Chapter Twenty | To See for Herself, if There Is an Ocean Beyond the Waves

The alien sense of calm that came with her recaptured friendship was a balm spread lightly across her shivering mind. It seeped into the cracks and wrinkles that wound their way across it and she welcomed the feeling tentatively, not with fanfare but a muted 'hello.'

It was different, that she could not deny - something trepidatious and quite obviously temporary. Yet regardless of how fleeting she knew it to be, Catherine welcomed it all the same.

She was tired, yes, still afflicted by an ache deep in her bones that she knew could only be sated with violence - but instead she drifted - suddenly distanced from it all as if a soldier given a few short days respite before shipping off once more, forced to shuffle through trenches and brace themselves against the thunderous onslaught of mortar blasts.

So she planned to spend it in an oxymoronic ease, loomed over by a tension she knew would only grow with time, trying her best to enjoy this cursory freedom from the nightmare she knew as Yharnam.

"You're ah- you're seeming a bit better."

"Hm?" Catherine blinked at Ron, nodding after a moment.

They had all been sat in contemplative silence for a short while, Catherine's tears long spent and the unending sense of peril that had hung over her for weeks, that had once burned furiously within her, now dimmed to a flickering glow.

Hermione had tried to talk with her, quietly, while Ron spent his time interrupting the two and trying his damndest to cheer Catherine up.

As endearing as his smattering of poorly timed jokes and stilted puns were, they only served to fill the silence that otherwise clung to them like poison.

Catherine thought over his question, far longer than was necessary.

She was feeling a bit better, but it was something more akin to a mildly pleasant numbness. Not cheer but instead the absence of fear.

If she were to describe it, Catherine just was.

"Just trying to… focus on this moment, I guess. Dunno' how long I've got before I pass out and get sent back but I might as well enjoy this while it lasts."

"That's good. That's good. Er- seeing as you're in a… well, you're not feeling like- you know-"

"Suicidal?"

"Yeah, yeah… ehm, thought I'd tell you that the Prophet sort of caught wind? They know, about… you know."

It took a second for the information to settle, and Catherine slowly raised her chin, lips pursed. "Alright," she said, already resigned to the tale of her attempted suicide being peddled to the British public.

"I thought it'd-"

"What?" Hermione shot. "Alright? That's it?"

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Catherine shrugged, scratching the back of her head. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to explain her muddled thoughts. "It all seems so… unimportant. Let them say what they want, I've got bigger things to worry about."

"But what about V- Voldemort? The Ministry?"

"That's exactly what I mean. I'll cook up ways to kill him even while the Prophet makes up pissy stories about me and Fudge spends all his time gossiping about a teenager."

She found herself frowning after saying that. Voldemort had been a Dreamer.

Catherine doubted the god that spoke in pithy remarks and much-too-tangled metaphor had lied when it told her of… another god? Something else, something more petty, more cruel - at least in its opinion - that had taken interest in Voldemort long before she had ever been born.

Something in her suddenly tugged fruitlessly towards the ether, beckoning her to return to Yharnam and solve this new puzzle she had uncovered.

The prospect of it almost excited her.

"Kill him?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Talk to him?"

"Well-" Ron cleared his throat sheepishly. "You didn't need to say it quite like that."

"Okay. Yeah, no, sorry about that. It's gonna' take me a little while to uh-" She grimaced, not wanting to make any promises of a return to normalcy that she knew would never happen. Not fully. "You know. Apologies in advance for when I eventually put my foot in my mouth again."

Patting her on the back, Ron tried his best to look supportive. "That's fine just uh- keep comments like that to just us three."

"Or Dumbledore."

"Yeah, or Dumbledore… Merlin, he knows about all this!"

"Yes. Yes he does, Ron."

"No, I mean, that's gotta' be strange doesn't it?"

"Having to tell him what happened… having to tell you two what happened, are the most uncomfortable, terrifying experiences of my life. And I've-" her jaw shut with a resounding click. "I've seen some things."

Drumming her hands across the tabletop, her foot tapped the same beat with nervous energy. "Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude having not yet begun to dwindle. "You two accepting me… still trying to help? It means the world."

And the smile that found its way onto Hermione's face in that moment sparked a joy in her more bright than anything so base as fear could ever hope to match.

She felt Ron's hand clap heavily against her back, turning to him with an awkward smile. "Like a big ginger teddy bear."

"Oi!"

