Rumored Nervous Breakdown

I am waking up to Daisy's incessant insistence that I get out of bed and feed her. Still drowsy, I use my wand to open up a can of her favorite dog food. The label shows a witch walking a Crup down a street. I look towards the calendar on my desk next to the kitchen, and I realize I have a meeting at the Headmaster's office at nine; in addition, Rupert wrote he would be here to join me for lunch. I am rather curious as to the plan we will devise to secure the documents I took from the Ministry. That day when I confronted Dolores in my office last August seems a lifetime ago.

I arrive for a meeting with Dumbledore. The last time I was here for anything serious is when I put toe-shoes on Severus, and I received a week of detention weeding the Quidditch Pitch with tweezers.

I find myself staring at the huge griffin leading to the stairs of the headmaster's office, and I give the usual passwords dealing with some unusual sweets. As I enter the office full of portraits snoozing in their frames and bizarre little machines whirring away, there is a trio of faces staring back at me. Dumbledore, Rupert, and Minerva are looking at me with very grim expressions.

"Have a seat," Dumbledore says, offering a bowl full of lemon drops. I politely decline as my stomach drops to my feet. He takes a deep breath then says, "I feel that it is important to settle the complications from this audit you have conducted over Ministry finances."

"What do you mean 'complications'?" I ask. "I conducted the review and took the paperwork as proof Fudge and Dolores were crossing the line with their abuse of Ministry procedure," I tell him, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. I hate being put on the spot.

"Nell, I have been able to retrieve the papers successfully," Dumbledore says, quickly putting my mind at ease. "However, I am not going to tell you where they are just yet."

"Are you saying you don't trust me?" I inquire in shock. I look down at the floor and notice that I can see my heart pounding underneath my robes. I look over to Rupert in outrage, saying, "Rupert, you are my lawyer! Are you in on this as well?"

"Nell, I need to tell you..." Minerva cuts in before he could give voice his thought.

Minerva rises out of her chair and walks over to my chair, taking my hand. Her soul-penetrating stare renders me speechless as she tells me quietly, "Nell, you have been through such horrible trauma in your life; I am a bit worried about you right now. I don't want to see you locked away somewhere far from our help." She takes her free hand and runs it down my hair then places it on my shoulder in an attempt to reassure me, but I find it unnerving that she is treating me like a toddler waking from a horrible nightmare. "You are so frail right now, and I am worried about your safety since you were attacked earlier this week; I am so frightened it will happen again."

Rupert finds his voice again. "The less you know, the better. I know Dolores searches your personal property almost daily now, and we know that there is nowhere left to hide."

Dumbledore cuts in with, "I am concerned about your current ability to defend yourself. The last attack could have seen you killed. I worry about your strength to fight off an attempt at coercion by curses or potions." I feel the hammer blow. "I know you have been taught resistance to these methods of interrogation, but your frail state might impair this ability," Dumbledore shares, interlocking his hands serenely. I am finding myself becoming angrier as he does this, because I see this behavior as patronizing. "I also feel the less you know, the better."

"So, you're treating me like a mushroom; you keep me in the dark and feed me lots of shit."

"Nell, the Headmaster has already taken charge of the evidence you have retrieved and put it into the proper hands. I am concerned you may not be able to do this," Rupert states, unable to meet my gaze.

"So, you are saying my choices are unreliable as well? You think I am in danger of going around the twist, or my holiday at St. Mungo's has damaged me in some way!" I blurt out loudly, causing the snoozing portraits to awaken with a grunt. I hear a few say, "How dare she!"

"To put it simply, you have a reputation of leaping into action without looking for potential consequences," Dumbledore reiterates, leaning back in his chair.

I am hurt that the three people whom I admire most are treating me like a child. I interject, "Let me get this straight. You are afraid that my psychological functioning has been impaired by a near fatal seizure twenty years ago, I could be forced to give up the location of the papers, or I might do something rash with them that could see me thrown in prison."

"Nell," Minerva calls my name soothingly. "We just want to protect you from any further harm." She sighs loudly and fixes the collar of my shirt. I am ready to knock her hand off of my neck; however, I know that she tends to fidget to hide the extent of her worry.

"Why does everyone feel I need protection from someone or something? What you are really saying is that I need to be protected from myself." I'm starting to hyperventilate and attempt to calm down.

"This is my decision for better or worse. When the time is right, we will determine the best course of action. Until then, you need to put this out of your mind and concentrate on making it to the end of the year," Dumbledore states with a note of finality. I feel any further arguments will do little good. This will only strengthen the assertion that I am one butterbeer short of a party.

