A/N: Here's Bonus Two for the week! Happy Mother's Day to all the mum's out there!

-C

Hope you're going to stay away, 'cause I'm getting weaker, weaker every day. I guess I'm not as strong as I used to be, and if you use me again, it'll be the end of me. – Say You Love Me, Fleetwood Mac (Christine McVie)

Catherine listened to Rabastan – this time her uncle – as he asked her which book she wished for him to read, which was becoming their pattern, both in the dream and in reality. Here in the dream, it hardly mattered what he read, as the story or content rarely corresponded with the book he pulled off the shelf, and she told him she didn't mind.

She rested with her head on his lap again, feeling his fingers tracing through her hair, not daring to close her eyes.

She liked the dreams better than reality, she thought. Even if she did decide to play out the fantasy, she would be in control, and one thing Catherine had learned since her youth was being in control of a situation had its charms. She was almost shy of being out of it, even when she was safest, because of what she had allowed to happen to the people she cared most about when she'd last sought a lack of control.

In the dream, she was in charge of everything. If she didn't want something, it was nothing to tell Rabastan she was going to do or eat something else. Everything he did was centered around her. In reality, even the way Rabastan focused on her was somehow about him, or at least that was how it seemed to Catherine when she stopped to examine the nature of her marriage.

Her head began to throb as she tried to understand, to recall, to parse. This headache frustrated her, especially as she didn't think she could rid herself of it within a dream, and she thought perhaps she'd gone too long without giving in to the fantasy. Perhaps there was something inevitable about dreaming.

She sat up as Rabastan was reading, and he paused, confused. He seemed to think she might be trying to find a more comfortable position, but instead she touched his face. It was warm, seemingly identical to the face she knew in the waking world. It felt the same, which was sensible. He was a figment of her subconscious mind, after all. He asked if everything was alright, and she pressed her lips to his.

At first, he was stunned, stiff against her gentle kiss. Rabastan hesitated, trying to pull away, but when her lips simply followed his, when her fingers began to caress his jaw to coax him closer, his body began to relax slowly – but perhaps quicker than such a thing would have happened if this were reality – and he leaned into the kiss, parting his lips slightly against hers. He was kissing her back.

Her body seemed to thrill with fear and excitement that this was happening, that it happened so simply. Of course, a kiss was a small thing in the scheme of things, but it seemed to Catherine something substantial had shifted in the dream, that something very serious had happened.

She allowed him to pull away from the kiss and his eyebrows raised slightly as his eyes searched her face for answers, settling on her lips.

"What was that for?" he asked, with a forced levity and amusement in his voice. She could hear the heat, the gravelly nature he was attempting to hide.

He was attracted, aroused.

"Does it matter?" she asked, not quite sure where the words had come from, but knowing they were the right words. A small voice in the back of her head told her to kiss him again, that it was the only sensible thing to do.

It did seem sensible, as this was meant to be the fulfillment of a fantasy, so she leaned in and kissed him again. This time, Rabastan did not hesitate, but he returned the kiss with eagerness, with fervor. His hands seemed to be deciding what to do, where to go, but he let the book tumble to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Catherine thought vaguely it should feel different, this sort of thing. She only felt numb about it, but in the dream, she was supposed to have been alone for some time, her husband away. Perhaps the numbness was because it wasn't real.

That little voice in her head told her to sit on his lap, and it was really only a small shift, so Catherine obliged the voice, thinking it was really quite a sensible thing to do, making things easier for everyone.

This small shift in the way they interacted caused a pause from Rabastan, but she could feel his bulge against her thigh and she knew he was enjoying the forwardness. A horrible sensation in her chest reminded her not only was he her uncle – not entirely acceptable, but forgivable in her world – but they were both married, both with children….

She almost pulled away, but the voice in her head suggested she move his hands to where she wanted them. Catherine teetered, not certain what to do. She was torn between the curiosity of the fantasy and her repulsion. She was torn between the physical desire she was experiencing and the numbness it fueled, torn between the voice in her head and the freezing in her chest. What did she do?

Catherine continued the kiss, opening her mouth slightly to suck lightly on his bottom lip, and he groaned into her mouth. That groan seemed to unknit some of her fears, and she gave in to the voice for the moment, taking his hands, which had yet to puzzle out what to do, and moving them to her body, tracing them up from the waist to her breasts. When she let go of his hands, he hesitated only a moment.

/-/

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as they paced the hotel room his little girl had stayed at while in Vienna. She wasn't here, hadn't been here in days, but Jason could feel her in the room again, and there was more evidence of her using sex to pay her way.

"We're getting closer behind her," Cedric said softly as Severus and Mad-Eye Moody examined the room for more magical signatures. "That's got to be a good sign."

Part of Harry was pleased they were getting closer, but the fact she was moving more and more frequently couldn't be helpful. Yes, they might be fewer days behind, but how many cities? If she kept on this pattern of increased speed, she could be in Russia by now. Or Africa. He couldn't tell exactly where she was headed.

"It's fainter," Mad-Eye growled. "Couldn't begin to say what it means, but the signature is smaller."

