione's fear of missing a single word from the professor's lectures.

On her way towards her seat, Hermione thought she saw a very faint pinkish hue on Malfoy's face, but no, it was probably a trick of what little light there was in there (the curtains were drawn shut). Did Malfoys even condescend to allow themselves to blush like lesser beings?

As if he knew Hermione was thinking about him, Malfoy stared at Granger's back as she walked by him. Hermione felt little prickles go up her spine again, those peculiar little prickles that everyone has felt when they're aware that someone unpleasant is staring at them, and is directing horrid little thoughts towards them. The same little prickles that she had felt only five minutes ago, defiantly staring at Malfoy outside in the corridor.

Hermione forced herself to ignore them, and not turn around to face the one whom she knew was the source of the Prickles. She sat down with Harry and Ron.

Hermione heard Ron mutter 'gross!' and looked to see the object of his disgust. There were little bits of odd, green mould on the top of her desk. Well, the center section of the mould was green, but the edges of the patches of mould were a strange silvery colour, almost like the colour of Harry's invisibility cloak. Yes, the mould (that happened to be only on her desk) really did warrant a 'gross,' even from Ron, a wizard who usually was not perturbed by such gross things.

Ron and Harry both tried to clean the strange, foreign mould, but it was particularly resilient. After Harry's Scourgifying Spell failed for the third time and instead splashed the mould onto her robes, where it burned a small hole, Hermione pushed her friends away, exasperated.

Instead of blasting with abandon at the little patches, Hermione instead slowly and carefully aimed her Cleaning spell at the edges of the mould, and worked from the outside in, scraping at the outside to finally clean the center. It took a lot of patience to get rid of even a bit of the scummy, and seemingly rather acidic mould, but finally, after several minutes and several renewings of the spell, she managed to do it.

Luckily for Seamus Finnegan, Hermione did not see him mouth the word anal' to Dean Thomas and grin.

Instead, now that the slime was cleared away, she tried to think of other things. Would the new teacher be tolerant and laid-back, or would he or she be a carbon copy of Professor Snape? The oppressive stone walls and the darkness made her lean towards the latter idea.

It seemed that the whole class shared this view, for all conversation was in muted tones, the sort of hush usually reserved for funerals.

No, it seemed that there was one person who did not care about the unknown professor, and seemed perfectly at home in this dungeon-like room, for this person started speaking in a very conversational tone. Hermione knew the voice before she saw the face, but she felt herself cave in anyway. She spun around to see Malfoy sitting behind her and to the left. He was gazing at a spot somewhere past her right shoulder, while talking at a normal volume to Crabbe and Goyle. Ron quickly turned around too.

'You know, I heard that Professor Snape is going to be our teacher for this class. Absolutely fantastic, as he doesn't take any rubbish from any' (and here he stared straight at Granger) 'buck-toothed, bushy-haired know-it-alls or -'

'Right, Malfoy!' Pansy Parkinson's sycophantic titters were lost under Ron's snarl. He stood up quickly, his chair falling to the side with a loud clatter. 'You've been asking for it since you entered this classroom. I know Hermione kicked your weak, pathetic little arse in the hall, and you're just trying to gain face now, but I've had enough of this!' Following this pronouncement, he plunged his hand into his robe, reaching for his wand.

'If that wand leaves the vicinity of your robes, Mr. Weasley,' a cold voice hissed, 'then I assure you that you will be serving detentions with me every evening until you've scrubbed so many dishes of frog guts that they're leaking out of your hollow head through your ears.'

Ron froze, so stunned was he by this pronouncement. Not able to believe their ears, everyone who had been following the conflict at the back of the class quickly swivelled their heads to the front.

It was Snape.

Despite having spotted so many similarities between this classroom and the dungeons, Hermione had not even once stopped to consider that these similitudes were because Snape was the one to reside in this room. So many years of seeing him being rejected for this post had almost led her to believe that she would never see him as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Breaking the shocked silence, Snape said, 'Mr. Malfoy, you should know by now not to provoke students who think more often with their gonads and not with their brains.' Snape paused here, and continued in a slightly strained voice. 'Two points from ... Slytherin.' Malfoy looked slightly surprised by this announcement, but as Hermione very curiously noticed, he did not argue or attempt to slide out of this punishment - yes, it was a mild one, but a punishment all the same. Hermione then wondered when and why Snape had started treating Malfoy like a normal student. Well, his admonishment was still lighter than she would have liked, and Snape had still managed to squeeze in a jab towards Ron even in his reprimand at Malfoy, but it was a start.

