Chapter Nineteen | Myosotis

Flesh rippled subtly along her forearm, the piano string tumble of fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly, muscle rolling in waves with each and every motion. Her breathing was short and slow, not the tight gasps of terror that first painted her lungs upon laying eyes on Yharnam's horror, nor the ones filled with labour, windy breaths rattling out of her throat as she slowly died propped up against a cold stone wall.

Catherine feared not the ghosts of that stricken city, but the words of her friends.

A notion offered by Dumbledore to act, his admittance at such, could only help her so much. Because she knew that the instant she found herself standing before them she may very well crumble beneath the onslaught of how very real her nightmare was.

Speaking to the Headmaster felt distant. Clinical. An observation of her very peculiar situation outlined like a grading rubric he'd print across an open page, thin cursive lined in clean loops and flourishes, as if he'd taken unknowing joy in inking her very pain into dried goatsflesh. He feared for her, of course, how could he not? But even a minute spent away from his prying eyes and softly spoken comforts left Catherine reeling once more, trying to peel herself away from the homely poison of her idle mind.

Tiny giggles tumbled out of her as if knuckle bones bouncing down the stairs. They were quiet, so miniscule that she could scarcely hear them even as they bubbled up her throat and found themselves caught in her nose, hysterical snorts pushing for freedom as she tried desperately to stifle her sudden hysteria.

She could hardly believe herself, laughing at her own fear in astonishment. It reminded her of when she was terrified of admitting she was gay, solely to herself, even after having stared death in the face and found herself mocking his ired gaze.

The feeling of tepid sun-baked stone pressed against her back and the scratch of dirt, packed thin into the grooves of her jeans still stood bright in her memory. How she sat against that wall after a trip through time, godfather saved and the echo of her thundering heart having left bruises against her frail ribs. It beat heavily, the steady thump of a timpani as she and Hermione drifted through that starry spring night and she realized in that instant why the hushed chittering of her dormmates never really seemed to click.

It showed itself in stolen glances, hurried little things guided to look like the familiar cheer of a friend. Peering out of the corner of her eyes to spy the sharp form of her friend's fingers as they danced across a page, laying ink in their wake in a both squashed and huddled scrawl. Or a bare flicker as she watched her throat bob, studying the creases in Hermione's forehead as she worried over a bit of theory.

If Catherine was the same as but a month ago she would have named it love. She still found herself leaning towards that dated word, though it felt dangerous now - a precious thing wrapped in spikes and too frightful to even glance at.

Deep down, though, the tiniest part of her that still held tight to the fleeting notion of optimism screamed shrilly of the possibilities of it.

Could it save her, perhaps? Could it be what keeps her slipping grip on the remnants of her sanity intact?

Or would it dash it all away, she thought? Scatter the ashes of her mind in a wind so fierce she feared it would take her very soul with it.

Too soon she found herself standing before the Fat Lady, the portrait looking down at her with (she shuddered) outright pity.

"They all know then?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

The Fat Lady didn't speak at first, instead offering her a solemn nod. "I'm afraid so, dear."

"Ah."

"Are you sure you want to see anyone yet? I've been here a very long time, and forgive me for saying so, but I think you might need a bit more time to… process everything."

Both in tone and expression the Fat Lady - god, did anyone in this school even know her name? - seemed repentant, as if she were to blame for Catherine's foolish attempt at something she knew wouldn't work.

It didn't stop her from repeating the process in that tiny cell, if only to see if her plummet and subsequent survival were a fluke. Maybe she just found it cathartic at this point, quite literally shutting off her mind for a few minutes at a time. Really, she reasoned, it was the closest she could regularly come to sleep. At least, without going back there.

"No." Catherine shook her head, either to deny her or clear the fog from her mind she couldn't tell. "No, I need to do this."

"If you say so, dear. Just take care, you hear me? If you ever need me to fetch a professor for you, just say the word."

"Thank you. Is- is the password the same?"

"That it is."

"Deciduous."

