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. 13: The Dementors

Minerva glanced at the clock upon marking the last of a stack of fifth-year essays. Although she wasn't fully caught up with last week's work, she saw that it was shortly after five o' clock in the evening, and she had told Albus that she would see him at dinner. She put down her quill, relieved that she had at least made a sizable dent in the pile of parchment on her desk, and stretched.

Her stomach growled. Yes, it was indeed time for a break; in her quest to drown out her thoughts, she had forgotten to request lunch from the kitchens. She fixed her hair into its customary bun and smoothed down her robes before departing for the Great Hall. When she arrived, most of the House tables were full, but the staff table was largely empty, except for Madams Pomfrey and Hooch: non-academic staff.

I suppose faculty meeting hasn't been let out yet, Minerva thought as she made her way between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. She slowed her pace as she suddenly felt eyes upon her. Although they were at different tables, seventh-years Mackenzie MacDonald and Catherine Claymore essentially sat back-to-back, and it seemed both had turned to stare at her.

Oh dear, they're not still worried, are they? Minerva offered what she hoped was a small but reassuring smile at the two students to let them know that she was fine now. The pair seemed to try to return the smile, but they couldn't mask the concern still shining in their eyes. I suppose I can't expect them to forget the sight of their professor trying not to faint in front of them.

As Minerva neared the staff table, she realized she was unlikely to avoid a conversation with Madam Pomfrey. Not to delay the inevitable, she made sure to pass by the mediwitch's chair on the way to her own.

"Still feeling all right, Min?" Poppy reached out and gently grabbed Minerva by the wrist to stop her.

"I'm fine." Minerva looked down at her arm and scrunched up her face. "Are you checking my pulse?"

"Sorry, I should've asked. But can you blame me?"

"I suppose not, but really, I'm fine. I assure you that I haven't done any magic since this morning—not even this." She pointed to her hair. "Placed these pins perfectly by hand, thank you."

"Good, I'm glad to hear you rested," Poppy said, just as Minerva's stomach growled again. "Sounds like I should let you go and eat."

Minerva nodded and finally made her way to her seat. The other teaching faculty began to file in as soon as she sat down. Toward the back of the pack, she saw Albus talking to someone—presumably Professor Flitwick, who was hard to spot in a crowd. When they reached the table, she felt even more eyes pierce her. Albus and Phoebe, of course, but as she looked around the table, she swore that Professors Sprout and Flitwick also gazed upon her with… pity?

For Merlin's sake, what do they know? Who told them? And why do they have to look at me like that? Minerva frowned and returned her sight to her plate.

"Good evening, dear," Albus whispered into her ear as he lowered himself into his chair—the very same one that she replicated and likely caused her ordeal that morning. "Were you able to get enough rest this afternoon?"

"Yes, thank you," Minerva said. Was it a lie? How much was a "enough" rest, anyway? "Did I miss anything important at faculty meeting?"

"Ah, are you suggesting that you believe we talk about important things at these meetings? How kind of you," Albus said as he loaded up his plate. "Just the usual things, but I did encourage everyone to be flexible with deadlines for practical work from students recovering from a bout with the wizard's flu." Seeing her frown, he added, "I didn't mention what happened to you, of course."

"How kind of you," Minerva echoed, feeling her empty stomach tie itself into knots. Everyone is going to know anyway, if the looks Filius and Pomona gave me are any indication. It's only a matter of time before the students let it slip to their friends, if they haven't already.

While she didn't have many concerns about the students who remained behind and therefore knew the most—they were a trustworthy, thoughtful group—she had less confidence in the rest of the students who left immediately upon being dismissed. Teenagers gossiped. That was a matter of fact.

Albus quickly became engrossed in conversation with their colleagues, while Minerva became more engrossed in her thoughts. She pushed her food around with her fork, her appetite replaced by anxiety.

Was I foolish for returning to the classroom today? Or am I just so weak now that I can't even Conjure a few chairs without issue? What if this is like when I couldn't Vanish things wandlessly, only worse? What's next? Will I be unable to perform OWL-level spells without passing out?

