Chapter Sixty-One | Sight of God
Boxes, stacked as tall and far as the eye could see. Knicknacks, shining bits of cheap tin centuries old, and the strange scent of must - stagnant with age - that marked things forgotten yet held together by thin strings of magic. It was a sight, certainly, and the quiet gasp from Minerva next to her made Catherine want to flinch, if just to get some space.
Talking with someone with even a modicum of honesty, relieving though it was, had exhausted her.
Content Catherine may be, but that didn't mean that speaking her ills even in as vague a manner as possible didn't wear at her.
It seemed to wear at Minerva too. Or maybe that had to do with the fact that it was nearly dawn and the woman now held three jobs due to Albus' current status as a fugitive.
Tiredness like that of sleep was a feeling she'd almost forgotten, except for those far and few between moments where reality finally caught up with her and all but forced Catherine to shut her eyes. Like a taste or a scent that could barely be placed in her memory until the moment it touched her senses and she was reminded, quite vividly, of its existence.
Somehow their conversation had gone well. Not great, not excellent, but the both of them could admit that it was something that resembled pleasant. And though the two had acted as if unwilling participants to a wake as soon as conversation no longer flowed with a hesitant ease - spoken word far more difficult once surprise and a touch too much caffeine had reached their peak - it didn't change the fact that their shoulders hung a bit easier.
Here among the lost bits and ends of a millenia worth of students, Catherine could easily pick up the scent of a horcrux within. It was rank, both bitter and cloying and nearly viscous as it stuck to the back of her throat with every sharp breath that pulled into her nose.
"It's here."
"Are you certain?"
"Completely."
Beside her, Minerva's wand waved back and forth, a look of consternation on her face. "I can't sense a thing. Not anything beyond that of the few artifacts smuggled into Hogwarts over the years."
"Not like that." Catherine tapped her nose. "I can smell it. They all smell the same."
"You can-" She hummed. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"The blood, and more."
"Is it blood magic, then?"
"Blood magic as we know it is a pale imitation of what the people of Yharnam and Pthumeru were, and are capable of. What's happened to me goes even further. A god's touch in the body of a doll, and with their mark-" she brushed her thumb against her forehead, "-you soak up the essence of those you kill. She draws it out, takes the echoes in their blood and uses them to make you more."
"That is…"
"Horrifying? I'm all but filled with corpses, Minerva. The blood doesn't just give me memories, or make me stronger - faster - it makes me know. Things I've never heard, never seen, captured from who knows where and branded across my mind."
The woman was silent, her throat bobbing as she surveyed Catherine and seemed to take measure of her. As if she could spy insanity in the scars etched across her face, or the milk-gray of her one, dying eye. "Was it always like that? This knowing?"
"It was gradual. Sometimes I'd cast a spell without a wand, or with no words spoken. Soon I'd do both, and never notice. I'd cast something I'd never read about, or move in a way I didn't know I was capable of. Once I'd figured out what was going on, it was too late, and too useful to stop. I'd never have made it this far, or done the things I have without it - for better or worse."
"If you and Albus were to fight-"
"We wouldn't. I won't give him any cause to do so, and neither will he. He knows where I stand."
"Amuse me. I'd like to hear from what seems to be my most talented student." Catherine flinched when Minerva patted her on the shoulder, the woman retracting her hand quickly. "If you two were to duel, then - not a fight, but something for sport - who do you think would win?"
Her immediate temptation was to say Dumbledore. All her life she'd looked up to the man, even now after learning to great effect that he was simply another person, even though they'd had plenty a conversation and spoken candidly about all manner of things, it still took time for that idea to sink into her head. She imagined it would be like Ron very suddenly realizing that his parents were people with lives of their own, wants and dreams and all manner of vices culminating to create a flawed, and absolutely lovely pair of people.
