Chapter 6: Mud-Blood

Mud-blood.

The foul, bitter word echoes like a bludger around her head. One of the biggest lies Cressida has ever told was telling James that the word meant nothing to her. It has been haunting and taunting her since her first few days at Hogwarts; a stain on her skin that the world seems to see even when she covers it.

The status itself is not shameful and part of her is proud to carry such a title. Well, the 'muggleborn' title. A child with no knowledge of the world she was venturing towards. One with strange words and customs and costumes. Teachers expecting her to point a stick at something and make it fly. Her father thought the idea quite ridiculous and almost refused to send her. But her mother, the kind of woman that is impressionable, seemed to be enchanted by Minerva McGonagall's wit and charm. Along with a beautiful display of fireworks above their country-side home.

She had gone onto the train, expecting nothing but the same welcoming the McGonagall had come to her home with. And at first, that is very much what she received. Of course it was James' cockiness that first introduced them, when he saw her nervously looking around. He knew 'everything there is to know' despite also never having been to Hogwarts himself. But Cressida had trusted him and trailed along while he searched the carriages.

Then they had found Sirius Black, striding strutting down the train carriage and James had instantly taken a liking to him on their first encounter. And it seems Sirius felt the same. It wasn't until a fateful encounter with a group of future Slytherins who were discussing blood status. Having no idea what they meant, Cressida answered them unwaveringly when asked if her parents were witches and wizards. She'd ignored James' tug on her arm. That had been the first time she realised that Hogwarts isn't so strange. It wouldn't be void of the school-ground bullies.

With every neuron in her brain firing rapidly with ideas of curses she would send every death-eater and their apprentices; Cressida fails to notice the incoming chance.

"Impedamenta!"

An invisible wave of energy travels through the space between her and the caster. It seems to ricochet off of her, forcing her feet off the ground. A grunted gasp erupts from her throat as her elbows drive into the stone, books and bag splayed out around her.

In front of her, the only other occupant of the rather vacant corridor is Rabastan Lestrange. The sixth-year Slytherin who's clothes her and James charmed to disappear. His black hair is slicked backwards until it reaches the nape of his neck where the outgrow is left to curl tightly like a collar. His roman nose protrudes as the main feature of his face, accentuated by sharp eyebrows. His clothes still aren't fixed but are being held in place by a belt that scrunches his pants beyond belief. And his shoes are dark snow boots, even in the middle of Autumn.

Rabastan's eyes blaze as she can't help a smirk grow subtly at the sight. "You think you're so funny, mud-blood, don't you?" He stalks forward, slowly, knowing there is no one behind her to back her up. "You think those stupid charms you practice is real magic? You just wait. Maybe I'll be the one to show what the Dark Arts can do."

"You think that's smart, Lestrange?" Cressida growls, a hand slowly crawling towards her head where her wand is pushed through her bun. "Bragging about that while you're still in Hogwarts? You know they take your wand if you're expelled, right? Then the only magic you'll be doing is side-show tricks. At least you already have a costume."

Spit flies from his mouth. "Diffindo!"

Cressida's wand strikes upwards. "Protego!"

The diffindo charm rebounds off her particularly strong protection shield, the lightning-coloured spell slicing through the sleeve of his robe.

How stupid can Slytherin's be? Sure, hexes and charms are used by her friends, which rarely cause any sort of physical harm, but to use a spell that would quite literally cut her… They've grown bolder. And she'd have to learn to do the same.

A spell creeps up through her throat and onto her tongue, beginning to tickle her lips but another spell-caster beats her. "Confundus!" The blue light knocks against Lestrange's shoulder from the side. Cressida takes the spare moment to rise back to her feet, not bothering about her belongings, but keeping her wand raised at the slightly dazed Slytherin.

The source of the spell does not remain a mystery for long as Sirius and James's heavy footsteps thunder down an adjacent corridor, James slightly lowering his wand. "Filthy pig," Sirius growls, staunching forward, raising his wand, unlike James. Just as Lestrange begins to come back to his right brain, Sirius waves his wand. "Stupefy."

As Sirius keeps his wand pointed at the stunned foe, Cressida glances at James who gives her a pointed look. She nods in answer. She's fine. "Sirius," he drawls. "That's enough." He says it as though being forced to by his mother. Truthfully, he probably couldn't care if Sirius did or didn't continue, but the risk of a prefect or teacher appearing grows every second. And it wouldn't look good as three against one, no matter how it started.

