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. 11: Worry

"Hello again, Fawkes," Albus whispered upon returning from dinner. He found his phoenix perched on the headboard, vigilantly observing the woman asleep in the bed. "Thank you for staying with her."

He lightly touched the tip of his wand to Minerva's forehead, nearly completely concealed by the bedcovers, hoping that he wouldn't wake her in the process. Content that her fever hadn't worsened over the last hour, he decided to wait for Madam Pomfrey in his office. Fawkes followed behind. Albus passed the time doing mundane tasks that he had left for the weekend, getting up every hour to check on his partner. It was nearly eight o' clock when he heard a knock at the door.

Poppy Pomfrey stepped into the round room. "How is she?" she asked.

"Sleeping, last I checked. Her temperature has been hovering around 39 degrees the past few hours."

"Not great, but not unusual for the flu. When did you know she was ill?"

"This afternoon—I thought she looked under the weather during faculty meeting, and she confirmed for me after everyone else left."

Poppy clucked disapprovingly. "Since you didn't bring her straight to me, I hope you took her here or to her rooms right away."

"I did, Poppy; I brought her here," Albus said.

"All right. That's good. Has she eaten?"

"No, not yet. She said she wasn't hungry and asked to sleep instead." Albus frowned. "Should I have been worried about that? It's just because she feels sick, right? Not because—not because of whatever reason she avoided eating a few months ago?"

The mediwitch thought for a moment. "I'll give her the benefit of the doubt because the fever is probably making her feel miserable, on top of other flu symptoms, if that's what she's got. I admit I didn't consider how a physical ailment would affect her mental state. I was more concerned that an illness would delay or complicate her body's healing."

"How will it complicate her recovery, Poppy? It's been a couple months now—surely, she has made a lot of progress? Then again…"

"Then again,' what, Albus?"

"I was just thinking about how light she felt when I carried her up here."

Poppy gave him a sharp look at the end of his sentence but quickly softened.

"First, to answer your question—if her body is using energy to fight an infection, then it is diverting resources from repairing the damage from her… from her overdose." The last word came out in a whisper, and she briefly closed her eyes. "So, if she can manage to eat, it will be important that she does to give her body the energy it needs to combat the infection and repair any residual damage to her organs. But as you said, it's been some time now; much of the damage should already be healed.

"Second, I'll tell you that I've been monitoring her weight at our regular check-ins. I'm aware. She lost a lot in autumn and more during the first few weeks of her recovery, and I know it might be alarming to realize just how much. But she's started to make gains since then. Am I concerned that being ill now will alter that trajectory? Yes, but I am hopeful that she'll maintain, at least. That is, if we treat her symptoms and she feels well enough to eat. I think she and I would prefer not to have to supplement with nutrient potions.

"Finally, you carried her up here? Are you telling me that she was too weak to walk, and you still chose not to take her to me?"

Albus looked just a bit sheepish. "Perhaps I was thinking of her mental health?" he tried. "I imagine she does not wish to be reminded of her most recent stint in the Hospital Wing."

Poppy pressed her lips together. "You have a point," she said begrudgingly. "Well, I'm here now. Let me see her."

The headmaster led her to his private quarters, where, immediately upon stepping in from the office, a bag of cough drops flew in from behind them and into the bedroom. Though not thrilled to hear what sounded like a bad cough in the next room, Albus was at least relieved he wouldn't have to wake Minerva from her nap.

"Min? Poppy and I are here."

"Hi, Minerva," the mediwitch said gently when they entered the bedroom. "Albus says he thinks you have the flu. Is it all right if I cast some diagnostic spells on you?"

The ailing witch poked her face out from under the covers as the other two approached the bed. She nodded to indicate her consent and immediately found a wand pointed at her.

"Mm hm, it's the flu, all right. As much as I would've preferred that Albus take you to the Hospital Wing—or that you had brought yourself—I am fine with you recuperating here. Make sure to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. And eat if you can." Poppy looked pointedly at Minerva—and knowingly at Albus—before returning to a sympathetic gaze. "Do you want any potions for your symptoms, dear?"

