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.
Author's Note: I realize it has been several years since I last updated this story, and over a decade since I started writing it. When I finally sat down to continue the story, I decided that I would finish the remaining chapters and upload them all at once, rather than post a chapter and then not update again for an indefinite amount of time (as had been the case previously).
The companion to this story, "Fallen Lioness" (written from Minerva's perspective), was something I wrote when I was a teenager. One of the challenges of finishing this story as an adult has been to write something consistent with "Fallen Lioness" that I could be satisfied with today. My thirtysomething self would make different decisions for the original story than teenage me did. I am not rewriting "Fallen Lioness," so working with aspects of the material I wish were different has been challenging.
Anyway, if you've been with this story for a while, maybe had in your story alerts, and now you're back to finish it—it's an honor to welcome you back. If you've just found this story because it's finally been finished, welcome for the first time.
The Closest Person to Him
Chapter 6: We Have a Problem
For the third day in a row, Albus Dumbledore watched his Deputy sweep hurriedly out of the room after spending no more than ten minutes at dinner. He scrunched up his face in consternation. Earlier this week, he noticed that Minerva started to take her meals extraordinarily quickly. He never realized before that she could eat so fast! In and out of the Great Hall she flew, inhaling her food and barely speaking to anyone—Albus least of all. Every day he tried to get a word with her, but she either pretended not to hear him or managed to retreat before he got a chance.
After more than a week of frustration, Albus finally looked to Professor Dippet for advice. He sat in a chair facing the wall of portraits of former headmasters, uncharacteristically slouching.
"I have a problem, Armando."
"Oh? Just realizing this now?" the older man quipped.
Albus glared at his mentor.
"Well, they say the first step toward a solution is admitting you have a problem. Go on."
"She won't talk to me."
Dippet sighed.
"Are you surprised?"
"I suppose I shouldn't be," Albus admitted. "That doesn't make it any easier, though. What am I supposed to do? I can't even get her attention long enough to apologize."
Dippet pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Albus."
"Me too," Albus grumbled. "You know, I finally get my head out of my arse, and it doesn't even seem to matter! She starts to give me the silent treatment as soon as I'm ready not to be an insensitive bastard!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Granted, she has no reason to believe that I'm trying to be better."
"I know you're frustrated," Dippet said softly, "but unfortunately, I don't have any answers for you."
"I thought you might say that," the younger man murmured. "Thanks for listening, Armando."
"Any time, my boy."
Albus flashed a weak smile and retired to his bedroom. After changing into a brightly colored flannel pajama set, he climbed into bed and slipped under the covers. He pulled off his glasses and turned to put them on his crescent-shaped nightstand. It was then he noticed that something was missing.
Propped up on one elbow, he yanked the picture frame off his nightstand and brought it close to his face. His favorite photograph, which once showed Minerva and him engaged in a happy conversation, now showed a lone man, with no one to offer a lemon drop for the millionth time. There was no trace of Minerva.
No, his can't be right, he told himself, although his eyes obviously did not deceive him. He tried to look at it with and without his glasses, as if that would make a difference. Conceding that he indeed saw just fine, he shook his head in dismay.
Albus reluctantly replaced the frame on the table, staring at in disbelief, and shakily put his glasses down next to it. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. That photograph used to show one of his favorite memories. Now, even in an old image of a good time, Minerva avoided him.
He flopped onto his back. Was he too late to fix things? She was the furthest she'd ever been from him, and he wanted desperately to reach her again. He flipped onto his stomach and stuffed his face into the pillows.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, Albus thought on repeat. His chest tightened, and he didn't know if he wanted to cry or scream. How the hell did I let this happen?
He mulled over the past month dozens upon dozens of times before a fitful sleep finally overtook him.
The next day, Albus resigned to observing Minerva quietly, just to see how she was doing. Maybe if he backed off for a while, she would be more open to talking eventually. Perhaps she needed the space he never really gave her after the night he broke her heart.
He arrived at dinner after she did. When he pulled his chair out to sit down, he could have sworn he saw her gripping her wand under the table. Puzzled, he decided to keep a closer eye on her throughout the rest of the meal. But all he noticed was that she pushed around her food in the gaps between bites and never looked up from her plate. And, like the past several days, she left hastily.