I turn on my heel and walk quietly out of the office down to the exit into the hallway. I hear someone running up to me from behind.

"Nell, stop!" Rupert shouts, but I continue towards my office to collect my thoughts. "Nell, please stop so I can talk to you!"

When he catches up to me, I vent my anger and hurt upon him. "I thought you were here to look after my legal affairs and not help others to interfere with my life."

"Nell, it's for your own good. Just trust Dumbledore to handle this," Rupert states, attempting to calm me down.

I am afraid I am going to snap and hurt him; I need to get out of here quickly, but Rupert calls my name again as I walk away.

I turn sharply, walk over to him in a rage, and inches from his face I growl, "Piss off, Rupert."

I have somehow made it to my office without cursing Rupert or any one else for that matter. I sit here with my face in my hands waiting for tears that have not come. Why are the others dancing on egg-shells when dealing with me? Do they think I am crazy, and they are just humoring me like they did when I was fifteen, trying to placate me? I guess I will know when I am dragged out of the school for a stay at Hotel de St. Mungo's. Will I have that private suite all to myself again in the Psychiatric Isolation ward?

"Sulking again, Eleanor?" I hear a drawling voice that can only be from our so beloved Potions Master coming in from the door way leading to my office.

I look up in an attempt to be civil; however, I can only blurt out inquiringly, "Do you have some purpose for being in here or just paying me a royal visit?"

"A little defensive, are we?" Severus is walking over to my desk with his arms crossed and an irritating glint in his eye.

"What do you want, Severus?" I inquire with a sigh of irritation, cupping my face with my palm.

"I came to see how you were getting along after your stay in the Hospital Wing," he says, with a sickening false grin. "On a different note, Eleanor, I saw Rupert leaving without eating lunch with you, lover's quarrel perhaps?" he asks, leaning down over me, resting his palms on the desk. His face is only a foot from mine. "I heard that Dumbledore retrieved your papers, but he never revealed what he did with them during your meeting."

"How do you know about that?" I inquire, my voice rising in volume. "I take it you know what happened to those papers."

"Let's just say some of us are a bit more responsible and don't have a history of being a bit off center." He takes his hands off of my desk and crosses his arms with an air of superiority.

"You have room to talk. Aren't you the one who went skipping off happily to join the rest of the psychotic little worms from your year who became Death Eaters?" I notice his superiority is disappearing quickly and replaced by insecurity. "You are one of the most narcissistic persons I have ever seen. Maybe you are the one who needs therapy to rid yourself of that personality disorder of yours."

"Eleanor, you are making a case to have yourself locked away," he says, defaulting to the only defense he could come up with. When ever he cannot come up with a proper cut-down, he goes back to calling me a head case.

I pull my wand out of my sleeve and throw it on the desk in front of me. I make a gesture like I am waiting to be arrested, and I say, "Go ahead then. Send me packing to the Ministry Funny Farm, Severus. You seem so insistent that I need to be there; you can haul me away without resistance. Look, I am not armed." He seems off-footed by my behavior.

"Eleanor, you are beyond help," he states, turning away from me and walking out the door.

"Thanks for stopping by! That was quite a nice chat!" I shout at the now vacant doorway. As I finish venting my spleen, I sit down to put my head into my hands, trying not to think about how everyone has betrayed me.

I have been sitting here for the past few minutes attempting to put my thoughts together before attempting the long walk to my quarters. I just want to be alone with the only thing I can trust not to turn their back on me, Daisy. I feel that a cup of hot chocolate and a little attention from my dog should make me feel better. The feeling of having my hopes, dreams, friends, and simple control on determining a course to pursue in my life has slipped away. What is the point for living when I have no one to depend on for a soft place to fall?

Today is Sunday, and I wake up to a sense of depression, sitting on the bed attempting to understand why I am so miserable. I realize I have not prepared for the activity on Monday or braced myself for Dolores's normal grilling at one of her meetings. I slowly drag my arse across the school without looking anyone in the eye. I definitely feel anti-social this morning.

I have sat down at my desk with little initiative to do anything other than sulk and feel sorry for myself. I don't know if I have the energy to even make my way into the holidays. The passing of the last twenty-four hours has done little to soften the blow of finding two of your mentors feel that you are unable to handle your own affairs, and you cannot be trusted with anything.

