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.
Not Alone
Chapter 8: The Conversation
"Ah, Minerva, Poppy, you're here. Please take a seat."
The two witches entered the circular office in the Headmaster's Tower and sat down beside each other. Two steaming mugs of tea appeared on the desk in front of them, Summoned by the headmaster himself. He already had a large mug of hot chocolate to suit his sweet tooth.
"Have you made a decision?"
"Poppy has suggested that I gradually return to a full teaching load. We've agreed that I could add the third and fourth years back to my schedule for now, with the plan to revisit this discussion later in the term. If I'm doing well, then I may be ready to teach full time again."
The school matron nodded in agreement as she took a long sip of tea.
"A three-quarter load it is. I will inform Miss Fawcett of the new arrangement," Albus said.
"Madam Fawcett now, Albus. She's no longer a student," Minerva said. "She's grown into quite the competent instructor."
"Yes, yes, indeed. She is applying for permanent teaching positions, correct? Should she need to travel for interviews, have you considered if you will take the first and second years while she is away? Or shall we wait to have this discussion if the need arises?"
"I think we will have to see how Minerva's doing when the time comes," Poppy said.
Minerva shrugged. "That sounds fine to me."
"All right. Is there anything else to discuss?"
"I plan to continue with therapy, so if I could keep an afternoon off each week, that would be helpful. I know this would be a tricky rearrangement to the timetables, though."
"I'm sure Filius and I will manage," Albus said, indicating that he and the Acting Deputy Headmaster would rework the class schedules for the second time that school year.
"And I will be continuing her weekly examinations, but we can do those in the evenings," Poppy added. "However, I want us to be prepared to scale back again if her health declines."
Minerva pursed her lips tightly. Poppy spoke about her like she wasn't even there. A decision would probably be made for her if the time came, much like they seemed to be now. Today, she was largely agreeing with Poppy, or compromising at best, because she was quite certain she wouldn't win any arguments with her.
Albus nodded. That Poppy warned of this possibility gave him pause. Sure, it was a relatively small increase in workload—smaller than from zero to three years' worth of students that they did mere weeks after her stint in the Hospital Wing—but what if Minerva wasn't ready? She was probably ready if Poppy approved, but it was hard not to have doubts. Nonetheless, he tried to shake them off.
"If that is all, then I will meet with Filius and owl Madam Fawcett later today," he said.
"Thank you, Albus. You know where I'll be if you need me." Poppy rose from her chair. "Take care, both of you."
"Bye, Poppy," the remaining pair said.
"Are you okay?" Albus asked once Poppy had gone.
Minerva nodded. "I'm fine." She stared into her tea and rubbed her thumb up and down the mug, which seemed to be Charmed to stay warm. She knew Albus was worried. Poppy masked her worries with sternness, but Albus? He wore his on his sleeves, at least when they were alone. It was hard to deal with his concern when she was still sorting through her own emotions.
Albus bit his tongue to stop himself from pressing further. Later, he had to tell himself. By now, he figured out that "I'm fine" meant something akin to "I'm not fine, but I don't want to talk right now." Although he couldn't be sure, he suspected that she was upset or frustrated with Poppy somehow—her decisions, her rationale, or perhaps just the way they had discussed her post-holiday teaching load.
"I'll be inside, if you don't mind." She meant inside his private quarters, beyond a concealed door in the office. To Albus, this confirmed that she wanted to talk later; if she didn't, then she would have gone to her office or residential space.
"My home is yours."
Minerva picked up her mug and brought it with her beyond the bookcase that hid the door to the rest of the Headmaster's Tower. When the bookshelf slid back into place, Albus returned his gaze to his desk and his thoughts to work. He pulled out a roll of parchment and dipped his quill in his customary purple ink. First order of business was to write a letter to Phoebe Fawcett to ask her to continue as Transfiguration substitute teacher, this time for first and second years only.
