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
Ch. 10: Obvious
"Come in!"
That Friday afternoon, after finishing lunch early so she'd have extra time before afternoon classes began, Minerva found herself knocking on the office door of Madam Rolanda Hooch. Poppy had cleared her to fly—but explicitly forbade her use of any of the Quidditch balls—so long as she went with "someone competent"; clearly, she interpreted that to mean she would only be allowed on a broomstick in the company of the flying instructor. Although she was concerned that Rolanda might decide to ask invasive or insensitive questions, Minerva reminded herself that she could kindly ask her colleague to shut up, please. So, after a deep breath to compose herself, she pushed open the door.
"Minerva! To what do I owe the pleasure? Something wrong with the Gryffindor team practice schedule? Has the pitch been double-booked?"
"Good afternoon, Rolanda. No, all that's fine, as far as I know. I actually came by to ask you if you'd like to go flying with me some time."
Rolanda's yellow eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. Then she smiled broadly. "No one's ever asked me that before. In all my time here, no one's ever asked if I would like to fly!"
Seriously? Never? She's been here longer than me, Minerva thought. "Is that a yes?"
"I'd be delighted. You've still got Quidditch spirit! You played Chaser as a student, right?"
"Mostly. I subbed as Keeper for a game or two when our starter was injured. We had a few backup Chasers, but not a dedicated reserve Keeper. I did all right." Minerva found herself smiling, too. She hadn't reminisced about her Quidditch days in a long time.
"Makes sense. Cat-like reflexes."
"Perhaps that explains my Animagus form."
"So, when were you thinking? I do a daily lap or two around the grounds in the mornings, and you're welcome to join if you want. Or we could toss a Quaffle around if you'd like to dust off those old shooting skills."
"Flying over the grounds sounds lovely. It might be a while before I can challenge you at the goalposts; Poppy has forbidden me from using any of the Quidditch balls. I'm almost surprised she's letting me on a broomstick again, but she said it's fine as long as I'm with somebody."
Rolanda's expression turned sober. "Considering the stunt you pulled a few months ago—at midnight with the stolen ball crate by yourself—I can see why she'd put you on a Bludger ban. You could've died out there, Min."
Minerva shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I suppose I'm just good at surviving," she muttered.
"Well, I'm glad for that. Seems like you've had a rough go at it this school year."
"That's one way of putting it," Minerva said shortly.
Rolanda looked pensive for a moment. "Min, it was only a couple weeks after your accident that you were really ill. Did we miss something that night? Was your head injury worse than we thought? It just occurred to me that the two incidents might be related."
Minerva grabbed onto the chair in front of the flying instructor's desk and shakily lowered herself into it. She wanted to turn around and leave, but she felt the blood drain from her face when she heard the question. It seemed she could either sit down or pass out, and she chose the former. Surely it was just a coincidence, but Rolanda seemed dangerously close to making the correct connection.
What if she's using 'head injury' as a euphemism for my mental state? She couldn't possibly have discovered the truth, right? Because they were related—if I hadn't gotten a head injury, I wouldn't have had a bottle holding a week's worth of potion, and I wouldn't have had a magical overdose accessible to me.
"Oh dear, are you all right? You're pale as a ghost." Rolanda conjured a glass and filled it with water. Then she pulled a Chocolate Frog out of a drawer and pushed the two items across the desk. "I don't know which you need."
Minerva didn't take either offering. Instead, she continued to stare blankly until she finally managed a faint uttering: "I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm sorry, Minerva—for now and when I did basically the same thing to you in public. I know some things are hard to talk about. It's okay if you don't want to." She reached her hands across the desk and placed them both on top of one of Minerva's. "I'm really sorry that I've upset you."
Minerva's eyes refocused, and she saw a gentle sincerity in the flying instructor's typically hawklike eyes. She really did look contrite.
"What I really wanted to say is that you deserve a break, Min. I know life hasn't been easy for you this year. So, if flying will help you, then just let me know, okay? My Comet and I are always ready to go."
Minerva let out a wry laugh despite herself. "I wish I could hop on a broomstick now and get the hell out of here."
"Not with you looking so pale, you won't. Take the chocolate," Rolanda said firmly. "And you have afternoon classes. That might be important, too."
Rolling her eyes, Minerva picked up the Chocolate Frog and unwrapped it. "It's Albus," she said, tossing the collector's card onto the desk. She took a bite.
"Are you okay?"
Minerva nodded—the chocolate did help her feel better, at least enough to feel like she could think straight. And she'd survived feeling exposed and then setting a boundary for herself, albeit ungracefully. "Sorry I lost myself for a moment."
