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. 12: Okay?
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Albus asked Minerva on Thursday evening at dinner. After spending the week with him, she was planning to return to her own chambers that night with every intention to teach the next day. Her fever had broken a couple days earlier, and today was the first day she hadn't needed a pain relief potion.
"I'll be fine, Albus. I only have three classes tomorrow, and if it does wear me down more than I expect, then I'll simply skive off faculty meeting to take a nap."
"You know, I wouldn't expect you to attend the meeting at all if you decided to take tomorrow off, too. I know you think they're boring."
"They're somehow worse when I'm not leading them. Does Filius talk much more than I do? I swear, they drag on forever now."
"No, they're about the same length as always. But don't change the subject—you may only have three classes tomorrow, but two of them are doubles."
"Yes, and both will be practical for the second half, so unless a student does something catastrophic, then I shouldn't have to do much. I can sit at my desk to observe the class rather than pace the rows of desks, if that's what you'd prefer."
"It's not about what I prefer; it's about not overtiring yourself."
"Poppy has cleared me, so I would think that should be good enough for you. Besides, she and I discussed a contingency plan: If I'm feeling fatigued after my morning class, then I'll agree to have Phoebe take over my afternoon classes."
"What if you get fatigued while you are teaching your afternoon classes?"
"Albus! You really are imagining all the ways this could go poorly, aren't you? Honestly, I should've had your pumpkin juice spiked with Draught of Peace," Minerva said, rolling her eyes. "I've already felt well enough today to teach, but Poppy wanted me to wait. And look how well I'm eating—my appetite has returned. I promise I'll eat a good breakfast tomorrow, too."
"Okay, okay. And you'll go to bed early so that you're well rested?"
"Yes. I can even take a Dreamless Sleep to ensure a good night's sleep if that would make you feel better."
"It would," Albus said. "And so would knowing your contingency plan if you start to feel poorly during class!"
"I'll send a student straight to you so that you can come and tell me, 'I told you so'—how does that sound?"
"Snarky as ever—I suppose I'll have to accept that you are indeed well enough for a day of teaching."
"Good," Minerva smiled triumphantly. "Now, I'm going to my office to get some things in order for tomorrow. Come by my rooms later with some of your tea that I keep drinking if you'd like me to have some Dreamless Sleep. I'll feed you ginger newts."
"I won't say no to biscuits." Albus squeezed Minerva's hand under the table before she rose to leave. "I'll see you later."
The next morning, Minerva's students began to file into the classroom as she dusted the chalk off her hands, having chosen to fill up the board manually, rather than magically, with the important notes for the day.
"Professor! It's good to see you! Madam Fawcett wasn't sure yesterday if she or you would be teaching us today. How are you feeling?" Mackenzie MacDonald, Gryffindor Prefect and one of the two students who greeted her the first time Minerva returned after an extended absence, welcomed her back again.
"Quite well, thank you, Miss MacDonald." It was true—not a trace of the aches that had plagued her earlier in the week remained and she almost felt energized after going to bed early and sleeping through the night.
"That's good to hear. Shane would have me believe that he's been dying from the flu," Mackenzie said, referring to Shane Fitzpatrick, the Head Boy and fellow Gryffindor. "He won't be in class today; he's been ill all week."
"Well, then you can send Mr. Fitzpatrick my regards—and his makeup work." Minerva tore off a piece of parchment from the roll on her desk and, with a tap of her wand, the relevant textbook readings and recommended practice spells were written in her perfect cursive. She sent the parchment over to Mackenzie's desk. "This should help him stay abreast with his studies."
"Thanks, Professor. I'll give this to him."
Shortly thereafter, the bell rang indicating the beginning of the first morning class period. Minerva was glad to start the day with seventh years. NEWT-level students were always a conscientious bunch, and much of this group of was especially enthusiastic and collegial, even across Houses.
