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. 18: Expecto Patronum

Minerva woke up with a pounding headache and realized she was in an unfamiliar bed. She slowly opened her eyes, relieved that it was dark, and recognized the crisp white sheets over her.

Fuck me. I'm in the Hospital Wing. She closed her eyes again and tried to remember how she got there. Whisky. Lots of whisky. She wasn't sure if she had slept through the night and was now hungover, or if she hadn't slept a wink and was still remarkably drunk. Regardless, she felt like hell and cursed herself for being so foolish. Did I seriously drink myself into oblivion? To the point of a memory blackout? How fucking stupid am I?

She cracked her eyes open again and waited for them to adjust to the darkness. Once she could make out her immediate surroundings, she saw the privacy curtain and realized that she was in the main ward, not the single-patient room. Damn. Who's seen me like this? Was I passed out? Was I sick? Would Albus—presumably—have brought me here otherwise?

She looked to her left and saw that the chair at her bedside was empty. He's not here, of course. Why would I think Albus would stay with me for this? He must be so disappointed in me. Drinking myself to a Hospital Wing bed is probably not an approved activity in the 'taking my physical and mental health seriously' guidebook. He's probably finally realized that I can't take care of myself. Three months into my 'recovery' and this is what I have to show for it?

She flipped over to bury her face in the pillow. Each muffled sob increased the throbbing in her temples, but every attempt to stifle her cries tied a new knot in her stomach, which was already upset from the alcohol. Sick of being sick, she chose to let the tears flow until the pain in her head became too great. Her admittedly feeble attempts to alleviate her anxiety through controlled breaths failed. All she could do was repeatedly swear under her breath to cope with her physical discomfort.

Why did I drink so much? She considered that even if she decided to wake Poppy, there was no way she was getting a pain relief potion. Unless she had completely sobered up—and she wasn't convinced she was there yet—she probably couldn't take anything. Not to mention Poppy must be frustrated with me. She's going to think I'm trying not to get better. Or worse, she could think I'm too prone to abuse alcohol to be trusted with Draught of Peace.

She considered sneaking away to her bedroom to fetch the potion and calm her mind but remembered that she couldn't take it now, anyway, for the same reasons pain relievers were likely off limits. Damn. I can't have Draught of Peace right now, either. Nothing to relieve the pain, mental or physical. Hell, even if were allowed potions, I probably couldn't keep anything down. This is bloody brilliant. Getting drunk was quite possibly the worst thing I could do to myself.

No potions, even if she woke Poppy. No flying, even if she woke Rolanda. No working, even if she dragged herself back to her study or office. She knew she was in no condition to do any of those safely or effectively. What was there left to do? Talk to someone? It was the middle of the night, and she was quite certain that wasn't an option, either.

Everyone who knows I'm fucked in the head also knows that I got myself into this state. Albus, Poppy, Pomona, Rolanda—they should all give up on me. I wouldn't deserve their time or energy even if it were daytime. I've clearly proven myself to be a lost cause. How naive was I to think that I could get better? I spend a few weeks catching a glimpse of what 'better' could be, and I throw it away like this? I really am worthless.

Somehow, it didn't matter how many times Albus had told her that he was always willing to talk, that she need not worry about interrupting what he was doing or whose "fault" her problems were. It didn't matter that Poppy asked her to go to her when she was struggling, that Pomona said she would lend her ear, or that Rolanda said she was always ready to fly. There was no such thing as "always"—Minerva was convinced that her current situation must be an exception.

She was sure that she was alone.

And she was sure that they'd be better off without her. All she did was burden them.

She lay in bed, unable to fall back asleep. The mantra that she was a worthless, hopeless burden played on repeat in her mind. Her head was empty except for that immutable fact. Her mental Dementors had closed in, and she couldn't shake them off.

She was numb.

Minerva fumbled for her glasses on the bedside table. She put them on and swung her legs out of bed. Her bare feet touched the floor. She rose, uncaring that she was shoeless, uncaring that she was clad in a hospital gown. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, and certainly she mattered the least.

Quietly, she slipped out from behind the privacy curtain and, under the cover of darkness, left the Hospital Wing. She left her wand on the table. She didn't need it where she was going.

She didn't need anything where she was going.

Albus awoke to a bright flash of red and golden light. A large, majestic bird flitted down onto the headboard behind him and looked down on his face from his new perch.