The portrait swung open, and Catherine stepped through the doorway as if awaiting the blade of a guillotine, her head held high and jaw set in defiance of what lay in wait.

She didn't expect many students to be there. Perhaps a select few seventh years who had only a sparse number of N.E.W.T.s spending their much needed free time studying. To her surprise it was empty, apart from Hermione and Ron sitting quietly in the corner of the room, books laid out on the table and the two of them studiously poring over them.

Ron looked up at the sound of the portrait closing behind her, only to shoot to his feet at the sight of Catherine, knocking his chair over in his excitement.

"Merlin," he gasped, clearing the distance in an instant and hugging her tight.

Every instinct Catherine had screamed at her to knock him down, to take up a blade and rake it over his belly. Instead her arms stuck out awkwardly, before they slowly settled over his back and patted lightly a few times, her motions stiff.

"Hey," she whispered, or at least tried to. It came out more as a raspy grunt, almost too quiet to be heard. "What are you two up to?"

"What are you two- what the fuck Catherine? You- you went and-"

"Ron." Hermione spoke up, her voice tense.

"Shit." He raked his hand through his hair, stepping away from Catherine. "I'm sorry, you scared me- scared the both of us so bad. I don't know- holy shit Catherine. I don't know what to say."

Her jaw clenched at how his voice wavered, the choking of tears lurking behind each and every word, barely being held back as he kept himself together.

"No, no, don't apologize." Catherine put her hands out, a silence falling over the room. "I don't- I don't think I know what to say either."

Taking a chair, she moved it over to their table, ignoring the way their eyes followed her, or how they shined with unshed tears and glimmering confusion. She sat down, Ron going back to the table with her, face burning as he righted his fallen seat.

The three stayed silent for a moment, before Hermione whispered a broken, "Why?"

Whatever was holding her together seemed to collapse against the flood, tears streaming down Hermione's face and her hands shaking as she tried to settle them neatly in her lap, fists clenched tight at the cloth of her skirt.

Catherine's mouth opened, yet nothing came out, spare her breaths and an inaudible click as she tapped her teeth together. "It's a long story."

"No." Hermione lay her hands over Catherine's own, which she now noticed were clasped together and squeezed so tight she thought she could hear her bones creaking. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you ever say anything? I knew you weren't- weren't alright, but I never-" she choked on her words, fighting the sobs that shook her body. "Oh god, Catherine. It's a miracle you're alive. Dumbledore catching you with a spell just in time…" Her hands tightened over Catherine's, as if to hold her there. "You tried- you tried to-"

"I tried to kill myself."

A whimper leapt from Ron's throat. "Why?"

She turned to him, his face flushed and eyes red-rimmed. "I don't know if you'd believe me."

"What? It's Vol- Vol-" he cursed, slapping his knee. "You-Know-Who. Bollocks. He's sending you visions and it's driving you mad, isn't it?"

"No… no, it's not him. I don't know how to even begin explaining things. I talked to Dumbledore, but it's just-" she shook out her wrists, biting at her lip. Taking out her wand, she cast a silencing charm over them, her hand trembling all the while. "I can't pretend around the two of you. I can't just lie to you and say everything's better now, or that I'm getting help and things are going to change because they're not. They're just going to get worse."

"What are you talking about Catherine?"

Hermione suddenly lifted her hand, one finger raised and ghosting towards Catherine's face. "Oh my god, when did you get those scars?"

Running her own hand over the puckered skin, she grimaced. "Couldn't tell you exactly. Within the last few days at least."

"How?"

"I've been cursed, of a sort. When I go to sleep I don't wake up here. I wake up somewhere else, somewhere that doesn't make sense."

"What?" Ron glanced towards Hermione, the two sharing a look. "Are you sure you should be out of St. Mungo's yet? You're not making any sense."

"I never went to St. Mungo's, Ron. I was… elsewhere in the castle. For your safety and my own."

"Are you talking about Hermione's wrist? Because she- we get it, you know? You were feeling all sorts of scattered and lashed out. But that doesn't really-"

"I'm dangerous, Ron. Can you just-" she shook her head. "Damnit. Can you just let me talk, please? This is hard enough as it is."

