Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Forty-Seven

But how could I talk to him about it? I could never seem to get close enough to him to talk, and if I ever did, he would quickly leave the room before I could even open my mouth to speak. I knew he was avoiding me — that much was obvious. But that wasn't enough to discourage me from trying, especially when he was worrying me more every day.

I didn't care that he couldn't care less about me; I was going to get to him. I needed to help him before he did something stupid.

Throughout the entire Quidditch match, I hardly paid any attention to what was happening. I only snapped to when the crowd suddenly roared, nearly drowning out the whistle that signaled the end of the game.

I looked around wildly and realized Harry had caught the snitch — of course; he never failed. Gryffindor had won.

I found myself within earshot of Mirah, Raylee, and Cori once more as we left the stadium.

"We could've won if Brianna's filthy ex wasn't such a wuss," Mirah grumbled as I trudged back up to the castle behind them.

Cori looked up at Mirah in surprise. "You think he faked being sick?"

"Well, it'd make sense, wouldn't it?" Mirah asked with a shrug. "I mean, he's been skipping classes, hasn't he? Who's to say he wasn't skipping out of Quidditch practice, too?"

I gritted my teeth against the retort I wanted to throw at Mirah — he wasn't skipping classes, he was just allowing his grades to flop. I suppose that wasn't any better, but still, Draco would never skip Quidditch practice unless he absolutely had to.

Then again, Draco would never let his grades flop, either....

"But Malfoy would never miss out on a chance to clobber Harry Potter," Raylee pointed out, sounding puzzled.

"Yeah, and Quidditch is his only chance to do that without getting in trouble," Cori agreed.

Mirah's expression changed as she considered this. "True... but still, I heard he really was skipping practice — I overheard Marcus Flint saying he never showed up to any of them.... Malfoy probably thinks he doesn't need the practice."

"Yeah, probably," Raylee agreed with a chuckle.

They fell silent as we hiked the stairs up into the castle, and I was wondering how much more of their slander I wanted to listen to when Mirah spoke up again.

"But then again...." she murmured as we followed the flow of irate Slytherins to the dungeons, "he has been looking rather ill lately."

"I've noticed, too," Cori said, her voice timid. "He really doesn't look too good. I wonder if he's okay...."

"Who cares?" Raylee asked, her tone reprimanding.

"Well, he's not doing well in classes, right?" Cori checked, her tone implying that the other two were missing something crucial.

"Right...."

"And he's skipping out on Quidditch practice, not to mention he's looking tired and sick all the time —"

"What's your point, Cori?" Mirah interrupted impatiently.

"Well, d'you think he's depressed?"

My heart stopped at these words. Of course! It made sense — he wasn't just looking sick and losing interest in things for no reason; he was probably depressed. But about what?

"I know it's stupid, but —"

"Yeah, stupid's right!" Raylee laughed coldly. "What would that spoiled git have to be depressed about?"