Albus was flawed, perhaps more than any other person she'd ever met that she could say wholeheartedly that she respected and, dare she admit, loved. It was because he was such a monumental person that even the slightest of his transgressions would have the deepest, perhaps most harrowing effects later down the line. One choice, a single decision made in one of his many jobs could spell economic turmoil for any of the nations under the banner of the ICW. Snape was one of many among what she pictured to be thousands of choices that all subtly dictated the fabric of British magical society and lead to this day.
So, yes, her first choice would be Dumbledore - but after having a taste of his very mind she knew that now, even in a clean fight, the man would falter beneath her.
A duel would result in her victory, no doubt about it. It would be hard fought, and she wouldn't win every time, not when up against someone who had practiced for so long and so hard, who was the one to actually sit down and study the knowledge that now flitted around inside her head. But a fight? An honest fight?
If she fought to kill, and he did as well, Catherine believed she would win.
"Me," was her terse answer, face pinched as she sniffed at the air and led them through the many winding stacks - the detritus of a millenia.
"You won't elaborate?"
"What elaboration is needed? I stole his memories and, if I so chose, I could steal them from the horcrux we're looking for. What would I become then? How many men would need to be mustered to put an end to me if Albus' worst fears came to pass?" She paused, looking over her once professor with confusion. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Because you two are nearly one and the same. There's a whole world out there, waiting for you. There's no need for you to leave it all behind."
A click sounded out across the room as Catherine's jaw clamped shut. She felt tempted to turn away and leave Minerva to find her way out of the room, or to hide on the grounds somewhere and come back once the woman had finally gone to bed. Catherine did none of that. Instead, she held Minerva's gaze until she could see the newfound comfort and whatever daring she had mustered leave her eyes, replaced with that same stern look she bore whenever herself, Hermione, and Ron, had found themselves standing before her desk wearing identical expressions of shame.
"What would you have of me if I stayed?" she asked, instead putting voice to the doubts that plagued her and pushed her to the decision she had made in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. "If, after all of this, I tried to make something of myself in a society where I'm a wanted criminal. I still killed Umbridge, Minerva. I was the one to turn her, and I was the one to put her down. Do you think that, even after I kill Voldemort I… what? Put myself before a jury? Take veritaserum and speak my secrets before the entirety of the Wizengamot, people that would happily try their hand at playing with the blood if only to cement their power?
"What about Fudge? The other bureaucrats that don't support the Death Eaters, but encourage them through their inaction? People who would happily sit on their father's coattails and pass new laws that are decades too late, and then try to pretend as if they're doing anything other than collecting a very fat pay cheque? Do you think they wouldn't have me captured and studied? Do you know how many people would die if I didn't let myself go willingly, or walked away from whoever had been sent to take me?"
More and more, Minerva paled, every sentence she had prepared, every thought and idea she imagined would convince Catherine otherwise tossed aside as the girl turned on her, every word monotonous as she ran down the list that had been seared into her mind since the first time she opened her eyes and no longer saw crystal spiders churning over each other in an attempt to tear her limb from limb.
"I thought about disappearing somewhere and living a quiet life away from all of this. Away from anyone who knows me. Somewhere isolated. Russia, South America - somewhere I'd never be found. And I can't do that, Minerva, because this-" she rapped her fist against her chest, "-me, I'm so full of fire and I can't do anything to quench it except fight. This isn't the middle ages, and if anything, I'll spend the rest of my days in Yharnam - where someone like me can live and prosper. But, above all, I'm happy with who I am. I'm happy that I've had the chance to experience so much in my life already, and I'm happy to have the chance to do one last good thing before I'm gone from Earth."
"Do you understand?" she asked, a weary sigh escaping her as she bit her lip, looking Minerva up and down. "I have to go there. I can't stay here after all of this. There's nothing left for me here."
"Oh, you poor girl."
She flinched again as Minerva threw her arms around her, one hand cradling the back of Catherine's neck and the other around her waist. It was a strong hug, fierce, like the woman who gave it - and were she anyone else her ribs would creak and her lungs empty. Instead, she stood still, exhaling once more as she returned the gesture, squeezing Minerva's shoulders gently.
