Contrariety

CHAPTER ONE
It All Begins With You

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"Life is sad when you wear sweatpants and a raincoat."

-Bruce McCulloch, Kids in the Hall
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The Knight Boat snapped into reality inches from the dock and Harry jumped backward into Snape with surprise.

"I believe that this sort of physical contact between teacher and student is largely frowned upon, Potter," he said dryly, heaving the shocked boy off of him.

"I always knew he had a thing for Slytherins," came a recently lowered, drawling voice from behind the pair.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron growled back at him.

"Ron, leave him until we're off the boat," Hermione advised. "We're going to trapped in there with him for hours."

This was the stuff of nightmares.

There was a sudden flash of lighting and a deafening roll of thunder seconds before rain began lashing down upon them. The wind picked up in an instant and forced everyone present to lean slightly to the right as Hogwarts' sixth year Quidditch players and their personal guests stood miserably on the dock.

Harry was grateful that Mrs. Weasley had so insisted that they wear mackintoshes, but he felt he could really have been more presentable in hot pants and a halter-top upon arrival at Durmstrang.

"Everyone on the boat," McGonagall announced crisply as the doors slid open beside her. "Hurry now, it's going to be a long trip. We mustn't be late for the welcome feast."

Draco sprinted forward, madly shoving people out of his way as he went. He was holding a newspaper over his head as a kind of makeshift umbrella and seemed to be making babyish squeaking noises of discontentment.

Harry was feeling apprehensive as to what a welcome feast at Durmstrang would entail as he splashed quietly toward the boat. He was trying desperately to forget the fact that he was about to spend the first three weeks of his sixth year at Durmstrang, and was being forced to attend lectures and workshops with the only other Hogwarts Seeker invited to go - Draco Malfoy.

Apparently there was yet another Malfoy already attending the school, and, from what he had heard, she was just as pleasant as her cousin.

"I hear that Malfoy girl is hot," Ron mentioned randomly as they stepped into the purple shelter of the boat. He appeared to be trying to cheer his friend up.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, folding her arms. She did not elaborate.

"You don't say," Harry muttered to Ron. He watched absently as Zachariahs Smith was pushed to the floor for having the audacity to stand in front of the only mirror in the room when Draco was so obviously wet and distressed.

"What the fuck, Malfoy!" the Hufflepuff yelled and then slapped a hand over his mouth as McGonagall shot him a withering glare.

"Tisk, tisk," Draco chided spitefully.

"Well, it's something to look forward to," Ron defended, unaware of the scene over by the mirror.

"Not if she's anything like her cousin," said Harry.

Ron shrugged. "I like women with spirit."

"You should date a redhead then."

Harry was aware of how strange this last comment must have sounded to a Weasley, but he was far from concerned. He was preoccupied trying to appear as if he was storming, rather than shuffling dejectedly off in search of the loo.

"Nice trousers, Potter," Draco mocked as Harry passed. He was rubbing his white hair down with a Ravenclaw robe and sneering viciously.

In this case alone, Harry could not help but agree that he did look quite ridiculous. Along with the mac, Mrs. Weasley had insisted that he wear an old pair of Ron's sweatpants to remain comfortable on the long journey. While Ron had grown out of these by the beginning of fifth year, they trailed for miles down past Harry's feet. As much as he had rolled them, the sheer weight of the excess fabric had caused them to drag behind him in the puddles and the dirt of the dock and by now he was a mess.

"Nice hair," he shot back, feeling stupid immediately after saying it. "Remember a comb?" he added lamely.

"Of course I remembered a comb, you raving sod. Now get out of my light. I'm grooming."

Harry would have thrown a hideous retort back at the snivelling bastard, but he was quickly getting desperate, and resumed his search for a toilet. Really. He could have thought of something amazing if he had had the mind to. Draco would have been left wide-eyed and speechless at the sheer power of it, but at the moment Harry had to piss.

Once that was taken care of, he began a quick search for somewhere comfortable to pass the time. As it turned out, there was only one large central room and a dining area open, so everyone was forced to sit in long rows of wooden chairs in the centre of the ship for the majority of the voyage. There were perfectly made, fluffy looking beds upstairs, but they were scheduled to arrive before evening and that area was locked off.

