Chapter 32: Wonderland
The five Potter residents apparate into a vacant alleyway in the heart of the small cottage-like town near James's home. Cressida looks around, the grip on her trunk tightening.
"We placed anti-apparation wards," Fleamont explains. "An extra precaution to go along with some of the wards the Aurors placed up." Euphemia smiles mournfully at her husband who reaches for her hand and brings it close to his side. "Trying times."
"Is this because of me?" Cressida questions as they walk out of the alleyway. The walk to the manor wouldn't be too long. They've walked down to Grindling plenty of times before. "Because of…"
"Yes and no," James answers. "Obviously it's to help keep Death Eaters out but even if you weren't with us we'd have them up. Trying times," he repeats his father's words. "Any sane wizarding family is doing them."
Cressida nods, not letting herself feel overly guilty. Having the extra protection will do more good than harm. Fortunately, the walk is downhill. Euphemia's short heels click against the cobblestone that is dusted with white powder. The snowstorm hasn't reached down here yet, if it ever will.
"Aren't you cold, Sirius?" Euphemia muses, her hands rightfully stuffed in the pockets of a long, thick coat. Her legs are clad in dark stockings and a stylish hat on her head. Only her face is nakedly exposed to the overly cold winter.
"Yes," Cressida answers for him. "He thought a leather jacket would be the perfect outfit for a snowstorm."
"I saw that on the Muggle newspaper," Fleamont says, nodding in agreement. "Travelling all the way through Scotland."
Sirius, whose cheeks are tinted a harsh red that looks sort of rash-like, vehemently disagrees. "I was fine. Am fine." Cressida glares at him from the corner of her eye. Stubborn bastard. Knowing that he would never say it aloud, Cressida pulls the beanie off of her head and then plops it atop of his. Sirius purses his lips, glaring at the ground for a moment before readjusting it to his head. Her thick hair provides a little more protection than his own.
As the manor comes into view, Cressida feels the magical wall that they pass through. It is similar to walking through a ghost, only without the sticky feeling. It is thick and moves through your body rather than creating a gap for you.
"Would you like me to make you all some hot chocolate?" Euphemia offers as her husband hikes in front of her to be the first to the house. James also quickens his pace. Just like his father, Cressida sings in her head.
"As long as there are marshmallows," James grins as he strides up past his mother. Euphemia scowls, scuffing the back of his head. "I'm kidding."
"I did not raise you to be ungrateful," she mutters. James rubs the back of his head.
Fleamont looks back over his shoulder. "We do have marshmallows, though, don't we?" he questions in great concern. "Hot chocolate is not the same without them." Euphemia quickly assures her husband and son that she has a glass jar full of marshmallows ready.
To Sirius and Cressida, she mutters, "Sometimes I forget that I'm not the only one raising him. I half expect you two to be doing that job at school as well."
"I don't know, Euph," Sirius begins with a smile, "I think James has taught me more than I've taught him."
Cressida smiles to herself at the oddly fond statement. Euphemia, it seems, feels the same way and her smile broadens as she gazes over her son once more. There's so much love and affection in her heart that it hurts Cressida to watch, wishing nothing else but to have had that same gaze from her own mother.
The scent of the manor is welcomingly familiar, a fire already lit and warming the air. Sirius, Cressida, and James take their belongings to their corresponding rooms. It doesn't feel right to unpack just yet, so while she knows the two boys will be doing so, Cressida heads back downstairs to the kitchen where she can hear someone moving about.
"Cress, dear," Euphemia greets. She has taken off her coat to reveal a shin-length skirt of a dark green colour and a matching blouse tucked into it. "I thought I might make a platter as well so you don't get too hungry before I can make dinner. Merlin knows those boys will raid every last thing in here if I don't."
"I can make the hot chocolates if you want," Cressida offers, wiping the invisible dirt off her hands onto her pants. Euphemia gladly accepts her help so Cressida gets to work filling the kettle and heating the stovetop.
The boys take their times, but Cressida casts a heating spell on the drinks, keeping them steaming. She had taken Fleamont's to his study. His desk is filled with paperwork and letters. It always surprises her to see him so still invested in work yet be so contently happy in his fortune. He could stop at any moment and it would have no other effect other than what he does in a day.
Once she returns to the kitchen, James and Sirius are sliding into the stools across the island bench. Cressida pauses in the archway, her eyes lingering on the side profile of the boy she loves.
She needs him back.
A decision that her mind had tried to push away because she wasn't sure if it was a possibility. But it is. It has to be. Cressida needs to sort her mind out before that can happen. She needs to be burdenless and happy like she used to feel. Everything needs to go back to the way it was before and then she could tell him without the fear of bringing him down.
He still loves her. He told her so. And she wants so badly to go up and tell him her own feelings. But that would come with the why. Why had she been so distant if not for reservations about him? And that's the why she needs to be able to answer him before she does.
And Cressida just isn't ready yet for that.
"If you don't take your drink, I'm going to steal your marshmallows," James drawls, head turning to watch her straight on. Breaking from her thoughts, she quickly strides forward and pulls the last mug towards her.
"How has your final year been so far?" Euphemia asks them, sliding the platter across the bench then bracing her elbows near the edge. "Getting emotional yet?"
"Yes," Cressida answers at the same time both boys adamantly answer,
"No."