Surely, she was catastrophizing—extrapolating the morning's events to the worst possible interpretation, and she momentarily tried to remind herself that this was simply a residual effect from an illness, not a permanent failing. But what if it is? Then they'll really have to replace me. Phoebe won't need have applied to Beauxbatons or anywhere else; she'll get the job here.

She nervously shoved a forkful of potatoes into her mouth, and, as if to prove to herself that her magical skills were just fine, she attempted to will it away. The silent, wandless Vanishing Spell worked as desired, and nothing bad happened immediately, despite Poppy's warnings earlier. Perhaps they were simply safeguards, things not to do, just in case…

Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She knew she shouldn't have done it—if not because she was meant to take it easy, but because she was supposed to be trying to get better. This was not the way to make progress; it was a way to regress. But still, there was a part of her that was relieved—pleased, even—that the spell worked correctly and without difficulty.

Albus interrupted her nervous musings. "Are you all right, Min? You're poking at your dinner more than actually eating it."

"Yes, sorry," she lied. "I was just lost in thought." Lost in the thought of relying on an old habit.

"Try not to think too much, okay?" Albus said, assuming she was ruminating over the morning's events.

Minerva nodded, which seemed to be satisfactory for now because he turned back to his other conversation partners. But she wanted to get out of there and hide for a while, at least until these feelings passed. The guilt, the fear, the shame, and the sense of worthlessness that came with them—the dinner table was not the place to deal with them. Not that she knew how to deal with them, at least not in a healthy way, for she only knew one way to cope in this context: Vanishing Spells.

She took a bite and did it again.

No. No, I can't keep doing this. There's got to be a better way.

"Albus?" she whispered, surprised by how panicked her voice sounded.

"Yes?" He turned to look at her, and his expression sobered upon seeing hers.

"I think I need to eat at home. I'm feeling overwhelmed."

"Like before?" Albus asked in a low voice.

Minerva nodded. "I didn't know I would be this anxious. You should probably come join me when you're done here." She didn't quite trust herself to call the House Elves herself.

"All right, I will. And I'm proud of you—for letting me know what you need." He reached to hold her hand under the table.

Undeserved pride—he doesn't know what I've already done. She pushed back in her chair, but Albus didn't let go.

"Wait, Min, your hand is clammy. Are you okay, physically?"

"Yes, of course," Minerva said, but she had been so consumed by her emotions that she hadn't noticed that she'd broken into a cold sweat. She walked away from the table—going the direction opposite Poppy Pomfrey—and only realized that she was feeling unwell as she passed between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables on her way out of the Great Hall.

I suppose I really shouldn't have done it, she thought, unconsciously grimacing. Although she didn't feel as poorly as she had that morning—indeed, she did not feel in imminent danger of passing out—a quiet queasiness seemed to have crept over her. Maybe it is a good thing I haven't eaten, after all.

Nevertheless, she was not confident that her body would cooperate for the whole trek back to her rooms, so she decided to stop in the nearest girls' lavatory first. Perhaps splashing some cool water on her face would alleviate the sickly feeling somewhat—or at least abate the perspiration she could feel dripping from all her pores. To her relief, she saw that the room was empty as she headed toward a sink.

Well, don't I look a fright? Minerva thought as she caught her reflection in the mirror. If she was this pale now, she could only imagine how ghastly she must have looked in class. Suddenly, she heard the door swing open, followed by more than one set of footfalls. She swore internally. I don't suppose I could have expected complete privacy.

"Colloportus," a voice murmured.

Minerva scowled. Why would a student need to lock the door to the entire room? She could only think of suspicious reasons and was fully prepared to interrogate the students who were likely up to some stupid shenanigan. She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with none other than Mackenzie and Catherine.

"Professor McGonagall." Mackenzie stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a defiant stance betrayed by her sheepish facial expression. Catherine looked slightly terrified and appeared to be wringing her hands together worriedly.

"Miss MacDonald. Miss Claymore. May I ask why you've locked the door?"

"We didn't think you'd want anyone barging in on us, Professor. Would an Imperturbable Charm be better?" Mackenzie asked.

"Excuse me?" What the hell is she going on about? Minerva thought.

