Chapter Forty-Six | The War Room

Order members filing through the kitchen door, Catherine felt naked in her shirt and jeans. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, simple black cotton, baggy, stolen from Sirius' wardrobe and far too large on her miniscule frame, all bunched up around her scars and the hem of it a short few inches from her knees.

The messengers were kind enough to poach a few of her things from under the Ministries watchful eye, her blood vials most importantly, but the shirt she chose to wear because it gave her some measure of comfort, wrapped up in the smell of stale cigarettes and the aged cedar of his dresser.

She didn't know he was a smoker, until she'd found him the night before perched on a windowsill and letting long slow breaths carry that acrid gray off into the wind.

Maybe it was a strange fixation on her part, seeing that dead man in the village and so tempted to take it from him, that now free of the disappointment she knew would come from Hermione, she asked him for one.

As if she hadn't disappointed her enough already.

Sirius had opened his mouth to protest before he, with a flicker of his eyes, remembered what brought her to his door. He simply pinched one out of the pack and held out his hand, understanding in his gaze.

"Bad habits are the best habits, I think," he'd said, lighting it with his wand as it was tucked firmly against her bottom lip. "They let us feel real. Decisions made knowing they'll harm us, just a little, all for a quick rush. Stupid, dirty, barely worth it. Isn't that the most human thing there is?"

They'd sat there in his room, just talking, enjoying the silence the night brought over the London outskirts.

She agreed with him, remembering that evening in the Room of Requirement with a bottle of Yharnam wine and only an errant god for company. "She'd hate me for this, you know."

"Who?"

"Hermione."

"Ah." And he understood, immediately. "Something more, there?"

"Once upon a time."

Catherine felt that same rush now, that tingling in her eyes and the razor focus that flood of nicotine brought as she sat, perched at the end of the table with Dumbledore and Sirius on both sides. The support from them was a palpable thing, a solid wall that rebuked every questioning or worried gaze cast her way by the members of the Order as they filed into their seats.

It took Molly trying to rush her for Sirius to slap his hand onto the table. "Give her space," came his shout, not altogether loud but more than intense, the woman she looked at as all but a mother quailing beneath his earnest glare.

"Catherine-"

"It's fine, Sirius. I'm not spun glass. Missus Weasley?"

"Molly, please."

"C'mere."

Reluctantly, Catherine got to her feet, spreading her arms and taking the woman into a hug, Molly's shoulders shaking as she fought against her tears. "Oh, Catherine," she rasped, hands planted firmly against her back. "You've had me so worried."

"All in one piece," she replied, slowly detaching herself. "Arthur."

He nodded from behind his wife, still looking a bit ill from his dalliance on guard duty. "Catherine."

"C'mon, we'll all talk in a second, sit down. And hey, Tonks."

The woman she had seen just a few days ago gave her a thin smile, normally jovial features twisted into something indecipherable, unable to take her eyes off Catherine. She was the only member of the Order, outside the Hogwarts staff who had seen her rampage, and with it came fear.

"Wotcher."

Giving Molly one last, awkward pat on the back, Catherine returned to her seat, taking in slow breaths as she prepared herself for yet another, long conversation. Given another few minutes, everyone had arrived, including an equally shifty Snape, Mundungus Fletcher, and Remus Lupin, the three looking more either displeased or, in Remus' case, horrified to see her sitting in front of them.

Snape for obvious reasons, and Mundungus because he looked for everything like he thought her to be ten seconds away from killing them all, hand in his pocket and held rigid, wand obviously within his grip.

But Remus, she could see, was eyeing her with something akin to terror. His nostrils were blown wide as he dragged in the air, scenting at something, and the normal gold of his iris nearly shone in the flickering candlelight that cast the room in a warm, orange glow.

"Thank you all for coming," Albus began, his voice dominating and brokering no complaint nor response from the attendees. "I wish this meeting were happening under better circumstances, but both fate and the Ministry have forced my hand. A few days ago, Catherine here was dragged into a confrontation that resulted in the death of one Dolores Umbridge, after she so dramatically changed into a beast in the midst of supper."

