Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Forty-Two

I regretted not being more persistent with Draco. I didn't know why, but I felt like there was something wrong, something off with the way he was acting.

Or maybe that was just me being paranoid.

I noticed the Hollands were starting to go back to being themselves; Mr. Holland was cracking dumb jokes more often, Mrs. Holland was baking and dancing around as she did her motherly duties, and Mirah's usual snarkiness and sarcasm was returning. They didn't seem to notice that despite putting up an act for them, I felt worse than I did before.

Of course before, I had stopped myself from feeling anything, but now that I'd seen Draco in person, I could feel pain breaking through the numbness I fought so hard to keep.

He'd turned away from me without a word, without so much as a meaningful look. Why was he acting like that? Why wouldn't he write me back? Were my letters even being opened?

I couldn't bear the wild thoughts surrounding him, and there seemed to be more and more anguish being added to the weight on my shoulders, and the pain was becoming too much to take.

I needed someone to talk to, desperately, but who was there?

I didn't want to worry Mirah now that she was happier, and aside from her, the only other person who ever listened to me was Draco.

I could try to write to Hermione, Ron, or Harry like I used to, but I doubted they would even open my letter if I did — they would probably do no less than burn it.

So I carried the weight through the remaining days of summer, trying desperately to appear like I was okay when in the presence of other people. But as soon as I was alone, my walls would collapse, and I became such a mess that if anyone saw me like this, they would be scarred.

The night before we were supposed to leave for King's Cross station, I must have stayed up all night, sobbing into my pillow, trying to keep silent as I felt like I should be dying, the pain was so intense.

Why did I care so much? Why did this have to happen to me? How could the Death Eaters take them away from me? I had no one left, no family, no relations.... Everything I'd grown up knowing was a lie, a ruse — hell, I wasn't even related to Mirah in any way!

My last name wasn't Locousa, my Dad hadn't been a muggle, and both my parents were Death Eaters before I was born.

Who was I? Was Brianna even my real name?

No, that was stupid. Why would they change my name when I was born after they deserted You-Know-Who?

It felt a little better knowing one thing about myself wasn't a lie or a cover-up.

Despite everything, at least I knew my name.

I awoke the next morning with puffy eyes, but we were in such a rush that I didn't have time to try and take care of it. All three of the Hollands noticed, but they didn't broach the subject, although they might as well have — Mrs. Holland often shot me looks of concern, and Mirah kept opening and closing her mouth as if she was going to say something.

Mr. Holland just pretended he hadn't noticed anything, and I'm sure he had his reasons, but I was grateful for the lack of attention from him.

We arrived at King's Cross station ten minutes before eleven o'clock, and we hurried through the barrier at Platform 9 ¾.

Mr. and Mrs. Holland showered Mirah with kisses, embarrassing her, and then Mr. Holland scooped me up into a bear hug that reminded me of Dad.

I pulled away from him with tears in my eyes and was immediately pulled into a warm hug from Mrs. Holland, who kissed my forehead and made me promise to write. She then whispered that she loved me, and I pulled away with the most genuine smile I'd had in a while; it was nice to feel loved after suffering loss.