Chapter 38: Betrayed and Silenced

Rosier's body is flung backwards. He lands on top of her box television, knocking it from the small stand. It falls to the ground, the screen cracking, and his body draped over it.

Cressida spins back around, her wand pointed at Peter, but he is still clutching his stomach and cowering against the door. Her feet cross one another, not letting her fierce guard drop as she moves across the flat.

Why.

Why is the question she so desperately wants answers to. Was he drawn in by the philosophy that Voldemort preaches or is he hoping for something to gain?

Cressida drops to her knees at Sirius side who braces his arm against the wall, his other hand clutching at his chest, blood spilling through his fingers. "I have to get you out of here," she hisses. They couldn't stay. Who knows how many others were aware and waiting. If their deaths took too long, suspicion would grow, and they'd have more than one vengeful and one pathetic Death Eater on their hands.

Grunts of pain slip past his lips, his hand moving from the wall to her shoulder, draping his weight onto her. She can hear his panic, his hard pants. She brushes his hair back from his face, but the movement is to soothe herself so she can think. They rock gently, her shirt soaking with his blood.

They need to get somewhere safe. She had ideas but wanted to give herself the night to properly decide. That leisure is gone now.

Her thoughts are cut off by the sound of boots on the floor and Cressida' fiery glare shoots upwards along with her wand. Peter walks towards them, his wand low but pointed between them. He takes each step with caution. "I'm sorry," he croaks, tears filling his eyes. "I have to. He'll kill me."

Sirius launches forward over her shoulder. His low growl dark and penetrating. "Then let him."

His wand doesn't waver, though it shakes under his grip. Cressida breathes through her nose, her wand steady. "Leave," she commands. Merlin, how was James going to take this.

Peter's head tips to the side, his lips parted with strings of saliva between them. "I can't."

It's them or Peter. Her head pushes away all emotion to the situation in front of her, regarding it only with the most logical approach. This is chess. Cressida's eyes dart to Rosier's dead body. And she's killed the queen, leaving Peter, king by consequence, at checkmate.

The beginning of a word resonates in his mouth, but she beats him to it.

"Avada Kedavra."

For the second time, a green jet of light protrudes from her wand tip, its energy form flashing for a moment, then nothing but the sound of a body colliding with the floor. Not letting her eyes linger on the fallen body of her former friend, she turns her head away and presses a hard kiss into Sirius' head.

"I need to grab a few things, then we're going to get you out of here and somewhere safe. But I need you to stay awake, alright?"

She lifts his head with her hand under his jaw. Sirius nods with no words. Assisting him to lean back up against the wall, Cressida races to her room, yanking her trunk open. It would be too hard to carry both it and help Sirius, so she rifles through it, narrowing down her selection of belongings and shoves them into her extended shoulder bag. Leaving the trunk open, Cressida sprints back around and into Sirius' room, opening his own trunk, grabbing a few things that she knows he'll need before leaving that too, open.

A plan formulates in her head. One that might save them trouble for a while at least. With both the Order and the Death Eaters.

Strapping the bag over her neck, her knees fall to the ground back at Sirius' side. He's staring at Peter's body. It seems to cause him more pain than the wounds. "We've got to get out of these warded areas," she tells him, pulling his arm over her shoulder. "And I need to get outside to do something. Then I've got a place in mind to go."

"He's dead."

"Yes, and we've got to move." With a loud grunt, Cressida heaves them both to his feet. The pain of the movement at least seems to bring Sirius back to the present moment as he shifts his weight to carry more of it himself. "You alright?"

"Fine," he hisses.

Cressida whispers words of self-assurance under her breath, leading them to the door of their flat. Despite Sirius' attempts to carry his own weight, she still leans heavily under his arm, her steps staggering. She barely manages to open the door without tipping them both over.

Mr Thornberry is in the corridor, waddling with a newspaper in his hands. His nose lifts to peer at them through his thick glasses. "Dear, what on earth-"

"Obliviate," mutters Cressida, erasing all memories of them from his mind. The elderly man's face turns blank, similar to someone under the imperius curse. She keeps moving so he would not see them by the time he comes around.

The five flights of stairs become one of the most agonising things, second to only the cruciatus curse. With Sirius' blood on her hands, gripping the railing for balance becomes impossible. Her thighs and calves burn, the muscles at the base of her neck stiff and tender. Sirius is weakening every second and his reliance on her became vital. His head began to lop around, his feet missing steps.

But at last, they reach the ground floor. It fills her with a second shot of adrenaline, her shoulder barging into the front door. The five steps down onto the pathway feel like the last few steps out of hell but they make it, and she feels herself passing through the layers of wards. They hobble around the building and into the side alley, but just before they find themselves under the complete cover of darkness, Cressida pulls her wand out again, Sirius' grip on her shoulder tightening to keep himself up. She points it to the sky.

"Morsmordre."

A silvery-green pulse of light jets from her wand into the night sky. It settles in the air above the building, starting off as a cloudy ball. A spell that she learnt. And part of her plan.

"What was that?" Sirius heaves.

Cressida restabilises his arm over her, darkly muttering, "The Dark Mark. Sirius, I'm about to apparate so I need you to be calm." He nods to her, with visible attempts to control his breathing. Then they apparate.

Xx

The front door to her childhood home opens with a simple kick with the base of her foot. It opens with a creak. It was replaced since Sirius' bombarded it down, but still makeshift and run-down. The house is silent, their simple footsteps shaking down dust from the ceiling and doorframes.

It was the only place she could think of that would be completely abandoned. And nobody would think that she would come back to the place where she has horrible memories. The place where her parents were murdered. As far as she is aware, the land was given back to the council to do as they please. And they simply left it untouched, to be ruined by age. They were too poor and no developers sought the area.

Sirius folds forward, his legs giving way. She lets him fall, protecting his head and softening it as much as she can. He turns onto his stomach, far too pale.

"Diffindo."

His shirt rips neatly down the middle and she tears the fabric away. The cut along his torso is both long but not as deep as she first feared. Unable to formulate words of comfort, Cressida squeezes his arm then sprints towards the bathroom, hoping that the possessions of the house have remained untouched.

They have. She flings the cabinet open, pulling out everything she can think of like she could pour it all into the perfect potion to trickle down his throat. With bottles and rags heaped in her arm, Cressida races back through her home, not even needing to calculate the turns that come so naturally to her.

Sirius is close to unconsciousness. "Stay awake, Stars," she tells him, tapping his cheek firmly. Her hands start to shake as she unscrews the cap of a disinfectant. She can't even think about what order anything goes in. "Fuck…fuck!"

"C…Calm down." His voice is barely above a whisper, his bloodied hand lopping through the air until it lands on her thigh, the tips of his fingers squeezing. Cressida nods to herself, swallowing the tears down.

She works through it, using his touch as an anchor. Before she knows it, she has patched up his wound as much as she can and the bleeding has subsided, leaving only the gash on his head in need of attention.

But the calming of her mind isn't completely pleasant. With it, it allows thoughts to intrude that she wants to ignore for a little longer. She killed him. The tears resurface, making it hard to see what she is doing whilst trying so hard to ignore that they are there.

Cressida finishes tending to him as much as she can, and now in a Muggle-free location, she is free to lift him using magic. Sirius floats behind her, her hand resting underneath his head to keep it steady and lifted. She guides him to her old room, laying him down on the mattress. He sighs, sinking his head into the pillow.

"You can sleep now," she tells him, choking down the stinging in her throat. She pulls the remainder of his shirt off, tossing it to the far side of the room. "I'm going to put protections up."

Reluctant to leave his side, but knowing the feeling swelling inside her, Cressida forces herself to leave him be, making up for it with the promise of her return. With a hand covering her mouth, she hurries back to the bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and spills her guts into the bowl. It is vile and retched and doesn't stop until her stomach empties everything it has and a little more.

She killed Peter. She killed him.

It was Peter or Sirius. Maybe not even directly, but any more harm to Sirius would have killed him, and if she was hurt, then she wouldn't have been able to get him out. Even if Peter wasn't going to harm her, he would have forced her away.

Yet her mind struggles to justify it.

Cressida falls against the side of the toilet, a hand limply laying over her stomach. She remembers meeting Peter for the first time. When he would cheer them on at their Quidditch matches. Staring contest in potions. Staying with him for Christmas.

She can't help but feel hypocritical and two-faced. She helped Regulus.

But Regulus also never threatened her life, or her friends'. Regulus risked his life and gave it in defiance. Peter cowered.

Cressida draws her legs close to her chest, locking them under her arms and screams, hot tears tracking down each side of her face. She screams until her throat burns as much as her legs do, until her head sways with light-headedness.

Regulus. Fabian. Gideon. Marlene. Fleamont. Euphemia. Peter. And nearly Sirius.

So many times it could have been her, but every time she managed to survive. And she can't figure out why.