Disclaimer: Characters and ideas from the Harry Potter franchise are not my own.

Trigger Warning(s): Depictions of and/or references to mental illness, depression, and suicide.

Author's Note: Since I last updated, I got a cat (two of them!), finally saw a good therapist for a while (I had seen a few bad therapists before then), and became a professor, so I feel like I really did my research for this story.

Not Alone

Chapter 7: I Know, But I Don't

Minerva sat hunched over at the end of her therapist's brown couch—which she decided would be her regular spot—elbows on her knees and her head propped up by her hands. She stared at the floor, as if the grain of the hardwood were very interesting.

"It's been a month."

"Since?" Healer Loughlin asked.

"That night."

"And how are you feeling about that?"

It seemed a stereotypical question. How does that make you feel? But at least it left her with choices: either she could talk about that night, or she could talk about what the one-month mark meant to her. She still wasn't ready to talk about the former, not in detail, at least. And so, she would talk about the latter.

"It's strange."

"How so?"

She took a deep breath. "In some ways it feels like it was long time ago, and in others, it feels like it was yesterday. There's a lot of monotony that makes it feel like time has stood still. The daily check-ins with Poppy, where she reminds me of the same things over and over; the persistent struggle through every meal—you know, I hoped to feel better by now, physically. Poppy said it would take a month or two, and I'm not sure I believed her.

"And I can't believe it's been a month since I last taught all of my students. I know that Phoebe—my substitute—is doing a good job, but sometimes I feel bad that I'm not there for the younger students. I've just had the fifth through seventh years, and Poppy says we can re-evaluate that decision after Christmas."

"How isteaching going, as it is?"

Minerva sat up straight. "It's going well. I'm glad that Poppy let me come on for half days, and we rearranged the timetables so that I could teach all the OWL- and NEWT-level students during the morning class periods. It gives me something to do—something to occupy my mind and time, something that makes me feel useful."

"'Useful,' Minerva?"

"Well, it's the opposite of 'useless,' which is how I felt for the two weeks I spent lying in bed."

"Can you tell me more about that, about feeling 'useless'?"

Minerva shrugged. "If I'm not doing anything, then what am I good for? Phoebe is doing well with my classes; Filius is making a fine acting Deputy Headmaster. Hogwarts doesn't need me. No one needs me."

"Do you only exist to work, Minerva?"

She opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it. Instead, she stared—perplexed, frustrated, sheepish—at Christopher.

"That wasn't exactly meant to be a 'gotcha' question, but I would like you to think about it, what else you do besides work."

"Are you asking me to do things other than work?"

"Do you do things that aren't work?"

"Of course, I do!" Minerva shifted in her seat. "I spend time with Albus." Then again, we mostly talk about my health these days, or otherwise silently sit in each other's company. She frowned at the thought. "I suppose I haven't done much lately aside from working and sleeping and trying to eat and getting prodded by Poppy. But I've just been so tired—for ages, even before…"

"…that night?" Christopher said, when his client trailed off and didn't pick up again.

Minerva nodded. She couldn't remember the last time she wasn't exhausted.

"Well, that is a symptom of depression. I imagine your physical need to recover has only exacerbated your fatigue."

Depression. It felt odd to hear the word said, explicitly, about her. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"Said what?"

"Depression."

"It's a name for what you're going through."

A name for what I'm going through. She had heard of depression—as a condition, not just in the casual sense—but she wasn't sure what it meant to have depression. She certainly hadn't applied the term to herself. It would take some time to settle in, the idea that there was a term for her, a term besides "failure" or "headcase" for being and feeling like she did. Well, maybe I am still a headcase; this is a mental thing, right?

"You're not a headcase, Minerva."

"Did I say that aloud?"

Christopher nodded. "It is a mental thing, but research—Muggle and magical—suggests it's also a biological thing."

"Are you trying to tell me this isn't my fault?"

"It's not your fault."

"Okay." That would take a long time to settle in, too. She picked up the long-forgotten cup of tea on the end table beside her, grimaced at its coolness, and took out her wand to cast a Warming Charm. She nursed the beverage, hoping that Christopher would say something, because she didn't know where to go from here.