"Pain relievers? Every inch of my body aches, especially my head right now."

Poppy nodded and fished around in a bag she had brought with her. She pulled out several single-dose phials of pain relief potion and, instead of placing them on the bedside table or handing them directly to her patient, gave them to Albus, who pocketed them. Minerva frowned.

"Oh, and here are some fever reducers." She handed a few more phials to Albus. "She can take one now if she wants. If not, then please give her one if her temperature increases and call me. Otherwise, I'll be back to check on her tomorrow. And, please, do let me know if you need anything else." Poppy closed her bag. "I can show myself out."

Minerva glared at Poppy's retreating back. Once she heard the door to the office shut, she said, "Do you think I'm a potions abuser, too?"

"What?" Albus didn't expect—or understand—the question.

"Poppy gave you the potions. Not me, you know, the one who asked for them."

"No, I don't think you're a potions abuser. Scoot over." He sat on the edge of the bed and began stroking her hair, which had long since fallen into a loose, messy bun at the nape of her neck. "Is that what you think Poppy thinks?"

"I think she doesn't trust me. I feel like she thinks I'm going to overdose again if she gives me the opportunity. I'm not going to try to kill myself with pain relievers just because I have them."

Albus shut his eyes. He hated those words. Overdose. Kill myself. "I don't think she consciously thinks that," he said softly. "I know I don't. But Minerva—" He swallowed hard. "It's hard not to worry sometimes."

"Am I always going to be seen as fragile? Does it even matter how hard I've been trying? I'm letting people help me—I'm seeing a therapist; I'm not fighting with you and Poppy…"

"Of course, it matters! I know you're fighting to get better, mentally and physically, and I am so proud of you for it. Maybe I don't tell you that enough."

Minerva bit her lip and said nothing. Finally, after a minute or so, she asked, "So, you don't think I'm fragile?"

Albus shook his head. "Life is fragile, Min. Not you."

Minerva shifted to lay her head in his lap and loosely loop her arms around his waist. "Thank you," she murmured. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Can I have some of that pain potion, now?" She unwrapped herself from Albus to sit up. He pulled one of the vials out of his pocket and handed it to her, looking her square in the eyes, as if to say, "See, I trust you with this potion." She pressed the opening to her lips and maintained eye contact until she pushed the empty vessel back into his hands to Vanish.

"Ugh. Why do potions have to taste so bad?"

"Because it's medicine?" He shrugged. "Do you want a fever reducer, too?"

"I suppose so, but I know this one is going to be worse." She steeled herself, downed the potion like a shot of liquor, and grimaced at the repulsive flavor.

"Here," Albus said, handing her a glass of water. "I'll put the rest of these in the bathroom."

"Oh, you're not going to lock them away?"

"If you keep joking about it, I will."

Minerva gratefully drank the water to wash away the potion aftertaste. Then she sank back under the covers and stared at the ceiling, rubbing her temples as she waited for the potions to take effect, to be worth their unpleasantness. She heard the shower start running. She wasn't sure what time it was but figured Albus was getting ready for bed. As she closed her eyes, she noticed that the throbbing in her head was already beginning to subside. Poppy must have given them a fast-acting brew.

The shower stopped. A moment later, Albus emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wand magically combing out and drying his hair and beard. "Are they helping?"

"The potions? Yes, thankfully. I feel less like I've been run over by a stampede of hippogriffs." She opened her eyes and saw her companion buttoning a long, printed nightshirt. "Are those Chocolate Frogs?"

"Perhaps I like to match my passwords to my pajamas, Minerva." He sent the towel flying back to the bathroom.

"At least it's not Cockroach Clusters."

"I have a shirt with those, too." Albus climbed onto the bed and sat up beside her. "I'm glad you feel less like you've been trampled by a horde of magical creatures, dear."

"Me too. It might only have been two hippogriffs now, rather than a whole horde."

