Chapter 13: The Mark
Review response: Sarah0406 - oops! Nice pick up. I actually had the two 'parts' of the chapter originally written the other way and swapped them around at last minute. So don't worry, that would have just been because she saw James after that in the original edit.
The Summer holiday feels so much longer than usual. Cressida wouldn't consider herself bored, but rather out of ideas on what to do. Everything just seems to fit so right that there's no need for her to be thinking about so many things. The only thing that she is bothering to worry herself over is her missing bracelet. She'd rather have it back before Remus comes in a few weeks. But the only place she can think that would be, is on her dresser in her old room. But Cressida couldn't exactly apparate there, which is so far away from James' place, without a wand.
If she asked Sirius, she knows he would say no. He was so desperate to get her out that he would hardly agree to let her go back for a piece of jewellery. But James might. If she asked. Or she could just tell Remus she lost it. He would understand—of course he would. But Cressida doesn't want to tell him that.
James has never been in that environment before. He's always had an adoring family around him. And though he knows what Sirius has gone through, and part of her own story, Cressida still doesn't want to take him to it. She doesn't want him to see her reality with his own eyes. Not out of shame, but… Protection. It's not often that James Potter needs protection, but if Cressida can prevent him from going into a place like her old home, she would.
So that is why, when she sees Sirius sitting on the back porch under the morning light, she places a croissant on a plate after heating it partially and takes it out to him. "Room service," she calls. Glancing around as Sirius looks at her over his shoulder, she adds, "Mm. Veranda service might be a better word?"
Sirius folds a letter and places it in his pocket. "I didn't order any veranda service."
Cressida sits down next to him, handing him the plate. "I know. Who's the letter from?"
Sirius thanks her for the food, resting the plate to his left. "Regulus," he answers after a pause. "Just asking me what I'm doing now that I don't live with them anymore." Cressida deduces that he's telling the truth, but leaving out the entire truth.
Nodding slowly, she prods some more. "He didn't ask you that at the station?"
Sirius glances at her, his eyes almost telling her not to ask anything more. "No," he breathes, biting into the bread. "He was just passing a message along then."
Cressida twists her lips around. Still, after so many years, she has very little idea what happens between the two brothers. Sometimes she figures that she knows more about Regulus, from Regulus, rather than from Sirius. And that's saying something since Regulus hardly gives her any personal information.
"Sirius, I was wondering if you could take me back to the house," she spits out. It wouldn't come out if she tried to intone it. "I left something there and I really want it back."
Sirius' chewing stops. He blinks, breathing heavily and swallows the half-unchewed bread. "What was it?"
"The bracelet," Cressida answers, touching the bare skin of her wrist. "That Remus gave me."
"No." His answer comes without a moment of thought. "I'm sorry Cress, but no." Her heart lurches, feeling stupid for even asking. "I will buy you another one, the exact same custom made if I have to, but never in a million years am I letting you go back there."
Cressida doesn't hold back her dejection. "Please. They can't hurt me. Just let me take your wand and I can go alone. In and out within a minute." Sirius shakes his head, not even giving her a verbal answer. Her remorse turns to agitation quickly. "Fine."
Cressida pushes off the balcony, firm strides heading back inside. "Don't you dare ask James," Sirius warns her.
Her hand curls around the handle of the back door. "You're not my fucking father, Sirius. You're not even my brother." Cressida doesn't stay outside to see his reaction. She's not sure if he'd even care about that, really. He's never claimed to be her family. But she always thought of him as just that. It's a reminder to herself, not him.
James, she finds, is in a common room, playing chess against an invisible opponent. "Are you winning?"
His answer is very slow, deep in concentration. "I don't know." Sitting down next to him on the carpeted floor, he quickly brings her between himself and the board instead, watching the magical opponent move the knight. He moves his queen into a spot Cressida didn't even see open in her quick examination of the board. "Did you have something for breakfast?"
"I had some toast," she confirms. Her eyes drift over his arms, where his usual long-sleeved shirt is pushed up over his elbows. "We should go to the beach when the others come over." It has been one of the hotter Summers. And why pass up the opportunity? "I don't think I can ever remember seeing you in shorts."
