I sat in the same compartment as Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Mirah (Mirah's friends, apparently, had suddenly decided to ignore her over the summer for hanging out with me) on the way to Hogwarts.
They told me all about the excitement of the World Cup, and how they hardly remembered much from the game itself, since the camping grounds had been attacked by Death Eaters after the game had finished with the Irish winning, even though the Bulgarians had caught the snitch — it went just as Fred and George had predicted.
We laughed and ate treats from the trolley the whole way there (we teased Harry for practically drooling when he saw Cho Chang getting pumpkin pasties from the trolley).
It was more fun than I'd had all summer, and I couldn't express how happy I was to be going back home.
Harry wrote a quick letter to Sirius Black, who we'd discovered was his godfather last year and that Sirius was, in fact, not a murderer; he'd been trying to kill Peter Pettigrew, who had been an animagus disguised as the Weasley's pet rat Scabbers for the past twelve years.
And of course, Draco had to pop by to poke fun at Harry, and I wasn't surprised to see Crabbe and Goyle with him.
When he saw me, he sneered in a way I had almost forgotten.
"What, the Slytherins aren't good enough for you, Locust?" he asked, his eyes moving to Mirah, who sat beside me. "And of course Holland would follow you; she's like your personal bodyguard, isn't she?"
"You're one to talk, Malfoy," Harry spat, glaring daggers, and Malfoy snickered.
"Yeah, well, unlike Locust here, I haven't turned my entire house against me."
Mirah jumped up, her hands balled into fists, and Ron started shouting profanities, but I could only stare at Draco, my heart sinking into my stomach.
What had caused the sudden change in attitude? Why was he suddenly acting so mean? I thought he knew I hated that nickname; I thought he was done calling me that. I could feel my hands begin to shake with both pain and anger.
Draco read my hurt expression and his sneer wavered, but before I could see what had broken into his expression, someone at the end of the hall shouted, "You'd better clear off, Malfoy, before we hex you for existing!" and another shout followed; "And once we're done with that, we'll hex you for existing at the same time as us!"
Malfoy glared at the twins as they neared, and then he turned and hurried away, Crabbe and Goyle following like lost puppies.
"We didn't need your help," Ron muttered, his face still red with anger.
"We didn't do it for you," Fred said, glancing at me with a soft smile.
"Besides, the git had it coming," George added, shrugging.
"One day he'll get what he really deserves, though," Fred muttered, glaring down the hall at Malfoy's retreating figure.
"Yeah, and when he does, let's hope Hell is ready for him," George said darkly, and Hermione gasped, hurling a book at him. George dodged it, laughing, and they both left our compartment, having spotted Lee Jordan down the train.
I was suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on me; they found it suspicious that I hadn't said a word during that whole fiasco. But I only continued to stare at the sliding door of the compartment, deeply offended and utterly confused.
No one said anything to me; they started up a falsely casual conversation, each of them glancing at me with concern while they tried to keep the conversation light.
I eventually joined in, just to get them to stop worrying about me, but it didn't help much.
I'd managed to avoid the dreaded question until we trudged up into the Great Hall, which was when Hermione finally took my hand and asked, "Are you all right?"
I sighed, shrugging. "We'll talk later, okay?" I assured her, departing from the Gryffindors and walking with Mirah to the Slytherin table.
Mirah didn't worry about me much; she'd found that whenever I was upset, it was easier to just let me be until I got over it. But still, it was nice that the others cared enough to ask, even if I didn't feel like talking about it.
Dumbledore started his usual speech once the sorting was done with; I hadn't paid any attention to it.
We ate dinner, and afterward, Dumbledore got up and began speaking again, introducing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I paid little attention until Professor Dumbledore said, "It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year!"
"You're JOKING!" I heard Fred shout loudly, and nearly everyone in the Great Hal laughed. Even Malfoy smiled.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, smiling appreciatively. He went on to explain how the Triwizard Tournament was held every year until it was discontinued because of the rising death toll, but Hogwarts had received permission to have the tournament once more.
He said that students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will arrive to stay at Hogwarts for the duration of the year, and three champions, one from each school, will be chosen on Halloween to compete in the tournament.
I was beginning to get excited when Dumbledore said that the winner would receive a thousand galleons of prize money; I could really use the money, since my family had become quite poor since Dad stopped working, and they kept taking my savings.
But then Dumbledore explained the age limit; only students seventeen or older could compete.
At this, protests rang out through the great hall, Fred and George's being the loudest.
Dumbledore apologized for the inconvenience, and dismissed us all to bed.
I headed with Mirah into the common room, and we started toward the corridor to our dormitory when I realized that somewhere along the way, I'd lost my scarf. I told Mirah to go on without me, heading back to search for my scarf.
