Rumored Nervous Breakdown

The weather during breakfast has mirrored my own mood. I know in the pit of my stomach that it is time to pack up my things for the end of the year. This means I must confront my feelings about Rupert's death. With all the grief counseling after Aggie's death so many years ago, I have learned that it is important to have some sort of closure. I must decide what I am going to do with the pictures, gifts, and odds and ends that came into my possession during my brief romantic relationship with Rupert. I have decided it would be best if I boxed everything up and seal the crate shut. Dwelling on his death will not bring him back.

I pick up a box to crate up some of the law books and discover an object glinting from underneath a side table. When I grasp it, little golden wings sprout from the almond-sized ball, and I see it is the Snitch Rupert bought for my birthday this year. I am so stunned, I let go of it. The Snitch hovers just a few feet from me, but I lack the conviction to snatch it out of the air. All I can think about is the night Rupert kissed me for the first time.

A pang of longing hits me as I remember the passion that flowed between us, making me feel loved unconditionally for the first time in a long while. I miss the moments where his kiss took me to a place when the world only consisted of the two of us. I feel like I wasted so much time pushing him away. For some odd reason, I am angry with him for leaving me on my own again.

I wipe tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my robe, swiftly catching the Snitch and putting it in my pocket without a second glance.

I made the choice to come back and finish what I have started here at the school. Feeling sorry for myself drains energy needed to fulfill my mission to bring down Dolores's little scam.

Now that I have managed to start putting my life back together, I must tackle the emotional mine field of my office. I have decided to wait for the students to be in class before walking to the door. I don't have the strength to socialize in any way right now.

I carefully unlock the door to find what I have suspected: someone has been in here searching for something. In the fine coat of dust, there are tell-tale voids where pictures and knickknacks have been moved about and not been put back. No doubt, Dolores has been ferreting about looking for something. She wants to see where I am hiding my treasures. I guess she has not thought of looking under Daisy's bed, because I left it there, hidden under the pillow. Dolores is terrified to touch anything that has come into contact with any non-human creature.

The halls outside my office fill quickly as the bell for lunch sounds loudly. I have been so lost in packing up numerous books and papers that I am startled by someone calling my name from the doorway. I look up to find Ursula overjoyed to see me; however, I don't think her friend, Georgia is all that happy to be here.

"Ladies, how lovely to see you," I greet them with a forced smile, gesturing for them sit down in the only available spots in the room.

Georgia seems a bit uneasy, and I realize she never had me in any classes. I wonder if she believes any of the lies floating about the school. The third year Hufflepuff settles her thin frame on the edge of the chair cushion; however, Ursula plops down happily in the chair next to her friend, sending a huge puff of dust sailing into the air and causing Georgia to shoot glances of disdain in my direction.

"Professor, Professor Burbage said you would be in class on Friday for revisions before exams. I'm glad you are, because we miss you horribly," Ursula says in a rush, but her eyes look downward, waiting for my next reply.

"I appreciate all the effort you and your classmates went through to send the cards to the hospital wing while I was recovering. It meant so much to me," I tell the girls, feeling tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. Ursula picks up her glance from the floor to meet my eyes.

I feel so guilty about my suicidal thoughts that day. The cards did more than raise my spirits, they gave me a reason to live. How am I going to tell the children that?

"It was Ursula's idea, really," Georgia pipes in sullenly. "She told Professor Burbage about how nice it would be to make cards without any magical enhancement. She had some of us making cards that weren't even in a Muggle Studies class," she continues coolly, emphasizing the fact she was not in my class. I have a sense Ursula may have pressured her to make the card.

"I think it is absolutely brilliant," I tell Ursula. "I'm glad to see you making some use of the class, Ursula." She blushes a bit at my comment.

Her next question catches me completely off guard. "Professor, where are you going after this year?"

"Out of the mouths of babes! Hell if I know! I am happy just to be alive, I think?"

"I think I might take some savings and travel a bit. There are so many places to see," I inform her. I think she is afraid that I would tell her it's none of her business and she should keep to herself.

"Can't you come back next year?" Ursula inquires. She looks pleadingly to me. Although she got along with Charity in the classroom, Ursula has not shown her affection for her new teacher or her new teacher's lesson plans.

"I told Professor Dumbledore and the Board of Governors that I would only take the position until they could find someone to fill in the slot for one year. I'm sorry, I have enjoyed my time with the students in my classes, but I need to move on." Ursula looks crushed when I confirm the fact of my departure. "Once I get settled, I will keep up with you."

"Can't you tell them you have changed your mind or something? We want you, not someone else," Ursula exclaims, and then back pedals when she realizes she may have gone one step too far. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"I don't know where I will end up. All I know is there is a huge world out there for me to explore," I tell her, but my voice lacks conviction. I notice her eye has moved over to a picture of Daisy taken by the seaside when she was a puppy. "Daisy loves the beach. I am sure she would like to take a holiday in the tropics somewhere," I say, reaching over to the photo of Daisy on the beach fetching a stick that is too large for her to run with. Ursula takes it from my grasp, smiling at Daisy's efforts to play.

I look at the clock, and I realize they have missed the first half of lunch. I send both girls out the door; however, Ursula stops in the doorway, runs over to me, and gives me a bear hug. Before she lets go, she whispers, "Thanks, I am going to miss you."

I tell her that I will miss her too, and shut the door once she is out in the hall. I am not sure why I am crying. It dawns on me our simple good-bye is the first form of closure I have had in a long time. I have far too many unresolved relationships in my life.

"Where do I go from here?"

