Chapter Nine | Manic Phases
"No, that's not how it works," Catherine argued, tired beyond belief.
She had easily forgotten her tasteless meal debating with Hermione whether or not a warming charm required an upward flick of the wand or a counter-clockwise turn to be most effective. The two of them sat bickering over their plates while Ron hastily made his escape, offering a gruff 'goodbye' as he damn near ran for the door.
"Merrigold clearly states that the magic must be moulded by this pattern," Hermione retorted, jabbing her finger at the bit of parchment she'd pulled from her bag and sketched an arithmantic circle over - almost unrecognizable runes dotting its flanks. "Therefore an upward flick is the best choice."
"For a short burst of warmth, yes, but it doesn't last as long nor plateau for as long that way." Catherine snatched the parchment, hand waving at Hermione's quill.
Huffing, Hermione gave it to her, watching as Catherine jotted down another circle, strange letters weaving around it that she had never seen before.
"What are those?"
"Huh?" Catherine looked over the paper. "What are what?"
"Those runes, whatever you want to call them. That's not taught in class."
Staring at the page, Catherine suddenly realized that she couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd learned them. Strange, jagged shapes that more resembled cuneiform than any latin script.
They just seemed to make sense to her, eyes passing over them as if they were standard English.
"It's… Yharmit," she said, and knew it to be true. "It was in a book I found, written by a scholar named Gascoigne. He listed off his reasons for it, namely that this, and this," Catherine listed, punctuating her words by tapping the quill against the symbols. "Show that if you utilize a counter-clockwise turn the heat will not be as warm initially, but will last longer and peak longer as well."
"Where did you find the book?"
"Er- Forbidden Section."
"Cat, you can't go sneaking in there for… for what?"
"I do have an incredibly powerful madman who's tried to kill me almost every year I've been here."
Crossing her arms, Hermione bit her lip, looking off to the side. She seemed to argue with herself for a few seconds, glaring at the floor.
"What if it's not safe? What if something in there just- just blows you up?" Hermione threw her arms in the air, mimicking an explosion. Her gaze, tinged with something implacable, bored into Catherine. "You can't mess with runes if you don't know what you're doing. No offense."
"I'll… I'll ask Dumbledore about it." She turned to the staff table, eyes ghosting over Dumbledore. "I think he'll want to talk to me again tonight."
"Promise?"
"I promise," she stated unequivocally, nary a twitch of the eyelid signalling her blatant lie. Lies came naturally to her, slipping from her lips with the grace of a dancer and alighting upon her friends ears with horrifying ease.
Of course, she knew they knew she lied, but not how often - nor how severely.
Some secrets she kept close, not the easy frustration she wore on her sleeve and brazen indifference toward her own safety that even the first years saw and recognized. Instead it was her insecurities, deep-rooted fears, thoughts she couldn't comfortably share with another person lest they see her as mentally invalid.
Yet more pity, then.
Hermione smiled at her, and whether it was the light or her own rabid mind, Catherine saw frustration.
"You alright?" she asked, almost on reflex.
"Yes, I'm fine, just- a bit tired after that little debate." Hermione raised one finger. "But, that doesn't mean I don't stand by what I said. Unless those fancy new runes of yours can be properly translated into Egyptian or Norse, then that means that the formula is unfounded."
Catherine sighed mockingly, rolling her eyes. "Of course, of course. I'll remind myself that you are never to be bested when it comes to academics."
She laughed in return. "Obviously."
"And obviously, I shall never forget. Also, seems it's getting a bit late," she added, pointing at the enchanted ceiling.
"It's winter, it's looked like that for an hour… are you going to head up for D.A. soon?" Hermione asked, pushing her plate away and grabbing her bag.
"Yeah, think I'll head up in a few and get ready. Seven tonight?"
Grimacing, Hermione nodded. "That Inquisitorial Squad… how awful can you be?"
"Never underestimate what people are capable of. But them? Trust me, with what we've dealt with over the years, those simpering twits are practically kittens. Just don't corner them, don't give them any reason to use force."
"I know, it's just so frustrating."