Today, she began class with a lecture about Conjuring large inanimate objects, such as household furniture. Several students had clearly read ahead, based on the thoroughness of their answers to Minerva's questions and the thoughtfulness of the questions they asked her. Based on their apparently solid grasp of the theory, she expected most of the class would be successful during the practical portion of the double period. All she had left to do was show them a few examples before they made their first attempts.
"For the second half of class, you will practice Conjuring chairs nonverbally. As I said at the start of class, your wand movements must be precise, and you must clearly think of the type of chair you would like to Conjure. So, if you want a simple wooden chair,"—she traced the outline of a chair with her wand, and a straight-backed wooden chair appeared in front of her—"you would do it like so."
She Vanished the wooden chair and continued, "If you would like an armchair, you'd do this sort of movement." This time, she performed a different yet similarly complex wand movement, and a squashy red armchair appeared before her. Again, she Vanished this chair to make room for another.
A peculiar sense of exhaustion began to creep over her, but she shrugged it off to demonstrate one more example for the class. Like she had said to Albus, she could sit down while the students practiced what they'd just learned, which they'd do after this last spell.
"Or if you would like something particularly ornate, such as the headmaster's chair in the Great Hall, then the wand motion will be a bit more complicated, and you will have to concentrate carefully." She traced a detailed path in the air, and a replica of Professor Dumbledore's dining chair appeared. But in the instant the chair landed on the floor, Minerva suddenly found herself feeling overwhelmingly sick—she became lightheaded and broke out into a cold sweat.
Oh, shit—this isn't good, she thought, as darkness clouded the edges of her sight. Clearly, Poppy wasn't exaggerating her concerns when she said she didn't want to find Minerva passed out in her classroom. Shakily, she Vanished the fancy chair—increasing her sense of tunnel vision—and made her way behind her desk, leaning on the surface to maintain her balance. She gingerly lowered herself into her chair and focused only on staying conscious. There was no way she could continue teaching like this, even if she didn't have to do anything for the next forty-five minutes.
"Change of plans—please practice for homework. Class dismissed," she murmured, uncaring that a full class period remained and unsure if anyone could actually hear her. Though her hearing was muffled, she could make out the scraping of chairs and the shuffling of feet. Assuming the students had gone, she folded over to put her head between her knees, hoping to get enough blood flowing back where it belonged. Then, once she could manage, she figured she would drag herself to her office and fire-call Albus to let him know what had happened.
However, after a moment of silence, she heard a handful of remaining voices.
"She's white as a sheet."
"Should we get someone to help?"
"One of us should check on her, at least."
Damn, they didn't all leave, Minerva thought, mortified, but she didn't dare try to sit up and shoo them away. No, sitting up seemed like a bad idea.
"Professor McGonagall?" It was Mackenzie MacDonald. Of course, she would be one to stay behind. "Professor?" she repeated, closer this time. Mackenzie had come around the desk and crouched down to be level with her professor's face. She spoke in a low voice, as if she only wanted the two of them to hear. "You helped me when I got sick in class my fifth year. Now let me—let us—help you."
Upon the mention of it, Minerva recalled that incident. The poor girl had caught a stomach bug and tried to tough her way through classes, worried about falling behind in preparation for OWLs, only to lose the battle with her body about halfway through double Transfiguration.
Much like I am right now, Minerva thought, the similarities not lost on her. She remembered telling her student that it was okay, and there was no need to be embarrassed—and now here she was, trying to convince herself of the same thing.
"Really, Professor, let us help. You look positively dreadful right now—no offense."
"None taken." 'Dreadful' is probably putting it politely.
"Should we get Madam Pomfrey for you?" Mackenzie asked softly.
Yes, someone probably should fetch Poppy, Minerva thought, although she didn't want that just yet. She could almost hear her saying, I told you so, Min. You should've taken today and the rest of the weekend to recover fully. But she knew she needed help, and it was clearly too late to save face in front of her students.
