The next four days were simple for Catherine.

Wake up. Eat enough to not worry her friends. Attend classes. Go to detention. Drink half a vial of blood.

But, an issue arose when she found she was rapidly running out of the substance, finding herself with only two vials left in the bottom of her trunk and the telltale signs of anxiety working at the back of her mind.

How did it work? Did it have to be Yharnam blood? Could any blood work, or was she consigned now to have to take time with her 'lessons' under Umbridge's crooked hand?

The woman had become used to the blood and torn knuckles, at least, she could now deal with the sight. If Catherine kept up as she had without the blood she would lose function in her hand in a matter of days - tearing through nerves and tendons, bone cracking under the weight of that cursed magic.

Catherine wasn't as worried about that as she was this evening's 'remedial potion lesson.'

Even the mere thought of Snape discovering the recent goings on of her life sparked a twist of her belly. If he found out, then Dumbledore would, and Catherine wasn't prepared for that sort of confrontation.

How could she even begin to explain such a thing? To try and put the horror of Yharnam into words and try to somehow convey that to a man that was by all accounts her mentor, and the closest thing that Catherine had ever had to a grandfather… it was unthinkable.

What would Dumbledore's reaction be, she thought. Would he be horrified? Concerned? Maybe he would look on her with pity, something she never quite got a handle on.

Everyone pitied her. Catherine's peers, strangers, even her friends held some level of it within their gaze - eyes brimming with something she found to be near reprehensible in its intention.

She could almost hear them thinking it. You poor thing, how awful your life must be. Words dripping with derision and half-hearted conscientiousness. They didn't see her, just the image they had fashioned in their minds.

Everyone who found fame - happily or not - must deal with that in some way, she believed. The public constructing an idea of a person, a flat character belied by the utterances of shoddily written papers and books 'telling all' of their daring, plight, or even the perceived mundane.

Hogwarts made it a touch easier, at least, to a degree. People knew her there, interacted with her every day.

Well, they thought they knew her.

The students grew used to her presence, none of the awed stares and whispers that came with her first day at the school, her name ringing in the ears of every one of them as she walked toward a slumped cap with her heart beating painfully at the mere reaction the word Potter had wrought.

People learned to love her, hate her, feel indifference toward her. They learned to see her as a person and not an icon, but they never truly detached themselves from the idea of her that they had built up in their mind.

Hermione and Ron knew. They knew of her time at the Dursleys, they knew how prickly she could be without even trying, and they loved her all the same.

Yharnam though… Catherine hadn't slept in the entire time since she'd come back to Hogwarts, both not feeling the need to as well as fearing if sleep would take her back to that vile city.

Her time had been spent hunkering over the occlumency book that had been given to her at the beginning of her lessons, meditating as long as she could before she felt as though sleep would take over her.

Catherine's mind though, was anything but calm.

Shattered by the beastly scourge, she could hardly stomach her own thoughts before violently stamping them down, tongue wet with bile and fingernails digging into her lap.

If he knew what she had been through she didn't know what he would do with the knowledge.

Snape was a spy, that much could be gleaned from the tattoo adorning his forearm and his disgustingly surly attitude. He could take it to Dumbledore or Voldemort alike, and she wasn't sure which idea scared her more.

Voldemort would take her seriously, for once, no longer taunting her at their every confrontation and instead choosing to cut her down before she could so much as blink. Dumbledore would remove himself from her presence, or most likely remove her from Hogwarts itself.

How could the students stay safe with someone like her walking the halls? Tempered with blood and practically vibrating with murderous intent?

No, there was no doubt in Catherine's mind that Dumbledore would take her away.

Wouldn't blame him, she thought, poring over her book and preparing for that evening's lesson.

He would have to be mad to not take her away, snap her wand and send her back to the Dursleys without so much as a 'goodbye.' But that damned prophecy shot back into her mind and she found herself questioning whether that would be true.