He raised his hand as a few people began to speak, McGonagall never breaking her stare from Catherine, as if to assure herself the girl was real.

"Umbridge, dare I say it, deserved this end. Torturing students and pushing for the dismantling and destruction of civil liberties most important, dehumanizing our most vulnerable."

That garnered a chorus of gasps, shock evident among the members of the Order, and Catherine had to stifle a snort at how pleased Moody looked. The Dumbledore they knew was a facade, a man crafted by his own hands to be palatable, almost saintly in his demeanor and intention.

This man was full of fire, focus, and a bravado that spoke loudly of the character he must have been in his youth. He was unapologetic in his wants, or the drive behind it, how far he would go to achieve what he felt he must. This was a man of fervor, a bull that would knock down every wall in its way to reach the prize it seeked.

Though the Ministry wished to shackle him, all they had done was throw off the bonds that Dumbledore had fitted to his own wrists, intent to live a life in which he stepped down to the level in which they played and acted, if only to pretend that he too was one of them.

But now he had no reason to be unfailingly kind, unfailingly merciful in his every decision. Now he no longer saw fit to dance to their tune, and instead took the baton so that he may lead the song and mould it in any way he saw fit. To do what is hard, but is right, or instead what is easy.

Well, they certainly gave him no choice, and now he was doing what was easy.

"But what caused her turning was an error on young Catherine's part. Her blood, changed due to circumstances you are about to be made aware of, served as a catalyst in Umbridge's descent into beasthood. Because of this, and thus the death of Dolores, the Ministry has now seen fit to post a bounty on our heads. Things have been pushed forward, and I find it necessary to step to the dais and take the first stab in this soon-to-be war," He steepled his fingers, indomitable as he dragged his eyes back and forth, studying the faces of each and every person there. "Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to allow Catherine here to speak."

Weaving her tale, Catherine spoke of the horrors to be found in Yharnam. The city itself but an afterthought when its penitent denizens were the true part that made it important. She talked of the Blood, her deaths, the ire and torture it brought, and finally she spoke of that creature beneath the lake, made of the stars themselves and anathema to all life as they knew it.

As she talked, faces crumpled, shoulders sagged, and for a few, tears budded to their eyes, Molly most of all hardly able to contain her sorrow with every word that came from her lips.

Moody looked as if he didn't know whether to flee the room, kill her where she sat, or give her a pat on the back and a cheery 'Good job, kid' for surviving through it all and still coming out barely more mad than him. Oh, he was a kindred spirit in some ways, that same shifty look and the constant twitch of a man looking for danger in every shadow, an enemy behind every corner.

So when she finished talking, and the questions came, the man roared his complaint. "Quiet! One at a time, you laggards. Girl can't talk to everyone at once, can she?" He turned to point at her. "And you. If Albus trusts you, so do I, but don't think I'm not keeping my eye on you."

"Constant vigilance."

His hideous mask twisted into a grin. "Aye. That's it right there. Now, keep your yaps shut and give her a moment. God's sake, this isn't a radio show."

Molly raised her hand, before thinking better of it and letting it come back down to rest on the table, quivering all the while. "How many times?"

"How many times, what?"

"How many times have you died?"

Squinting, Catherine tried to think on it, but ended up shaking her head. "Haven't a clue. Lost count after a hundred or so."

A choked sob erupted from Molly, Arthur throwing an arm around her shoulder and bringing her close.

"Wait- wait. The tower," Tonks called. "You didn't live, did you?"

"I jumped off the astronomy tower, of course I didn't live. Scared the hell out of these two," she said, pointing at Albus and Snape. "When they found me at the bottom, no worse for wear."

Severus, of course, looked angry to even be mentioned, upper lip curling in contempt. For a moment she thought him tempted to comment, before he huffed quietly and did his usual. Keeping to himself.

"You smell like the moon. Like the sea."

Blinking, Catherine turned to Remus. "I'm tied to Her domain. The Dream. It's Her creation. But, not entirely, and another god stole me away. The Moon took Voldemort, decades ago, and she tried to take me as well."