Aching, Catherine stood up, stepping over the bench only to flinch as she heard the steady clack of footsteps approaching her. She turned to see McGonagall striding purposefully in her direction, hands held behind her back and a nearly imperceptible smile on her face.
"Professor?"
"Miss Potter, Miss Granger," she said, nodding at the two of them before directing her attention to Catherine. "Professor Dumbledore requested to speak with you, and said he'll be waiting in his office." She glanced at the students before leaning closer and whispering. "I'm happy to see the two of you speaking, you're both looking healthier for it. Also, he has found himself fond of Jelly Babies as of late."
With another prim nod, she walked away, silencing a few patrons of the Slytherin table with a pointed glare.
"Wow," Hermione uttered. "I've never seen her so- "
"Human?"
"Quiet." She poked Catherine in the arm. "That's our professor."
"Be honest though, she's never been so friendly with us before. I think she might actually like us."
"Maybe? But, the poor woman, most of those gray hairs must be our fault."
"Or Fred and George."
Tutting, she inclined her head. "True."
"Speaking of… have you seen them about lately? I thought they were messing about with the first years, but I haven't heard anything from the two of them in a week now."
"Don't bring that up, please. I try to do as much as I can to stop them from taking advantage of the newer students."
"I'm not going there. Trust me. I refuse to touch that topic even if my life depends on it."
"You just did, and that's not much better than laughing at the kids. Lots of them are muggleborn, they have no idea what they're accepting, nor how dangerous it is."
Catherine patted Hermione on the back, directing the two of them to the stairs. "I know. How about I have a conversation with them if I get the chance. Can find 'em pretty quickly with the map and all."
"Would you do that for me?" Hermione asked, looking unsure. "I don't want to ruin your friendship, but they- I just- "
"Trust me. I'll speak with them. I am responsible for almost all of their capital anyways, means I get a say in how their research is done."
Smiling at her, Hermione squeezed Catherine's arm. "Thank you."
"Yeah- uh, no problem. No problem at all."
Looking away, she kept her mouth shut as they traversed the halls, doing her best to hide the blush she knew had plastered itself to her face like an angry tick.
One of these days her behaviour was going to be noticed, and Catherine wasn't sure she could face that. Being forced out of the closet kicking and screaming wasn't on her list of things she was particularly eager to experience, rather hoping to do it on her own terms after she'd finally gathered the damned courage.
It wasn't that magicals were particularly bigoted toward those who played for the same team, but they weren't keen on it either. It was seen as unignorable, different, a quirk of character rather than just who the person was, and who they loved.
On the other hand, Catherine found herself more than happy to not be relegated to the muggle world, forced to listen to Vernon spout vitriol so sickening that even the words themselves sent her into creeping fits of nausea.
The hate he felt was something almost miraculous in its intensity - a man who somehow felt beset on all sides by ne'er-do-wells left stricken with anger at the delusions his imagination had wrought.
Petunia seemed almost uncaring, every fibre of her being carrying a jaded ambivalence that seemed to permeate those around her, inflicting them with the same miasma of passive envy that hung off her back like chains.
Dudley… well, Dudley was a product of his upbringing.
Brash to a fault, yet not bearing the sense of self to often reflect on his own actions, nor the happenings of the world around him. Although, there was an inkling of something different that Catherine had seen in him on that frigid summers night back in Surrey, the creeping chill of beings that by all accounts had no place in this world.
She often thought that Dementors must have come from somewhere else, a place far from Earth and terrible beyond imagining.
Nowadays, she thought them of Yharnam. A city that breathed despair as readily as air, feeding off its own inhabitants with wild abandon.
"Cat, are you there?"
"Hmm?" She blinked rapidly, noticing the two of them had made it to the seventh floor. "Yeah, sorry, checked out for a minute there."
"It terrifies me that you can walk on moving staircases without even realizing how you got there."
"No need to worry about me. I sincerely doubt a staircase is what's going to do me in."
Not like one hadn't already, tripping down steps slick with blood, choked wails pouring from her throat as the teeth of a saw blade stuttered and hitched as they pulled through her spine.
"I always worry about you."
Her breath caught, a stammered "Thank you," slipping out of her as she tried to calm her beating heart.
