Chapter 28: Strength

Cressida never thought she would be toasting wine to the birth of a Death Eater's child. Yet there she is with a smile plastered and a goblet of red wine in hand. Regulus is somewhere around, mingling with pleasantries so he wouldn't seem out of the sort.

This is also her first close outing with Snape since he saw her wand, but to her surprise, he hadn't even made his presence known to her. Not that she bothers to look for him either, but the lack of grease isn't unnoticed. She clearly hadn't bothered to make many acquaintances over the past three months as nobody bothers to even engage her in conversation. An advantage she'll take.

But the person she does lock onto is probably the least expected. Evan Rosier. His body is clad in a fitted black suit, his light brown hair combed back and styled with some sort of gel. Cressida had a lot to think over the past two nights, and many thoughts travelled back to Hogwarts. And McMullen.

"Rosier," she drawls with a fanned smirk, one arm lazed across her stomach, acting as a resting spot for the opposite's elbow. "I was just overhearing something about you, and I thought I'd figure out if the rumours were true or not."

Evan Rosier matches her smirk and she suppresses the urge to toss her drink at him. Then kill him. "I'm sure there's more than one tale going around. You're going to have to narrow it down for me."

"There's one saying that you had a boy under your imperius curse for quite some time while you were at Hogwarts. I'm sure that would be quite risky considering you were under Dumbledor's watch."

"Old coot couldn't have stopped me," he sniggered. Snatching off a goblet from a floating tray, he drowns over half of it in one gulp. "True," he affirms. "I had my reasons. I thought he would be close to this little Mud-blood girl. At first it was just to get some information from her posse of bootlickers, but he was incompetent even under the spell's influence. Though I suppose I should have been clearer in my instruction. Told him to poison her, not kill her. Like veritaserum, interpretations are important. After he failed to kill her as well, I released and told him if he told anybody that I would make him murder his family."

He finishes his story with a forward bowed head, the sockets of his eyes dark both figuratively and literally. He toasts his goblet to her with a smirk then drowns the rest. Cressida doesn't move, her entire focus pouring into not showing a single thing on her face. For a length of time, it hadn't been Arthur she was talking to. The boy that followed and harassed her shouldn't be the memory she has of him. He didn't try and take her life, the man in front of her did. He saved her life.

There are some that are resistant to the spell; the strongest of minds. That certainly wasn't McMullen, but he found a way around the loopholes and made an antidote the same time he made the poison.

Without speaking, Cressida excuses herself away from the main centre of the party. The Malfoy manner is ginormous but horrid and dark washed. Though James' house is of a darker colour, it is so full of light and love that the darkness feels like warmth. But there the walls feel like prison blocks. Add a few dementors and it may as well be Azkaban.

Knowing that there is nobody following her as shoes were easy to hear against these floors, Cressida marches into the empty part of the mansion. She doesn't have much of a clue where her feet take her, but it is away from Rosier and that would be her only salvation.

After a few minutes, even the sound of their voices are too weak to penetrate far into the home. Cressida chooses a door, unlocking it with magic when the handle only rattled but did not turn. She spins inside, locking the door once more.

It is a study of some sort. Piles of paperwork mostly. Books lined on a black painted bookcase that takes up the entirety of the left wall. One of the fanciest quill and ink sets she's ever seen on the desk itself. Cressida leans over the chair, eyeing off anything that could be of final use before she leaves.

The papers are of no interest. Investments and personal items. But her search halts on the tickle of magic along her arm. Cressida closes her eyes, focusing on the unique feeling.

Then they snap back open, landing on a diary pushed to the side of the desk. It is old and slightly tattered but otherwise in good condition. Cressida couldn't believe it. But it is there – the unique signature of a Horcrux. She flips the front cover open, and the parchment is completely empty. But it has clearly been used in some form.

She tries to convince herself otherwise. That a Horcrux wouldn't just be sitting on Lucious Malfoy's desk like some forgotten book. Kreacher had nearly died trying to retrieve the locket and Cressida had also gotten too close to death. Even the cup had Gringotts' protection.

But maybe that's because it had yet to have one created. Voldemort was entrusting Malfoy the same way he entrusted Bellatrix. Malfoy was just more incompetent and hadn't done anything yet.

Cressida begins to panic, stepping away from the book and back towards the door, then turning around and marching back towards the diary. Should she take it now? Who knows if Malfoy will move it between now and then next chance she gets? But if she does take it, how long will it take him to notice?