Looking to the window, Catherine saw the sun barely hanging on in the cold February afternoon. But a withered flicker of it carving through the muddied Scottish clouds, that pale sliver resting atop the last few patches of snow which stood stubbornly against the dying winter.

"Almost supper, right?"

Hermione nodded, her brow knitting together. "But you don't… don't eat anymore, you said."

"No, but it'd be strange if I just stayed here, wouldn't it?"

"Are you sure you want to head down?" Ron offered. "It's going to be a bit of a mess what with everyone knowing and all. Can't imagine the Slytherins will even have the sense to leave something like this alone."

"Not Draco, no. The rest of them, though? Don't think they'd touch something like that."

"Really?"

"We're just students, so are they." She grimaced at the lie in her words, knowing full well she couldn't ever really go back to the mundanity of school.

"That's very responsible of you," Hermione murmured.

"I've had to do a lot of growing up these last few weeks."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ron asked softly. "I know it's mad and all but if it helps, I've got an open ear."

"No. You really don't want to know the details. You knowing what's going on is enough, and I'm not going to push it."

"I can take it, Catherine."

"You're squeamish as all can be. I really don't think you can."

"That's not true!"

"You do look a bit ill in potions, sometimes," Hermione added.

"I do not. I don't, right? Please tell me I don't."

"I almost had to conjure you a sick bag when you were portioning out acromantula heart."

"Well that's just 'cause it's from a spider, alright?"

Catherine drummed the tabletop lightly. "C'mon let's get some food in you two," she said, ignoring the stares and whispers from the few Gryffindor students who had come up before dinner.

"Don't you need…"

"I don't know if me… eating in front of you is something I'm entirely comfortable with."

"Well it's just drinking innit?"

And Catherine laughed, knowing that's exactly how he would react. "Christ, Ron. Never change."

"What? What? Is it weird that I think that?"

Hermione let out a quiet hum. "No, it's actually very nice of you."

"Oh. Well that's good, then." He clicked his tongue. "Let's get going, nab some nosh."

Catherine and Hermione shared an instinctive look, though Catherine found herself turning away, almost made sick at the normalcy of it.

They always had a bit of a laugh at Ron's cluelessness, even the twins or Ginny offering a knowing glance every so often once he'd done something especially… Ronnish.

But now? Now she had to fight back against the sudden flashes panning through her mind of Hermione's pained eyes, clutching at her wrist with fear painted over every inch of her. She had to look at her friends and laugh with them, smile at their jokes, offer quiet pleasantries if they asked if she was fine - knowing full well she'd be back to her bloodsoaked self within the week.

It was jarring, to say the least.

She felt trapped, unable to fully embrace either facet of her life without consigning the other to dwindle and rot. To latch on to Hogwarts and her most known home would leave her weak, unable to grapple with the growing horrors that awaited her back in Yharnam. And to let that dying city sink its feelers into her shaking bones would end in her maddened, forced into solitude to save her friends. To keep them safe away from a learned mind, one that now knew what it felt to soak in a dying man's blood, to feel his screams rattle her teeth as they sank into his neck.

Catherine blinked.

"Alright."

And so they made their way to the Great Hall, hardly offering a glance to the other students that stopped to gossip at the sight of Catherine. Their eyes, ever watchful, no longer burned their backs after so many years being dogged by the very same.

It was different, that she could not deny, but more in the absolute absence of worry she felt.

After Gascoigne, how could she ever fear the words of a stranger? How could she ever feel pain at their judgement, when she already bore the scars from passing that very same condemnation upon herself?

If she was to be a hunter, a warrior, then she would wear those scars proudly, if not with the ambivalence gained from understanding - inside and out - the life that she now lived.

Perhaps one day she wouldn't look upon herself with disgust. Without fear.

Until then, all she could do was soak up the prying looks, bask in the gawking and hurried whispers and wear them as an armour more powerful than any beasthide jacket she may strip off a passing corpse.

It was then that Catherine realized, no matter how frantically the sanest part of her would argue, that she felt strong beneath their stares.

Maybe it was the blood, having changed some primal part of her. Maybe it was just her all along.

Whatever it was, Catherine felt like a predator. The wolf that had donned the flesh of its kill and walked proudly into the sheeps home as if nothing was amiss.