A knock on my office door and a familiar voice captures my attention at once. "Professor, it's me, Ursula. I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. You look a little busy, and I can come back later."

I cannot turn away from her now. She needs someone who understands her. I have to snap out of this deep torpor, because I am responsible for her.

I motion her to sit down and offer her a box with a smiling witch and a newt dancing a waltz across the front of the package. I have always found that Chocolate Frogs and Ginger Newts go a long way in easing the angst of most children. I offer her the biscuit and ask, "How did things go with the others this week? Did anyone tease you about your seizure in the classroom or have the others found someone else to dine out on for a while?" She grabs her newt-shaped snack and sits across the desk from me in an overstuffed chair.

Ursula swallows the dry biscuit quickly and says, "It was odd. I had a couple of students make fun of me, but it stopped by the end of the day. I know that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were pretending to swoon and warn people to watch out that I may be contagious. I think they wanted make me cry like a baby, and then I would run to a teacher and snitch on them." She seems a little disheartened, but she smiles as she continues with, "They stopped teasing when I caught them snogging in a broom cupboard on the fourth floor. He was going to curse me, but Pansy said something about my father finding out about it."

This is the first time in my life another human needs me for guidance and comfort. I am almost afraid to continue the conversation, because I do not want to ruin her life for saying the wrong thing.

"Any problems in Professor Umbridge's class for you?" I ask, feeling like I am walking on a tightrope over a very wide canyon. I have no idea where I am drawing the strength to keep the conversation going.

"She hasn't said anything to me. When I sat with Georgia in the library, she seemed to stare at me the entire time. I don't like it. Sometimes it seems like she is following me."

I cannot come up with a sensible way to handle the Dolores problem with a thirteen-year -old. I don't want her inside a dangerous game played by adults. So, I think it would be better to come up with another topic to steer around this issue.

"Did you and Georgia talk about what happened to you in class?" I ask, tempting her with another ginger newt, but she waves away the box.

Her face reddens a bit when she says, "We did talk about it, but she seemed to be afraid of what to do if I have another. I get the impression she thinks I will have a seizure if I so much as sneeze."

"Been there, done that, and bought the t-shirt."

"My friend, Aggie, did the same thing. It takes a while, and then you and your friends just forget about having the possibility to have one." She seems to perk up a bit, but I can read the next question from her face. "I think that a short lesson on first-aid from Madam Pomfrey with a few of your closest friends is important. It tends to take some of the fear away from the people who are around you most of the time. By the way, we have solved what to do if you feel like you're going to have one in class."

Ursula looks down at the floor as she says, "I'm afraid of having one in front of everyone. I don't want to sit in classes waiting for someone to tease me when I fall down."

"The other teachers and I have agreed to use the same system I had when I was a student here. There will come a time when you will figure out when a seizure will hit, and you will be able to leave before calling attention to yourself. Just raise your hand and ask to step out of the room. In a few moments, a student will be sent on an 'errand' for that teacher, and you the two of you will make your way to another quiet room or the Hospital Wing," I say in a positive tone, but she seems a bit tense.

"What if I don't figure this out in time?" she asks. "I don't want to embarrass myself in front of a class again."

"After years of having me in their classes, all of the teachers know to kick everyone out and send them to the library on pain of death for not going," I tell her with a forced smile.

"I better get going to my common room, I have an essay for Professor Snape due in the morning," she tells me quietly, standing up to walk out the door. "Thanks for the Ginger Newts."

"Ursula, I am always here if you need me." I walk over to the door and give her a quick hug of reassurance. I stand against the door jamb to watch her walk down the shadowy hallway, praying silently I have not screwed up her head.

I am torn between two feelings. First, I discover a certain giddiness at being needed, because I am truly needed to keep Ursula safe and whole. I have always been the one needing comfort and reassurance. So many times others have jumped in to help me before the situation became out of control. She needs me as much as I need her. The second feeling is that of the burden of responsibility placed on my shoulders. The pressure is crushing, and I have a horrible fear that it would only take one bit of poorly given advice to ruin her life.

I have no idea how Minerva has survived several decades of working with generations of students without going mad.

Monday has snuck up on me again, and I sign in on the clipboard to confirm we actually showed up for our classes on time. As we sign in one-by-one, there is a notice that our usual meeting has been cancelled. The teachers have an on-going bet on with Dolores's scheduling. Many bet she has become ill or died. In my opinion, she is zeroing in on one of the staff and needs the time to develop a plan to do this. Knowing Dolores, she is going to make this event very public. I just cannot decide if she is going after me, Hagrid, or Sibyll. My instinct tells me that Sibyll is the first on the chopping block, because she has few social connections in and outside of the school to give her the capability of gathering up defenses against Dolores's continuous attacks.