He blanched, nodding quietly. Catherine's gut churned at the sight of him looking so admonished. "When I fall asleep I wake up in a city called Yharnam. I don't know why this is happening to me, but it is. And… I'm not human anymore because of it. It's changed me into something almost vampiric."

"You're a vampire now?"

"No! I'm- yes? Sort of?"

"Catherine," Hermione interrupted. "You know we'd never judge you for something like that. You don't need to-"

"Make things up? Lie? As much as I wished I was, I'm not." She jabbed her finger at the furious line wrapped round her head. "You asked me about the scars? Well, I got this one from having my head chopped off." Her hand shifted to the burn on her neck. "This was from a cannon, going off in my face." And the newest, a jagged notch on the side of her throat. "This is from me jumping off the Astronomy Tower, hitting the ground so hard my spine tore through my neck.

"I've been cursed. I can't die, and I'm sent every time I sleep to a city that wants nothing more than to tear me to pieces. If I want it all to stop, and I do - my god I do - I have to go on some wild goose chase to be let free, and god damnit I wish it was all in my head but it's not. I just had to talk with Dumbledore for hours about this- this torture." She gasped, ragged, fighting her revulsion at the sight of her friends stricken faces. The fear in their eyes. "If you need someone to vouch for how insane all this sounds you can talk to him, because he knows what's going on. And I'm sorry- I'm sorry I'm so fucked up and I shouldn't be talking to you like this but I just don't know what to do. I don't know- I don't know who I am anymore and I don't know how to talk to you."

Another deep breath and the room fell silent, Hermione and Ron ashen faced, their cheeks stained with tears. Catherine reached up and found the same wetness beneath her eyes, suddenly furious at her own weakness.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words drifting through gritted teeth. "I'm not me anymore, and that's why I tried to kill myself. Because I hoped that maybe here it would stick and I wouldn't have to go back to that place to be ripped apart and sent back to do it all over again."

The two gaped at her, expressions mournful. "W- what?" Hermione stammered. "How is that- that's not possible. You said the Headmaster knows this is happening?"

"Hermione, she just said she died," Ron interrupted, his face an awful shade of white. "She said she died, more than once, and that's what you ask? What the hell?"

Hermione blanched. "I didn't- you know I didn't mean it that way."

"It's fine," Catherine said, raising her hand. She almost smiled at the horror on their faces, imagining herself so many weeks ago wearing the same expression. She almost smiled, if it weren't for the fact that their pain made her blood run cold. "It's a lot to take in. I don't really even understand it myself, and… and it's my life now."

"You said you can't die."

"No. No I can't. I… reappear where I was, when I'm here at least, everything put back together except for any new scars."

"And- and this other place. Yarman?"

"Yharnam. It's a medieval city. Gothic. But there's monsters everywhere, these vicious, awful things." She shuddered. "Please, don't ask me to describe it to you. You don't want to know what it's like there, trust me on that."

"Merlin." The normally cheery timbre of Ron's voice was instead shattered, a whispered plea that shook like dead reeds. "How many times?"

"How many what?"

"How many-" he choked on his words, eyes clenched shut. "How many times have you died?"

Her thumb flexed, cracking loudly. "I lost count."

"Fuck."

"Yeah." She laughed, a quiet broken thing. "That about sums it up."

"This is why you haven't been sleeping," Hermione stated. "How long has this been going on?"

"A little over a month."

That brought with it more tears, Hermione averting her eyes and shrinking in on herself.

"Hey, hey." Catherine reached out, her hand resting awkwardly on Hermione's arm, squeezing lightly. "I'm- I'm okay."

She only shook her head, unable to tear her frantic gaze off the floor. "I noticed something was wrong and I didn't say anything! I didn't- I thought it was another rut, I thought if I gave you space you'd come to us but- oh my god, Catherine. I knew and I didn't say anything."

