Chapter Seventeen | The Dog and Man At First Were Friends
Three days.
Three days of wild impatience, no sleep, and no visitors. At least, she wasn't spoken to by her visitors, instead left to suffer in silence.
Oh, Catherine was sure as anything that Snape and Dumbledore had been down to visit at some point or another, cloaked in disillusionment charms and a bevy of other spells designed to make one unnoticeable.
They had visited regularly, judging by the acrid hint of potions fumes that sometimes found its way into her cell, or the almost tobacco-like musk that clung to Dumbledore everywhere he went.
Far be it from her to mention their passing, or how even if they swaddled themselves in all manner of silencing charms, they couldn't do much to hide themselves if they didn't take her Yharnam minted nose into account.
Although, she imagined they weren't very aware of her augmented senses - her hearing, yes, but her sense of smell was still among them.
Her only qualm was in how even the magic of the blood had passed over her eyesight. It seemed she would be cursed to be near blind no matter how much her body had changed.
Catherine had once put research into that, because of course magic must be able to deal with nearsightedness as easily as one could a broken bone, and she'd be damned if she had to wear glasses the rest of her life. That was until she learned that all attempts towards such had resulted in either the subjects eyes quite literally falling out of their head, or becoming so sensitive that they were blinded by even the most minute amount of light.
So she'd forgone the option, content to have 'piss poor' eyesight as Ron had once put it, rather than none at all.
Ruminating over simple wants long past gone - the nostalgia of it depressingly sweet - was one way in which Catherine spent her three days. Another was doing her best to ignore the steadily growing voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to simply blast through the cell and leave.
She could have the Messengers bring her wand and gear with a literal snap of the fingers, but the thought that maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore would be open to speak had stayed her hand.
Catherine hoped desperately that he would realize what he had done and the sheer insanity of it, yet as the days ticked on with nary a word from either of her captors she grew less impassioned with one of the few people in this world she had come to recognize as family.
His fear was well understood, of course. Catherine couldn't fault him for truly believing she was possessed, as by all accounts she was acting as though she were. The extremely sudden radical self harm, the suicide attempt, and her visible descent into insanity were all trademarks of someone warring desperately to hold their psyche together.
It didn't make her feel any better, though.
She felt… almost catatonic. Although, not exactly, still aware of the waking world but somehow detached - as if she were looking through a camera lens at her own silent body.
It felt almost like she had slipped out of herself and been made to watch with morbid fascination as she did nothing at all for hours on end. A living corpse sat upon a prison cot and staring at the wall as the hours ticked by, marking the passage of time through the fading of her captors scents.
Her hands seemed to have a life of their own, thumb and forefinger rubbing together, flexing, cracking - they contorted and clenched every so often, a mindless fidget that grew and ebbed as Catherine faded in and out of her daydreams, her ponderings being swept up by the growing urge to say 'fuck it all' and hide in the Forbidden Forest until she remembered what it was to be human again.
Deep breaths.
It took an errant snap, the flick of finger against palm to bring her back to herself. The Messengers appeared once more at her unintentional call, chittering and crooning as they pawed at her ankles. Catherine smiled at them, reaching down to let them grab at her fingers and rub their faces on her palm.
"I think it's time I had a conversation with Dumbledore, don't you?"
They nodded fervently, teeth clicking and their low moans casting across the dungeon. Happily, they produced her wand from the mist, two of them hoisting it above their heads and holding it as high as they could, their faces splitting into macabre grins.
Catherine took it from them with a murmured thank you.
A second passed, and she realized how parched she was, her throat burning and her limbs weak. She knew exactly what she needed. "Could you get me a vial?" Catherine asked, and the Messengers obliged happily, reaching into the mist once more to offer her a blood vial, the shine of it enough to make her drool.
With greedy hands she scrabbled at the lid, not even stopping to breathe as she quaffed the blood down, finger swiping across her chin and snatching up an errant drop.
She could feel the life return to her, slowly and steadily, a gasped "Another," slipping from her lips. Catherine snatched the next vial the Messengers had brought, draining it in less than a second and letting the vial fall to the floor with a crash.
