Rumored Nervous Breakdown

Monday is here too soon, and I am terrified of being in front of a class. Every possible scenario of disaster runs rampant in my head, and it is not helping my case of stage fright.

Will I have a seizure in class, what will the students ask if they notice that my hands shake due to nerve damage, or what to do if I have a panic attack?

"Get a grip Nell!"

"4 September, 1995" I decide to write on the chalk board, because it gives me something to do with my hands before the students pack in at 9:45. My first lesson is a pretest, and I am afraid of the students failing the exam. The community is in more danger of its lack of information than Voldemort.

"Hem, hem," Dolores gags, as she walks into the room. Her vocalization rings throughout the empty classroom. I choose to ignore her in hopes that she will go away.

"Since when did Hogwarts sponsor an Augury breeding program?"

"Hem, hem. Eleanor, a word please," she says with her simpering voice.

"What now, Dolores," I say with a tone of irritation.

"Just what I need, the 'Princess in the Puke Colored Cardigan' in my face on the first day of school before classes begin."

"Eleanor, I must warn you not to mention your fantasy of You-Know-Who's return," Dolores says like a person chastising a puppy for wetting on the carpet. When she finishes this lame monologue, she spins on her heel and walks to the door.

"Dolores!" I yell to get her attention, and she stops in the doorway to face me. "What are you planning to teach in the defense class? I know what you could teach them: the ability to jump in front of Voldemort's wand and say, 'Oh, look at the pretty green light rushing towards me.'"

Dolores attempts to make a stand, but she is cut off by the ringing of the bell to begin class and waddles off to her classroom. I am sure she is plotting a satisfactory way of punishing me for my cheek, and I think it will be very nasty.

I have a talent for pulling myself together quickly after a confrontation, and I feel this is due to my days as an Auror. One lapse in concentration could cost your life or of another innocent person.

The Fifth years file through the door, and take their seats in the classroom. I decide to call role to and collect myself. I hit the "G's" on the list to see the name, "Gregory Goyle." The fun does not stop at the "G's," the real entertainment is in the form of the "P's." Pansy Parkinson of Slytherin is sitting ten feet from me.

"Ok, Nell, you have survived the first ten minutes and there are only ten months to go."

Standing in front of the class, I switch into "Supervisor From Hell" mode and decide to approach the pretest discussion as if I were doing an evaluation on a person being sacked.

The pretest took nearly the entire period, because the questions were intensely detail oriented.

1. What do the letters in the following items stand for?

VCR -

ATM-

CD-

DNA-

CPU-

ROM-

2. What is the function of a rubber duck?

The results of the pretest were not promising; the students do not have a clue of the ever-changing Muggle world.

Gregory Goyle's test was the most creative.

1. What do the letters in the following items stand for?

VCR - Very Cool Ravenclaw

ATM- Augury Training Program

CD- Cannons are Dumb

DNA- Do Not Apparate

CPU- Crippled Person Underground

ROM- Respect Our Ministry

2. What is the function of a rubber duck?

This is a Muggle attack animal used to chase wizards when they knock at the door.

I am so proud of my first class, because I did not end up on the floor convulsing or committed to St. Mungo's in a straight jacket.

The rest of the day passes with little incident, and I want to take poor Ozzy out for a ride before dinner. Ozzy is overjoyed at the prospect of a quick run through the grounds. I do not have the energy to work on serious training. Saddling up, I decide to ride past the Quidditch pitch and take a look at Gryffindor's team at practice.

Ozzy did not have many chances to ride outside of an arena when I kept him at a stable near London. My elderly horse is bounding up and down the hill with the same enthusiasm as a horse half his age. He gives me the ability to shed my limitations set by my body. It takes me half and hour to make it to the pitch in one piece. He seems to be developing a problem with stopping, and we almost take off across the field.

"Damn it, Ozzy!" I yell, pulling as hard on the bridle. It is difficult to stop a three-quarter of a ton of horse with a piece of metal the width of a pencil. The last time Ozzy became too wound up, he dumped me in a hedge next to a highway.

"Ozzy! Ozzy get your head on straight, and knock it off!" I shout. Ozzy is giving the Gryffindor team quite a show as he gives a series of rears. He normally decides it is not worth the effort, and he will settle down eventually. Unfortunately, the week off has left him energy to burn; I am paying dearly for my neglect.

"What a great way to make an impression, Ding Bat!" I bellow. I am so angry when he acts like this.

"I guess he wants to run across the pitch as much as I would like to do. Rolanda Hooch would not be happy if she found divots from Ozzy's shoes on the field."

I manage to get back to the barn in one piece. Ozzy is exhausted from his "toddler moment." He is sweaty and heaving like an asthmatic hippogriff. It is long after dark when I return from the stable, because I have a ritual of making sure his tack is spotless. It takes every ounce of willpower to do a proper job.

