Rumored Nervous Breakdown

As my eyes strain to greet the morning, I cannot find the energy to get out of bed. The constant spats with those around me are wearing me down considerably. Instead of getting encouragement on my new outlook on life, I am getting rebuffed and ridiculed.

The arguments with Dawlish, Severus, and Dolores have sapped what little energy I have left. That 'high' of everything going right was stripped from me in the matter of days.

Although Dawlish's violence was frightening, our confrontation was inevitable. He has anger control issues when it comes to women. He only tolerates Dolores because of her position. His lies will haunt me till the day I die. Knowing Dawlish, he probably ran around telling them how he finally got a prime piece of arse in my office one afternoon. With people seeing me as a slut, I wonder who else thinks I screwed Berns to get the job in Canada.

I sit up, punch the pillow in anger, and fall back on to the mattress hard. I can see Severus's face as he looked at that crate, asking me if Rupert knew about my reputation as the 'office slut'. Why can't he let me move on? He seems to feel that I should be treated as someone who is unable to make a rational decision. He said that I need to be protected from the world. Rupert wasn't stupid. Severus is just pissed, because someone had the bollocks to make a decision on his own.

Dolores is just Dolores. I'm tired of going through the same argument over and over again. It's getting a bit stale. I'll give her what she wants, because that is what I promised. Even without the job in Canada, I probably would have done the same thing. At least my discovery of the papers and Dolores's confrontation with me confirms she is involved in the fraud. Yet, I get to hear the 'Eleanor is a (insert one of the following:) whore/slut/tart/mental train wreck' spiel every time.

I am dozing off again, but a loud crack startles me out of bed. I sit up angrily as Daisy makes a dash for the elderly house-elf who has been babysitting me for the past month. I am able to make a grab for Daisy's collar before she makes a meal out of the diminutive creature.

"Miss is to be at a meeting in the staff room in fifteen minutes," Blinky says with a stern stare.

"What does that 'menace in pink' want now? O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are over. Tell her thanks, but no thanks," I reply. Blinky continues to stare at me with her bulbous eyes. "Blinky, I said to tell the Headmistress that I am not coming!"

"No, not Madam Umbridge." Blinky puts her hands on her boney hips peevishly. "Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Headmaster, my arse..." I spit without thinking, jumping to my feet in confusion. That house-elf was getting on in age when I was a student here. Maybe she is getting a bit senile.

"You needs to hurry." She disappears with a crack, leaving me in stunned silence.

I get out of bed and pull on the same robes I was wearing yesterday. Somehow, I just don't believe that Dumbledore could be back. It has to be some sort of joke or trap.

I rush into the staff room to find everyone assembled and in a state of agitated excitement. I glance around the room for Severus, but he is absent. You would think he would want to be present if this were the return of Dumbledore.

"Where the hell is he?"

Pomona runs that the Headmaster came back a few hours ago and called this meeting to let us know what is going on.

My ears have started ringing very loudly, my mouth runs dry, and I feel light-headed. The truth that Dolores's little reign of terror could be over is washing over me.

Pomona's voice cuts through the fog. "Nell, are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"

I don't protest as I find myself sitting in one of the mismatched chairs over in a corner. Lying on a table next to the chair is the latest edition of the Prophet. I pick it up to see if it contains anything about Dumbledore's return.

The front page is dominated by the headline: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Has Returned. As I skim further down, I can see a sheepish picture of Fudge at a press conference eating a bit of 'crow' about his treatment of Dumbledore and Potter. For myself, I feel vindicated, but no sense of relief or comfort.

"I told anyone who would listen that Voldemort was still a threat. Is this what it took to prove we were correct?"

"Nell." Someone is calling my name over the din of voices, but I can't pull my attention away from the article to identify who it is. "Nell, dear."

I finally process it's Minerva, and I jump up to greet her in disbelief. The poor woman is leaning heavily on a cane. She looks rather pale and drawn; however, her face is beaming as she reaches out to give me a hug.

"I've missed you so much," I tell her tearfully.

When we break apart, I find her smiling broadly at me. "It's good to see you before you leave before the end of the term. I hear you are leaving us for a new position."

The staff room door opens with a familiar creak. A very haggard, red-eyed, and concerned Dumbledore walks through the doorway to greet the staff.

There are excited shouts from all around the room, and everyone moves spontaneously in his direction. I am so shocked, I just stand there with my mouth hanging open. I don't know what to do.

He holds a hand up and requests we all take a seat so we can listen to what he has to say in an orderly fashion. We are to save the questions for later.

We all listen in stunned silence as he recounts the horrible truth that Voldemort is back. Although I feel vindicated, I don't feel any better about it. He also explains Dolores's glaring absence. It seems she has taken leave until the end of the term. She had a spot of trouble last night with a group of centaurs, and needs some time to gain back her health in the hospital wing.

"I can recommend several wonderful Healers to assist with any psychological trauma."

I am knocked back to reality when I hear my name called by our newly returned headmaster. "Eleanor, if you would please join me in my office following this meeting. I need to speak with you about a matter."