He laughed. "Do you feel up to eat something before you go to sleep? You did promise you'd try, after all."

Minerva shrugged. "I don't know. I still don't have much of an appetite."

"Is this a physical or mental loss of appetite?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Physical, Albus. Have you already forgotten that I have the flu? Do you think I'm exaggerating how ill I feel?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound accusatory."

"So, how did you mean it?"

"I just worry about you skipping meals."

"It's been weeks since I last missed a meal in the Great Hall, and even then, you had me eat in my room instead. Besides, I didn't say I wouldn't try tonight. I just don't know how much I can manage."

"I know. I'm sorry, Min. Even Poppy told me that you might feel too poorly to eat much."

"Then why are you so worried right now?"

"Please don't take this the wrong way."

Minerva braced herself. "What is it?"

"When I carried you up here, I was surprised by how light you felt. Then I thought back to when you transformed the other day, and I don't recall your Animagus form looking so thin before." He closed his eyes and took a long breath. "I mentioned my concerns to Poppy, and she told me that you'd lost an 'alarming' amount of weight even before your week in the Hospital Wing. Now I can't stop thinking about how you were casting Vanishing Spells at the table and how it took me so long to notice."

"If it makes you feel better, you weren't supposed to notice."

"You know that doesn't make me feel better."

"Sorry."

"Why did you do it, anyway? Weren't you hungry? I know you did it at multiple meals a day… and if you lost as much weight as Poppy hinted at, then I suppose you weren't eating by yourself instead."

"It's hard to explain."

"Will you try?"

Minerva thought for a long moment. "Fine, I can try," she said. "You know how you once told me that you thought that I was trying to avoid you? Well, you were right, but I was also trying to avoid everyone. I wanted to avoid anyone who might ask me if I was okay. I think I was more afraid to admit that I wasn't than I was of coping on my own. Nothing of what I felt or what I thought was new to me, so I thought I could deal with it. But something was different this time, somehow, and I struggled to keep up appearances. One day I overslept—which you know I don't do—and Pomona and Rolanda showed up banging on my door. That night was the first time I lied to you about eating.

"I actually didn't feel hungry, and I convinced myself that working was more important. More likely, I just didn't want to think, which I would do if I stopped to do anything else. Some days were like that when I just wasn't hungry, but others I just I didn't care. Sometimes, I was too tired to care. Still other times, I was too tired to eat, even if I did care."

She turned on her side, back to Albus. Talking at length irritated her already sore throat, and she figured she ought to face away from him when she inevitably fell into a coughing fit. She reached for the packet of cough drops she had Summoned earlier.

"I think I remember that day," Albus said, once Minerva stopped coughing and had popped a throat lozenge in her mouth. "It would've been Poppy at your door if not for Pomona and Rolanda. They covered for you somehow if she didn't go looking for you after dinner."

"See? If a search party would come out for me whenever I didn't show up in the Great Hall, then I needed to make an appearance. But I didn't feel like I could pretend to be okay, and that—anxiety, I suppose—made it even more difficult to eat. So, I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but I knew I needed to make it look like I ate."

"Is that when you started to use Vanishing Spells?"

"It wasn't supposed to be a regular occurrence; I meant to reserve it only for when I felt like I needed it. I guess I 'needed' it more than I expected," Minerva said, her voice small.

"How did nobody notice for so long? Once I finally did, I couldn't unsee what you were doing."

Minerva smiled sadly. "I probably should've realized I took it too far when I couldn't do it wandlessly anymore. That's when I trained myself to use my wand in my non-dominant hand—you'd have noticed if I suddenly started bumping elbows with you hold my wand in my right hand—but eventually I started to struggle with that, too. I could no longer Vanish things I couldn't see, at least not with my left hand. For someone who was terrified of being asked if I was okay, I was quite brazen about it those last few days. Is that when you caught me—when I was Vanishing what was on my fork before I took a bite?"