Mackenzie's arms dropped to her sides, and the nervous look on her face was replaced with the same concern she showed earlier in the day. "Professor, you looked really sick again as you left dinner, and no one was leaving with you—not Madam Pomfrey, not anybody. We saw how you were this morning, so I guess we just wanted to make sure that you were okay since it seemed no one else was."

Glad to know my plight is obvious, Minerva thought. Did Albus not notice, or did this pallor come over me after I stood up? She recalled that Albus said she felt clammy, but he didn't say anything about her appearance. But what to do about the two students before her now? Minerva wanted to scold them for not minding their own business, but she couldn't find it in her heart to do it.

"While it is kind of you to care, I assure you that I am fine. I should warn you, however, that others may not take it so lightly if you choose to meddle in their private affairs, such as their health, despite your good intentions," she said.

"See? I told you—" Catherine began to whisper to her friend, but she was cut off.

"If you're fine, then why do you look like a ghost right now?" Mackenzie demanded, seemingly shocked by her own audacity, for her eyes had become saucers. "Professor," she added quickly, as if using the title would make up for her insolence.

Minerva pursed her lips. She knew she couldn't deny that she looked awful because she had seen her own face, and indeed she knew she was not fine. This confrontation was not helping the issue. In fact, she needed to get the two girls out of here soon; she was beginning to feel like it didn't matter that her stomach was empty.

"Miss MacDonald, I am asking you and Miss Claymore to leave, please," she said sternly.

"Go, Catherine," Mackenzie said. Determination flashed in her eyes. "And get Madam Pomfrey."

The Head Girl left, and Minerva felt quite sure that Catherine, as a loyal friend, would do as Mackenzie asked and inform the mediwitch about her. She wanted to be angry at her students, but they were just embodying the values of their respective Houses: Miss Claymore with her loyalty and Miss MacDonald with her bravery.

Really, the nerve of the girl! Minerva thought before she tried to figure out how to escape the situation. Could she still somehow find a way to get Mackenzie to leave? Probably not—she couldn't justify punishing her for this, even if it would be an empty threat. Could Minerva just leave? She could, but Poppy would find her eventually. The corridors also did not seem like the best place to deal with the reason she wanted privacy in the first place.

"Miss MacDonald, please." Minerva cringed a bit at how desperate her voice sounded. "You should go."

"I'm staying until Madam Pomfrey gets here, Professor. Do you know how worried she was when I told her what happened this morning? Do you know how worried I was when I saw what happened? I can't just leave you like this."

"Of course, you can, Miss MacDonald." And please, please do.

"No, I can't. You've been my Transfiguration Professor and Head of House for over six years, teaching and taking care of my friends and me as we've grown up. I'm not going to leave this room until there's someone here to take care of you."

Minerva shook her head. "Really, you don't need to be here for this." Abruptly, she ran into a cubicle, slammed the door shut, and raised her wand to cast a nonverbal Imperturbable Charm—which was indeed better than a simple locking spell.

Meanwhile, Albus found himself trying to finish his dinner as quickly as possible so that he could join Minerva in her rooms. Although he'd certainly been there for her during other times that she'd felt stressed, upset, or anxious, this might have been one of the first times that she'd explicitly asked him to be with her after naming the emotion that bothered her. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised that she struggled tonight; she had an unfortunate day, after all.

His eye was caught when a student ran up to the staff table. It was Catherine Claymore, accosting Madam Pomfrey, who immediately rose and followed the Head Girl out of the hall. He wondered what that was about until he, too, was accosted by a Hufflepuff: Professor Sprout.

"May I have a word when you're done, Albus?"

"Is it urgent? I have a meeting with Minerva after this."

"It's about her," Pomona said in a low voice.

Albus felt uneasy at the Herbology professor's tone. "Oh, then, yes, I suppose I have some time. I am ready to go now if you are." What does she want to say about Minerva? he wondered.

"Good. Let's go."

The two professors exited the Great Hall, with Pomona leading the way. She took Albus to the nearest classroom and closed the door.

"You were right," she said.

"Pardon?" Albus asked, waving his hand to bring light to the room. "What was I right about?"

"Minerva and Vanishing Spells."

With the lights on, he could now see Pomona, and dread washed over him as he registered the gravity in her face.