I nod my head stupidly, realizing he might want to know what the hell I am planning now.

"This must be serious, he hasn't called me 'Eleanor' in twenty years."

Will he rebuff me as Severus has been doing or will I finally find a few encouraging words?

Before I know it, I am sitting in the Headmaster's office. There is a general sense of disarray in the room. Several of the machines in Dumbledore's collection are lying on the floor in pieces, but I'm not going to ask any questions.

"Cockroach Cluster?" he inquires, holding out the candy dish towards me. I notice he does not sit down after offering me the candy, but begins to pace about the room.

"No thanks." I wave my hand in polite refusal, noticing how easily he tends to slide back into normalcy.

"I thought we would have this meeting between the two of us. I realize in the past you have felt that everyone meddles a bit too much in your affairs," he says, looking out a window.

"I appreciate that you now understand my distress about not being allowed to make my own decisions," I tell him, attempting not to snap. My mouth is starting to run dry as I attempt to keep my emotions in check.

"Keep it civil, Nell. Don't let him think you're one syllable shy of a spell."

"I hear that you have been hired by the Canadian Ministry to keep an eye on the Death Eater threat overseas," he acknowledges. "I have to admit that I am a little concerned for you." He turns away from the window to wait for my reply with a sappy, benevolent look on his face.

"What are you really worried about? Let's get this out in the open for once. You told me when I was at St. Mungo's we would discuss this at some point. Well, here we are," I comment standing up and indicating the room with a sweeping gesture. "Do I need your blessing to do everything? Who died and left you in charge of the universe?" I inquire loudly.

"So much for civil, Nell, I guess it was time to put on the 'big girl knickers'?"

I hear the portrait of a former headmistress protest with, "The disrespect of youth today! In my day..." I turn around to see who she is, shoot her a scathing look, and sit down irritably in my chair to get myself under control. I realize that I am holding my breath as I wait for his reply to my question.

He looks like I have slapped him across the face. "Nell, here at the school, your teachers and head of house came to know you as more than a student. With you being ill during your time here at school, some of the staff became rather close to you, and we don't want to see you in anymore distress than necessary." He seems to sense the intensity of my anger over the 'sickly-child comment' and holds his hand up before I can blow up. "Those of us closest to you wish to keep safe the talented Auror and educator we all know and love. No one could bear to see you lost in your own mind or die a premature death. It would be too cruel."

"And Severus called me selfish. It's my life to live for better or worse."

Dumbledore sits heavily in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. He seems to have aged another hundred years in a matter of seconds.

"The harder you try and keep me sheltered, the more you drive me away," I explain, finally understanding why everyone has been treating me like they have. "You were stifling my will to live," I protest.

"Those were the exact words Rupert Osgood used a few weeks before he died," he replies sadly. "He didn't share the same opinions that your former teachers did, and I think that was for the best."

Just the mentioning of Rupert's name tears my heart open again, and I want to say something to show some gratitude towards my deceased boyfriend.

"He had faith in me," I snap. "I've grown up, and I am moving on to a new life." The anger and tension spill out of my body as I weep openly.

From the fog of tears, I hear the sound of someone walking around the desk in front of me. I feel a hand touch mine, and I hear a voice say, "I am sorry."

I look up to find Dumbledore standing in front of me with unshed tears in his eyes. He slowly pulls the handkerchief to dab the tears falling down my face.

"Sorry for what?" I inquire, taking the monogrammed cloth from his hand.

"Nell, it's hard to separate the student we nurtured and loved for seven years from the woman sitting in front of me now. With many of your former teachers, you will always be one and the same. No matter where you are in life, we will always worry about you."

He hands me a glass of water from a pitcher behind his desk.

After I calm down enough to be coherent, he asks, "Better now?"

"Yes," I mumble, gathering my thoughts so I can finish this conversation without looking like an overly-emotional child.

Dumbledore stands up and walks over to the window again. Without catching my eye, he asks, "What are your plans now?"

"I think you're asking about the papers, aren't you?" I don't wait for a reply. "I have two words for you: plausible deniability." I take a deep breath and the words just tumble out in a rush. "It is too easy for Dolores and Fudge to separate themselves from any connections with the gifts to the families of Death Eaters. There are two receipts she does not know that I have. One is a forged report on her petty cash fund for her office, and the other is some taxpayer income that was filtered into some shady accounts. Both will find their way to the proper authorities. I don't see Fudge lasting long. Dolores will see an inquiry, and the papers I will quietly turn over will sting quite a bit. The others, I will hold on to. Dolores will be able to deny too many of the connections between the Death Eaters and the accounts." I wait to scrutinize his expression as he turns towards me. His face reads somewhere between relief and pride. "I'm not stupid. The others are of more use to me in Canada than turned over to the Ministry at this point."

"Is this your final choice?" he inquires. "You are choosing not to turn everything over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I am not squandering Rupert's sacrifice, because someone else thinks they know better. Dolores and her cronies are too entrenched in the Ministry. I don't think you know how complex the scam is run. This is officially my investigation for the Canadian Ministry, and I am calling the shots," I inform him.

