Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Two

Another year at Hogwarts, another year of misery.

Well, maybe that's a bit harsh.

Don't get me wrong. Hogwarts is amazing, and I love every second I spend there. But over the past few years, I'd had to endure a considerable amount of bullying. Apparently, my presence in Slytherin hasn't been welcome.

Ever since first year, I'd found myself unable to get along with most Slytherins. Their snobby and conceited attitudes angered me, and my decency annoyed them. Then, during our first few classes with Gryffindor, I noticed that the Gryffindors were much more fun to talk to, and easier to get along with.

And so, from then on, I grew closer to the Gryffindors than my fellow Slytherins. By second year, I'd earned my place among Hermione, Ron, and Harry's trio. 

Mirah was probably the only one who understood my preference for Gryffindors, since she knew me since I'd been born, and she didn't judge me for it. Although once, she tried to advise me to build relationships within my own house. I retaliated, saying I felt like I didn't belong, and the sorting hat had been wrong when it shouted out Slytherin.

After I'd made this point clear, Mirah never brought it up again, and she did her best to protect me from the bullying, being quite popular with the Slytherins herself. Unfortunately, her efforts were wasted; the bullying didn't stop. I told her she was better off staying away from me, in case hanging out with me ruined her reputation, but she just rolled her eyes and said, "Don't be silly."

Mirah made a point of sticking close to me in the common room to keep me from harm, and though I appreciated her efforts, the older Slytherins always cornered me whenever I stood alone and tried to beat sense into me, insisting it was for my own good, and they were trying to help. I did my best to hide the bruises from Mirah, but she always noticed them, which only made her more protective.

Even now, at the start of term feast, she sat close beside me, glaring at anyone who so much as glanced at me. I was thankful for her; having grown up with no siblings and a questionable relationship with my parents, she was the closest thing I had to family. Her parents, my aunt and uncle, tried to take me in as often as they could, but it wasn't like I could just move in with them.

Well, not yet, at least. I was only thirteen, after all.

"Welcome! To another year at Hogwarts!" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed over the Great Hall, beginning his yearly speech. I half-listened, already used to and bored by his speeches. Most of the Slytherins paid little to no attention to anything until the food appeared, but I noticed multiple heads perk up at the mention of the dementors, which had been stationed at the school in search of the mass murderer, Sirius Black.

"Potter!" I heard a familiar voice hiss, and I turned to look at Draco Malfoy, who sat diagonally from me, just as he had two years ago after we'd been sorted. I found that since that first interaction with him, the sight of him only made me even more irritated and repulsed.

"Potter!" Malfoy tried again, and Harry, who was sitting at the table beside ours, turned to face Malfoy with a bored expression. 

"Is it true you fainted?" Malfoy asked him, and a shock ran through me as I read his expression. His brow was furrowed, and his silver eyes looked over Harry carefully. He looked concerned.

Draco Malfoy, concerned? No, I must've imagined it.

At that moment, Goyle — who sat beside Malfoy — pretended to faint mockingly, and Malfoy glanced at him, something like alarm flashing through his eyes. 

Instantly, his concern shifted to his usual arrogant smirk. "I mean you actually fainted?" he corrected himself with a sneer while his bodyguards laughed stupidly at his side. 

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron muttered, grabbing Harry's shoulder and pulling him to face forward again as he glared at Malfoy.

Malfoy turned to face forward again, snickering. I stared at him, aware of my brows slowly pushing together in puzzlement. I knew I hadn't imagined that look of concern; it was there, I swear it was. But it didn't make sense. If he'd been concerned, why did he immediately act like he wasn't?

I narrowed my eyes at him, watching as he muttered something to Crabbe, who nodded, smirking. It was then that I realized he'd only switched to his usual teasing after Goyle had made fun of Harry. I'd noticed him do the same type of thing over the past two years, but I'd never really thought about it much until now.

Malfoy glanced down the table at the other Slytherins, looking bored.

"Why do you do that?" I blurted, my curiosity getting the best of me. 

I regretted speaking the moment Malfoy turned slowly to look at me, his nose wrinkled in disgust. My face felt hot under his scrutiny.

"You're talking to me?" Malfoy asked as if revolted by the thought.

I ignored his question, still trying to figure out why I had asked in the first place. "Why do you pretend to be something you're not?" I asked him, without really deciding to speak. But the more I thought about it, the more interested I became.

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow, but I couldn't help but notice the panic that touched his features. "What're you talking about?" he asked dismissively, but I held my ground.

"I saw you do it just now," I pressed, my embarrassment fading into irritation. "You were concerned about Harry, but when your goons poked fun at him, you pretended you weren't."

Malfoy's eyes widened, and he looked nervous. Crabbe and Goyle, however, were unaware of Malfoy's silence and suddenly ganged up on me, only just realizing that we were having a conversation.

"Stick to what you know, Locust," Goyle spat, and I winced at the nickname. Over the holiday, I'd done my best to forget what the Slytherins liked to call me — Locust, derived from my last name, Locousa, was just one of the many nicknames they taunted me with.

"Yeah, 'cuz all you know is how to be a house-traitor," Crabbe added stupidly, but still, the words stung.

Too stubborn to show that they'd managed to get under my skin, I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the feast, which had appeared only moments ago.

However, I found it difficult to concentrate on eating with Malfoy continuously glancing at me, his plate untouched, seeming to wonder fearfully how I'd found out his secret without knowing him at all.