"No, Min, I should've been more thoughtful," Rolanda said. Then she brightened again. "Anyway, I go out flying at six every morning. Come by just before then if you'd like to join me. Your company is welcome."
"Thanks, Ro. I—I think I'll join you tomorrow," she said quickly before she could talk herself out of it. She swallowed hard and continued, to rationalize to herself more so than to her friend. "I could use a break. It's been a tough week."
"For you and me both, then. There were a few days when Poppy asked me to help her out in the Hospital Wing. She had me running back and forth from her potions storeroom for her while she tended to the steady stream of students complaining of flu symptoms. There were even a few fakers just trying to get out of class; she gave them a scolding and sent them to their Head of House."
Minerva spread her lips into a long, thin line. "They were mine. I was none too pleased with them. Fourth years! They should know better. I took twenty points each. I can't imagine they are looking forward to their double period with me later today."
"Speaking of, shouldn't you be heading to class soon?" Rolanda gestured toward her watch.
"You're right, I should be on my way. I'll see you with my Cleansweep tomorrow?"
"Sounds good. And we can take it slowly out there. I know Poppy's been on your case lately, and I don't need her getting cross with me for taking you at a racing pace."
"Oh, 'on my case' is an understatement. I think she's one step away from demanding I walk around with a Bubble-Head Charm."
"Hey, it might not be a bad idea. I think both Sybill and Septima came down with the flu this week, so professors are clearly not immune."
"I've been washing my hands raw lately; hopefully that's good enough," Minerva said. "Anyway, I'd best be off to class now. Have a good afternoon, Ro."
"Thanks for the chat, Min. Take care."
Minerva's first class of the afternoon went smoothly, but now she found herself dragging through the second. Last class of the day. Last class of the week, she reminded herself when fatigue threatened to take over. The fourth years were learning about cross-species Transfiguration, which was always a tough lesson for them. She spent the first half of the double period teaching the theory and demonstrating the technique, and now the students were trying to apply their newly gained knowledge to transform guinea fowl into guinea pigs.
Once the students set to work, Minerva made her way toward the exterior wall of the classroom to check to see which window had been left ajar. At least, she assumed that must be the case because she felt unusually cold. A sudden chill washed over her while she was showing the class how to perform the required spell, and she nearly botched the wand movement when she shivered. That would have been embarrassing. She frowned when she realized that all the windows were indeed closed. Not even a draft crept in.
She returned to her desk and sat down to observe the class. A few students had made substantial progress, but others seemed not have made a dent, so to speak, in their birds. Minerva absentmindedly rubbed her temple as she listened to the cacophony of spoken incantations, squawking guinea fowl, and squeaking guinea pigs. Practical lessons involving animals were always loud. She didn't appreciate the headache that was brewing as the class period went on.
After so many years teaching Transfiguration, Minerva could probably monitor the class with her eyes shut. She allowed her thoughts to wander, and they meandered back to her earlier conversation in the flying instructor's office. Almost certainly, she was just being paranoid that Rolanda had figured her out. Still, she wondered if it was obvious to everyone that she was struggling. From Rolanda saying, "I know life hasn't been easy for you this year," to Aberforth Dumbledore pointing out that she'd been crying, to Filius Flitwick taking on so much of her work without hesitation—had her tough façade crumbled?
An excited squeal broke Minerva out of her head. She looked up to see a student jumping up and down, for she had apparently Transfigured her guinea fowl successfully. Indeed, she performed the backward transformation and readily turned the bird back into a guinea pig to show her friends how it was done.
"Excellent work, Miss Rose," Minerva said. "Five points to Gryffindor." With a glance toward the wall clock, she saw that the class period neared its end. "Class, your homework assignment is to write an essay about the method and theory behind the transformation you attempted today. I expect your theoretical section to include a description of how Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing cross-species transformations. Be specific and provide examples that clearly illustrate these required modifications." With a wave of her hand, the instructions appeared written on the chalkboard behind her. "Now, please return your animals to their cages before you leave."
She let out a long sigh when all the students had departed. She was exhausted, much more so than she had been any other day since she started teaching the third- and fourth-years again. Just faculty meeting before the weekend, she thought, hoping it would be short because she suddenly felt like she'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express. She groaned internally but tried not to think anything of it.
As she exited the classroom, she murmured a Nox to turn off the lights, shut the door, and muttered a Colloportus to lock it. She pocketed her wand and headed to the staff room. When she arrived, most of the other core subject faculty were already there. Albus stood at the front of the room beside Filius, who was standing on a chair to minimize the height differential between them.