So Harry had no choice but to fidget madly in between his friends as his arse quickly grew numb and his tailbone began to throb. He hoped Durmstrang was closer than he imagined.

This year, the most infamous school of the Dark Arts had decided to bolster its growing reputation as 'just that school way up in the mountains' - rather than 'the school that trains all of those Death Eaters' - by hosting a Quidditch workshop for all European Wizarding academies. Of course, being far too posh and particular about whom they associate with since the fiasco at the Triwizard Tournament, Beauxbatons had kindly backed out of the offer. But rumour had it that there were going to be several smaller schools in attendance this year.

*

The remainder of the voyage was spent in a similar manner as the first few moments aboard. Malfoy incessantly barked orders at various strangers, most concerning pillows and the lack of proper entertainment, and generally made a spectacle of how very dissatisfied he was with the entire situation. His voice soon mingled with the sound of waves crashing against the hull as an annoying yet constant background noise.

When he waltzed into the dining cabin for lunch two hours later, he vehemently demanded veal and chocolate truffles, and then pouted severely when he was given chicken and a Mars Bar. Following the meal, he moaned loudly to anyone nearby that he was surely suffering from severe salmonella poisoning.

McGonagall assured him that he was only feeling a bit of seasickness, and insisted that he return whoever's robe it was that he was holding out in front of him like a sick-bag.

"I think I would know if I had been poisoned, Professor," he gasped, collapsing sideways onto Pansy's lap and clutching tightly to his abdomen. "I am going to die. You'll have to bury me at sea and then no one will be able to properly weep over my beautiful corpse in the open mahogany casket. What will my fan club do? They're going to be crushed!"

"I'm sure they'll be strong. For your honour's sake," Pansy assured him, stroking his hair lightly.

"Do not mock me, woman," he told her, pointing a finger straight up into the air. "I am your future husband, if you would care to remember."

"I wouldn't," she said and laughed.

Draco smiled and gurgled as he was still on his side and his head was tilted so severely that he was no doubt unable to swallow before laughing as well.

That's just what happens to people who carelessly go around lying in girls' laps left and right. He could choke for all Harry cared, the sluttish bastard.

"What's with the angry face, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing up from the massive tome she had brought aboard as light reading for the trip. Her hair was absolutely massive in the intense humidity and the rain had done foul things to the frizzy curls. She did not seem to mind as she pulled a pencil out from behind her ear and underlined a passage in her book.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just Malfoy."

"Yeah." She nodded understandingly and sent her hair into a mad bobbing motion. "I can't believe you have to spend three weeks with him. I'm really not looking forward to it."

"What are you talking about?" Ron demanded. "You didn't even have to come, you were invited! You didn't have to be my guest. Ginny could have come."

Hermione sighed. "Ginny can't leave school this year, she has to study for her OWLS. Plus, this trip is Sixth Years only, I remind you. And of course I had to come; Durmstrang is now the leading school for Advanced Muggle Studies."

"You parents are Muggles," Ron pointed out. "They're dentists. You went to Muggle schools for years. You spend each summer in the Muggle world. What don't you know about Muggles?"

"Loads, I'm sure," she replied, an excited twinkle in her far away eyes. "Just loads..."

"You do realise that it's all one transparent ploy to come across as anything but evil, don't you?" Harry enquired.

Hermione sniffed. "Yes, but that doesn't mean that their courses aren't absolutely first-rate."

*

Apparently at Durmstrang, it snows in September.

Soft flakes were floating down all around Harry as he stumbled off of the ship and into the dim light of early evening, suddenly very cold and homesick. The grass was frosted and had been transformed by the weather into a crunching field of grey. Durmstrang Castle rose up in the distance, even more gothic in style than one would have imagined. The gargoyles above the doors flapped their wings excitedly and toyed with the large cauldrons beside them.

"Surely those aren't filled with boiling oil?" Hermione asked McGonagall nervously.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she replied, an annoyed expression sweeping across her heavily lined face. She was not looking at her student at all, but rather watching as the Slytherins marched quickly toward the front of the pack.