I have continued my sorting of my books, and I pick up the blotter on my desk to gain some more space to decide what to keep. I am shocked when I find the surveys about Dolores I had sent out in November. I really hadn't thought much about it, and I wonder what I should do with them. My first instinct is to get rid of them; however, they might come into use to put Dolores in her place should the need arise.

The opening of the door causes me to spin around, looking for the intruder. It is Severus with his usual scowl on his face and clutching an envelope in his hand.

"What now?" I groan. "Search the room all you like, there are no sharp objects or potions to poison myself with."

"I am not here to listen to your whining over the injustices of your life." He stalks over to my desk and slaps the envelope sharply onto it. "How many times have I told you I am not your personal secretary," he says irritably.

I tentatively reach over and pick up the envelope. As I turn it over, I notice that it is sealed with the mark of the Canadian Ministry of Magic. I can't stop shaking long enough to unseal it. I hear Severus give a quick sniff of impatience as I ignore him; he seems to give up and skulks out of the room.

The letter is an offer from the Canadian Ministry to work in their Fugitive Retrieval office. The proposal includes moving expenses and free housing for the first year; however, the letter does mention that Dolores's office has not sent my references to the Canadian office. They request a reply within the next two weeks.

I am so excited! There is still a chance at getting on with my life like Rupert wanted me to. My heart sinks to my feet when I realize there isn't a snowball's chance in hell of me getting any favorable reference out of Dolores. I plop down hard on the dusty sofa, sending clouds of dust into the air. There has to be some way of twisting her arm.

I cannot use the last receipt as a bargaining chip, because there will be too much at stake. Most likely, Dolores will have me thrown in Azkaban if I back out of our deal. There is no getting away from the long arm of Dolores Umbridge.

My hand brushes something on the sofa cushion. It is an envelope of the surveys I handed out along with the analysis of the data. The questionnaires are made with an enchantment preventing tampering or forgery. Too many people have received the letters and bear witness to their authenticity. I now have leverage to get hell out of here forever.

_______________________________________________________________________

I have decided to use the inventories and report as an opportunity to bully Dolores into giving me what I want. I send her a note via one of her precious "Inquisitorial Squad". That group of Death Eater wannabes is on my last nerve and those of the staff.

I don't even have to wait for a written reply, because Dolores comes storming in to my office, demanding to know what the hell is going on.

"What is it now?" she inquires, her eyes blazing with demonic anger. "Being a coward again? You've cracked under the pressure ..."

I cut her off before she can get any further. "No, I have called this meeting, because I want something only you can provide."

She gives a childish laugh, rolling her gaze away from me in a show of disrespect. "You are in no position to ask for favors, Eleanor."

I whip out the letter from the Canadian Ministry and shove it sharply in her direction. She rips it violently away from me and glances at the envelope. Her carefully manicured eyebrows meet in the middle of her forehead as she opens the letter.

"How did you get this, you thieving little bitch," she spits with unbridled venom. "All mail is searched, and it does not look like this has been inspected."

"That is neither her nor there, Dolores," I say calmly, sitting on the top of my desk casually. I want to be looking down on her as a show of dominance. "I want to strike a bargain so I can get the hell out of this country, far away from your nonsense, and get on with my life."

"Why should I do anything for you? I should have thrown you in prison instead of the psychiatric ward when I found out about that audit." She waits for a look of horror or fear to come across my face. She seems to swell like a balloon when it never does.

"Remember the little behavior inventories I sent out in November of last year?" I hop down from my desk so I can walk around to open a drawer. I lean over the desk and hand her one of the blank forms with her name on it. "You know I saved the results, don't you?" A smile breaks across my face as I continue with, "I almost forgot." I pause for a moment and pull out the analysis of the survey. I continue with, "Here are the results of the surveys I sent out to selected recipients."

"Blackmailing me, are you?" she inquires. "No one would believe any of that rubbish."

"I know of a way to get it published for everyone to know what a psychotic piece of shit you really are." I know this is really stepping over the line, but I hope she doesn't realize I may be bluffing. I always was a terrible poker player.

"Do you really think the Prophet would print that tissue of lies?" she asks. "No one would even consider..."

I cut her off by holding up a copy of the Quibbler I found shoved in the corner of my classroom when I cleaned it out this morning. "I'm sure this story would make for interesting reading over breakfast."

"I wouldn't line a Puffskien's cage with drivel they call a newspaper." She is starting to get rattled; she gets beads of sweat glistening on her eyebrows when you finally start to hit the right nerve.

"It seemed to raise the believability in one of our students and a former head master," I say glibly. "That ridiculous decree about banning the Quibbler only made it more attractive to read."

"What do you want?" she asks through her teeth.

"I want a letter of reference so I can get the job in Canada. In return, I remove your name from final analysis of the survey, and you will tell them what a brilliant job I have done in compiling the report." I can see more beads of sweat on her forehead, soaking her hairline. "Oh, don't worry, Dolores. I don't plan on going to my new job blabbing my secrets, because I don't care anymore." I raise my voice to make my point. "It's a quiet little desk job where all I do is track down some idiot who has broken the secrecy laws. Maybe I can find my parents while I am at it."

"I see this favor could possibly shut you up for good. I will do it." She looks like she has swallowed the most bitter of potions.

"I need it by Monday, so arrangements can be made for travel to my new home." I can feel a sense of relief flow over me as Dolores leaves the room; however, it is short lived.

Dolores stops, turns around with a sticky smile, and says, "Eleanor, if you break our bargain with those papers, I will have you hauled off to prison before you can pack your bags." She storms out, slamming the door with such violence, a picture falls off the wall and startles its occupant.

After putting the painting of a woman stirring a caldron right, I continue packing up my office with a much lighter heart.