"Get the headmaster," she finally said in a voice almost too quiet to hear, knowing that he would not actually tell her, 'I told you so,' despite her joke last night. "And Madam Fawcett, I guess." Phoebe would need to cover her remaining classes, and she might as well know sooner rather than later. The second she got word of this, Poppy would definitely send Minerva back to bed—not that she minded that idea right now.
"Okay." Mackenzie straightened up to address her classmates. "Catherine, can you get Professor Dumbledore? You know his office password as Head Girl, right?"
"Yeah, I can do that," Catherine Claymore, a Hufflepuff, said. Her footsteps ran out of the room.
"And can one of you go and find Madam Fawcett?"
"We'll both go," Morgan Cooper, a Ravenclaw, said. "I'll run up to her office—Sonia, you check the Staff Room." More footsteps hurried away.
Mackenzie again bent down to speak to her professor. "It's just me now, Professor McGonagall. Are you sure we shouldn't have gone to fetch Madam Pomfrey? I—I think you might need to lie down, at least. You're still really pale."
That would be wonderful, Minerva thought, except I am not lying down on the floor.
As if reading her mind, Mackenzie continued: "I know we've just learned this today, but—you said any kind of chair, right? I can try to Conjure—"
"It's okay. I'll be fine like this," Minerva mumbled, unconvinced of her own statement. It seemed that sitting with her head down was merely delaying when she'd finally lose consciousness, rather than preventing that outcome. Perhaps, then, it was appropriate that her student ignored her protests and spoke the incantation that she taught them in lecture.
"Bloody hell, it worked! Oops, sorry about the language, Professor. But, er, I think I've successfully Conjured one of those old-timey 'fainting couches' like I've seen in Muggle films."
Instinctively, Minerva sat up to check her student's work but quickly realized her mistake. The black spots dotting her sight now filled her view, and she felt herself start to keel over.
"Professor!" Mackenzie cried, catching her teacher before she could complete her fall.
Minerva's eyes fluttered open, and she felt hands on her shoulder and back, gently guiding her head back toward her knees.
"Sorry, Professor, I should've thought this through. I don't suppose you can get up to move to the couch. But I could—if you let me—move your chair closer and levitate you over, I think."
Well, this is embarrassing, Minerva thought. But I suppose if I'm going to be on the verge of unconsciousness in front of a student, it may as well be one of my Gryffindors, a NEWT-level student, at that.
"Okay," she said, swallowing her pride, or what little she had left. In a moment, she felt her chair glide across the floor.
"Wingardium leviosa!" Mackenzie levitated her professor's robes—and thus her professor along with them—and floated her the few inches onto what indeed turned out to be an old-fashioned fainting couch.
Minerva slowly lay down, hoping not to trigger any adverse reactions from her body along the way. Almost immediately, clarity began to return to her senses. She still didn't feel quite right, but at least she could see and hear properly again. And what she saw was concern deeply etched across her student's face. "I'm okay, Miss MacDonald," she said, trying to be reassuring. "Excellent spellcasting."
"It was nothing, Professor, but thank you."
Just then, the sound of heeled shoes came clacking into the room. "Thank you, Miss Youngblood," Phoebe Fawcett said, referring to Sonia Youngblood, who'd gone to the Staff Room to summon her. "I think you may be dismissed now." She rushed to Minerva's side, next to Mackenzie. "Professor McGonagall! Are you all right?"
Minerva nodded. "Miss MacDonald did some impressive Transfiguration and Charms work. I think that warrants thirty points to Gryffindor."
Mackenzie blushed.
"Thank you, Miss MacDonald," Phoebe said. "I'll take over from here. You go to the Hospital Wing and alert Madam Pomfrey."
"Okay, I'll let her know what's going on."
"Tell her not to tell me she 'told me so,'" Minerva added. "And Mackenzie?" She chose to use her student's first name. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Professor." The student grabbed her bag and ran off.
"What happened, Minerva?" Phoebe asked, sitting down in the desk chair next to the couch. After working together for a few months, she was finally comfortable addressing her former teacher as a peer.