"Whose brilliant idea was it to host an International Quidditch Workshop in the Land of Perpetual Winter?" Draco complained loudly.

Both Crabbe and Goyle grunted affirmatively as they unclasped their robes and draped them over Pansy's shoulders as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

"I love my boys," she cooed into the massive lengths of fabric draped around her. "I've trained them so well. Except you, Draco, you're still a bitch."

"Thank you, darling," he said and kissed her cheek unnecessarily.

That was entirely uncalled for, Harry thought. Malfoy was just trying to draw attention to himself by being overly affectionate. He was probably trying to make the girls jealous, that prat. No normal person was that demonstrative with his friends. Harry didn't wander around kissing Hermione and Ginny and flopping ostentatiously around on their thighs. People just don't do that sort of thing in public.

"You're making that face again, Harry." Hermione sounded concerned. "Maybe we shouldn't walk so close to the Slytherins."

"No argument here," Ron said, steering them to the left of the small crowd.

Further up the hill, there were several groups of students wandering ahead of them and separating toward four signs bearing the names of the various Quidditch positions and a fifth reading "Guests" in four different languages. A large Banner flapped in the wind overhead reading: "Benevolinganno, Hogwarts, Misterilusionista, Ultiemacht".

"Are there only four schools here?" Ron asked, sounding somewhat putout. "I thought there would be more."

Hermione shrugged. "You know Beauxbatons isn't coming. Fleur already graduated anyway, if you recall."

"I knew that, and I wasn't talking about her. I was just hoping for more..."

"Girls?" Harry offered.

"Competition," Ron finished.

Hermione did not look convinced in the slightest, but politely said, "Not many schools want to be associated with Durmstrang after what happened in fourth year."

"Not all of the coaches are going to be from Durmstrang are they?"

"No, they're from all over."

Ron looked oddly heartened. "Good, that means--"

"Zis vay, Seekars," a gruff yet rather familiar voice called out to the crowds, drawing an abrupt close to their conversation.

"Oh no," Ron grumbled, picking out the source of the words. "Oh no, oh no."

"Is that Viktor?" Hermione asked excitedly, bouncing up onto the tips of her toes and smoothing her wild hair back from her face.

"He must be instructing the Seekers," Harry said, smiling at Ron's red cheeks.

"Harry Potter und Draco Malfoy, ziz vay, pleass." Krum waved a broomstick in the air and motioned for both of them to join the queue forming quickly in front of him. He smiled crookedly at Hermione.

Ron laughed and quickly stifled it into a sort of simmering sound behind his hand as Harry glared at him.

"Simply fabulous," Malfoy grumbled as he sauntered by. "It all begins with you."
*

The Great Hall of Durmstrang was more of a Great Pit with small tables scattered randomly about the dingy, high-ceilinged room, all surrounding one large bonfire in the centre. There were perhaps a dozen tables for the resident students that were not involved in the workshop, and one table for each group of Quidditch players. The personal guests had been encouraged to mingle, but had instead opted to cluster together at one of the larger tables and to speak in timid tones to anyone that understood their native language.

Harry was seated with the Seekers and much more closely to Malfoy than he would have preferred. He was painfully bored and having a hard time paying attention to the incessant prattling of the tiny boy across from him. He had a thick Glaswegian accent and habit of gesticulating so profoundly that he tipped over his water glass several times within the first few minutes of the welcome speeches. His skin was pale and dappled with the soft sort of freckles that can give one the appearance of either severe acne or a muddled tan, depending on the distance from which they are viewed. He was far too thin and had overlong, wiry arms that he appeared to have little control over at any time.

"My name's Bobby Blaire," he said excitedly, thrusting his arm at Harry and dropping his knife onto his plate with a loud clatter. "Oh, whoops."

"Merlin," Draco mouthed to the shamelessly flirtatious girl across from him. He rolled his eyes and swung his arms at his sides like an ape, and the licentious little witch tossed her curly hair and giggled vapidly.

Her name was Lolita Vasquez, she was Spanish, and she hardly knew any English at all. There was no way that she could have understood what was just said to her. She was being wantonly flirtatious and this was simply neither the time nor the place.