"It's… daunting," the man whispered, still on edge. "It fears you, the werewolf inside me. It's terrified."

She hummed. It made sense, Hunter through and through. It would recognize one practically born to kill it.

"So what happened to Umbridge?" A man asked, Dedalus Diggle if she recalled correctly.

"I threatened her, but doing that I made a mistake, and splashed her with my blood. Blood is the root of all the wrong in Yharnam and what befell the civilizations that came before it. But a drop, and her fate was sealed. We're just lucky no one died."

"Except for you," Minerva interrupted. "I saw it with my own two eyes, Catherine. I saw- I saw you hit the wall. You died."

"I don't think you, or anyone else here quite understands my situation." Standing tall, Catherine leaned into the table, hands planted firmly atop it as she leered at the attendees. "Dying is like breathing to me. I've been crushed, stabbed, minced, burned, electrocuted, eaten, digested - all of these things and I have the scars to prove it. After a point, it just becomes another fact of life. I wake, I fight, and I die. Either at the hands of a beast or my own."

Another chorus, hands slapped to mouths and horror evident. "What? Tell me, if you were stuck with this curse, that if you found your wounds to heal, clothes to be cleaned, and all exhaustion stricken from your bones that you wouldn't take a short leap for the sake of convenience and a bit of comfort? I get around that city in two ways, and both involve death.

"I'm not the Catherine you know. Not anymore. I'm sorry for that, but sorry doesn't cut it when there's still so much more to do. Nor, do I think, will it ever be enough, even after all of this is said and done and Voldemort is buried at my hand." Pointing to her left, to Dumbledore, she continued. "In the next few days Albus, Sirius, and myself will be conducting an offensive at LeStrange Manor, in the hopes of claiming an object that Voldemort holds very dear. This will be the first battle of the war, and I hope you're all prepared."

Everyone in the room, bar a very select few, looked close to losing their dinner. Queasy, pale, eyes averted and looking anything but happy to be there.

What did they expect? That this war would not be a war but a simple jaunt through a few fields, cast a spell or two and be on your way home? Hadn't they lived through the last? Knew the terror that it brought with an intimacy that would leave a lover jealous?

Why now, did they look sick to their stomachs? If only for the fact that before them stood a child soldier, swaddled in death and the mire of a thousand gnashing beasts, all dead, all because of her.

They were the same, once upon a time. Not children, but war doesn't care much for the life of those. Bombs and crossfire were all it took for a family to be stolen away, for a child too young to even know what death was to be left glassy-eyed in the streets.

Emilie could have been one of those children. Still could, if Catherine didn't end the hunt once and for all.

Even if you fought to escape its grasp, war would come and drag you in through fire and brimstone and the cries of the damned. Bloodied streets and burnt flesh, inescapable, and born of an unending hunger.

"Bout time, I say."

"Alastor!"

"No. He's right." Dumbledore stood this time, hands folded in front of him. "We cannot allow Voldemort to consolidate his power. He is biding his time, knowing that I'm not one to take the first step. Not since Grindelwald, not since ever. Well, I plan on remedying that, and with it I hope for us to gain an immediate advantage in this war." He slowly walked around the table, heads craning to follow him. "I'm taking a leaflet from his own book, one might say. We will hit them hard, vicious, in the places they hold most dear. Their homes, their sanctuaries. We will rout them out and drag these twisted men into the light so that our world will be forced to recognize them as the terrorists they are.

"I no longer hold to the notion that mercy and second chances are an availing principle to live by. Not in war. And especially not when battling against those who would see every man, woman, and child dead for the sake of the blood that runs through their veins. I daresay a good many of you remember the first war that shook not just Britain but all of Europe, and if not, your parents must have told you tales of it."

Cloaked in magic, Dumbledore was lightning made manifest, brimming with power and standing head and shoulders above everyone in the room. "Appeasement was something once tried, to dramatic failure. It did nothing to stop the war machine, and I saw the outcome of that hatred in the camps of Auschwitz, in Bergen-Belsen. Misery unlike anything this world has ever seen, and Voldemort would visit it upon us once more with utmost glee."