"Let's circle back to teaching—you said it makes you feel useful. What else does?"

What else does make me feel useful? It's been a while since I've done anything besides prepare for and teach the older students. I suppose I discuss lesson plans for the younger students with Phoebe, but that's still related to teaching…

"Would it help if I asked you what used to make you feel like teaching does?" Christopher tried.

"Maybe? I don't know. Hogwarts is so much of my life."

"Is all of your life at Hogwarts about teaching?"

"Well—lately, yes. I am technically still Head of House and Deputy Headmistress… but Filius has been filling in for me as Albus's deputy. And somehow, it seems that Head of House responsibilities have been routed away from me, too…"

Oh dear, who is caring for my lions? Perhaps the prefects have stepped up to play more of a mentoring role… or maybe my students have been going to Filius and Pomona? They're certainly not going to see Severus… I should find out about this.

Minerva noticed Christopher's Kwik-Quill scratching away. "What does that write?"

"My quill? What we say. I annotate it later."

"Oh, so things like, 'Minerva's entire life is about her job'?"

"I could write that. I acknowledge that I noticed the two other 'non-teaching' things you brought up could also be classified as work," Christopher said, a hint of a smile playing on his face. Minerva considered that he caught on to her attempt at self-deprecating humor. "Unfortunately, I am not in a position to suggest whether or not you should return to those other duties any time soon. That, I believe, will be a decision you need to make with your school matron and headmaster. Even so, I would like you to tell me more about these roles, since they sound important to you."

Minerva took a long sip of tea. "Honestly, I'm not really itching to get back to duties as Deputy Headmistress—it's a lot of administrative and bureaucratic nonsense. It's only palatable because I enjoy working alongside Albus. The one thing I actually enjoy about the role is reaching out to children on their eleventh birthday to let them know they've been admitted to Hogwarts. There's something special about being that first contact for a new student. I think Filius has been doing that in my—well, not absence, since I'm here—while I'm on a reduced workload. It's a bit disappointing to think about that, but if it means I don't have to deal with the other tedious tasks, I won't complain.

"As for being Head of Gryffindor…" Minerva allowed herself a small smile. "I love it. I'm protective of my cubs. No one mistreats my lions—Albus calls me their 'Mama Lioness' sometimes. I suppose it's true; I am like their mother during the school year. From the first years who are feeling homesick, to the teens coping with the woes of adolescence, to the seventh years who are worried about moving on to the next stage of their lives—it's a privilege to be their mentor or merely a listening ear."

The Kwik-Quill was scribbling furiously across the parchment. Minerva didn't realize she had so much to say, or at least, she didn't expect to be willing to share much with her therapist. Granted, she didn't feel like she shared too much that was very personal, but she still felt he made it easy to talk. She wasn't sure how this was supposed to be helpful in the long run, but there was something nice about having somewhere just to be, without disappointed or worried looks.

"So, you do have something besides teaching Transfiguration. Perhaps it's something to look forward to when you're cleared to resume more of your duties. But now, we are almost out of time—shall we set up our next meeting? I'll be away next two weeks for Christmas and the New Year, but I'll be back the first full week of January."

Minerva nodded. "Then, three weeks from today? That sounds fine."

"All right, you're in the schedule. Take care, Minerva. Happy Christmas."

"And you as well."

Minerva swept out of the practice and pulled her cloak tightly around her. It was snowing lightly, but not so much that walking back to the castle would be unpleasant. She had decided last week that she enjoyed the walk home and thought she might only return via Floo if the weather were disagreeable.

I'll have to see about how my Head of House duties have been reallocated. I don't remember agreeing to this, Minerva thought. With fewer class periods and half the assignments to mark, I have plenty of time to meet with students who need me.

'Need me?' Perhaps she was wrong when she told Christopher that "no one" needed her. Or maybe not, if the students could be redirected elsewhere.

In any case, she was going to fix this when she got back to Hogwarts.

Minerva tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the staircase to bring her to the double doors of the Headmaster's Office. At least she didn't have to wait when she reached the doors—they always seemed to be unlocked for her. Today, she chose to burst in without knocking.