Taking a few deep breaths and rubbing her eyes, Catherine shuddered as she felt the blood course through her body. She sighed deeply, shoulders hunched and neck pulled back as shivers ran down her spine, a warmth sweeping over her.
Never thought I'd miss the stuff, she thought, bouncing on her heels and pushing away the sudden urge to clap excitedly.
Her wrist flicked, light shooting from her wand and carving a gap through the bars of her cell. The heavy iron clattered to the floor with a deafening bang and Catherine stepped through the hole gingerly, kicking one of the bars aside and smiling as it rolled away.
Go left.
Catherine walked the way she'd seen Snape and Dumbledore come before, coming to a pinched spiral staircase lit only by a scant few torches. She climbed up, finding herself before a solid stone wall at the very top.
"Secret passage, huh?" she asked aloud. "Marauders missed one." She'd not once seen it on the map, and just now realized that while Hogwarts had dungeons, she'd never once seen prison cells.
Thought they'd been repurposed into classrooms.
Taking a chance, Catherine pictured a snake and hissed a strangled open towards the stone, lip curling as the parseltongue failed to do anything. "Shit," she groused, stepping back down the way and curving her wand around the corner of the stairwell. "Bombarda."
Her ears rang as the explosion rocked the walls, smashing a hole through the stone and scattering it across the now open corridor. Another murmured spell and the dust was cleared, Catherine wincing as she looked at the damage done.
The wall opposite the hole was pulverized by the explosion, great chunks of stone strewn about the corridor in ramshackle piles, a torch sconce across the way broken in half and doused in sputtering magical fire.
It reminded her of Old Yharnam. Crumbling walls and pyres almost offering a soft comfort now, less alien to her than the freakishly clean corridors of Hogwarts. She felt vulnerable as she walked to the dungeon proper, recognizing the pathway to the Slytherin common room at the end of the hall.
Things were too open here, too clear. There was no cover walking through Hogwarts, nowhere to hide if something came running for her. She knew nothing would happen, but that didn't stop her instincts from screaming out to check round every corner, to sniff and listen intently at the sign that anything may come creeping up behind her, to see if there was anything lurking in the dark.
But it wasn't dark, it was bright - the early morning sun shining through the lower levels of the school as she stepped out of the dungeons.
It was then that Catherine realized she didn't really know where she was going.
Dumbledore's quarters? The Great Hall?
She didn't even know what time it was.
A muttered tempus and Catherine learned the date and time. The twenty fourth, and a bit before noon.
"Four days." She had been kept down there for four days under lock and key and insipid observation, her guards too scared to speak to her.
Catherine was surprised that someone hadn't come running down to snatch her yet. She told them she couldn't be held in that cage. Maybe they didn't listen? Wouldn't Dumbledore have placed a failsafe to notify him if she had left?
Where to, where to.
Dumbledore's office seemed the best option. If she could show him her memories, somehow convince him to look? If she put them in the Headmaster's pensieve, would he still be reluctant to take a peek at what had become of her?
It was decided in an instant. "You," Catherine barked, pointing at a nearby portrait. The man inside squeaked, falling out of his chair. "Tell Professor Dumbledore that Catherine Potter is going to his office, and she wants to speak with him."
"What? Why should I?" he argued, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his knees.
"Otherwise I'll douse you in turpentine."
That was all it took for him to nod hurriedly, disappearing out of frame with a fearful glance.
If all worked out, maybe Catherine could try to destroy Walburga's portrait that way. Sirius would certainly be happy to see her gone.
But she knew there was a very good chance that Dumbledore wouldn't listen to her attempts to explain what had happened to her. That he would try to have her locked up again, this time far more strictly than his pathetic attempt thus far. Maybe Dumbledore wanted her to escape? Wanted her out of sight and out of mind?
Hiding away in the Forbidden Forest was beginning to sound much more appealing.