"You need to start taking more care of yourself, okay?" Hermione's gaze was stern, yet soft in its own. "I know you haven't been sleeping much lately, I've woken up to hear you going around the common room at all odd hours, and unless I was such a light sleeper I doubt I'd have noticed. Stop hiding things, Cat. I care about you. Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, they all do too."
"Where is this coming from?"
"I'm just trying to say… you haven't been yourself lately. I don't know, but you feel distant."
"Distant," she echoed.
"Yes. I… keep it in mind, please? And if you ever need to chat, remember that I'm here." Hermione finished her statement by laying her hand on Catherines shoulder and squeezing it, sending her heart stuttering away once more.
Damnit, Catherine thought, collecting herself and turning to the statue that stood guard over Dumbledore's office. Here we go.
She didn't know what would happen in there, trying to distract herself with memories of her relatives. Hate was familiar, hate was known, and its intimacy was almost soothing.
"Jelly Babies," she stated, the statue grinding quietly as it began to twist upward.
Taking the step, she allowed it to carry her toward his office, tongue flitting across her cracking lips. She raised her wand, casting a spell to soothe them as she was brought higher, until she found herself standing in front of a short corridor ending in a plain door.
"Please, come in Catherine."
Jittery, she walked into the office, immediately assaulted by the nearly silent cacophony of whirring machines and miniature artifacts hissing smoke and cool air across the room.
"I've had some tea brought up, if you'd like some?"
She sat down, taking the offered cup with a muted, "Thanks."
The two sat in silence for a moment, only disturbed by the occasional tick tock of the nearby grandfather clock standing indominatably next to the many bookcases that circled round the office.
Catherine sipped at her tea, mainly to stem the rising fear that bubbled deep inside her. She tried (and failed) to savour it, instead hardly aware as the scalding liquid burned its way down her throat, leaving tender flesh in its wake.
"So, Professor Snape spoke with me the other day about something quite distressing."
"I… yeah, I imagined he would."
"Catherine." Dumbledore set his cup down, brow pinched as he leaned onto the table, hands clasped neatly together. "Voldemort stepping into your mind like this, inflicting you with terrible nightmares… this is precisely what your lessons are supposed to help stop."
"I know. I…" she bit her lip, remembering to throw up some semblance of a shield around her mind - enough to notice if anything so much as tickled it. "I thought I could deal with it. It's not like I don't have nightmares already - with Cedric, the Dementors… I've always had them."
His expression fell. "Always?"
"Yeah."
"I'm beyond sorry to hear that. I thought… I hoped that things were not so bad. How often do you have these nightmares?"
Her fingers tightened around the porcelain handle, mind racing for a sufficient answer. Something to calm him, something to say that would get her out of the office.
"I haven't had any for a week now, maybe a bit longer, but before that it was almost every day."
"You've not had any? None?"
"No, I don't know if it's the occlumency lessons, or if he's just let up - but no, I haven't had any."
"Odd." Dumbledore squinted, his thinking almost audible. "Very odd."
"Why?"
He seemed to pause, studying her. Dumbledore worked his jaw, the movement minute. "Your occlumency has gotten quite a bit better from what I have heard, but I… hazard to guess that this isn't a result of those lessons, no offense intended of course. Occlumency is a difficult art to learn at best, and hideously complicated at worst, the strides you've made within the last week alone have been more than impressive."
"But it isn't enough."
"No." He shook his head. "Not quite. Have you dreamt of anything lately, anything odd that you can recall?"
"Nothing, really. I tend to forget my dreams right after I wake up anyways, they just sort of go wherever." Catherine's hand fluttered in the air like a sheet of paper caught by the wind. "The only ones I tend to remember are the bad ones."
And the very good ones, though, she imagined that was a topic neither of them wanted to breach.
"So then, you believe he's stopped? For reasons unknown?"
"I don't know. I hope, I really hope he has, but I know that he just may come back with a vengeance. For all I know this is his attempt to get my guard down, get me worried for when he does start up again."
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "It does make sense. Have you been well, though? After our last run-in I can't help but be worried about you. You were quite a fright to behold."