"This never should have happened. You should've been… gallivanting about with your friends, causing mischief and giving me more gray hairs." Catherine felt Minerva laugh, hoarse and breathless, and could scent the slightest bit of salt on the air to mark her tears. "Not adventuring here with the world on your shoulders. God above, I wish so much for you." She sniffed and pulled away to look at her student, the muscles of her neck bobbing. "I'll never…" Another laugh, the noise catching in her throat and coming out more as a choked whisper. "Nevermind that… ah, what I would do to take this from you." She gripped Catherine's shoulders tight, jaw steeled. "I love you, Catherine, and don't you ever forget that. Even when you're a world away, don't you ever forget that."
"I won't," she promised, with every fiber of her being. "I'll never forget."
-::-
Another week had passed and Catherine had checked everywhere she could. After destroying the horcrux, of course, Minerva watched with rapturous attention as she peeled apart the Diadem of Ravenclaw with nothing but clawed fingers. She had pleaded, initially, to try and preserve the thing - to see and find if there were any way to destroy the sliver of Voldemort's soul without damaging the artifact that housed it. Nothing came to mind as she scoured Dumbledore's memories, only fiendfyre, basilisk venom, and whatever strange way she took a hold of magic and bent it to her whim. By the end of the hour it had sat in pieces and Minerva had gathered them up, hoping to put them on display in the Head's office next to the Sword of Gryffindor, piecemeal but not completely destroyed.
And then she left, before Minerva could even realize what was happening she was out the door and gone, swift strides carrying her further and faster than the woman could ever hope to manage even in her prime.
First she'd visited the orphanage where Tom had grown up, scheduled to be demolished and long abandoned. It stank of rot, of course, but the mundane kind. Of woodlice and sodden timber, and mould caked between cracks in the brickwork that looked as if a stiff breeze would send it all toppling down.
The Forbidden Forest had been scoured, the things that called it home - Centaurs, Acromantula, Unicorns, and a smattering of other beasts and beings rooted comfortably among the boughs and grassy floor - avoiding her wherever she went. They must have smelled something about her, or perhaps had no wish to draw the ire of the strange creature that walked about their forest with glowing eyes and a hammer as long and wide as they were tall. Only the scent of the forest and a distant poison were her company.
She'd even walked the bottom of the lake just to see if anything was there, nearly finding herself impaled by a Merman when she directed her furious gaze to them and sent them screaming back into the dark. After that Catherine had snuck into Borgin and Burkes, dismantling the wards with ease and, while the place reeked of dark magic, there was no sour note that spoke of something even more damning and malicious.
The manor in Little Hangleton.
A library near the Ministry Dumbledore knew him to spend all his days during the summers between terms.
Wales, in a small magical hamlet where Salazar Slytherin had been supposedly born.
Pendle Hill.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Nothing.
She'd felt tempted to visit Azkaban of all places before Catherine decided once and for all that she was being an idiot, and even this was too much avoidance for her.
Which was why she found herself standing in front of Grimmauld Place with her mask tucked under her arm and a resentful frown marring her features.
It must have been an hour that she'd stood there before she finally drummed up enough nerve to just open the damn door, cursing herself silently as it creaked open, and for a moment she'd worried she'd woken Walburga until she remembered the fate she'd visited upon the vile portrait.
The hall was just a touch cleaner than the last time she'd been here, or maybe it was just willful thinking that somehow this dire excuse for a home could be revitalized. The troll's foot still stood, waiting for Tonks to inevitably trip over it. That ragged carpet, limp and grimy with something implacable. Wallpaper torn and flecked with age, and lined with scenic paintings that she found herself thankful for, bearing none of the other painted patrons of the house.
"Moody, s'that you?" she heard Sirius call out from the kitchen, and swore properly this time - too quiet to be heard but finally putting to voice her dread.
Her chin raised and she sniffed at the air, nose wrinkling as she immediately picked up what was undoubtedly a horcrux and wondered how in the hell she'd ever missed such an awful thing. The entire house reeked of it, as if its magic had permeated the already foul wards and turned them into something yet more vile.