"The pain is still there," Jason said, rubbing the back of his own neck listlessly, sitting on the bed. "But…I think it's fainter. Could be because she wasn't here as long."

"Scorpius says he's working on a theory," Cedric said. "He's gone back to Amsterdam to check on a rumor he heard in Berlin, something he thought could explain the signature. Said to keep him posted and he'll meet us wherever we are when he gets a chance, and if we need to report back to England until then, I can always get a short-notice portkey without too much suspicion."

Harry had half a mind to send Cedric back now, to have him check in on Catherine, who still seemed to struggle getting enough sleep. Rabastan and Severus had agreed the risks of giving her something to induce sleep were much worse than the risks of her losing a bit of sleep in the short-term, but Harry wasn't convinced. As anxious and worried as he was for his daughter, he was convinced something was wrong with his wife. Something he couldn't put his finger on, and something Jason was unable to sense with his focus tied up on Cynthia. For a little while, he thought it would be enough to wait until they found Cynthia to decide what was going on with Catherine, but the longer the search raged on, the less certain he was about this method.

"Here's something," Severus said.

The man was on his belly by the air conditioning unit, and he used his wand to pull out a small, white disc. It looked like chalk, small and crumbly, and Severus crushed it, doing a few spells to determine what it was.

"Well, it's certainly magical in origin," Severus said, his expression darkening. "Not something I've seen the like of in Britain, but it's conceivable it has been in use on the continent."

"We can check," Cedric said. "What is it?"

Severus looked up at Harry, hesitating, before he said, "It's a drug. Some sort of…psychedelic, hallucinogenic stimulant.

Harry's stomach seemed to drop to his toes and he turned away from the other men in the room, struggling to breathe. He couldn't go through this again. Not after everything he'd done for his wife.

Jason put a hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry tore away, hurrying to the attached toilet to vomit.

/-/

Cynthia raised her head and blinked at Rhiannon, who was laying out some easily-made pasta and a glass of wine. Cynthia saw Rhiannon place a tablet in the wine, and while she felt her body race with excitement at the thought, she was exhausted. She wasn't sure exactly how many hours she'd been engaged in sexual activities the night before, but it was certainly far more than she usually spent sleeping. She ached, and she was exhausted, and even the idea of walking over to the pasta seemed too much.

"Are you coming here, darling," Rhiannon said, amused, "or do I have to come to you?"

With a sigh, Cynthia sat up slightly and said, "I think the food's going to have to come to me today."

"The wine stays here," Rhiannon said pointedly. "If you can't cross the room, you can't have it."

That was more than fine with Cynthia, who didn't bother saying so. She just nodded, accepting her food gratefully, kissing Rhiannon's jaw before picking up her fork.

"I never get to cook for you," Cynthia said, trying to recall what Rhiannon liked to eat. She couldn't remember seeing her eat anything, and assumed Rhiannon ate when Cynthia was sleeping, or when she was giving her space for…business.

"As charming as the notion is, darling, let me earn my keep," Rhiannon said with a wink, and Cynthia said nothing. She supposed there was a certain balance in Rhiannon taking care of Cynthia while Cynthia made their living. Sort of how her father waited on her mother while her mother spent the days running an apothecary business.

She felt a stab of nostalgia as she thought of her mother's birthday, when Cynthia was a little girl. Her father helped Cecilia make breakfast, while Cynthia stayed in bed with her mother, brushing her mother's long, silky hair, trying to plait it, taking verbal pointers from her mother on how to do a proper plait. When breakfast came in, such a proud look on Cecilia's face, Cynthia's father helped with the plaiting, as he was something of an expert.

"Cate?"

For a moment, Cynthia forgot that was her name now, and she didn't answer until Rhiannon snapped her fingers a few times, waving her hand in front of Cynthia's face. With a start, Cynthia raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, sorry," Cynthia said with a laugh. "I was just…thinking of…breakfast."

Rhiannon raised a questioning brow, and seemed to understand that Cynthia wasn't simply thinking about breakfast foods, but of a particular breakfast somewhere in her past, something dragging her into memories again.

Cynthia wasn't half surprised when Rhiannon stood and brought the wine over to Cynthia, obviously thinking the tablet would help. As much as the tablet had helped in past, Cynthia wasn't so sure she wanted the wine at present. She wasn't sure if it was day or night, wasn't sure if the glass of wine was what she really wanted. She wanted to wrap her arms around her mother, to tangle her fingers in her mother's long, beautiful hair. She wanted to be part of her family again, even if it would never be whole.

But how could she ever go back?

After only a brief hesitation, Cynthia took a few sips, then a few healthy gulps, of the wine. She continued to eat, well aware of her hunger, but the more of the wine she consumed, the more of it she wanted, and by the time she finished the wine, she wasn't sure she'd even half-finished the pasta. Cynthia laid back on the bed, taking deep, regular breaths, the past seeming to melt away from her. The future melted away, too, and all the possibilities were meaningless. She only felt the present, enjoying the sensation of the warm duvet around her under-dressed body. She inhaled deeply, and heard Rhiannon say something, but her mind couldn't hold onto whatever the words were. Perhaps the specific words were not important.