Minerva shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was fine one moment and then on the verge of passing out the next."
"Your face is still a bit ashen." Phoebe Conjured a small towel and wiped the sweat from her colleague's brow. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Just as Minerva was about to respond, two sets of footsteps echoed from the hallway and bounded into the classroom.
"Thank you, Miss Claymore. Five points to Hufflepuff." Albus had arrived, with the Head Girl in tow. "Madam Fawcett and I can handle things from here."
"Okay, Professor Dumbledore," the student said and shot one last glance toward her Transfiguration teacher before departing.
"Minerva!" He ran toward her side and knelt down to meet her eye level. "Are you all right? What happened?"
I'm going to have to tell this story a few times, aren't I? she thought. "I'm okay, Albus. Like I was telling Phoebe, I'm not sure what happened. I just suddenly felt like I was going to faint."
"Oh dear," Albus breathed. "No arguments, Min—we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey. Can you stand, or do you need to lie down for longer?"
Minerva nodded, determined to leave her classroom on her own two feet, and sat up—too quickly, or perhaps too soon, for it immediately became apparent that was the wrong choice. As soon as she was upright, the lights started to go out again, and the wooziness and nausea returned. She tried to bring a hand to her mouth as she began to topple forward, certain she was about to lose her consciousness and her breakfast. Fortunately, Albus and Phoebe were quick to react. A pair of familiar hands took hold of Minerva's shoulders to stabilize her, and Phoebe had Summoned the rubbish bin.
"It's okay, dear," Albus said soothingly and brushed a few sweaty strands of hair out of her face as she got sick. "I'll lay you back down afterward."
"I'm so sorry."
"Really, Minerva, don't worry about it—but you're going to have to let us help you. You'll have to let us take you to the Hospital Wing on a stretcher. We can't let you try to walk to there," Albus said.
"If you must."
"There are nearly thirty minutes left in the class period, so most everyone should be in their classrooms," Phoebe said. "We'll get you there well before the crowds spill out into the halls."
"Ready?" Albus asked their younger colleague, who nodded. He performed the Transfiguration while Phoebe used the Levitating Charm. He was secretly relieved not to be the one levitating Minerva because he was getting flashbacks to the last time that she was transported to the school infirmary like this. Together, they carefully made their way out of the classroom and toward the Hospital Wing, encountering not a single soul along the way—living or ghostly. When they arrived, they found Poppy Pomfrey waiting in the main ward with Mackenzie MacDonald, whose face was painted with worry.
"Over here," Poppy said, gesturing toward a bed. Phoebe gently lowered Minerva onto the bed, and then they were immediately ushered away. "Out. You can see her when I'm done." And Poppy closed the curtain.
Albus sighed. "Thank you, Phoebe. Do you need to prepare for class now?"
"Yes, I should head back to the classroom. I take it that I'll be covering afternoon classes, too?"
"It looks that way. Do you need access to Minerva's lesson plans?"
"No, you gave me them for the whole week, assuming she'd be out the entire time. I'll be fine—will you let me know if she is?"
"I'll let you know as much as Minerva lets me."
"All right. I'll see you later, Professor Dumbledore," Phoebe said. "And good work today, Miss MacDonald," she added, smiling at the seventh-year student. Then she turned on her heel and left the infirmary.
"Yes, thank you, Miss MacDonald," Albus said. "Your classmate made it sound like you capably took control of the situation."
Mackenzie turned scarlet. "I—I just did what Professor McGonagall asked."
"Still, it took courage and initiative to do what you did: To stay despite being dismissed, and then to ask your professor what she needed, especially one so fiercely independent as your Head of House. Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss MacDonald."
"Oh—Professor McGonagall already gave me thirty—"
"Have I shortchanged you?" Albus interrupted. "Then twenty more points to Gryffindor it is."