When he finished writing, his next task would be to send it. Albus sealed the letter and glanced in the direction of the hidden door to his personal chambers. He wanted to go in there, even if only to tell Minerva that he was going to the Owlery, but he knew that she hoped to be alone for a while. Instead, he scribbled a note indicating his intended whereabouts, just in case she came back to the office and wondered where he went.
"Fawkes, make sure she sees this if she comes out, all right?"
The phoenix trilled softly.
"Thank you, my friend. I'll give you a treat before I go." Albus allowed his companion to eat out of his hand, which seemed to satisfy the crimson bird. He then departed the office and headed toward the West Tower, with plans to stop by Filius Flitwick's office on his way back.
Meanwhile, Minerva McGonagall had kicked off her heeled boots and sat on a scarlet sofa with her legs curled underneath her. Her cup was almost empty, but she nursed the last few drops. She replayed the conversation with Poppy from that morning at this week's check-in, where they discussed what duties she could resume in January.
"You've only had two weeks of teaching at half-time, Min. I don't think you're ready to return to full-time yet," Poppy said after completing the medical portion of their appointment.
"Why not? Physically, I've been feeling better for a few days now, and we still have another week until classes resume."
"That's good, but I still don't think you're prepared for the toll a full day's worth of teaching, every day of the week, will have on your body."
"I think I would know what a full teaching load entails, Poppy. Surely I should know best if I'm prepared for it!"
"Even if you could handle it, when would you have time to go to Hogsmeade every week if you're teaching all of the class sections?"
"Christopher has evening hours, Poppy."
"During dinnertime, Min; you're not getting out of that."
Minerva brought her empty mug to the small kitchenette in the Headmaster's Suite. Albus had much nicer quarters than she did as Head of House. She looked for something else to drink. She figured he wouldn't mind; as he said, "My home is yours."
Really, the nerve of Poppy to claim that I don't know what I'd be getting into if I went back to teaching full time! And to imply that I want to use therapy as an excuse to get out of dinner…
A part of Minerva hoped to find liquor in the headmaster's cupboards. Day-drinking sounded vaguely appealing. Alas, it seemed that Albus didn't keep any alcohol at home. How he handled all the nonsense dealings with the Ministry without the occasional drink at night was beyond her.
Perhaps sugar got him through his days because he didn't even keep caffeinated teas—or if he did, he had given Minerva and Poppy the last of it today. Now, it seemed she had two choices: herbal tea bags or a variety of dark and milk chocolates, presumably for making hot chocolate. She opted to rifle through the box of tea bags and began to prepare a cup.
She returned to the sofa and sank wearily back into the cushions, careful not to spill the hot beverage. Earlier, she had been so upset about Poppy's insinuations that she didn't even think to argue that she could have a House Elf bring her dinner or go down to the kitchens herself.
Then again, Minerva supposed, she probably wouldn't trust me to feed myself. I'd have to insist that Albus would make me—or worse, agree to take my "missed" meal in the Hospital Wing.
She was halfway through her drink when she suddenly felt drowsy. She placed the cup on a side table and yawned, realizing that there might have been Sleeping Draught infused in the tea. Some commercial tea bags had small amounts of Calming or Sleeping Draught—and it seemed, this one had enough to knock Minerva out.
"There should be a spell for this."
"If anyone would know it, it's Minerva."
Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick stood on either side of the headmaster's large desk, which had been cleared of his usual work and trinkets to accommodate all the class schedules sorted by year and House. They were trying to adjust the timetables to reassign the third and fourth years to Professor McGonagall, while also giving her at least one afternoon free to enable her to attend weekly appointments in Hogsmeade.
"Well, we're doing this for her, so we should probably sort it out ourselves."
"Albus, if the only way to make this work is to make my schedule terrible, then so be it. I wouldn't say that for just anyone, but I would do it for Minerva."
"Thank you, Filius, but I don't want it to come to that."
