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 9: A Lapse in Judgment

"Thank you for letting me reschedule. When I made the appointment before Christmas, I hadn't considered that I might be teaching at the time we set."

"It's not a problem. And thank you for owling as soon as you knew," Healer Loughlin said. "It's been a few weeks now. How have you been?"

"Okay."

A beat of silence passed.

"…Okay?" the healer asked.

"Well, sometimes not." Minerva allowed her gaze to wander, avoiding Christopher's eyes. "I, er—I had a bad moment. Or maybe a bad day. Or a bad few days."

"Would you like to talk about that?"

Minerva pursed her lips and nodded, still refusing to look at him. She took a long sip of tea, followed by a deep breath, and closed her eyes. "Albus witnessed me in a state that he described as, well, similar to the night of my overdose."

"Go on."

"I felt awful about it. He was so scared. I think he was afraid to leave me alone for the next day or so. I didn't handle that very well, his concern. As it turns out, the more I insisted that I wasn't going to kill myself, the more shaken up he got. Perhaps it was just the way I said it; I might have snapped at him a few times when I felt overwhelmed by his hovering…

"He really was hovering sometimes. His teeth must be very clean now because I think he decided to brush his teeth for the entirety of the time I showered, as an excuse to stay in the same room as me."

Christopher started flipping through his notes, wearing a confused expression. "Point of clarification. In our first meeting, you described Albus as your 'best friend'—"

"I see where you're going." Minerva interrupted, blushing. "Yes, we're also, er, involved. I suppose it would be odd if my male friend and boss followed me to the shower if we weren't…"

"Noted. Thank you for clarifying."

"For the record, I had my job at Hogwarts long before we got together. Decades, even."

"I was not going to assume any impropriety," Christopher said. "I apologize for this digression—please continue with where you were going. You felt overwhelmed by Albus's concern? Should he have been concerned?"

Minerva sighed. "I had no intentions of hurting myself, but he knows even less than I do if I'll ever get to that point again, or what it would take to lead me there." She pressed her lips together before continuing: "He found me that night, you know. He saw me do it. He—he took me to the Hospital Wing." Her voice quieted with each sentence.

"Have you ever talked about that night with him?"

"Not really, just bits and pieces here and there. Some of what I know is from Poppy, like that he stayed up all night and refused to leave until I woke up. From Albus, I just know that he was afraid—really afraid—that I wouldn't make it. He's probably a little traumatized, if I'm honest.

"And I feel like absolute shit about that. The so-called greatest wizard of our age reduced to tears and fears—by me. By me, for being too weak to handle having a good life."

"Why do you think you're weak, Minerva?"

"Because I have good friends, a successful career, and a magical castle to call home, yet somehow I can't be happy. Somehow, all of this wasn't enough to prevent me from trying to die. Somehow, it's still not enough to prevent me from wanting to be dead sometimes."

"I don't think this makes you weak. But so what if it did? Do you have to be strong all the time?"

"Albus said the same thing, that I'm not weak," she muttered. "But I am. I'm weak, so I need help. If I need help, then I'm a burden. And if I'm a burden, then maybe everyone would be better off without me." She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the stinging tears not to fall. "That's how I got him so worried in the first place this time: I felt like a burden. And I couldn't bear it, so I ran off to hide my shattering." For heaven's sake, Minerva, don't shatter here, too, she thought angrily at herself.

"It's okay to cry, Minerva."

"Not for me it isn't." She spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Because then it's clear how weak I am.

"Only for you?"

"Are you going to tell me that's a double standard?"

"It sounds like you already know."

"It's frustrating," Minerva muttered. "I know that some of my thoughts, when I can manage to look at them objectively, don't make sense—like I am probably not, objectively speaking, a pathetic failure. I know. But these thoughts are coupled with sometimes overwhelming emotions that make them feel real, and then other thoughts creep in that seem to legitimize them. Things like, 'I'm a failure because I couldn't even kill myself properly.'"

"I think that particular 'failure'—" Christopher used finger quotes—"is a win, actually."

"Perhaps that's not the best example. Those 'failure' thoughts aren't as hard to fight off as others," she said. "Like the idea that I'm a burden—lately, there just seems to be so much evidence that it's true. I can't argue with evidence. It's very convincing that I'm basically a parasite on the lives of those I care about."

