The day my life changed forever was exactly two years ago today. It was the night before our leaving ceremony, and Dumbledore had invited all the seventh year students to the Great Hall for one last party with our fellow classmates. It was to be a night to remember. If I only knew how true that statement was going to turn out to be. My life took its sudden u-turn with the utterance of seven simple words...
"Hey, Potter! Come here for a minute."
I turn to see Draco Malfoy lounging against the side of the castle, one foot braced against the grey stones. I immediately tighten my grip on my Firebolt and narrow my eyes suspiciously.
We have been secretly working together with Dumbledore and the Order since sixth year, and although we are by no means what you would call friends, we have reached a sort of understanding – we only speak to each other when necessary, and only at meetings.
He's breaking the rules.
"What do you want?" I call back, carefully keeping my distance and glancing around for any other wandering students.
Malfoy rolls his eyes in irritation. "Just get over here, will you? I promise not to taint your precious Gryffindor virtue."
Against my better judgement I walk over to my old rival and stand expectantly in front of him. Malfoy glances briefly at my broom before leaning back against the school wall and staring up at the gathering clouds above.
"Out for one last nostalgic flight?" he asks briefly.
"Yeah, so?" I reply, challenging, waiting for the sharp barb that was sure to come next.
"So nothing." Malfoy shrugs, eyes still roving the dark grey sky.
I sigh and shift my weight impatiently. "What did you want, Malfoy?"
He finally looks back to me and one corner of his mouth curls up, eyes gleaming. "I have a proposition for you."
"I'm listening," I reply warily, feeling as though I'm treading on very shaky ground.
"It is a time honoured tradition in my family to leave a lasting impression on this school in some way before departing. Although I have decided against certain other traditions, I must admit I have the desire to follow in my ancestor's footsteps in this case. I am proposing a prank, one last escapade before we must leave childhood behind forever and join this fucking war that will age us faster than time."
"I don't understand." I frown uncertainly. "What do you need me for?"
Malfoy pushes away from the wall and stands directly in front of me, staring intently. "I have decided that you need to break away from your daily routine of sickening goody-two shoes behaviour and have a little fun."
"You don't think that I've ever broken the rules?"
Malfoy waves his hand dismissively. "I'm not talking about stink bombs or putting earwigs in someone's dinner, what I'm proposing is much bigger. Traditionally this prank must land someone in the infirmary."
"That's it, I'm leaving." I clutch my broom to my side and make to leave.
"Potter." Malfoy grabs the end of my broom handle to stop me from walking away. "Just listen to me for once, all right?"
"I'm not going to intentionally injure someone," I snap.
"Stop being such a prat. Any good hex can land a person in the infirmary, it doesn't have to be Cruciatus or even remotely life threatening."
"Then what exactly?"
Malfoy relinquishes his grip on my broom and once again strikes a pose of casual indifference as he leans against the school. "Fire Fever."
Despite my annoyance with the haughty blond, my curiosity is definitely piqued. "And what exactly is Fire Fever?"
Malfoy smirks, relishing the fact that he now has my full attention. "Fire Fever is a powder. It has no smell, no taste, and its bright red colour disappears immediately after administration. You slip it into any drink then sit back and watch the after effects."
"Which are?"
Malfoy grins maliciously. "Only a few minutes after ingestion the victim will feel an itchy, burning sensation just beneath the skin. The feeling grows until it consumes the entire body. No matter how much you scratch or how much ice you use, the feeling cannot be abated. The person must suffer until it runs its course."
"That's sick."
Malfoy seems almost pleased with my pronouncement. "I know," he drawls. "I concocted it myself."
"Figures," I mutter.
"Don't worry so much, Potter. It's not that painful, more like...uncomfortable."
I abandon all hope of escaping anytime soon and decide to lean back against the wall next to Malfoy, dropping my Firebolt to the ground beside me. "Even though I still think that you're a sick bastard, that powder seems a little tame. The Weasley twins would probably sell it in their shop."
Malfoy's eyes dim a little. "I thought you said that you wouldn't agree to anything too extreme?"
"And I won't, only...I don't know. Watching someone scratch at themselves for twenty minutes isn't all that memorable."
Malfoy's eyes immediately gleam with mischief, his confidence restored. " This may be true, but watching the entire seventh year class scratch at themselves uselessly for twenty minutes would be quite the spectacle. I believe most people might even shed their clothes to try and relieve the burning."
I can't help it – I snort with laughter at the mental picture. Now that would be something to remember.
Malfoy smiles smugly.
"But why me?" I ask, quickly recovering. "Why not do this with one of your Slytherin friends? Or why even tell me at all? I would've thought that I would be among the people you would most like to see make a fool of themselves tonight."
Malfoy's expression closes and his voice is cool. "If you haven't noticed, I do not have any friends in Slytherin. I only pretend to like them for the Order's sake. I want to see them 'make fools of themselves', as you call it, more than anyone else. They are all future Death Eaters, Potter, let's not try to sugar coat the truth. As for seeing you make a fool of yourself, well, you're right, I would've liked to be spectator to that sight, but...what's the fun of watching your evil handiwork alone? Plus, what I said earlier is true – you do need to break away and have a laugh, Potter. You're much too serious for your age."
"Maybe that has something to do with having a raving lunatic after me for seven years of my life," I answer bitterly, knowing that he probably wouldn't understand.
"And my father's a Death Eater and Voldemort's right-hand man - so what? I don't know about you, but I'm not wasting my life away worrying about the future." He pauses thoughtfully, his tone quietly reflective as he continues. "If you keep thinking about tomorrow, Potter, one day you'll find that all you have left are a bunch of piled up yesterdays."
Malfoy's statement hits me hard. Is that what I've been doing most of my life? Living for tomorrow instead of the here and now? Had I shut myself off from living instead of relishing each day as a gift and being grateful for at least that much?
"Who knew you could be so profound?" I say in way of trying to lighten the mood and not show him how much his words affected me.
He shrugs and looks away, and somehow I think he knows. "So are you in?" he asks.
I glance up as the rain begins to fall, the early morning fog dissipating with the sudden downpour. The grounds become a hazy world awash in green and grey. A blurry painting of colours and memories all tied into one; swimming in the lake, warm comforting talks in Hagrid's cabin, Quidditch, infamous trips into the Forbidden Forest, lazy days of studying in the sunshine and dozing on the grass. This is my last day here, my last official school day at Hogwarts, the only home I've ever craved or ever wanted and it's coming to an end. Why not go out with a bang?
"I'm in."
