Chapter 3: Two Halves of One Whole
Cressida's plan of escape is foiled when her father brings in watchdogs. Three Doberman that have docked ears and scars from fighting in dog pits. She feels nothing but sorrow for their lives. They circulate the house, chained to the shed by a thirty-foot-long metal linked chain. It's thin, and she is sure that it would break if the dogs tried hard enough.
He said at dinner on the night that he had them brought in that they were guard dogs to protect the house now that his work is at risk. Cressida thinks it's a blaring coincidence that it happened the day after her first escape attempt. She was caught, trunk in hand, midway down the corridor. But there is a crooked wheel from when her father first threw it that now squeaks and wriggles like a broken shopping trolley. An inconvenience at little, an alarm at most.
Cressida continued using the diary to talk to James, who she could tell was anything but content about the form of communication. Which is ironic, considering he was the one so first adamant about her using it. Her only issue with it is Sirius' inability to write to her with it. He sent her a letter by owl but her father shooed the bird away before Cressida could write a response.
Today Cressida lounges on her bed, her father occupied with the television for at least another hour. Knowing that her conversation with James last night would still be in the diary for another few hours, she pulls it into her lap and rereads the words.
They're promises. Promises that she would soon be safe and with him. Cressida believes those promises, but finds it hard to imagine how they will be fulfilled. She's going to have to fight the Muggle way. Steal one of his guns, maybe?
I have to go in a minute. My mother just finished cooking dinner.
I have this recipe that I want you to try. I'll make it for you when you get here.
Cooking for me? Maybe I am a spoilt princess.
You said you can't resist a man cooking for you. And I love spoiling you.
Cressida smiles, pressing her thumb against her bottom lip.
Love you, James.
I love you too.
That's where they left their last conversation. In the most utterly perfect way. There shouldn't be anything else on the pages. But on the opposite page, in writing far messier than his natural hand, is a brief message.
Sirius left. He's coming for you.
Cressida's heart tightens. He's coming for her? When did he leave?
Her hands pat the blanket of her bed hastily, searching for her pencil. Not finding it on the duvet, shaky hands move onto her nightstand, shuffling around the letter she intended to read this night.
"Where's that damn pencil!" she hisses to herself, falling to her knees and searching underneath her bed where it might have rolled underneath. It's there, right at the back, pressed up against an old stuffed animal she forgot even existed.
The Dobermans' start barking madly outside, the growling and yapping clearly sounding through her broken window. The suddenness mixed with her already running mind sends a jolt down her spine, and her head yanks upwards.
The back of her head smacks against the wooden planks of her bedframe, knocking the already bruised skin. "O-Ow!"
"Would ya go see what they're on about, Mary?" her father commands, still lounging against his recliner. Cressida forgets her pencil, now pressing her body against the threshold of her open door, peaking down the corridor.
Just as sudden as the barking started, it stopped.
"There's someone coming," her mother whimpers. "John. I don't know who he is."
With a heavy grunt, her father stretches out of his recliner, going straight to his unlocked cabinet and withdraws a shotgun. Cressida can only see the tip of the barrel from her spot. The sound of her front door locking echoes through the house.
Cressida emerges from her room, trudging towards the front room. Her mother cowers behind her father, who holds his gun pointed downwards, but still cocked and ready to shoot at a moment's notice.
"Get your arse in your room, Elizabeth," he growls. Cressida ignores him, eyes trained on the front door.
The entire house is still. Quiet. The only sign of movement is dust visible in the rays of light through the windows on either side of the door. And a shadow that moves behind them.
Someone knocks at the door. Three solid raps of knuckles. Cressida's lips turn upwards.
Nobody moves to answer it.
"Bombarda."
The occupants of the house shriek, Cressida using the cornered wall to protect herself as the front door of her house shatters into thousands of wooden shards. Dust fills the air, cloaking the figure who stands in their now cleared doorway. Cressida coughs loudly, waving her hand in front of her face whilst her father growls threatening. Like anyone could threaten Sirius.
The young man steps into her house, his eyes wide and dark, no arrogant and cocky smirk on his lips. They're sitting in a flat line.
He completely embodies the Sirius that the outside world sees. Reckless, rebellious, defiant, deviant, handsomely dangerous. It was never James that students were cautious around. Despite his reputation for mischief-making and hexing, both the students and teachers of Hogwarts know that James Potter is just a boy who is still growing up.
But Sirius Black is different. Cressida doesn't know how much more growing up he has left to do. He's already changed so much since she first met him on the Hogwarts Express nearly seven years ago. Sirius is reckless. Sirius is a man who knows no rules. No matter how much she likes the pretend that she has some form of reigning on him, nobody does. And she counts herself lucky that he calls her a friend.
"Get out of my house!"
Her father points his gun at Sirius, finger dancing over the trigger. Sirius doesn't hesitate, swishing his wand upwards almost nonchalantly. The gun flies from her father's hands and out of the nearest window, the glass shattering.
"My pleasure," Sirius drawls, eyes scanning every inch of the small shack-like house. "But I've come for something first. Cressida? Where are you?"
Cressida steps forward, moving out of the hallway and into the front room. Sirius stands just in front of her; her mother and father on his opposite side. "Elizabeth?" her mother shrieks.
Sirius smiles at her, offering his hand. She rushes towards him, taking it in both of hers. Never letting his wand waver in its aim towards her father, he leans down close to her ear. "Go get your stuff. Only what you need."