The tears threatened to fall again. She hunched over and held her head in her hands, hiding her face from view.

"What makes you feel like a burden, Minerva?"

"Everything." Her voice came out in an uncharacteristic squeak. "My colleagues are doing so much more work to accommodate and cover for me. Hell, I've started to teach more of my classes again, and somehow, I've made more work for Filius, who's already been filling in for my Deputy duties—all so that I could come here. And he doesn't know that this is why Albus asked him to adjust the class schedule.

"I told Albus that he couldn't overload Filius like this, but do you know what he said? 'He's doing it for you, and you are worth it.' But am I? I can't even look Filius in the eye now, knowing that so much has been thrust upon him because of me."

"Would you rather this colleague—Filius—know why he's been asked to fill in for you?" Christopher asked.

Minerva picked up her head and looked wide-eyed at the Healer. "That might be even worse." Then he'd know exactly how pathetic I am. At least now he can imagine that he's doing this for a worthwhile cause.

"Why? I'm not trying to encourage you to disclose your personal business to anyone you don't want to; I genuinely want to understand why it would be worse if he knew."

"Filius and I have been colleagues for a long time. I respect and trust him a great deal. If this were a purely physical problem, then I probably would tell him." She shrugged. "But it's not. I don't want him to know that I'm so—well, I guess I can't say 'weak' again. I don't want him to think less of me." She bit her bottom lip and again tried to blink away tears, but to no avail. "And even if he didn't, then maybe he'd be another person who's worried about me. I can't—I can't do that to him, too.

"It's bad enough that Albus and Poppy worry about me. They spend so much time and effort just trying to see that I'm okay." She downed the remainder of her now-ambient temperature tea and cleared her throat. "And the emotional energy they spend on me—I don't know how to deal with it, knowing that I've caused their pain. I'm sure I don't even see all of it. I know they're trying to be brave and protect me. I am grateful. I appreciate what they're trying to do for me, but I don't deserve it. I'm not worth it."

Minerva ripped her glasses from her face, for the lenses were now smeared with tears. Well, fuck it, she thought, unable to hold in her sobs anymore. And she let herself "ugly" cry—with salty streams pouring from her eyes, unsteady breaths and shaking gasps for air, and a leaky nose—all poorly masked behind her hands.

Suddenly, a box of tissues levitated in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, yanking out a few tissues to manage her dripping face.

"Don't be," Christopher said as Minerva blew her nose. "Are you out of tea? Would you like some water?"

Minerva nodded. She heard a murmured "Accio," followed by an "Aguamenti," before a glass of water appeared before her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Take your time," he said, allowing Minerva a few minutes to compose herself.

"I'm okay," she said once she had largely stemmed her tears and steadied her breathing. She muttered a spell to clean her glasses and put them back on. "I'm sorry again."

"And again, don't be. There's no need to apologize."

Minerva disagreed but nodded anyway.

"It sounds to me like your friends think you are worth it and care a great deal about you. You haven't made them do anything; they are choosing to help you," Christopher said gently. "Still, you have this thought that you're a burden on others, which upsets you deeply. And try as you might, you can't seem to 'logic' the idea away. Have I heard you correctly?"

"Maybe that's why the Sorting Hat didn't put me in Ravenclaw," Minerva mumbled. "And yes, that sounds right."

"I can't speak for enchanted hats. However, you seem like a rational person to me. You're just struggling when confronted by powerful, painful emotions. We can't always control the way we feel, but we often can control how we react. How do you react when you feel like a burden?"

Minerva refilled her glass and took a swig. "On a bad day? I try to lock myself away and cry until I fall asleep or can't feel anymore, whichever comes first. On a very bad day, apparently, I tried to kill myself."

"Okay, well, let's take the 'very bad day' option off the table. Maybe we can figure out how 'bad' became 'very bad'—what was different about that day?"

"I don't know," Minerva said instinctively, but her thoughts raced through her memories from that night. I argued with Poppy, but that's not unusual. Was it because I had the means with the potion? But I'm a witch; I always have the means. I hadn't eaten much that day, but that wasn't unusual, either. Did it make it worse? I can't remember. Albus confronted me about it just before. He ran after me. He… "It's all a bit of a blur."

