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.

The Closest Person to Him

Chapter 8: Up All Night

"You're still here?"

Albus dropped his hands to his lap and looked up from his spot on the floor. Madam Pomfrey finally emerged from Minerva's hospital room.

"I can't leave her, Poppy."

"Then you're probably going to want a seat."

His breath caught in his throat.

"I am already seated," he said nervously, bracing himself for the worst.

"I meant a chair, Albus. It's going to be a while."

He released the breath he was holding.

"Bloody hell, Poppy! Usually in these situations, 'take a seat' means 'get ready for bad news'—I thought you were going to tell me something horrible."

"Sorry about that. It's good you're here, though. We need to talk in my office," Poppy said. "Do you need a hand?"

"Yes, please." He picked up his long-discarded hat in one hand and took Poppy's in his other as leverage to rise to his feet. They filed into the mediwitch's office located adjacent to the private ward in which Minerva lay.

"Accio Minerva McGonagall's medical records," Poppy spoke upon arrival at her desk. A storage chest behind her opened on its own, and out flew a scroll of parchment directly into her hand. She unrolled the scroll, appeared to look for a particular piece of information, and then set the parchment down. "Right, I wanted to be sure before I told you anything—she listed you for medical power of attorney. You're aware of this?"

Albus nodded. When Minerva became Deputy Headmistress, they agreed to grant each other the right to make certain decisions on the other's behalf if one became incapacitated. He never imagined that he would have to use that power for self-inflicted incapacitation.

"All right. There's a procedure I want to perform, but I need to ask you first."

"I'm sure I'll agree—I know you have Minerva's best interests in mind. What is it?"

"I know this may sound frightening: I want to put her into a magically-induced coma. If I do, I'll also need to provide magical assistance for her breathing. I would keep her in this state for as little as six hours or for as long as forty-eight hours.

"There are risks involved, but I believe if we don't do it, there's a great likelihood that she'll suffer long-term neurological effects. Magically inducing a coma can help protect her brain. In addition to monitoring her heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature, and respiratory rate, I would also monitor her brain activity."

At least she warned me that I'd be frightened this time, Albus thought, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Coma" was not a word he was prepared to hear.

"If you agree to this plan, then you can sign this document," Poppy said, Summoning another scroll of parchment from a different storage chest.

Albus nodded silently. He felt numb.

"Whatever you think is best," he murmured, as he shakily picked up a quill on Poppy's desk and scrawled his name. The parchment immediately rolled itself up when he finished his signature.

"Thank you, Albus. I've got work to do."

The mediwitch swept away to Minerva's room. Albus followed to the corridor, and, following the advice he received earlier, conjured a chair. He lowered himself into the squashy purple armchair and stared blankly at the wall.

"No, thank you, Poppy."

Albus was still seated in his chair, gaze also still fixed on the blank wall in front of him, when Poppy re-emerged from Minerva's room.

"All right there, Albus?"

"Is she?"

"Things went about as well as I could hope, if that's what you mean."

Albus bobbed his head up and down.

"It's past one. You should probably get some rest," Poppy said.

"Not until after she wakes."

Poppy cocked her head and offered a sympathetic look.

"I thought you might say that. Do you recall that I said it might be two days?"

"I don't care. If she's fighting for her life, then I can stay awake. You're not sleeping, are you?"

"True," Poppy conceded. "That's because I'll be checking on her every hour, or sooner if an alarm tells me there's a problem."

"Is that likely?"

"What? That there's a problem?"

Albus nodded.

"There's always a chance," Poppy said, "but it was good that she got here quickly. She's lucky you were there."

Albus laughed sardonically. He was no hero.

"Or maybe she'd be safe in her rooms. She wouldn't have even had the potion anymore if it weren't for me."

Poppy narrowed her eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"She was going to Vanish it, but I stopped her. If I let her, then this wouldn't have happened. It's all my fault." He offered another wry laugh in attempt to hold back tears. "To think I was worried about her Vanishing things that she was supposed to consume."

"Albus, while I am confused about a few things you just said and have some questions I want to ask you, I first want to emphasize that this is not your fault. You didn't force-feed her the potion."

Although he cognitively understood that Poppy was right and he shouldn't blame himself, emotionally he felt at fault.

"Second, what is this about her Vanishing things?"

Albus took a deep breath. He spent the previous day fretting over how he was going to tell her that he was worried about Minerva's behavior. He even wondered if he was overreacting and making something out of nothing. Now it was obvious he wasn't.

"I was actually on my way to tell you about this when I ran into Minerva."

"I'm going to need to take a seat, aren't I?"

Albus followed her back into her office and joined her at the desk. He told her about his suspicions that she wasn't eating enough and his realization that she had been Vanishing her meals in the Great Hall. He shared that he expressed his concerns to Pomona Sprout, who informed him that she also hadn't heard much from Minerva lately.

"So, she wasn't eating, and she was isolating herself," Poppy summarized, consternation spread over her face. "And what happened yesterday evening when you found her?"

Albus tried to recount the last night's events as matter-of-factly as possible, in an effort to get through it all without breaking down. Maybe if he could detach himself from his emotions, then he could tell Poppy everything she needed to know before dissolving in tears.

"And then she said, 'I can't take this anymore,' and she—she—" He couldn't finish.

Poppy handed him a box of tissues just as sobs began to wrack his body. Despite himself, he looked up when she, too, sniffed loudly—her face was tear-streaked as she appeared to update Minerva's medical file. He shouldn't have eavesdropped, but his eyes fixated on two words in the latest entry next to yesterday's date: Suicide attempt.

Two more words he wasn't prepared for. Again, he cognitively recognized that Poppy was right, but emotionally…

Emotionally, "suicide" and "Minerva" were two words he couldn't associate with each other.