Snape continued. 'Fighting and making idle threats is not tolerated on the grounds or in the castle, Weasley, as I thought you would have learned by now.' Oh no, Hermione thought dully. She exchanged a worried look with Harry. She did not like the silky tone of Snape's voice. Harry's eyes conveyed the same thought that she had: Gryffindor House would be soon suffering a huge plummet in House Points. She wasn't incorrect. Snape enunciated the words very carefully. 'Seventy-five points fr-'

CRASH!!!

The sound of breaking glass resonated throughout the classroom. Eyes were squeezed shut and ears were covered. The originally dark chamber was suddenly plunged in light as the heavy curtains flew open and thousands of little glass shards from a broken window rained in on the students.

Snape turned around quickly, although fortunately for him slowly enough to avoid getting beads of glass embedded in his eyeballs. Malfoy looked up. Eyes that had adapted to the dimness now needed some time to adjust to the surfeit of light pouring in through the open window.

The students all saw a woman in her thirties wearing a strange-looking jacket - if Malfoy was a bit more knowledgeable in the area of Muggle fashion, he would have recognized it as a bomber jacket - and Salamander-red goggles of all things. All of the students ogled at the woman in goggles.

Snape looked taken aback. The Gryffindor students failed to hide their exchanged looks of glee: all thoughts of punishing Ron had clearly been pushed out of the professor's mind.

Snape stared at the strange women for a moment. 'Who are you, and what are you doing in here?' Snape asked harshly. Never mind that he felt as though he was talking to a fish.

'Are you Professor Snape? Professor Dumbledore did mention the name of someone, a Professor Severus Snape, and well, you look like a Snape to me, so you must be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!' the woman said all in one breath.

'Who are you, and what are you doing in here?' Snape repeated, while trying to brush out the bits of glass that were liberally sprinkled in his dark hair without slicing his hands open.

'Oh! Didn't I tell you already? I thought I had! I just flew in from Montréal on broomstick - I hate Portkeys because they make me feel so dizzy, and I abhor Apparating overseas, you get these little bits of salt stuck to your clothes ... anyway, so ... oh yes, so I was flying here because - well, I was supposed to be flying ...' Her speech slowed down a bit (which didn't say much) and she rolled her eyes.

She said darkly, 'In fact, I was doing very well until I came onto the grounds. A huge gust of wind blew my trunk off - here's a tip for all of you: never, ever bewitch your trunks to make them feather-light on a day when winds are above 5 kilometres an hour - and I zoomed down to catch it and then this, well, this killer-tree grabbed my broomstick - I was quite fond of it too ... those Avro Arrows ...' (and here was a wistful sigh) 'and then I was launched out of my broomstick. It's quite lucky, eh, that I was thrown into the right classroom at least! Do you think that tree knew where I needed to go? Hmm ... I'd rather like to inspect it for signs of sentience. Strange though. I don't recall a killer-tree ever being mentioned at all in Hogwarts: A History. Surely a tree this massive would have been given at least a footnote? Well, there's something for the revised edition!'

Strangely enough, it was only Hermione who looked delighted to hear this news. Someone besides herself had read the great tome with over one thousand pages all devoted to the history of Hogwarts, even if this other person did wear bright red goggles.

'Who are you, and what are you doing in my classroom?' Snape demanded once again, cutting this weird witch off before she could start talking again. His nose was wrinkling, and this had nothing to do with the faint odour of pickled turtles in the classroom. It was obvious that he liked this newcomer less and less with each word that she spoke.

This witch was not completely oblivious to Professor Snape's less-than-friendly demeanour. Perhaps it was the way his dark eyes glared at her. Perhaps it was the sneer. Perhaps it was the slight nose-wrinkling. Whatever the reason, the stranger had certainly caught on that she was not particularly liked by this Professor Snape. She said very coolly to him, 'My name is Amélie St.-Marie, to be addressed as Professor St.-Marie.' Professor? The students looked bemusedly on.

