Chapter 3: Alastor Moody
They've been searching for this damn stone since Cressida graduated Hogwarts, and not a single lead that they've been given has led them to anything valuable. As Glasgow proves to lead them to nothing, just the same as the rest, Cressida begins to break at the frustration.
She doesn't even know what the stone is, or what it does. Only that Alastor would know it when he sees it, and she'll probably face enough protection barriers to wear her down if they're in the right place.
It feels like the most fruitless thing to do; searching for a stone that she doesn't even know the shape or size of when a war that's been raging on for nearly ten years now is gaining momentum that even has her partner on the edge of his seat on most days.
They had searched far and wide, starting with Tom Riddle's old orphanage, Wool's Orphanage, down in London. The matrons there kept nothing from his time as he took almost everything he had with him to Hogwarts. Cressida has questioned Moody many times to the importance of the stone, or why Voldemort would find it interesting, but he only tells her what she already knows.
Soon that frustration turns to Dumbledore himself.
She tosses down a newspaper article onto the round side-table, dated back to 1973. The small manor is long abandoned, the past resident dead for many years and the deed returned to the bank. This was someplace that Riddle was supposed to have come sometimes during the Summers, but with the one man who could give them more information now dead, their whole trip becomes a waste.
Moody's heavy steps can be heard from upstairs, sprinkling dust from the ceiling into her hair but she pays it no heed. There's nothing here that even would hint to Dark Magic, or even a relation to Riddle himself. No letters lying about, artifacts, pictures. Just an old man living out the rest of days.
Her necklace warms against her skin and already an instinct, Cressida reaches up to her neck, pressing her thumb against the jewel as she skims across the desk.
It's a wonder that they haven't come out and clean the place yet, but she did have to break down a few wards to enter it so perhaps there was a Muggle-prevention one she hadn't properly identified.
Moody returns, thumping down the staircase. "Nothin'" he grunts. Cressida knocks a vase off the side of the desk, letting it crash against the cold floor. Moody simply stares at it whilst she seethes in silence. "Better the vase than me," he mutters. "Let's go."
Always apparate in a safe place; Alastor Moody's number one lesson. Unless so desperate you have no other choice, apparating out of sight has become one of the first rules that everybody is taught in the Order. Spells, and more importantly people, can follow through the trail of the apparation if they're close enough and this could lead to the revealing of a safe house if someone panics. One of their Aurors died when Bellatrix Lestrange sent a Killing Curse through an open disapparation. And apparations leave magical marks, detectable for hours after which the Death Eaters can reveal. It wouldn't reveal their second-end location, but it would be enough to show that someone was there recently.
Cressida follows behind Moody to the large oak doors that have glass side panels that are hazy and patterned. Her chin is held low, feeling the wasted two and a half months taking its toll.
Just as his hand touches the silverly knob of the front door, the sound of a single chip of glass breaking echoes throughout the high-roofed home. From behind them, where the broken vase lays.
Without hesitation, Cressida spins on her heels, throwing her arm wand forward, and a shot of red sparks shooting from the tip. A man cloaked in black flies back against the desk, breaking the wood in half. He falls unconscious. Moody storms past her, his wand at the ready. They must have snuck into the house towards the end of their search since the grounds had been cleared when they first entered. As the Auror searches the closest rooms, Cressida jogs towards the unconscious Death Eater, pulling the mask away from his face. She doesn't recognise him.
She snaps back to attention as the sound of another fight breaks through.
"Ya bastard!" Moody cries. Cressida races into the main living area, skidding around the corner on a loose piece of parchment. There are three Death Eaters in the room, all taking on her partner. Moody points his wand at the one in the middle. "Avada Kedavra."
A green jet of light shoots from his wand, hitting the Death Eater straight into the chest. He flies back just as far as the victim of her stunning spell did. Only this one ends up dead.
"Stupefy!" she shouts, shooting at the closest one to her. Now in a fair fight, they easily keep their foes at bay, spells shooting back and forth. A curse comes at her, the light scraping across her forehead, leaving a burning pain in its path. "Impedimenta!"
The Death Eater skids across the floor, crashing into a large glass cabinet just as Moody disarms his opponent, spinning him in enchanted ropes. Cressida pants, raising a hand to her forehead, pulling it back only to gaze upon glossy red on her fingertips. The remaining conscious Death Eater struggles in his bindings, cursing them with his tongue. Moody only huffs, flicking his wand and silencing the man. "We've gotten clearance from the Minister to use the Unforgivable Curses when we are certain of the suspect," he says to her, answering her silent question as she stares down at the dead man. Aurors were to subdue and bring in their arrests before the war, but now sometimes it appears, they are being locked up without trial, and sentenced to death even before then. She doesn't feel pity for the man at first, knowing that he could have been her death, but she isn't the one to remove his mask to identify him, too terrified of seeing a face that she prays will never be behind one.
Moody takes the honour, tearing the metal from his face. "Fraiser," he says. "Small Pureblood family. Not surprising." He looks back to the bound man. "Why don't you head home? I'll get them to the Ministry."