Thankful that classes weren't out quite yet, Catherine marched up the empty staircases towards the seventh floor, paying reluctant mind to the stares and whispers from the portraits around her. They watched her from the walls, a thousand eyes and a thousand more run from top to bottom of the castle.
Catherine knew, then, that Dumbledore was aware of her escape. The castle itself seemed to hold its breath as she climbed ever upward, every canvas-trapped ghost mumbling to their neighbour of her journey, their words traveling faster than she could ever hope to match. Even the stairs shuffled to carry her along, coming together to form a perfect path towards the Headmasters office.
For a moment Catherine found herself wanting for the familiar scratch of her armour, wanting for the comfort of leather against palm and the weight of her spear. The shield of Yharnam was something that made her feel powerful, the knowledge that with those tools she decided over the lives of the beasts that dared stop her path.
She didn't feel powerful walking through the silent castle halls. She felt like a student again, trapped some place between her old life and the new.
How could she possibly begin to explain to Dumbledore what she had seen? How could she ever hope to speak with Ron or Hermione without acknowledging that everything had changed? How could she hope to sit down and attempt to explain the depth of what she now felt, how no matter how much she longed for it, death would never come knocking on her door?
Because if she walked free from Dumbledore's office they would ask her of her attempted suicide. They would ask her of what happened, and she didn't know how - if - she could ever explain.
Maybe it would be better to never speak with the two of them again. Maybe it would be better to never speak to anyone again.
Catherine stopped in front of the gargoyle that shielded the path to the Headmaster's office and felt herself looking away from its imperious gaze. She stepped atop the platform, shoulders set and rigid as it began to rise.
Deep breaths.
As she reached the top, the door swung open of its own accord. Catherine flinched, expecting the sudden onslaught of puffing and puttering trinkets, the chiming of bells and a warning klaxon announcing her presence. Instead the many instruments in the office lay silent, Dumbledore sitting at his desk with his hands clasped - Fawkes standing atop his shoulder.
"Headmaster."
"Catherine, please," he gestured to the seat in front of him. "Sit."
So she did, settling into the chair straight backed and alert. Catherine fought against the growing urge to run, to flee to somewhere she could never be found and take shelter from her former life.
Instead she stared at the Headmaster, his sunken cheeks and tired eyes. She studied every wrinkle, the almost imperceptible frown that twisted his oft authoritarian aura into something more fragile.
"Do I scare you?" Catherine asked, letting the question shatter the tension and hang in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
Dumbledore, to his credit, didn't flinch. But his frown grew deeper - present - not a hidden thing, his feelings no longer guised behind the armour of age. "Yes." His tongue flitted out across his bottom lip. "Yes, you do."
"Makes sense. I scare me, now." Catherine looked to her right, towards the cabinet that she knew sheltered Dumbledore's pensieve. "What would it take for you to believe me? For me to show you that I'm not possessed, that Yharnam is real?" She swallowed down the urge to fight, to lash out and scream, to smash the room to bits. Violence now seemed to be her first response, her first answer to any confrontation. "I understand why you don't want to use legilimency on me, when you think Voldemort is in my head. But would a pensieve be the same?"
"I'm afraid that could be tampered with. Voldemort was, and is, a master of the mind arts."
"Doesn't my coming here prove anything?"
"No." Dumbledore looked up to Fawkes, his finger spinning once as he whispered something to the phoenix.
A wandless silencing charm.
"Is Fawkes your canary in the coal mine?"
"Of a sort," the Headmaster admitted. "Phoenixes are peculiar creatures. Pure. They are especially sensitive to the Dark Arts, able to pick out its practitioners as a bloodhound would prey. The only reason you are here speaking with me is because Fawkes spies no hint of it upon you."
"But, you said that my magic is almost the same as Voldemorts. I don't understand."
"Neither do I. I myself can sense no change, but Fawkes here seems to be... if not happy to see you, quite comfortable. Fawkes?"
A quiet trill leapt from his beak, bittersweet as it met Catherine's ears.
"If it's not Dark Magic, then…" her heart skipped a beat.
Voldemort has been to Yharnam.
