Miss Holmes, A Harry Potter Fan fiction

Chapter 32: The Truth

I couldn't quite meet his eyes.
Despite knowing this moment was coming for weeks and had rehearsed how it would go, no words came to me.
So much for the Holmes intelligence.

I was slowing losing control of myself, slipping into a familiar state of panic. I started to shake uncontrollably, my muscles tensing up, my breaths becoming quick and short and tears blurring my vision.

My surroundings were becoming more distant and the cruel thoughts becoming more sharply defined, echoing and drowning out everything real.
If a dementor entered the room I honestly don't think I would have noticed -my patronus clearly wasn't without reason. I found a sick and twisted comfort in my own misery.

My brother place his hands on top of mine, rubbing calming circles onto my palms, his presence just reminded me that I was a burden on someone else and they were alienated from me due to my heritage. My Grandfather was a murderer and my Mother was a coward who ran away from her problems by abandoning me.

My wand suddenly felt heavier in my pocket. It usually felt like such an escapism but now it felt like another reason to hate myself. It's not like I don't have enough of those already.
I wanted to snap my wand and run away from my problems. From the war. From my family. From Magic.
Yet I knew I couldn't outrun myself.

I knew each moment I stayed in this heightened state of panic, the more I worried Sherlock. I've been prone to panic attacks through most of my childhood, but the frequency and intensity had only increased during this year at Hogwarts. No matter how I tried to fight my way out I couldn't escape. It was a battle against shadows.

Despite all this, I forced myself to calm down. Gradually at first, putting my feet flat on the floor; putting my hands on my knees, palm upwards and taking deeper breaths.
Slowly the room came back into detail and I finally found some control in my body. I knew Sherlock had had some dark moments in his life yet I still felt too ashamed to face him. I'd shown weakness, it was unbefitting of a Holmes.

"You're okay. It's okay. Take your time, just know I'm here for you and I'm ready to listen when you want it," Sherlock said. Although he sounded like he was reading directly from a metal health guide his deep voice was surprising soothing.

Deep breaths, Aysel. Deep breaths.
I rubbed the beading tears out of my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper and tried to regain my composure. I couldn't face the person in front of me but began my explanation regardless.

"I suppose the sorting hat started the issue when he revealed some discrepancies with my family, you found out how that went last Christmas. From then on it became a bit of an obsession. At first it was just curiosity, then it was enjoyable because it was a bit of a challenge until before I knew it I was spending every hour of my free time trying to discover answers."

I paused only to look up at my Brother- finally. So far he didn't seem shocked by anything I had said yet the worry he felt for me was obvious. It didn't  make it any easier.
I had never been so vulnerable in front of anyone before, it was expected of a Holmes to hold themselves with dignity and a self-important indifference.

For ten minutes I explained what had happened throughout the school year: my suspicions about Quirrell; my knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone; my encounters with the Golden Trio and even small things like my discovery of the Room of Requirement.

It was particularly difficult to divulge the information about my animagus and patronus form, it's not easy to admit that the thing that represents you and shields you from the darkness is your own self-hatred and despair.
I suppose it's because there is always something comforting about it, the hatred always seems so permanent- the only thing you can rely on to not abandon you.
At this point though it was all coming out in waves, the dam was broken and there was nothing to stop all the words cascading out.