"Yes." Albus was glad that Minerva wasn't looking at him because he felt tears stinging at his eyes. She had been sick enough to struggle with spellcasting that—for her—should be relatively simple. He wondered if it was a consequence of the deterioration of her physical health or her mental health—or perhaps the combination. "Min, if this was affecting your magical abilities, then why didn't you stop?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Part of it was probably that it became a habit, that it was the only way I knew to deal with my nerves at meals." She stopped to consider her next words. "This is where it gets hard to explain. Sometimes I had this other thought: I thought that if I made it through the day without feeling hungry, if I made it through without talking to anybody, then that meant I didn't need anything, and I didn't need anyone. And not 'needing' anyone or anything also made me feel… superhuman, in a way, at a time when I wouldn't allow myself to be human."

She closed her eyes. "That probably sounds stupid, doesn't it? Everyone needs to eat, and everyone needs other people. But I didn't—and sometimes I still don't—feel like I deserved anything or anyone. And if I didn't deserve what it takes to be human, and if I felt that I couldn't be human, then surviving without was what I needed to do." She paused for a moment. "Maybe that doesn't make sense."

It didn't make sense to Albus, but perhaps that was part of what was so troubling about what she said. Certainly, her thoughts that she didn't "deserve" anyone, or anything, disturbed him, but this nonsensical idea that she "needed" to defy her humanity was similarly distressing. Minerva was among the most sensible people he knew! How could she think these things, let alone believe them?

"Dear, please turn around. I need you to look at me," Albus said.

Minerva slowly rolled over onto her other side and lifted her tired green eyes to meet his gentle blue.

He searched for her hand under the covers. "I might not understand, but that doesn't make your feelings stupid. And I can try to understand. I don't want you to be afraid to tell me how you're feeling, even if you think you're not making sense." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you for opening up to me tonight."

Minerva didn't know what to say. She returned the squeeze to his hand, as if to say she understood, and she turned away again. She could try, certainly, but it was one thing to tell him about how she felt in the past; telling him about similar feelings in the present seemed like a wholly different challenge. But that was what she needed—help with coping with these thoughts and emotions as they arose. And all she had come up with so far was to distract herself with work or to get on a broomstick, neither of which she would be doing any time soon.

"Is a cough drop enough to eat?" she said finally. "I'm tired."

Albus wanted to protest, but he decided against it when he looked at her face. "Minerva, are you crying?"

Indeed, silent tears were rolling down her cheeks. She sniffed. "Sorry. I feel exposed. I feel exhausted. And I feel sick. Take your pick as to which one overwhelmed my willpower."

Albus slipped under the covers and turned on his side behind her, draping his arm over her. "I don't know whether to push you or to let you be."

"I know you'll be worried if I don't eat."

"You're not responsible for my feelings, Min. If you don't feel well enough, then I'll just have to accept that."

Minerva sighed. He might let her skip dinner this time, but she knew he wouldn't like it. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

"It's late."

"I don't think the House Elves will mind."

"I know I promised earlier that I'd try tonight, but I don't think I can handle much at all right now. And if you're wondering, it's physical and mental."

"All right," Albus relented. "Can you really, really promise you'll try to eat something for breakfast?"

"I really, really promise this time—if not for me, then for you. And if not for you, then to avoid Poppy's scolding."

Albus chuckled. "Speaking of, I'm supposed to make sure you rest and stay hydrated. Would you like tea or water before you go to sleep?"

"Is this going to be one of your herbal teas?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, it's fine. Do they all have Sleeping Draught in them?"

"There's also Draught of Peace and Dreamless Sleep."

"I wish I asked this question earlier. May I have Dreamless Sleep, please? I'm not fond of fever dreams."

"Certainly," Albus said. "And I suppose I should have thought of that before your nap this evening. Were you able to get much rest, Min?"

"It wasn't too bad. Besides, I don't think you had taken my temperature yet when I asked."

"No, but your forehead was warm, and I knew you felt miserable. It should have been obvious."

"Don't worry about it. At least now I can have a peaceful night's sleep."