What was the wording of it? How important was she? Was Catherine some sort of prophetic saviour chosen by fate to be Voldemort's downfall, or was she simply another wanderer with just a touch more influence than the rest?

The weight upon thine shoulders is terrible, is it not? Naught but a child thrust into a fight that has existed long before her, the world waiting on her every word and measured step.

"I'm trying my best," she whispered.

But is best what is needed of you? Are you to be a kindhearted defender, or one steeped in the blood of all those who stand in thine way?

"I don't know…" she shut her book, dog-earing the page as she tucked it into her bag. "I really don't know. I don't want to be who I am now. I don't want any of this. If I could just- " her breath hitched, "just… end it, I would. But I can't . So no, I don't know."

Then learn. Teach thyself what it means to bear this weight, take it and hold it tight against your chest as though a lover. One cannot confront their fears without understanding, and one cannot understand without a mentor.

"A mentor?"

Thine Master, cloaked in finery and attended by a being of light.

"Dumbledore!? No, not happening."

Why not?

"He would… you don't know him. You've been in my head, but you don't know him. You're just some… thing that weaseled its way into my mind and has led me to do terrible, terrible things."

You killed of your own volition.

"You think I had a choice? You think I could get tossed into that nightmare of a city, get butchered before I even had a chance to figure out I wasn't dreaming, and then tell me that I have to find some damned Paleblood, whatever that is, without doing what I had done?" Catherine ground her teeth, happy to be tucked in the common room corner beneath a silencing charm, away from prying ears and eyes. "You destroyed my life and you expect me to act in any other way? There were no other options."

There is always a choice.

"No, not always! Not there, not in Yharnam."

Then you understand.

"Understand what… understand what?" she repeated, staring a hole into the table.

Furious, she stood up, cancelling the silencing charm that hung over her cubby as she marched out the door.

At least, attempted to, not without crashing into Ron as he walked her way, hand raised to wave.

"Oh!"

They both stumbled, Catherine grabbing his shoulder before he could fall over and steadying him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, rubbing his arm. "You're off in a hurry, what's goin' on?"

"Lessons with Snape soon." Her wrist flicked, a tempus charm shimmering in the air. "In about a half hour."

"So… why are you leaving now? Takes only ten to get down there."

"I just- wanted to get a walk in."

"Get a walk in," he echoed.

"Is that so strange?"

Ron laughed, shrugging. "Not really, just- you want company? Snape is awful at the best of times, maybe I can help psych you up or something."

She forced herself to chuckle in reply, still irked by whatever being haunted her mind. "I think I'll be alright."

"You sure? I mean, I could maybe use it since - you know - Quidditch is a botch and all."

"I… yeah, you know what. Sure, let's go."

"Wicked! Snape won't know what hit him!" Ron said as he lead them out the door.

"You planning on attacking him or something?"

"No. What? I'm just thinking that if Hermione and I've got your back, there's not much he can do apart from be a prick."

That time, she did laugh, genuine and hearty. "That's his main talent though, being as insufferable as possible."

Ron's face screwed up as he dropped his voice, lips pursed dramatically. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter. You're breathing too loudly," he drawled in an admittedly awful impression.

"Pretty damned accurate."

The two laughed, joking back and forth as they walked to the dungeons.

It felt nostalgic to Catherine, like something she had lost but now rediscovered. In a way, it was.

Somehow she found herself relaxing around her friends, yet away from them she grew tense beyond imagining, picturing creatures in the dark and wolves waiting behind heavy doors to come leaping out and tear her limb from limb.

Her mood flipped at the drop of a hat, moving from jovial to an all encompassing depression that her younger self would have paled at, never quite believing things could get that bad.

Here, now, needling Ron over his inability to ever finish a paper in a reasonable amount of time, Catherine thought that things could be good, given the chance. Her life, if she made it out of all of this, could be as close to normal as she wished it to be.