"Fawkes? It's the middle of the night. Is someone at the door?" Typically, whenever Fawkes found Albus unexpectedly, that meant that someone was looking for him at his office—someone Fawkes deemed important enough to fetch his human companion. The phoenix let its tail feathers fall next to the pillow, and Albus lazily grabbed onto them with one hand and picked up his wand with the other. The pair disappeared with another flash, only to reappear in the circular Headmaster's Office.

"Albus!" A voice called urgently from elsewhere in the room.

"Poppy?" Still bleary-eyed, Albus tried to rub the sleep away as he whirled around to find the source of the voice. In his half-conscious effort to heed his pet's message, he forgot to put his half-moon spectacles on. "Is that you in the fire?"

"Yes, Albus—we have a problem. Minerva's missing."

The headmaster was suddenly wide awake. "She's missing? Since when? What the hell? Where would she go?"

"Not long, and I don't know. That's why I contacted you. I have an alarm that sounds whenever a patient gets out of bed overnight. Usually that means they just need to use the loo, but then she wasn't there, either. She left her wand, Albus. Where would she go without it?"

"Shit. Okay. I'll go to her rooms to see if she went home. Fawkes—Fawkes, can you bring Minerva to me if she comes here? I'll send a Patronus to Pomona and Rolanda—maybe she went to see one of them? And they can look for her, too…"

Poppy let out a breath. "She can't have gone far. I'll wait for her here—I shouldn't leave Filius, at least. And it just occurred to me that she might have transformed. I'll see if she's gone full cat and decided to hide under a bed."

"Okay. Okay. I hope one of us finds her. I'll see you next at the Hospital Wing, and if you haven't found her, then hopefully I have Minerva in tow."

"Good luck. I'll see you shortly." Poppy disappeared from the flames.

Minerva would pull a stunt like this, escaping from the Hospital Wing after a night of drinking. He Summoned his glasses, not wanting to waste time by going back into his bedroom. Then he ran out of his office and tried to concentrate on a powerful, happy memory while simultaneously formulating a message to send with his Patronus.

"Expecto patronum!" Two silvery phoenixes sprouted from the tip of his wand and soared toward the bedrooms of Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch. He wished he could run as fast as his Patronus flew as he hurried through the dark corridors to the Head of Gryffindor's private quarters. At least this time, unlike the last time he'd gone searching for a missing Minerva, he knew her password.

"Burning day," he murmured breathlessly when he reached the portrait of Godric Gryffindor. He was intrigued that she'd changed her password for the winter term to a reference to the phoenix's rebirth. Although passwords were ordinarily updated at least every few months anyway, Minerva had been especially eager to change hers from the previous term. After being released from the Hospital Wing, she shared her password with Albus so that she wouldn't have to get out of bed to let him in, blushing profusely because it was "Percival Wulfric Brian": his middle names.

"Minerva?" he yelled as soon as he burst into her rooms. "Minerva, are you here?" He waved his hand to turn on the lights and, seeing that the sitting room was empty, ran into the bedroom. Still with no sign of her, he ran into her bathroom.

Homenum revelio, he thought, hoping the spell would reveal Minerva's presence in the room, perhaps in some tight hiding spot that could fit her only as a cat. Damn. She's not here.

Albus sprinted out of the Gryffindor Head chambers to head down to the Transfiguration classroom, slowing down only when he could no longer maintain the pace. The door was locked and the room dark, but he looked anyway, only to come up empty again. As he exited the classroom, he saw Pomona Sprout leaving Minerva's office.

"Pomona!" he called, rushing toward her.

"She's not here, and she wasn't in the kitchens. I take it you haven't had luck either," the shorter witch said worriedly.

Albus shook his head. "I've run out of ideas of places she'd go unless she's out on the Quidditch pitch. I asked Rolanda to look out there for her."

"Did she have time to get her broom? I suppose she could have stopped at the broom cupboard for one of the school brooms, though."

"I think I saw her broom in its spot atop her wardrobe, so she would have had to borrow one if she decided to go flying. I'm not sure that she'd be completely sobered up by now, so I hope that's not what she's doing."

"Well, no sense standing here speculating. Let's go the Hospital Wing. Maybe Rolanda has found her, or—and this would be relieving but annoying—maybe she's been there the whole time, hiding in her Animagus form."

"You're right. Let's go," Albus said, and they briskly walked toward the school infirmary. "It wouldn't be altogether relieving if she decided to transform. She's better at Transfiguration than I am, certainly, but performing Human Transfiguration while intoxicated is dangerous even for her."