Did they not notice how her steps barely made a sound, no matter the wooden sole of her boot? Did they not see how she shifted herself just so, that if one of them raised their wand or made to leap that they would be struck down in an instant? Did they not feel the murder brimming just beneath the surface of her flesh, her disguise?

An older Ravenclaw girl, someone she had seen but never quite placed the name, offered her a mocking smirk, holding eye contact for far too long and mouthing the word 'mental' at her. Unbeknownst to Catherine, her lip curled in brazen contempt.

She was one of the more vocal few who thought her mad for proclaiming Voldemort's return, and had decided that fleeting moments of bullying were the necessary treatment for the basket case that was Catherine Potter.

If that was what these children imagined to be cruel - a smile, an impassioned stare, and an unspoken word - she found it more than lacking.

Catherine couldn't help herself from grinning, showing far too much teeth - all sharp and pointed and, if she didn't know any better, could have sworn were still stained with bloodied strips of Djura judging by the reaction of the girl.

"The hell are you doing?" Ron asked, elbowing her gently. "Stop doing that. You look like an angry dog."

Her lips shut and her heart thumped. Catherine shook her head violently. "She was taunting me."

"What?" He turned to her, confused. "Wait, was she-"

"Don't. I'm fine."

"What the- Catherine, you just tried to kill yourself and she's- I know we talked about it but I can't believe someone would do that."

"Honestly, I'm surprised. If anyone was going to try something, I thought it'd be the Slytherins. Not a claw."

"How are you not bothered by this?" Ron blurted, anger in his voice. "Because I'm fucking livid."

"She doesn't mean anything to me. She can't hurt me, she can't affect me in any way. All she was able to do was glare, and it only took me baring my teeth to put her down." Catherine grinned again as she remembered the feeling that welled up inside of her as the girl turned away from her burning stare.

Her mouth opened, and she almost spoke that thought aloud - the way it made her feel powerful.

Was this how Voldemort turned? Dragged to Yharnam to have beasts scramble his brains with their dripping claws? To look death in the eye and know that not even its sweet embrace may help him escape a waking nightmare?

"I can't show any weakness."

"Catherine," Hermione interjected. "It's not healthy to just pretend like that. You're allowed to be bothered."

"I'm not, though." She stared into Hermione's eyes. Adamant. "I meant what I said. I'm fine."

"What did you see there, when you dream?" Thin lips hardly moved as Hermione whispered. "What changed you so much?"

"I told you, you don't want to know."

Huffing, Hermione crossed her arms.

Shit. Catherine cursed mentally. I knew she was tense.

"I think I speak for both Ron and I when I say we do. Ron?"

He scratched the back of his head, looking somewhat ill. "I don't know if that's a great idea."

"Why?" Hermione stopped in the middle of the corridor, almost stamping her foot as she whirled on him. "You're normally the one prying about our feelings, but now you don't want to know anything? After what little Catherine has told us you're not wondering what she's been through?"

"It's- it's a bit more drastic of a situation than coursework and Umbridge don't you think?"

"And that's exactly why I want to know more! So we can actually help you, Catherine! So we can understand what's going on!"

"No," she stated emphatically, the finality in her voice clear.

"Why!?"

Catherine sighed, looking about to see a few students milling by on their way to supper, more than before as they grew closer to the Great Hall. "You're making a scene."

Hermione went from annoyance to genuine anger in an instant. "Making a what? Making a scene? You care about a scene, do you? After what you just said about that Ravenclaw bint?"

"It's not the scene I care about- it's just, I really don't want to talk about it. Not to you two."

"Why, Catherine? Why can't you just say something? Do you even know what you looked like back there? It was awful."

Her gut churned. "I think I have an idea."

"Then tell us."

Grimace set, Catherine snatched Hermione's arm and beckoned for Ron to follow them, dragging her into a nearby classroom. Hermione practically hissing at her on the way, face red and her lower jaw jutting out stubbornly as she struggled against Catherine's grip.

"What the hell are you made of?"

"Inside," Catherine said, cocking her head to the side as Ron stepped in behind them.

He shut the door, exasperation written all over his features as he crossed his arms and leaned against it. "So…"

Letting go of Hermione, Catherine walked over to a lonesome desk. She stood over it, brow furrowed as she studied the soft waves of the wood grain. With a practiced flick of the wrist, her wand pointed behind her, towards the door, and shot a silencing charm at it.

