Our Lives

Chapter 2 - Nothing's Changed At All

And I remember, and I recall
And I can see that nothing's changed at all
Though we falter, we don't have to fall
And I can see that nothing's changed at all

Draco heard Hermione's footsteps fade sadly away. He knew that she was going to get the antidote for Cupid's potent love charm, and he didn't blame her. Although under the effect of the golden arrow, Hermione still retained enough pride to not turn herself into a simpering Pansy Parkinson. He smiled ruefully as he made his way to the bathroom.

Although Draco could never admit it to anyone unless he was forced-fed with Veritaserum, Hermione possessed many traits that he wished Pansy would, at least, make an effort to emulate.

She was emotionally intelligent enough to differentiate lust from love; not even Cupid could change that. Sometimes, he wished that she wasn't born to Muggle parents. Most of the times, he wanted her to desert her honourable, goody-two-shoes, insufferably knowledgeable attitude, and join his circle. Then again, that was exactly why he admired her. He wasn't sure if he could still see her in the same light if she morphed into another deceitful, scheming creature who was obsessed with bloodlines.

Like his father.

With a gasp, Draco staggered into a cubicle and shut the door clumsily. His vision was already blurring and nausea overtook him, causing the Slytherin to throw up in the toilet. The sword-shaped pendant that he wore on a silver chain around his neck glowed with iridescent blue-white light that grew increasingly brighter with each passing second.

No, Father.

He could feel Lucius's wrath, channelled through one of the spells he once saw in the library of Dark Arts book in his manor.

The young boy of seven's grey eyes were transfixed on the repulsive diagrams on a yellowed page. He didn't understand the words that his father was pointing at--they were written in old antiquated Latin. Strangely, he recognized a single word on the page, one which his father's gnarled finger missed.

Crucio.

He'd heard that word more times than anyone thrice his age would have heard in a lifetime. His father would instruct him to sit in the huge, dark green armchair, and he'd see how by pointing a wand at tarantulas, salamanders or other living creatures, the spell could render them helpless and twitching. Those that could scream did, while others, like the spiders, bore the pain in silence. Lucius had exposed and taught Draco a Forbidden Curse when he was merely a child.

"You see, Draco," drawled Lucius with a chilling glint in his right eye, "there are many derivatives of the Cruciatus Curse. It is, to put it simply, one of the most versatile spells ever discovered. Past wizards have devised ingenious ways to incorporate this delightful spell into various artefacts, or even other curses themselves."

Draco stared at his father, his white-blonde head nodding to indicate that he understood. Nobody told him that such information was too advanced for a young mind to process, so he didn't know. He thought that every child on earth knew about such things.

"This miniature Condamnus sword, for example," continued Lucius, "delivers a mild 'dose' of the curse to its wearer, if he disobeys his master through perfidy."

"Perfidy, father?" asked young Draco. He weighed the pendant with his left hand--it was light and didn't seem too dangerous. Emerald and ruby shaped like perfect spheres studded it, but its blade was pure silver. It was so beautiful that Draco couldn't take his eyes off it.

"Treachery," explained Lucius. "In other words, it is impossible to double cross me, if I were to instruct you to wear this around your neck."

Draco gasped. The miniature sword didn't seem so harmless, as he looked at it now. In fact, the redness of the rubies reminded him of blood. He shuddered.

"Don't worry, Draco my son," smiled Lucius, although the smile ended at his lips, "I wouldn't ask anything of you."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yet."

Before Lucius was thrown into Azkaban, he asked his son to hug him one last time. Draco squeezed his eyes close as the searing pain ripped through his body. The hug was a guise for Lucius to force the chain with the sword on it around Draco's neck. "You will serve the Dark Lord now," he rasped before the Aurors could pull him off. "And if you ever do fraternize with Mudbloods, this should put things right. Remember.....it is Mudbloods that caused your beloved father's departure."

He had since worn the chain around his neck like a filial son. In actuality, nobody but Lucius himself could remove the chain from around Draco's neck. Kissing Hermione had set off an explosion of emotions that started a chain reaction, leading to his current state of suffering. As he fell to the ground on all fours, writhing in pain, he tasted the sweetness of the kiss. He felt Hermione's arms around him, soothing, cooling and bringing salvation.

The five minutes spent in the bathroom seemed like an eternity, but even eternities are a lot shorter when he realised that he had done the one thing that he had always wanted to do.

We can't go on thinking it's wrong to deny what's inside, he thought, as he splashed some cool water on his almost bloodless face.

