It feels as if morning takes forever to come. Cressida spends her time watching the seconds tick away on the clock mounted to the wall next to the door and watching the sun try to creep over the trees. When it finally does rise, it's weak and grey, bathing everything in a sickly light.

Mama does not return to the train car. Nor does Papa. Either their talk is so totally absorbing that they have lost all track of time, or the stranger has sustained far more injuries than she originally thought. To keep herself occupied, she sets about making breakfast. They could join the rest of the circus in the main tent, but Cressida would rather stay nearby in case Papa needs her. Plus breakfast isn't Cookie's strong suit. Heck, dinner isn't either, but at least it's semi edible compared to the soupy oatmeal he serves up for the morning meal. She fries up a rasher of bacon and some eggs over the potbelly stove in the corner. Biscuits left over from dinner the night before, and a fresh pot of tea, complete the meal.

She sets out the mixed matched china plates on the table along with an equally eclectic selection of cutlery. On a whim she glances at the empty tea cup her Mama left behind before clearing it off. The leaves on the bottom form several amorphous blobs, but she's able to pick out a fly and a dagger. Domestic issues - which is a bit shocking, because Mama and Papa never fight - and danger - which isn't surprising considering the man currently lying in the tent.

While tea is more traditional for tasseography, the grinds of coffee can be used too. Cressida pours herself a cup of coffee, quickly drains it, and up ends it over a saucer. What she finds is a bit more clearer than Mama's, but still confusing, if only because there seems to be so much going on. Wheels and wasps, scissors and hearts. A kite. And most random of all, a smear that looks vaguely like a rabbit.

"What does it say?" Pandora asks, breaking the silence.

Cressida looks up to find her sister watching her from the bed, her pyjamas rumbled, and her hair sticking out from her braided pigtails. "That I'll find love, but there will be a disagreement. That I must be brave, for there will be a long journey, but in the end I'll fly free."

The little girl sighs dreamily. "How romantic."

"I dunno. Sounds like a bunch of baloney to me." Vesta pipes up from the top bunk. She peers over the edge at them as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"And how." Cressida mutters, even though she doesn't quite believe it. Reading the cards is more of her thing, but there are times that sometimes tasseography surprises her. "Get a wiggle on - the food's getting cold."

Pandora is the first to slide into a seat at the battered table. She sniffs at a piece of bacon. "It smells okay." She takes a bite. "It's safe."

Cressida rolls her eyes. "Thanks, doll face."

"Hey, Cress," Vesta says as she slips down from her bunk, and her sister is immediately on edge at her saccharine sweet tone. "Think I could borrow a couple of clams?"

"Why?"

"Sam's going into town and invited me to a matinee."

"If he invited you, he should be paying. And really, is that such a good idea right now considering an injured man just showed up on our doorstep last night?"

"Aw, you don't know from nothing."

"Plus you promised Mama you'd help Mrs. Morris with the kids." Mrs. Morris, the manager's wife, taught the children of the circus in between shows. It wasn't much - just reading, writing, some arithmetic, and a little history - and it would never compare to the education the children could get a proper school, but it was better than nothing.

Vesta ignores her. She digs around in a suitcase that was buried underneath the settee, and pulls out one of her nicer dresses. It's an older one, a bit too tight in the chest, which is why Mama hid it away, but Cressida is sure that's why Vesta dragged it out - to show of her non existent curves for dear old Sam. "But what if someone in town knows about..."

"What?"

"Y'know. Him. What if he's a mobster on the lamb or something?"

"Hogwash. If the cops were looking for him, I'm sure the hounds would've found him by now."

"You're a real downer, y'know that?"

"You want to see a downer? Go ask Mama and Papa if you can go, and show them what you're wearing, don't just bundle up in your coat."

A steady stream of curses crosses Vesta's lips as she storms out of the sleeper car the Polari family calls home. None of them are said loudly enough for Cressida to understand exactly what her sister is saying, but the intent is clear. Especially when she tosses a bronx cheer over her shoulder as she takes the steps down to the ground.

"You know she's not going to ask." Pandora nibbles at another piece of bacon.

"Of course she's not. I don't need some silly tea leaves to tell me that she's just going to sneak off and go." Cressida nudges her chair with her foot. "Come on. Eat up. Then you can join Mrs. Morris and the others."