What the hell was she doing with her wand? Albus wondered. Although it was possible he was mistaken, he felt quite certain that he saw her left hand in her lap, holding on tightly to her wand. At that detail, he became more confused. Isn't she right-handed?
He must have worn a peculiar expression because one of his colleagues broke his thoughts.
"Er, Albus? Albus Dumbledore? Hello? Is something the matter?" Professor Sprout poked him across the table with a fork.
The headmaster shook his head quickly.
"Oh—no, no, just thinking," he said distractedly.
Sprout eyed him curiously.
"All right, just checking." She returned to her meal and appeared engaged in listening to the conversation between Professors Flitwick and Vector, with whom she had been speaking previously.
"Actually—wait, Pomona," Albus said after a minute.
"Yes?"
"May I speak with you after dinner?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you."
Troubling thoughts entered Albus's mind. Had his eyes not deceived him, he could think of few reasons for Minerva to want her wand at dinner. None of the explanations seemed particularly positive or particularly plausible. In fact, they all seemed bizarre. She wasn't about to hex her colleagues secretly, and she probably wasn't anticipating a mad ax-murderer to fall out of the ceiling. This was Minerva McGonagall, the feet on the ground to his head in the clouds. She wasn't generally a prankster, and she wasn't paranoid, as far as he knew. The only other thing he could think of was something—foolish, maybe? She wouldn't do something foolish.
"Ready to go?"
Startled, the headmaster swung his head around toward the direction of the voice.
"Yes, of course, Pomona." He quickly folded up the napkin in his lap and placed it on the table. "Let's go."
"Where are we going, exactly?"
"Er—to the grounds? The greenhouses? Outside—let's go outside."
"All right, then." Professor Sprout transfigured her robes into a cloak, while Albus mindlessly walked toward the front doors, not bothering to change his robes into something warmer, despite the approaching winter.
The two stepped onto the cool grass outside the castle. Albus continued to walk without thinking, and Pomona followed his aimless lead. Eventually they came to a stop when Albus plunged his foot into the Black Lake. With a yelp, he leapt backward onto solid ground.
"At the risk of stating the obvious, you seem distracted," Pomona said, as the absent-minded man wrung out the hem of his robes. "What's the matter?"
Albus sighed and ran a long, bony hand over his face.
"It's Minerva."
The shorter witch raised her eyebrows quizzically.
"If this is about her still being upset with you, then I don't know why you're surprised—"
"No! It's not that," Albus cut her off, distinctly reminded of his earlier conversation with Armando. "Let's sit down."
He ventured toward a large rock just at the shores of the lake and settled down. Professor Sprout found a similar rock nearby and sat on it.
"I'm worried about her," he said, staring off into the distance. "I thought maybe you would know if something were going on with her."
"What do you mean?
"I—I feel like something's wrong. I hoped you would know something I don't—that maybe she confided in you. Not that I expect you to tell me about it if she did—but I suppose I'd feel better if I knew that someone knew what's wrong."
"I'm sorry, Albus. She hasn't talked to me lately."
"Nor to me."
"What's got you suspicious, anyway?"
"I—I thought I saw something today. Have you noticed how quickly she takes her meals lately?"
"No, I—I hadn't noticed, actually, but now that you mention it, I suppose I haven't seen much of her in the Great Hall."
"Does that worry you?"
"Should it? She's eating, isn't she?"
"That's just it! I don't know if she is, Pomona."
Professor Sprout shot her colleague a sharp look.
"You think she's starving herself?"
"I—I don't know." He didn't like the sound of it. Starving. "She wouldn't, would she?"
"I wouldn't expect it of her. Have you considered that maybe she just hasn't had an appetite lately? Surely someone would have noticed if she wasn't eating at all."
Albus stroked his beard in thought. Pomona was probably right. He didn't have any actual evidence for his suspicions. Minerva's plate was always at least partially full when he arrived and empty when she left. He noticed that much. But how did she eat it all so fast? He couldn't calm the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.
"She had her wand out under the table today."
"What?"
"She had her wand out at dinner. I swear I saw her clutching it in her lap under the table."
Pomona scrunched her face up in confusion.
"That's odd."
"I know. When I thought about why she would, I had a thought that worried me. I wondered—and I know it sounds mad—I wondered if she was using it to Vanish her food."
