Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Forty-Three

Once we'd arrived in the Great Hall, I sat as far from Draco as I could manage, but unfortunately, he was still within earshot. I was forced to listen to him brag and boast about his own importance in a drawling voice all throughout dinner.

Quite a while later, I heard the Great Hall hush significantly, and I turned and saw Harry as he hurried toward the Gryffindor table.

"Why's he so late?" Mirah asked curiously, and I shrugged, but I had a feeling I knew why....

I glanced at Draco, who was staring at Harry with an irritated but yet smug expression, and I understood he had something to do with why Harry was only just now turning up. That would explain why he'd exited the train so late, looking all suspicious....

I shook myself, glaring at Draco, annoyed that he'd successfully sucked up my attention yet again. I distracted myself with the puddings as they appeared on the table, replacing the dinner food, and thought to myself, hey, at least I'm not thinking about my depressing excuse of a summer.

I sighed audibly, resisting the urge to slap myself across the face. Ugh, what is wrong with me?

I tried to force down a helping of the chocolate gateau that Mirah shoved in front of me, but as usual, I found that I had little appetite. I looked down the Slytherin table absently and noticed Draco miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause, and I glared down at my plate, disgusted.

"What, don't like gateau?" Mirah asked, her own mouth stuffed full of it, and I just shrugged, pushing the plate away.

"Stomachache," I muttered as an excuse, and Mirah accepted it easily, returning to her own plate.

I slumped over the table, resting my chin in my hand as I tried to balance my spoon on its end. I'd thought I'd be happier here, but I guess I was wrong. I tried again to distract myself, this time with Dumbledore's speech, but I found I was merely pretending to pay attention, and my mind had once more drifted to Draco.

My stomach boiled as I grew angrier — why did I allow myself to think about him? Clearly, I didn't matter much to him anymore.

I turned to glare at him as Dumbledore mentioned something about You-Know-Who, and I watched him dejectedly as he made a fork hover in midair with his wand.

So had everything he said been a lie, then? Did he play me for a fool?

Maybe he was just bored and was messing with me to keep himself entertained. But it felt like he'd really cared....

Maybe I just wasn't good at reading people.

Anger licked at my insides as I remembered everything we'd gone through together, all the times we'd embraced as if we'd cared deeply about one another.

I'd been there for him during hard times, hadn't I? I'd comforted him after his father was locked up in Azkaban! We'd definitely shared a moment that felt more than just a crush the day after the Death Eaters attacked my family. And what about the thoughtful gifts he'd gotten me for Christmas every year, no matter how much I argued against it? Did he just forget all of that?

Maybe he was just acting like he cared about me to keep me intrigued. That had to be it; no girl would stick around if they thought the guy didn't give two craps about them —

There was a sudden deafening scraping coming from the benches being pushed backward, and I jumped, taken by surprise. However, as everyone around me got up and headed for their dormitories, I remained seated, feeling rooted to the spot.

Mirah got swept up in the crowd somewhere, but to be honest, I was grateful to be left alone. That way, I didn't have to fix my expressions into smiles or keep up the pretense that I'm fine when I'm really not.