It made sense. Too much sense. Something must have sparked his descent into depravity. Something must have happened to turn him into what he was today, and if anything could spin a man to madness as Tom Riddle had, it would be Yharnam.
Is this true? Catherine asked, for once reaching out to the voice that sat at the edge of her mind, rather than it to her.
Once upon a time, yes.
"Oh god," she gasped. Why? Did you bring him there?
Only you, child. Flora is a different breed, and often finds toys to play with. Tom Riddle was but one of them.
Catherine felt as though she would throw up.
Was that what would become of her? Would she just be the next Voldemort, forced to follow in his footsteps? Did he once seek Paleblood, hunting across a moonlit night?
"He's been there. Voldemort's been to Yharnam." Catherine's fingers curled over her armrests. "That's why our magic is the same, because he's got Yharnam blood too." She looked up at Dumbledore, almost frantic. "When he was a student did he do what I did? Try to kill himself, act like he was losing his mind?"
"Tom Riddle was a deeply troubled child, and an even more troubled man. To compare you two-"
"Shut up. Just- shut up," she interrupted, pressing her fingers to her temples. "He went there. That's why it's the same, it's the only way it could make sense." Catherine drummed her fingers, brain rattling about in her skull. "I can prove it to you, I can prove it exists."
Catherine snapped her fingers, mist curling over the top of Dumbledore's desk and the spindly arms of the Messengers pushing out from the fog.
Dumbledore didn't even blink.
Looking down, then looking back up, Catherine realized he couldn't even see them.
"Sir, look down at your desk and tell me what you see."
His brow furrowed, glancing to his desk then back towards Catherine. "My desk."
"Keep looking." She hunched down, nodding at the Messengers. "My spear, please."
The Messengers happily snatched her spear up, reaching through dimensions to drag it out of her trunk.
Dumbledore reared back as the weapon - to him - appeared from nowhere, not smoothly but as if it were carried by a line of ants, three feet of barbed, twisted steel hoisted out of thin air and presented like a fine good to be offered at a luxury shop.
One being in the room did notice the Messengers, Fawkes whistling in confusion and fluttering down to nose at the tiny creatures, feathers ruffling as they clumsily attempted to pet him. He shirked away, hesitation in his eyes.
"Fawkes sees them. Not just the spear, but the things that brought it here."
"What… might those things be exactly?" Dumbledore clenched his jaw, and it was only then that Catherine noticed his wand was pointed at his desk. "Are they similar to thestrals?"
"They're called Messengers. They can go between Yharnam and here." She gestured to them, pulling her arm away as Dumbledore shifted his aim in her direction. "Hey! Just- just look, see? Fawkes isn't scared by them, I'm not going to hurt you, just- look into my head, please. See what I see, maybe then you'll believe what I say."
Wand steady, Dumbledore slowly began to lower his arm, the weapon (because what else could it be when held in his hands?) trained not at the spear but at her. He rolled it in his fingers, the pad of his thumb kneading over the wood. "Fawkes?"
The Phoenix trilled again. A whisper of reassurance.
Eyes flickering shut, a heavy breath rattled out of Dumbledore's chest. "Legilimens."
Catherine swung open the doors of her mind, opening them wide and shouting for Dumbledore to look upon the carnage Yharnam had wrought.
Flickers of beasts and spraying blood danced across her eyes. The cold, stark white of the moon shining down on the misshapen corpse of Gascoigne, nothing left of him but ribbons of singed meat and stump legs, the bite of burning flesh on the air. That image, that of sodden gore and bits of stinking fur was soon replaced by the crooked spires of the Cathedral Ward, how the roots of those buildings sunk down into the underbelly of Yharnam, covered in yet more filth and lit by the everburning piles of dead beasts awash in oil.
Dumbledore flipped through the pages of her psyche with macabre interest. She could feel the growing horror as he sunk deeper and deeper into her thoughts only to find more bloodshed. Catherine let out a quiet gasp as he left her mind abruptly, second-hand revulsion rippling through her as the feeling of her teeth ripping through the sweat soaked throat of Djura bubbled up and turned his sense of disgust into outright dread.