Against her predictions, Sirius does stop, but his wand stays by his side. Huffing, Cressida gathers her belongings. "Thank you," she grumbles, "but I did have it sorted."

James meanders towards her, an amused brow raised. "That's why you were on the ground? You're lucky it was just him." He glances over his shoulder at the Slytherin still gathering his wits. "Probably thought he was in luck finding you alone."

Sirius joins them, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, confident that Lestrange wouldn't be bothering them for the rest of the day. He'd probably go to the hospital wing at this stage. "Fucking idiot," he smirks. "Did he not hear about you and his brother's duel in our D.A.D.A exam last year? You wiped the bastard off his feet."

Cressida half-smiles, not really in the mood to conjure a full one. "I doubt the house would be willing to admit that. Probably heard that I was a wimp or something. What are you two doing down here anyway?"

"Searching for our lovely lady," Sirius grins, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other. "We're heading off the Hogsmeade. Our classes finished for the day."

Cressida holds up her two books. "I have a study date with the library. I have to get that essay for Care of Magical creatures done by tomorrow. Speaking of, I know you haven't done it, Sirius."

He tips his head from side to side. "True," he agrees slowly. "But I'll figure something out. I always do."

And he always does. And Cressida has no idea how. If she had his wit and ability to sail her way through life as he does, she'd take every advantage she could as well. "I'll drop my work off on your bed when I finish," she offers, knowing that it would mean he'd at least get some extra hours of sleep. Purely for her own sanity, since a tired Sirius is a grumpy one. "Can't promise how good it'll be though."

Sirius waves his hand through the air. "I'll get Remus to proofread mine in the morning."

"Do you want anything while we're out?" James questions, hands stuffed in his pockets. Neither of them are in their robes, likely having changed as soon as class ended.

Cressida sways on her toes, thinking a bit too intently about the offer. She knows she wants something, but no single image appears. "Surprise me?" Peeking over their shoulders, Cressida giggles at the sight of a still dazed Lestrange. "He might need that wit-sharpening potion."

Xx

Studying has never been so hard before. The book lays open in front of her, black and white painting her entire vision yet no words form to make any meaning. Cressida's elbows must be driving pits into the oak-wood library tables. A half-assed essay sits next to it. Ink blotches stain the paper, words smudged and misspelt or barely legible.

After only an hour of attempting, the snapping of her books is so loud that the librarian's heel can be heard clicking along the stone. Cressida hastily tucks her belongings away, planting the most innocent smile she can conjure by the time the surly young woman approaches. Of course, by presence alone, Cressida is the believed troublemaker and the librarian gives a strict eye of warning then continues on. Slouching once more and tucking her belongings away, she marches out of the library and towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

All she can envision on the journey back is her bed; the soft duvet pulled back and welcoming, the sweetest dreams. And waking up perfectly in time for dinner without the post-nap lag. The day, admittedly, has been horrid. It's a dispute whether Lestrange has informed the other snakes of what transpired in the empty west corridor and the image of him returning with more goons lingers in the back of her head.

Cressida likes to think of herself as very capable when it comes to duelling. Even as good as Sirius and James, who practised their skill outside the classroom as well. So the idea of duelling with them by her side, as well as Remus who is just as ready to defend himself and his friends, is not all that unfavourable. However, facing off more than two Slytherins alone, as James and Sirius prance around Hogsmeade, does tickle her fear.

With all that in mind, the comfort of the Gryffindor Common Room seems all that more devouring as the warm red envelops her. Like a typical weekday afternoon, a few students linger about, taking the seats in front of the fireplace and at the dining table. The older students of sixth and seventh year have their nose pointed in books, eyes only appearing over the rim to send a boisterous group of second years a filthy glare. And Cressida is content to leave that all behind for her room.

Until fate has it that she finds Remus sitting alone in the cushioned alcove under the arched window. His eyes are closed but there is no mistaking that he is wide awake, with his legs tucked under his arms, head lopping against the glass. Cressida comes to a stop, doing the calculations in her head. Three days.

It's an effort – more than she'll admit- to push away the selfish calls to just leave him be, but then she may as well take away the title of friend. His woes override hers today.

Cressida's satchel slumps from her shoulder and onto the floor, books joining it. "Why you're down here and not in your dorm is beyond me," she smiles gently. Remus opens his eyes, matching her smile with a small faltering. There's no dark circles under his eyes, but they droop. And his hair is more unkempt than James'.

"I didn't want to be the loser in bed at three on a Wednesday," he croaks, the smile turning upwards inside a half-grin. Cressida rolls her eyes, shuffling onto the cushioned seat.

"Like anybody would notice. I've seen Sirius take naps at eleven in the morning before. Of course, he did get detention for skipping class which was scrubbing the second-floor toilets which probably made him a loser by its own account."

The pair laugh softly, finding comfort in the company. Remus pulls out his wand from the inside of his blue cardigan, waving it slowly over the alcove. "Muffliato."

Now with assured privacy, she asks him. "How are you feeling? Stupid question, I know, but I want to understand."

He shrugs, twisting his lips around as his eyes divert back to the window. "Agitated," he confesses. "So my apologies in advance if I snap at you."

"You don't need to apologise at all," Cressida counters, soft in tone and volume, despite the muffling charm. "Not unless you go for my eyebrows."

Her small joke works, much to her own surprise, and Remus huffs in amusement, peering at the said eyebrows on her face. "I can't remember why you're so sensitive about those."

"Fucking James," she hisses, though her face glows with adoration. "Thought I had mud on them after Quidditch practice and tried to wipe it off with his sleeve." Remus stifles his laughter into the palm of his hand. Despite that, the air is sober and heavy. "Nothing has changed, you know. We'll do what we did last year; go to the shrieking shack with you-" Remus's sharp eyes nearly pierce her, "-and leave before anything happens," she adds. "But you'll be safe. Dumbledore has charms on the place. And you know we'll be waiting for you in the morning."

"It's not my safety that's the concern," he mumbles. "I know you guys wait in the tunnel."

Cressida hadn't known that Remus knew that. They had told him they went back all the way to Hogwarts for the night. And they had at first, until they realised how wrong it felt to dump him off and leave. So they hunker down in the dark tunnel leading from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack with the invisibility cloak.

Despite the fact that she knows Remus is looking for some consolidation that they might change their minds this time, Cressida says, "And we'd wait closer if we could." It's not the hand of comfort that Remus is searching for, but it's the one he needs. The security that his friends would only continue to stand close when things become tough.

Their talking continues into the night, the sunlight on their face becoming a bright orange then disappearing altogether. The other students go to bed and Remus and Cressida know well that they should too, having classes early in the morning but Cressida can't bring herself to leave such decent company for the dullness of her dorm, or leave Remus with only Peter until James and Sirius return.

The portrait-door entrance finally swings open and at first, there is no presence to accompany it, but a quick swish of familiar fabric reveals two grinning boys. "You're later than usual," Cressida murmurs, the pull of the night getting to her.

"Sirius got us lost," James accuses quickly, tucking the robe away into his bag. "Thanks for waiting up for us."

Cressida barely holds her snort, sharing an amused look with Remus. That certainly isn't why they're up late. Hell, they'd both be in bed by now if they felt like it. "Did you bring me anything?"

"Like promised." James reaches into his bag, pulling out a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and three chocolate frogs. Cressida eagerly takes them, murmuring her thanks. "And for Remus." He reaches into his bag again, pulling out an over-sized bar of chocolate. It looks relatively muggle-like, but no doubt there is some element of magic to it. "Mother says that chocolate makes things feel better."

Remus takes it, eyeing it off sceptically. But he smiles gratefully. "Your mother is a smart woman."

As James and Remus talk quietly on the far side of the lounge they had migrated to, Sirius sits down next to Cressida. "Who'd you get?"

"I haven't even opened them yet," she huffs, holding the chocolate frogs closer to her lap. A slight groan passes her lips in memory of their earlier conversation. "Sirius, you're not going to have time to do that essay." He swears to himself, slouching against the back of the lounge. Cressida eyes his deflated eyes and posture, contemplating how much she needs to do well in that class. "Here," she sighs, pulling out the folded parchment from her bag. "Just remember to change the name."

Sirius hesitantly takes it from her, a grin growing. "I'll do all you D.A.D.A homework this month." Cressida only hums in agreement.