"Okay. That not surprising," Christopher said. "You said what you do on 'bad' days. Are there 'good' days where you have this feeling?"

"I suppose they're 'good' in that… I don't get overwhelmed by it. I can push it to the back of my mind and continue with my day. Maybe I just need to be sufficiently distracted with classes to teach, students to help, things like that."

"You struggle when you have time to think."

"I guess so."

"And you can't always bury yourself in work. Even if you could, it wouldn't be healthy."

"So I'm told." By Poppy, by Albus, by everyone. Do I really work too hard? Am I doing it avoid feeling anything?

"We need to figure out what else you can do. Distractions can be useful to ward off negative thoughts and emotions, but you will also need ways to cope when you do start to feel overwhelmed. Can you think of anything you already do that helps?"

Minerva shrugged. "The only thing I can think of is something I used to do whenever I was particularly stressed or frustrated. And I am sure Poppy would not approve of me resuming that activity…"

"What was it?"

"I'd fly around the Quidditch pitch and hit some Bludgers around."

"That could be a good option to have in your arsenal. Has Poppy forbidden you from flying or sport in general?"

"Not explicitly, but she has told me not to overexert myself. I just figure she wouldn't want me to do it because the last time I did, I got hurt."

Christopher nodded. "By the Bludgers, or was it a flying accident?"

"Bludgers. Broke my nose and knocked me out." Minerva grimaced, recalling the injury. "It's the reason I had the potion I overdosed on," she added quietly.

"Oh. For some reason, I was imagining that this had happened a long time ago."

"No, it was this past autumn. But even without Bludgers, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't want me flying at all—certainly not alone, at least."

"A flying partner, perhaps? That is, if this is something you would like to do again."

"Maybe. I'm not sure who that would be, though." She tried to imagine Albus on a broomstick. She could've laughed. "Not Albus, that's for sure. He is not the sporting type," she said. "In fact, I'm not sure if any of the other faculty and staff ever played Quidditch, except Rolanda. She's the flying instructor. Normally, I think I wouldn't mind flying with her, but I suspect she'd ask about my, er, health situation. I don't think I want to tell her about all this."

"Who you decide to tell is certainly up to you. Have there been many questions?"

"Not so much lately. My understanding is that Albus and Poppy deflected a lot of questions at the beginning while I was in the Hospital Wing. There were some when I started to see people and do things again, but I think it quickly became apparent that no one would get answers out of me."

"I'm sure that if you're asked again, you could say that you don't want to talk about it." He paused for a moment. "So, flying is a 'maybe, pending medical approval' option? What else?" Christopher looked at his watch. "Oh, wait. We're almost out of time. Would you like to schedule your next few appointments now that you know your new teaching schedule?"

"Sure, I suppose."

"You said that Monday afternoons are generally good, right?"

"Yes, I have no afternoon classes on Mondays."

"Okay. Shall we pencil you in for this time for the remainder of the month?"

"Sounds fine to me."

"Excellent. I will see you next week."

"Thank you."

"Have a good day, Minerva."

She mustered a weak smile. "You, too," she said as she donned her winter cloak.

Outside, a sizable amount of snow had accumulated over the past hour. Minerva pulled her hat and gloves out of her cloak pocket and covered her head and hands. Today, she would not walk back to the castle from Hogsmeade. She hoped that Aberforth wouldn't mind if she also took the Floo back to the castle. Presumably, that was part of the agreement he had made with Albus, although she had yet to use it for the return trip. She pushed open the door to the Hog's Head and saw Aberforth organizing some liquor bottles behind the bar.

"We're not open yet," he said shortly, not having bothered to see who entered.

"It's me, Aberforth." She stopped at entrance. "Do you mind if I use your fireplace again?"

He turned around. "Oh—sorry, Minerva. I assumed you'd make your way back the same way as the other times, so I wasn't expecting you. But sure. Let me open it up for you."

"Thank you, Ab. I walked back the other times, but it's a bit nasty out there today."

"No kidding," he said as he opened the door at the top of the stairs and held it open to let his guest pass. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said automatically. She turned back to look at him once she stepped into the room. "And you?"