"Moody? Albus?"
"I'm right here, Sirius."
"Ah- yeah."
She couldn't help the snort that escaped her, and Catherine slapped her hand over her face with another whispered, "fucking hell."
"Tonks?"
Footsteps, and it wouldn't be more than a moment before he turned around the corner and spotted her.
A silencing charm and she was up the stairs in a flash, disappearing before Sirius could realize she was there. Catherine tore around the corner and swiftly opened one of the nearest doors, shutting it behind her silently and gritting her teeth at nearly being caught by Sirius of all people.
She'd crept past werewolves unnoticed, slunk round beasts she didn't even know the name of - men twisted into horrid amalgamations of flesh and eyes and pincers laced with barbs, blood dripping from their chittering maw.
Nothing they'd ever done had made her laugh before, so she called herself lucky that there were no beasts out there cracking poorly timed jokes or simply making fools of themselves.
"Beastly blood traitor comes into Black home, oh no no, Kreacher doesn't like that."
She whirled around and spotted him, the most decrepit, hateful looking house elf that ever did walk. His lips were curled in utmost disgust, back hunched as he fiddled with a bit of drapery in the study she'd found herself in - one that she, Hermione, and Ron had failed miserably in their attempts to clean, not without being swarmed by doxies and stomping out a small host of spiders hidden beneath a liquor cabinet that sent Ron screaming out the door.
"Kreacher."
"She talks, does she? Foul thing, killed mistress, oh she did. Killed mistress!" he shouted, and Catherine's wand flickered as she silenced him. His jaw worked, furious, and it took him a moment to realize what she'd done, his expression growing even more vicious as he removed her spell with a snap of his fingers.
"Kreacher, you've lived here the longest," she spoke before he could continue his vitriol, his eyes bugging out of their sockets as he looked at her with venom. She half expected pearlescent green to come leaking out of his tear ducts and trickle down his sagging cheeks.
"Kreacher has always been loyal to House of Black, yes he has. Always and forever. Kreacher was born here, and Kreacher will die here, and have his head put on-"
"There is a horcrux here, Kreacher. I can smell it. Now, either you help me, or I'll make sure your head never gets hung on the walls - because there won't be anything left of you. Do you understand?"
"Half-blood can… smell it?"
"Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"Kreacher knows, Kreacher knows - Kreacher - oh, how Kreacher tried to destroy it! Oh, how Kreacher tried!" He caved in on himself as he spoke, all the fury and raw, unfettered hate suddenly gone, swiftly replaced with tears and a wailing that even Dobby could never hope to rival.
"Quiet, quiet, do you hear me?"
He nodded fervently, wiping his eyes with the grimy, blackened tea towel that he called clothes. "Kreacher understands, yes, he understands. Will half-blood help Kreacher? Will she help him with Master Regulus' task?"
R.A.B.
"Sirius' brother?"
"Yes, yes- he betrayed the Dark Lord, filthy half-blood, pretender," he growled, wringing his hands together. "Found his secret, Master did. But Master died, he drank it all- drank it all- made Kreacher leave with it, told Kreacher to destroy it but Kreacher never could."
"I'll destroy it. Understand? I'll destroy it for you."
"How?"
"Look at me Kreacher," Catherine intoned, kneeling in front of him and lifting his chin with one finger. "Do I look like someone who couldn't destroy it? I've already destroyed five of them. Five. Including the one right here." She tapped her scar. "I died, to destroy one of them. I was one of them, so trust me when I say I'll have it done."
"Yes, yes, Kreacher sees," he muttered, before disappearing with a snap of his fingers and a sharp crack.
A moment later he reappeared in front of her, holding a locket - the locket - in his spindly fingers, all but clutching it to his chest.
"Kreacher tried smashing, tried fire, tried oil, but nothing! Nothing. Kill it for Master Regulus, please."
Catherine reached out, hand slowing as he flinched, before Kreacher passed it over, hesitation evident as his shoulders shook. She took it gently, her other hand curling around the face of it and peeling away at the magic that cloaked it. As she did so, the locket swung open, a torrent of smoke pouring from it and beginning to fill the room.