Harry scowled at her as he shook Bobby's clammy hand and felt the arm behind it flop in an odd, rubbery sort of way. "Harry Potter," he added a bit too late, glancing back at the boy's beaming expression.

"Oh, I know! I'm your biggest fan," Bobby said excitedly, dragging his arm back and scraping the knife along with it. It clinked loudly on the stone floor and he blushed.

"Bloody hell, Potty. Can you go anywhere without finding some deranged fan- boy?" Malfoy quipped snottily. "He doesn't have a camera stashed somewhere in those robes does he?"

"Bugger off," Harry mumbled, embarrassed for the strange Scot across from him.

"My, my Potter, such viciousness. Did the Weasel break up with you?"

The room suddenly erupted into a loud round of applause, and Harry realised that the multi-lingual speeches had finally come to an end. They had been talking loudly through all of them and he wondered for a moment if he could crawl under the table and hide without drawing unwanted attention.

Snape was scowling as he followed Viktor Krum over to their table. "I do not think we should pry into Potter's love life, Draco. Have some tact," he said, grinning strangely. "This is Krum. He is going to be leading your training. Play nice."

Krum slumped down into his chair as the Potions Master strode away, gazing solemnly at each of them and looking lost for words. "Vell, let us introduce ourselves, yes?"

"Oh, yes," said Draco. "My name is Draco Malfoy and I'm an Aries. I like long walks on the beach, intelligent conversations, kitties, and Muggle torture."

Lolita screeched with mirth and covered her mouth like Pansy used to do when she had been head over heels for Draco in fourth year and laughed at every word that flew from his mouth. Bobby looked mildly irritated.

"No one thinks you're funny, Malfoy," Harry informed him. He flicked his napkin out toward the pale face across the table in as threatening a manner as he could manage and then flattened it moodily onto his lap.

"Funny," Draco replied, ignoring Harry's strange behaviour. "I could have sworn Lolita here did. Didn't you, love?" She giggled and held her own napkin in front of her mouth with both hands.

"Stop trying to be so bloody impressive. They're all going to find out how much of a bastard you are soon enough."

"Vell, zis is lovely," Krum interrupted. "But ve must be getting now to our rooms."

"Perfect." Draco stood and pulled Lolita up by the hand, eyeing her approvingly. "We wouldn't happen to be staying in pairs, now would we?"

"Yes. Your names are on doors. Follow me."

Along the way, Krum babbled long and hard about what the goals of the training were and what he expected of each of them. Harry shushed Bobby several times and pretended to be listening to the laundry list of rules and expectations while he watched Draco sling his arm around Lolita's waist and whisper into her ear. Shameless, really.

When Krum turned a final corner and stopped in the middle of a long corridor, he continued to speak animatedly to no one. "Each group vill be tested and avohrded points. Vee vill get zee highest, knock on wood." He made an unexpected guffawing sound and rapped a fist lightly on his head three times.

Draco rolled his eyes and shook Lolita a bit by the hips to get her attention. "Clever," he muttered and then snickered into her shoulder.

Krum squinted at him. "I am remember you now, Draco Malfooie."

Draco smiled winningly. "Of course you do, it's my classic charm and chiselled good looks. No one ever forgets me, it's practically impossible."

"No. I remembering zat you are zee prick."

Draco started and pulled his hand off of Lolita to cross his arms over his chest. "What did you call me?" he asked with gravest outrage. "Zee prick? Did you just call me 'the prick', you duck-footed Neanderthal?"

"I am not sure vat you just call me, but you vill be remembering zat I am zee charger." Krum thrust his thumb into his chest and stood up straight for the first time in what had to have been years. His spine cracked loudly and he cringed just a bit.

"What are you even saying? Where is my room? Get away from me, I will not stand for this harassment!"

Krum grunted and pointed to the door behind him. In glittering, orange letters, the names 'Malfoy, Draco' and 'Potter, Harry' were scrawled magically across the ancient wood.

"What?" Harry demanded, suddenly very involved in the scene.

"You share room," Krum said gruffly, his usual temperament returning fully. "Vake up five for practice."