This morning Ursula is looking quite happy in class. She is all smiles when she catches my eye a few times during this morning's activity. It is really a relief to see that Ursula is finally finding joy just being a kid. This is something that has been taken away by from someone like Potter, who is being treated like an adult. Why can't they just let him be a kid? This kind of treatment is one of the worst types of child abuse that I know of. This is the time when he should be having that first awkward kiss with some pretty girl, sitting in his dorm room laughing about some silly prank pulled during class, sneaking food from the kitchens for some impromptu party, or going to The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer on a cold winter day. I know he stopped Voldemort, but it is not fair to try him like some criminal who murdered someone in cold blood for a childish incident like underage magic.

This afternoon, I am on my way to take a leisurely break from the usual boring meeting held by Dolores. When I look down as I enter the doorway of my office, there is an envelope that has been shoved underneath my doorway. The contents are in the same cramped handwriting as before.

Houses

By

A.S.J. Tessimond

People who are afraid of themselves
Multiply themselves into families
And so divide themselves
And so become less afraid.

People who might have to go out
Into clanging strangers' laughter,
Crowd under roofs, make compacts
To no more than smile at each other.

People who might meet their own faces
Or surprise their own voices in doorways
Build themselves rooms without mirrors
And live between walls without echoes.

People who might meet other faces
And unknown voices round corners
Build themselves rooms all mirrors
And live between walls all echoes.

People who are afraid to go naked
Clothe themselves in families, houses,
But are still afraid of death
Because death one day will undress them.

I like this one because of my belief that making friends and connections outside of your house is very important for functioning in the real world. I was rarely asked what house I was placed in during school when at work. I never asked; I really don't care about where someone was placed during the sorting ceremony. The only issue that concerns me is that I said exactly that recently to Ursula; I did not mention it to anyone else. I am a little worried about someone over hearing my conversations. My sense of safety is rapidly dwindling. Why is this person doing to me? Is it out of some twisted sense of admiration or a plot to scare me? I like the content of the poems; however, the idea of someone watching me is creepy. I am not sure if I can let this continue. The only way to put an end to this is to figure out and confront the person sending the poems to me.

I look up towards my clock, and I notice that it is after five. I think I might make it in time to catch the end of dinner. I can hear shouting from the hallway leading to the Great Hall.

Dolores is on a roll castigating someone, and I assume the noise is from some infraction of one of her stupid decrees; however, I realize I am dead wrong. Sibyll's unmistakable voice shows signs of hysteria. As I make it to the mezzanine above the Entrance Hall, I can see a circle of staff and students surrounding a scene of horror.

I am right on target with my prediction. Dolores did use the afternoon to develop this spectacle of public humiliation. Poor Sibyll, she does not deserve this at all. Her class is not exactly a career-based class, unlike mine; however, it does prove useful in sharpening your deductive skills.

Dolores's attack appears to have started out quite violent, judging from the trunks scattered about the floor. Although Sibyll appears to be down right vapid, she takes pride in taking care of the instruments of her craft. She almost reminds me of Severus and his potions supplies.

Severus has bolted from his dungeon with his wand in his hand as the sounds have grown louder. He is wearing a nasty scowl on his face. His dark expression does not show if he is bothered by Sibyll's drama or Dolores's behavior. He looks up at me from below as if I caused the theatrics in front of the staff.

Poor Sibyll, she has completely fallen apart at the seams. She is holding a bottle of sherry like a life preserver on a sinking ship. I am relieved as Dumbledore shows up to put a stop to Dolores's tirade. She may have sacked the poor woman but forgot that Dumbledore determines who uses Hogwarts as their owl post address. As Minerva and several of the others help Sibyll back to her home, there is a sound no one expected. I can hear the unshod hooves walking slowly through the front doors, and I realize who has become our new Divination teacher. His name is Firenze. He is a handsome centaur, and Dolores's worst nightmare.

"Aww. Is ickle Dolores afraid of the pretty pony?"

I feel a certain satisfaction in Dumbledore trumping Dolores's control. This feeling is quite short lived when Dolores stomps up to where I am standing and says, "There's one out of the way. Don't get too comfortable, Eleanor, because I don't think he will be able jump as quickly to your rescue before long." She strolls heavily down the hallway.