"Hello, Minerva," Albus greeted her. "How are you faring?" He was constantly checking in since she increased her teaching load after Christmas.
"Tired," she said simply and tried to offer a reassuring expression. It may not have been too convincing because she scowled as another chill shook her body. Albus might not have noticed, or he didn't say anything if he did, but Minerva started to grow concerned that she was not, indeed, just tired. Still, she decided to take the chair nearest the roaring fireplace in case it was actually cold, and not just her.
Albus started the meeting as soon as Pomona Sprout arrived. She was usually last to these meetings, likely because she had to come in from the greenhouses. Today, she sat next to Minerva, who was propping her head up with her hand, already bored with the announcements. Or perhaps she was not merely bored but also distracted by her still-growing headache and the thought of Poppy's nagging replaying in the back of her mind: Take care of yourself, Min, and let me know immediately if you have any flu symptoms…
Minerva mentally swore. I'm getting sick, she realized. Maybe I really should have wandered around with a Bubble-Head Charm. The worry seemed to be confirmed when midway through the meeting, she felt a familiar tickle in the back of her throat, and she tried will away the urge to cough, to little avail. She turned her head to cover her mouth with her robes sleeve, hoping at least to muffle the sound. She didn't want to be that person disrupting the meeting.
"All right there, Minerva?" Pomona whispered.
Minerva stopped coughing for a moment and nodded. But the Hufflepuff would clearly have none of that nonsense once Minerva again hid her face in her sleeve and continued to cough. Pomona fished in her robes pocket and pulled out a bag of cough drops. She discreetly offered one to her colleague.
"Thanks," Minerva murmured and popped the medicated candy into her mouth. She'd have to ask Pomona for the label later because it seemed to relieve the discomfort in her throat almost immediately. Unfortunately, it didn't help with anything else, like the head and body aches that had intensified since she left her classroom. She was quite certain that she was doing a poor job of masking the misery she felt, just like she couldn't suppress her cough.
Thank Merlin that Filius is still Acting Deputy, she thought. Most of the meeting time was led by the Headmaster and Deputy, and she was glad not to have that job today. The remaining time was spent hearing from each subject leader, and Minerva tried to concentrate just enough energy not to miss it when Albus would ask about Transfiguration. Only he never asked her—they made eye contact for one second before Albus said, "Madam Fawcett, please share any updates from the Transfiguration department."
Phoebe Fawcett, despite not expecting to speak for their division, seemed to handle herself with aplomb. Minerva didn't hear anything she wouldn't have said, although she wasn't paying much attention. She could feel the Albus's eyes on her—and she suspected many others—as she tried to ignore her discomfort. Practically, she did a better job of ignoring everything around her and could only focus on how she physically felt. She almost didn't even notice when Albus called the meeting to a close, or when Pomona stood up to leave and said, "Feel better soon, Minerva."
Albus collected his notes while the other professors filed out of the staff room. He glanced over at Minerva, who remained seated in her chair, looking worse for the wear. That she told him she was "tired" just before the meeting seemed to be a half-truth. She did look to be in danger of dozing off in her chair, but she looked much more drained compared to last week at this time when she'd just finished her first week at a three-quarter teaching load. And her poorly disguised coughs, flush in her cheeks, and vaguely pained expression in her face during the meeting indicated something beyond mere tiredness. Perhaps in a moment, out of sight and earshot of others, she'd be willing to tell him that.
He approached her once their colleagues had cleared from the room. "Minerva, you look more than just tired."
"I really am tired, Albus. I feel exhausted."
"I can see that. Is there anything else?"
Minerva looked at the floor and said nothing for a moment, but she knew she would have to tell him. It was obvious to her—and likely to him—that she wasn't simply in need of a nap.
"Pardon?" Albus asked when he heard her mumble something.
She closed her eyes and sighed. "I think I've caught the flu," she confessed, just loudly enough to hear.
Albus nodded, relieved that she admitted it but of course was still concerned. "I'm sorry that you're not feeling well, dear."
"Poppy is probably going to keep me in the Hospital Wing for a week."
Albus sat down next to Minerva and scooted the chair closer to her. He hadn't forgotten Madam Pomfrey's warning during her previous Hospital Wing stay, and neither had Minerva: If you get sick, that could set back your whole recovery.
"Come here," he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could feel the heat from her forehead in the crook of his neck.
Shortly after the students returned from their winter holidays, a strain of wizard's flu took hold in Hogwarts. At first, it stayed local to a single boys' dormitory in Hufflepuff, but once it reached the remainder of the House, the virus quickly spread among the rest of the student body. As soon as the increase in cases began to accelerate, Poppy could not impress enough upon Minerva (and Albus, for she knew they occasionally cohabitated) the need to keep her distance from others and wash her hands frequently.