"Are you sure?" she questions. Though she has no desire for the credit of helping, which would only put a target on her back if the Daily Prophet heard wind of the story, she doesn't want to leave him in the company of three Death Eaters still alive.
Moody waves her off. "You report back to the Phoenix." The Phoenix – Dumbledore. Cressida nods slowly, walking backwards until she reaches the door and slips out, jogging down the pale grey stone stairs that lead into the half-dead, half overgrown garden. Double checking that nobody is around, and with no wards to stop her, she disappears with a small pop.
It takes her longer than she would have liked to return all the way to London, apparating closer and closer to England but eventually taking the Knight bus to the Leaky Cauldron and apparating the rest of the way to her apartment block. She decided it would be safer to take the bus to the Leaky Cauldron which is hardly a place of interest for any prying eyes on the bus.
Cressida pulls her denim coat closer over her chest, fumbling with her house keys as she stands outside the security lock. With the adrenaline of the fight still pumping through her, every second with her back turned, well and truly in the middle of the night, only heightens her desperation to get inside. She would speak to Dumbledore tomorrow.
As soon as the lock clicks, her shoulder barges into the door and Cressida is jogging up the stairs in the low light, wand in hand, keys in the other. Getting into apartment 23 takes her much less time, fortunately.
There are no lights on, and the television is off. The large hanging curtains over the arched windows are drawn closed and the kitchen sink is clear of any dishes. Wandering if Sirius had indeed taken her suggestion to head to James' she tiptoes to his door, peeking in. Though the light remains off, she can see a solid form inside the covers and a dark splay of colour over the cream-coloured pillow. Smiling gently, she closes the door again.
She takes off the small pouch bag, placing it on the countertop. It is charmed with the undetectable extension charm and her arm delves into it, right up to past her elbow. Withdrawing her pencil and journal, she takes her time to write a short note to James, letting him know that she is back and safe and would come over in the next few days. Not expecting an answer till morning, she leaves it on the countertop, directing her feet towards the bathroom to have a look at the cut on her forehead that the Knight bus conductor so graciously pointed out to her.
A scream rips through the air. For a moment, the apartment around her dematerialises into the strange manor, the sudden threat of Death Eaters rearising. But it disappears before she can lift her wand.
"Sirius."
Cressida sprints to his room, barging through the door and flicks the light on. It cast the room is a strange yellow hue. Sirius is sitting up in his bed, mouth hanging in heavy pants, and his dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. His black eyes are zipping around until they land on her. "Cress," he pants. "You're home."
She nods, striding to his bedside. "Are you alright?" His breathing slows and he moves his head up and down. "C'mere." Cressida crawls onto his bed, unravelling the tangled bedsheets from his legs and arms and laying it over them both. Sirius slumps against her side, pulling them both down to the mattress. "What'd you dream about, Paddy?"
He doesn't answer her, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the bony curve of her shoulder. Cressida presses her lips together, taking long and slow breaths to encourage him to follow suit. After a while, when she thinks he's fallen asleep, Sirius sits up, glancing over her. "You're hurt."
"Yeah," she chuckles bitterly. "Dark magic. Won't heal with magic or dittany." Fortunately, they're smart enough to carry Muggle supplies. Against her protest, telling him that he should just go back to sleep, Sirius drags her to the bathroom where he adamantly persuades her that he is capable of using items from their first-aid kit.
"Sit," he orders, gesturing to the toilet seat with the lid down. Cressida slumps onto it, watching him fiddle around with small bandages and bottles. Giving him the confidence he probably deserves, she doesn't guide his way through it.
He does perfectly fine, cleaning and disinfecting the cut and then patching it together with a small gauze which he sticks to her skin with tape rather than a bandage. He kneels in front of her once he's done, touching his necklace. Cressida smiles silently, touching her own and watching the jewel that was underneath his shirt turn fiery-orange. "We ran into four Death Eaters," she tells him. "Killed one, the other three incapacitated. Moody is taking care of them. Don't know how they found us yet. Or if they were even looking for us."
Sirius gives her a wary smile. "Do you want company tonight?" Cressida turns her head away with a mirthful smile but nods.
"Would be nice."
Leaving the cleaning up of the medical kit till the morning, they head back out to the living area. She looks towards his open door and Sirius heads in that direction, but he only turns off the light to his room and then walks towards hers. Cressida follows in after, laughing at the sight of a gigantic black dog lying across her bed. "I'm going to get changed, don't look."
In response, with a haughty, doggish huff, Sirius rolls onto his back, legs pointed to the roof and his head half into her pillow. Rolling her eyes, Cressida changes into some sleepwear, checking over her shoulder every now and then. But Sirius only rolls onto his side, staring out the window. A few shining lights from the main city reflect into his eyes. "Move over, oaf." The large dog shuffles himself pawing at her blanket and dives in nose-first. He circles around underneath the sheet, settling down in a tucked position, his snout the only thing showing. Cressida blindly scratches behind his ears, staring out the same window, hoping that Moody is fine on his own.