Did she really want to die?

Suddenly, he heard a screeching sound as Poppy's chair scraped across the floor. She stood up and said, "I'm going to go check on Minerva. If things look okay, would you like to see her afterward?"

Albus perked up.

"I can see her?"

"Well, I have to check things out first, but if everything is going as planned, then yes—if you want, that is. I should warn you that it might be a bit overwhelming at first."

Albus nodded. Of course he wanted to see her. Perhaps this would help him get his most recent vision of Minerva out of his head: on a stretcher, breathing erratically, her body apparently attempting to reject the potion-turned-poison.

The dose makes the poison.

"All right—when I get back, I'll let you know if you can see her."

But what if this new vision were worse? Would Poppy preface a visit as "overwhelming" if it wouldn't involve a difficult sight? He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen someone in a magically-induced coma before.

"Are you ready?"

"I hope so."

Madam Pomfrey led the Headmaster to the room next door.

"As I said, you might feel a little overwhelmed—this level of care is usually done at St. Mungo's, but something told me Minerva wouldn't have wanted to be transferred. And since I've had the training…"

If she continued, Albus didn't hear her. Minerva was visibly stabilized by several enchantments and tethered to various peculiar devices. Each of these devices seemed to correspond to a bewitched quill recording some sort of data on a specialized sheet of parchment suspended in midair—some with numbers, others with symbols he didn't recognize. Most jarring was the mask over her ghostly pale face, hooked up to one of the unfamiliar contraptions, which Albus surmised provided her with the magical breathing assistance Poppy had mentioned earlier.

Underneath it all lay a shell of the usually formidable professor, clad in a hospital gown and partially covered by a crisp white sheet. She looked smaller than he remembered. Was it because she lacked the bulk of her emerald green robes, because she was dwarfed by the hospital equipment, or was she truly a fraction of who she used to be?

How did we get to this point? How did I let this happen?

"Albus?"

What if we can't wake her? What if she can't survive without—without all this?

"Albus!"

He bolted. He thought he could handle it. He thought he was stronger than this. But Poppy was right—he was overwhelmed—and she found him getting sick in the Hospital Wing lavatory.

"I know it's tough to see," she said, rubbing circles on his back with one hand and holding his long white beard and hair back with her wand.

"How do you do it, Poppy?" Albus croaked after rinsing his mouth at the sink and returning to his purple chair outside Minerva's room.

"It's my job," she said simply, although Albus thought she was overly modest. This had to take a toll on her like it did him.

"I'm worried, too, if that's what you're asking," she added gently.

Albus nodded.

"I feel useless."

"You got her here, didn't you? And you managed to send me a Patronus first."

"That was all adrenaline," he said, "and now I'm exhausted."

"And this is compartmentalization," Poppy said, "and soon—for nights like these—coffee. If you're not going to sleep, do you want some?"

Albus shook his head.

"No, thank you. It will just heighten my anxiety."

"Understandable," Poppy said. "Well, while I make myself coffee, would you like me to get you a cup of tea? I can add a little Draught of Peace to it."

"You're not also going to slip me some Sleeping Draught, are you?"

"No, Albus," Poppy said. "I can't complain about having company if I'm going to be up all night."

"Then, yes, please. Tea sounds lovely."

The Draught of Peace helped, although Albus did need a supplemental Calming Draught after trying to visit Minerva second time. He decided that the best he could do was wait in his squashy armchair outside her room.

"I'm not leaving until she's awake."

"Albus, even if I think she's ready to wake up next time, she's not going to be up and alert right away," Poppy said after her five o' clock check-in with Minerva. "It's a Monday, and you're still Headmaster of this school. You're going to have to leave eventually."

"Not today. Filius is Acting Headmaster—or he will be as soon as I tell him. May I use your fireplace?"

"Are you going to fire-call him at this hour?"

"He needs to know before breakfast, doesn't he? That's when he's going to announce that Transfiguration classes are canceled today."

"Fine—go ahead." Poppy picked up her third cup of coffee for the day and allowed Albus use of her office. He pointed his wand at dark fireplace.

"Incendio."

Albus tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fire, shouting, "Filius Flitwick's quarters!" When the flames changed color, he shoved his head through space to find himself peering into the living space of the Ravenclaw House Head.

"Filius! I know it's early, but it's urgent," he called.

The tiny Charms Master appeared in his nightclothes, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yes, Albus? What is it?"

"First, I need you to be Acting Headmaster today. Then I need you to cancel all Transfiguration classes for the day."

"Me? What about Min—" Flitwick began, when it dawned on him: "If you need me to take over as Headmaster, and Transfiguration classes are canceled, then there is a reason Minerva can't do either of these things."

Albus nodded gravely.

"Is she all right?" Flitwick squeaked, the drowsiness in his face replaced by concern.

For some reason, Albus did not quite prepare himself for this part of the fire-call. He needed to convey the seriousness of the situation while also respecting Minerva's privacy. That might have been the easy part. The hard part was to avoid losing his composure while sharing the vague news.

"She's in the Hospital Wing."

Flitwick gasped. It didn't help Albus that the younger wizard tended to be quite emotionally expressive.

"What happened?"

Albus closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line. Too much had happened in the past twelve hours. In his mind's eye, he saw her overdose in slow motion. He saw her fall unconscious in the corridor. He saw her in a hospital bed, relying on magic to breathe.

"She's ill," the older wizard managed. "Please, can you do this for me, Filius?"

"Of course, Albus. Tell her I hope she feels better soon."

Albus bit his lip and nodded, pulling back through the fire without saying goodbye. He'd tell her, certainly.

But first she needs to wake up.