"Ah, Minerva, how was—" the headmaster began before he was quickly cut off.

"We're going to Quidditch practice tonight." She plopped herself into a chair in front of the desk.

"We are?"

"Well, I am. I want to see how the team is doing. It feels like ages since I've acted like a Head of House—might this be your doing?"

Albus put down his quill. "I suppose this was bound to come up eventually. Yes, I met with the Gryffindor prefects and the other Heads of House when you were in the Hospital Wing. The prefects have been handling what they could and sending students to other Heads as needed. Mostly Pomona, since Filius has been busier as Acting Deputy, as you know, and, well, I don't think they have chosen to send their Housemates to the dungeons."

"And when I got out?"

"I simply never told them to stop with this arrangement. We thought it would lighten your load!" He hastily added the last part and threw his hands up defensively when he saw Minerva's nostrils flare dangerously.

"Do you mean to say that I've been out of the Hospital Wing for three weeks, and my cubs have been told not to see me the whole time?"

"You were on bedrest for one of those weeks, Minerva," Albus pointed out.

"Fine, two weeks! Still, I haven't been too ill to see students in my office, Albus. Merlin knows I've got the time these days."

"I agree with you."

"Then why haven't you—" Minerva narrowed her eyes. "Is this Poppy's doing?"

"I can talk to her later, if you'd like."

Minerva sighed. "No, I'll talk to her. You don't have to fight my battles for me."

"Would you like some backup?"

"I'll be fine. See you at dinner?"

"Of course."

"And then Gryffindor Quidditch practice?"

"It's a date."

Minerva swept out of the Headmaster's Office and headed toward the Hospital Wing. She had planned to go there later anyway for her evening check-in, but now she had something to request during the appointment. Surely Poppy would honor her wishes, especially if Albus—and my therapist, Minerva thought—agreed that she should resume Head of House responsibilities. She pushed open the infirmary doors, for once looking forward to her regular poking and prodding.

"Oh, hello, Professor McGonagall," Poppy said upon seeing who entered the room. She was in the midst of tending to a student who appeared to have been involved with a Care of Magical Creatures incident. "I wasn't expecting you until after dinner."

"Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey. I know I'm early—would you like me to wait in your office?"

"Yes, please. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Minerva nodded and made her way to the office. She sat in one of the straight-backed chairs at the desk and suddenly realized how tired she was. Perhaps walking back from Hogsmeade, running up to the Headmaster's Tower, and then hurrying back down to the Hospital Wing wasn't the best idea. She yawned and allowed herself to slouch ever so slightly, at least until Poppy appeared. I hope I'll have time to squeeze in a quick nap after this and before dinner, she thought. Like her Animagus form, she'd become fond of naps lately.

Madam Pomfrey's heels clicked into the room, and Minerva straightened her posture.

"What brings you here early?" the mediwitch asked as she took the seat behind her desk.

"Albus and I are planning to watch the Gryffindor team practice after dinner, so I thought I would come beforehand."

"It's cold today, Min, and probably much colder after the sun goes down. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"We have cloaks, Poppy, and—this might come as a surprise to you—we can perform Warming Charms."

"I just don't want you to get sick."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Well, I can't stop you. Would you like to start the exam now?"

"Sure."

Poppy closed the door with a flick of her wand. "Robe off, please."

Minerva obeyed and pulled her emerald-green teaching robe over her head, revealing a simple black slip underneath. Meanwhile, Poppy Summoned a parchment scroll labeled McGonagall, Minerva from her records and transfigured a chair into an examination table. Per routine, Minerva stepped onto an enchanted scale, which would automatically add a new data point to her records.

"Did you get it?" she asked when Poppy didn't tell her that she could get off. She spun in place to find her colleague back in the chair behind her desk, apparently staring at her medical record. "Poppy? Is something wrong?"

"It's been a month," Poppy said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she seemed to pull herself together. "I'm sorry. You can step down."

Minerva walked off the scale to the examination table and hoisted herself upon it.

"A month, Minerva!" Instead of starting the exam, the mediwitch returned to her emotions, and threw her arms around her patient.

"I know." For some reason, Minerva thought she'd be the only one to obsess over the date.

