Disclaimer: Characters and ideas from the Harry Potter franchise are not my own.

Trigger Warning(s): Depictions of and/or references to mental illness, disordered eating, depression, and suicide.

Not Alone

Ch. 16: Sharing the Burden

At lunchtime on Monday, Albus had long since finished his meal and spent the last several minutes watching Minerva slowly work her way through a bowl of soup. With every spoonful, she paused to close her eyes and take a few measured breaths before scooping up another bite to eat.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a dose right now?" he asked quietly, trying to be sensitive to her situation.

She nodded and continued her painstaking effort to eat her lunch: her cycle of shaky ladling, nervous swallowing, and rhythmic breathing.

Albus restrained himself from sighing aloud. He heard her rationale but didn't quite understand it—something about wanting to be "able to feel everything" when she met with Healer Loughlin later that afternoon. Surely, she still felt emotions while under the effects of Draught of Peace; it merely suppressed some of the unwanted feelings, right? Even if it dulled all her emotions—which he wasn't sure that it did—shouldn't she want to be calm anyway? As far as he knew, she planned to talk about the night of her suicide attempt with her therapist today.

That must be what's made her so nervous, he thought. Although she hadn't admitted it, he knew that she was riddled with anxiety. Her quivering hands and transparent attempts to quiet her queasiness gave away her mental state. Is it truly worth struggling like this for the ability to 'feel everything' during her therapy session, whatever that means?

By the time Minerva finished, only she and Albus remained at the Staff Table, and the House Tables were nearly empty.

"You didn't have to wait for me," she said.

"I know. I also know you're feeling anxious. I wanted to be sure you're all right."

"I didn't leave much time before I have to go. Would you like to come with me to my office and see me off?"

"I can spare a few minutes."

"That's all I have before I plan to take the Floo."

The couple left the Great Hall side-by-side and walked the short distance to the Transfiguration professor's first-floor office. Albus shut the door behind them and, upon turning around, immediately found Minerva's head pressed gently against his chest, her arms draped over his shoulders, and her hands clasped behind his neck. He responded by loosely wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Thank you for helping me through this," she murmured.

"It's a privilege to have your trust, my dear. I'm so glad you've been starting to feel better."

"Me too."

"I've no meetings scheduled for when you're due to return if you'd like company while you decompress."

"You know I usually do." She pulled back. "And I've got Draught of Peace in case I need it."

"Good. I hope your appointment goes well."

Minerva offered a weak smile and nodded. "I suppose I should be on my way."

Albus left a parting peck on her lips before they let go of each other. "Take care, love."

"I'll see you afterward." She plucked her cloak from a coat rack beside the door as Albus departed. With a handful of Floo powder and a trip through the fireplace, she arrived at the Hog's Head. She dusted herself off and carefully descended the staircase to the pub area, where she found Aberforth Dumbledore cleaning pint glasses at the bar. "Good afternoon, Ab," she said softly, hoping not to startle him.

The younger Dumbledore looked up. "Hullo, Minerva." He put down the glass and dish rag he'd been holding. "Feeling better this week, I hope?"

"I've taken care of the issue," she said, absentmindedly shoving her hand in her pocket, as if to double-check that she had indeed brought the potion with her.

"Good to hear. Be seeing you again in about an hour?"

She nodded. "Yes, thank you. I appreciate that you've been doing this for me."

"It's not a problem." He picked up another pint glass to wash. "Have a good—er, whatever it is you do in town."

Minerva turned a tinge pink. She knew that the question was bound to come up at some point, and she reminded herself that she did not need to disclose that she came weekly for psychological therapy specifically. "Healer appointment," she said vaguely, shrugging her shoulders as if to say it was not a big deal.

The innkeep held up a hand. "Pardon my intrusion."

"In your words, it's not a problem," she said. "Well, I'd best be off."

Aberforth nodded, and Minerva exited to the streets of Hogsmeade to head to the small practice on the outskirts of the business district.

She'd fallen into a routine by now: check in with the receptionist, fill out some paperwork, trade the completed paperwork for a cup of tea, and wait for Healer Loughlin to bring her back to his office. Today there was a new addition to the usual paperwork, which surprised her at first until she saw what it was about. Despite the little voice in her head encouraging her to downplay her problems, she always forced herself to be honest.

"So, a new questionnaire this week?" Minerva remarked once Christopher had shut the door and sat down.