"Oh dear, I didn't even think of that," Pomona said. "Wherever she is, I hope she's okay."

"Me too. Me too," he said, but he didn't feel very hopeful. Dread filled his chest, and he consciously had to control his respiratory rate in an effort to stay calm. He wondered if the way he felt was anything like the anxiety Minerva struggled to manage. If I felt like this all the time, I would need Draught of Peace, too, he thought, but this seems to pale in comparison to what she's described. He considered that perhaps it was more like the fear he felt when he saw her losing consciousness, the terror he felt when he saw her comatose—the panic that perhaps he'd feel again if they didn't find Minerva back at the Hospital Wing.

Minerva's bare feet carried her robotically—left, right, left right—as if programmed to take her through the corridors toward a long spiral staircase. Left, right, left—her legs lifted her from step to step.

Poppy must have noticed by now, she thought, wondering if the mediwitch was worried or angry with her for leaving. Angry, she decided. Clearly, I don't appreciate her help if I decide to sneak away in the middle of the night. She has probably realized I'm not worth worrying about. She won't have to anymore. It's for the best. I won't burden her anymore.

She climbed higher.

I won't burden anyone anymore.

She placed her hand on an iron ring handle, cold from the draft blowing through the gaps in the wooden door. She pushed to make her exit. Wind and snow rushed in, penetrating her thin gown and pelting her exposed skin. The elements could give her frostbite in mere minutes, but she was quite certain it wasn't the winter that chilled her bones.

Can I really do this?

She couldn't convince herself to leave the threshold or close the door, despite the February freeze. Her feet remained fixed on the frozen floor of the doorway.

Ten minutes—whatever you can manage. Her therapist's voice reached the front of her mind. She closed her eyes. Maybe five, she thought and sank to the ground, the backless hospital gown doing her no favors when she made contact with the stone.

Fuck, what am I doing?

Now physically numb, her emotions—her fear, her panic, her despair—returned forcefully. She leaned back against the door jamb and hugged her knees to her chest as hot tears streamed down her face; they were her only source of warmth.

"Homenum revelio!"

Something swept over Minerva, and she dared to look up in the direction of the voice that yelled the spell. A Comet 260 zoomed over the crenellated walls of the tower, and a cloaked figure hopped off to approach from outside.

"Minerva?" It was Rolanda Hooch. She tore off her cloak and covered Minerva's shivering frame. "Bloody hell, Min, what are you doing up here? Don't answer that yet. Let me get you inside; I can't have you freezing to death."

Rolanda gently nudged her quivering friend back indoors, just far enough to shut the large exterior door. She dropped her broom and removed her cloak from Minerva, for it was damp from the snow. Instead, she traded it for several dry blankets—silently Conjuring one after another and wrapping them around Minerva's barely clad body.

"I saw the door was open, and it's not typical stargazing hours, and I didn't see a telescope or anything out there, but Sinistra wouldn't just leave the door open, right? I descended and saw that someone was there, and…" Rolanda ceased her rambling.

Thoroughly cocooned, Minerva couldn't move much. She squeezed herself more tightly, trying to make herself smaller just as a cat in hiding might. She laid her forehead upon her blanket-covered knees and continued to cry. Even if she could manage to speak, what would she say right now?

Rolanda Conjured yet another blanket, this one at least twice the size of the others. She sat down, huddled close to share some of her body heat, and wrapped the blanket around them both.

"I should take you back to the Hospital Wing, but I think it's okay if you need a minute. You just let me know when you're ready, all right?" She rested her head upon Minerva's shoulder and waited.

Ready? I'll never be ready. How can I face Poppy? How can I face Albus? Surely, Poppy alerted him to my disappearance, and it's unlikely Rolanda was out for a joyride. A search party was sent for me. Who else? Hopefully not all the staff—that would be humiliating. Fuck, maybe I should have gone through with it. I'm a burden and a coward.

"Do you know how to send a message with a Patronus?" Rolanda asked.

"What?" Minerva was not expecting that question—not that she knew what to expect at all. I suppose surprising me is one way to get me to talk right now.

"Dumbledore sent me a message with his Patronus. His is a phoenix, right? The voice sounded like his, anyway."

That must be how she knew to come out to look for me.

"I'll stay here with you as long as you need, but I should probably let him and Poppy know that you're with me," Rolanda continued. "It's been some time since I learned the spell, but I think I can still do it. I just never learned to use it for communication. I didn't realize it could be, honestly."

