Chapter Fourteen | A Leap of Faith
A flayed man, too small for its skin and wrapped in a cloak of festering blood. It chuffed and lurched aimlessly within the confines of the tiny, crooked chapel, paying no heed to the girl painted red and panting at its door.
The path to the chapel was long and arduous, flanked with spines and creatures spitting poison from the dark, hordes of the things - people - screaming with fright and anger as they charged towards her cloying scent. Those waxen pills Catherine had found earlier turned out to repel whatever plague dripped from their claws, the Doll having offered some soft comfort to her, explaining their use when she had returned to the Dream, silent and perched upon a bench next to Gehrmans garden hideaway.
So their bitter dregs were packed between her molars, a handful of the things chewed and swallowed without protest once she had been sliced once more across the belly, and many more after in her trek towards the chapel.
The beast within stood guard, unknowingly, for the chalice that rested proudly upon the broken altar. It seemed another wolf, yet somehow far, far worse. Ragged strips of meat draped over its body as if a mantle, purple fog and rancid bubbles of frothy spit dripping from its open maw as it shuffled to and fro, its body much too thin, leathery skin much too loose around its crooked form.
It was a skeleton, somehow still bearing rusted flesh, scalped and back spread wide to hang over its sharpened ribs. It made no sense, fangs long and crooked like pincers hanging from its chin. It burned her eyes.
It made her want to cry. It made her want to kill.
Perhaps this was once one of Djura's comrades, left by the man to guard the one thing in this city he knew was worth saving. The one thing he knew he could save. The use of the chalice still felt unknown to her, but it was something holy and precious to Djura, so she felt she should take it from his ghost's unfeeling hands.
She had also stripped the man of his uniform and left it in a chest back in the Dream, after her inevitable return to his tower, along with the strange, piston-driven spear that was strapped to his wrist, and a note that had been tucked into the man's breast pocket, folded and unfolded so many times as to be near liquid.
"The red moon hangs low, and beasts rule the streets. Are we left no other choice, than to burn it all to cinders?"
His writings, presumably, the letters jagged and as unrefined as the corpse left naked upon a rooftop, throat torn and soul defiled by the blood visions that wracked her mind.
Catherine spied no red moon, though, the faraway stone pale blue and casting its milky light across the city, the shine of it battling quietly with the sharp orange of corpse pyres that littered the Yharnam underbelly.
So, she took one more look at the creature before her and shuffled into its abode, flames sputtering from the tip of her wand almost on reflex, Catherine hardly aware as the heat of it tickled at her ankles and left black marks upon her boots.
It lifted its head, no eyes to meet her gaze, instead deep shadows filled with drooping flesh that sagged behind its cheekbones and disappeared into its empty skull.
Somehow, she knew it saw her.
The two flew at each other, both reeling and erratic in their movements, as if their muscles were straining against the impulse of their mind.
Steel met flesh in a wet, slurping grind, her spear dragging through the creature's shoulder as she rolled beneath it, tearing a line down its belly in one swift movement.
It screeched, more noxious clouds spilling from its maw and dripping liquid poison upon the stones. The scent of it was thick - rancid - a sweetly cloying rot that clung to her nose and stabbed at her mind, mingling with the festering gore soaked into the creature's fur.
Fire did the trick, she found, alike all the other beasts Catherine had happened across in this city. It gorged upon the tainted flesh of the blood-cursed creatures of Yharnam, and revelled in their screams.
So Catherine ignored the blood pouring from her nose and drank in the fumes, thin streams of purple curling from the beast's mouth to be siphoned into her own, panting and sweating as she danced circles around its flailing body.
Instead, she focused on the screams. Focused on how the fire must feel as it gnawed at the beast's flesh.
The grin that split her face was stained in red, framed by scabbed lips - stretched too thin across a mask so sharp as to make a knife mad with envy. She cackled as it screeched, its howls a chorus and her wand the baton.