"It's just a tool to monitor your anxiety symptoms over time, much like the other one for depression. Is that all right?"

"Yes, I was merely commenting for its novelty to me. I did talk to Poppy about Draught of Peace last week, by the way."

"How did it go?"

"It went well. I brought Albus with me for support and drank some of his 'Peaceful Tea'—as it's marketed—beforehand. There was a lot I needed to tell her, but she was very receptive to the idea. She's started me with seven fast-acting doses per week and said we can discuss adding more if I feel like I need it. So far, I haven't felt like I need it more than once per day, which I think is good."

"And it's helping?"

"Oh, yes. Immensely. Last week after I left here, I was so afraid that I'd start crying in public that I felt sick almost immediately. I had a rather unfortunate time getting home. But by having Draught of Peace on hand, I have thankfully avoided that fate every day since. This past week has been—dare I say it—enjoyable at times."

"I'm glad that it seems to be working for you. I admit I was a bit concerned about you when we ended last time. Would you like to tell me about what happened—mentally and emotionally, that is?"

Minerva focused on the warmth of the cup in her hands while mustering up the courage to speak. "I think I was finally ready to talk to you about the night I attempted suicide."

Christopher nodded. "I know that's a big step for you. Do you still feel ready this week?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I do. I spent all morning worrying about this, so I may as well get on with it, right?" She laughed nervously but quickly stifled herself, letting the gravity of situation settle around her. "Last time, I was saying that Albus had confronted me about the Vanishing Spells. He actually caught me trying to cast one to dispose of the potion for my Bludger-induced head trauma. I don't know why I didn't just wait until I got home to do it; everything felt… urgent, like I had to take care of any issue that arose immediately.

"It occurred to me recently that I didn't care that I was neglecting my health because I didn't want to be alive. Like eating, taking the potion made me feel a bit sick—I have no idea if it was because I took it on an empty stomach—so I tried to avoid doing it. Earlier that evening, I argued with Poppy about whether I truly needed the potion, claiming that I felt fine. She saw through me, of course, but I didn't want to admit that anything was wrong.

"When I left the Hospital Wing with the potion, I suddenly needed to get rid of it. That's when Albus found me in an empty classroom; he later said that he was in there trying to convince himself to go to the Hospital Wing and tell Poppy that he was worried about me. Even though he prevented me from Vanishing the potion, which I then used to try to kill myself, I—I think it was only a matter of time. If it wasn't the potion that night, it would have been something else some other night."

Minerva bit her lip and stared down at her lap. Trembling, she brought her teacup up to her face, teardrops falling into it, and took a long, slow sip of the warm liquid.

"I knew I'd lost control of my thoughts and emotions, and I constantly felt like I was losing my grip on maintaining my mask: the Professor McGonagall everyone expected to see. The Vanishing Spells were an attempt to hold on to it during public meals, and now Albus knew about it. I certainly wouldn't be able to do it anymore. I knew that he knew that something was very wrong with me, even though I tried to deny it when he confronted me that night. And—and then I suppose that's when I really lost my grip. I couldn't deal with being exposed. I literally ran away from him.

"Honestly, if anyone else saw me in that moment, it would have been obvious that something was wrong. I couldn't stop myself from crying as I tried to escape from sight. Surely, Albus would have caught up to me sooner or later—I don't know why I didn't change into my Animagus form. I wasn't thinking rationally. I suppose I stumbled over something because suddenly I was on the floor, where I turned into myself and wished to disappear.

"And Albus—he—he just wanted to help. But I—I was terrified that he found out. Not only did he know I was apparently starving myself and refusing to follow simple instructions from Poppy, now he knew how weak and pathetic I could be. Now he knew that I wasn't the strong, capable, perfect Professor McGonagall; I wasn't the witty, warm, reliable Minerva that he knew as a friend. I was a fraud. I was worthless. And now—now I was a burden, needing to be cared for in the corridors. I was a burden, and I didn't deserve help. I was a burden, and Albus—and everyone—would be better off without me.

"Something suddenly snapped. There was no thinking, only feeling. And I—I felt like dying was my only option. I couldn't fight it anymore."

The lenses of her glasses had become opaque with the residue of her salty tears. Shakily, she placed her half-drunk tea on the side table, feeling her anxiety build. The thought that frightened her most was now front and center in her mind: What if I reach that point again?

"Minerva, I know it took a lot of courage and strength to recount that night. I'm glad that you felt able to share it with me," Healer Loughlin said. "How are you feeling right now?"