"And you're not okay," Ron interjected. "Don't try and scoff at me or something because this is what you do every time something is wrong. You- you misdirect, you pretend that everything is fine, even when we all know it's not. And fuck, Catherine, you can't try and do that now after telling us all that."

"I'm- I'm coping-"

"No!" He slapped the table, shoulders trembling. "You're not! Things are bad enough that you tried to off yourself! And you didn't even try to talk to us?"

"What was I supposed to say, Ron? Hey you two! I'm living in a fucking horror film!" she cheered, waving her hands above her head mockingly. "Would you have still believed me if I didn't just tell you that Dumbledore is in the know, or would you have had me sectioned?"

"We-"

"Don't! Don't bullshit me! I don't lie to you and you don't lie to me, alright?"

Ron threw up his hands. "Yes! Because it's mental! Because even though you've told me and I can go ask the bloody Headmaster if you've been taking a trip down nightmare fucking lane, I still can't really believe it!"

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"No! But you have to admit, it's a bit of work to wrap your head around your best mate throwing herself off a goddamned tower, then showing up a few days later and telling you she's some sort of immortal vampire!"

"Shut up! Both of you, shut up!" Hermione was flushed with anger, bringing her clasped hands to her lips, before resting her forehead against them. "Just shut up, alright? Ron, you're an arse when you're worried. And Catherine? He's right. You always deflect when somethings wrong and we're not having it. We've been through too much, almost died god knows how many times, and this isn't going to be something that ends our friendship, do you hear me?"

"You don't understand-"

"Then explain it to us! Don't- don't hold it in! Do you have any idea how worried we've been?" She jabbed her finger at the books littering the tabletop. "I begged Professor McGonagall to let me take a trip to London to get books to help you. Psychology, counselling - anything, absolutely anything we thought was useful - to help you figure out what's going on, and- and this is a lot more than we thought was going on but we want to help you. That's all we want. You can't… you can't always shut us out. That's what led to this happening in the first place."

Ron nodded slowly, letting out a slow breath. "We love you, you absolute tit. Get it through that thick skull of yours."

Despite herself, Catherine found a pained smile crossing her face. "You two have no idea how bad this is. Voldemort… honestly, he can't even begin to compare to Yharnam. What I've seen there, the things I've had to do… it's horrible. You- you really don't want to be involved in this."

"Then why the hell'd you tell us?"

"Because I can't pretend around you two. Because I know this conversation would happen one way or another, and eventually you'd drag something out of me. But- but… christ, it's too much, alright? Trust me on that."

"No," Hermione shot back. "It's everything or nothing. We're your friends, Catherine. We're practically family."

"I wouldn't exactly say that-"

"Ron. No." She sighed, looking imploringly to Catherine. "We are your friends, and that won't ever change."

"You can't promise that."

"Catherine." Her words were a pleading whisper. "Tell us, so we can help you."

That familiar anger washed over her, more a sense of frustration as she tried desperately to convey that this - this right here was all she could tell them - and any more would fracture the already ailing bonds that held them together. "Last chance to say no," she offered, feeling the budding urge to lash out, to spew like bile all that had happened to her and taint her friendship for good.

"Hermione, maybe we shouldn't-"

"Tell us."

A smile found its way to her face, not pained but soft. Cruel. "Alright." She drew in a breath, letting it settle in her chest. "Alright then."

Resting her hands on her belly, Catherine began to speak. "You already know the bit I've told you. I go to sleep and poof," she snapped her fingers. "I wake up somewhere else. This… inbetween place, not quite here, and not quite Yharnam. Do you remember those strange runes I used when we were talking spell theory for Babbling?"

Hermione nodded.

"Those were written in Yharmit. I told you they were written in Yharmit."

"Oh. I- I tried to look them up, that scholar you told me about but I couldn't find anything."

"Because for all I know Yharnam and their language… it doesn't exist here. It never did. I lied about it, because I don't remember learning the language. I just woke up one day in that nightmare and I could speak it, I could read and write it as if I'd been born with their words on my tongue."