"We've been at this for hours. The simplest thing to do is change the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff third-year section from a Monday-Wednesday schedule to Wednesday-Friday, and after that we just have to move their Charms section from Friday to Monday. Yes, that gives me five different classes to prepare for in one day without a break, but everything else we've tried has been much more complicated or gave somebody else that problem."
"Are you sure you're willing to do this? You're already taking on extra work as Acting Deputy."
"You could always give me less of that work," Filius said hopefully.
"Of course, you're right. I've probably given you more than your fair share of administrative work. I'm sorry. It's been difficult for me to focus on running the school since Minerva…" He trailed off.
Minerva still hadn't told anybody else about what happened, so as far as Albus could say to anyone else, she was simply ill, with no specifics. The questions from the staff and students died down as time passed, and thankfully, Filius took on the extra service without hesitation.
"I know, Albus. I'm happy to help." The smaller wizard eyed the headmaster sympathetically. "Although I don't know exactly what you're dealing with, I can tell you and Poppy and especially Minerva have been going through a lot."
"Thank you, Filius—for all you've done so far, and now for this."
"You're welcome. Now, would you like me to prepare the new timetables for the third-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs?"
"Yes, please. Thank you again."
"All right, I've got the rosters in my office, so I'll go and do that right away. Take care, Albus."
"You, too."
Albus sighed. He and Filius had worked through lunch. Minerva hadn't come out, so he wondered if she called a House Elf to bring her something to eat. That was his plan now, or at least as soon as he cleaned up his desk—a simple enough task with magic. Once everything was in its right place, he eagerly returned to his residential quarters to tend to his growling stomach.
When he entered, he found Minerva McGonagall asleep on the couch, slumped forward in an awkward position, her glasses having fallen to the floor at her feet. She's going to be sore when she wakes up, Albus thought, grimacing at the thought of the neck and back pain she was likely to feel upon waking. He approached the sofa and crouched down to meet her eye level.
"Minerva," he said softly, hoping not to startle her.
She responded with unintelligible grumbling.
"Min, it's fine if you want to sleep, but you should probably change positions, at least."
She stirred. "Your teeeeaaa… laced with… Sleeeeeeeping Draught?"
What? I didn't put any potions in her tea this morn—oh. As soon as she finished asking the question, Albus noticed the teacup on the table, with a used teabag resting on a saucer beneath it.
"Yes, yes, it is. That's why I bought it."
Minerva yawned and stretched, catlike, before straightening up. Her bleary eyes met bespectacled blue. "You're blurry."
Albus handed over her glasses. "These should help."
"Thanks." She replaced her glasses on her face and rubbed the back of her neck. "Damn, I'm too old to fall asleep sitting up. What time is it?"
"After two. Have you eaten?"
Minerva shook her head.
"Me, neither. Filius and I worked through lunch."
"Fixing the schedule?"
"Yes."
"You didn't have to do that for me."
"Yes, we did. Now, I'm going to ask the House Elves to bring us something from the kitchens. Would you like anything in particular?"
Minerva shrugged. "Whatever is fine."
"Whatever" wound up including a tray of half-sandwiches, which the pair of them nibbled on as they continued to talk.
"So, how many schedules are messed up because of me?"
"We only had to change things for Filius and the third-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. All we had to do was switch one of your sections to Wednesday-Friday instead of Monday-Wednesday, which gave Filius an odd Monday-Thursday pairing."
"That sounds surprisingly simple. You made it sound like it took you ages."
"Well, this solution was the first one we noticed, but it gave Filius five different classes on Monday without a free period. We spent the next few hours trying to figure out a better way to do it but couldn't."
"Albus! You can't do that to him!"
"He said he's happy to help."
"If he knew that he was doing this so that I could go and chat with someone for an hour in Hogsmeade, then I'm sure he'd reconsider."
"You're not just having a chat, Min. It's important."
"We don't know that yet. It could wind up being a massive waste of time."
"Or it could be essential to your recovery. You're giving it a chance, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm giving it a chance, Albus. I just can't believe you're letting Filius do this when he doesn't even know what he's doing it for, when we don't even know if it's worth it."