They had lasted about a week of widespread transmission unscathed, but it seemed that one of them finally caught the bug. Albus knew that Poppy regularly reminded Minerva that she needed to tell her right away if she felt ill. She did not, however, say that Minerva should immediately report to the Hospital Wing, necessarily—so Albus had another idea.
"How about we ask Poppy to make a home visit instead?"
Minerva pulled back to look at him, surprise faintly visible among her otherwise weary expression. "You're not going to drag me to the Hospital Wing?"
"No, I'll let Poppy make that decision—if you're willing to rest, that is."
She mustered a weak smile. "That's all I want to do right now."
Albus knew she'd like the idea. Minerva had no desire for another extended stay in the school infirmary. Once a school year seemed to be more than enough for her tastes.
"Your place or mine, then?" He winked.
"Cheeky bastard." Minerva rolled her eyes. "Yours is probably better—less temptation for me to do work."
"Voluntarily deprioritizing work—I'm impressed," Albus said, his white eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
"Poppy better be impressed, too. The pile of essays on my desk is going to miss me."
Albus chuckled. "It's good to hear you joking."
"I must be delirious if I'm joking about leaving essays unmarked."
"Then I'd better get you home right away." Albus stood up and offered his hand. "Will you be all right for the walk up?"
Minerva took his outstretched hand and rose to her feet, which took some effort, despite the assistance. Albus maintained his grip as she leaned heavily against him, relying on his weight to stay upright. With her face buried in his chest, Minerva shook her head.
"Perhaps not," she said through gritted teeth as she tried not to get a mouthful of his long silver beard.
Steadying her with his left hand, Albus let go of hers to retrieve his wand from his robes pocket. Then he said, "Don't kill me, please," and abruptly scooped her up in his arms.
"ALBUS!" Minerva cried and immediately fell into a coughing fit. Yelling was probably not the best idea. She reburied her face in his robes in an attempt not to spray his face with her germs. In between coughs, she choked out, "We can't—go through—the castle—like this!"
"Yes, we can," Albus said calmly. "Would you like me to cast a Disillusionment Charm?"
"You damn well better if you're going to carry me through the corridors!"
"Well, I see no other way to do this."
Minerva grumbled in discontent. "Fine," she conceded. She didn't like the sensation of being levitated, and she wasn't quite interested in collapsing on the way to his office. "And you promise you're not actually going to take me to the Hospital Wing?"
"I promise."
"Good. Now, this better be the best bloody Disillusionment Charm you've ever performed."
Albus smiled. Although he was sure he could do it adequately without his wand, he had gotten it out for a reason, and he used it to make them effectively invisible. Most everyone would be in the Great Hall for dinner by now, so he was not too concerned about encountering passersby anyway. However, he knew that Minerva would prefer not to be seen in so compromising a position, and he could admit that he'd rather not raise public suspicions about their relationship.
As they swept out of the staff room and toward the Headmaster's Tower, Minerva hooked her arms around his neck, rested her head against his chest, and settled into their arrangement. She shivered in his arms, sure her body temperature was still climbing. She could just hear Poppy scolding her: Why didn't you come see me at the first sign of a fever, Min?
"Chocolate frogs," Albus muttered when they reached the stone gargoyle on the third floor. It leapt aside to allow them access to the circular staircase, which made Minerva feel dizzy as they ascended. Albus marched through his office to his private quarters, straight to his bedroom, where he laid his ailing partner upon the bed. He canceled the spell that concealed them and waved his wand to remove her boots and place them on the floor.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Do you want to change out of your robes while I have the House Elves bring us supper?"
"I'm not very hungry, Albus."
"You should still try to eat something for dinner."
She grimaced and shot a pleading look. "Later? I feel like hell. I think I need to rest for a bit first."
"Promise you'll try later?"
She nodded. "You go on down to the Great Hall. I want to take a nap."
"Okay, if that's what you want. Can I get you anything before I go?"
"Maybe some of that tea that puts me to sleep?"
"Sure." Albus offered a reassuring smile before sweeping out of the room.
Minerva debated whether to get up and put on one of Albus's nightshirts or stay in bed and transfigure her teaching clothes into something more comfortable. The latter seemed a better idea. She pulled her wand from her robes pocket, and with a wave she was now clad in a tartan nightgown.