They were not just bemused, though. Many of them were clearly impressed by this professor's long voyage across the Atlantic on her broomstick. Many others wondered how she could have gotten into a scrap with the Whomping Willow and escape with both her corneas intact. Yet other students were awed by her immunity to the searing glares courtesy of Snape. (Most people, after being on the receiving end, succumbed to a strange sickness that made them feel like their internal organs had shrivelled up. Madam Pomfrey had given so many attempts to find the cause of the ailment but walked away with nary a diagnosis each time.) As for Hermione, she was just overjoyed to discover that she had a fellow Hogwarts: A History reader.

'Well, enough of that!' Professor St.-Marie said briskly. 'I expect I shall learn your names soon enough, as I'll be co-teaching your Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Snape.'

One of Snape's eyes twitched. He fished out a small form from his robes, trying desperately to do so inconspicuously. His dark eyes scanned the paper quickly. If any of the students had a magical eye similar to Alastor Moody's, he or she would have seen through the paper and realized that it was indeed stated on it that there was a slight chance that Snape would not be the only instructor in the Survival Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The usually meticulous Professor Snape had obviously neglected to catch this little proviso.

Professor St.-Marie watched as Professor Snape scanned the little scrap of paper. She had no spinning magical eye, but she could guess that he was looking for some proof that she actually was a professor and not simply an incredibly stupid-slash-suicidal student with superb skill at telling fibs. She, too, was enjoying the company of her so-called esteemed colleague less and less. However, everyone deserved to be treated with respect, even if they did not provide it to others ... so ah well, on with the lesson! If this Professor Snape was not happy with her presence, then that would be something for him to discuss with Headmaster Dumbledore.

Despite Professor St.-Marie's slightly meandering way of speaking, the class was taught quite efficiently. Hermione was certain that Professor St.-Marie was no rookie teacher. Hermione did notice however, that while the begoggled Professor St.-Marie had only a few qualms about speaking with Professor Snape, albeit in a very stiff and detached manner, the latter more often than not avoided talking to the former completely.

Survival Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione learned, was a course with the goal of teaching students how to survive in a hostile and dangerous environment. Students would learn some basic Healing Charms, as well as quick Muggle ways of treating injuries if a wand could not be used for whatever reason. The class would also teach students the best way to use defensive spells along with offensive spells to create all-around protection.

For the past number of years, all of the DADA classes had taught very few offensive spells. Indeed, most offensive spells used among students had been eagerly searched for in One Hundred Hellishly Humiliating Hexes or other appropriately titled books. Many of these same spells caused more trouble than they were worth, being cast much stronger than intended and causing extensive injuries towards the unlucky target. As well, they often backfired upon the spellcaster and produced effects much nastier than what the original spell would have created. (Pansy Parkinson's antlers sprouted last year were a prime example of the miscasting of jinxes.) Apparently, Dumbledore was resigned to the fact that even if Hogwarts did not teach too many offensive spells, they were still being learned extracurricularly, and so, they might as well be learned to be cast the right way in classes as well.

But the gist of the class was not to learn how to cast debilitating jinxes. As Professor St.-Marie concluded, 'The point of this two-month course is to teach you how to proficiently combine the knowledge of all your spells (offensive and defensive) and apply them effectively in an outside environment. And with the second war coming, the ability to defend yourself in all environments will be highly prized.'

'What? Does this mean you're only staying for two months? You're not going to be the real DADA teacher?' Seamus Finnegan blurted out without thinking. He was looking rather aghast. So Snape would be the DADA teacher after all? Seamus did not notice the murderous look on Snape's face after his exclamation.

Professor St.-Marie began talking, unknowingly cutting Snape off, who had been poised to hand out a detention to Seamus for his blatant lack of respect. 'Yes. That's right. I used to be an Auror, back home, but retrained specifically to teach practical Defence Against the Dark Arts. Since then, I've been travelling all around the world going to schools who've requested that I teach this course. I believe my next stop is Durmstrang ... But yes! So I'll be teaching this class for just a two month period, and then I'll set off again and you can have for your regular Defence classes your lovely teacher back!'