"I felt wrong that day. Off." Catherine shifted in her chair, eyes flickering to the bookshelves. "I'll be honest, Professor, things have been stressful. Mister Weasley getting attacked, Voldemort getting into my head, Cedric… I- I can't… it's just been one thing after another. It's always one thing after another, and I think it's starting to catch up with me.
"Every year there's some new, terrible thing waiting to attack me. I don't understand why, at least, not fully. What with the whole… you know." Her mouth twisted, lips pulled inward, before being released with a sharp exhale. "I mean… we have Umbridge running around the place and I know you know what she's doing to the students. These things just keep happening."
Frowning, Dumbledore tilted his head. "Umbridge?"
She frowned. "What? You don't know?"
"Catherine," he repeated, expression growing frosty. "What has she been doing to the students?"
"A Black Quill. She's been using it on me, at least," she said, unwrapping the bandages on her hand.
Dumbledore gasped as she revealed the fresh wounds, scar tissue still yet to settle against the pinkened flesh. It had worked furrows into her knuckles, puckered shapes that hardly resembled writing anymore. Instead they were deep sores, frayed lines of angry red splayed out about the bored flesh like spiderwebs, cracked and peeling.
"Catherine," he uttered, aghast. "She did this to you?"
"I- yeah. Yes, she did. I just- I can deal with this, Dumbledore, but the other students can't. I- "
"No. No. You cannot just 'deal with this.' This is torture, it is obscene." He stood up, bristling. "I have half the mind to- "
"Dumbledore. Please."
Catherine's words stopped him, an almost palpable magic rolling off him in waves. It filled the room, stifling in its intensity.
He took a few deep breaths, hand trembling against the surface of his desk as he lowered himself down. Catherine had never seen him so troubled, his eyes hard as stone and shoulders tensed as if to fight.
She imagined he planned to do just that.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but don't do anything rash. If you get sent away from Hogwarts… things will get bad. Very bad. She already has her little squad running about causing havoc, nobody has learned a damned thing in her class and I know it's purposeful. The Ministry is corrupt, and she's the walking talking image of it."
Dumbledore sighed loudly, warming up his tea with a tap of the finger and bringing the cup to his lips. "You're quite right in that. Please, forgive me, it's unbecoming for a Professor, let alone the Headmaster to act so rashly in front of a student. Even if it is you," he added, smiling faintly. "As soon as this chat is over, I believe I'll find myself contacting the Ministry. I imagine the Aurors would have something to say about her actions."
"Thank you, and god, for some reason I thought you knew," she admitted.
Hurt passed over his features, eyes crinkling at her words. "Never would I allow such a thing to happen within these halls, and I refuse to allow it to continue."
"No- I'm sorry, I don't mean- "
"I understand," he interrupted, raising his hand. "I've not been an excellent Headmaster in the time that you've been here, nor do I think I've been one before that."
"Professor, you don't mean that."
"I do. Very much so." Dumbledore removed his glasses, tapping the hinge against his desk. He smiled to himself, morose and so tired that Catherine, for the first time, recognized how truly old he was.
"Professor- "
"Albus. Please. I think I owe you that much, don't you?"
"You don't owe me anything."
"Oh, but I do. Your time here at Hogwarts hasn't resembled anything remotely safe. Your first year, your second, third, fourth…" he trailed off, setting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose with crooked fingers. "Well, as long-winded as this little speech may already seem, I have not done well by you nor the rest of the students. No danger should ever befall a child, particularly not one brought about by my own transgressions."
"Prof- er, Albus? What do you mean?"
"I'm sure you've always had questions as to why these 'things,' as you put it, keep occuring. It seems it's due to my own ineptitude." He looked up from the scattered papers and steaming cup, eyes locking onto Catherine's. "I don't believe anyone at Hogwarts, except for Severus, has ever questioned my judgement in addressing the various problems that arise in a school such as this, hectic as it may be.
"Take, for example, your first year. I knew Voldemort was on the move, and I knew that the Philosopher's Stone would not be safe from him at Gringotts. As much as the Goblins boast about their security, the true threat lies in their political power. Take away the fear of retribution and add a sufficiently wily sorcerer to the mix, and you have a disaster waiting to happen."