"You want to know what happened to me?" she asked, turning and leaning against the desk. "You're that eager, even after I've told you how many times over the last two hours what a horrific idea that is, and that I have made it very clear I'd rather keep the details to myself and Dumbledore?"

"You don't keep anything from us!"

"And don't you think that, if I never keep anything from you, that I'm not telling you anything about this for a very good reason?"

Hermione's face grew redder, and even Ron seemed to notice how truly agitated she was, subtly shying away. "This is the worst time to do that!" She jabbed a finger towards Ron. "I have no idea how you're able to crack jokes and pretend that nothing is wrong, but I can't. Catherine tried to kill herself. She would have succeeded if it wasn't for- if it wasn't for whatever it is she won't bloody tell us about."

"Didn't take you more'n an hour to crack, huh?" Ron whispered, so quietly that Catherine barely heard it across the way, Hermione's hand shaking as she shifted her finger towards Catherine.

"We are your friends. I don't care how bad it is, or what you think it'll do to me. If I get nightmares I get nightmares, but that doesn't mean anything if I can actually help you."

"It's not nightmares I'm worried about. It's-" Catherine tilted her head back, letting out a puff of air. "It's more than that. You couldn't... you had to push it, didn't you? You tried to pry in the common room, and that wasn't enough, was it? You have to know every little detail?"

"Hermione, don't-"

"She confessed to killing someone, Ron."

Barking out a laugh, Catherine shook her head. "I knew that'd do it in. Knew I shouldn't have said that."

"You're laughing? You're laughing about murder?"

"Yeah, yeah I am, because you have no goddamn idea what that place is like. Know what happened, the first time I woke up in Yharnam? I thought I was still dreaming, and then a man walked up to me, but he wasn't just a man." Her lip pulled back as she remembered him stumbling around the corner, the both of them too shocked to do anything. "He was covered in spots of fur, his arm - one of them dangled down to his ankles, scraping the streets. He carved a line through my chest with a rusty cleaver." Her finger traced from clavicle to hip. "Tore me right open. I got saved though, by a doctor. Got pumped full of Yharnam blood and it changed me into this," she stated, pointing at her elongated teeth. Catherine raised her hand above the desk, before bringing her fist down with a resounding crack.

The desk shook violently, Hermione shrieking as splinters sprayed every which way, the top of the thing caving in around Catherine's fist. She drew it out, shaking off the blood from where the splinters had punctured her hand, staring at the speckled wounds impassively.

"It made me stronger. Faster. But it also got in here." She tapped the side of her head. "I know things I shouldn't know. I have things up in my head, things I've never learned, but I somehow know how to do - what they mean. I cast a wordless silencing charm and you didn't even notice, did you?"

"Catherine, I think she's- we've both heard enough," Ron whimpered. "Please. You don't need to go on."

"No, I think I do, because I know her and she'll get it in her head again to talk to me about this. I think that's where I got the habit, can't leave a single thing unturned. Learned it from you." She nodded her head in Hermione's direction. Catherine was unable or unwilling to stop speaking, whichever one she didn't know, but she did speak the truth. Hermione would come to her eventually. Not later that evening, not the next day, but one day she would come with questions and they would never stop.

She loved her. That she could admit. She didn't love Hermione's need to know everything.

Catherine realized it was spite that drove her as she continued talking, a part of her feeling cold anger at Hermione's incessant need to pester and prod until she inevitably spilled her secrets. Ron would push, but for good reason. All he ever really wanted to do was offer a shoulder to cry on.

Hermione? Hermione pushed solely out of curiosity.

"I got my back torn open as I tried to leave the place. There was a werewolf, larger and more terrible than anything you could imagine, and it ripped me to shreds as I tried to climb a fence. I died, choking on my own blood, but not before it started to eat me alive."

Hermione whimpered.

"I woke up and I thought I'd landed myself in hell. Maybe it is hell, personally tailored just for me, but I woke up in that Dream, scared out of my mind, and I was given a gun and a sword and told to go right back to it." She combed her fingers through her hair. "So I did, and I killed my way through that city, killed every damned monster I saw as I tried to find someone who could answer my questions about what was going on. I died… so many- too many times trying to search about."

"Please, stop-"

"No. You asked for this? Well, you're gonna' get an answer."

"I say stop." Ron stepped forward, one hand out, the other wiping tears from his face. "We get it. She gets it, right?"

A nod. Frightened eyes peering out at her from behind a bushy fringe.

"I have killed and been killed more times than I can count. I have had to stumble my way through a sewer filled with drowned men who dragged themselves through shit and blood so they could tear my legs off and beat me to death with them. Do you know what it feels like to have your head chopped off? Because I do. Do you know what it feels like to be eaten alive? Because I fucking do."

"Catherine, please!"

"No!" She roared, pushing the desk aside and sending it crashing against the stones. "You wanted to know! You wanted to know and I didn't want to tell you, because I can't fucking lose the two of you. But you know what? I think I might have to, because this is too much, even for us. I told you that this was nothing compared to Voldemort. That this didn't even begin to compare," she pointed a bleeding finger towards the ground, the quiet drip of crimson punctuating her words. "Do you know how often I think about hiding away somewhere no one can find me? Where I can't hurt anyone?" Catherine let out a shuddering gasp, hand fisting at her shirt as tight as could be. "Do you know how much it kills me to talk to you like this?"

She almost found herself confessing then and there, an overwhelming urge to scream to the world how deep her feelings ran, and how they made this so, so much worse.

"I'm going insane with the stress of it, and I'm trying so bloody hard to keep myself together. Not for myself, but for the two of you, because there's nothing I can think of that hurts me more than to see the two of you in pain because of me." Another sigh, tired and broken. "I don't- I don't know what to do."

So much for rest, she thought, an annoyed chuckle bubbling up inside of her.

Only an hour after speaking to them, only an hour after she'd thought for one incredible moment that things would be okay. That Ron and Hermione's love for her, the love she felt for them, was truly unconditional. Only an hour, and she'd snapped, crushed beneath the weight of her madness.

Oh, she knew she lied to herself, cloying thoughts that things would be just fine. Catherine could easily admit to herself that it was simply easy thinking to hope that something so bizarre, something so terrible as this would have no effect on them. But, she couldn't fault herself all the same for thinking it in the first place, because when had she ever been anything but a dreamer?

Dreaming of a life beyond Voldemort. Dreaming of a life with her family, but bones and ash in a grave she had never heard of nor visited. Dreaming of death, and whether it would be the sleep she so deeply longed for.

Now, she dreamed of Yharnam, and lay trapped, aching within its iron grasp..

You were foolish to think otherwise.

Her lip curled. "Get out of my head," Catherine whispered.

Ron frowned, one hand on Hermione's shoulder. "What'd you say?"

Quit your tantrum. They either understand or they do not. You have the aid of a mentor, now, like I once told you. Use his kindness for yourself.

"Get out of my head."

"Catherine, what are you talking about? Catherine?"

"Is that all you are?" She shouted, eyes glued to the ceiling. "Some capricious fuck who weaseled their way inside my head and did this to me? Why? Why me? Why do you have to destroy everything I've ever worked for?"

I blessed you. Be glad I am the one who first lay eyes on your soul - so bright, it was - a beautiful thing, one that would have been tarnished far worse by her, than by the acts that have stained thy soul thus far.

"A blessing? You call this a blessing?"

You cannot comprehend how momentous it is for you to be chosen, to understand my words even as I speak in your own tongue. You are different, a far better choice than that broken thing that has named himself Death.

"Hey! Hey? Are you alright?"

"No." Catherine whirled on Ron. "No. You need to go. Before- before I do anything stupid-"

He blanched, nodding as he took a sobbing Hermione with him, the two of them fleeing from the room.

They fear you.

"Yeah! Yeah they do, because I'm screaming at a fucking voice in my head!"

You could have simply thought it, not spoken.

"I know that! Christ- damnit!" She struck herself against the side of the head. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" she shouted, punctuating each word with another hit. "I just want you out! Is that too much to ask for? Leave me- leave me alone, just let me go back to my old life!"

I'm afraid that's not possible. I am now just as much a part of you as you are of Yharnam. An infiltrator to the Dream, unseen, and my own chosen.

"Chosen what?"

A child, of course.

"What, you just snatch up kids, is that what your kind do? Gods, huh? Is that what you call yourselves?"

The word for my kind would turn your mind to ash.

Catherine shook her head and laughed, a maddened noise that bounced around the room like broken glass. The door opened to her laughter, and she looked up to see Dumbledore stepping towards her, concern etched into his features.

"They're never going to want to talk to me again," she faltered. "They know I'm mad. I told them. She wouldn't stop asking me. I told them."

He kneeled in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders comfortingly. "Told them what, Catherine? About the horcruxes?"

