Chapter 12: A Threat Arising

Cressida sighs, staring at the empty spot on her desk where the Trophy sat not only six hours ago. A small and mirthful smile adorns her lips, shaking her head slightly and wandering back out of her room. "James?" she calls, wondering where he is. There is no answer. Cressida closes her door until it is only ajar, peeking down the hallway where James' door is also creaked open. Her feet softly pad across the floor, ignoring Sirius' open one where he lays, napping. Her neck stretches as she passes the staircase, trying to see if he's downstairs but there is no noise or sight of him.

Her hand presses against the wood of his door, letting it swing open enough for her to look into. Nobody. Smiling now with victory, Cressida slips in, her legs already set on their destination; his hanging shelf with a silver trophy. She's so close to it, arms stretching up.

"You think you're so sneaky."

Cressida nearly trips with how fast she spins. James emerges from behind his door, grinning devilishly and strides towards her. Cressida leaps for the Trophy, barely getting her fingers around it before her feet are lifted off the ground. "No!" she shrieks, the room spinning as she is dragged away from his wall.

Her feet fall back to the floor at the side of his bed as James lets one arm go around her, now reaching out for the Trophy instead. Cressida stretches her arm out as far as possible, but he still reaches it, prying it from her fingers. He tosses it onto the cushioning of his pillows and Cressida falls to his bed, laughing in pitiful defeat. "Damn you."

"Damn me?" he repeats, also laughing. He lets himself fall onto the bed next to her. "You'll have to be smarter than that."

"Yes, damn you," she grumbles. "You wouldn't have that Cup if it weren't for me."

James tips his head from side to side. "Perhaps. But who made you Seeker? Who put you on the team?"

"I didn't have to come to try-outs."

"If I remember correctly, I'm the one who convinced you to try out in second year, in the first place."

"Oh you tried to convince me, but who listened?"

James scoffs, their logic going beyond reasonable. Cressida laughs, taking that as her small victory for the day. She moves onto her side to face him. James lies on his back, head tipped on his cheek to look back at her. "Hopefully we'll get another one this year."

"Hopefully?" she whispers. "That's not very 'James Potter' language. We will get another one this year."

"I just didn't want to put pressure on you." Cressida smiles broadly, shaking her head. "What?"

"Stop sounding so… placid. It's not you."

"Maybe I'm just maturing," he goads with an innocent grin that tells her he's anything but mature. Cressida scoffs to display her disagreement, flicking his jaw lightly. "Ow," he whispers through a laugh.

There is nothing in the world to stop Cressida's lips from tipping upwards. Her thumb rubs over the spot she just flicked, easing whatever small amount of pain she caused. His eyes soak her in, his face so still as though he is scared that her touch will disappear if he does move. Cressida's pulls her lips inwards, debating her next move.

His skin is soft and warm, his glasses even more crooked than usual from being displaced by the mattress.

Cressida grins at him, launching over the top, her hand reaching for the trophy. Before her fingers even reach the metal this time, James pulls her away, pressing her back down into the mattress. She lets out a playful groan, letting her head flop back against the soft white sheets. This time, James lies on his side, one arm trapped between her back and the mattress, the other keeping his weight up. "For a Seeker, you're very slow."

Cressida smiles coyly. "I'm a Keeper at heart," she murmurs. "But I'll be a Seeker if that's what you need me to be."

"If you want to be a Keeper this year, then that's what you will be. You just have to ask."

Cressida lets her eyes drift off to the side, her head soon following. Quidditch is hardly the thoughts filling her mind. "What if there's someone better than me?"

"Doesn't matter."

Cressida narrows her eyes. "You're really not sounding like yourself."

James' head tilts to the side, a crooked smirk to match rising. "No, I am. You're just not used to be on the receiving end." Her eyes only narrow further. What is that supposed to mean?

She surprises herself with how quiet her next few words are. "I got your letter."

James' smirk falls into a smile. "I know. I saw it on your desk when I got the Trophy back the first time. It has that stain because I spilt my ink when I wrote it. I'm just waiting on a response." He almost looks amused by her mildly flustered state. "I've been trying to hurry it up, but apparently the owls are getting slow these days."

Cressida's eyes flutter with a bashful grin, glimpsing to the side for a moment away to gather her thoughts. Many words fly through her head like first years on their first flying lesson. Uncontrolled and uncoordinated. So she chooses not to listen to them. Leaning up, digging her elbows into the mattress, and presses her lips against his. Just for a moment. Just like he did at the wedding. A test. Putting her toes in the water after winter finally breaks.

Cressida watches his expression carefully. A slow, but sure smile appears, transforming from the smirk he held before. Running his tongue over his lips, he says, "Short, but straight to the point." He presses a kiss to her forehead, then to her lips. "Now will you let me take you on a date? A proper one?"

Giddy and child-like excitement runs throughout her entire body. Her. He loves her. "Sirius is going to be happy now," she whispers. James pinches his brows together. "I don't have to force him to be my date to anything else."

James laughs freely, his weight dropping down and he rests his forehead against hers. "I will happily take that spot. I might have to fight him for it though."

Cressida goes to shake her head but doesn't want him to move his head, his lips brushing the skin just to the side of hers. "He doesn't have feelings for me. He's gay."

"Then why he is acting like your guard dog? It's making me feel like I've done nothing to help you."

"I'm quite literally living in your home," Cressida contends without missing a beat. "And Sirius is quite literally a dog. It's probably just him being who he is." She leaves out the run-in with Greyback. She runs her fingers through his curled hair, holding it back and uses her stomach to pull herself up more. The gap between their mouths closes, only this time, it stays closed. James' one free arm wriggles its way underneath her with the other, cupping the back of her head.

After a few minutes, Cressida breaks away. "Can I have a cup of tea?"

James stares at her for a moment before smiling with disbelief on his face. "Of course you can."

xx

Cressida has never had so many bags hanging from her arms before in her life other than grocery bags, and still, this day triumphs most of those. Guilt riddles her, even though it was technically her idea to go shopping, but she had thought that she could spend the money that is now still stashed in her own bank account. It became evident that it once belonged to Sirius as he quickly denied the idea of her using it to replenish her belongings, stating that it was for special things that she wanted rather than needed. Especially now that she no longer needs to get away from home. But it was originally a way for her to leave on her own if she wished to.

So the bags hanging from her arms were not brought with her own money, much to her annoyance, but at the same time, gratefulness. Cressida was surprised to discover just how much money Sirius had in Muggle currency, but he disclosed that he was afraid of his family somehow getting into his Gringotts holdings, so he moved most of it out. Cressida didn't bother to argue that Gringotts is one of the safest places, knowing that he had much more experience with it than her. She only kept her small allowance inside it so her family couldn't reach it while she was at Hogwarts. And even then, it was supposed to be only used for textbooks and uniforms.

Her bags, of course, aren't filled with extravagant things. Practical shoes, sleepwear, clothes for both summer and winter. Things to let her live comfortably. And it feels nice, to have things that she didn't have back in her home. Things that aren't stained with the dirt of her floor or have tears around the knees and elbows. Or stained with memories. Clothes that she isn't ashamed to wear.

At a point, she does tell Sirius to stop, knowing she still has things to buy from Diagon Alley such as a new wand but that would be another day. They stop at a café before going home, Sirius ordering a coffee with milk and cream, Cressida choosing a small dessert since she has become so accustomed to James' tea that she doesn't want anything else.

"Look," Sirius grins, sliding the mug across the small round table as they sit just outside the café. Cressida laughs as soon as she sees the milk design in the coffee. She wasn't inside when he ordered, but has no doubt that he asked for it. A cartoon dog face, with large floppy ears made from frothy milk contrasts the oaky coffee. "It looks just like me."

"I think you look a little more vicious," Cressida notes. Sirius doesn't protest her assessment but hesitates the ruin the image with the spoon. They came all the way to London, despite her assurance that any shopping centre would do. He never gave her a reason for needing to travel into the city, and they hadn't even taken his motorcycle, as she guessed he wanted to use, as they apparated.

The small treat to end their afternoon seems like the perfect way to relax and wind down. Cressida's feet hurt from her flat shoes with a worn sole, and she's tired from the constant walking and changing. James wanted to come as well but got dragged along to go visit his hoarding aunt.

She almost missed the moment, caught up in retelling her perspective of their last Quidditch game. But she does, in one of the quickest moments her eyes focus on Sirius' face. His dark eyes pointed over her shoulder, focus on her story completely lost. There is nothing kind left in them that she knows so well. "Keep talking," he whispers. Cressida stammers for a second, but continues, her voice softer and slower, eyes now pressing against the very corners of her eye sockets but doesn't dare turn her head. Sirius' hand creeps towards the inside of his leather jacket, the end of his wand now poking out. Instead of keeping it slightly hidden, he pulls it out completely, his arms stretching out to lay over the table, the tip of his wand tapping against the metal tabletop.

Cressida's heart is in her throat, having no idea what the approaching threat behind her is. But it's enough for Sirius to show himself as an open threat. She feels sick. The threat of vomit rising each second. "Sirius," she hisses in a whisper. Her chair shifts slightly, a foot that is not her own hooking around one of the legs, another foot pressing against the other front leg. Ready to move her at a moment's notice and leave his hands free.

His eyes move just to her side and a dark figure appears from the corner of her eye, cloaking her vision. Then the dark greyness of the road tarmac reappears. She stares at the back of the tall man. All she can see is his ankle-length brown leather coat, and dirty brown hair slicked back over the collar, frizzy and curled slightly.

Sirius never lets the man out of his sight, head turning as the man passes him. Once he turns away, Sirius' shoulders drop but the tension of the air doesn't disappear. "Greyback," he answers her unspoken question. "The werewolf that bit Remus. And a Death Eater. We should get out of here."

Before she can answer, Sirius is already out of his chair, picking up some of their belongings. Cressida scurries to join him. "Why did you pull your wand? He might not have realised we're wizards."

"Trust me," Sirius mutters, "he recognised me. And I have a feeling he knew who you were too. I think the only reason he didn't attack us just then is because he knew I was ready and didn't know you are unarmed. And thank fuck for Muggles being around. We should get you a wand sooner rather than later. I shouldn't have even taken you out without one."

Cressida nods. This isn't her territory. It's Sirius'. She helps him pick up the rest of their things, barely grabbing her purse before he is dragging her around a corner and they apparate back to the Manor.

P.S Thank you again!