Sniffling, Minerva removed her square spectacles and muttered a cleaning spell. "Some relief," she said as she put them back on. "It feels a bit like a weight has been lifted from my chest now that I've told you. But—" Her breath caught in her throat.

But what do I do if I feel like I've run out of options again?

Her eyes were wide as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Although she had come to accept support from others—and even ask for it from Albus—she feared that she'd eventually burden them too much, that they'd tire of her if their efforts seemed insufficient for her needs. What would she do then? Draught of Peace helped her cope independently, but what if that wasn't enough?

"But what, Minerva?"

"…But what if I'm not strong enough?" She voiced her question quietly and thought the rest: Because I am still too weak.

She remembered how hopeless she felt that night. Just as she'd described to Pomona, it was like the Dementors had closed in, like they'd grabbed her by the neck and demanded her life. Now, the memory consumed her. The tightness in her throat grew as she struggled to swallow her sobs.

"Not strong enough for what?" Christopher asked.

For the next time. There almost certainly will be a next time. She could not imagine an existence where that fear didn't at least linger somewhere in the back of her mind. Having tasted a life where joy and hope and love were possible, the idea of "next time" was all the more terrifying. Heartbroken for her past self and afraid for her future self, Minerva folded herself in half and allowed herself to weep. It's not like this is the first time I've broken down in front of Christopher, she thought.

"I'm sorry. I—I didn't take Draught of Peace before this," she choked out.

"It's okay, Minerva. Are you all right, or do you want to take a dose—if you brought one, that is? We could also try something else if you'd prefer."

She shook her head even though it was not a yes-or-no question. "I'll be fine," she insisted. Prepared this time, she pulled a tartan handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. "I—I purposely didn't take it. I didn't think this would be as cathartic if I couldn't access all the pain from that night."

"Ah." Christopher's eyes lit up with recognition. "Does the potion numb your emotions?"

Minerva nodded. "Some. Not all of them. For instance, I think I actually felt happy this past weekend, once I didn't have to worry about—well, worrying. But today I wanted to face my fear and release some of the pain I've kept inside. I didn't think I could do that without being able to feel it."

"I understand. Do you want to keep going—continue to confront the difficult thoughts and emotions around that night?"

"Yes." She picked up her abandoned tea and cast a Warming Charm, for it had gone cold. She sipped on the liquid and continued the spell until it reached the ideal temperature. "Where was I?"

"According to the Kwik-Quill notes, you said, 'But what if I'm not strong enough?'"

"Oh. I—I'm afraid that I'll reach that low again, but I won't be strong enough to climb back up. The sense of worthlessness and hopelessness was overwhelming. It—it can be overwhelming just to think about how it felt."

Christopher nodded. "I believe you said something similar in our first meeting. Now I—and I think you—have a better idea of why it happened, or at least what contributed. You may be able to catch yourself before you slide that far down, and you can ask for help. If you do hit bottom again, you know of many more—and healthier—options to cope."

"I know I've been doing better recently, but I think it's because I've started to feel better that I'm more afraid to lose that progress. I know I have options, but in the moment, what if I can't use them? What if I can't believe they're there?

"I've thought of this like Dementors. Even though I can produce a Patronus, would I be able to do it if I really needed it? Could I muster a sufficiently strong memory in the face of a Dementor? Similarly, could I muster a shred of hope large enough to get help when I feel like I can't go on?"

Christopher raised his eyebrows. "I've heard the Dementor analogy before, but I hadn't heard it extended to the Patronus part: You need hope the most when it's most difficult to access. Of course, I hope you'd tell someone you trust if you're having suicidal thoughts, but I think you're asking about what you can do if you feel like you can't talk to anyone."

"Exactly."

"Minerva, I'm going to suggest something that you might not normally do: Procrastinate."

"What?" She nearly spit out her tea.

"If you feel like your only option is suicide, and you don't think you can get help, then try to tell yourself that it can wait. Put it off for one day, one hour, ten minutes—whatever you think you can manage in the moment. Keep doing it if you need to—another ten minutes, for example—until you can get help."

"Does that work?"

"It can. The goal when you're in that pit of despair is to survive. If you can delay acting on your impulses, then you may also buy yourself enough time to find safety."

"You're right that I don't usually procrastinate. I suppose I could try it if my life is at stake."