It pained him more than the Crutiatus Curse, to think that Hermione had only kissed him because of Cupid's arrow.

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"An Amorous Pesticidiens stung you?" Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Which caused you to be fall head over heels for the first male you saw?"

Hermione fidgeted with the tankard-like mug Madam Pomfrey handed her. It was filled to the brim with a frothy, glutinous, multicoloured substance. "I know it sounds implausible," she began, but Madam Pomfret raised a hand imperiously.

"Pray tell, dear girl, where did you find that plant?" she asked with a little smile teasing the corner of her plump lips. "As far as I know, that's a very dangerous species...and believe me, I know a lot."

Hermione hesitated. Mentally berating herself for coming up with such an unconvincing and illogical excuse, she decided to come clean. If Dumbledore wanted to raid the room, then I can't do anything, she told herself. Draco has no right to keep it to himself, anyway. It's school property now. But somewhere beneath her matter-of-fact way of dealing with life, something was rebelling. Part of her knew that the secret garden was sacred; it was where the sky was always night. Where hydras weren't bloodthirsty behemoths, but graceful dwellers of the crystal fountain. Where the laughter of nymphs could always be heard.

It was where she found that Draco Malfoy actually loved her.

To her shock, she realised that she the feeling was mutual. Then again, it must be Cupid. There couldn't have been any other way. It was all simply due to the atmosphere, she told herself. We weren't in love. Nobody falls in love with someone else after years of animosity. You can't call magic true love.

I must have been crazy.

"I was pricked by Cupid's arrow," she confessed to the reproachful witch. "Do you have the antidote? Because I need it."

"Mmm..." muttered Madam Pomfrey, unconvinced. She removed the tankard from Hermione's shaking hands, and drew the curtains around them. "This requires more than potions," she said, almost to herself. "Was the young man pricked by an arrow too?"

"No," replied Hermione detachedly. "At least, that's what he claims."

Madam Pomfrey stopped in the middle of emptying a sachet of ashes into a jar of water to give Hermione an odd look. "Are you sure?" she questioned with a tone that suggested astonishment. "Cupids usually go for both the people whom he intends to match make. You said that he only handed a single arrow?"

Why is she being such a nosy nuisance? "I'm certain," answered Hermione stiffly. She wished fervently that Madam Pomfrey would hurry up with the spell or antidote that would put everything right again. A towering pile of Arithmancy homework popped into her mind, causing the Gryffindor to smile despite herself. Even at times like these, she thought, I'm still thinking about homework.

Madam Pomfrey finished with the new potion--it fizzed and swirled on its own, even when no one was stirring it. Hermione took a tentative sniff--it didn't smell foul, at least. She prepared to take a gulp.

"Then my guess is, my girl, Cupid realised that he needn't waste an extra arrow," commented Madam Pomfrey with a thoughtful look on her face.

Hermione took a huge gulp. At first, a sense of serenity enveloped her, followed by a ticklish sensation as though something was wiping her mind like the back of a slate. It tasted like distilled water at first. After a couple more gulps, the effects became more profound--and painful. As more of her memories started to fade away, Hermione found herself clinging desperately to them, refusing to let them go. Why are my eyes stinging?

Shouldn't I be happy to forget the kiss? To forget sharing the deepest kiss imaginable with someone who would turn into a Death Eater one day?

"It's only the second time I perform a de-affectionate spell," muttered Madam Pomfrey. "I hope this goes well."

Draco whispering that he loved her. His head outlined in the midnight sky, with scintillating stars behind him. The most unforgettable kiss she had ever tasted. Everything blurred like ink on a page that has been soaked in tears.

The only thing that kept Hermione from crying out for Madam Pomfrey to stop the spell was her desire to be freed from the charm. Or did she?

"Only a little more to go," soothed the witch. "Soon, you wouldn't even know what you're doing here."

I'll forget the kiss. I'll forget his words. I won't even remember that I was in love. That is good.....right?

"You... said," she struggled to get the words out, "That Cupid didn't....want to waste....an....extra arrow....... Why?"

The spell ended just as abruptly as the misery had seized her. She fell back onto the bed in the hospital wing, her head no longer throbbing. Her heart no longer beat a million heartbeats a second at the thought of a certain blond Slytherin. She didn't even know why Madam Pomfrey was staring at her sympathetically.

"He must have loved you so much that even Cupid sensed that an arrow was unnecessary," said Madam Pomfrey softly.