"Okay. I'll put the kettle on." Albus undraped his arm from Minerva and got out of bed. "I delivered your message to Rolanda at dinner, by the way," he said from the other room. "She says that she hopes you feel better soon and looks forward to flying with you some other time. But she also said something interesting—something like, 'She did look a bit sick in my office, but I thought it was just something I said.' Minerva, did you teach all your afternoon classes despite not feeling well?"

"Albus, please don't make me try to talk to you from here," Minerva called out hoarsely and promptly coughed.

He stuck his head in the doorway. "Sorry. Let's continue this when I come back to bed."

Minerva didn't much want to participate in this conversation, but at least she could speak it and not try to yell it between rooms. When Albus returned, she took a mug from him and saw that he also had one for himself. "You're not drinking Dreamless Sleep tea, too, are you?"

"No, I've got Draught of Peace. I hope yours helps your throat as well as your sleep," he said. "So, about what Rolanda said—did you feel ill as early as when you went to go and speak with her? We could've asked Phoebe to cover your classes for you; hell, I would have done it if it were too short notice for her."

She took a long sip of tea. Perhaps if she drank it quickly enough, then she could fall asleep, thus avoiding the conversation altogether. Alas, it did not have an immediate effect. "No, I was fine when I saw Rolanda. I don't think I had any symptoms until my last class. Even then, I didn't consciously think that I might be ill until faculty meeting. It really was something she said."

"What happened? What did she say?"

"I just got worried that she found out about me somehow. Don't stress about it, okay? It's late, I'm tired, and my throat needs a rest. Can I just drink my tea and go to sleep?"

"Of course, Min. I'm sorry if I've asked too much of you tonight. When I finish my tea, maybe I'll stop worrying too much."

Minerva thought that perhaps Albus could stand to drink more of that tea when he was around her; he could be overly worried at times. Then it occurred to her that perhaps he started drinking this tea in the first place because of her. Did he even drink much tea before, let alone medicated tea? She always thought his warm beverage of choice was hot chocolate.

She tossed her head back to get the last few drops out of her mug before placing the empty vessel beside her wand and glasses. Albus was still nursing his tea, but he reached out a free hand to take hold of Minerva's when he saw that she was finished.

"I hope you sleep well," he said.

"Me, too. You, too." Minerva mumbled, her eyelids beginning to droop. She slid further under the covers and shifted closer to Albus, curling up catlike against him. He took one last sip of his drink and sent both of their mugs out toward his sink. Yawning, he pulled his half-moon spectacles off his face and carefully reached over his sleeping bedmate to place them and his wand on the nightstand.

Nox, he thought, shutting the lights off. The worries in his head had largely dissipated. Now, he was simply relieved that Minerva allowed him to care for her and glad that he could spend the night with her, rather than leaving her to the stark white walls and sheets of the Hospital Wing. He slipped under the covers and turned to hold his partner. He could feel her even breaths and decided that she must have fallen asleep.

On Monday afternoon, Madam Pomfrey had returned to the Headmaster's Suite to examine Minerva. Normally, she would see her in the evening for their weekly check-in, but Poppy decided that she may as well do it now, while she saw to her recuperation from the flu.

"So, Albus told you that he's worried about my weight," Minerva said when she climbed back into bed after Poppy Vanished the scale she had Conjured.

"Yes, he did, and I told him I'm monitoring things," the mediwitch responded while she manually updated her patient's chart. "Why do you mention it?"

"Because it made me feel like you both are holding back from me just how worried you are."

"You have enough to worry about without worrying about us worrying about you," Poppy said. "Merlin, that was a lot of worries. And you don't need any more, Min."

Minerva pursed her lips. "You don't trust me."

"What? Of course, I do."

"You don't trust me to handle what you truly think about me."

"What are you talking about? I think the world of you. Do I worry about your physical health? Yes, because I'm your mediwitch; it's my job. Do I worry about your mental health? Yes, because I'm your friend." Poppy sat down on the edge of the bed. "Can I be your friend, and not your mediwitch right now?"