"Er, Professor—I wasn't asking for—"
"If Professor McGonagall thinks you deserve thirty points, then so do I." Then Albus lowered his voice, as if to let the student in on a secret. "Professor McGonagall doesn't let just anyone help her, and I know she didn't get on that couch by herself. I am impressed, and you, too, should be proud of yourself."
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Mackenzie said, blushing harder.
"You earned it. Now, you should probably run along to your next class."
"Okay," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Oh, and Professor Dumbledore? Can you tell Professor McGonagall that I hope she gets better soon?"
Albus smiled, twinkle in his eyes. "Of course, Miss MacDonald. I'm sure she will appreciate it."
"Thank you!" She ran out the door, her school robes billowing behind her.
Meanwhile, behind the curtain, Minerva was being examined by the school mediwitch.
"Your heart rate and blood pressure are a bit low, which is not surprising if you've been feeling faint," Madam Pomfrey said. "Miss MacDonald told me that you suddenly lost your color and dismissed the class. She also said that she had to prevent you from falling out of your chair when you tried to sit up—is this true? Did she miss anything that I should know?"
"I suppose you should know that it happened again when Albus and Phoebe were there. Albus had to catch me,"—Minerva shifted her gaze—, "and this time, I got sick. Then they brought me here."
"That's fairly common around fainting episodes," Poppy said. "Exactly what were you doing before you started to feel poorly?"
"Just demonstrating some Conjuring spells—chairs, Poppy, not even anything living. I showed the class three examples with different wand movements. I might have felt a bit tired, but otherwise, I was fine until I suddenly wasn't. I Conjured a replica of Albus's dining chair, and that's when it all came over me."
Poppy nodded. "I know these spells aren't difficult for you, Min, but they still take magical strength. Sometimes overextending oneself magically results in a severe drop in blood pressure and heart rate, which can lead to loss of consciousness if you're upright—I suspect that's what happened to you when you tried to do three Conjuring spells in a row. As I've said to you before, you'll probably still get fatigued easily for a while—from physical and magical exertion. But this isn't an 'I told you so'—I understand if you didn't expect routine spells to take such a toll. I couldn't have told you where the limit was."
"So, I gather that Miss MacDonald relayed my request?"
"Not to tell you 'I told you so'? Yes, she did. You're lucky she was there; it sounds like you would have collapsed to the floor had she not stayed. We don't need you to get another head injury."
"I feel like everyone has seen me in a vulnerable position lately." Minerva hid her face behind her hands. "Now even my students have seen me lose control."
"I'm sorry, Min. I know it feels awful to become ill in public," Poppy sympathized. "But it sounds like your students really care about you. That's something positive, right?"
"If you say so."
"Well, you'll find this positive—your blood pressure is back to normal. I may be willing to let you go home soon, unless you really want to stay here."
Minerva uncovered her face. "I do not want to stay here."
"I didn't think so," Poppy said. "All right, let's see how you're doing—do you think you can sit up?"
"And remain conscious, you mean?" She slowly pushed herself into a seated position, and much to her relief, she felt fine. "It seems like I can, Poppy."
"Good. If you can sit up for fifteen minutes without issue, then we'll see if how you fare attempting to stand. If all goes well, I should be able to let you go." She Conjured a drinking glass and filled it with water. "Slowly, okay? Now, do you want to see Albus while you wait?"
Minerva obediently took a small sip from her glass and nodded.
Poppy pushed aside the curtain. "You can see her now, Headmaster."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." He joined Minerva at her bedside and pulled the curtain shut. "How are you feeling, dear? What did Poppy say?"
"Better. She said it's likely I overexerted myself, causing my blood pressure to drop suddenly." She shrugged. "I didn't realize that demonstrating Conjuration a few times counted as overexertion."
"Perhaps if you'd had Muggle flu, it wouldn't, but I saw you get tired after casting spells a few times this week. Didn't Poppy say the fatigue might linger for a while after you otherwise felt better?"