Paying no heed to the furious slashes the beast rent upon her body, apart from the occasional leap away to drain a vial and smash it against the ground, Catherine showed no sense of pain. Her arm, torn from bicep to elbow and gushing an arterial spray hardly garnered a whimper. Her ribs, cracked and prodding at her lungs, only added a hint of rasp to her already ragged breaths.
The blood that soaked her skin clung warmly to her, a fitted glove made fresh and firm, joyful in its embrace; and the lust that came with it, a fervor deep and wanting, sent shivers down her spine.
End it.
She wasn't sure whether it was the god that lapped at her mind or if it was a thought of her own, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Wrapped in miasmic fog, blood trickling from her eyes and ears, she leapt onto the beasts back, grabbing at the flaps of bloodied meat splayed over its shoulders and holding tight with an ironclad grip.
Catherine dug her legs in as it bucked, screaming all the while, her wand held between her teeth as she curled the fur of its neck round her fist and wrenched the things head towards her.
Arm raised - a manic Damocles - she paused for a fleeting moment before plunging her spear into the beasts skull, scrambling its brains and sending it crashing to the ground in a twitching heap.
Her cheer was a quiet thing when compared to the dying howls of the creature below her, but it was joyful all the same, marked by the whimpering shrill of giggles spoken past one lung and a throatful of blood.
Catherine crawled off the corpse unsteadily, one leg dragging behind her as she limped towards the altar, the chalice she had come for practically singing to her. Or, perhaps that was the maddened whispers of the blood, rejoicing to be united once more with a relic born for the sake of its sacred communion.
As her hands touched upon the chalice she could see as the familiar mist of the Messengers ebbed through the chapel, their tiny hands grasping at the artefact and dragging it back to the dream. She sighed, collapsing against the altar, skull knocking against the stone and sending yet more stars across her eyes.
She didn't want to close her eyes, but they were far heavier than they had any right to be. Her breathing slowed, her mind quieted, and her heart shuddered to a stop.
-::-
Harsh light, far too bright for candlelight or the glassy sheen of the Yharnam moon, stung at Catherine's eyes.
She groaned, hand raised and fingers forming a shutter against the minute trickle of sun that shone through the Hospital Wing windows. Catherine's body curled, as if to escape the light - as if it had forgotten what the sun was, like a face long lost to a fog of the mind.
"Shit," she hissed, scrabbling at the nearby nightstand for her glasses and wand, the routine of waking up in the Hospital Wing seared into her very being after five years of injuries and attacks.
Conjuring a mirror and offering it a glance, a sigh left her, relief, to find herself wearing the jumper and trousers she'd worn to the D.A. meeting, a reluctant thank you passed along to the god pulling her between Yharnam and Hogwarts.
It was not I, the voice spoke. You may thank the Messengers for that.
"My things?" Catherine whispered. "My blood."
In your trunk.
Another sigh of relief. Thank god for small favours.
Finding her gaze drawn back to the mirror, Catherine almost shouted at the sight of her reflection.
The scars she had gained in Yharnam were becoming more obvious. Frighteningly obvious. One wrapped around her head, thin but sharp, the skin pulled inward in a crooked line.
Gascoigne's axe, she realized, the memory of it separating her skull from her jaw in two short swings having already faded to the back of her mind. Perhaps her brains had been scrambled one too many times already.
Across her neck stood a patchwork of burn scars, the flesh melted together and drawn tight from jaw to collar, gained from whatever strange weapon Djura carried.
Her skin, though, was sickly pale and pulled sharply over the bones of her face. Starved. She looked a prisoner of war, tortured and left to rot in some muddied camp. The muscles of her neck stood out, thick cords that seemed to strain against their prison of flesh, and she found herself lifting her hand to draw a finger across them.
Throat bobbing, she cast a glamour without hesitation, the fog of magic crackling over her skin and leaving Catherine with the image of someone who, to her, no longer existed.
This Catherine, the fake that stared back at her, was even more unrecognizable.