Running away from Britain to hide in some remote town where no one would ever find her was something that constantly flitted through her mind. Perhaps Spain, or Canada - no one would ever come looking for her in Canada.

"Have you ever thought about what we're going to do after school? After all this?"

Ron hummed. "Not entirely sure. Maybe try out for a quidditch team? I dunno' I haven't given it much thought."

"Same. I mean, I wanted to be an auror, but…"

"Why the but?"

"I'm always fighting, always. I mean, look, you're walking me to the potions classroom to have my mind torn apart by a man who hates me for god knows what reason. There's a woman in this school, government approved, who is torturing me and who knows how many other students." She sighed, eyes flickering shut for a moment. "I just want to find somewhere quiet to settle down, maybe just a little house in the forest."

"A little house in the forest, huh? Gonna' get a unicorn or something to hang about out front?"

"Nah, thought I'd transfigure it into some sort of creature and put legs underneath, pretend I'm Babayaga. Ministry already hates me, might as well embrace it."

Whistling, Ron stuck his hands in his pockets. "Don't listen to 'em. We both know how full of himself Fudge is. I mean, Sirius? Right?"

"Again, blame Snape for that."

"Yeah." His nose wrinkled. "What a prick."

"Understatement of the century, Ron. He tried to get him killed - worse than killed - for some reason I still haven't figured out."

"Just don't piss him off, you know, more than you usually do."

Catherine slapped him on the back. "I'll try my best not to. Honestly, I don't even really try to do anything. He just has an out for me."

"You always say that."

"Well, doesn't he?" She threw her hands up. "I have no idea what the hell it is, but he's hated me since day one. ' Fame isn't everything, ' the snarky ass. I didn't even know I was a witch until two weeks before class."

"What!" Ron stopped, staring at her. "You had no idea?"

"No! Not a clue. I thought I told you that?"

"You said you were raised by muggles, not that you didn't even know you were a witch. That's… wow."

"I thought everyone knew that. Shit. Wasn't it abundantly clear that I had no idea what was going on? I didn't even know I was famous until the first time I went to Diagon Alley and got mobbed by everyone."

"No, everyone just thought you knew. I mean, your family are awful, but I thought they at least told you something."

"Not a word."

"Damn."

"Now you know why I hate him. First couple of days here and he's berating me for no apparent reason," Catherine grumbled as they grew closer to the classroom, rubbing at her scarred knuckles. "He's just an ass."

Ron shushed her. "Gettin' close, don't get yourself in trouble."

"Thanks dad."

"Gross." He stuck out his tongue. "Never call me that."

"Alright, mother."

"Seriously Cat! Weird." Ron paused, gesturing with his head toward the door. "Well, here we are."

Catherine stopped for a moment before hugging him. "Thanks for the chat, I needed that."

"Chat?" he echoed, shocked.

She startled herself. Catherine wasn't exactly the hugging type.

"Company, whatever you want to call it." She patted him on the back. "I've been feeling a bit trapped in my head lately."

"Hey," he said, pulling away. "Don't need to thank me for that. It's what friends do, right? Well, I haven't always been the best friend, last year n' all, but you know - I try."

"Yes, you do try. I'll be fine from here, don't bother Hermione too much back in the common room."

"I'll see you later then? By the fire?"

"I'll see you and Hermione later, yes. It's not like he's going to kill me and use me as ingredients."

"I dunno', that sounds like him."

"Go."

"Alright!" Ron put his hands up "I'm going!"

Catherine laughed, waving. Just then, the door opened, Snape's face barely visible through the crack.

"We're not doing your lessons in the hall, Potter. Get in here."

Mentally grumbling, Catherine walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind her. "I didn't plan on doing our lessons in the hall, also I'm…" she cast another tempus charm, "...five minutes early."

"Quit your nattering," Snape growled, looming across the room like a reaper, cloaked in black. "Now, Dumbledore insisted on me treating you easier, as he put it. Gone to complain, Potter? Didn't get your way for once?"