Blinking unsteadily, Catherine tried to put the pieces of her mind back together into something that made sense. Her gut churned painfully, the sight of Djura still seared into her eyelids, not fading no matter how much she wished it to.
Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes, gripping onto the armrests of her chair so tight that the wood began to creak, splintering beneath her fingers.
"...so?" she managed, the word choked with tension. "Believe me now?"
The Headmaster nodded shakily, his face drawn and pale. Then, he began to cry.
It was not the hysterics that had wracked Catherine's body but a few weeks before, nor was it withdrawn. It was a gentle thing - the sudden awareness of her curse painting his eyes in stricken shades. Dumbledore blinked a few times, running a finger along his cheek and placing it in front of his face, as if to confirm to himself what was happening.
"Oh." He had set sight on the Messengers, their tiny bodies bobbing to and fro as they waved excitedly at him. Dumbledore stood, almost knocking his chair down in his hurry as he clumsily pulled around his desk, taking Catherine up in his arms and embracing her tightly.
"I am so sorry," he whispered, clutching at her back.
Catherine shrunk into herself, startled. She awkwardly raised her hands as Dumbledore pulled away, brow furrowed and lips pinched tightly together. "I- you don't need to apologize. It's not your fault."
"No. I didn't- I didn't believe you. I still can hardly…" he waved one hand in tiny circles, head shaking back and forth. "I've never heard of something like this. Never seen it." Dumbledore seemed to fall backwards, sitting awkwardly on the edge of his desk and staring past Catherine, his gaze boring a hole through the wall behind her.
"How?" His voice was a whisper, so thin, so full of pain that even ice would have shivered at its passing.
"A god, or something close to it."
Dumbledore snorted. "A god. A god," he repeated, running his fingers through his beard. "I'd always wondered if such a thing could exist, if we were created or came from nothing, but to be made aware of it - them? - in such a..." he choked on his words, shivering. "...horrid manner- I... I can hardly believe it."
"I can't believe it and I'm living it. I-" Catherine paused, biting her lip. "It speaks to me sometimes. I think it's been speaking to me my whole life, and I've only just started to hear its words. I dream- dream of this… this beach. There's this thing washed up on the shore and it doesn't make any sense. It burns my eyes, and I wake up and I still feel the pain. I think I would still see it if I tore my eyes out."
"It speaks with you?"
"Yeah… I mostly tell it to fuck off."
The laugh that leapt from Dumbledore's chest seemed to shake the room, and Catherine found herself joining in. Her own laugh had changed, now sharp - steeled - and frigid as the winds of hel as it graced her own ears. The sounds mingled together, yet began to grow strained.
"I don't- I don't…" she sighed, her laughter petering out into a dull whimper. "I don't know what to do, Professor. How do I tell Ron and Hermione why I tried to kill myself? I can't just- I can't walk up to them and tell them what I've done." Catherine crossed her arms, holding them tight across her belly. "I killed a man so I could learn his secrets. I executed another without hesitation. I've been so caught up in… I don't even know. Wanting to learn more about Yharnam, that I forgot I'd left his daughter alone and scared in a city that wants her dead." She shuddered. "I don't know what to do."
"I don't know either," he admitted, biting at his cheek. "Gods and blood and… I can't make sense of it. Could you explain it all, for me?"
"You're not… you saw what I did. I just told you. You don't want to keep me locked up?"
"I want to help you, Catherine, and I cannot do that by putting you in a cell and hoping that with enough time you'll feel better." He looked down, running the back of his hand down Fawkes' neck, scratching softly beneath his beak. "I am old. Very, very old. I have seen many things in my time, both amazing and terrible to behold. I have seen war, the greatest to ever taint this earth, and fought in its battles." His head raised, gaze meeting hers. "I did not kill the man who sparked that war, who pushed the German war machine forward and allowed it to become the most vile institution to have ever existed. Who looked on in glee as they systematically executed people beyond counting
"Perhaps I should have. No. I know I should have, but memories of who he once was left me unwilling." Dumbledore clasped his hands together, resting them on his lap. "You? I cannot kill you, nor would I. I could chain you, but I will not. What I will do is swear that I will spend my time here on this earth aiding you. Whether that is by offering a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen, I will give it freely."