"Please."

"I miss being your friend. We probably spend more time together than ever, but I'm always playing my professional role. Even when I've seen you outside of a medical appointment, it's been hard for me to put aside the mediwitch's hat, so to speak, because I know that you're struggling. I know that every aspect of your life is related to your recovery somehow, and I want you to get better, Min. If I seem overly worried, it's because I care about you."

"It hurts to know that I'm worrying you when I don't know how to fix it. I'm sure sometimes you're afraid I'm going to try to off myself,"—Minerva saw Poppy flinch—"and I hate burdening you like that."

"Minerva, where is this coming from? It can't be about the weight issue—I don't think you were trying to hurt yourself when you were losing, and I don't think you're trying not to gain—especially this week. You certainly did not intentionally contract the flu virus."

"You gave all my potions to Albus."

"Well, yes, he's taking care of you."

"I'm not an invalid. I can administer my own potions."

Poppy look perplexed. "I don't know where you're going with this."

"Don't act like you haven't thought it. You think I'll overdose if you give me the chance. And it's not just this. It's what you said about my teaching load and what you said about flying—you don't trust me to take care of myself."

"Minerva, what—why do you keep accusing me of not trusting you? You're not making sense. Has your fever come back suddenly?" She reached to place the back of her hand on Minerva's forehead.

"The flu isn't what's making me upset, Poppy!" Minerva angrily shoved her hand into her bag of cough drops and popped one into her mouth. This conversation was really starting to grate on her still irritated throat.

"Then what is? I don't understand, and I'm starting to feel frustrated."

"I want you to believe me when I say I can handle something!"

Poppy opened her mouth as if to speak, but then she quickly closed it. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is because I said you weren't ready to teach full time? Because I said you're not well enough to use the Quidditch ball set or fly alone?"

"I think I would know if I'm feeling well enough for something."

"Is it so bad that I want you to ease back into things? Is it so bad that I want safeguards in place?"

Minerva glowered. "You know, I might feel better if you framed it that way, rather than telling me that you know better."

"I didn't mean to imply that you don't know yourself. I'm sorry if I came across that way."

"Thanks," Minerva said. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I suppose I'm feeling a bit on edge being cooped up in here. I think I wanted to talk about this with Christopher before I brought it to you. Perhaps therapy helps in some way, after all."

"Oh, right, you were meant to be there at this time today. I'm sorry that illness has prevented you from doing things that help you emotionally."

"Speaking of things that help me emotionally, when can I teach again?"

Poppy laughed. "Minerva, it's been three days. Are you trying to tell me that you feel well enough already?"

"I feel much better than I did on Friday. I don't have a fever. I—"

"Okay, I'm going to cut you off there. You're on fever reducing and pain relief potions. I don't want you teaching again until I'm confident that you're not contagious, which is forty-eight hours after you're fever free without a fever reducer."

"And if that's as early as Thursday?"

Poppy looked exasperated. "You're still likely to have some lingering fatigue even after your fever and aches are gone. But if you've been able to maintain a normal body temperature for two days and you're honestly feeling well enough later this week, then yes, I'll clear you to teach again. If you can't sincerely say that you feel well enough, then please let yourself rest for longer. Seriously, Min, I don't want to find you passed out in your classroom."

"As it turns out, I also do not wish to pass out in my classroom. I promise I won't ask to return to work if I'm still feeling ill, even if a Body Temperature Spell says I'm fine." Minerva reached out to grab Poppy's hand. "And let's have tea and ginger newts in my office when I'm better. I miss being your friend, and not just your patient, too."

Author's Note: For what it's worth, the thoughts and coping behaviors I've given Minerva are loosely based on some amalgamation of my own experiences with depression. In writing this, I've wanted to share a thoughtful representation of learning to manage life with mental health issues. I may or may not be doing an adequate job, but I felt like I should share my intentions with this fic. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's reading, especially to margaretrevie for your consistent reviews! It helps motivate me to keep writing :)