She went to stand, but found that she couldn't muster enough energy to even twitch her fingers - the sudden adrenaline of waking in an unfamiliar place already dwindling. Instead, she lay there, staring at the wall across from her.
Even the subtle shine of dawn stung her eyes, having not seen an inkling of light beyond the moon and corpse pyres in weeks. It was early, very early, the sun half risen and the halls deathly quiet.
Her heart began to thunder against the deafening silence, fingers tight around her wand and eyes dancing across the room looking for any sign of-
No.
Her jaw creaked as her teeth ground together, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes shut tight.
"I am in Hogwarts. I am safe," she whispered, a mantra, fighting back against instincts seared into her flesh with bone and steel.
Silence meant ambush. Silence meant death.
Gut churning, Catherine told herself she had to move, swinging her legs over the side of the bed only to be interrupted as the back door swung open, Madam Pomfrey walking softly into the room.
"Don't you dare try and escape on me," she scolded, finger raised and eyebrows arched dramatically as she shuffled towards Catherine. "Sit. We need to chat."
"That bad?" Catherine asked on reflex, falling back against the headboard.
"No, not by your usual metric, but students passing out from exhaustion is frighteningly common. You wouldn't believe how many are brought in after having lived off of nothing but pepper-up and far too much coffee for a week." Pomfrey sighed, shaking her head. "You, though, have never been brought in for something so… mundane as sleep deprivation. Always broken bones and Merlin knows what else. Would you like to tell me why exactly you haven't been resting, to the point where you passed out in front of your little study group?"
"Study group?"
"Hush. The only member of staff I know to be unaware of you and your friends' escapades is Professor Umbridge."
"Ah," Catherine murmured. "I- well, I've just been under stress, with… you know what and you know who. Guess I've been working myself too hard trying to get a handle on things."
"I imagined that was the case." Madam Pomfrey leaned forward, something soft in her eyes. "I'm expecting you to get a full night's rest every evening from hereon, understand? Otherwise you'll be spending the rest of the month here, under my supervision, and I imagine neither of us would enjoy that."
Catherine simply nodded in reply, the taste of common conversation upon her tongue alien. "Understood."
"Good, now, let's hope this is the last we see of each other this year." Pomfrey clapped her hands. "Off with you, and remember to sleep, you silly girl."
"Thanks. I- thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
"You're very welcome. I'm sure Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are worried about you. You'd best be let them know you're doing just fine."
Catherine nodded and offered a small wave as she got up to leave, finding herself somewhat unsteady to be walking on even ground with fitting shoes. Blinking rapidly, she shuffled towards the Gryffindor common room, trying to settle her mind and bring herself back to… whatever way she used to think before all this.
She could hardly remember. The thought of worrying over grades, over how the Ministry saw her - spoke of her - it was so far gone and abstract that it didn't even seem worthy of consideration.
All Catherine could think of was why her.
For what purpose was she dragged to Yharnam? What secrets did the city keep, beyond the sanctification by holy fire that Old Yharnam had endured?
'Leave no stone unturned' had been her method and madness so far in life, and the mystery of Yharnam itched at the back of her mind like a cancer, festering and unignorable.
Damn Voldemort and his petty war, she thought. What happened - was happening in that city was far beyond him.
Catherine had to know, needed to pry the information out of the cold, unfeeling hands of the Church - and if she happened to get her kicks out of carving her pound of flesh from the twitching corpse of that vile institution? Well, she certainly wouldn't judge herself.
She scoffed and continued on, every step silent until eventually trudging into the Gryffindor common room, fingers tracing over the not so familiar sofa and her eyes glazing over as she tried to take it all in.
It didn't quite click that she was back. Gaze foggy and her motions stilted as she sat before the empty fireplace, a flick of the wrist setting it alight. She stared into the flames, the heat of it stoking the blood inside her, almost friendly in its touch. It reminded her of Yharnam, the stinging pain of Djura's hand cannon flickering across her throat - the corpse pyres littering its unhallowed streets and lending some warmth to the perpetual night.