I don't think I will change out of my boots to walk back to the castle. I am too tired, and I am starving. Filch will have to get over my muddy boot prints, and the dirt cast off by my spurs. I am wondering how long I have been out on my hack, but I realize my watch is missing.

"Damn, I left my watch in the office."

As I leave the Entrance Hall, I check to be sure Filch is not paying attention.

"Thank goodness he is Squib, because there is nothing like an angry wizard wielding a mop."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Norris by streaking down the hall in the direction of my office. I have a funny feeling about this. Several doors away from my classroom, I run into Argus Filch.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Filch?" I ask.

"No professor, good night," he mumbles under his breath as he walks away.

When I enter the office, I notice several drawers open and books on the floor. My heart is in my throat as I check for any missing papers, and I am relieved to find everything as I have left it. I begin to feel that creepy feeling that haunted me after I was cut down. I felt everyone was after me, and there was no place to hide.

"I cannot keep looking over my shoulder, but I do not want to leave mum to pick up the pieces."

It's Friday, and I am so exhausted from the volley of jerks in my arms. This is my normal warning of an impending seizure, but I manage to drag through my classes by giving the students a book assignment instead of a normal activity. I make it to the staff meeting late, and I open the door to the staff room to see that Dolores is on center stage. She is giving the same pathetic diatribe, this time without publicly insulting us; however, she adds dire warnings about discussing Voldemort.

I am managing to tune her out, but I keep wondering what she is planning for my punishment. I am thinking about who will be involved in carrying it out. Suddenly, the thought is interrupted by the prospect of Filch breaking into my office.

"What will he find and what will Dolores do if he finds the evidence I have? Oh no, she will have me sent to Azkaban. I need to get out of here."

I feel my pulse quicken, and I am biting back the urge to vomit. The sensation of being dunked into a vat of hot tar is overwhelming, and I know what is about to happen.

"Something is horribly wrong, and I need to get out of here!"

I hear Dolores shout, "Eleanor, pay attention! I am not going to tolerate disrespect to me or the Ministry!"

I feel like I am now outside of my body looking into the room from afar. There is a sensation of clarity to the world as objects are over focused in my eyes. The sharpness of the images is very painful; sounds suddenly burst into my ears ten times louder than before.

"Eleanor, look at me when I address you!" Dolores bellows, her voice echoing painfully around the room.

"Oh, god, help me, I cannot breathe!"

I can hear myself wheezing as I make a huge effort to inhale. The air seems to have turned into molten lead as the sharpened images disappear behind a veil of black.

"I can't see anything in front of me! Where am I? Who is here with me?"

"Nell?" someone asks, sounding concerned about my behavior. I can hear the person shouting at someone else as they walk closer to me.

"Who is screaming? Please make her stop, so I can think."

The movement in the room has picked up, and I hear more people discussing something; however, the voices are too garbled to make any sense.

"Who ever you are, I need to lie down, please."

I cannot get my legs and arms to work right, because they keep jerking. The whole room begins to fall away from me. I am curious as to where it went.

"Nell? Nell, what's wrong?" asks another voice.

I feel my face hit the floor hard as a violent shiver runs down the length of my body as sharp snaps of the neck grind my nose further into the wooden floor.

I feel footsteps around me, and a male voice commands, "Go get Poppy!" There is a short pause, and the voice shouts again, "What are you waiting for? I said go, now!"

I can feel myself being turned onto my back. I can sense more activity about the room. Someone is holding the back of my head off of the floor, and another person is holding my hand.

"Leave me alone, please. I don't want anyone to see this."

The jerking is getting worse, and I feel bruises forming on my back. There is a copper taste in my mouth telling me that my tongue is now lacerated.

"It's all right, Nell, just settle down," a person says gently, touching my forehead with a cool hand.

"I need air." I am starting to get tired; I don't have the strength to inhale. "I will take a breath in a few minutes after I rest."

"Nell, come on now and take a breath," a voice pleads, tapping my cheek to get my attention. I can barely sense the pressure of a hand against the side of my face.

"Shut it and leave me alone."

"Nell!" a make voice commands loudly. "Just take one!"

"I said, ' SHUT IT!'" My throat feels like someone is jamming a sock in it.

The person holding my hand is gone, and I am very afraid of being left alone.

"I am sorry, please stay here. I promise to breathe if you give me a chance."

"Good girl, take another breath," says a relieved voice, picking up my hand again.

"Here drink this," a female voice urges, as the rim of a goblet hits my lips.

"The voice is nice, so it must care for me."

I drink the potion without resistance; I relax as a blanket is wrapped around me. I am too exhausted to move or speak. Sleep is encroaching in any other thoughts; I am forced to surrender to the blackness as I feel the sensation of being picked up gently off of the floor and cradled securely in someone's arms.