"Why?"
"Because I have already done you so much wrong in life."
"Wha-"
He raised his hand, interrupting her. "I have. We spoke of this recently. The danger that I have placed you in, willingly, these past few years. The treatment you have suffered at the hands of your relatives… I do not speak of atonement, because I cannot atone for the life you have lived, for the one that appeared in my mind fifteen years ago when I saw that mark upon your forehead."
Catherine's gut churned "I don't understand what you're saying."
"Have you never wondered, Catherine, why Voldemort did not stay dead after that night in Godric's Hollow so many years ago?"
"Y- yes-" she stuttered. "Yes, I have."
"Would you like to know? Would you like to know why I thought you were possessed. Why I had you locked up like a common vagrant?"
All she could do was nod.
"Fifteen… fifteen years ago, I came to the ruins of your parents cottage and found you sleeping in your crib. The nursery was destroyed completely, the ceiling blown out, and the only things to be found in the room besides yourself and rubble was the body of your mother and a set of empty robes." Dumbledore turned away from her, gaze cast upon the floor. "Voldemort's magic clung to you like a sickness, and I realized then what he had done to confirm his immortality."
The Headmaster clenched his jaw, and Catherine could hear the click of bone as it settled into place. "There is a ritual, one horrid beyond measure, that Voldemort had undergone. I had long known of him experimenting in the Dark Arts, but this was beyond what I could have ever suspected. It is called a Horcrux, what he created. A container that houses a portion of one's soul, torn from their body and hidden away. They can only be created through taking another's life, and a various number of other steps far more sickening than simple murder."
"Oh god," Catherine spluttered. "He turned me into one."
Dumbledore nodded shakily. "Not intentionally. You see, there has never been an instance in history - at least known to anyone - of someone creating more than one Horcrux. To split your soul once… the damage done to one's mind is already insurmountable, the prospect of making more is beyond imagination. I believe Voldemort came that night with the intention of using your death to fuel the creation of his final Horcrux, and when his killing curse met the protections your mother had weaved upon you he still managed to create one, just... in a very different way."
"It's gone, right? That's why my scar has finally started to heal?"
"Yes. I imagine your… many deaths have torn it from your body."
A cold washed over her at his words, horror seeping into her bones. "You were expecting me to die, weren't you?"
Silence met her question. Only the thumping of her heart and the sharp shine of sweat trickling down the side of Dumbledore's throat.
"Yes."
"What the- what the fuck." Catherine jumped to her feet, knocking her chair away. "You just- you were, what, just hoping that I'd stuff it one day? That I'd get killed by Voldemort?"
"No! Never! I've spent these last fifteen years searching and studying for something to save you! But the destruction of a Horcrux is already violent, and any historical instance wherein a living being was turned into one always resulted in their death!" He looked at her imploringly, begging her to listen. "I would never- could never do that to you. Every summer day, every open evening, I have spent poring through every scrap of knowledge that I could in the hopes that something- anything held within could be of aid."
"But you didn't tell me. Don't you think I deserved to know that there was a piece of that bastard inside me?"
"And what do you imagine that information would do to you? You were already fragile, already had gone through far too much." His eyes shut tight, cheeks drawn sharply across his wizened frame. "I've already seen you try to take your own life. What if you had succeeded?"
"Well, you'd have one less problem to deal with, wouldn't you?" she spat.
"Really? Truly? You believe I would be happy to see you dead? You are a gift, Catherine, and I am thankful for you every day. I- I have been proud of many students over the years, but not once have I ever seen one as family." Tears shone in his eyes, and never before had the Headmaster seemed so frail. "You are like a granddaughter to me. I thought the Dursley's would treat you kindly, but I was foolish and naive to imagine that blood ties could be kept so tight.