I bumped into Draco just outside of the common room.
"What are you looking for?" he asked, and I shoved away from him, continuing my search without so much as a glance at him.
"What's with the rough attitude?" he called after me, and I whirled to stare at him, shocked to see he genuinely looked confused.
"Seriously?!" I exclaimed, marching up to him angrily. "So you're allowed to say all that stuff and face no consequences, but I can't give you the cold shoulder without offending you?"
"Say what stuff?" Draco asked, frowning.
"On the train, you moron!" I shouted, and he looked confused for a split second before realization dawned, and his eyes slid shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, that," he muttered, and I shook my head in disbelief, turning away and hurrying down the corridor before he could say another word.
When I returned — empty-handed, I might add; my scarf was nowhere to be found — Draco was pacing at the entrance of the common room. He looked up at me when he heard me approach, and he strutted up to me, taking my hand gently.
"I'm sorry for what I said," he told me abruptly, and I stepped away from him, yanking my hand from his grasp as I shook my head defiantly.
"You can be sorry all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that you said it," I shot back, biting my lip as I willed myself not to cry in my anger. "Do you even know what it's like, to have your entire house hate you?"
I turned away from him, not willing to let him see the tears that blurred my eyes.
"Mirah only follows me around like a bodyguard because she's worried about me. She's scared to leave me on my own because if I happen to come across any Slytherins when I'm by myself, I barely make it out."
Draco sighed, a pained look in his eyes. "Yeah, I know what it's like for you," he said.
Suddenly outraged, I turned to face him, not caring that tears rolled down my cheeks as I glared at him with every ounce of hatred that I had.
Draco's eyes widened when he saw my tears, and his face paled impossibly more.
"You do, do you?" I cried, my heart pounding with every bit of pain I'd felt over the past three years attending this school. "How could you know what it's like? You have it so incredibly easy — you've never had to question if you belong, or fear for your safety in your own house, or worry about whether anyone would be there for you when you woke up the next morning. Hell, your parents protect you! No one here would dare lay a finger on you; they're too afraid of your parents' wrath! Draco, you have no idea what it's like!"
I expected him to retaliate, to argue back, but instead, he closed the distance between us in three long strides, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into his chest.
He embraced me tightly, and I was shocked to find myself sobbing, my shoulders shaking as I wrapped my arms around his torso, pulling myself closer to him.
Draco stroked my hair, shushing me calmly. "I'm sorry, Brianna. I never should have made fun of you. I have no excuse," he sighed, shrugging. "I guess I've started to doubt over the summer that we ever became friends to begin with."
Despite my tears, I smiled into his chest. "Oh, so we're friends, are we?" I mumbled, my voice muffled by his robes.
Draco pulled away from me, meeting my eyes with a playful smirk. "You don't agree?" he asked, pretending to be offended. "Brianna Locousa, the girl who has the courage to befriend other houses, won't accept the friendship of one Slytherin boy?" he asked, and I couldn't help but laugh.
Draco smiled softly, any conceited pretense completely gone by now. "That's better," he said, watching me giggle, and I smiled, wiping my tears with my hand.
"Thanks," I murmured, running a hand through my hair as I realized I must look pathetic.
"Anything for the one person I don't have to pretend for," he said with an offhanded shrug, and I rolled my eyes, fighting the urge to hug him again at his words.
"I still don't forgive you for what you said on the train," I told him, starting toward the common room.
"I don't expect you to," Draco said, walking beside me with his hands in his pockets. "I certainly wouldn't," he added with a smirk, and I stared ahead, wondering how we managed to make up from every argument without actually making up. We just sort of joked around until we were no longer angry at each other, but we never actually talked about what caused us to get mad at one another.
"I meant it, though," Draco said as we walked through the hole behind the painting, entering the quiet common room.
I looked up at him with confusion, and he met my eyes with the most sincere expression as he said, "I really am sorry. I don't know what else I can say."
I smiled, shrugging. "That'd do it," I told him, finally accepting his apology. "But I should warn you; if you ever call me by that horrid nickname again, I can promise that I won't forgive you."
Draco nodded. "Understandable."
He suddenly raised his right hand, promising to never call me by any rude nickname that the Slytherins invented for me, trying desperately not to laugh with me until he finished speaking.
"But," he added as he dropped his hand. "That means I'll have to come up with some nicknames of my own to call you instead," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Oh no," I muttered in sarcastic nervousness, and Draco smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Fine. Then I'll have to give you some nicknames, too," I said flippantly, and he grinned, seeming delighted by the idea.
"Fair enough."
I turned away, walking off to my dormitory, feeling Draco's eyes on my back until I disappeared from sight.