"He's doing it for you, and you are worth it."
Minerva rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be sick."
She wasn't, not literally, but his statement might have been sickeningly sweet. She just wanted an excuse to leave. Storming off to the bathroom would give her at least a moment alone. She threw her hand up to slam and lock the door behind her, strode directly to the opposite wall, and banged her fists upon it.
I can't do this to Filius. He's already Acting Deputy, and now this? How have I made more work for others by trying to do more of my own work? How have I managed to become even more of a burden around here?
She whirled around and allowed her back to slide down the wall until she found herself seated on the stone floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face.
Honestly, all this trouble so that I can go to therapy—for depression, of all things? I should be stronger than this. I should be better than this. What am I doing by talking to a Healer about my feelings? How the hell does this justify all the work I've put upon everyone else? Why am I such a drain on everyone around me?
If they knew, then they'd know I don't deserve their help. If they knew, they'd realize how worthless I am. If they knew, they'd probably see to it that the Board of Governors have me sacked. Merlin knows Albus hasn't gotten rid of me because he probably just wants me for—
"Love? Are you okay?" He knocked gently on the door.
"Everything's brilliant in here, Albus. Bloody brilliant." Her voice was thick.
"May I come in?"
"If you must."
"Alohamora." The door clicked unlocked. Albus pushed the door open carefully and stepped inside. His heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of the woman before him. The last time he saw her like this—curled into herself, on the floor, obviously sobbing—was the night he thought he lost her. And the last time, he ran over to comfort her, and she pulled away, only to…
If I go over there, am I only going to make it worse? He'd seen her upset at various times over the past six weeks, but he hadn't figured out what to do then, either. But this time was different—this time she looked agonized, and that terrified him.
"Minerva?" His voice came out much smaller than he expected.
Reluctantly, she lifted her tear-stained face and rubbed the remaining drops from her bloodshot eyes. Apparently, Albus didn't get very far after unlocking the door; he looked to be frozen in place. The blood had drained from his face.
Dammit, now I've worried him. Well, I suppose it's time I put my mask back on now that I've stopped crying…
"You're looking a bit pale. I lied about needing to be sick; you didn't need to join me in here and actually do it," she said wryly.
Albus pursed his lips and remained silent for a long moment. "Minerva," he said finally, his voice shaking. "I come in here and find you looking like you did on the night that you—that you—" He couldn't bring himself the speak the words—"and you have the audacity to joke with me?" He was angry, certainly, but he was slightly more unnerved that she could snap from a weeping wreck to someone resembling, well, Professor McGonagall.
"Sorry." I should've just said 'I'm fine' or some bullshit.
"And I did think you had come in here to be sick. When you hadn't come out for a while, I thought about fetching Poppy—"
Minerva interrupted him. "Poppy doesn't need to see this."
"Doesn't she? I don't know what to do when you're like this."
"It's bad enough that you have seen me like this—twice now." No one else needs to know precisely how pathetic I am.
Albus sighed. He tried to look her in the eyes. "I think we need to talk."
"We are."
"Not here, you know we're both too old to sit on the floor."
"Oh, so you get to make jokes?"
"Now we're even." He walked over to her and offered his hand. "Come here."
Minerva accepted his hand and rose to her feet. "I'm sorry."
Albus flashed a weak smile, as if to say that it was okay, but also that nothing was okay. He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her; she kept hers limp at her sides. He felt like he was holding an empty shell. "Please let me in, Min."
She pulled back and sniffled, quiet tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Let's go."
The pair returned to the red sofa. Minerva kept her head down, avoiding the gaze of her partner, whose eyes had dulled and lacked their characteristic twinkle. Studying her face, Albus bit his bottom lip and contemplated how to approach the conversation he needed to have.
"I have a lot of questions. I'm not going to ask you all of them—I don't want this to feel like an interrogation—but I need help understanding what you're going through," he said. "Can you try to answer… some, at least?"