"And the 'help' part is important. Once you're out of imminent danger, I hope you'll tell someone what's happening. I know it can be hard to talk about, but someone needs to know so that you can get appropriate support."

Minerva nodded. "I believe you," she said softly, looking elsewhere in the room. She'd never told anyone in the moment when she thought about dying, with varying degrees of intent. How was she supposed to start that conversation? Sure, she and Albus had discussed it before, and he asked her to come and tell him if she felt so hopeless again, no matter what she might or might not be interrupting. But what would she say?

"What are you thinking about?" Christopher asked.

"I don't know how to ask for help—not for this."

"Sometimes it's best just to be direct."

"What, something like, 'Albus, hi, how was your day? Mine was awful; I thought about killing myself'? Or perhaps, 'Poppy, I think you need to admit me; I'm feeling suicidal'?"

"Maybe try not to say it as casually as you just demonstrated for me," Christopher said. "But yes. I am heartened that you suggested that you'd tell Poppy. If you feel like you can't keep yourself safe, checking yourself into the Hospital Wing is perhaps the best decision you could make."

"She is quite good in emergencies," Minerva said. "I feel a bit guilty that I suspect Albus might, at least initially, respond too emotionally for my preference if I were to go to him first."

"Why do you feel guilty about that?"

"Evidently, he performed capably when he needed to rush me to the Hospital Wing, so perhaps I'm not giving him enough credit. I've grown comfortable with talking to Albus when I'm sufficiently detached or not too overwhelmed by whatever is bothering me, but for some reason, I worry that I'd struggle when I'm feeling particularly delicate."

"If you can articulate your concerns, you may find it helpful to discuss them ahead of time when you're doing well. Have you had any such discussions or made an emergency plan with Albus—or Poppy, or whomever else you think you might trust?"

"A bit—vague things like, 'If you're depressed or anxious, please come to me,' but like I said, I'm afraid that I won't feel able to go to anyone."

"Why don't you try talking to Albus or Poppy in more specific terms about what you can do and what they can do when you need help? That can be your homework. You may want to work out a few scenarios, such as a situation when you feel like you can reach out to someone to keep yourself safe as well as a situation when you feel like you can't reach out—and perhaps what signs they might look for so that they can reach out to you."

"My homework, Christopher?"

"Yes, your homework—I believe you're familiar with the concept."

Minerva laughed despite herself. "I am indeed familiar with homework. I suppose I can try that."

"Good. We can discuss what progress you've made next time."

"A deadline—I work well with those. And I won't procrastinate on this." She already started to formulate ideas about when and how to approach the conversations and would broach the topic with Albus when they debriefed this session later.

"A sleepover on a school night—I think I like this," Albus said from the squashy red armchair in Minerva's sitting room while she changed out of her teaching clothes. He had Transfigured his robes into a long purple shirt with lavender pinstripes and his hat into a matching nightcap.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "I don't have you over just for fun. We're talking about contingency plans in case I feel suicidal, for heaven's sake." She pulled a pale golden nightgown over her head and let it cascade down her body.

"I made you tea." Albus gestured toward the coffee table when Minerva exited the bedroom.

"Thank you." She picked up the large mug with the Hogwarts crest etched into it and sighed as she sank into her crimson sofa. "I know that's your chair, but will you sit with me?"

"Of course." Albus rose with his mug of hot chocolate and switched seats. "And I know I'm here to help you with your homework."

"Our homework—I believe this is a group assignment, Albus."

"Yes, it is. Are you going to do this with Poppy, too?"

"We spoke a bit earlier this evening. I think I'd like to bring you when we have a follow-up discussion. You two should probably talk to each other, too."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your appointment, dear."

"It's fine; I know you had some things to do after dinner since you cleared your afternoon for me. Poppy is pleased that I've been doing well on Draught of Peace."

"I am, too. Aren't you?"

"I'm sure that I'm the most pleased out of the three of us. I was merely commenting on how it went with Poppy," Minerva said. "We're hoping that this development bodes well for the more thorough examination in two weeks."

"There's a more thorough exam? The one I saw last week seemed quite thorough as it was."

"Yes, once a month she does some magic that lets her check the progress of my internal healing in more detail. Do you remember when she ushered you out of your own bedroom during my bout with flu? She actually pushed up the exam by a few days to decide if I was truly well enough to recuperate with you instead of the Hospital Wing."

"Oh. I take it the last one went well, then."

