Hogwarts, Headmistress McGonagall's Office, September 24, 2017, 12:45 PM
Solus clung to his father.
Mark hugged him as if he were the only thing keeping him standing (upright).
"I'm sorry," Mark whispered over and over again. "I'm so sorry, Solus."
'Why is he apologizing?'
'What happened?'
Solus pulled away slowly.
He looked at his father's face.
Mark Gray was thirty-six years old. He had always been the kind of man who looked younger than he was. Optimistic. Full of energy.
But now...
Now he looked as if he had aged ten years in a week.
Deep dark circles. Unshaven beard. Rumpled clothes that smelled like an airplane (aeroplane) and desperation.
"Dad," Solus said with a trembling voice. "What happened? Where is Mom (Mum)?"
Mark closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
And when he opened them, there were tears running down his cheeks.
"She's in the hospital, Solus... A psychiatric hospital."
The world stopped.
Solus heard the words.
He processed them.
But they didn't make sense.
'Psychiatric hospital.'
'Mom is in a psychiatric hospital.'
"What...?" Solus's voice cracked. "How...?"
Mark sat in one of the chairs in front of McGonagall's desk.
Solus sat next to him.
Stella was standing near the door, not knowing if she should stay or go.
McGonagall motioned for her to sit down too.
"I think we all need to hear this."
Mark began to speak.
"I got your letter Sunday night. Boston time." His voice was rough. "I tried to call your mother. Over and over. She didn't answer."
He paused.
"I booked the first flight I could. I got home yesterday morning. Monday. Around nine." Mark rubbed his face. "The door was unlocked. Just... open. Like someone had gone out and forgotten to lock it."
Solus felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"I went in. The house was..." Mark searched for words. "It was like there had been a storm. Papers everywhere. Dirty dishes. Clothes on the floor."
"And your mother..." Mark's voice broke. "I found her in the bathroom. Sitting on the floor. She had... she had taken pills. A lot of pills."
Solus stopped breathing.
'No.'
"I called emergency services immediately," Mark continued. "The ambulance arrived in minutes. They pumped her stomach. They said she had taken enough pills to..."
He stopped.
He couldn't say it.
He didn't need to say it.
'To kill herself.'
'Mom tried to commit suicide.'
Solus went very still.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He just sat there, looking at McGonagall's desk without seeing anything.
'She tried to die.'
'And I wasn't there.'
Mark continued with a shaking voice:
"The doctors said she was severely depressed. Possibly psychotic. Losing contact with reality." He looked at Solus. "Why didn't you tell me sooner she was this bad?"
The question was like a slap in the face.
"I wrote to you," Solus said in a low voice. "As soon as I saw something was wrong."
"But before that. In the weeks before you came here. Didn't you notice something was wrong?"
"I..." Solus stopped.
'Had I noticed?'
'Had I seen the signs and ignored them?'
'That day in the garden when I was nine. When she had said: "As long as I have you, I'll always be fine."'
'I had seen her sadness then.'
'And what had I done?'
'Nothing.'
'Because I was eleven years old and busy processing two thousand years of memories and preparing for Hogwarts.'
'And I had left my mother alone.'
"It's my fault," Solus whispered.
"No," Mark said firmly. "No, Solus. It's not your fault. You're a child. It's not your job to take care of your mother."
"But I..."
"It's my fault," Mark interrupted. His voice broke. "I should have been there. I should have seen the signs. But I was too busy with my damn job. Too busy chasing a promotion."
He covered his face with his hands.
"And I almost lost my wife because I was on another continent when she needed me."
McGonagall spoke for the first time since they had entered.
"Mr. Gray. Mrs. Gray is getting help now. That is what matters."
Mark lowered his hands.
"Yes. She's in a specialized facility. North London Psychiatric Centre. The doctors say she'll be there for at least two weeks. Possibly more."
"And after?" Solus asked.
"After... I don't know. Therapy. Medication. Time." Mark looked at him. "The doctors said her depression was severe. That she had probably been struggling with it for years. But she never said anything. She never asked for help."
'Because she thought she was fine as long as she had me.'
'And then I left.'
'And she fell apart.'
Solus closed his eyes.
'I couldn't save my own mother.'
"Solus." McGonagall's voice was soft but firm.
He opened his eyes.
"I know this is overwhelming. I know it hurts. But I need you to listen to what I'm going to say."
Solus nodded weakly.
"Your mother is alive. She is getting help. And with time and treatment, she can recover." McGonagall leaned forward. "But you need to decide what you want to do now."
"What I want...?"
"If you want to go home. Be with your father. See your mother when the doctors allow it. We can arrange it. Your professors will understand. Your classes can wait."
Solus looked at his father.
"Can I see her?"
Mark shook his head.
"Not yet. The doctors said she needs to stabilize first. Maybe in a few days. Maybe a week."
"So... I can't do anything."
"You can be home," Mark said. "With me. You don't have to be here if you don't want to."
Solus processed that.
'Go home.'
'Be in that empty house with my broken father.'
'Waiting. Unable to do anything.'