She only has two days' worth of Polyjuice left. The decision is made for her. Cressida snatches the diary then leans forward, wriggling it down the front of her shirt. It shimmies down until it is held in place by her belt. Straightening, Cressida rounds off her shoulders and turns back around with a slither of the dignity that she had coming in.

Her feet are swift across the floor, slipping back into the celebration once more. She tries to keep her posture as normal as possible but with the magic spilling from her, it feels like everybody that she passes by would be able to sense it. They can't, she reminds herself. They can't feel what she does.

Their faces blur together. Her feet begin to trip over non-existent obstacles, her shoulders barging into guests. But she finds him, the only clear face, standing alone with a drink in hand. His eyes scan the crowd.

"Regulus." She knocks herself into him, pushing them both out to the boundary of bodies. "We have to go."

His hand drops to his wand. "Why?"

Cressida curls her lips, spying the blond-headed Malfoy standing with his wife who has a babe in her arms. "Because I have a Horcrux stuffed down my shirt. Ask me questions later."

Regulus doesn't remove his hand from his wand, but he places his drink aside and changes the lead. "Will do," he hisses. "Let's go." Their movements are hurried though they try to remain with a calm exterior as they pass by some of the guests. They weave in and out, avoiding calls of their names and offers of drinks. They don't stop for anything, not even when they reach the large front doors and jog down the lane to the gates.

As soon as they pass through the wards, Cressida takes Regulus' arm and disapparates them away.

Their ears fill with a popping noise, the world around them twisting and tunnelling until it reforms as the narrow alleyway between her building's block and the next. They check their surroundings then make a dart for her home. The Polyjuice wears off just as they lock the door.

Regulus turns to her, his palms facing each other. "What in Merlin's name happened?"

Cressida pants as though she had run a mile. Leaning forward, she urges the diary from her shirt and holds it up. Regulus stares at it, no sign of recollection or understanding. "I was snooping around in his office and I felt it. It's the exact same signature that the others have. A tickling, like… like black wisps tracing over your skin and trying to find a way inside of you."

To her shock, Regulus laughs, burying his face inside his hands. She stands there, arms dropping by her side until he lifts once more. "We've seriously found three Horcruxes. We know where another one is and now we just need to figure out how many are left. You just… walked in and took it!" His hands pull down either side of his face, stretching the skin. "This is madness. We have three Horcruxes."

"Yeah," she breathes, chuckling airily as she understands the disbelief flowing through him. "And we don't even know how to destroy them yet."

They go upstairs to her room, and she places the diary an equal distance apart from the other two on her desk. Like if they were to touch each other, the world would implode.

"It won't be long before he notices," she whispers. "It was on his desk. The only time he might give us is if he's too scared to say that it's missing. But everybody at the party will be a suspect which might buy us more time."

"We have to finish it now." Cressida turns her gaze to him. Regulus stares at the diary, his curly black hair a halo around his face. "You don't have enough Polyjuice to last. Malfoy will realise sooner or later." His back eyes shift to her. "Our final move has come."

She nods, her neck stiff. "What's the plan?"

"I read Voldemort's mind. Find out if there are any others and where they are. He won't know what I see, but he'll know for certain that I was inside his mind."

"Are you sure that you can do it?" Regulus stays still, his eyes glazed over. Then they crack and he nods his head. "I think we should write those letters now."

Regulus writes his first, seeing as there is only one quill in her room. She wants to lean over his shoulder and read the words, but she resists and sits on the bed, watching the window instead. Regulus folds his letter, placing it in an envelope and writes Sirius' name on the front.

Then it is her turn. The words flow easily, having known what she wants to tell them for a while. She writes two, one for James and one for Sirius. But as she stares at the new blank piece in front of her, she writes one for Remus and one for Peter as well. The words go well over one page and onto the back of each. She tells James and Sirius what she has been doing and why she has. She tells them of Regulus' help and that she's sorry.

Once they are all folded neatly and placed in envelopes, Cressida stands and hands them to Regulus. In return, he hands her to one to Sirius. "Let's hope we get to burn these," she says.

Regulus nods, staring down at her letters. "On second thought, I don't really want to be the one to hand-deliver them."

Cressida gives a single laugh. "Owl them if you want. Another promise though?" Regulus nods. "Make sure they don't read each others. I wrote them for their eyes only. Burn them after they do if you have to."

"What did you tell them?"

"What they deserve to hear."

Cressida starts cleaning the room, preparing for a quick leaving. As she brushes past him, she notices his stare. "What?

"I don't think you realise how strong you are. Mentally and physically."

A small smile rises to her lips that she doesn't attempt to hide. "I've been learning from you."