James laughs, his chest rumbling against her back. "It's not my go-to. What's on your mind, Cressida," he drawls out, moving another piece between. "You sound like you have something to say. Or ask."
"I do."
His lips press to the back of her shoulder before his chin comes to rest over it. "Then ask away."
He doesn't completely forget about his chess match, but she can feel some of his concentration turn to her. "I need to go back to my old house. I left my bracelet there and I really want it back. I don't have a wand, so I don't want to try apparating on my own."
Much like Sirius, his relaxed composure morphs into something more at unease. Tense, but still more open than Sirius. "I don't think you should," James answers carefully. "We were beyond worried about leaving you there in the first place."
Cressida's eyes close over, her head tipping back onto his shoulder. "Please. We could go now, and my father wouldn't even be home. My mother is harmless and you're a wizard."
"I know," James breathes, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. "I want to give you everything you want, Cress. I really do. But I also want to protect you. And from how Sirius was acting while you were there, I'm terrified at the idea of you going back."
"Has Sirius seemed himself lately?" Cressida question. The topic may seem out of the blue to an onlooker, but James knows where she is going. She feels him shake his head slowly. "I'm not saying he's paranoid, but maybe is he overreacting. He knew about my home for years and never said anything simply because I asked him to. Now all of a sudden he's telling you all and abducting me. And trust me when I say I'm glad to be gone, but maybe the danger he's making you think there is, doesn't actually exist."
She watches her argument worm its way inside James' head. His tongue rolls around his mouth, two sides of the argument fighting each other in his eyes. She can see which side is winning.
"James," whispers Cressida, "if you don't come with me, I'm going on my own. And I either possibly mess up the apparation but go when my father isn't there, or take your wand when you sleep and go through the night. And I'd rather have a wand because there are three guard dogs at the house."
Blackmailing him with her own safety really wasn't something she planned on doing, nor does she feel good for doing so, but James nods. "Let's go now." He doesn't bother cleaning up the chessboard, standing and bringing her up with him. He holds out his wand to her. "You know where to go." His voice is flat but supportive.
Cressida takes the wand, thinking about her old home. The bracelet means a lot to her. To be able to look down and see the two charms already there, reminding her of what she has in life. "Thank you." Cressida takes the wand in one hand, the other gripping James' arm and in a small 'pop', they disappear.
Xx
A puff of dry dirt flies through the air like dust as the pair of seventeen-year-olds apparate onto a dry plain of land. There isn't a building in sight, only a long and empty road of gravel and stone. James coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. "Haven't had much rain out here, I'm guessing," he spits out.
"Haven't had much of anything good out here let alone rain," Cressida mutters in response. Nerves rattle her, but her mind is set on retrieving the bracelet. If her father found it, it would be sold on a street corner for any dime he could get. Knowing her house is right behind her, just two hundred meters or so away, she forces herself to turn.
The nerves turn to ice-cold panic that captures every fibre of her bones. Something—something she has seen too many times in the Daily Prophet that had even rattled her then now floats clear as day over her own home. Her jaw slowly falls open, the muscle in her bottom lip shaking.
She doesn't even hear James' sharp gasp. "Holy f…" Her shoulder is pulled under his tight and violent grip. "Cress, we need to go." It isn't a question. It is a demand. A demand that she can't listen to.
Her mother.
Her father.
It still seems like she is looking at it through a moving picture. A large haze of an emerald skull. And a snake protruding from its mouth. The mark of a Death Eater over her home. They only leave that mark after they kill.
"Cressida." Her feet tear into the ground, kicking up a new trail of dry dust to the road. James' wand still in her hand. "Cressida!"
She wants to hear the dogs barking and growling, the rattling of their thin chains. She wants to hear the tv going or the sound of her father screaming at her mother about the lawn being overgrown. But there is no barking. The bodies of the dogs lay motionless near the shed. And there is no yelling.
There is no front door from when Sirius broke it apart, but the shattered remains have since been cleared. Now there are no messes. Only one broken vase that she always contemplated knocking over so she wouldn't have to look at it. "Mum! Dad!?"