Malfoy, whose ears had been perked up since she mentioned the usage of offensive spells, wondered if anyone else in the class had caught the subtle sarcasm.

Snape did not pull a dour face when he heard himself being referred to as a 'lovely teacher,' even if it was mentioned sarcastically. He forgot all about informing Finnegan about the Snaggleworm pus that needed to be scraped from the bottoms of the hundred-odd cauldrons down in Dungeon Two upon hearing the last sentence. He would get the DADA post after all; he only needed to wait two months until she left.

Malfoy shared Snape's sentiment, in that he too could not wait for her departure. This professor was obviously a Muggle-born - look at those damn red goggles! - and this superseded his grudgingly admitted awe that she flew all the way from the Western Hemisphere on a broom.

Hermione wondered how they would be evaluated. She asked Professor St.-Marie, 'Will we be having a final task to test our skills and such?'

She spoke at the exact same time Malfoy called out, 'Professor,' (looking deliberately at Snape) 'will we have some type of exam for this class?'

They looked quickly at each other, each student surprised that the other had asked the same question. Hermione shrugged off her surprise. She turned back to look at Professor St.-Marie, after gazing at Malfoy with a passing interest.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked at Granger with annoyance. Granger just had to beat him at everything, didn't she, even for something so trivial as asking a sodding question to a professor.

Professor Snape and Professor St.-Marie both opened their mouths to answer at the same time. Their eyes flicked towards each other. For one instantaneous moment in time, they looked rather amusing, with their eyes pointed at each other and their mouths poised to speak. But only for one infinitesimally short moment, as Snape would never allow himself to be seen looking so comical for more than a blink of an eye.

They both spoke at the same time. Neither seemed to want to back down. Their words competed with each other, sounding like a garble when spoken together, until Snape accidentally (accidentally-on-purpose, one might say) stepped on St.-Marie's foot - when one does not wear robes and wears a Muggle bomber jacket and jeans instead, one always runs the risk of exposing one's toes to a painful stomp. Professor St.-Marie stopped talking, and winced slightly. It was only her wish to remain courteous and professional to colleagues that kept her from angrily asking this Snape what the hell his problem was. She shot him an angry look as he took her brief silence as the go-ahead for him to speak.

'As I was saying, there will indeed be a task to test your knowledge of spells and how you apply them in a situation that you've never faced before. I shall tell you now, so you have ample time to prepare yourselves for this final task - and I am certain that several of you will indeed be needing all the time you can glean, what with your exceedingly poor spell skills ...' Snape's voice trailed off as his eyes took in the apprehensive expression on Neville's face.

Professor St.-Marie took the opportunity to continue. She had yielded to him for enough. 'But no matter how poor your skills may be considered by certain others' (her voice adopted a certain edge to it here, and her eyes flashed towards Snape's for one moment) 'I am sure you will be prepared for your final task. And well, I better tell you what it is. You will each be one-way Portkeyed into a different section of the Forbidden Forest, and will have to navigate your way to a different Portkey located some ways away. The Portkey will take you back to the Hogwarts grounds. The quicker time you have and the fewer injuries you sustain, the higher the mark you will receive.'

The professor's voice became even brisker. 'This is not an easy task, I must warn you. The Forbidden Forest stretches out a lot deeper than you think, and is replete with many dangerous creatures. Don't try to make your way to the Portkey without any sleep at all. It is too far away, and you will only end up wandering into a cave full of Ashwinders, and suffer a most painful and gruesome death.'

Several students blanched upon hearing those last few words, while a few others gulped audibly. Despite living at a particularly time during history, and despite facing imminent death every time they had a Potions lesson with Neville Longbottom, the majority of students still had not become desensitized to hearing those last few words uttered.

St.-Marie continued, 'I - we - do not expect any of you to take less than one day to find your way home. This means that you will be sleeping in the forest, you will find your food in the forest, you will rely on instinct and intuition to live in the forest. You will be wracking your brains for all the knowledge and common sense that you'll need in order to survive out there.' She paused here to allow the students to think about what she said.

Malfoy heard someone, doubtlessly a brave and daring Gryffindor, whisper, 'This sounds rather dangerous ...'