"Don't you dare." Sirius leans up once more, his dark and beady eyes turning to her father who is shaking his head, ears tinted red with rage. "You cannot just blast your way in here and take my daughter away!"
"Try me," Sirius snaps. Her father seethes with rage. He curls his shoulders, broadening them. To Cressida, it is intimidating. His intimidation keeps him in charge. But to Sirius, he only sees a useless Muggle. Before her father can reach the front room, Sirius flicks his wand, a red spark hitting her father's chest. He flies backwards, her mother shrieking again as he collides with his reclining chair that topples under the force. Sirius pulls his hand from her grip. "Cressida. Move." Her eyes are glued on the sight of her unconscious father. "Move!"
She quivers at his voice, finally forcing her eyes away, runs down the corridor once more towards her room. Her mother calls her husband's name over and over again. Cressida opens her Hogwarts trunk, which is already ready except for the few things she keeps hidden around her room. The diary. The mirror is now kept together in an old pillowcase.
Stuffing it all into the trunk, Cressida gives her room one last hasty look over her room. The only thing to catch her eye is the letter on her nightstand. The envelope crinkles slightly under her fingers, shoving it on top of the leather diary and then locking the latches closed.
The broken wheel is louder and more obnoxious than ever before as she hauls the weight down the hall. It's lighter than what it is at the beginning of their school years, but the only book she put in there is her Herbology book.
Sirius is still glaring at her parents, wand raised despite the only threat begin her mother. "Sirius," she whispers, coming up to his side.
"You have everything?" Cressida nods.
Her mother looks up. Mary. Mary looks up. Her eyes are wide and glossy, a single tear trailing down her left cheek. "Bethie, you aren't doing this? You're not leaving me?"
Cressida's throat tightens like it is under a dementor's grip. Her own lip threatening to quiver, she turns her head away. "Let's go." Sirius grips her arm tightly and the world in front of her disappears. The feeling isn't entirely unfamiliar, but also still strange. Feeling like one is being pulled through a thin tube that is just big enough to fit their shoulders.
The witch and wizard don't appear far from her home. She can even still see the long road that takes you out towards it. Sirius has taken them into the nearest town, on the corner of an abandoned park. Two kids run down the street, their clothes old and faded in colour. It feels like a desert. "Where are we going?" she asks. "Are we going to James'?"
"Not yet."
His arm envelops her shoulders, keeping his own neck tall whilst encouraging hers to hide under his shoulder. In his other hand, he takes her trunk, carrying it by the handle rather than wheeling it. Why hadn't she thought of that? Her mind has been so muddled these past two weeks, she can't think straight. But she's glad she hadn't tried to apparate without her wand. In this state, she would have spliced herself in half.
He leads her away from the wide main streets and towards an alleyway.
"Are you hurt?"
Cressida stumbles for an answer. "No. No, I'm fine."
"Hungry?"
"Peckish."
"We're going to London. What do you want to eat?"
"London? Why are we going to London?"
"You'll see."
At the moment, Cressida is honestly fine being left in the dark. It's just one less thing for her to think about. Trust Sirius and let him do what he wants. She owes him that trust.
They enter the alleyway, which is bare except for a few metal bins and something larger that is hidden by the shadows. Sirius is taking her towards it, she realises. As soon as her eyes register what she is looking at, Cressida's jaw widens.
A motorcycle.
Her feet stop, but Sirius continues forward, smirking down at the large vehicle. "Beauty isn't she?"
Her mouth barely forms words. "It suits you," she decides on. "When did you get it?"
"Last week." His hand trails over the handlebar, admiring the design. He looks back up to her, grinning madly. "This is how we're getting to London."
Xx
The motorcycle doesn't just ride along the roads like a normal muggle contraption. No. That would be too simple for her theatrical friend. Cressida's hands are latched tightly around his stomach, thighs clenching around the seat, knees pressing into his thighs, and the wind dancing through her hair.
Trails of road lights litter the ground below them as they fly over England's cities and towns, all the way towards London. The engine is loud with a large exhaust pipe that growls at each rev. Sirius laughed his arse off when they first took off the ground, Cressida screaming, surely waking half her old neighbourhood. Her trunk is held down on the back of the bike.
But now her terror has transformed into pure delight, watching the world over Sirius' shoulder. The headlights of cars travel so slowly, even along the highways. It isn't yet late in the night, and sometimes Sirius flies them close enough to see inside the houses that leave their curtains open. Families eating dinner. Kids sneaking out the back windows.
Then London arrives on the horizon, a beautiful sea of lights and tall buildings. The Big Ben's hands pointing to eight-thirty. Sirius drives them lower, the bike's headlights off as he searches for a subtle place to land.
The landing is strange compared to that of a broom; needing a runway. It all feels smooth until the wheels actually touch the ground and the pair jostle about.
He's landed them in a modern street with wide paths and a park nearby that has dark green grass and working equipment. The buildings are tall but not pressed together as many often are.
They drive along the road for a little while longer, passing a few small groups of Londoners. He parks the bike off the street and in some sort of alley driveway. Cressida slides off first, her eyes still wide and taking everything in.
"I have something I want to show you."
Cressida stares at his offered hand for a minute. With a small smile, she takes it and Sirius grins, leading her away.