"I was so afraid I'd lose you."

Minerva lowered her eyes. It was hard to listen to her friends recount their experiences from that night. From their descriptions, it sounded like they really should have transferred her to St. Mungo's, rather than treat her in the Hospital Wing. She knew that Poppy's fear was also tied to a sense of guilt she would have felt if her efforts had been in vain.

"I'm sorry, again," Poppy said, having put on her professional persona again. "But a month does mean something: I think we can scale back to weekly checkups if everything looks as it has been."

"I can't complain about that. Prod away."

Poppy went through her usual barrage of diagnostic spells and measurements, dictating to a Kwik-Quill as she worked. From what Minerva could tell, everything sounded consistent with the trends developing over the past couple weeks.

"All right, get dressed."

Minerva hopped off the table, which would be reverted to its original chair form, and put her robe back on. "So? Am I cleared for weekly check-ins?"

Poppy returned to her desk chair. "Yes, but…"

Dammit, what is the 'but'?

"…first I want to lay down some rules."

"Are these rules negotiable?"

"Your health is not negotiable, Minerva!"

"Fine, go ahead. You know I'll argue if I want to."

Poppy rolled her eyes. "There's not a lot of rules, Min. For the most part, I'm pleased with your progress. What I'm not thrilled about—and please don't take this as criticism or blame—is your weight. I know the quantity of potion you took did a number on your stomach, and the healing process of magical overdoses can be slow and unpleasant…"

Minerva was not surprised by Poppy's concern. "You know I felt like hell those first two weeks. It's gotten better, but it's not good by any means. I've told you this."

"Yes, I know. I expected some amount of weight loss. Still, I was hoping for things to have leveled off by now, at least."

"I haven't lost that much since I've been off bedrest, have I?"

"No, but the fact that you're still trending downward, slight as it may be, on top of how much you lost between your summer physical and last month—"

"—Don't hold that over me! I'm no longer Vanishing my meals when I don't feel like being in the Great Hall." And Albus makes me eat at home for all the times I haven't wanted to join everyone for meals.

"Minerva, listen." Poppy used her stern, do-not-cross-me voice. "As I said, I'm not blaming you for this. I'm just telling you that I'm concerned, and I might reconsider how I'm approaching your recovery if things don't start turning around, if you're still not feeling well enough to eat, well, enough."

"So, what are the rules? That I eat? I'm already doing my best."

"Then the rules are for you to continue doing your best—and not just at scheduled meals, Min. If you're still having trouble eating normal-sized meals, you might try grazing throughout the day."

"You know, I haven't had the opportunity to thrust a tin of ginger newts across my desk at any students lately. I'm sure I'd be more likely to snack if my lions weren't being funneled away from me." Minerva shot her colleague a very pointed look.

Poppy responded by raising her eyebrows. "So, you finally noticed? Then perhaps you did need House Head duties off your plate for a while, after all."

"Well, I want them back."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Sure, that sounds fine to me."

"Oh. I thought I was going to have to convince you. I was ready to tell you that Albus and my therapist endorse the idea."

"I just ask that you rely on your prefects and colleagues if you start to feel overburdened," Poppy said. "I believe Albus sides with you—he did argue that you were ready when you started teaching again. And your therapist, too?"

"Not explicitly—but he asked me to think about things besides teaching that are important to me."

"Your cubs." Poppy looked heartbroken for a moment. "I wish I knew how to balance your physical health with your emotional needs. It's just not part of my training. Oh, Min, I just want to give you another hug!"

"Go on, come here, then." Minerva immediately found herself enveloped in a pair of arms. "There, there, Poppy. If it's any consolation, I'm not very good at balancing anyof my needs, either."

"That is not consoling! That's part of why we're here!"

"Sorry."

"I'd smack you for making self-deprecating jokes if I weren't worried about your health." Poppy pulled back, with arms still stretched out to lay her hands on her friend's shoulders. "But really, please try to ask for and accept help when you need it."

"I will. I am."

Poppy mustered a watery smile and let go.

"Is this the last practice before Christmas?" Albus asked as they walked through the stands at the Quidditch pitch.

"I think so, unless some of the team are staying over the holiday and choose to practice on Saturday."