"No." He swallowed hard. "Excuse me." He walked away and laid his forehead and fist upon the nearest wall. Was it just tonight? How did Pomona notice and not me? "I thought she had stopped."

Pomona followed Albus, reached up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "So, you did know. Did you ever tell Poppy?"

Albus nodded. "I was sure the day after I shared my suspicions with you. And I—I had to tell Poppy. Minerva—she didn't give me a choice." He blinked back tears, not wanting to think about that night. "I really thought she stopped after that. Are you sure about what you saw?" He could ask, but in his bones, he knew the truth.

"Strong suspicion. Before she left, I saw her take a couple bites but didn't appear to swallow or even chew. How bad is it, Albus? Is this why she fainted earlier today?"

"Do you know about that?" Albus turned his head to look at the shorter witch.

"Miss Claymore told me. She seemed distracted during class today. When I pulled her aside to ask what was wrong, she told me what happened in Transfiguration. That's why I was watching Minerva so closely tonight."

"Ah, yes, the Head Girl came to get me this morning," Albus said. "I thought Minerva just wasn't ready to return to teaching after the flu. Now, I'm questioning if that was the only reason, but we shouldn't speculate more without her and Poppy."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were together right now. I saw Miss Claymore leave shortly after Minerva did, along with her friend from Gryffindor. Then she came running back in to fetch Poppy. You don't suppose it's all coincidental?"

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought she looked a bit off when she left. Was the Gryffindor student Mackenzie MacDonald? She coordinated the effort to get Minerva help this morning, so I wouldn't put it past her to see that Minerva was okay. If she is sick again, then Poppy has almost certainly taken her back to the Hospital Wing."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Yes, please. We need to talk to Poppy about what you saw."

"I thought as much."

"Nox," Albus muttered as they exited the classroom and headed toward the Hospital Wing. "I just hope she didn't faint tonight, at least not while alone."

"Is this Vanishing act why she's been on reduced duty? Or why she spent so much time in the Hospital Wing in November? You said you had no choice but to tell Poppy."

"Pomona, you know I can't tell you. Minerva will have to tell you herself if she wants to and when she's ready."

"I know, I know. I still consider her one of my closest friends, so it's frustrating to know she's going through something without knowing what it is. But that's Minerva, isn't it? She never wants to ask for help, or even admit she needs help."

"I think she's slowly getting better about that, but yes, that sounds like Minerva. Today must have been quite difficult for her."

"Well, I think any of us would call it a rough day if we passed out in the middle of class," Pomona said. "That's why you told us to be lenient with our students after they've had the flu, isn't it? If someone as strong as Minerva needs more recovery time just to teach seventh years, what can we expect of our students who are still learning and growing into their own strength?"

Albus nodded. "I hope there haven't already been other such incidents with students that we just don't know about."

"Well, now we know there's the potential for a problem. And here we are." Pomona opened the door to the Hospital Wing. "After you."

"Nonsense." Albus reached his arm out over the shorter witch's head and held open the door.

Pomona shrugged and walked into the infirmary, followed by the headmaster. They quickly realized that it was empty—not even a student lay in one of the many beds.

"Poppy?" Albus called out. He approached the office and saw that it was locked. "Wherever they went, I suppose they're not back yet. I hope Minerva's okay."

"Me, too."

As if on cue, the two witches in question walked into the Hospital Wing. Albus was relieved to see that Minerva had made it on her own two feet, and although she looked tired, her appearance was not nearly as worrisome as it was that morning.

"Pick a bed," Poppy said as they entered the main ward. "What are you two doing here? I'd ask which one of you is ill now, but I have the sense that you're not here for yourselves."

Minerva shifted her gaze from Albus to Pomona and back to Albus, studying their faces. Pomona had that same expression she saw at dinner, one that Minerva initially interpreted as pity but might instead have been deep concern. Albus, on the other hand, looked disappointed in her, or maybe even hurt by her.

"You know," Minerva said simply. Although she never asked exactly what "suspicions" he shared with Pomona, now she felt keenly aware that they'd discussed her behaviors around food—her old habits and their resurgence tonight. Despite the guilt that ate at her, she maintained eye contact with Albus.