She grit her teeth. "The only time I had visions was after our sessions, seeing as you feel like smashing through my head like a jackhammer."

"If you wish to learn, then you will learn. Enough, clear your mind."

Catherine barely had a moment before she felt Snape tunneling at the edges of her mind, reflexively throwing up mental arms to stave him off. She could feel as he tried to snatch at her thoughts, greedy fingers scrabbling in the metaphysical dark and dragging lines through her skull.

His attack crashed against hastily cobbled together defences, her mind quaking with each and every burst of magic.

Trying her best to hold onto what she had learned in the past week, she shored them up as quickly as she could, focusing on a single thought.

Grass at the edge of the lake, poking out from the snow and seemingly unbothered by the cold that had slewn its neighbours. It had stood out to her the other day, nature standing in defiance of itself.

She focused on it with every inch of her being, how the tip fluttered angrily in the wind, held down by a blanket of white. Catherine could feel the cold of the snow biting at her warming charm, could hear as the wind whistled through the trees far beyond.

Just as suddenly as Snape had attacked, he retreated, studying her with a gleam in his eye. "Not terrible, for once." He scowled. "Again."

This time his strike was measured, pointed into a needle and terrible as it bore down upon her. Tears sprung to Catherine's eyes, pain of the mind not something she had become accustomed to, not from a week spent with torn limbs and jagged cuts splitting open her belly.

The thought twisted her mind away from that solitary blade of grass, bringing to it visions of hunched wolves stalking across cobbled streets towards their prey.

Terrified, she pushed with all her might, Snape's attack rebuffed and turned inward at his momentary surprise.

Her vision flooded with images of a young man - her father - accompanied by what could only be the Marauders.

Catherine watched as they attacked Snape, taunting him, berating him, humiliating him so thoroughly that the disgust that crept up her throat came from their laughter, not the sight of his scraggly legs and stained pants.

She gasped, tearing her eyes away from Snape and staring at the thin grooves that lay tracks across the stone. Her breath, laboured, was tinged with fear.

"What was that?" he stormed, wand gripped tight and still pointed at her, held level with her throat. "Potter. What was that?"

Catherine panted, hands pressed to her head as she tried to push the images away - the blood spattered streets of Yharnam too vivid, too frightful in their intensity.

It felt like she was back there, just for a moment, shrouded in darkness and surrounded by cold stone cast in the amber glow of torchlight.

Oh, how she feared it.

She could tell herself all day that it didn't matter, that it was only a week spent surrounded by hellish spires, soaked in blood and grime and screaming for it all to end.

But, she knew a lie when she heard it, even if it came from her own mouth.

When she was fighting she could ignore it, focus on the adrenaline and just move. There was nothing to hinder her in those moments, no thoughts of despair plaguing her every step and leaving her to wonder if the next would be what led to her inevitable death.

After the blood had been spilled, that was a different matter - hair plastered to her dripping mask, leather painted crimson in her journey, she didn't have the rush of the hunt flooding through her mind. Instead, she had to face the world she had found herself in, watching from the window of an abandoned home as beasts lumbered down the street, occasionally dragging someone with them.

She had seen what Gascoigne had spoken of, felt it as one of those giants swung at her with a blanketed corpse - the fabric stained in deep hues of red and dribbling its sweet ichor upon the flagstones.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, moving to grab her arm.

Catherine ducked away, sidling between two desks and holding tight to the table's edge. "So that's why," she growled, eyes flashing to the door. "That's why you hate me."

He hissed, wand held steady. "What was that I saw in your mind, Potter. Tell me."

"Nightmares, alright? Werewolves. Happy?"

"No. There's more to it. That was too vivid to be a dream."

"You think Voldemort doesn't attack me at night? He amplifies it all," she lied, lip trembling - be it from fear or excitement, she didn't know. "He gets in my head and he makes it all worse, which is why I'm here."