"Albus invented it. He taught me how to do it during the war," Minerva said quietly, and despite her recent tears, her voice lacked any trace of emotion.

"Can you teach me?"

"I don't have my wand." Even if I did, I couldn't possibly produce a Patronus now.

"I know. Perhaps you don't have to show me. Could you describe the method? I'm not as strong as you or Albus—and I certainly wasn't as good a student as you—but I'd like to try to learn, at least."

Minerva sighed. "What do you want to tell them?"

"That I found you and will bring you back when you're ready."

"Promise that's all? I don't want to tell you how to do it if you're going to tell them I'm up here." Minerva lifted her head to look her friend in the eye, checking for signs of deception.

Rolanda smiled sympathetically. "Promise. I can tell you don't want to be seen right now. That said, I hope you can understand why I have no plans to leave you alone. But whatever you need—someone to listen, someone just to sit with you—I'll stay up as long as it takes. I mean it."

As long as it takes? That might be forever. I certainly don't deserve that much time, Minerva thought. "Why are you doing this for me?" she asked.

"Lots of reasons. But put simply, because you're my friend, Min."

Minerva eyed Rolanda curiously but cautiously. She decided to trust her. "Okay. I can try to teach you."

Albus paced the office—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He'd been doing this long enough to annoy Pomona, who claimed she was getting dizzy looking at him and chose to turn away. Poppy did her own version of pacing: sweeping out the door to check on Filius, poking her head out to the corridors leading to the Hospital Wing entrance, and returning to her seat in her office.

Poppy had just sat down after what seemed like the hundredth repeat of her routine when the wispy shape of a badger dashed into the room.

"I found her. She's safe. She's feeling a bit self-conscious right now, so I'll take care of her until she's ready to return. I promise I'll bring her back," Rolanda's voice spoke.

Despite the news, Albus felt little relief. "Where are they? Why didn't she say? And 'self-conscious'—do you suppose that's a euphemism for one of her anxiety episodes, Poppy? Because I will find it hard not to be frustrated if she truly is just 'a bit self-conscious' if I'm honest."

"I don't know, Albus, but at least we know she's not alone," Poppy said.

"For what it's worth, I'd trust Ro's judgment on this," Pomona said softly, as if unsure her opinion would hold weight with present company—particularly with her boss in his current state.

Albus continued to pace. "I just want to know, to see for myself, that she's okay. Why did she run off in the first place? And if she's hurting, then why didn't she come to one of us? Where the hell did she go instead?" He asked these questions aloud, but really, he was riddled with guilt over one question: What if she felt like she couldn't ask for help?

"I should have paid her more attention tonight. She didn't even want to drink at all, but I pushed her to go to the party anyway. I should have asked how she was feeling after she'd had a drink, or at least after she had a few. Instead, I believed that she was as blissfully carefree as she looked, even though I knew it was from the alcohol. It wasn't real.

"What if she drank so much because she found her way back down to a bad place? Or could the alcohol have sent her there? Should we have tried to talk to her instead of waiting until morning? Poppy, are we too late?" His voice trembled more and more with every sentence.

"Albus, sit down. I'm this close to giving you a Calming Draught," Poppy said firmly. "I'm worried about Minerva, too, but we're not too late. She's in good hands with Rolanda. We'll talk to her when she gets back here. She'll need us to keep it together."

Reluctantly, Albus lowered himself into the empty chair in front of Poppy's desk. He trusted Rolanda, of course, but he wasn't sure that she knew just what she'd gotten herself into.

As if reading his mind, Pomona spoke up with words of confidence about the flying instructor. "I told Ro everything I knew about Minerva's troubles before we went to bed. If Minerva's hurt or ill, then she would have brought her down here immediately. She certainly won't let Minerva get hurt now—if there's one thing she walked away with from our conversation, it's the determination to help Min get better. You know why she came back here to work, right?"

"Vaguely," Albus said, while Poppy nodded gravely.

"Well, Ro already lost the closest person to her to an invisible foe. She refuses to let that happen with Minerva," Pomona said. She dropped her shoulders and looked sadly into the headmaster's shining blue eyes. "If there's anyone who knows how you feel, it's probably Rolanda."

Albus studied Pomona and then turned his gaze to Poppy. They looked concerned, certainly, but still they remained calm. Why was it so hard for him to keep his composure? He shimmied his chair closer to the desk and rested his forehead upon it. "I think I need more chocolate."