"So you brought it here."
"So I brought it here… an incredibly foolish, downright maddening decision in retrospect. A treasure such as that in a school of all places. Well, it just may have ended in tragedy."
Catherine felt her world stutter, realization striking her like a hammer would an anvil, terrible in its strength. "He could have killed any of us, at any time, and there would have been nothing we could have really done."
"Quirrel may have surely tried such a thing, but the possibility of it alone and my allowance of it is one of my greatest regrets."
"And if students died?"
"I don't know, Catherine. I couldn't tell you. I'm repeating myself, but for longer than I can remember no one has questioned me, just Severus… and you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You. Quite headstrong, I would say, but you remind me of myself at your age." He smirked, as if he had told a particularly clever joke. "The Wizengamot, the International Confederation… it is only within the last few years that I have come to recognize the weight of my words and the impact they have had on this world, for better or worse."
"Albus… why are you telling me all this?"
He rapped his fingers across the tabletop, drumming out an off-kilter beat. "Because I hope you can learn from my mistakes and not follow the path I have walked. I've always done what I felt was best, but... therein lies the issue. It was what I felt was best. Not the census of the masses, no rationale given to me by any advisor. I pointed, spoke, and it happened."
"That's…" Catherine couldn't gather the words to describe such an immense level of power. "Horrifying."
"It is. Yet I wielded it quite comfortably. What do you believe that says about me?"
"Professor- "
"Albus."
"A- Albus… I don't know what you want me to say."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, elbows propped upon the armrests and fingers linked. "I want you to be honest."
Remember mine words, child. Unless you wish to fall into the sea, choking upon your own misery, then you must risk thine secrecy for the teachings of a mentor.
"It means you enjoy power, to a degree where you don't question having so much of it."
"Precisely, and this is a shortcoming of my own that I can recognize. But you, Catherine, you don't want power. You do not seek it out. In fact, I would consider it a rejection of power, how you distance yourself from your fame and standing. That is one of the many things that I admire about you. Your selflessness."
"Thank you, that- that does mean a lot to me." She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the ragged locks. "I just want to be me, you know? I'm tired of people seeing the idea of me, whatever they've built up in their mind."
"Alas, so would I, but it's not often that people of fame attain such a thing. To be forever idolized, yet never recognized." Dumbledore cast his eyes to the clock, humming as he read it. "Thank you for chatting with me, Catherine, although, I do believe you have a meeting to attend to. I hope to continue these little talks of ours, if you would be willing?"
"Sure, yeah, that works for me."
She didn't comment on his knowledge of the D.A., finding herself unsurprised that the Headmaster knew of the goings-on in the Room of Requirement.
He was able to speak with the portraits after all.
Just as Catherine stood to leave, Dumbledore put out his hand. "Catherine, before you go would you do me a favour?"
"Er- what is it?"
"I'd simply like to cast a spell on you, to check the link between yourself and Voldemort. With your permission, of course."
"Oh. Yeah, that's fine."
Dumbledore's wrist twisted oddly, wand forming maddening patterns in the air as he mumbled, intently focused on the invisible magic pouring out of him. The air almost shimmered with it, like a heat mirage, distortions and strange shapes contorting Catherine's view of the room.
Just as soon as he had begun, Dumbledore stopped, a strange look on his face. "I… thank you very much Catherine, you can be off now."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, just fine. Please," he gestured toward the door. "I'd rather you not be late."
Catherine nodded shakily, feeling slightly incredulous as she shuffled out of his office, unable to fathom the sudden shift in Dumbledore's attitude.
What on earth?
Her feet carried her downward, hurried steps pattering against the stone and echoing along the narrow tube that housed her.
The man has seen something strange and worrisome.
Of course he has, she retorted, grimacing. I'm kind of freaking out here.
Do not fret over something that can no longer be changed. It is beyond you now.
Practically snarling, Catherine blocked off her mind, hurrying to the Room of Requirement. If anything could carry her thoughts away from the shifting tides of Dumbledore's mood, it would be the D.A. sessions.
Though, she had found herself worrying as of late that they would notice something - not as accustomed to her own mood turning on a sixpence.