His lip curled. "Don't lie to me, Potter."

"Why would I lie? You saw it, you were in my head. But you- you…" she pointed at him, jaw clenched. "That's why you torment me? That's why, from day one, you've done nothing but attack me? Because my dad was a prick teenager?"

"He was far worse than that."

"Doesn't give you an excuse, Snape. I'm not my dad, and I never will be, maybe because the bastard who keeps slipping into my bloody head murdered him. "

"I said don't lie to me." He stood over her, even from only ten paces away he seemed too tall, too wrathful. "No werewolf I have ever seen has looked like that."

"Nightmares! It's a damned nightmare!"

His wrist shook, the only sign of his impending attack, and she realized in that split second that he had been easy with her.

Catherine shrieked as he broke through her defences as if they were naught but paper, bringing to light all her sordid dreams.

An antlered beast, so terrible as it screamed into the dark. A man laying before her, blood pulsing in waves out of the hole in his skull just as it poured from her chest, hoisted onto the back of a white haired doctor. A woman plagued by the blood, hair creeping down her cheeks and desperately hammering at her rifle.

She could feel each and every death as if they had just happened, open wounds on every inch of her body burning with such a ferocity that she thought that this would be what truly killed her. Catherine howled, so high and frightful that it seemed to shake the walls, but a few steps away from shattering the vials that lined the room like those in the clinic - stoppered with cork and filled to the brim with festering viscera.

Snape retreated from her mind with a shout, hands buried in his hair and a pained groan slipping from his lips.

He saw, he saw it all, was Catherine's only thought, laid prone upon the floor and her chest heaving with every breath. Her gaze was muddied with tears, arms trembling as she tried to hoist herself up, to just get out.

She would have to run, flee, get anywhere but Hogwarts. Get somewhere safe before they had her locked up in a padded room, gibbering quietly and tucked into the corner like last week's rubbish.

If only Snape wasn't blocking her path.

"You just couldn't leave me alone, could you?" she seethed, low and weak. "You just had to know what goes on in little Potters mind."

"I couldn't have possibly…" Snape gasped, spitting on the floor. "I thought- "

"You don't! You don't ever think! Catherine Potter, just like her father? Catherine Potter, saviour of Britain? You don't ever stop to think! You just assume everything about me!"

He glanced up at her and all she saw was confusion. "Potter… I- what was that?"

"Nightmares."

Snape steadied himself on one of the desks, weakly pointing at the door. "Go."

"You're going to tell Dumbledore all about this."

"Of course I am, you stupid girl."

"Don't you dare."

"You're threatening me?" he laughed, the noise hoarse, unfamiliar, as if he had forgotten how it was supposed to sound.

"The nightmares, Snape, they're awful. Please- I just… I can't- Dumbledore can't know. He just can't know how bad they are."

"And why not? Are you not here because of them?"

Catherine rested her back against the wall, knees weak. "Because it would destroy him, to know how bad they are."

"You dream of dying, vividly," he huffed, looking at her with what seemed to be pity. "Dumbledore must know of this, whether you want him to or not."

"No."

"I seem to recall telling you to get out, Potter."

"I said no."

"And I said now." He raised his wand again. "Do not make me remove you forcefully."

For a moment, Catherine felt tempted to take out her wand and obliviate him, remove those memories - whether her lie was believed or not. But she could see the way his shoulder had set, hand still as death as she stared him down.

It wasn't a fight she could win.

Catherine left, slamming the door shut as forcefully as she could, her mind swimming with thoughts of escape.

If he doesn't believe me… A laugh slipped from her throat, broken and scared. What then?

If he does not believe you, then you must make plans.

Catherine growled to herself as she stomped through the halls. "You've destroyed my life."

I have destroyed many lives.

Another laugh, more shattered than the last. Catherine crept toward the common room with laboured steps, wondering what Dumbledore would make of her 'nightmares.'

She couldn't handle any more pity.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I just don't know what to do."