"Vileblood you are, Catherine Potter," it began to speak, Voldemort's voice carrying through the room as she gripped tight to the fetid magic. "That place will destroy you as it did me. It already has, hasn't it? Nothing remains of you but a suicidal waif, waiting for the exact moment to throw herself screaming to her release."
Lip curled, she tugged, the horcrux fighting back with all its strength. This one held more of him, a much darker, stronger miasma that had not just seeped into the cracks of the locket, but to that of the home itself.
"Why not kill yourself now? Would you like to know how that Dream ends? I can teach you, tell you how to walk away from the Blood Moon and all Her ilk. I once did, and you may too."
"Shut up," she growled, yanking harder and garnering a shriek out of the foul smoke.
"Leave me, girl. No rest waits for you. No empty beyond. The horror lives on, forever, inescapable. There is no purpose in thi-"
Another ungodly wail reverberated in her ears, and she could faintly hear Kreacher next to her screaming in chorus. Her throat burned from the smoke, breaths heavy as it tried to choke her out, and with a roar Catherine ripped the thing apart with all her might. The magic clung in shreds, quickly torn to pieces as she began to pick it apart, deft fingers snatching at it, lacing through the gaps in its form and tearing them wider. All the while the thing shrieked, howled as it was rent into a thousand foul threads.
The smoke began to clear and the magic shriveled, flailing in her grip and twisting in the air, an immaterial beast - a snake - trying to wriggle free with its dying breath.
With a choked gasp its song ended, some of the smoke collecting into ashes and scattering across the carpet. Kreacher stood in the middle of it all, hunched over with his hands protecting his neck, shaking something fierce.
The two sat, gasping for breath as the horcrux winked out of existence, the sound of broken glass carrying over their haggard wheezing as the face of the locket cracked, before falling in on itself. Catherine smiled, shaking away the jagged crystal and vanishing it with a wave of her arm. She let the thing hang from its chain, wrapped around a single finger, swaying back and forth like a metronome - before passing it over to Kreacher.
"It's done," she rasped, smiling at him through teeth black with soot.
A wail of joy and he snatched it from her grasp, pressing it tight to his chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"
Stomping.
"-thank you, oh thank you, thank you-"
The door swung open and Catherine barely had the energy to turn around and face Sirius and Albus as they loomed over her, flabbergasted and looking about the room wondering, evidently, why it looked as if a bomb had gone off.
"Catherine? What the hell are you-"
"Hush, Sirius," Dumbledore interrupted, getting down on one knee and placing his hand on her shoulder, Catherine trying to shrug it off to no avail.
Another month awake, weeks of it spent dying - and it was starting to catch up with her.
"Was that…?"
"Last one," she grinned lazily. "Except for Voldemort and his snake."
"Merlin- already?"
"Told you I'd get it done."
"Catherine, you didn't need to-"
"No, don't. Just… don't. Please." She huffed out a laugh, blinking slowly as she drew a breath in. "Didn't even want to come here. Spent a week avoiding it, looking everywhere except here. You should be glad you didn't go, either of you. You'd be dead, or dying."
"Catherine…"
"Clever curses he's got. Did you know he had one of the Hallows? Would have turned your arm into soup, and- and you know you would've picked it up."
"Why is one of them here?" Sirius asked, shock still evident on his features.
"Your brother."
"My brother was…" his eyes widened. "No. No, Regulus. You idiot."
"Betrayed him. Found a fake in a lake full of inferi, he left it there."
Albus' grip tightened, still gentle, but a touch forceful now. "Quiet please, don't push yourself."
"Just tired, s'all," she argued, trying to wave him off, but barely able to lift her hand. "Wanted to get him and the snake next, don't want to go to sleep yet."
"Rest, Catherine. You've done more than enough."
Her gaze wavered, eyes growing heavy. "Y'don't hate me?"
"I could never hate you. Never."