After breakfast, Cressida finds a hand-me-down of Vesta's for Pandora to wear and sends her on her way. Unfortunately, there's nothing for her to borrow; she's too tall to fit into any of Mama's old dresses, and she's too big in the chest and hips for any of Vesta's old things. So she wraps up in one of Papa's coats and makes the trek across the frosty grass to the tent.

Inside the lanterns are still blazing, and the portable stove has recently been stoked with wood. In fact, the tent is so warm, that Cressida feels little beads of sweat break out on her brow. She brushes them off with a hand before divesting herself of her borrowed coat.

Mama is nowhere to be found, but Papa is dozing near the bed, understandably exhausted from being up most of the night. Cressida knows she should let him rest, but her curiosity gets the better of her. She approaches him and touches his shoulder. "How is he?"

Papa starts at the sound of her voice and blinks up at her. "He pulled through, but he's not out of the woods yet. He woke up yelling again around dawn. We had to give him another dose of laudanum to calm him down."

"Mm." She glances at the man currently lying on the bed, completely oblivious to his surroundings. That explains why he is so still. At least his color is a little better, and it looks like someone, probably Mama, has tried to even out the jagged fringe of his hair. It's been slicked back with water, revealing a sharp widow's peak and short slivering hair at his temples. "The swelling around his eye is down a little. Did Mama use one of her spells?"

"That and a steak the Manager had been saving for his dinner." He pulls off his glasses to clean them. "Healing isn't your mother's strong suite, but she knows enough."

"Well, here's hoping it's all downhill from here on out, and she doesn't need to risk herself again." The man's skin is still pale, but when she touches his forehead, it feels a little cooler.

"He's quite dapper isn't he?" Her Papa's voice breaks her out of her reverie. "What is you kids call it? A sheik?"

"I guess," She lies. Then she prays that she never hears him use the word sheik ever again. Or sheba for that matter either.

"Can you read anything off of him? Your mother tried, but..." He trails off and waves a hand about.

Cressida sighs. She'd rather not, since in order for her legilimency skills to have the best chance of success she needs to have physical contact with the person she is trying to read, and with her subject being unconscious, it feels a bit like intruding. But if it's with the intent to get the man the help he needs, and if it's with Papa's permission, then surely that must be okay this once. Still, she decides to keep her reading superficial - just name and family only.

She presses her hand against his forehead again, and pushes back the blankets to reveal his uninjured arm. It's covered with thick dark hair that's coarse to the touch. For a moment she's mesmerized by it, even though she's seen her fair share of carnies working in the summer sun stripped down to their undershirts. Papa clears his throat and she flushes, suddenly remembering her task. She takes his hand in hers, marveling at how much larger it is, how the elegant fingers are stained with ink at the tips.

And then she lets herself sink down into him, feeling for his mind underneath the fog of the laudanum. She can tell he is skilled in occlumency, or was at some point. He has quite a wall built around himself. One that is damn near impenetrable despite his drugged state, but she can feel cracks in it's surface and see glimpses of thoughts and memories escaping through the fissures. She picks through them - ignoring the dimmer ones in favor of bright vivid ones that shine like stars in the hopes that they might be more important.

Cressida catches impressions of a girl with dark hair cut in a plain bob standing before the man, her head bowed and her mouth pressed into a thin line as he scolds her for some... thing. The memory is gone before she can find out exactly what happened or who the girl's name is. An image of the queenly woman from her dream with her hair wrapped up in a turban and her eyes flashing with anger.

"I'll make an exception for her this time Graves, but if..." The voice fades away at the same time the memory does. Cressida pauses in surprise, but before she has a chance to process it, another memory is vying for her attention.

The tent disappears around her. Instead she feels warm summer air wrapping around as she strides quickly down an alley way towards what she assumes is a speak easy. In between one step and the next, she is suddenly aware that she is not alone in the alley, but before she can turn to defend herself, a flash of light hits her. She drops to the ground, her body contorting with pain as the first curse is followed up with more and more and more. Before the darkness takes her, she looks up to see another wizard standing over her. He is older, with a round face and pale hair that is nearly white, and blue eyes that sends chills through her very core.

Grindelwald.

There are more memories featuring the blonde monster. Ones where the man is bound magically and unable to move while Grindelwald attacks him with more and more curses in an attempt to drag information out of him. Thanks to his auror training, he is able to withstand most of the abuse, but over time his body starts break.

"What the hell are you doing?!"