'This is indeed probably one the hardest exams you will ever face,' Snape confirmed, displaying his rather keen sense of hearing. 'So I suggest that you put all of your energy in preparing for this task, although if your preparation for this is as shoddy as your homework completion in my Potions class was last year, Mr. Thomas, then, I believe I'm not wrong in predicting that you will be spending an inordinate amount of time in the forest.'

Professor St.-Marie recommenced speaking, after furrowing her brow at Professor Snape's obvious display of vindictiveness. 'As well, you shall be put in pairs. This'll emphasize the importance of teamwork as being very necessary to be the most effective you can be.'

Hermione heard someone mumble quietly, 'And two people have a better chance of surviving a werewolf attack than just one.'

'Before you even bother to ask whom you'll be paired up with, I shall inform you right now, don't bother worrying about such petty little things. That information will not be disclosed to you just yet,' Snape said, anticipating the question on the tips of many students' tongues.

Before the lesson could continue, the bell rang, signalling the end of the class. Hermione watched as Professor St.-Marie marched quickly and purposefully towards Snape, with a barely-suppressed look of fury on her face. Snape towered over the much shorter St.-Marie, but that did not seem to intimidate her at all. 'What,' she hissed, 'gives you the right to treat your colleagues ...'

Hermione was quickly ushered out of the room by Harry, and consequently only caught sight of an extremely ugly look arranging itself on Snape's face. She, Harry, Ron, and Neville all headed off to the dungeons for Potions. They did not want to be late when Snape was already in an extremely vitriolic mood.

'But we have almost half an hour between now and when class starts! Besides, Snape has to go from here to Potions too, just like us, so it's practically impossible for him to arrive there before us,' Neville pointed out.

'I wouldn't be surprised if he could turn himself into a giant bat and swoop to the dungeons ahead of us,' Ron muttered darkly.

They arrived, panting slightly, at the door of the Potions classroom a short while later. Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu as she saw the cold stone walls again. The bell hadn't signalled the start of class yet, and feeling immensely relieved that they could not possibly get on Snape's bad side now, the four Gryffindors headed into the Potions classroom.

Snape was sitting at his desk at the front of the class. Snape did not notice the look of shock on Neville's face, and instead, he smiled coldly, showing just a hint of his yellowed teeth. 'While Professor St.-Marie' (and here was an ill-concealed scowl) 'might be more tolerant some of your shortcomings, I myself do not. For arriving late, ten points from Gryffindor for each one of you latecomers.'

Harry elbowed Ron, who had opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that the bell had not even rung yet. A few rows from the front, a blond-haired wizard's shoulders shook up and down slightly, as if the wizard these shoulders belonged to was chuckling.

The four of them sat down near the back and unpacked their bags. Taking out their quills, they immediately began taking notes on the brewing of Peristalsis Draughts, often used to halt severe vomiting. Snape surveyed them for a moment before heading swiftly into the Potions storeroom, his cloak billowing behind him, swirling around him like a cloud of smoke.

Hermione watched as Malfoy turned around slowly. He was the only Slytherin in this sixth-year Potions class, but his isolation did not keep him from displaying to her a face currently twisted into an ugly expression that was half a smirk and half a sneer. For not the first time, Hermione wondered how she could have even considered even once this snide, immature person to look attractive. Well, she knew enough about him to know how to bugger off. She gave him a look of total disdain and utter indifference, and smiled slightly as Malfoy's eyes widened slightly and his snerk twitched: whatever he had tried to provoke from her, it obviously had not been produced. Before anything more could be done, Snape walked back in, and Malfoy turned around swiftly.

Hermione sighed, and resumed copying from the chalkboard. She felt no gloating triumph at all, just a painful resignation to the fact that her mornings with Survival DADA and Potions would be slow and almost torturous indeed. Snape being the instructor for the classes was tolerable, but add Draco Malfoy to the concoction? Then the brew becomes horrid enough to make anyone sick.

It was quite lucky that this Advanced Potions class would be making Peristalsis Draughts, Hermione thought dully. She would probably be in dire need of it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow she would have the exact same morning with the exact same classes, each class containing the exact same insufferable, arrogant wizard that was Draco Malfoy.