"How's here?"

"Good enough."

The pair sat down away from the handful of other spectators at tonight's practice: mostly girlfriends and boyfriends of team members as well as a few younger students, eager to learn as much as they could in hopes of making the team next year. Rolanda Hooch, the flying instructor, was down on the Quidditch pitch to supervise while the team captain led drills and exercises.

"I hope they clean up their game; it was abysmal watching Slytherin beat us last month," Minerva said.

Last month.

The game was the week before—Albus didn't want to finish his thought—before she hurt herself. He turned his head to look at his partner, whose eyes were fixated on the group of Chasers running a passing drill. He recalled watching her from afar as she monitored the student commentator during the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Well, "monitored" was probably the incorrect word; she tended to swear just as much whenever Gryffindor played Slytherin. That emotion and energy seemed absent that day. In his mind's eye, he saw her glumly watching the game with her head in her hands.

The image soon transformed into his next memory—of the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game—where her place was occupied by Filius Flitwick. Albus had sided with Poppy, who refused to let Minerva leave to attend the Quidditch match. Had she felt any stronger, he was quite certain he would've been hexed. As it was, all he got was a weak glare and a lot of grumbling about how he and Poppy were being unreasonable, keeping her cooped up in a hospital bed, before she returned to the long silence that characterized most of her time in the Hospital Wing.

"Albus?" Minerva's voice broke through the old wizard's thoughts.

"Sorry?" He shook himself back to the present.

"You were staring at me."

"Oh. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About how you missed the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match."

"Because you and Poppy wouldn't let me go. And then you couldn't even tell me how good the teams looked or who won! Now I have to wait until February to see what we're up against."

"I'm not as much of a Quidditch aficionado as you. Besides, I was distracted."

Minerva looked away. "By me." Or by my absence, or whatever, she thought.

"I was worried, love. I still am."

Minerva frowned. What was she supposed to say? She wasn't going to say, "Don't be," when she still hadn't figured out exactly why she took so drastic a step a month ago. That was something Christopher said they could work on in therapy—about what do when that urge arises and what causes it—but they didn't this week, perhaps because she tried not to think about it in the interim. She also wasn't going to say, "Me, too," because she didn't want to worry Albus more.

"I know," she said finally.

"Are your appointments in Hogsmeade helping?"

Minerva shrugged. "I don't know yet. I've only had two, you know, but I suppose it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't look at me like I'm going to break."

"Minerva, I—"

"I get it, Albus; I do." She cut him off before he could finish defending himself. "It's still frustrating sometimes, though." She dared to make eye contact again. "Maybe Poppy is coming around a little; she didn't argue at all when I asked her about Head of House duties. And she told me that you thought I was ready a weeks ago, when I resumed teaching, so I know you don't always think I'm going to break."

"And what do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know sometimes you're trying to be strong for us. I suppose that's unfair because you shouldn't have to be strong for us; we should be able to support you. So, what about you? Do you ever worry that you'll break?"

Minerva looked down at her feet. "I don't want to scare you."

"I'm a goddamn Gryffindor, too, Min. I can handle it." Or I ought to be able to handle it, Albus thought. "Sorry. That sounded… gruffer than I intended. I sounded like my brother."

"It's fine." I know I haven't always been the most pleasant companion, either. "And yes, I am worried that I'll break down again. Not all the time, but it lurks in the back of my head. The problem is I don't know where the breaking point is, Albus. And I don't know how I got there."

Shit, that does scare me, Albus thought. But I can't let her know that. I literally just told her I could be brave for her.

"You really don't know why—why it happened?" Albus asked quietly.

"I don't. Not exactly, at least."

He suddenly pulled her into a hug.

"Albus! The students—"

"Disillusionment Charm, my dear," he whispered into her ear. "While I may be decent with spells, I admit I don't know what the hell I'm doing otherwise. I just know that right now, I should hold onto you."

"'Decent,' Albus? How modest of you," Minerva murmured, unsure of a suitable serious response.

All she knew, too, was that she should lean on him and have hope that she would figure things out eventually.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm sorry it took me over six years to update… especially to those of you who had reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story.