Pomona's eyes narrowed.
"That's a serious accusation, Albus."
Albus felt his heart sink. He felt like he was describing Minerva like some sort of miscreant or outlaw—like she was breaking the rules and she would be punished. She could do whatever she damn well pleased with her meals! What gave him the right to police her habits?
"I know," Albus said, "and all I have is speculation. I'm overreacting."
"No, Albus—you just suggested that she's intentionally and secretively not eating. If you're really concerned, then you need to tell Poppy."
"What! I can't tell Poppy!" Albus exclaimed. "Minerva will kill me if I'm wrong. She'll probably kill me even if I'm right."
"Then what are you going to do? If you'd suspected a student of the same behavior, you'd tell Poppy right away."
"Watch her? Make sure I'm right? This is Minerva. She's an adult. It's different."
"Fine. Then I'll keep an eye on her, too. But Albus, you're going to have to do something if your suspicions are confirmed."
"I know. You're right. But I wish she would just talk to me. I would much rather confront her than scrutinize her every move only to report her to Poppy."
"I suppose it is troubling that she is not speaking to you or to anyone, it seems."
"I don't think I'd be half as worried if she were, Pomona."
As promised, Albus sought to verify or refute his concerns about Minerva. This time he planned to arrive at breakfast after her, since he learned from his later arrival at dinner the night before that he could readily see her hand under the table as he sat down. Minerva was a creature of habit, so he could plan his departure time such that he reached the Great Hall just moments after she would sit down.
His timing was perfect. And once again, he saw her left hand clutching her wand in her lap. That she used her non-dominant hand still puzzled him, but perhaps she simply found it easier than doing wandless magic. Or maybe he never realized that she's ambidextrous. Whatever the reason, Albus wanted to find out what she was doing with her wand.
He tried to eat while stealing frequent glances at Minerva's plate. He took a swig of pumpkin juice whenever she did and side-eyed her discreetly. She kept her eyes focused on her fork, and he followed her gaze. Suddenly, he saw her food disappear from the fork just as she was about to put it in her mouth! Albus had to restrain himself from shouting in surprise.
Bloody hell, I was right! I was right, Albus thought, gobsmacked. At first he felt triumphant for predicting correctly, but then the implications filled him with dread. He glanced over to Pomona Sprout for any reaction. Nothing. Maybe she wasn't watching. He looked around the table. No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. How has nobody seen this?
Far too quickly, Minerva's plate was nearly empty, and he was quite certain she did not actually consume it all. He saw the last bit disappear right before his eyes, while she put an empty fork into her mouth and pretended to chew. She did it so casually, as if no one could see her.
What if no one can see? Could she be using some sort of Concealing Charm? Or can I only see because I'm next to her? Albus thought. She must have hoped I wouldn't notice. Or maybe she didn't care if I noticed? Or thought that I wouldn't care even if I did notice?
Whatever the case, he was troubled by what he saw. Instinctively, he shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and rose to follow Minerva, who had gotten up and left while the pieces were clicking into place in his mind. She had already gone out of the Great Hall by the time he stood to leave, so he wasn't sure that he could catch up to her. He wasn't even prepared to catch up to her. What would he say? He stopped when he reached the corridor. She was already out of sight anyway.
At a loss, Albus returned to his office. He had to think about what to do about Minerva, and he thought better voicing his mind aloud. He turned to the portraits.
"She has a problem, Armando."
"Aside from the one she has with you?" quipped the portrait.
"Dammit, Armando, yes," he snapped. "She isn't eating."
The former headmaster raised his eyebrows.
"At all?"
"I don't know. I suppose she's eating some, but she's been Vanishing her meals. I saw her do it this morning, and I don't think this is the first time."
Dippet looked pensive.
"Why would she do that?"
"I don't know. I'm really worried about her, Armando."
"I can see that, but unfortunately, I don't know what to tell you."
Albus nodded.
"Sorry for snapping at you." He looked down glumly. "I can't just watch her do it."
"No, you can't," Dippet said quietly. "But, Albus, I think this might be beyond you."
Albus sank into his desk chair and put his head in his hands, swearing under his breath.
Is Armando right? Am I out of my depth?
Albus felt his stomach twist anxiously. Then Pomona's words echoed in his head:
If you're really concerned, then you need to tell Poppy.