"Minerva." Albus wanted to go to her, to wrap her in his arms, as if he could hold her together in both body and mind. He wished he could protect her from the ghosts in her head that caused her harm or prevented her from seeking support. Suddenly, tears welled up over his blue irises and fell—only a few drops, but they spilled nonetheless. "Yes, we know."

"I'm sorry, Min. Miss Claymore told me what happened this morning, so I had to tell Albus what I saw tonight. I care about you, all right? If I can help, then I want to," Pomona said.

Poppy looked inquisitively at the three of them. "Is it time to tell me what happened, Minerva? You said you didn't want to talk without Albus present, and, well, here he is—and it sounds like maybe he knows what you're going to tell me. We can go to the private room if you'd prefer."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, let's go to the private room, please. You can come, too, Pomona, I suppose."

Poppy led the group to the single-patient room that Minerva had occupied for a week earlier that school year. She closed the door once everyone filed inside and Conjured three chairs. Minerva kicked off her shoes and climbed into the bed, knowing that Poppy planned to keep her for a while afterward, if not overnight. Once everyone settled into their seats, Minerva decided she ought to start speaking.

She took a deep breath. "What I think Albus and Pomona already know is that I Vanished what little of dinner I tried to eat tonight. For what it's worth, I hadn't done that in ages, and I told Albus I was struggling and asked him to meet me in my rooms to ensure I ate later.

"I think that's why I felt sick when I left; you can lecture me about that later, Poppy. You can lecture me about marking essays instead of resting all day, about working through lunch. I've talked to Albus about this before, and I suppose I could talk about it now if you want."

Minerva looked up Albus, and he pulled his chair closer. She laid her hand at her side, palm up, encouraging him to take it. He nudged his head in Pomona's direction and mouthed, "Are you sure?" She nodded and, as quietly as she could, murmured, "I need you," so he laced his fingers with hers.

"I know lecturing doesn't help you," Poppy said softly. "Let me be just your friend for now. The medical talk can wait until later."

"You've always overworked yourself, but intentionally depriving yourself of food doesn't sound like you. May I ask what's been going on with you lately? I'm mostly in the dark here," Pomona said.

Minerva stared down at her lap. "I'm afraid you won't understand."

"It's me, Min. I've been your friend since we were students. What is it?"

Albus squeezed her hand, trying to be reassuring. She bit her lip and looked up at him, trying to hold back the tears stinging at her eyes and wishing her nerves would settle down.

"Go ahead, dear, if you're ready. You've got me," Albus whispered.

"Pomona, I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone else. I'm serious. Albus and Poppy only know because it got to a point where they found out in the worst way. If it were at all reasonable for me not to tell them how I was feeling, then I probably would've kept it a secret. It's that personal."

"On my honor as a Hufflepuff, I promise, Minerva. I hope you know that you can trust me with anything."

"Okay." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "The reason that Poppy kept me here for a week in November was because I tried to kill myself."

The silence was long and deafening. Minerva held her breath and tried to maintain a cool detachment—it was hard for her to speak about this if she let herself feel freely—and stared at the backs of her eyelids. Albus had strengthened his grip as quiet tears slid down his cheeks and into his beard. Poppy had pressed her lips together into the longest, thinnest line as she took measured breaths—in and out, in and out, in and out—through her nose.

Pomona simply gaped dumbfoundedly. "Why?" she finally asked, her voice a tiny squeak.

Minerva exhaled. "It's hard to say. I'm still trying to figure out if there was something specific that triggered the urge that night, or if it was just a lot of little things put together."

"Min, what could possibly make you feel so bad that you wanted to die? How long have you felt like this?"

"I don't know when or why I started to feel this way in the first place. At some point, it just became constant. It's like—maybe this will make it clear—it feels like I'm surrounded by Dementors all the time. Sometimes they're far away in the background somewhere, and they don't bother me too much. Other times, it's like they're on top of me, and all I can do is think about how worthless I feel."

"You're not worthless, Minerva. You're a brilliant witch, an excellent teacher, and a dear, dear friend. You must know that."

"I know my thoughts don't all make sense, but sometimes they feel so real, and I can't shake them off." Minerva shrugged. "That's when I do shit like work myself ragged; it gets me out of my head." And now she was back in her head. She sniffed. "I'm sorry. I know this is pathetic."