Catherine couldn't tear her eyes away, foot tapping wildly and her hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white and the dull sting of her nails pressing against the callused flesh the only thing keeping her mind from snapping in two.
Back to Hogwarts, again.
But, she didn't feel like she was back. Not entirely. Yharnam had planted its roots in her belly and held strong, and Catherine knew it would never leave her, nor could she ever truly leave. It only took until now for it to click.
So she stared unblinkingly into the flames and let them consume her, doing her best not to think of blood trickling over cobblestone, or the fresh taste of it as it ran down her throat. For hours she sat, paying no heed to the few early risers stepping out passed her with hurried glances and fresh gossip on their tongue, only the steady decline of auburn and growing shine of snow-cast sunlight to mark the passing of time.
Soon, she became blank, no thoughts dancing through her mind - only the steady thump, thump, thump of her beating heart and the ever-present cold sweat that trickled down her spine.
"-therine."
Her fingers traced at the scars on her face, the skin raised and furious.
"Catherine."
The memory of Gascoigne's axe would not leave her. Djura's vacant stare as she supped at his throat and drank him dry.
"Catherine!"
Faster than she herself could comprehend, Catherine spun around, wand pressed against the speakers throat and her other hand grasping at their wrist, holding it tightly in place.
"Ow!"
Catherine reared back, staring into Hermione's eyes. She looked aghast, mouth open wide and a pained flush across her neck, cradling her wrist and gaping at Catherine with what looked to be fear.
She couldn't find the words, only a soft gasp slipping from her lips as she hunched to look down at her own two hands.
"Catherine! What was that?"
"...I don't- I-"
"Catherine. You hurt me."
She stared. "I- I hurt you."
"Yes, we just sorted that out. I- Catherine what- what's going on?" Hermione spluttered, mouth opening and closing as she wrestled with her thoughts. "You fainted in front of everyone last night, you've been… off these last weeks, disappearing in the middle of the night, not sleeping-" Her throat bobbed. "What… just- please, tell me what's going on. Please? I've never seen you like this. You've never… you've never done this before."
Catherine's gaze never wavered from Hermione's wrist, hand still cradling it loosely, fingers pinching at the cuff of her blouse.
"I don't-" She blinked, jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crumble in her mouth. "I can't…"
"Yes you can, Catherine." Hermione had tears in her eyes, cheek puckered as she bit at it. "You can't keep hiding things from me, from Ron, from Si- Padfoot. You can't keep doing this!"
"I'm so sorry," she quavered, her voice a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't- look, something is wrong, yes?"
A hum, fearful and quiet.
Hermione stepped around the sofa cautiously, hands raised. "Do you want to talk? Do you want a hug? Catherine, I- I don't know what to do to help you. Tell me. Please."
"I… I don't- I don't know."
All the anger had left her, the fury she held for the church and her budding hunger to tear it down, stone by stone, and set the corpses of its founders to cinder.
But she wasn't in Yharnam, not right now, and to be back in Hogwarts…
The horror of her actions, her revelry as she stood atop that beast within the chapel and felt real triumph set in her bones and dance through her veins as she ground its brains to mush, suddenly became far too much.
Her first wander into the city had been… distant, unfeeling. Punctuated by short moments of clarity as she grappled with the thought of living a double life, stretched between two worlds.
The only difference was that she was starting to like it. Starting to enjoy the blood and fury with no qualms as to the morality of it, only motivated by hysterical enthusiasm as she carved her way through that city and left a pile of corpses - human and beast (but weren't they just the same) - in her wake.
"I don't think I know who I am anymore," Catherine uttered, and she knew it to be true. "I need to- I… fuck," she cursed, fists clenched as she tried to avoid striking herself over the head, hands aching to just hit something. "I need time to- to myself. I need to… I need to think."
"Catherine, you can't just run off again- I- Catherine!"
