Chapter 16: The Replacement
Sirius hadn't taken that night very lightly. Or kindly. He isn't exactly livid with her, and she knows it's only because he knows that would be the wrong approach. But if he could be, she doesn't doubt that he would.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, following her around the kitchen as she made herself a sandwich.
"Because I didn't want to be a whiny bitch," she answered flatly, plating her lunch. "But if that's what I have to be for you to listen to me, I will be."
He continued arguing with her well into the evening. She didn't know what he was trying to get out of it. She settled with the conclusion that he was upset – because that's what Sirius does when he doesn't know things. He gets upset and angry. He lashes out. He would calm himself after a while.
After two nights of his attitude that balanced on fury and the desire to help her, she finally snapped back. "Because I hate myself!" she screamed. "And I hate more than anything that I do feel that way. So stop badgering me with questions that I've been asking myself already. I know that you care, so just step back and let me figure myself out."
Figure out the road map of her next choices in life.
Cressida had stormed into her room, crumpling to the floor between her bed and the far wall. He left her alone for an hour, gathering his own thoughts or leaving hers to her she didn't know. But he came in, leaving the light off and the night covered her window. They were both just shadows. He sat down silently and just drew her to him, so she sobbed into his chest. "I want to be strong."
"Then just keep going." The side of his thumb stroked her temple. "Just keep going."
"It's like a parasite in my mind and I can't get it out."
She told him more than she had ever said aloud that night. More than she ever had properly conjured as a thought.
xx
James leans against the wall next to one of their arched windows, watching the stagnant traffic. With spring around the corner, the snow has melted away, leaving only the occasional chilly breeze as a reminder that winter is still with them. Peter hangs around the coffee table, reading the Daily Prophet. There's no real reason for their gathering today other than to spend time together before Remus leaves on a mission to Northern Scotland for a few weeks.
"What's this?" Sirius and Cressida perk, watching James' flat palm press against an invisible force about an inch off the glass. Cressida's stomach drops with her head in a silent bow of shame.
"A precaution," Sirius answers. "I almost tripped and fell right through it the other day."
"Meaning Cressida pushed him," Peter grins cheekily over the top of the newspaper. Lifting her head, she sends the boy a wink before shifting to Sirius. She doesn't glare at him, but it is a mournful expression. She wishes he didn't feel the need to do that. If she could rip those thoughts out of her head, she would. They're not kind, nor welcome. But it eats away at her every day, waiting and hoping that she will become weak enough to listen.
She won't.
She can't.
She hadn't lied when she told Sirius that James' death would tip her. But that would be the only thing she allowed to. She would submit to it. No matter how hard it is or how much loathing she feels every time she sees her own reflection, Cressida will not give up.
"Are you accusing my fiancée of attempted murder, Wormtail?" James bellows. He darts forward, scooping her up into his arms. "Not my precious girl who wouldn't harm a bowtruckle."
"Your fiancée almost had me as a pancake on the sidewalk under our building," Sirius goads with a brilliant smirk. "Speaking of, are you finally going to get her out of my house now? She steals all my hot water."
Cressida lets out an aghast cry, followed by the disbelieving sounds of James and Peter. "Mate, we shared a bathroom for seven years," James contends. "We know that you're the water hog."
Sirius' jaw drops, throwing an accusing hand at her. "How do you know she doesn't"
"The only long showers she takes, is when I'm in there with her."
"Can I perform obliviate on myself? Is that an option?"
As they debate the logistics of obliviating oneself in light-hearted banter, Cressida wilfully stays in James' arm. Guilt that she can't rid herself of rises again, knowing that she's handed James' her life and he hasn't even realised it. And Sirius now carries the burden of that knowledge. She didn't want him to know. She hates that burden.
Their jolly taunts continue at Remus' late arrival. "You missed the party Moony boy," Sirius goads. But at Remus' sombre expression, the rest quickly sober their conversation. "Moony? What's wrong."
Remus stands next to the island bench, his shaggy blonde hair messy and his sweater crinkled. "The McKinnons," he whispers, "were attacked last night." He nods at their gasps. "They were all killed."
"Marlene?" Peter dares to question.
Remus' eyes glaze over, filling with a glossy layer. He shakes his head and they realise then that they've lost her. Cressida snaps her eyes shut, turning and burying her head into James' shoulder. She feels lost; like a piece of the puzzle is missing but you can't figure it out until you finish the rest of the puzzle and there are no more pieces. Marlene had to be here still. Cressida spoke with her not three days ago about the Harpies. James' arms smooth over her back and she feels his deep exhale.
"I'm sorry, but I think I have to go see Lily," Remus chokes. "She's devastated and-"
"No explanation needed," Sirius interrupts. He pats the lankier boy on the back of the shoulder, escorting him towards the door. When Sirius returns, nobody is quite sure what to say. He leans against the counter, dropping his head into his palms, fingers raking through his hair.
This would be the first funeral they attend of someone so close to them. She might regret not saying goodbye to Remus in the future, knowing they wouldn't see each other for a time, but Cressida is still in the shock of the news.
The funeral is morbid. Not in the sense of the beautiful flowers, or the ornate coffins, or the speeches given by the closest members of the McKinnon family, but by the bleakness of death. Cressida didn't bother attending her parent's funerals. They didn't really have any. She couldn't afford them one and she didn't think they'd fancy it anyway.
But she stands in black, James holding her hand and she's forced to look at death for a gruelling two hours. Death is not pretty and it never will be. It will always be the same, whether you die saving a child from a burning building or die in your sleep. The aftermath is always the same. It will just be death.