A badger. She really is a Hufflepuff, Minerva thought as she watched the Patronus glide down the stairwell. She recalled something Albus said when he taught her to send messages via the Patronus Charm.

"Not all Animagi have a matching Patronus, but you do—down to the glasses markings around the eyes. I suppose that makes you your own most powerful protector, Minerva. Not that I'm surprised—you truly are quite a powerful witch; I wouldn't want to cross you."

At the time, Minerva blushed; the so-called Greatest Wizard of the Age called her powerful. Now, she didn't feel powerful, and she certainly didn't feel like she could protect herself. It seemed she needed protection from herself.

If I am my 'most powerful protector,' then does that also make me my 'most formidable foe'? she wondered. If she could believe that she was as strong as Albus had claimed, then she might not feel so upset that she needed backup in the battle against herself. But I'm not. I'm weak. I'm—

"What's the last thing you remember?" Rolanda asked, cutting through Minerva's thoughts.

"…From the party?"

"Yes."

"Filius asked if Albus and I are a couple," she said flatly.

"I suppose that was before you two got loud because I don't remember overhearing that part of your conversation. That must have been long before Filius passed out."

Filius passed out? Was he in the Hospital Wing, too?

"What happened to me?"

"You were standing on a chair when we left, and you showed up at the Hospital Wing on your feet. I can't speak for how Albus got you there from the Staff Room, though. He brought you after Pomona and I carried Filius over."

At least I'm not the only obviously irresponsible member of the staff, Minerva thought, feeling marginally less ashamed.

"How pissed off was Poppy?"

"Poppy doesn't get pissed off, just exasperated. More so with Fil, I'm sure. She was quite patient with you from what I saw when she and I helped you into bed."

"You helped me to bed? How did you get that job and not Albus?"

"Honestly? I lost a game of Parchment, Scissors, Stone to Pomona. Someone had to stay with you while we sent Albus to talk to Poppy. It was a good thing he brought you because you quickly deteriorated."

"Damn, did I pass out, too?" This is humiliating. The little shame she lost had come back to her.

"Not quite. You were wobbly, sick, and incoherent by the time Poppy was finished tending to Filius, but you were still conscious. If it makes you feel better, it was just the six of us in the Hospital Wing, and you did make it to the loo before you lost your liquor. I did have to hold you up by the end, though."

No, that does not make me feel better. I think it simply doesn't make me feel worse.

"Min?"

"Hm?"

"I feel like I should warn you that you're going to find them worried about you not just because you got plastered and escaped from the Hospital Wing. You said some things that I don't think you remember."

Fuck. "What did I say?"

"Min, you confessed to Filius that you overdosed in a suicide attempt."

For fuck's sake, I drunkenly dumped my depression on Filius? Why did I let myself get so far gone? She was mortified, somehow even more so upon her next realization: This is how Ro found out. She knows. She knows now.

"…Then I suppose it doesn't look very good to you that I'm up here." Her voice was small, just like she felt.

"No, it doesn't," Rolanda said solemnly. "We all love you, okay?"

Minerva pulled one of the blankets over her head and tried to squeeze herself into a tighter ball. If it weren't for the hangover, she'd make herself a cat right now and curl up with her face behind her paws and tail.

"I'm sure that telling you about what you said won't make you want to return any sooner, but I thought you should know. I don't want you to go in there blind."

Rolanda was right; this was yet another alarming act she didn't want to explain. How could she explain? She didn't even remember doing it, so how could she recall the reason for saying it? Her heart started to race. She was sweating beneath the blankets. It was suddenly too hot. She tried to shake off her covers to cool down.

"Min, what are you doing? It's freezing up here, and you're not exactly dressed."

"I feel hot, Ro."

"Okay, well, keep one on at least. Do you want some water?"

Minerva nodded and obeyed, keeping just one blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. Surely, Rolanda would further cover her again when she finished Conjuring a glass of water.

"Thanks," Minerva murmured, sipping on the cool liquid. It did help somewhat; after all, she probably could use the hydration.

"Better?" Rolanda asked.

Minerva waited before responding. Her heart still seemed to beat too rapidly. Now she felt both hot and cold, and perhaps she had finished drinking too quickly. Her hands visibly shook when she wandlessly Vanished her empty glass.

"I—I think I need to lie down," she said.