Panic continues to bubble, deaf to the sound of James' calls and his feet only meters behind her. Cressida steps over the threshold of her home, an invisible weight closing in on her and pressing every memory she has of her family on her all at once. The good and the bad. Nothing else in the house has changed except for the vase and the silence.
"Cress," James breathes into her ear, hands holding each of her arms from behind. "Please. Give me my wand, and I'll get us out of here. Please."
Cressida only grips his wand tighter, her vision blurring, but she's so determined to see. "I have to… I have to know." Lurching from his grip, Cressida marches towards the living room. It is there that the Dark Mark becomes a full force of reality and not a picture in the newspaper.
Her father lies on his back next to the two-seater lounge that is stained with beer spills. His eyes are open and dull, staring up at the ceiling with no thought behind them. No hate or anger. But no life either.
Cressida covers her mouth to hold back the choked sound that erupts. She had never wished him dead. Gone, but not dead. Her fingers creep up to her eyes, wanting to never have to look upon a dead body again, but she still has another to find. Uncontrollable tears track down either side of her cheeks, obstructed by her hand, but they trail over it. There's not even a sign of a fight. He stood no chance.
By now her breathing is erratic and loud, morphing with oncoming wails that she doesn't let sound just yet. Behind her, James also covers his mouth, but to hold his breakfast rather than a sound. Cressida marches forward, stepping over her father's body.
"Cressida."
She turns into the kitchen but stops before her feet reach the tiles. Instantly she turns back to face the living room, the wand dropping from her hand as both move to cover her face. She screams. Screams so loudly that she can feel her vocal cords strain inside her neck and she falls to the floor. Her mother laid face down, cold and stiff just by sight alone. How long had they been lying there? Cold and unseeing. How long till someone drives past and noticed the unusual cloud formation above the house.
She can't stop screaming. And sobbing. Her father's death hurts, no matter how much she hated the man, but her mother… her mother had always been her mother, no matter how brave or cowardly. She would tuck her into bed. Read her stories and promise wonderful feasts. The mother that plead for her to stay because Cressida knew that she was the only thing her mother enjoyed having in her life.
James kneels in front of her, his wand back in his hold. "We got to go," he says to her, trying to pry her hands away from her face. "I need to concentrate for a moment. Plea-Please! Look at me, Cress. I've got to get you out of here."
Cressida cries louder, hair flying as she shakes her head. She doesn't want to move. She doesn't want to leave her mother lying on the kitchen floor until somebody finds her. But she can't bring herself to look back.
Why would someone kill her family? They never spoke out against wizards. They never even went to Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall had taken her, as she did for many Muggle-born students. Why was there a target on her family?
She can't breathe. She can't think. She can't move.
But her ears do hear a distinct 'pop' that comes from just outside the house. James shoots up, standing tall over her, but she can't even bring herself to quieten down in case the Death Eaters have come back.
"James?! Cress?!"
"Padfoot?"
Cressida wails louder at the sound of her friend, head falling forward between her legs. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" His heavy steps thunder and shake the old wooden shack of a house. "Get her out of here!"
"I'm trying," James hisses, his voice quieter but just as sharp. He grunts at something Cressida doesn't bother to see. "You can't apparate with her like this!"
"I don't fucking care!"
A hand much firmer than James' has ever been grips her forearm and she is pulled through the thin pipe of magical transportation, her body stretching and squeezing all at the same time.
The surrounding dryness transforms back into warm but fresh air. Cressida's wails only pause for a second as a new type of pain engulfs her. She screams again, this time in pain for herself as her entire thigh and the top of her right calf are slashed with an invisible weapon. The blueness of her jeans disappears within seconds, replaced by the dark and heavy colour of blood.
"What's going on?! Boys?!"
Sirius is the one leaning over her, his eyes unfocused and his hands trembling. James stands near her feet, jaw slack, and it looks like he isn't breathing. "Mum!" he calls back.
Cressida falls onto her elbow, exhaustion compelling her to just fall altogether. Hands that she knows belong to Sirius graze over her side and arm, the touch unsure and hesitant. Cressida lowers herself until her forehead presses against the polished dark wood. Her screams have morphed into groans behind gritted teeth.
The distinct sound of heels against the same wood is the only sound that reaches her brain. Euphemia. Safe.
...Heh...