Yet it does not scare her. The notion of being the one inside the coffin. In fact, she'd prefer to be in one than standing over it where sensations thrust themselves upon her unwelcomely.
Before the funeral is even over, Moody calls for her attention. James and Sirius follow on her tail, despite the roll of the Auror's eyes. They walk to the far end of the tent, well away from the crowd and prying ears. "You must forgive my choice of place to bring this up Miss Hawthorne, but my request cannot be delayed." He eyes off the boys standing behind either one of her shoulders. "Not you Mister Black."
"She'd tell me either way," Sirius says, earning him an elbow in the gut from a thin-lipped Cressida.
"I wouldn't if I couldn't," she says to both Sirius and Moody to reassure him that her lips are sealed. Usually. "What do you need?"
Moody grumbles out a sigh. "Miss McKinnon was given a task by myself of the utmost secrecy that she can no longer carry out. I wish to entrust you with the task."
"It's not what got Marlene killed, is it?" James demands with a low rumble.
"No," Moody answers quickly. "A horrible coincidence." Cressida rolls her tongue over her teeth. They're already replacing her. But this is a war, not a school examination. "Miss McKinnon was chosen to infiltrate an order of Snatchers under the Dark Lord's service. Mostly bandits who like chaos. You were originally my first choice, Miss Hawthorne, but I decided otherwise on account of recent events-"
"Recent events?"
Moody pays no heed to her question. "This will be no easy assignment, I can assure you. We have stocked enough Polyjuice potion to last at least three and a half months. You will have minimal contact with me alone and will we be able to extract you if something turns wrong."
"You want her to be a spy?" Sirius hisses. "Are you being serious right now?"
"Completely," Moody replies in a deadpan. "You're lucky I even let you stay. Mister Potter should be the only other delinquent informed due to the recent engagement. Congratulations by the way."
Cressida huffs out a smile just as sarcastic as his congratulations. But this is her chance, handed to her on a silver platter. "I'll do it." She asked the universe for something that would make her of good use in this war and she would be a hypocrite to say no.
"What?!"
"Good." Moody straightens his back, rounding off his shoulders. "Your task is to simply be an observer. We want you alive and to return with information. Unless you are faced with a situation involving risk to your life or an immediate decision is required to create a drastic change in our favour."
"And what about the lives of somebody else?"
"Use your discretion."
Cressida nods hardily, not letting a slither of anything but confidence show in her skin. "When do I leave?"
Moody flattens the line of his non-existent smile, glancing over each of her shoulders. "Tomorrow. And nobody is to know. You understand me? You will be surrounded by those loyal to Voldemort day in and day out. One rumour or slip of the tongue that speculates you being not who you say you are will guarantee your death." His voice is low and husky; the same he uses when situations are growing out of hand. "And if someone does find out, it will be either of you two as the suspect."
"I trust them with my life," Cressida assures the Auror.
"Good. Because that's what you're doing."
Moody looks around once more, clearing that they hadn't been overheard. He tells her to meet him at the safe house at sunrise then leaves to speak with the funeral attendees, leaving Cressida to face the two boys staring at her.
James looks utterly heart wrenched. "Cress," he breathes. "I don't like this. I won't be with you…"
"I can do this," Cressida smiles, grasping his forearm. "James. I'm not naïve. I know this will be one of the hardest things I've ever done, but damnit I want to do it. Fuck the sitting around I've done lately. This will mean something."
Sirius stares at her with an unreadable expression.
"Can we talk about it? Please?"
"I think she should do it." James and Cressida's eyes snap to Sirius, the former with a pang of betrayal. Sirius bites his bottom lip, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. "James, I live with Cress almost every day and I know she lives with you as well, but I have to watch her when she isn't. You don't see how…" Cressida watches him carefully as Sirius visibly struggles for words. "This is the first thing I've heard her be passionate about other than you in a long time. I'm scared of her going too, but I think I'm more scared of what will happen if we convince her not to."
"And what would happen?!" James cries, throwing his arms out to the side, her grip falling. "She'd be here with us, wouldn't she? I don't know what's going through your head to think that Snatchers are better company."
Sirius breathes heavily through his nose, hands resting on his hips. "Prongs, this is giving her a goal. A goal that matters to her." James' hands stretch to his head, clasping behind them. "This is what she needs-"
Sirius is cut off by a fist flying into his nose. The man collapses to the sodden ground, mud splattering up across his face and the white shirt under his black suit staining. "James!" Cressida cries, yanking on his arm to pull him back from Sirius who holds a blind arm over his face.
The funeral guests begin to gape and whisper, some crowding closer.
"Fuck you, Sirius," James spits. Cressida holds her breathe, fighting to pull him back. "Are you so jealous that it's not just you that's important in her life that you have to take her completely out of mine?!"
Sirius sits there in the muddy grass, knees loosely hanging to either side, held by his elbows and latched hands. His nose bleeds, trickling over his lips. A few people have darted forward as though to help him, but with no move to stand, they stay in their spots.
James pries her fingers away from him, his lips pressed firmly together as though holding a waterfall of thoughts behind them. There is a burning frustration ablaze in his hazel eyes. He looks at her, opening his mouth and raising a hand. But the words never come and he disapparates.
Ignoring the questions flying about, Cressida spins on her heels, striding to Sirius' side. Crouching down, she tilts his face around by his chin. "Nothing a quick episky can't heal," she says. Sirius raises a brow in a silent scoff, jaw stretching. "Thank you. I do need this."
"Just do me one favour, will ya'? Come home." Cressida nods vigorously. "I don't want you there any more than James does, but I also know that you're feeling stagnant. I don't want you to die in a million years, and I don't want it to be by your own hand."