"Same as always." His piercing blue eyes seemed to gaze through her. "You look like you've been crying is all."

Instinctively, Minerva reached up to rub her eyes. "I'm fine," she repeated, although she felt her face flush with color, embarrassed that, evidently, her earlier sobbing episode was obvious.

"If you say so." Aberforth walked over to the fireplace. "Floo's all yours."

"Thank you again. Have a good week," she said as grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. "Hogwarts Transfiguration Office!" She only faintly heard his response, "Same to you," as the flames whisked her back to her office.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk in the Headmaster's Office, responding to the various letters he had received that day. He looked up when the door opened, but no person was behind it.

"Hello?" he said, wondering which of his colleagues for whom the door would always open had also become adept at powerful Disillusionment Charms. Confused, he gripped his wand as a precaution when the door shut. "Ahhh!"

A silver tabby with square markings around the eyes jumped into his lap.

"Minerva, you startled me! Have you been cleared to transform?"

The cat did not answer and instead kneaded at his robes with her front paws. Her claws were long and poked at his thighs through the purple velvet. He yelped with each tiny stab.

"I think you need to trim your nails, Min."

She left her claws extended for an extra moment as if to say, "Sharp enough?" Then she curled up in his lap.

"I suppose you can sit there while I finish up some work." He scratched behind the cat's ears before picking up his quill again. She purred in response.

Half an hour later, Albus finished writing his correspondence and absentmindedly stood up to stretch. The cat fell toward the floor and landed on her feet, albeit awkwardly. She immediately began to lick her paws as if to distract from her moment of ungracefulness. Then she looked up at the tall wizard before her and hissed.

"Sorry, dear, I forgot you were there." He reached down to stroke her striped fur. "Are you okay?"

She rubbed her head against his hand, demanding more petting.

"All right, all right—but just for a few minutes. I want to take these letters up to the Owlery." He returned to his chair. "Jump up onto the desk so I don't have to crouch down."

The silver tabby obeyed and raised her tail contentedly as Albus ran his hand across her back.

"You can stay here while I go to the West Tower, if you'd like."

"Meow."

"Okay. I'll be back soon." He gave her one last scratch on the top of her head before collecting the stack of letters and exiting the office.

Minerva immediately leapt from the desk onto the headmaster's chair and stretched before curling up again. When she got back from Hogsmeade, she didn't want to be alone, but she also didn't want to walk through the corridors looking like hell, if Aberforth's comment was any indication of her appearance. She hadn't asked Poppy about changing into her Animagus form, but she decided that she'd take the risk. Surely, she was much stronger than she was the last time she tried to transform after the debacle with Rolanda in the Great Hall during her first public meal post-hospitalization.

Perhaps I'll take a catnap, she thought, figuring that it would take at least fifteen minutes to reach the Owlery, send a few letters, and get back. The desk chair wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, but at least it smelled like Albus, which her feline nose could sense more distinctly. Sherbet lemons. Hot chocolate. Parchment. Ink. And… phoenix feathers? She considered jumping up toward the perch where Fawkes sat to confirm the scent, but then she quickly decided it wasn't important. Getting a few moments of shuteye, however, was. Somehow, therapy was always exhausting.

But sleep wouldn't come. She began to groom her fur anxiously. Although she was quite certain that licking hair as a human would be unpleasant, she didn't mind it as a cat. It was soothing in a way. She was cleaning in between her toes when Albus returned.

"Enjoying my chair?"

"Meow."

"Did you need you something, Min? Not that you need a reason to visit me, but I thought I should ask."

Minerva hopped out of the seat and padded over to the bookcase that concealed the entrance to his private quarters. "Meow."

"In?"

"Meow!"

"Okay, we can go inside."

With a wave of his hand, he maneuvered the bookshelf out of the way and opened the door. The cat ran inside, and Albus followed in pursuit, shutting the door behind him. He found the human version of Minerva on the sofa.

"Would you like something to drink? I can get you tea from the kitchens."

"Yes, please, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." He called for a House Elf, and in an instant, a full teapot and teacup appeared for Minerva alongside a steaming mug of hot chocolate for Albus.

"Thank you," Minerva said and poured herself a cup.