Albus turned his body and sad eyes at his partner. He had seen the look on her face enough times now to know that her steely façade was about to crumble. Running away was obviously not an option for her, but he could be her shield for now. "Min, do you need a break?"

Minerva took a shaky breath and nodded as silent tears began to stream down her face.

"May we have a few minutes, please?" Albus asked.

"Of course. Take all the time you need," Poppy said and ushered Pomona out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

"Can you come here?" Minerva eked out, scooting over to make space for Albus. He wasn't going to argue, so he, too, kicked off his shoes to sit up next to her. She immediately looped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his robes, finally allowing herself to let out the strangled sobs she'd held back as their colleagues left the room. He responded by wrapping his arms around her protectively, as if a hug could defend her from the demons in her head.

The Dementors, he thought. And a Patronus can't chase them away.

"Expecto patronum," he murmured anyway, knowing that merely saying the incantation wouldn't produce anything, just like the advanced Charm couldn't help Minerva.

He had figured out over time that she tended to do better when he simply sat with her while she released intense, pent-up emotions, rather than try to ask her what was wrong or even say what he hoped would be soothing words. As much as he hated to see her cry like this, he would let her do it until she indicated that she was ready to talk. In the meantime, he'd hold onto her and maybe rub her back or stroke her hair as if to remind her that he was there.

After several long minutes, Minerva finally spoke. "Thank you," she said softly.

"For?"

"For being here. For asking them to step out at the right time."

"I'd like to think I'm learning your tells, my dear—some of them, at least."

"Well, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Are you okay?"

Minerva sniffled. "It's hard to talk about all this. I know it's just Pomona—one of my oldest friends, for Merlin's sake—but it still scares me to tell her. What if she thinks less of me? What if she wants to avoid me now, knowing what she knows? What if she tells someone else?"

"I know it's hard, Min, and I understand that you're worried about what could go wrong by letting someone in," Albus said. "But it is Pomona, and she cares a great deal about you. And not that I think it's needed, but I wouldn't be surprised if Poppy is further swearing her to secrecy as we speak."

"Some of what I've said tonight I hadn't even told Poppy before. I don't talk about the mental part much with her; I tend to leave the shit that hurts the most to you and Christopher." But mostly, I keep it to myself, she thought.

"I know it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable," Albus said. Then he paused before asking, "Is it really like being near Dementors?"

"Sometimes, yes—except for the cold and literal darkness. It's like I can't find hope, like I've lost the capacity to remember or even imagine what it's like not to hurt so much."

"I'm sorry, Min. That sounds awful. I wish I could make them go away."

"Me, too. It's horrible sometimes. I just feel so alone."

"You're not, and I hope you know that you don't have to cope with this by yourself. Please, if this feeling starts to come over you, I want you to know that you can come to me. Don't worry about interrupting what I'm doing. And I know I'm not always in the castle, but I'm sure Poppy would say the same—even if you don't tell her much about how you feel mentally."

"I'll try to keep that in mind, if I can manage—but that might require me to overcome my fears of being a burden," Minerva said. "But speaking of Poppy, we should probably let them back in."

"Are you ready?"

"Not exactly, but I'll be okay." She pulled back and sat up. "I at least have to let Poppy perform a proper physical examination."

"All right. I'll go and fetch them." Albus exited the room and found the two other witches in Poppy's office.

Pomona turned around in her chair at Poppy's desk when she saw the mediwitch shift her gaze toward the door. "Oh, hell, Albus, I had no idea that she was having such a hard time—and certainly not like this. I feel terrible that I didn't notice before."

"I think we all do, Pomona," Albus said. "She's ready for you both to come back."

The three returned to Minerva's room and resumed their old seats.

"Sorry about that," Minerva muttered.

"Please don't apologize, Min. If it's hard for me to hear, then it must be harder for you to say," Pomona said. "Don't worry about us. You've had a long day—are you okay?"

Minerva flashed a wan smile. "Better than I was earlier—physically and mentally—but I am starting to get exhausted."

"Is that a cue for me to dismiss your guests?" Poppy asked.

"Please? I'm sorry, Pomona—I don't mean to leave you with more questions than answers."