"Well enough. Poppy says I have an 'excellent' liver."

"There are many things that are excellent about your body," Albus said, a hint of a sly grin on his face. His eyes twinkled, and he suddenly felt a pillow collide with his head. "My nightcap!"

"Later. Honestly, you really are a cheeky bastard. Now, let's get back to the assignment—what are you going to do if I tell you I'm thinking about suicide?"

Albus quickly sobered. "Take you to Poppy. We went over this earlier."

"We did, and I wanted to make sure you remembered. What are you going to do when I inevitably tell you it's not necessary?"

"You almost always claim you don't need to see Poppy, no matter how dire your situation. I'll take you to her anyway—and remind you that this was our plan."

"Good. You were paying attention."

"Of course, I was! I only look distracted sometimes, like when I couldn't find my sherbet lemons this afternoon. And this is important, Min. I hope I won't be tested on this particular 'homework' assignment, but I'll prepare like I will be."

"It seems like it should be up to me whether or not there's a test on this, but it certainly didn't feel like a choice last time." She pursed her lips and looked at the floor.

Albus finished the last drops of his hot chocolate and placed the empty mug on the table. His hands now free, he pulled Minerva into his arms. "I know that scares you, dear. It scares me, too. But in therapy you've talked about possible reasons why you got to that point, right? Can that help us?"

She pulled away to make eye contact. "That's the other part of my homework: We discuss any warning signs I know. I—I'll try to talk to someone if I notice, but I think it might be more important that you and Poppy—and maybe even Pomona and Rolanda, if I feel like I can tell them more—pay attention, too. If I'm in a bad place, then I might not feel able to ask for help."

"…Like when you think you're a burden? You're not; I'll keep repeating that. But I remember you said that when you had a bit of a breakdown over the Christmas holiday."

Minerva nodded. "That's how I felt right before I attempted." She looked away again as her eyes began to well up.

Albus took her hand, securely interweaving his fingers with hers. "Do you know what made you feel that way?"

"I suppose I wasn't ready to accept your help. I wasn't ready for you to know that I needed help in the first place. I—I don't think I could even admit to myself that I needed help, let alone deserved it."

"You've gotten much better about asking for and accepting support over time. I really am proud of you for that."

"I know, but it's still hard sometimes, especially if I feel like I've brought a problem upon myself."

"Have you done that recently—blamed yourself for some problem you've faced?"

"Arguably, all this is my fault." She gestured vaguely with her free hand.

"Minerva," Albus said sternly. "If 'all this' refers to your need to recover physically and mentally after your—your—sorry, I still have trouble saying it—after that night, then please don't blame yourself."

"I did say, 'arguably,' and on a bad day, I might argue with you. Tonight, I won't. I asked you for what I need, didn't I? And I can accept you giving me what it is I've asked for: This conversation."

"I'm glad you can accept because I am happy to give," Albus said, trying to offer reassurance. "Always, my dear—regardless of whose 'fault' your problems are." He made finger quotes with one hand.

"I wish I knew that—or could believe that—a few months ago."

"There are plenty of things I'm sure we both wished we knew a few months ago, but here we are. Can you tell me how I might know if you feel you're burdening others? I've noticed you tend to get upset when someone does something for you, even when—or especially when you truly could use the help, like when Filius changed his teaching schedule so that you could continue to see Healer Loughlin regularly. Is that what I should watch for?"

"Perhaps? I—I think I get more upset when I need someone to do emotional labor for me, not necessarily things like what Filius and Phoebe have been doing for me. I felt ashamed that he was doing so much for me because I mentally couldn't handle my existence," Minerva said, trying to clarify her reaction. "I was also upset because I felt like I didn't have a choice, like whatever Poppy said I needed, you would agree to.

"It's been better recently. Being more open with Poppy seems to make her more willing to listen to me, rather than less, which I worried about a lot in the beginning. I thought if she—and you, sometimes—knew how I really felt, then you wouldn't trust me to do anything by myself." She smiled wryly. "In hindsight, I am certain that Poppy saw through me all the times I lied about how well I was physically, but she let it slide whenever I insisted I was fine."

"Is that what happened when you had your little fainting episode in class?"

"No! Oh, I hate thinking about that day. I really did feel fine until I suddenly wasn't. I was talking about when she first released me from the Hospital Wing; her criteria were that I could get out of bed unassisted and could keep down solid food. I could do both, but I tried to pretend I wasn't in horrible pain every time I got up. And she probably shouldn't have let me teach for another week or so.