"Okay." She lifted the big blanket so that Minerva could shift positions. "Between the alcohol and—I assume—the anxiety, I imagine you're not feeling very well."

Minerva shook her head. She was exhausted: the peculiar sort of tiredness left behind after coming down—or up, arguably—from the urge to take one's own life, yet not really wanting to be alive, either. She wished she could sleep and not necessarily never wake up, but rather wake up and find that tonight hadn't happened. Dealing with the consequences of her decisions didn't seem desirable; in fact, she dreaded the idea of going back to the Hospital Wing. Unless she could muster the courage, she expected to stay put until the hangover symptoms outweighed her hang-ups about facing Albus and Poppy.

Perhaps the need for body heat—or simply human touch—was too great, because despite her insecurities about her worth, Minerva chose to lay her head in Rolanda's lap. She felt her friend cover her with their shared blanket again. Even though they were literally cuddling, she somehow felt that Ro wasn't coddling her. She told her straight what had happened and that they all were worried about her. She gave her the information and was giving her time that she needed prepare herself mentally. And she wasn't trying to comfort her with platitudes or promises that everything would be okay when they returned.

Where did Ro find the patience for this? Is this what she meant when she said that she used to stay up comforting Joanna? Minerva found herself crying again. If I hadn't found five minutes to hesitate, I could have been yet another dead friend in her life.

"I'm sorry you found out like this," she murmured.

Rolanda laid a hand on Minerva's shoulder. "There's no good way to find out about this, Min, but you're right that overhearing a drunken confession is probably not one of the better ways. I forgive you, of course, and although I'm not glad that you're going through this, I am glad that I know now." She paused. "And I'm glad you stopped yourself before going out onto the tower."

Minerva felt her face flush. While she was somewhat relieved that she didn't have to say explicitly why she'd gone up the Astronomy Tower, she felt a deep sense of shame that she got so hopeless again. Why am I still so weak? I wake up hungover in the Hospital Wing, and this is how I handle it? Her quiet tears turned to gasping sobs, and she felt Rolanda's hand stroke her arm gently through the blankets.

Somehow the small, silent gesture of comfort made Minerva feel less sick—or less anxious, at least. It did nothing to ease her existing alcohol-induced issues. Her headache had gotten worse, her mouth was dry, and her stomach was all sorts of upset. Despite her reservations, she thought that she might have little choice but to head back soon. She was in no rush to face what awaited her there, but the Hospital Wing did have a few more amenities than the top of the Astronomy Tower stairwell, which her body would appreciate.

"Ro?" she asked sheepishly.

"Yes?"

"If I told you that I need to go to the toilet, would you make me return to the Hospital Wing, or would you let me use a nearby ladies' room?"

"You know that I'd prefer to take you back to Poppy, but I might take you to the nearest girls' lavatory depending on how badly you need to go and how badly you don't want to go back."

Minerva sighed. "I suppose I could go back," she mumbled, somewhat annoyed that so mundane a motivation could convince her to head back to the Hospital Wing. "I'm going to try to sit up."

"Okay." Rolanda lifted her arm and the large blanket. "Do you want to continue to wear the blanket, or would you like to borrow my cloak? I can cast a light Warming Charm on it first; it's probably cold from being on the floor."

Minerva closed her eyes and muttered, "Cloak," after she managed to raise herself into a seated position. She rested the back of her head against the wall and felt her coverings disappear. They were immediately replaced with the cloak, which Rolanda gingerly placed over Minerva's shoulders and closed the front clasp.

"Do you want to walk down, or would you rather hang on to me while we take my broom? I'll go slowly—don't want you getting motion sickness."

I don't know how well I'd do walking all the way back down, so we may as well fly, Minerva thought. Less effort on my part, and even a slow speed will get us there faster.

"Broom."

"All right. Let me help you up."

With Rolanda's assistance, Minerva mounted the broom, looped her arms around her friend's waist from behind, and rested her chin on one of her shoulders. They took off gently. As promised, Rolanda provided a slow, smooth ride down the tower and back to the Hospital Wing, even though she steered one-handed—she held onto Minerva's entwined arms with her other hand. When they reached the double doors, Rolanda stopped and used her steering hand to reach for her wand to open the doors. Pocketing it, she resumed the flight into the infirmary.

"Could you take me to the private ward, please?" Minerva asked quietly.