But she had already left, ducking out of the common room and disappearing around the corner before Hermione could even consider giving chase. She paced through the halls with a body changed by something beyond her comprehension, and it was only now that she began to think of the true horror of it all.
How could she possibly explain herself to anyone? To be dragged into some other world for the sake of… what? Some pithy gods entertainment? She could hardly believe it herself, and she'd spent-
Catherine didn't know how long she'd spent in Yharnam. Almost a month, maybe more.
"Probably more," she snarled, not caring if anyone heard. She could hardly keep track of things, knowing the days would blend together without the light of dawn to break routine. She could only hope to mark the passing of time through the motions of the beasts, their treks through the city and how long it took for them to come back to a borough she knew she had massacred.
So what was she to do, when she couldn't put voice to her pain? Was she to simply bottle it up, pretend all was well and then snap the next time someone touched her? Would she kill someone the next time she was startled? A friend?
Battle now ran in her blood, and even if she slit her own throat and let it run out dry she knew it would not cure her mind.
"Dammit…" she slammed her fist against the wall. "Dammit!"
What do I do?
And just as the thought came to her, she knew it to be her best option.
Perhaps death could keep her here in her own world, even if it could not lay hands upon her in Yharnam.
She could only hope.
"No Voldemort, no Paleblood, no nothing," she muttered, hand now pressed gently against the stone, her forehead leaned against it and drinking up the cold.
She'd have to say goodbye.
Could she, though? What if they knew, found out, would they try to stop her?
Hermione already knew something was wrong, and Ron could tell as well. He always seemed to pick up on these things first, before even Catherine had figured out what mood she was in.
Shit.
What to do. What to do.
She could wait a few days, make sure they were happy, get her things in order. The Weasleys could use the money, they'd certainly done enough to help her. Maybe she could dedicate it, do something with-
No. Catherine drank in the air, the thundering of her heart growing louder and louder. I have to do it now.
Before she lost the nerve.
No longer silent, the quiet tread of a learned killer, her footsteps instead thundered through the halls as she sprinted headlong towards the astronomy tower, grinning all the while.
She would do it. She would end this game and spite whatever damnable god had decided to turn her already frightening existence into a waking hell.
The stairs, winding, took her up, up towards the sky and the blistering sun that she had never been quite so happy to see before in her life. It made her pause as she reached the top, her hand shading her eyes as she looked out across the Hogwarts grounds.
A touch of beauty before the end.
The sun struck the snow in a brilliant lattice, as though the world itself were a gem, polished and shining and so glorious to behold that it would blind whoever laid eyes upon it. The forest, capped with white and breathtakingly calm in the frigid, morning air.
It was magnificent.
Catherine twisted her wand, conjuring a slip of paper that she dashed a ramshackle note upon.
Forgive me.
Pressing it against the arcades that circled the tower peak, she murmured a quiet sticking charm and left it to rest, the scrap hardly fluttering in the winter wind.
It would be spring soon, she realized, noticing how bits of green stood out among the pearlescent white, patches of snow melting slowly but surely.
Catherine grinned madly as she stepped to the edge, arms swaying almost childishly as she looked over the railing to the steep drop below. Not quite as tall as the ramshackle patchwork of buildings in Yharnam, but it would kill her all the same.
She just hoped it would stick.
A whistled tune pouring from her lips, she stepped over the railing and flung herself over the top, hearing the crash of footsteps from behind her as she slipped out of view and hurtled to the ground below.
The only thought that ran through her mind as she fell was a question. Who was it who had come to stop her?
That thought along with the rest of her broken mind jolted to a sudden stop, sputtering out of her ears and staining the snow red as she crashed into the earth, her body fading away as a white mist swept over her bloodied form.
-::-
A few moments later her eyes opened to see the small crater she now lay in, her body unbroken and the ground soaked in gore. She shook her head, feeling no less rattled than she had when she was sailing through the air.
Catherine screamed.