"But since you mention it—I struggled that day, emotionally. I—I had a hard time coping with losing control and being so vulnerable in front of the students. I felt exposed, like I was naked without my professor persona. It was a similar feeling to when you told me you knew about the Vanishing Spells, like when you saw me broken on the corridor floor. I had nowhere to hide."

She sniffled and felt Albus stroke her thumb with his. "You don't know how glad I am to have Draught of Peace. After the incident in my classroom and after dinner, I was afraid that it would happen again, which made me feel worse, of course. I felt so sick that weekend, Albus; I thought about using Vanishing Spells to get through the meals. I'm surprised I made it through my Monday morning classes, to be honest. I really needed my therapy session that afternoon."

"Oh, Min, I wish you told me. I knew what happened bothered you, but I didn't realize just how much it affected you. I would have cut short my outings with the Ministry and Board of Governors had I known."

"I wouldn't have wanted you to do that; I barely wanted you around me at all. Besides, you weren't exactly sympathetic to my plight when I did tell you after I got back from Hogsmeade," Minerva said, frowning. "You were entirely too amused that I 'puked at the pub' or whatever you said."

Heaved at the Hog's Head, Albus thought, but he knew better than to correct her. "I won't defend my childish comments. I'm sorry, Minerva."

"I forgive you, of course. Still, if something like this happens again, please don't make light of it. Seriously, I could get caught without Draught of Peace when I need it, or perhaps it won't be enough one day. I think everyone hates to be sick, but for me, the worst thing about it is that it's a visible, unpleasant loss of control. And with witnesses? Then it's even worse somehow."

Albus nodded. "I'll do better if there's a next time—although for your sake, I hope there's not. What would you like me to do if it does? It sounds like this sort of thing has the potential to send your mind to a dark place."

"If you're a witness, you damn well better get me home or somewhere private, at least." Then she hesitated. "I suppose taking me to Poppy might be a good idea for this, too—especially if it seems like I need to reevaluate my potions dosage. I really hope it doesn't come to that, though; I've quite enjoyed being able to manage my anxiety lately."

"I can do that," Albus said. "I'm glad you've started to allow yourself to rely on Poppy. She cares about you."

"I know she does. It's hard to get over decades of being too stubborn to accept that her fussing is warranted sometimes. I'm just starting to trust that her reactions are appropriate for a given situation. She's strict when she should be but lenient when letting things go might be worth it."

"Like when she let you start teaching half days too soon, as you admitted tonight."

Minerva nodded. "Teaching allowed me to get out of my head, but there were a few days early on when I asked Phoebe to cover all or part of a class for me. I made her swear that she wouldn't tell you or Poppy."

Albus looked a bit sheepish. "Don't be upset with her, but she told me. I didn't tell Poppy because you finally started to seem less depressed, or at least much less miserable than you were when you were stuck at home."

"You knew?"

"I can keep a secret."

"Thank you. I really needed to teach again, to have something to care about each day, even if my body needed a break sometimes."

"Now, if only you could manage to take a break well before you're ready to collapse, I'd appreciate that."

"I wasn't going to collapse when I asked Phoebe to cover for me," Minerva argued. "Or are you talking about that one faculty meeting? Because I didn't realize how ill I was."

"I know, I know—you didn't quite have enough warning for your more recent incidents. Consider this a request for a future occasion."

"Do you mean to say that you didn't enjoy carrying me through the castle?"

"I prefer to carry you to bed for a different reason."

"Albus!" Minerva gasped when she got scooped up off the sofa. "Now, if only you could warn me before you pick me up!"

"I believe I did," he countered as he brought her around the coffee table toward the bedroom.

"This won't be so easy for you once I finally gain back what I lost."

"I am a spry centenarian, thank you!" Albus proclaimed and laid Minerva on her bed. "Now, I am happy to continue talking if you'd like, but it is getting late. I know I would like to sleep soon."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I could've sworn you wanted something else."

"Only if you do." He climbed into bed beside his partner. "Like I said, if you still need to talk, I'm here for that, too."

"I suppose we've done enough homework for now; I could enjoy a little extracurricular activity tonight."

She smiled and shifted closer to Albus. Despite the difficult day, Minerva felt lighter, like she didn't have to bear the weight of her fears alone.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, as always! All reviews, follows, and favorites are greatly appreciated. :)