Slipping under the covers, she flopped onto her side and placed her glasses and wand on the nightstand. She disliked that chills still wracked her body, despite the layers that would normally make her feel warm. She yawned. Maybe if she fell asleep for long enough—twelve or so hours sounded nice—she wouldn't have to eat dinner. It seemed like a lot of effort when she didn't even have an appetite.
Albus popped his head into the bedroom and heard coughs emanating from a lump underneath the duvet. Minerva had completely buried herself under the bedding and took one of the pillows with her.
"Would you like ginger or peppermint?"
"Ginger, please," a weak voice spoke before the coughing resumed.
"All right. I'll just be a minute."
Minerva swore under her breath when the kettle whistled. The piercing sound did not play well with her headache.
"I've got your tea." Albus waved his free hand to bring the pillows from his side of the bed behind his partner as she slowly slid back into view and effortfully pushed herself up to sit.
"Thanks," she said, accepting the mug with both hands.
"Are you sure you want me to go down for dinner? I don't mind staying."
"Go. You're not ill. You can have a proper meal. I'll be fine."
"Okay, okay, if you insist."
"And tell Rolanda that I don't think I can come tomorrow. She'll know what I mean."
"Any other messages you'd like me to deliver?"
"Er, maybe you should tell Phoebe that she'll probably need to cover my classes on Monday?"
"At least Monday, if you've self-diagnosed correctly. And I will tell her. Be back soon."
Albus stopped in his office to use the Floo, figuring that he should alert Madam Pomfrey of the situation before heading to the Great Hall. Although he suspected that she might be busy in the main ward of the Hospital Wing, he thought he would try her office first anyway. When he stuck his head through the glowing flame, he was surprised to catch Poppy at the exact moment she walked into the room.
"Albus!" she gasped. "You startled me. I only have a few minutes, so is this going to be a quick conversation?"
"Er—well, I was going to ask you to come by my rooms when you have a chance. Minerva has taken ill."
Poppy gave the professor a stern look. "If I weren't so busy handing out fever reducers and pain relief potions left and right, on top of the usual injuries and illnesses, I'd scold you for not bringing her here. What's wrong?"
Albus offered an apologetic smile. "Perhaps it should come as no surprise that I think she might be your next flu patient."
"I suppose this was bound to happen. Does she have a fever?"
"I haven't taken her temperature, but she feels warm. She's resting in bed now."
"All right—can you check? And if it's above 40 degrees, please bring her here. Otherwise, I'll come up when I can," the matron said. "Take care of yourself, too, Albus. She's going to need you healthy if I'm going to let her recuperate at home."
"Duly noted, and I can do that. Thank you, Poppy."
"You're welcome—but now I've got to go. I'll see you later."
"Thank you again."
Albus pulled back into his office and smoothed down his robes. He hoped Minerva didn't have too high a fever; he would prefer that she not need another stay in the Hospital Wing.
"Min, I just fire-called Poppy," he said upon returning to the bedroom. "She wants me to check your temperature."
"She didn't demand that you take me down there?"
"No, but she asked me to do so if you have a fever above 40 degrees."
Minerva sighed. "Well, I'll be surprised if I don't have a fever. Go ahead and tell me my fate."
Albus approached the bed and pressed the tip of his wand to her forehead. "Just over 39 degrees."
Although Minerva was quite glad to have scraped just under the threshold Poppy had set, Albus felt more concern than relief.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes, as if to say that he was overly worried. "Albus. I'll be fine. I'm going to finish drinking this, and if all goes well, I'll be getting some much-needed sleep the whole time you're gone."
"All right, I'll see you soon, then." Not particularly thrilled about leaving her alone with a relatively high fever and an unknown impact of an illness on her physical and mental recovery, the headmaster turned to his phoenix before leaving his office. "Fawkes, please watch over Minerva and come fetch me if she needs help."
With a flash, the crimson bird disappeared from his perch, and Albus headed to dinner. Fawkes reappeared in the bedroom and gently flitted down onto the bed.
"Fawkes! Hello, I wasn't expecting you," Minerva said when the phoenix landed next to her. "Did Albus send you? I've got him worried, don't I?" She stroked his majestic plumage. "I know you've got healing powers. Can you do anything for me?"
Fawkes seemed to bob his head from side to side, as if to shake his head and say, "No." Instead, he cooed softly, and Minerva felt a wave of drowsiness wash over her and a concurrent decrease in the aching of her head.
"Is this your song, Fawkes, or just the tea? Either way, I think… I think I'll be able to fall asleep soon. Thank you."
Author's Note: Thank you again for reading and for your reviews, favorites, and follows! I feel like this chapter was about 75% fluff (which I enjoy writing sometimes), but I do think it sets up some things for later.