Stifling a sigh, Catherine swept into the room, lucky enough to still be a few minutes early.
She offered a smile and a wave to the few that had arrived early. Hermione, Ron, Luna, the Creevey Brothers (terrible overeager, she thought), and Terry Boot.
"Hey," she said, tossing her bag into the corner. "Everyone doing alright?"
"Yup." Ron pointed at the training dummies, carved form bearing the image of robes and grinning masks. "Got everything set up for ya'."
"That's great. I'm just going to warm up a bit."
Catherine walked past them, shucking off her robes and flinging them next to her bag, muscles quivering as she palmed her wand.
Her magic felt full to the brim, hissing angrily and screaming to be let out. Her time in Yharnam had felt like being sent away over the summer hols, having to keep the magic she loved kept bridled, hidden from her family and the creeping eyes of the Ministry.
But even after returning and being reunited with her wand, that missing key always hissing quietly from the edge of her mind, she couldn't help but feel that her classes weren't quite enough.
Catherine needed magic like any other witch or wizard. It was something integral, prided and precious - but even moreso for her, having lived so much of her life unaware of its very existence.
The tip of her wand sparked as she unleashed a flurry of non-lethal charms and hexes at the dummy, arm punching and whirling in chaotic patterns as she cast as furiously and quickly as she could.
Her teeth worried at her lip as she chained spells together as efficiently as she could, remembering the way Voldemort had spun one spell into another that awful night in the graveyard. The power he exhibited that night was terrifying, wand held almost lazily and his magic answering to his every silent call, no matter the spell nor target.
It was only when their two spells connected and that feeble, sparking line of gold drew them together that Voldemort showed an inkling of worry. Even then, it was but a fraction of fear - if it could even be named such - instead confusion at something he had never seen before.
Catherine didn't imagine new and confusing things came easy to him, with the nightmarish life that man must have led.
Teeth bared, her movements grew more frantic as the memory of Cedrics falling corpse pushed its way to the forefront of her mind.
Cedric was the first person she had ever told about herself, about the feelings that she kept locked up deep inside.
He had asked her to the ball, and god, she was flattered, but it wasn't enough. They sat and chatted, Catherine holding tightly to that fledgling spark of friendship that had grown since the first task and praying it didn't fly from her grasp.
The truth was the only way she could see that happening.
Like always, Cedric was kind, painfully so. In fact, he was excited for her, throwing out immediate suggestions of who to bring. 'Cho, Cho Chang? You know her?' he had asked. 'She's out, you know. Not really loud about it, but she's out.'
Catherine, of course, could only laugh at his sudden vomit of potential dates - a thousand names pouring from his mouth and none of them the one she pined for. She instead shook her head, offering the one idea that came to mind. 'How about we go as friends? You and me?'
He thought on it, promising to get back to her - and in the end it was Cho he ended up taking to the ball, an apologetic smile on his face. Catherine didn't hold it against him, Cho was gorgeous, stunning, worthy of a hundred words to describe her beauty, yet she felt nothing for her.
Neville had linked arms with her that night, happy to come along as a friend and none too interested in whatever reasons for it she kept secret.
Then, six months later, Cedric died - his body smeared in mud, clothes torn, and cuts strewn across bare skin. Catherine dragged him back to Hogwarts with his eyes fogged and body cold, his father screaming over an empty corpse.
They were friends of a strange breed, having no close ties yet sharing with each other the world. Strangers did that, she thought, told each other things that they wouldn't tell another living soul. Because where was the fear when she had only known him for a few months? When he would be gone from Hogwarts not soon after that?
She never imagined he would keep her secret so permanently.
With that, she stopped, the dummy's limbs barely hanging on and the wood it was conjured of splintered beyond recognition.
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Catherine turned to face the class, hoping that everyone had shown up by now.
They had, and instead of gathering to their places they had sat and watched as she tore the wooden figure to pieces. Some of them wore expressions of awe, others worried at her frantic display.
"Hey!" she called out cheerfully, at least, hoping it sounded something close to cheerful. "Sorry about that, been a long week."
And then Catherine passed out.