"I don't mind stopping tonight if that's what you need," Pomona said. "If you ever want to talk later, I'm all ears. I'll try not to pester you with my questions if you can try not to be a stranger, okay?"

Minerva nodded. "I'm sure Albus can answer some of your questions. He's getting kicked out, too, for now."

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure, Min? It's not really my place to tell your story…"

"It's fine, Albus. I trust you."

"If you're sure," Albus said. "Shall we go, Pomona?"

"Bye, Minerva. Take care."

Pomona and Albus walked away, closing the door on their way out.

Poppy stood up and Vanished the three chairs she had Conjured earlier. "We still have a few things to talk about, Min," she said.

"I know. I had to save some strength for this."

"Smart move. So, no lunch or dinner today?"

Minerva shook her head. "Sorry."

"Then you're probably expecting this," Poppy said, pulling a phial containing an orange potion from her pocket. "Normally, I would simply have you eat a proper meal, but that seems unwise considering how I found you in the girls' toilets. Still, you need something. Drink up."

Begrudgingly, Minerva took the phial from Poppy and drank the Nutrient Supplement Potion. "I should remember how much I hate these if I ever feel like skipping meals again."

"You still haven't said why you do it, Min. You worked through lunch—not good, but at least I have a better idea of why you did that. But what's your reason for using Vanishing Spells in the Great Hall?"

Minerva sheepishly looked at her fidgeting fingers in her lap, rather than at Poppy. "It's another foolish coping mechanism. Please, I don't much want to get into it tonight."

Poppy gave her patient a sharp look. "Fine, but we at least need a plan for you to follow if you feel like Vanishing your meals again. Is that fair?"

"Well, to be fair, after I did it, I told Albus that I needed to eat at home, and I asked him to come by to make sure I did."

Poppy nodded. "Right, you did mention that earlier. I suppose that could work on a typical day, and today was just not a typical day. If this happens on one of the few occasions when Albus is away, will you come to me instead?"

"I can do that."

"Good."

Minerva bit her lip. This contingency plan sounded a lot like what Albus had suggested she do if she started to feel overwhelmed by negative thoughts. Would she tell Poppy when she felt overcome by anxiety, let alone when the depressive thoughts became too much? It wasn't a lie to say that she could do it, but whether she likely would do it was a different consideration.

"What's wrong?" Poppy asked.

"I'm sorry. I—I feel like I'm making a promise I don't know that I can keep."

"About coming to Albus or me when you're struggling?"

"You know I'm not very good at asking for help."

"But I also know you're getting better at it. For me, it's enough if you can say you'll do your best. Your 'best' might not be the same every day, but that's okay. I just want to know that you're trying, Min."

"I am." Minerva suddenly let out a wry laugh. "It's a bit ridiculous how hard I try sometimes just to do the simplest things."

"Like I said, your 'best' changes all the time. Recovery from any illness is like that."

"It's interesting that you're calling this an illness—I think Albus tried to say a similar thing to me earlier today. I still find it difficult to believe that this is an illness, and not some sort of character flaw."

"Minerva, I might not be an expert in your particular case, but I do know an illness when I see one. Surely your therapist has talked to you about this?"

"Yes, but the idea that I'm dealing with 'depression' in the clinical sense is hard for me to accept," Minerva said. "I suppose I'll have a lot to talk to him about on Monday, won't I?"

"And I hope it's helping. Albus and I are trying to learn what we can, but your therapist is the real professional here. I was so relieved when you said you would give it a chance—even if you came down here at damn near midnight to tell me."

"I needed to tell you before I changed my mind!" Minerva said. "You're keeping me for a while, aren't you? Can we talk over tea and ginger newts, like I suggested the other day? Albus can fetch some from my office."

Poppy brightened. "Sure, Min. Let's start with tea before we try biscuits tonight, okay?"

"Fair enough." Minerva mustered a small smile, too. Even if Poppy ultimately decided to keep her overnight, at least this stay felt much different—much better—than the last time she spent the night in the Hospital Wing. Or perhaps she was different, the Dementors having receded to the background for a moment, and she could accept the care with the hope that one day she would believe she was worth it.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading!