Chapter Twenty-One | Arrhythmia
The cool nights air bit at her throat and she savoured the feeling of it, drinking in the cold like mountain water bubbling up between the stones.
She had spent the last hour wandering the grounds, taking a quiet journey through her memories. Hagrid's hut, smoke piping slowly from the tiny chimney that jutted out the side of it. The lake, calm and cool and shining brilliantly beneath the moon's quiet stare.
Catherine sat looking out upon it, her arms resting on her knees and her chin atop those, forehead pinched as she tried to wrestle with herself, not particularly keen on returning to the common room and another confrontation with Hermione.
An apology was necessary. An explanation.
Boundaries needed to be set.
A giggle slipped from her lips, mocking herself for never once having thought that maybe she was allowed to keep some secrets from her friends. There was one, of course, that she'd kept well and hidden - but she herself tried not to think about it so it never came up, even to her.
What was the point in fancying someone when a madman is after your head? Why try and date if you may find yourself dead within the year?
Priorities, Catherine thought, were always a bit muddled for her, but her ideas towards dating had always seemed realistic to her. Pragmatic.
Not to mention, she'd found herself following after her best friend with starry eyes whilst at the same time trying her best to remind herself that it would never, could never happen.
Because even if, by some miracle, Hermione wasn't repulsed by her, was Catherine willing to chance destroying that friendship?
Things were different now of course. No one could have predicted Yharnam and the madness it brought with it, but even still those thoughts lingered.
Luna had always seemed nice to Catherine, and Cedric (poor, poor Cedric) had mentioned Cho was out - at least as out as one could be in Britain, origin of the stiff upper lip and an endless denial of one's self.
She shook her head. "What the hell am I thinking about?" Catherine wondered aloud.
Who she fancied? There were far more important things to worry over.
Except those things to worry over were the same, namely Hermione and how to approach her. How to speak with both her and Ron and apologize for her fit.
Anger still rested in her belly, sleeping, though she knew it would be quick to wake, and Catherine did her best to push away the justification she had felt in lashing out against the two. Her sudden, roiling fury at Hermione's adamant and incessant need to dig her fingers into every little thing Catherine kept from her.
One thing that drove her all these years was a fear of losing them. Catherine, no matter what, always came to the conclusion that she was one bad day from scaring the two off. One near-death situation that ends up far more than near, and she ends up being the cause of their untimely demise.
The fact that they had survived throughout the years was a miracle in and of itself. Chasing after Quirrel, fighting the basilisk, standing up against a horde of Dementors, and living through Voldemort's resurrection?
Immortality, and her own introduction to it simmered in her mind for the hundredth time, and Catherine for a moment wondered if that was always the case - because she had no right to still be sitting there looking out across the lake unless through luck, luck, and yet more luck.
Maybe all this time she was immortal and Yharnam itself had done nothing to change that. Maybe she'd died on her journey already, only to open her eyes a few moments later, none the wiser and stumbling towards her next doom.
Her gut churned as she came to the conclusion that if Ron and Hermione were to cut ties after their little spat - if shouting her horror at the two people closest to her in this cold world could be considered such - that she could not argue that that would be for the best.
Because where was there to go from here, but war? Not today, not tomorrow, but someday soon she would find herself fighting not in Yharnam but somewhere on this island she called home. It would not be with disarming charms and the ever-tepid stunner. Catherine now knew, intimately, what it felt like to slit a man's throat, and she was more than prepared to do so to any Death Eater who would threaten her or her friends harm.
She had already killed a man entirely undeserving of such for far, far less.
And that made her feel like spraying the dirt with sick, because she'd spent the last month doing her best to not feel anything. To not think too hard about what lay in store for her. It could haunt her, yes, but that didn't stop Catherine from doing what she did best.
Compartmentalizing.
Taking the bits and bobs of her thoughts, ticking away like the gears of a clock, and sectioning off the ones she very much did not want to dwell on.
She'd gotten very good at it over the years, and if the act of suppressing your emotions was to ever find itself being an Olympic sport then Catherine had no doubt in her mind she'd be in the running for gold.
Her near death every year so far had been something she'd almost ignored entirely, and when confronted with the thought would often find herself screwing up her brow and beating the thing away with a very large metaphorical bat. Because what good would it have been to dwell on her having almost died, year after year, when there was magic to be had?
Or perhaps it was just her being emotionally stunted, and unable to grasp what she herself was feeling let alone that of the people around her. Growing up neglected as she had, tended to result in… emotional mishaps, was the term she came to call it. A minor breakdown in mental communication. Another thing she'd learned in that little book, jotting down all the tiny things that made up Catherine, and the ones that left her lagging behind her peers, feeling ailed and wrong.
No matter the neglect (abuse, a part of her attempted to shout, far too quiet to be heard) she had suffered under the Dursley's, Catherine knew deep down that she would die for her friends. She had already, in a way. The only issue was she didn't quite know how to rationalize that within the bubbling morass that was her head.
But, bottling up her feelings could only go so far, and no matter how hard she tried there was something about Yharnam that made her feel excited. It made her wonder at the secrets that it held and what she may learn trekking through that dying city.
How did Voldemort end up there? What did he do? What was the Church, and how did it grow to take over a city and birth it all the same?
Perhaps if she came out of this with her sanity relatively intact, Catherine could become an historian. Would she chronicle her time spent in Yharnam, and tell the world of the nightmare she had so forcefully endured? Perhaps if she titled it as fiction people would notice, wonder on how twisted her mind was to think up such a thing and never once knowing that she had lived it and survived, at least physically, to tell the tale.
Though her mind may crumble, her body still stood in strict defiance of Voldemort and the sisyphean battle that was now her life.
A quiet hoot broke the wavering silence, and Catherine glanced skyward to see Hedwig pull into a clean loop, swinging down to rest on her shoulder.
It was like piano strings tugging painfully at her empty gut as Catherine slowly raised her hand, brushing the back of her knuckles against Hedwig's plumage.
"Hello, girl." Her whisper was hoarse, drifting through the air like soap scum over stagnant water. "You always know just where to find me, don't you?"
Hedwig crooned, feathers ruffling as she shifted her wings, leaning forward and bumping her head against Catherine's, as if to say 'of course.'
A tired chuckle slipped out of Catherine. "You don't mind me, do you? All the things I've had to do, they don't mean a bit to you. Am I still me, do you think?"
Lifting her shoulders, Hedwig let out a short bark, bumping her head against Catherine's again, harder this time.
"I'm an idiot, eh?"
The sharp stare that was sent her way answered her question just fine.
Catherine sighed, gently scratching Hedwig beneath her beak. "You're smarter than I am, that's for sure."
She'd never really questioned how clever Hedwig was, though with snakes speaking to her just fine she knew without a doubt that if Hedwig had the capability she'd be getting an earful. Sometimes Catherine wondered if Hedwig owned her. She certainly behaved like it.
With a resigned breath on her lips, Catherine began the trek to the Gryffindor common room, taking measured steps up the muddy hills still flecked with errant patches of snow. Hedwig tucked herself in against the side of her head, silently preening at her ragged hair.
More and more Catherine was growing to look almost destitute, like a homeless teen who just so happened across the castle after wandering through the highlands. She knew it had mostly to do with her lack of bathing, though she'd argue it difficult to remember let alone have the chance locked away in the bowels of the castle.
Nor Yharnam, she thought, remembering how she'd once tried to clean her face only to find herself painted in gore for the umpteenth time, deciding then and there that the most efficient way to wash herself was death.
Taking care not to hit Hedwig, Catherine cast a refreshing charm on herself, hoping that it would suffice until she had the opportunity to actually bathe.
The only reason she now remembered was due to going over her earlier conversation with Ron and Hermione, thinking of how to apologize, and managing to trawl up the memory of them wrinkling their noses at her - or how right that second Hedwig desperately combed her way through the tangled spikes of Catherine's hair, chirruping in quiet frustration.
"I know I'm a mess. I'll fix things up in a bit."
Hedwig huffed against her ear, and Catherine knew what was being said. You'd better.
Soon enough mud turned to stone, and Catherine was on her way up the castle proper, ready for whatever confrontation awaited her back in the common room.
She caught a few people's eyes on her way inside, some students spending their time in the courtyard chatting before bed, or just skiving off whatever work still needed doing.
Unfortunately for Catherine, Draco Malfoy was among that number, leaned up against a wall alongside a few other Slytherins.
He looked up and caught her eye, a sly grin working its way across his face as he looked her over. Catherine rolled her shoulders, Hedwig offering a cursory hoot as she flew off.
"Potter! Let's get a look at you!" He cheered, clapping his hands together and moving towards her. "Heard you took a tumble. Wanted to see mummy and daddy?"
"Malfoy."
"Ooh, tense. I get it, you were trying to do the world a favour. Couldn't handle everyone knowing you're a liar, hmm?" He angled his head, something in his expression stuttering as he noticed her scars. "Shame it didn't work. Afraid Britain's got a bit sick of you and your whining."
She eyed him cooly, jaw quirking as Catherine muddled over what to do.
How was it that he could look her in the eye and not feel the danger that rolled off her like smoke? How could he continue grinning and taunting, taking great care not to look for too long at the lines that ran across her face and still not notice the way her muscles flexed, how she spent a little too long eyeing his jugular.
Suddenly he snapped his fingers in front of her. "Potter, you listening? Huh? Thick as pigs shit and a face to match, you manage to hit your head on the way down?"
Shouldering past him, Catherine decided it was better to do nothing. What could a simple bully do to her, after all that she had seen?
"Hey!" Draco shouted. "Don't walk away from me!"
A quiet snarl left her as he snatched her wrist. She spun, one hand wrapped around his throat as Draco crashed painfully to the ground, Catherine falling with him, her knee digging into his gut.
"Don't touch me," she hissed, squeezing his throat.
He batted at her shoulder, trying to reach his wand with the other hand. "Get off me!"
Catherine grabbed his arm and ground it against the stone. "Enough, Malfoy. Touch me again and I'll take your hand, understand?" Her other hand left his throat and she held his face, fingers pressed into his cheeks. "Understand?"
He nodded, coughing against her palm.
Catherine frowned. Must have actually choked him.
Scowling, she got up, holding back the brief, yet much too powerful temptation to kick him as she dusted herself off.
"You're mental," Draco taunted, though he still scrambled back, clumsily rising to his feet. "Princess Potter, turned her brains to mash jumping off the school. Maybe they'll put you in St. Mungo's?"
"If I died, how would you have reacted, I wonder?"
"What?"
"If I died. If instead of getting this," she dragged her finger across her face, nail trailing over Gascoigne's scar. "I cracked my head open like an egg, and all my meat just spilled out. What then? How would that feel, Draco, knowing that you, you, were responsible for someone's death."
Grinning, Catherine began walking towards him, Draco edging away with every step.
"Are you a killer, Draco? A killer just like daddy? Would you be proud to know that, just a little, you helped me over that ledge? Maybe I can have a trophy made for you." Her lip curled, fury beginning to rear its ugly head. "You disgust me. Coward. All words and poison and look at you, you can't even look me in the eye."
Catherine slapped him, the slight crack echoing across the courtyard. "Look at me! Look me in the eye!"
Taking out his wand, Draco pointed it at her. "Get back!"
"Ooh, little Draco. So scared. You started this, are you too frightened to finish it?" She stepped closer, foot fall silent. "Curse me, hex me, light my hair on fire. You think you have anything to threaten me with, after the things your father's master has done to me? You going to kill my friend and make me watch? Going to slice me up? Hit me with a good old fashioned crucio?"
"I said get back!"
She didn't even wince as a severing charm flew from his wand and skimmed her cheek. Catherine lifted a hand, trailing it across the cut and then bringing a bloodied finger to her lips. "Really?" She drawled. "Can't even aim for the throat, can you?"
Draco swallowed, his jaw set rigid.
In a flash, Catherine was holding his wrist, angling his own wand at his throat. She leaned in, whispering in his ear. "That's the only way you're gonna' get to me now, Draco. So unless you have it in you to see me dead, shut up and walk away." Catherine pulled back, a predatory smile on her face. "You're annoying, but if you continue you just might find yourself missing a few fingers, understood?"
"What happened to you?"
"Voldemort."
"Don't say his name," Draco hissed.
"Tom Riddle, then? A half-blood boy turned maniac? Is that the man you look up to?" She looked over his shoulder to see Draco's friends clamouring among themselves, some with wands drawn, others looking on with some measure of satisfaction to see him so ruffled. Catherine grinned wider. "You knew that, right? The despot your father sold his soul to isn't even a pureblood. Has he ever mentioned that? Not that it matters, anyway, blood means nothing. You know it, I know it, you just like to use it as a clever little way to make yourself feel better than the rest of us."
"Shut up, Potter. I'm warning you."
"Oh my." She raised her hands mockingly, taking a step back. "How frightening."
In that moment, Catherine looked at Draco Malfoy and saw him for what he truly was. A scared little boy, one born into far too much money and far too little compassion.
She didn't sympathize with him by any means. If there were to be an emotion she felt towards the boy, it was pity. Pity and no small amount of disgust. To be born into such a hateful world, knowing nothing but false love and an unending stream of lies poured into his waiting ear when he was but a babe.
It was no small wonder he became what stood before her now.
Humans are piteous creatures no matter their station. Only a sparse few may shine as brightly as you do, my child.
Her eye twitched.
Without another word, Catherine turned around and walked away from Draco, leaving him stuttering and scared in that chilled courtyard, wondering to himself whether it was he that caused Catherine Potter to finally lose her mind.
Unfortunately for him, it wasn't, she thought, her lips quirking.
Her heart tapped a steady beat in line with her steps, as if applauding her for sinking into temptation and lording over Draco the power she now felt thrumming in her very soul.
What could something like him ever hope to manage when up against a Hunter? Something frail, that twitched at its own shadow? He could never have survived what she had seen, never had the strength to do what she had done.
No, it wasn't pity and disgust she felt for him. Only the latter, and oh how strong that disgust was, how it lined her throat to see something so weak muster up the will to stand before her and make empty threats. She pictured him ablaze, only for a moment, but she pictured it all the same. Lighting him up like those mummified beasts that trudged through the muck of Old Yharnam.
The thought excited her, but it also drew bile up her gullet and made her shake her head against the feeling of it all, her mind split between worry and ruin.
Draco was not someone worth the time nor the effort it would take to kill him, let alone the headache and fallout of immolating what amounted to a simple bully.
A very wealthy bully, one whose father was the magical reimagining of an aristocratic Himmler, but a bully all the same. He was not his father, not by any means, and Lucius was the only one in that family she truly wished to hurt. Perhaps his mother, though Catherine could hardly even remember her name.
Taking those feelings, Catherine slammed them into a box and buried them deep, heavy breaths rattling her chest as she worked away the fervor that lurked within her. The slumbering urge to take up her spear and tear her way through swathes of ragged beastmen.
Her shoulders hunkered, Catherine ducked into a nearby washroom, slamming a stall door shut behind her and snapping her fingers at the same time.
"Blood," she whispered, the Messengers obliging and bringing with them a vial of crimson ambrosia.
She popped the lid, pressing it to her lips and quaffing it down in the span of a second.
Throat sore, she ran her thumb against her collar, handing the vial back to the messengers with a breathy, "Cheers."
They bobbed and waved as they disappeared, and she only offered a cursory glance to the mirror on her way out, just to make sure she didn't wander through the halls with blood dripping from her stubborn chin.
Catherine could already feel the sweetness of it humming in her veins, and wondered for a moment why drinking it was so much better than jabbing it into her arm like a common heroin addict.
Communion, the voice spoke. There is power in ritual.
As if that answered anything.
A pleasant tingle working its way down her aching bones, Catherine took the steps two at a time, practically dancing her way towards the common room.
The Fat Lady's portrait swung open with a whispered word, and Catherine stepped lightly into the room, spying Ron in the corner immediately, looking out the window with his chin in his hands.
She sat down before he even noticed she was there, Ron swearing quietly as she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "Fuck, Catherine. Give a guy some warning."
"Sorry." She pursed her lips. "Sorry about earlier. I-"
Ron put up his hand. "No, don't. Hermione was out of line, and- and I wanted to know, but I wanted it to be on your own time, you know?"
"But I-"
"No. Seriously, Catherine. I mean, yeah, you really went off and-" he coughed into his fist. "It was kinda terrifying, and Merlin, you don't know how much it hurts to hear what you're going through. But… things are- things are fucked right now. Up is down and all that, and I'm just glad you're apologizing because that means something." He took a deep breath, throwing his head back to let it out with a lengthy sigh. "You fucked up, we fucked up, and that's that, yeah?"
Catherine blinked. "When did you start to grow up?"
"The moment I'd heard my best friend tried to kill herself."
Her heart thumped once, painfully at the idea of what she put them through. "I'm sorry."
"Quit with the apologies. I get it, I know… it's… again, up is down, black is white, things are a bloody nightmare right now, but we'll get through it. We always do."
"I really should apologise to Hermione though, but explain why I don't want to- to talk about these things with the both of you."
"You think it'll tear us apart."
Catherine nodded, humming an affirmation. "Yeah… this is big, Ron. This could be the final straw."
"Don't say that. Don't you dare put it into words."
"Well what do you want me to say?" She hissed, leaning over the table. Catherine shot a quick glance at the rest of the common room, a good number of students casting sly looks their way. With a huff, she put up what felt like the hundredth silencing charm of the day. "You want me to pretend everything is alright? That this isn't beyond all of us?"
"Just don't- don't bloody say it. It's like you're jinxing our friendship, everything we've been through together. It's like you've already given up."
Gritting her teeth, Catherine bit back her retort.
Of course she'd given up. She tried to kill herself. If that wasn't a decision of utmost finality she didn't know what was.
"I'm trying to be realistic."
"Well, fuck realistic, how about that? I'm not about-" Ron brought his fist up to his mouth, gnawing at the knuckle. "I'm not about to let all this go. Not now. Not after everything. Not with how I-" he bit his lip. "Fuck. We almost lost you Catherine. Permanently, and I can't- I can't just forget that feeling. How raw it was when I was pulled out of class and told what happened.
"And I couldn't even see you, you know. Hermione and I weren't allowed to check in. I guess it's because you were off… doing whatever it was you were doing, but god, Catherine. The fear… the terror, I've never felt anything like it." His eyes brimmed with tears, and Ron wiped them away unashamedly. "I've always thought you were invincible, you know? It's stupid, but it's what I thought. You always saved the day, pulled things together for us. You saved my sister, saved Hermione, saved me, and you did it all without even hesitating.
"And then I hear that you leapt from the tower and are being treated? That you tried to kill yourself? I could hear Hermione screaming before I'd even gotten to McGonagall's office. Didn't realize I'd started choking on my own lungs until she was kneeling in front of me telling me to breathe."
Catherine swallowed heavily, unable to muster even a grunt in reply.
"I reckon our friendship is a little too important to let something so stupid as a little murder get between it, right?"
And he laughed, of course, at his own joke - just like he always did.
"No… no I guess not."
"It's mind boggling, yeah, but it's us. I realized last year, after the goblet and our tiff, how real things really are. That he's coming back, or… is, whether we like it or not and… all that that means. That sooner, rather than later, things are going to get bad. I just… didn't expect so soon. Not like this."
"No one expected this. Especially not me… and I'm living it."
Nodding his head, Ron crossed his arms and let out an exhausted huff. "Yeah. And… I can't wrap my head around it. Don't think I ever will, right?"
"How… how are you so calm about this?"
"I'm not." He smiled. "To be honest, it's tearing me up. But… not much I can do except be here for you, right? It's either that or hide, and I'm not about to walk away from us now."
"And Hermione?"
"She's a wreck."
"Fuck." Catherine ran her hands through her hair, scowling at the grease that clung to her fingers. "I need to talk to her."
She went to stand but Ron gently took her hand. "Wait."
Frowning, she sat back down, the question evident in her face.
"I gotta' say something."
"What is it? Are you okay? I mean, as well as you can be with all this." Catherine spread out her arms, gesturing to herself.
"That's the thing…" Ron shook his head. "Merlin. Ah- how do I even…"
"Ron?"
"I care about you, Catherine. A lot. And… and I wouldn't ever forgive myself if I didn't tell you that."
"Tell me what?"
"I like you."
"Yeah. We're friends."
"No, you idiot. I fancy you." He blushed furiously. "I- I just… I thought you should know."
Catherine blinked a few times, staring at him. "Oh."
"I just- I wanted you to know just in case- no, not that, but you know… I couldn't- you know what I mean, right? Shit. I thought-"
"Ron. Ron." Awkwardly, she reached forward, taking his hand. "I'm sorry, but-"
"No. No. It's fine. Cedric n' all, right?"
"Cedric?"
"Didn't you have a thing for him? Before- before… you know."
"Ron…" her breath caught in her throat. "Ron, I'm gay. I'm not… Cedric was just a friend."
"I… what?" He leaned back in his seat, glassy eyed. "How did I never… why didn't you tell us?"
"Because-"
"Oh my god. It's Hermione, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Hermione. You fancy Hermione." Ron ran his hands over his face. "I can't believe I never saw it. It's so obvious."
Groaning, Catherine held her face in her hands. "Don't say a word."
"What? Of course not, I mean- shit, it sucks to know I never even stood a chance, but still, why haven't you ever said anything?"
"Because it was mine, Ron. My secret to tell. Not yours or anyone else's. I can't believe I told you, just like that." She was tempted to slap herself, nails digging into her thigh. "I just told you."
"Catherine, look at me, it's fine. It is. Honestly, I'm happy for you."
"You don't care?"
"I'm not that kinda' pureblood, right? Do I look blond?"
"Not muggle either."
"They care about that kinda' stuff? I thought it was just us."
Catherine barked out a laugh. "They hate people because of their skin colour, not to mention who they love."
"That sounds horrid."
"You really don't know much about muggles, do you? God, if my relatives found out…" A snicker broke through Catherine's lips. "I can't believe I'm worried about something so stupid. After what I've been through already."
"People are strange."
"Yeah… people are."
"So?"
"So what?"
Leaning forward, Ron grinned. "How're you gonna' woo her? What do you plan on saying?"
"Ron, I can't- I can't think about something like that right now."
"Why not?"
"Because things are a fucking nightmare, Ron, and I don't know how much worse they're going to get."
"And is it just you who gets to decide that? What if Hermione doesn't care? You can't tell me- Merlin, I still can't believe I didn't see it- the way you look at her, you can't tell me you don't fancy her."
"I love her," Catherine whispered.
"Then say something. Do something about it."
"It's not the right time-"
"Maybe it is, maybe it's not. I don't know, we're a bunch of stupid kids fighting against a bloody madman, but that doesn't mean you can't live, Catherine. You're allowed to be happy, even when you're not."
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't want to hurt her. What if- what if I lash out? What if I do something worse than just shouting?"
"You'd never do that, and I know you wouldn't." Ron practically stared her down. "It'd take more than a bad breakup to tear us all apart and you know it."
Catherine bit her lip, pondering over the sudden silence. "I'm scared, Ron. Scared of who I'm becoming… who I've already become. What if I hurt her? What if-"
"Look, my dad said this to Fred and then Fred said it to me. There's no sense worrying about what ifs. He's actually frightful half the time, and don't tell anyone I said that, but Fred… he worries. Worries a lot. You can't mull over what can and can't be, you just have to do, you know? Funny, though, you're always flying by the seat of your pants."
"The two of you mean everything to me. Everything. Even I have to stop to think sometimes."
"Only when it doesn't matter."
She snickered. "Seems like." Catherine looked him in the eyes, fearful. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. We're all glue, eh? Can't get rid of us even if you tried."
"Thank you."
"What are friends for?"
"This, apparently."
Sighing quietly, Catherine got up and spread her arms wide, the mood having taken over her. "C'mon, before I change my mind."
Ron laughed, getting out of his chair and hugging her tight. Although she cringed against the sensation of it, Catherine missed it all the same. "This is weird."
"It's only weird if you make it weird."
She squeezed his back. "Shut the fuck up."
"Hey, there's the Catherine I know."
"Seriously, piss off."
"I already said it, you can't get rid of me that easy."
Batting his shoulder, Catherine huffed. "You're absolutely insufferable, you know that right?"
"I try my best. Now seriously, go talk to her. Tell her if you want, and know I'll be damned disappointed in you if you don't tell Hermione how you feel. You will too, and don't lie," he pointed at her. "I know you'll kick the hell out of yourself if you don't say a thing. You'll mope and you'll brood and you'll piss about wondering what could've happened, so I'm telling you stop mulling on what ifs and just fucking do it."
"What if she says no?"
"Hey, you just did to me. Sucks, yeah, might be a little bit weird for a while, but it's not the end of the world."
"True. Alright." Her jaw clicked shut. Resolute. "I'll do it."
He grinned. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."
Steeling herself, Catherine jerked her head and began walking to the stairs, eyes locked straight ahead and not on the few classmates that awkwardly stuttered towards her, as if to speak.
She'd talk to Neville another time.
Offering him a strained smile, Catherine slowly made her way up the steps, every click of her boot against the floor echoing much too loud. She forced herself to walk like that, to make sound. It made Hogwarts feel normal, for a fleeting moment.
Too soon, though, she stood in front of the door to her dorm, hand floating above the handle, waiting to fall.
"Alright," she whispered to herself. "Here goes."
Slowly, she opened the door, poking her head in before entering the room. No Lavender, no Parvati, no Fay. The only sign that Hermione was there happened to be the curtains on her bed, shut tight and a faint light bleeding through the cloth.
"Hermione?"
Nothing.
With great hesitance, Catherine knocked against one of the posts on the bed, as if a door. "Hermione, it's me."
The curtain drew open slowly, Hermione poking her head through - hair frazzled and her eyes rimmed red. "Hey."
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah, just um- here, come in."
Hermione opened the curtain more, shuffling back to make room for Catherine and putting her book aside, wand stuck to the side of the bedpost and shining a light throughout the little bunker Hermione had made.
She sometimes sheltered away like this, when things became too much. Either to read, or just to think.
"Lemme' just… my boots."
"I'll clean things up, don't worry."
Humming, Catherine climbed in, crossing her legs and fiddling with the seam of her trousers, thumb nail scraping along the indent it made.
"I'm sorry."
"Catherine-"
"I shouldn't have shouted at you. I shouldn't have been so- so spiteful about things. I could have told you, but not like that. Not the way I did."
"I shouldn't have pushed."
"No… no you shouldn't have."
Hermione flinched.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to go at you or anything, but there's a reason I didn't want to tell you, and you know it, but you don't know all of it." Catherine let out a slow breath, running her hands along her thighs. "You and Ron are my entire world. It's not healthy, I know. I should have other friends, and I sort of do, but… it's just not the same. I've been through everything with you two, and if it happened to collapse- collapse because of me, I have no idea what I'd do with myself."
"It's not happening, and if it did it wouldn't be because of you. You didn't ask for this. You didn't… you didn't want this."
Gnawing at her lip, Catherine groaned quietly. "It gets to me, and it hasn't even been that long. I don't know how much longer I have to go on, but it's already planted roots in me. I'm never going to be the same again, Hermione, and that's what scares me. The person I've become, and who I might turn into." She went to scratch her head but stopped herself, not wanting to get grease on her fingers again.
Christ, she needed a shower.
"There are some things about this that I just can't talk to you about, won't be able to talk to you about. Not without… not without you looking at me the way you did earlier. You were scared of me-"
"Scared for you." Hermione rested her hand on Catherine's knee. "Yes, you frightened me, but I wasn't scared of you. Not like how you think."
"How?"
"Because we've seen so much. People have died, Catherine, Voldemort is back and- and I don't know what he's going to do but it can't be good. Him sending you visions is just the start, and I know that one day the switch will flip and we'll live in a different world. Don't tell me you haven't done a little planning for when that day comes."
"I've just been preparing myself, I guess, especially after the graveyard and actually fighting him. He played with me the entire time. If he'd taken things seriously for a single moment I'd be dead."
"And I'd sooner see Voldemort buried than you in the same place." Hermione shuddered, her voice shaky as she continued. "It… it goes against everything I used to believe in… how I saw myself, but I agree with you that he has to- Voldemort has to die. It frightens me how nonchalant you are about it, but after everything it really shouldn't. But- can you tell me this, please?"
"What?"
"The things you've- you've fought. Did they- was there nothing else you could do?"
Catherine's eyes stung as she thought of Gascoigne. Djura. "Please don't make me answer that question."
The hand on her knee clenched. "I won't. God… that's-" She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one who deserves it."
"Then to whomever it was… I don't- I don't even want to think about that."
"Neither do I." She glowered. "I wish I could find a way to help you understand. Not just know, but… be able to understand what it is I've seen without scarring you beyond belief. It would change you, Hermione, to see it all. Dumbledore looked into my head, legilimency-"
"He what?"
"I made him, asked him to. Don't, ah- don't worry, but he couldn't grasp it himself. It scared him, Hermione. The Headmaster. And- and the things he's seen himself, what he had to do in the last wars… even he couldn't grasp it."
Her eyes shining with tears, Hermione pulled her lips into a thin smile. "I want to know. Nightmares, whatever it is, I'll deal with it as it comes."
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"I don't, and I won't until you show me." She squeezed her knee again, gently. "You're my friend, Catherine, and I never want that to change." Hermione giggled quietly. "I'd planned on you being my Maid of Honour one day."
She almost grimaced, not wanting to think of marriage. Not at her age. Not about Hermione. Far too much, far too soon, and much too distant and whimsical to even be worth touching upon her mind.
"I could… I could show you, but it would be intimate. You'd be looking into my head, and I want to make sure you know exactly what it is you're asking from me. These things- these things made me throw myself off the castle, Hermione. I'm going to spend the rest of my life putting myself back together. Are you sure you want to know?"
"I'll deal with it as it comes."
Her gut flipped once, twice. "You really don't know what you're asking for, but… you know what to do to peek into my head if you want to, right? I'm sure you started looking it up as soon as I started getting 'remedials.'"
Hand shaking, Hermione took her wand and pointed it at Catherine. Her throat bobbed. "Legilimens."
Unlike Snape or Dumbledore, Hermione was clumsy as she tried to enter Catherine's mind. Her magic shook as her hand did. It almost tapped at her mind, a quiet knock before she granted it entry.
Slow and unsteady, Hermione began to card through Catherine's memories, and she could feel the trepidation and outright horror begin to grow as Hermione felt Catherine die for the first time, arms wrapped around the bars of that iron gate and teeth crushing her spine.
More quickly, images flitted across her mind. Iosefka and her replacement. Eileen, Gascoigne, his daughter. Hermione witnessed as Catherine was forced to put that man to rest, turning his body to pulp and steaming gore and leaving it to be snapped up and eaten by a passing beast. She watched, keen and fearful as Catherine trekked into the Cathedral ward and found herself in that broken remnant of Yharnam far below, leaping atop a man who, maddened though he was, spoke truth, an unknown martyr to his cause.
The Dream seemed to sow confusion in Hermione, something Catherine felt strongly through their connection, the active working of Hermione's mind as she tried to wrestle with the idea that she may be witnessing an afterlife - or something close to it - and trying to rationalize the very idea of a sentient automaton and a dead man being Catherine's newfound companions.
As softly as she had entered, Hermione left, stepping away from Catherine's mind, but not before Catherine stumbled in her thoughts, by chance or on purpose she didn't know at that moment, tripping over a box she'd thought hidden from Hermione. One that contained her, and her stupid, childish feelings.
It was only a glimpse, the slightest flicker of something hidden away, but Hermione spotted it all the same, rearing back and falling out of the magic that bound their conscience with rapturous surprise.
Maybe Catherine knew she was too much of a coward to put it into words, not without letting Hermione find out her feelings on 'accident.'
Childish, she chided herself. You idiot.
"So?" she asked. Softly. Quietly.
"Catherine."
Hermione's voice was stricken with tears, and Catherine flinched as she was suddenly pulled into a tight embrace, bushy hair tickling at her chin and arms wrapped much too tight around her back.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Catherine shushed her, placing her hand against Hermione's back and holding it there, fingers dragging against her shirt.
"It's not your fault."
"No, but- it's awful. It's so, so horrible. How are you- I'm so sorry I said anything. I could never…" she choked on her words, eyes shining. "You're surviving. What you've done… I don't understand but I do. I could- could feel what you felt, and… I understand. I won't ever truly understand, I can't, but… I do."
"That's Yharnam."
"It's horrifying, like something out of a movie but so much worse."
"Haven't really watched any films to be honest."
A wretched laugh bubbled out of Hermione's throat. "Maybe this summer you can visit and we can watch something."
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe this summer…"
"Catherine." Hermione took her hand. "At the end, there. What I saw…"
Her heart leapt to her throat, every nerve in Catherine's body screaming at her to go, run, go, run. "Please don't make me say it, Hermione. Can we just- can we forget about that, please."
"No."
"Please."
"Why did you never tell me? Did you think- think I would be repulsed by you? I'm not a… I'm not some sort of bigot, Catherine."
"It wasn't that… I just- I wanted something to myself. One thing, one little thing, and it's… you know how my brain works. I get scared, I get worked up, I convince myself of something and- I convinced myself that-"
"That there was something wrong with you."
Catherine nodded.
"My relatives… I think it was them, maybe. We had a man live across the street when I was younger, lived with his 'friend,'" she made air quotes, voice dripping with derision. "The Dursley's lost it. Turned the whole neighbourhood against him. Eventually they moved, but seeing that happen made me realize that- I don't know. That it wasn't worth it? Not yet, at least. Not when I have bigger things to worry about."
"Is it because it's me?"
"What?"
"Because it's me… some- some dotty bookworm, all-"
"No! God, no, Hermione. I'm not ashamed of you, I'm… I'm just scared. I've always been."
She looked at her, spellbound and tearful, eyes tracing over the reddened marks that stained Hermione's eyes, how her lip quivered. "Never thought I stood a chance."
Breathing slowly, Hermione's hand raised at the wrist, fingers clenching and unclenching. "I've never really thought about who I am, like that. Whether… whether I'm straight or… I've just never thought about it. Books, you know? Much too busy," she laughed, and so did Catherine. Fragile and quiet and tinged with something homely. "Can I…"
"What?"
"Can I kiss you?"
Her lips parted. "Are you sure?"
"Please."
Catherine nodded, and Hermione slowly leaned in at her trust. She could hear Hermione's heart beating just as she could hear her own, feel it straining against her ribs. Her tongue flitted out nervously, glancing from Hermione's eyes to her lips and feeling her heart skip another beat.
It was tentative. More of a press of flesh against flesh than anything that could be considered a kiss, far too clumsy to be called such. But, Catherine loved it all the same. She whimpered, pushing in against Hermione and slowly drawing her hand up to cup her cheek.
They separated, just barely, foreheads pressed together and lips laying feather touches, noses brushing together and Catherine far too focused on the feeling of Hermione's breath against her own skin to register her words as she spoke up.
"What?" Catherine muttered, feeling Hermione's lips move against her own.
She also felt Hermione's lips pull upwards, just barely. "I… I liked that."
"Are you- are you sure? With me? With everything you just saw?"
The next kiss was proper, pressed flush and sweet and soft and nothing that Catherine thought it would be but everything at the very same time. It wasn't special, it wasn't earth-shattering, it didn't send lightning shocks down her spine and rewrite her existence - but it pulled at her heartstrings and made her gut leap all the same.
"What does this mean, then?"
"Stop thinking, Catherine."
And so she did.