"That's impossible."

"And so is my being immortal. So is going to sleep and waking up in another world. So is finding your only company in this inbetween - the Dream, it's called - is a living Doll and a man who - for all I know - has been dead for almost a century." She ran her palms over her thighs, scratching lightly. "When I die in Yharnam, I go back to the Dream. Then I have to go back to the city and try and kill whatever did me in, so I can keep moving forward."

Ron let out a grunt. "Kill?"

"They're monsters. Like werewolves, but worse. Much worse."

"But… you kill them?"

"I can't stun them, Ron. I can't talk to them. I can't… the rules here don't apply in Yharnam. I said it was a nightmare, I said I'd seen - done - horrible things. What did you think I meant?"

"I dunno', I mean I hoped it wasn't that, but-"

"Well, I wish it was too. Why do you think I threw myself off the top of the castle? I did it because I don't want to go back. Because I don't want to keep doing this."

Because I don't want to learn to love it.

"It's just- it's just monsters, right?"

She stared at him, remembering how Djura's blood tasted as she tore at his throat. Her own bobbed as she swallowed down air, fingers tapping restlessly against her knee. "No."

He didn't say a word, sitting stock still, unable to stop himself from gawking at her in horror.

Hermione looked much the same.

"I told you this was worse than Voldemort. I said this was too much." She pointed lazily at him. "See? You're repulsed, you look at me and you don't know who it is that looks back. Am I wrong?"

"Y- yes."

"No. Because I look in the mirror and I don't know who it is that stares back at me. The old me, the Catherine you knew, she's dead. And- and it's fucked, it's absolutely fucked but it's true. It kills me, because I know I can never go back to being her, and this is why. I've had to kill monsters, kill people, die over and over and over all so I can find… I don't even know what it is," The laugh that leapt from her throat was thick with bitterness and no small amount of disgust. "I just know its name. And you know the worst part about it all? I can't do anything about it but play along. I have to fight my way through a city crawling with beasts that would like nothing more than to tear out my throat, and I have to watch as I keep changing into someone - something - I can't even begin to recognize."

Catherine leaned back in her chair, casting a quick glance to the ceiling. "I can't even really eat anymore. I mean, I can, but it's just not the same. Blood is the only thing that seems to make me feel fed, and it can't even be regular blood but instead the plague tainted slop that changed me in the first place." She bared her teeth, tapping at her prominent canines. "I've been turned into a predator. Some sort of creature designed to kill, to hunt. There's no name for what I am, not even in Yharnam."

The whole time she spoke, Ron and Hermione grew yet more pale, seeming to shrink away from her with every word that slipped from her flaking lips.

"So? Still want to help me now? Still want to pretend that this thing is your friend?"

Hermione's mouth opened and closed, a quiet illegible stammer trickling out of her. "I don't- I don't know what to say," she managed, after a moment of fighting with her own tongue. "I don't know."

"I do," Ron blurted, equal parts sorrow and anger in his eyes. "And we'll figure this out together. Whatever this is. We'll talk with Dumbledore, and we'll- we'll be here, for you. Right, Hermione?"

"I- yeah, yes." Her eyes locked to the floor again, unfocused - and her words were a whisper, barely hanging in the air. "We'll help."

"It sounds… you're right, it sounds fuckin' awful. But I still see you in there, Catherine. You may not recognize yourself, but I see you. I see you, and it may be a little fuzzy, but you're you, and that's the honest truth." He put on an awkward grin, full of false bravado and the familiar tension of the unknown. "Catherine Potter the Monster Slayer, eh? We'll- we'll get you out of this and you'll have a new title to add to the bunch. That-" he coughed, pressing his fist to his mouth. "That sound alright to you?"

She found herself nodding slowly, the furious knot that rested deep in her belly unfurling ever so slightly, the tiniest drop of hope ebbing through the cracks it had revealed.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds alright to me."

And Ron took her by the shoulders, hugging her tight as she tried desperately not to cry.

He always did know exactly what to say to cheer her up.