A smile comes over his face. "I see that your decision has been made. Now if you will excuse me, I have some other issues to attend to."

My head is swimming with irritation over the cause of the treatment I have received this year. I am a grown woman and need to be held accountable for my own decisions. I don't need them made for me. I'm not twelve any longer!

I'm getting a migraine, and I am just going back to my room to gather my thoughts. As I walk down the hallway, the school atmosphere has changed. The students are more relaxed. I can hear conversations that are more open, students are gathered in larger groups, and there are more games going on in the common areas of the grounds. I wonder if they understand the fight that is yet to come.

My head is just throbbing with raw pain. The mere minute walk to my room seems to take forever. I could kick myself for sleeping in and not eating breakfast.

As I walk through the door of my parlor, I notice there is a large envelope bearing the Canadian Ministry seal. I am not expecting anything from Berns right now, so I am a bit confused. I open it up to find a letter asking me to go over the intelligence photos to give my opinions on what they show.

What I see is sickening. It shows Arthur Bogg in Boston with none other than his cousin, Alecto, and someone I don't recognize. The photo is dated a week ago. This situation is worse than I thought.

I decide to owl back that my opinion his to haul Bogg's sorry arse into our office and confront him now that Voldemort is now in the open. We don't need to overplay our hand, but we need to find out why he is associating with someone from his inner circle.

There is a knock at my door, and when I open it I am shocked that Minerva has decided to pay me a visit.

"Come in," I stammer. "Shouldn't you be resting?" I lead her to one of the overstuffed chairs in the parlor.

Minerva looks so frail, leaning heavily on a cane as she walks toward her seat. She always seemed so tough, invincible, and unchanging. It is painful to see her like this.

"I wanted to come down after you spoke with the Headmaster," she replies. "I felt we needed to talk about what went on this year between us."

Although Minerva has visited me in the hospital wing when I have been seriously ill, held my hand when all seemed lost, and celebrated some of my best achievements, we have never talked on a personal level. She has never opened up to bear her raw feelings on a topic.

"Nell, I have watched you grow up from a shy teenager to the woman sitting in front of me now. As your head of house and teacher, I spent time visiting you in the hospital wing; however, there is one incident that has traumatized me," she recounts with a tear rolling down her cheek. "When you had that seizure during Potions Class in your fifth year, I tried everything I could to revive you. I had been charged with keeping you safe, but there you were slipping away as the moments ticked by." She reaches out to hold my hand as if I might fall off a cliff at any moment. "When you were in that coma for two weeks, I felt as if I failed you." She has broken down completely. I hand her a tissue from a box on the table.

"It wasn't your fault." I decide to leave Severus out of this as I continue with, "The whole incident was an unfortunate series of events." I kneel down on the floor in front of the chair and reassure her. "My parents don't blame you at all. They are grateful that you were there. Poppy told them you kept enough oxygen in my brain to keep the damage from being any worse. Have you spent all these years trying to make up for not stopping me from dropping into a coma?"

"Nell, there is so much more than what happened in that classroom," she sobs. "You were so 'damaged' afterwards. Nell, you thought your classmates were trying to kill you at one point, and then you attempted suicide after the holidays. Not to mention what else has happened over the years with your heart failing, constant seizures, and what happened after..." She seems at a loss for words. I can sense she is trying to spare my feelings. "You took the losses of Agatha and Rupert so hard." She touches my cheek tenderly. "You were so frail."

I feel ashamed of myself. This poor woman has blamed herself for my actions for the past twenty years.

"Minerva, you have not failed anyone. If anyone is the failure, it's me. I have failed everyone when I decided to take my own life. Now I can move on and make a difference. Let's stop thinking about the past," I tell her.

"I'm worried about this job you are taking. What if you get hurt again?" she inquires tearfully. She is too wound up right now. If I wasn't a non-drinker I would say a stiff brandy is in order.

"They have a compensation plan, and I am willing to pay the consequences. This is up to me now," I tell her with determined look.

"I need to remind myself you are not thirteen," she chokes.

"Everyone is needed to fight right now. The Death Eater issue is no longer just a problem here, it has spread to North America; they are reaching out for help. Who am I to deny them? What ever happened to the value of courage that is so indicative of Gryffindor?"

I inquire. "Minerva, I promise I will keep in touch with you. Don't worry about me. You have enough problems with what is going on here. It's no longer safe even here at Hogwarts."

Minerva stands up shakily. "I will always worry about all my students." She gives me a hug, and walks out the door. "Please, see me again before you leave next week."

"I will." I close the door, feeling horrible about the burden she has carried concerning my actions all these years. I have no idea how to make it up to her. Is this a Wizard's Debt? I'm so confused.

My headache has gotten worse, but I refuse to go to Poppy about it. I consider it penance for what I have done to Minerva. The pain I feel in my head is not even a fraction that poor woman has felt over the years.

I have been in my darkened bedroom for the past few hours thinking of how to stick it to Dolores without causing any huge rifts with international relations. I must ask myself one question: Who would investigate the petty funds and tax money? I wonder if Kingsley would like to assist in discovering them anonymously. I think a letter is in order.