James' mother only laughs at their responses. "Don't get me wrong," James adds, "I'm going to miss it, but I can't wait to graduate. Hopefully become an Auror, or maybe even something in Quidditch."
Euphemia nods as though a memory reappears to her. "Didn't you say that man from the Falmouth Falcons spoke to you after one match?"
"The Falcons?" Cressida echoes. She hadn't known that James had spoken to anybody about joining a Quidditch league, or that he even considered it as a job. But maybe she should have just assumed so. "Isn't their motto, 'let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads'?"
The Falmouth Falcons are known for their offensive tactics. Much like the Slytherins. James always tries to play honourably. Sirius on the other hand-
"Yep," Sirius laughs, chucking a small chunk of cheese into his mouth. "Said they think James has the capabilities to be a good Chaser. If he's willing to become more aggressive."
Cressida mulls over the fact that James hadn't told her about this encounter. Was he doing the same to her out of spite, or because he truly didn't feel like telling her? For her own sake, she hopes it's the first. "Do you mind if I take this to my room?" she asks Euphemia, picking up her mug of hot chocolate. "I just have some stuff that I need to do. Homework."
"On the first day of break?" James inquires in disbelief. "You've barely been here an hour."
"I don't even bother doing it," Sirius adds in agreement.
Euphemia scolds her two sons. "Don't let them influence you," she declares, eyes pointed at the boys. They turn softer as they reach her. "But they are right. Don't work yourself too hard."
"I won't," she promises, sliding off the stool she had taken. "Just want to get sorted so I'm not doing it on the train back. I get motion sickness."
Cressida carefully balances the mug as she heads back to her room as quietly as she can, nudging her door open with her hip and closing it behind her with her foot. Placing the mug on a nightstand, she pulls her wand from her jacket, and with a quick murmured spell, the lock on the door clicks magically closed.
She needs to get back on track. With school, with her focus. Keep herself busy with things that can truly occupy her mind until her mind sorts itself out. Cressida digs into her trunk, nearly armpit deep and protrudes out a pile of books that stretch from her fingers to her chest. Restricted section and unrestricted. Charms, defensive and offensive spells. Histories.
The books spread across her floor, and she pulls a pillow from her bed and lies upon the shaggy rug covering the hardwood floor. Cressida realises, reading over a book on advanced charms, that she still hasn't given the time to learn the Patronus Charm.
A mental list visualises in her head, the first thing on the list is that spell. It only adds as she reads more and more.
In all honesty, it is not the spells this time that has her interest in the Restricted books. It's that word that has been hiding in the corner of her mind, squeaking like a mouse. Horcrux. It had been mentioned once by a D.A.D.A professor who died shortly after the end of their exams a few years back now. No one else had said anything of it and it has not appeared in any of her schoolbooks.
But it was underlined in that one book she didn't dare bring in case she opened it without thinking by accident. That would be something to explain… It had to mean something. It had to be of importance to somebody. To Regulus? The ink was fresh when she first read it and she knows Regulus had the book not long before her.
And Regulus told her how to open the book, even though she hadn't asked him.
Why was that? Why was it important to him, and why should it be important to her?
Cressida wants to write a letter, demanding an answer. But that is out of the question. Maybe there'd be something in Knockturn alley that would answer a few questions. Though travelling there may as well sign her death warrant in an elegant signature.
A rapid knocking at her door shakes her from the world inside her mind. Her eyes dart to the door where the handle jiggles from someone trying to turn it from the other side. "Cress? Hey, are you alright?"
Muscles kicking into place, she jumps to her feet, swishing her wand at the door and then turns the brass knob. "James," she breathes. "I'm fine. Just reading."
James frowns at her, peering into her room over her shoulder. "Homework?"
Cressida looks back at her room. There are about six or seven books lying open on the floor and more still piled near her trunks. "Got a little distracted. What do you need?"
James' eyes turn back to her. "I need you to come have dinner," he answers firmly. Cressida frowns. Dinner? She hasn't even finished her hot chocolate. The darkness of her room suddenly registers. The sun was already past the horizon, leaving the blue hour to coat the window.
Study. She needs to study. "I've got more reading to do."
"I'm not asking if you want to come watch a movie," he says slowly with a perplexed yet concerned expression. "I'm telling you that food is ready and you need to come eat. I'm not going to bring it up here for you if you're going to forget about it and engross yourself in whatever it is you've got there." Cressida's jaw clenches, a defensiveness rising through her chest at his domineering attitude. Whether James sees that in her face, or hears his own words, he adds, "Just come eat with us, please. So I know you've at least gotten something down."
Sighing in exhaustion, Cressida nods her head loosely. "Yeah. Sorry, I just hadn't realised how late it had gotten." James steps to the side as she exits her room, closing the door behind her. She follows behind him silently until they reach the top of the grand staircase. "James?"
He pauses, one foot on the first step, half-turning back to her. Cressida steps forward, encircling her arms around his neck. She can feel a long breath on her neck and his muscles relax. He steps back onto the second floor entirely, arms enveloping her entire back. It's warm and gives her a sense of completion.
"I don't want to lose you."
Her fear. One step at a time, Cress. One step at a time.
James' arms tighten considerably, his lips dusting over her neck. "I don't want to lose you either."