Something was lifted away from her, but Cynthia didn't worry about it. She saw Rhiannon's face, shining and perfect above her, and she seemed to feel her everywhere at once. A moan – probably from Cynthia's lips – escaped into the swirling room around her, and it seemed to echo deliciously. She could taste the wine on her tongue, could taste something slightly salty, and she felt Rhiannon's cool fingers slip between her legs, teasing her. Rhiannon whispered something, but the words were not important. The meaning could be discerned from the tone of voice, and the way the fingers worked.

Cynthia closed her eyes, desperate to only feel. She let her legs spread as wide as they would go, and somehow she felt Rhiannon lowering over her face. Cynthia's tongue was out of her mouth as fast as she could imagine it moving, and she eagerly lapped at her lover. All her own pleasure compounded with knowing that with the taste of her lover, she was bringing her lover pleasure. She didn't hear anything but a steady stream of whisperings from Rhiannon, and that was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect.

Cynthia felt her body writhe with delicious agony, although she couldn't be sure how long, or how many times. Her already exhausted body was drawn from orgasm to orgasm, until the exhaustion could no longer be staved off by the dissolved tablet and the wine kicked in to conspire against her. She closed her eyes again, feeling the coolness of Rhiannon's body curl up against her, knowing Rhiannon would not be against her when she woke, and she rolled over, burying her face in Rhiannon's hair. It was cool and soft, and she thought it wasn't quite right.

But that didn't matter. It was beautiful.

/-/

Severus watched Cedric rub his eyes, and he knew something had to be done. Jason was a crumbling mess, Harry was retreating back into himself in pain and despair, and accounts from Cara said Sirius was behaving strangely.

But something was wrong beyond that, something that had Severus particularly concerned.

Catherine didn't seem quite herself, even to Harry, and yet Rabastan said it was a simple matter of her not sleeping quite well.

Severus had known Catherine all her life, having been present at Grimmauld Place for her birth at Cara's request, having been contracted to her for what now seemed like such a brief time, having been present for the births of both her children, and having personally overseen her health for many years, now. Since her detox in France.

If Harry saw something wrong, if Jason couldn't tell, Severus was willing to believe something was wrong.

"Soon, you're going to have to return to England," Severus said pointedly to Cedric Diggory.

"Even if we haven't found her?" Cedric asked softly.

Severus hummed and nodded, but he didn't want it to be that way. Cedric was endlessly helpful, and he wanted to be able to find Cynthia first.

"Even if it's a brief visit," Severus said softly, thinking of the way a young Catherine had trembled in his arms in Marseille, convinced her husband and father could never forgive what she'd done, what she'd dragged Harry into. She'd grown so much since then, but in essence…. Such things never truly ended, and she had yet to forgive herself. "Just to report to Draco and pay Potter Manor a…surprise visit."

"What would I be looking for?" Cedric asked, raising his eyebrow pointedly.

Severus hummed, wondering what indeed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Anything not quite right. Use your discretion. I doubt she would get away with potions or pills right under Rabastan's nose, especially as he insists he prepares all her beverages and meals. But anything that feels…not quite right. If things truly do seem that she's just tired, then we will continue to search without concern. But if something is truly wrong, even if you don't know what it is…"

"Then what?" Cedric asked.

Severus rubbed his brow and said, "Then you bring it to me, directly to me, and I check in on her. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve and know both her and Rabastan better than you do. But you will cause less suspicion, and will not be perceived as a threat if something is wrong."

"What do you suspect?"

"Nothing at all," Severus admitted. "To suspect is to close one's eyes to possibilities, Cedric, and one thing I have learned from my years dealing with the Black family is everything and anything is possible. Catherine, in particular, has her way of ending up in all manner of messes. Best not to go in with expectations."

Cedric agreed he would go at the weekend, regardless of what they'd found during the week. And Severus felt anxiety for the first time in years.

A/N: So, Catherine feels drawn to take action in the dream, Cynthia is down, and Severus begins to feel uneasy about matters at home even as concerns crop up going forward.

Review Prompt: What do you think Cedric will find?

Q&A:

Q: Will Rabastan use darker methods to get Catherine to do stuff? (TheoJames11)

A: As of this chapter, he has. That little voice in her head urging her this way and that? That should be very familiar to HP fans.

Q: Will we hear from Rabastan's wife at some point? (Joe-wizard)

A: Absolutely! Delia will be a key figure in the wind-down of this story. I also have some plans for her in Part 4. She can be a bit vacuous, but hopefully we have a tad of sympathy for her, now.

Q: Do the dogs not like Rabastan because they know he's up to something? (Joe-wizard)

A: Dogs have a very good sense of people. They didn't like him before he was up to something, but now they're even more wary of him because they associate him with the negative changes in Catherine.

Q: Is it only Penny who doesn't like Rabastan, or is it all the dogs? (Th3Gingerwizard)

A: It's definitely not just Penny, but she's the dog that's closest to Catherine, and is sort of the leader of the other dogs, the mama figure. So, her POV is more interesting. I had a brief foray into Shadow's POV a little while back. But I spend more time in Penny's head than the other dogs.

Cheers!

C