Rolanda nodded, and they silently landed in front of the door adjacent to Poppy's office. Feeling poorly, Minerva leaned against the wall and shut her eyes tight, sensitive to the bright lights after spending so much time in the unlit stairwell, or maybe just from drinking so much the night before. She noticed that Rolanda still held onto her arm—as if to ensure that she didn't run away again.

"Hi," she heard Rolanda say softly.

The trio in Poppy's office leapt out of their chairs.

"Rolanda!"

They bustled toward the flying instructor, who had only popped her head into the doorway and held a finger to her lips. Albus had to restrain himself from calling out Minerva's name and barreling out of the room to throw his arms around her.

Rolanda leaned in to whisper something in the mediwitch's ear. Poppy nodded and swept out of her office. Albus tried to follow her, but she held up a hand.

"Wait," Poppy said simply. She guided Minerva by the small of her back into the private room, shutting the door behind them.

Albus was not thrilled that he had to wait before he could see Minerva, nor was he comforted by Rolanda's grim expression. He immediately bombarded her with questions. "Is she okay? What happened? Where did you find her? What have you been doing this whole time? And what did you just whisper to Poppy?"

"Let's sit down," she said.

They filed back into the office. Albus Conjured an extra chair for Rolanda—none of them granted themselves permission to sit in Poppy's seat. Albus and Pomona returned to the chairs in which they spent the past hour waiting.

"I told her, 'She doesn't want to be in the main ward. Physically, I think she's fine; she's just hungover and says she needs to use the loo,'" she recounted. "Honestly, I think that's the only reason Minerva decided to come back just now. If I knew that would be the case, then I would have given her loads of water to drink right away."

"There's a second thing that isn't so trivial, isn't there?" Pomona asked.

Rolanda suddenly looked weary. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"Well? What is it?" Albus asked impatiently, desperately needing to know what was going on.

"I said, 'Mentally, she's not okay.'" Rolanda closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself. "I found her at the top of the Astronomy Tower."

Albus swore his heart stopped for a split second. Pomona gasped but somehow managed to articulate the questions he wanted answered but was too afraid to ask.

"Ro, how—how close was she to the edge?"

"Literally? I—I don't know if she went out further before I found her, but she was sitting in the doorway out to the top of the tower, just weeping. I'd never seen her like that. She glanced up when I landed, and her eyes almost broke me. She looked… lost, not like she didn't know where she was, but like she didn't know who she was, or why she was, or if she was.

"Figuratively, I think she was damn close to the edge. I mean, she climbed all the way up the tower with nothing on her except the gown, right? And when she finally spoke? Her voice was flat and drained of emotion, of energy. I'd say it seemed like she'd given up, except something tells me that sobbing in the doorway was her fight. It was honestly a bit more frightening whenever she stopped crying. At least then I knew she felt something."

"Did she say why?" Pomona asked.

Rolanda shook her head. "I didn't ask. I think it was too raw. I just sat with her, wrapped us up in a blanket, and only occasionally said something. Eventually she started to converse a bit, which was relieving."

Albus appreciated that Rolanda read Minerva well enough to realize that she needed a rock to lean on, rather than words of reassurance or attempts at understanding. It took him a long time to learn that's what helped her most in a moment of crisis, and he needed to ignore his instincts to play the hero and try to "rescue" her from the pain.

"Do you know if she remembers what she said in the Staff Room? I mean, Albus, you suggested that she'd be distraught about that…" Pomona said.

"I did ask her that, and no, she didn't remember. She was relatively calm by the time I asked, so I told her what happened. I knew I was risking her having an anxiety attack, but I thought it would be worse if she found out down here."

"How did she handle it?" Albus asked, finally managing to speak.

"Considering the circumstances, I think she handled it well. She—I think she felt sick—beyond what the hangover is doing to her—but she told me she needed to lie down, which probably helped. She even laid her head in my lap, so I suppose she felt safe enough with me."

"So, I take it the weight of what she confessed to Filius wasn't what sent her to her dark place," Pomona mused. "Oh, the poor dear, I hate that she's hurting so much."

Me too, Albus thought. I wish I were there when she needed someone. He closed his eyes. She still needs us, he reminded himself. She's safe for now, but we need to revisit our 'in case of emergency' discussion. Alcohol is clearly off-limits now. We'll find the other risks. We'll figure out how to keep her safe. We'll help her figure out how to keep herself safe—to believe that we meant it when we made our emergency plans with her.

Author's Note: As always, thank you for reading! Hello and thank you to new story followers, and a big thank you to my reviewer(s)!