"I look at you and I see one of the bravest, most clever, delightful people to ever grace this earth - and if I could take your burden from you, this curse you have had placed upon you, I would in a heartbeat. Your life thus far has been one awful occurrence after another, almost all of which have been by my own negligence."
Dumbledore let out a long, drawn out breath, running his hands down his face. "I look at you and I see a reason to be better. I see a reason to make up for the wrongs I have done in my life and bring some light into this world." A soft smile crept over his face, and his gaze seemed to slip away. "I have done terrible things in my time. Did you know I once walked down the path of life side by side with Grindelwald? I was happy to do so. But then I killed my sister, my dear sister, through nothing but blind, unrepentant arrogance. I didn't intend to do so, but it happened all the same."
He turned to Catherine, and seemed to swell at the sight of her, shoulders set and his back straightening. "What you are, Catherine, is not a monster - but instead a young woman trying to make the best out of the worst possible situation. You had been marked for death before you had even been born, and yet you live, you search for happiness in spite of that. You are brave beyond imagining, and the things you have done - while violent beyond measure, are the actions of someone doing what they must in a world that does not suffer any kindness."
"I enjoyed what I did!" she shouted. "I began to love it! Carving down those beasts… it made- makes me feel powerful. I get- I get drunk on it. It's sick, but I still feel it. Holding their lives in my hand… I can't even begin to describe the rush. And I have to do it, I have to keep doing it until I find whatever this damned Paleblood is. And- and even after I find it, I don't know what's to be done then." Catherine ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends. "For all I know I may have to spend the rest of my life in that city, slaughtering everything in my path until there's nothing left of me but a gibbering husk."
Pacing back and forth, Catherine fidgeted with the sleeves of her jumper, a frantic air about her. "I'm going insane. I'm going mad. Do you have any idea how many times I've died? How many times I've killed myself because it was convenient? I once slit my own throat because I didn't feel like walking ten minutes. I- I can't even begin to describe Yharnam, what it feels like to actually be there." She took a deep breath, voice slowly rising in pitch. "You've seen it through my eyes, but you haven't felt it. You haven't had to walk through sewage and plunge a serrated blade through a man's chest as he crawls through the muck, covered in shit and screaming horror at you. You haven't had to kill one of the only people who stopped to help you, knowing full well you were leaving his daughter an orphan and likely signing her death warrant."
"No- I can't-"
"No! No you can't! You're right! You can't! I could spend the rest of my life trying to describe to you how awful Yharnam is, what a fucking nightmare- I- shit... unless you see it with your own eyes all you can do is guess." Catherine began to laugh, high and loud. "Do you know how much I want to die? Every second of every day... even before this, it's been sitting at the back of my mind. Always the option to simply end it all, to choose how my story is written. And I can't now. I have to live through this, the one thing that finally did me in. Voldemort? No. But Yharnam? Oh, now I'm like an addict who can't ever get her fix."
Dumbledore grabbed her by the arms, his touch both firm and gentle. "Catherine, Catherine you need to-" he cursed as she slipped out of his grasp. "Catherine. Breathe. In and out, can you do that for me?"
She frowned at him, before nodding.
"Good, just- yes, like that. Just breathe. You're safe here, understand?"
"But- I'm… the things I've done!"
"Don't matter to me one bit. No- don't argue. I've told you once and I'll tell you again. You matter to me, Catherine. You are a shining light in a world that seems drowned in darkness, and I've never been happier to know someone my entire life." He crouched before her, tentatively placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'll do my best to help you through this, insane as it is, and you're going to get out of this nightmare safely. Understand?"
"How?"
"I don't know, but we're going to find out. Together. Does that sound alright?"
"Yeah- I… yeah," Catherine coughed, biting her tongue. "Yeah, that sounds good to me."
"Good. Good. You should rest-"
"Don't really sleep anymore."
"Yes, that's right…" Dumbledore looked unsure of himself. "Let's sit down and figure out what to do. Together."
Catherine smiled, something clumsy and awkward, and for the first time in recent memory she felt comforted. "Together."