'Or stay here. Continue. Distract myself.'
'Pretend I can still be normal.'
'Which was worse?'
"Can I think about it?" Solus asked.
Mark seemed surprised.
"Think about it?"
"Just... I need a moment. To process."
Mark looked at McGonagall.
She nodded.
"Of course. Take the time you need." McGonagall stood up. "Mr. Gray, there is a guest room where you can rest. I'll show you the way."
"Thank you."
Mark stood up. He walked toward Solus.
He put a hand on his shoulder.
"Solus. Whatever your decision is, I'll support it. Okay?"
Solus nodded.
"Okay."
Mark left with McGonagall.
Stella, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke.
"Solus."
He looked at her.
"I don't know what to say," Stella admitted. "I don't know how... how to help you with this."
"There's nothing to say."
"But..."
"Stella." Solus's voice was flat. Empty. "My mother tried to kill herself. Because she was alone. Because I wasn't there."
"That's not..."
"It is." Solus stood up. "And now I have to decide if I stay at Hogwarts pretending I can be normal. Or if I go home and sit in an empty house waiting to be allowed to see my mother in a psych ward."
His voice rose.
"Which do I choose, Stella? The option where I'm useless here? Or the option where I'm useless there?"
Stella stood up too.
And she hugged him.
Tight.
Solus stood rigid.
Then, slowly, his arms came up.
And he hugged her back.
And finally, finally, he cried.
It wasn't a soft cry.
It was violent.
Two thousand years of loss.
Two thousand years of watching people he loved die.
And now this.
'I almost lost my mother.'
'Again.'
'It's always again.'
Stella said nothing.
She just held him.
And let him cry.
. . . . .
Slytherin Common Room, 2:00 PM
When Solus returned, Albus was waiting.
"What happened?" he asked immediately.
Solus sat on the couch (sofa) in front of the fireplace.
Stella sat next to him.
"My mother is in the hospital," Solus said in a monotone voice. "She tried to commit suicide. My father found her in time."
Albus paled.
"Solus... I..."
"Don't say you're sorry. Please."
Albus closed his mouth.
Silence.
Then Albus asked:
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Can I help?"
"No."
"Can I do something?"
Solus looked at him.
And he saw something in Albus's eyes that reminded him why he had chosen him as a friend.
"You can stay." Solus said finally. "You and Stella. Just... stay."
"Of course," Albus said.
He sat on the other side of Solus.
And the three of them stayed there.
In silence.
Watching the green fire.
. . . . .
Night, 9:00 PM
Solus couldn't sleep.
He lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
'What do I do?'
'Do I stay or do I go?'
'I want my mom.'
And that was the loudest voice.
He got up.
He went down to the Common Room.
Stella was there, sitting in front of the fireplace.
"I couldn't sleep either," she said when she saw him.
Solus sat next to her.
"How do you do it?" he asked in a low voice.
"Do what?"
"Keep going. When everything falls apart."
Stella thought about it.
"I guess... I focus on what I can control. I can't control the world. I can't control what happens to people. But I can control what I do. How I react."
She paused.
"And I guess I have friends who remind me I'm not alone."
Solus nodded slowly.
"Thanks. For being there today."
"Always," Stella said simply.
Solus looked at the fire.
And he made his decision.
"I'm going to stay."
Stella looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
"No. But..." Solus took a deep breath. "I can't see my mother yet. The doctors won't allow it. And if I go home, I'm just going to sit there feeling useless."
"At least here I can do something. I can finish the presentation on Corvus. I can train you and Albus. I can..." He stopped. "I can pretend I have control over something."
Stella nodded.
"Okay. Then we'll make sure you're not alone."
"Thanks."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Then Stella asked:
"Solus?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to be okay?"
Solus thought about it.
'Am I going to be okay?'
'No.'
'Not for a long time.'
'But I have to pretend I am.'
'Because if I don't, I'll crumble. And I can't afford that.'
'Not yet.'
"Yeah," he lied. "I'm going to be okay."
. . . . . . .
North London Psychiatric Centre Room 237, September 24, 2017, 10:00 PM
Helen Gray lay in a hospital bed.
The walls were white.
The room was empty except for the bed, a chair, and a window with bars.
Not prison bars.
Safety bars.
'So I don't jump.'
Helen stared at the ceiling.
She wasn't sleeping.
She couldn't sleep.
Her mind was full of noise.
Voices that didn't exist.
Memories that weren't real. Thoughts that twisted and shifted before she could catch them.
'Where is Solus?'
'Why isn't he here?'
'Did I call him?'
'Did he come?'
'I don't remember.'
Tears ran down her cheeks.
'I'm sorry, honey.'
'I'm so sorry.'
'I didn't want to scare you.'
'I didn't want...'
'I didn't want any of this.'
She closed her eyes.
And in the darkness of her mind, she saw her son's face.
Eleven years old. Black hair. Gray (grey) eyes.
'Eyes...'
'Why does he have those eyes?'
'Did he always have them?'
'Or am I imagining it?'
'I don't know what's real anymore.'