"I can try," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
He took a deep breath. "What just happened?"
"Albus…" She shook her head.
"Even if you think it'll be hard for me to hear, I'd rather know than not."
She looked away and shrugged. "I felt like a burden."
"You're not, Min."
"You can tell me that, but I don't know that I can believe you."
"Because of how we adjusted the class schedule?"
"It's not just that, but maybe today it mostly is."
Albus shifted in his seat. "Would you rather have not known?"
"I don't know. But I'm the one who asked, right? I probably would've imagined something worse had you refused to tell me."
"Well, I don't want you imagining that things are worse than they are. And I promise you that I won't let Filius get overworked. If needed, I will ask Madam Fawcett to cover some of his Charms classes, too, now that she will have fewer Transfiguration sections."
"Okay."
"May I ask you something else?"
Minerva said nothing but looked at him expectantly.
"Why don't you want Poppy or me to know when you're hurting?"
She sighed and looked at the floor. "Like I said, I don't want to be a burden."
"Needing support doesn't make you a burden, dear."
"And I also don't want you to see how weak and pathetic I am."
"Is that how you feel?"
"It's how I am."
"Minerva…" I wish she could see what I see. "You're not weak, and you're not pathetic. Seeing you in pain isn't going to make me think less of you."
But I think less of me, Minerva thought, for failing to keep it together, for breaking down over nothing.
"How can I help you, Min? How can I help you when you're hurting like you were—or are—today? What can I do?"
"I don't know that there's anything you can do."
"There must be something. I don't want to be helpless like I was the night that you—that you—like that night."
"Say it, Albus."
"What?"
"Say it. The night that I what?" Suddenly, her voice gained intensity, and she looked him in the eyes.
"Minerva, I—" He hated the words. He hated hearing them vocalized. And he didn't want to hear them come out of his own mouth.
"I can't have this be a Voldemort to you."
"Minerva?" She never says his name.
"Was he You-Know-Who, or was he Voldemort? You're always telling me to say the name that scares me. Why can't you?"
"But I… fine. I can do it. I can say it." He inhaled deeply before speaking slowly: "I don't want to be helpless like the night that you—of your—of your suicide attempt." He choked out the last two words.
"Thank you," Minerva said softly. "You don't have to say it again. It's just—if I have to live with what I've done—with the thoughts and the fears that I might do it again—then perhaps the least you can do is name it."
Albus nodded and let her words sink in. He swallowed hard. "Do you—do you really think about… trying again?"
"I mean, sometimes, I think about dying, or I think about wanting to be dead. But I don't seriously think about making it happen. I've said to Christopher that I don't think I'll make another attempt. I don't want to, and I probably won't do it, but I don't know that I won't."
"'Probably won't' doesn't exactly inspire confidence, Minerva. And you've said that you don't know why it happened in the first place… How am I supposed to know if you're in danger?"
"If it makes you feel any better, this is something I'm supposed to be able to figure out in therapy."
"Er—that helps a little, I suppose. But, Min, when I found you in the bathroom today, my mind flashed back to the sight of you on the corridor floor, mere moments before you… attempted. I don't know if I could tell the difference between the two scenes, that I could predict that you'd be safe one time but not the other."
"Are you worried that I'm still not safe?" Minerva asked. "I'm not offended if you are. But I'm okay, Albus. I—I had a particularly bad moment, but I'm okay."
"Of course, I'm still worried. It's hard to brush off seeing you suffering. But even though it's hard, that doesn't mean I don't want to be there for you. I do."
"Would you feel better if I stayed here tonight?"
"Please?"
"Okay." She scooted over and lay her head on her partner's shoulder. The world hadn't come crashing down even though he saw her at her most vulnerable—again—and even though she didn't know why she had so strong a reaction. Perhaps that was an important detail to determine—and something to discuss with her therapist at their next meeting.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading and for your reviews, favorites, and follows!