Catherine cleared her throat, catching everyone's attention "He worked with the witches, in Yharnam."

"The witches?"

"Organ harvesters. He taught them magic, and they taught him. Yharnam is all about rituals, I think. Warding and curses, not like ours, but something that lays across the land and taints it, makes every step treacherous. But they need ingredients for their rituals. Eyes, livers, limbs… children, stolen from the womb and used to fuel their practices." She looked out across the table, at every one of them, and soaked in the disgust that ebbed from their pores. "I came across hundreds of them buried in the mountainside. Pits full of corpses, bodies broken and missing more than they arrived with. He threw himself into that as a teenager, barely a year older than me. I can scarcely imagine the lengths he'd go to today. Didn't you say he used inferi?"

"Often."

"So he plays with corpses already. He stuffed himself into the body of an infant so that he could be resurrected. A homunculus, packed full with magic that knows no kindness, and is only built for suffering. Severus," she shot, the man grimacing at the use of his first name. "How often does Voldemort requisition organs. Human organs, for potions or rituals."

"At least once a month. But, if you would allow an adult to speak their piece, I have something to say." The man brushed down his robes, haughty, and looked for everything as if he was a pile of sentient grease about to slither off into a crack in the sewers. "The Dark Lord has been made aware of Catherine's circumstances," he spoke, derision dripping from his lips. "He reacted, unlike any manner in which I'd seen before. Fury is an emotion he knows well, but this was strung through with fear. Real, actual fear." Snape inclined his head towards Dumbledore. "I think you'd be pleased to know that there is some manner of dissent in his ranks, quiet as the grave, but dissent nonetheless. Voldemort has truly been to this... Yharnam, and he does not look back on it fondly."

"Good. I hope I scare him. I've got a god at my back and I won't hesitate to bring the Blood back to his doorstep."

"He does not fear you, you foolish girl. He fears the world the two of you have been trapped in."

"Doesn't he?" She leaned further, smirking at the glimmer of disgust in his eyes. "I think I scare him. He can't kill me, he can't do anything to stop me. No matter what he does I'll come back, no worse for wear, ready to kill him and the rest of his men. We know his deepest, darkest secret, and with it will come his ruin."

"You arrogant swot! I don't know why I ever saw a lick of-"

"Enough!" The booming voice of Dumbledore rattled the room, and Catherine sunk back into her seat, pleased. "If I have to keep the two of you in separate rooms, I'll do that if I must. Do not goad Severus, and to you," he intoned, turning his attention back to his spymaster. "We will be having words, Severus."

All the man did was huff, lazily waving his hand. "Understood, Albus."

"Good. Now, the rest of you. I do not wish to drag you into a firefight unless you truly wish to battle. All of you remember the last war, shed blood because of it, and due in part to myself, Catherine, and Sirius, I believe we can be a touch more lax in terms of allowing you to see combat. A war is not just fought on the frontlines. It takes planning, research, and most of all, connections. If you can, please see to it to speak to those who might be like minded in our effort. Discretion is key, but I have faith that we will be able to bring more into the fold. I sincerely doubt that Voldemort has sat idle this last year, and thus we have some catching up to do."

"I can speak with the Diggory's," Arthur said, the first time he'd spoken since coming to the place. "They're sure to know a few others."

Grunting, Moody rapped his knuckles against the table. "There's neutral houses that might be willing to take our side. I still have contacts that I can get in touch with from the last war, see if they can be convinced."

"Excellent. We can speak more of this the next time we meet. I believe it would be best for everyone to get as much rest as they possibly can and take time to… digest tonight's discussion, disheartening as I imagine it was for the majority of us. We can-"

Suddenly, Minerva and Molly reached out, eyes wide. "Catherine!"

Dumbledore whirled around and let out a quiet sigh, to see her with her head on the tabletop, softly snoring with her hair splayed haphazardly about her.

"I think Catherine has the right of it," he announced, chuckling, and praying that it in some way eased the tension that hung over the room. "I look forward to seeing you all soon, and if anyone does not want to leave immediately and instead would like to speak with me, I'll be in the sitting room."