"No- no…" she giggled. "I already forgot about those. How awful is that? I had a piece of him living inside of me and I've already forgotten. It hasn't even been since morning and it just… slipped my mind. And no, no, I told them about Yharnam. I told them earlier, but I held back, and Hermione- she wouldn't stop asking. She wouldn't- I knew she'd never stop, but I could see it in her eyes, Professor, I don't think-" Catherine hiccuped, her words caught in her throat. "I think I've lost her."

"Hush, hush." He squeezed her shoulders. "You've done no such thing. They stopped me on my way down for supper, worried over you."

"You were outside here, weren't you?"

Dumbledore hummed his affirmation. "Yes. I've asked the portraits to keep an eye on you. They told me you seemed distressed."

"Is this what my life is now? Maybe an hour, two hours where I think everything is going to be fine and then it all just goes tits up? I start- I start screaming at this thing that lives in my head? That did this to me?"

"It's going to be hard, Catherine. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but I promise you it does get better."

"How do you know? This is different, this is so much more different than war."

"Because it is war. It may not be one that I am familiar with - I imagine no one is familiar with, bar you - but it is war, that I can tell." He sighed, his eyes trailing over her scars. "You didn't hide them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's me now, isn't it? I'm not- I'm not me anymore. Not the old me."

"But you're still trying to be her, aren't you?"

"You told me to act, didn't you?"

"In a manner, yes, but not to them. Never to your friends. You can hold things back, you can keep your secrets - no one may ever fault you for that, but never hide your feelings from them."

"They can't understand though, I saw how they looked at me. They think I'm a murderer, and I am. I'm a killer now, and I can never go back."

"You have had no choice in the matter."

"But I do, don't I? I could stay in the Dream, I could do nothing until I pass out and I come back here. But I didn't do that, I haven't, because- because going around killing those things is easier to me than doing nothing, and that's terrifying."

"Catherine…"

"You know it's true."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

She smiled at him. "I don't know either. Are they- are they okay?"

"A tad shaken up, but yes, they seemed more concerned for you than anything."

"That's good, that's good. Thanks for uh- coming. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"This thing, the god. It spoke to you again?"

"It does that sometimes. It mocked me. Told me I was- I was thick for thinking that everything would be okay."

"There's nothing wrong with hoping."

"There is when you know it's useless, right?" Her eyes were wide, bloodshot. "There's something wrong with thinking that your friends will be just fine with you telling them all the horrible ways you've died."

"Then why did you tell them?"

"Because Hermione would never stop asking! I know she would, and I thought I'd just get it over with, rip it off like a plaster, but I got so mad at her for asking me." Catherine shuddered. "I wanted her to know how much it hurt. I just- I kept talking and talking and she was just crying- she couldn't handle it. She gets in over her head all the time, but I've never been the reason for it."

"Then apologize to her. Help her understand why it hurt you for her to bother you about it." Dumbledore frowned at her. "Boundaries exist even between friends."

"So, don't hide my feelings, but boundaries exist?"

He shook his head. "Don't bottle things up, but that doesn't mean that you must confess all the thoughts that have ever passed through your head. You're allowed to be frustrated with her, Catherine, just as she's allowed to be concerned for you."

"I know, I know… shit, I've mucked this up haven't I?"

"I'd say the both of you have, but I don't believe young Miss Granger is cognizant of how terribly serious this situation truly is."

"No. She is, that's why she's so scared."

"Then talk to her, Catherine. It's all you can do."

"Alright…" she nodded. "Okay, I think- I think I can do that. Where, ah, did they go down to eat?"

"I believe they have. Would you like me to accompany me to the Great Hall?"

"No. I think I need to go on outside or something. I need some air."

"I'll walk you to the door then." He got back to his feet, grimacing slightly as his knees cracked. "May I?"

"What?"

He gestured to her hand. "You're hurt."

"Oh." Catherine raised her fist. "Thank you."

The Headmaster acquiesced, his wand passing over her hand once and taking her wounds with it.

"Thanks."

"Catherine?" His voice was quiet, solemn.

"Yeah?"

"Never be afraid to come to me if you're like this again. This is what I was speaking of in my office."

"I know, I just thought- yeah. I know."

A soft smile worked its way across his face. "Shall we go?"

Catherine returned the expression, her own smile stricken with exhaustion. "Yeah. Let's go."