Chapter 36: Explosion

Cressida sits on the floor of her bedroom. In front of her, the three Horcruxes sit on display. Her legs are folded neatly underneath her, the soft rays of the morning sun only peeking through her window. They would shower her room in the afternoon. She quite feels like a sitting duck. Three objects with extraordinary power with nothing to protect them except her own wand. At least Voldemort had the right idea of putting them under curses and dragon-protected vaults. Though giving Lucious the diary was a foolish mistake.

Her identity is not safe either. Fortunately, there are only a few that are aware of her new homely location. The Marauders, obviously, Alastor Moody, and Elias who she had sent letters to. It had been an unspoken decision that many Order members made. Some, like the Potter manor, are of course, well-known homesteads, but also harbour greater protection around them. Her apartment only had a few wards that she had to revitalise every few months.

"I think I need to move out," she declares.

Sirius, who is perched on her bed, says, "Move in with James? I think that'll be good for you."

"No." Her spine twists and Cressida looks up to her friend with a very blunt face. "I mean somewhere alone. I need to take these with me. Make it known that I don't live with you or James."

"And live alone? Are you mad?"

"Which part makes you think I'm mad? Living alone, or taking the Horcruxes someplace safe?" She doesn't wait for his answer, releasing the twist of her spine to stare at the objects once more. "I need to figure out how to destroy these. The Horcrux is only destroyed once what holds it is."

"So…can't you just toss the diary into the sink? I'm pretty sure water ruins parchment."

Cressida's hands slap on her knees, twisting back around with a sharp glare. "Sirius, do you really think that Dark Magic can be destroyed by water? Be useful for once and stop being an idiot!" Sirius' eyes flash wide and a glint of hurt seeps through them. Her lips part with a silent exhale. Merlin, she just feels so angry. "I didn't even invite you in here and I certainly don't want your snarky remarks." That was the only thing she could find herself saying to tell him to leave. For his own sake.

"What's gotten into you?" he snarls, slipping from the bed.

Cressida doesn't have a sensible answer other than yelling at him, so she resists it altogether. Gathering the Horcruxes, she places them in the top draw of her dresser, the entire thing rocking with the way she slams it shut. She has to leave. She has to figure this out.

Brushing past the standing Sirius, Cressida kneels at her bed, pulling her old Hogwarts trunk out from underneath and laying it open on the bed.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius asks, "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"Leaving. I'll go in the morning."

"Where?!"

"Anywhere. I don't know yet and I don't care."

Her hand is torn away from the trunk by a vice grip around his wrist. "Fuck you." Sirius' lips are curled, his black beady eyes tearing into hers. "You always think you're perfectly fine on your own when you're not. You never have and never will be. I feel sorry for James for having to put up with your sorry arse."

A large rock shoves itself down her throat, jamming around midway. Cressida snatches her wrist back. The anger is still there, but it is driven down by an ocean of pain. Her eyes travel past Sirius and towards the dresser. She can almost see them through the wood. "It's them," she whispers, resigned and slow. "The Horcruxes. Dark magic seeps off them. It's making us angry."

Sirius blinks just as slow as she had spoken. His fingers around her wrist loosen into a gentle hold. "I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't mean any of that."

Cressida only continues staring at the objects. "I said it makes you angry. Doesn't influence what we say at all. We meant what we said." Finally her eyes break away, travelling the sark spheres she had so often sought comfort in. Now they are soft and full of regret, probably as her own are. She pulls her hand from his hold and that seems to be the registering moment as his shoulders sink. "I'm leaving in the morning. I can't tell anybody where I am until I make someone a Secret Keeper. And I'm not choosing you so don't worry about my sorry arse." Elias. She'll ask him. People would suspect James. Cressida first attempts to ignore him, moving around him as she packs her trunk.

He tries to reach out to her again. "Cress, please I-"

"I don't care, Sirius," bellows Cressida, shoving his arm away. "How many times have I told you that I don't need you to look after me. And certainly not so you feel better about yourself because you failed your own brother!"

Sirius' mocking laughter fills the room. "That is rich coming from you! So proud to handle things yourself but whenever something goes slightly wrong you come running to me."

"Don't worry, I don't intend to, anymore."

"And how long will it last until you realise you can't do this on your own. I'll have you knocking at my door within a week begging for help."

"Oh just like I did when I spent three months with Death Eaters?" she perks with a taunting smile before it drops into something more tired and resigned. "I'm tired of you as well. Always standing over my shoulder."

Cressida's shoulder barges against his as she marches out into the main living area. "You need me!" Sirius cries at the threshold of her door. Cressida halts, leisurely turning on her heel. Sirius pants, a hand on the doorway as though using it to hold him steady. His dark hair still hangs around his neck, ragged and with a few strands hanging in front of his face. "You love me and you need me."

Her tongue plays around her cheek, bitterness filling her mouth. Sirius swallows, eyes trained on her. With nothing to say, Cressida changes her path, heading to his room.

The door opens at her will.

"Cr-Cress? What are you doing?"

She doesn't need to search and simply ignores his attempts to gain her attention. First she moves to his nightstand where three framed pictures sit. One with him and James at Zonkos, another with the entire group at James' house, and another with just Sirius and her sitting on the swing on James' porch. She takes the third, pulling the moving picture from the wooden frame.

"Please, what are you doing?"

The photography crinkles under her tight grip in one hand, the other pushing Sirius out of the way as she goes to his dresser, pulling another photo of the pair free. She almost moves to go back out, but her eyes latch onto the snowglobe. There is no picture inside of it at that moment, but her eyes see the smiling faces, fresh from a snowball fight. She takes it too.

"Cress, please don't take that."

He trails behind her, Cressida striding back into her own room. She places the photos on the top of her dresser then starts searching around her own belongings, finding another five photographs of them. Sirius looks between her and the small pile that she makes, his chest moving in continuous pants.

"It's the Horcruxes. You said it yourself."

Her chin lifts, wand slipping into her hand. "I don't need you. I thought I did once, but I need myself and that's all. Incendio." A small ball of flames shoots from her wand, igniting the pile of photographs. His chest lifts with a long draw of air that never seems to leave. Cressida tries to keep her eyes entirely on the flaming pile, but they flicker unwillingly to his face. She can see the hurt and pain. She thought she would feel release doing this. Some sort of ritual so that the two could finally go their own way in life, but she is only left feeling the echo of that hurt. Sirius was right; it was the Horcruxes. But she was also right – they don't make you say things. They just make you angry. Perhaps there was a middle ground. She can feel their magic seeping out and crawling over her skin. Perhaps they are clouding her thoughts.

Her hand shoots out, knocking the heavy globe off the wooden slab. It clashes against the ground with the loud crackling of glass, the liquid inside seeping into the carpet. The photographs shrivel in on themselves before disintegrating completely.

After a pregnant pause, Sirius whispers, "Did you really want to do that?"

Yes. No.

No. Her innermost desire wants to go back in time and save those photographs. But on the outside, she remains solid and stiff. "I need to pack and I'd rather you not be in my way." Cressida returns to her trunk, sorting through her bedside draws.

"Those weren't yours to destroy."

"I've destroyed a lot of things that weren't mine to destroy. I hardly think a few photographs matter much in comparison."

"They mattered to me!"

Cressida slumps onto her mattress, head hanging close to her chest. The anger had become so tiring that it seeped away with nothing left to grab at. Her eyes close over, wishing away the last half an hour into non-existence. Soon, the mattress bounces under another weight. "Sorry," she mutters, her own ears barely hearing the word.

"Me too." Her eyes peel open. Sirius sits on her left, his posture a mirror of hers. "I really didn't mean… a lot of that. I just wanted to hurt you."

Her head nods numbly. "That's the nature of the dark magic. I need to destroy them."

"We." Their heads turn in sync. Sirius slides his hand over her blanket, engulfing hers. "We need to. Not because I don't think you can't do this on your own, but I want to be there with you nevertheless."

Cressida's throat stings with the sudden urge to cry. Her fingers intertwine with his, gripping them so tightly she knows it must be painful. "Sirius, this is going to be hard and secret. You might not be able to see Remus for Merlin knows how long."

He nods with a slight upward curl to his lips. "He'll understand one day. But I know where I need to be right now. How about you sleep in my room tonight? Get some space away from them."

"I'm not sure how much ten meters is going to help, but yeah," she breathes with a mirthful tint. "I'm sorry, about the photos. And the snowglobe. You just really hit a soft point in me."

Sirius smiles gently, pulling his wand from his pants. He points it at the floor where there is a wet patch from the watery liquid. "Reparo." The shards of glass swirl through the air, the liquid almost moving in reverse and within seconds, the snowglobe sits perfectly intact on the floor. "The photos are a shame, but I know that James has plenty in the album. And I'm sorry too, for just using that against you. I'm flattered really. But it does make me feel bad about my rant about not being able to love you in that way."

Her chest presses inwards with a huff. "It's a different type of love than I have for James. I don't exactly want to rip your shirt off and make out with you, but I…"

He squeezes her hand. "I know."