"You're welcome. I suppose I should start keeping the tea you like, too. I'll fetch some on the next Hogsmeade weekend." Albus took a swig from his mug. "I take it Poppy cleared you to use your Animagus form? I didn't know you already had this week's check-in with her."

"Er, well, no, not yet," she said sheepishly. "I did it out of necessity."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "And what necessity would that be?"

"Fine, it wasn't necessary, exactly. I did it out of vanity. I was pretty sure I looked like shit after therapy and didn't want to be seen in the corridors."

"What happened?"

"Aberforth told me I looked like I'd been crying."

"Oh. Well, I can't tell now," Albus said. "Are you okay?"

"From therapy or from transforming?"

"Both, I suppose."

"I think I'm fine, physically. We'll see if Poppy yells at me later." She sipped her tea. "It was a rougher appointment than usual this time, but it's probably good that I talked about some things."

"I'm glad you feel like you can talk to someone, even if you don't always feel like you can talk to me."

She thought about something she said to her therapist: He's probably a little traumatized, if I'm honest. "Who do you talk to, Albus?" she asked.

"Me? Armando and Fawkes, usually. And Poppy, more recently."

Minerva nodded and busied her lips with her tea. A portrait and his pet. And a mediwitch, probably about me.

"And shortly before I realized just how much you were struggling, I talked to Pomona about my concerns. She actually encouraged me to tell Poppy that I was worried about you."

Surely Poppy would have said something to me if he said he was worried about me. Right? Minerva thought. "What did you tell her?"

"Pomona or Poppy?"

"Poppy."

He took a deep breath. "I—I was on my way to talk to her when I ran into you. I was in the classroom that night trying to work up the nerve. To think my biggest fear at the time was that you'd be angry at me for telling on you."

"I suppose I told on myself, didn't I?" she said wryly.

"Minerva."

"Sorry." Making light of the situation was like a protective measure, but she knew Albus didn't appreciate it.

"I still did tell her about how you weren't eating or talking to anyone," he said. His shoulders slumped. "I should've noticed sooner, Min. For too long, I thought it was just me you were avoiding. How arrogant of me, right?"

"Don't blame yourself. I didn't want anybody to know how I was feeling." Minerva smiled sadly. "I still don't want anybody to know. But I'm trying to be more open with you. I'm trying to open up to Healer Loughlin."

"And Poppy?"

"I try to be honest about physical things." She shrugged. "The mental side of things isn't really her expertise."

"Are you going to tell her you transformed today?"

"Maybe I'll throw up a hairball and let her guess."

"I'll take that as a yes," Albus said. "Do you really get hairballs as an Animagus?"

"It comes with being a cat. But it doesn't happen that often, thankfully."

"The thought never occurred to me before."

"It didn't occur to me until the first time it happened. Anyway, yes, I'll tell Poppy when I see her tonight. Hopefully, she will tell me that it's fine to transform. I wouldn't mind curling up on your lap again. Your robes are soft."

"I didn't mind, either, except for your pointy claws."

Minerva playfully swiped a hand in his direction, and he leaned backward to dodge it. "I'll be careful if you promise not to make sudden movements next time."

"Sounds fair to me."

Minerva poured herself another cup of tea. "I think tonight I'll also ask Poppy if I can fly again."

Albus sat up straight. His face turned grave. "Min, what really happened that night with the Bludgers?"

"I like to hit Bludgers when I'm upset," she explained. "There's a Charm that keeps them from hitting me. I suppose I wasn't thinking when I put them away because I cast the counter-spell before I finished strapping them down fully."

He sighed in relief. "I was worried you had done it on purpose, especially after—well, you know."

"No, I was just stupid. Isn't that what I told you?"

"You're not stupid, Min. You just had a momentary lapse in judgment."

"I seem to have a lot of those lately."

Is that what we're calling suicidal thoughts now? Albus thought. Lapses in judgement? He'd roll his eyes at her if it weren't so serious. Instead, he pulled her into his arms.

Minerva initially steeled herself, having been taken off-guard, but she quickly relaxed. She felt him rest his head upon hers, and he whispered in her ear.

"But you're working on it," he said. "And you'll get better."

She has to, he thought. She just has to get better.

Author's Note: Thank you again for reading! I appreciate all reviews, follows, and favorites!