"Those were wandless spells, and that was when I still had a fever, Albus. I didn't think it would happen with routine spells now. I thought the challenging part would be the physical labor of teaching all day, not the magical effort. Anyway, she's discharging me soon, as long as I don't feel faint again in the next few minutes. But I expect she'll tell me to go home and rest."
"And I would agree with her. Phoebe will cover your afternoon classes. I'll even excuse you from faculty meeting."
"I won't argue with that. You can't have me keeling over from boredom," she quipped and sipped some water. "But honestly, I think I want to stay home. I'm not sure I can face my students any time soon."
Albus pulled up a chair. "I know it's hard, but I think you should try not to worry too much about what the students think. That said, I am glad that you accepted their help. Proud, even—I'm not sure you'd have done so just a few months ago. Miss MacDonald sends her well wishes, by the way."
"She had to levitate me onto a couch because I couldn't even hold myself up in my desk chair. I don't know why you'd be proud that I clearly can't take care of myself anymore."
"Needing help sometimes doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself."
"Being carried out of my own classroom and the Staff Room a week apart seems like more often than 'sometimes'—not to mention all the other things people have had to do for me recently."
"Min, you've been ill."
"I don't just mean this past week."
"Neither do I."
"I would think a self-inflicted 'illness' indicates that I can't care for myself."
"You've been ill for longer than that, my dear," Albus said quietly.
"What? The incident with the Bludgers? That's arguably self-inflicted, too."
"No, not that—"
"Then what?"
Before he could respond, Poppy yanked open the curtain. She glanced from Minerva, who was scowling, to Albus, who looked despondent, and back to Minerva.
"Have I interrupted something?" Poppy asked.
"No, we're fine," Minerva said curtly. "Am I cleared to go?"
"Stand up, and we'll see. Careful, now."
Minerva swung her legs over the edge of the bed, ignored Albus's offered hand, and pushed herself up. "I feel fine."
"To be clear, you don't feel sick or lightheaded? You feel stable on your feet?"
"Yes, Poppy."
"All right. Then go home and rest. It would be prudent if you took the afternoon off, and I recommend that you avoid performing more advanced magic—wandless spells, your Animagus transformation, the like."
"Okay."
"Is there anything else?" Albus asked.
"No, that should be all. If you're not already, you should be feeling like yourself again soon, Minerva."
"Okay."
"Thank you again, Poppy. Shall we go?" Albus asked, pulling back the curtain to make an opening.
Minerva nodded and started walking ahead of him. "I want to go to my rooms."
"All right. You're not going to do work, right?"
"No, Albus."
"Would you like me to fetch you for lunch?"
"No, Albus."
"Okay. I understand if you want to take lunch in private today."
They walked in silence for the rest of the journey to Minerva's door.
"Will I see you at dinner?"
Minerva nodded. "I'll meet you there."
"I'm trusting you."
"I know." She muttered her password and entered her personal quarters, leaving Albus in the corridor.
I'm trusting you to take care of yourself, he thought as he turned around to head back to the Headmaster's Tower.
The first thing Minerva did upon returning home was get a shower; she found it astounding that she had managed earlier to become drenched in sweat over the course of ten or fifteen minutes. But afterward, she lasted about half an hour lying in bed doing nothing—lying in bed with her thoughts—before she couldn't deal with it anymore.
I need a distraction, or else I'm going to fixate on how useless I am. She carefully got out of bed and put her teaching robe back on. Flying is obviously out of the question—she was certain that she wasn't quite well enough for that—but marking assignments shouldn't be unreasonable.
She didn't care that she had explicitly told Albus that she wouldn't do any work. The pile of essays on her desk did indeed miss her. With all of last week's set of assignments to mark, surely that could distract her until dinnertime. Although she probably should've pawned these off onto Phoebe, now she was glad to have something to do. She hoped it would occupy her mind for the next several hours.
It's either do this or get stuck in my head. She picked up a quill and set to work, exactly what she promised not to do.
Author's Note: Thank you again for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting!