Chapter 11: Pain, Guilt, Love

Cressida uses her shoulder to wipe a tear tracking down her cheek. In front of her sits a near-empty bowl of mac and cheese. And it isn't empty because she had eaten it. No, the contents of her dinner are littered about on the bench because she could barely lift up a spoon. Her fingers are weak and in pain. Though they are now left unbandaged at her request (and Sirius' medical approval) since the burns had healed enough that the initial threat of infection had waned, they are still raw and tender.

She just wanted to eat dinner by herself. Sirius had gone out to pick up groceries since the job had been taken off her. In the past two weeks she had gone with him for both company and to ensure that he brought enough for them both to get through the week but this time they had left it until late and Sirius assured her he would be quicker racing down himself.

But even that was a task that seemed too much.

Cressida laid her arms gently on the bench in front of her, her head bowing until the cool countertop touched against her forehead. "I hate this." She stays like that, hunched and gloomy even as the latch of her home's door opens. She hears Sirius stride into the main living area and plops a few plastic bags onto the countertop near her head.

"Cress? Are you alright? I told you I'd cook for us when I got back." He leaves the bags, coming to her side. Cressida lifts her head to meet what is at first a very grim and concerned expression but moments later, his lips teak upwards. "You got a little bit of cheese on your head."

"I feel like murdering someone," she growls.

"Right," Sirius breathes, perking his eyebrows towards his hairline. He brushes the top of her forehead and she feels the bit of plastic-y food fling off. His expression softens when hers does not change. "I know how you feel. Helpless. And you're going to feel like that for a bit longer so how about you just pretend that you're absolutely in love with the idea of having an attractive man such as myself feeding you."

"If I wanted that, I'd call James over," she refutes.

"That's why I said pretend," he points out. "Think about it." Sirius picks up her forgotten fork, piercing the prongs into her grim-looking meal. He lifts it upwards, a few inches in front of her mouth, his own pulled into a very typical smirk that she hasn't seen since his school days. "I could be doing anything, but here I am with all my attention on you." The tip of the fork presses against her lips. Cressida only raises a brow, displaying her unenthused attitude. "Not working is it?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Should I take my shirt off?"

"I think that'd make it worse, to be honest."

"Should I call James over?"

"No I really don't want to be angry at him for just trying to help."

Sirius folds his arms, leaning onto the counter but stays well away from her disastrous spillage. "You're upset because you're struggling to eat by yourself, but you'll also be upset if someone helps you. So help me and tell me where the middle ground is so I don't have to watch you starve."

Cressida rolls her tongue around her teeth. "Imperio me at this point," she snides. "Force me to eat and I'll ignore the pain."

Sirius points a thoughtful finger at her. "I'm not going to imperio you," he says as though it is a viable option. And to her, it's beginning to become one. "But maybe you could use magic. You're alright holding your wand, aren't you?"

Cressida shrugs feebly, her arm dropping to brush over the hilt of her wand that pokes from her flared jeans. "M'right. It's fine though, I'm not really hungry tonight anyways." Her appetite was lost when the frustration rose. A petty defensive mechanism.

"You're not going to not eat on my watch," Sirius informs her as he begins searching through his bags filled with food. She snorts half-heartedly upon seeing the labels of his snacks that are a bit more plentiful than she would usually buy. "Here. Dinner." In his hand, Sirius holds a bright blue and white packet with the name 'popcorn' spread over it. We can eat it straight from the bowl, no spoons or forks required."

Cressida feels her frustration trickle away, replaced with calm appreciation and amusement. "Ever the genius, aren't you Black?"

Sirius tears open the outer packaging and in a rightfully prideful tone, declares, "It is a strenuous task that I diligently hold on my shoulders." Cressida smiles, watching behind him as the popcorn cooks over the stovetop. The smell makes her stomach grumble as her defensive lack of appetite disappears. Without much thought behind her actions, she stands over Sirius' shoulder, opens her mouth and digs her teeth into his skin. Perhaps it is her way of showing that her mood has lifted without saying so. An odd way of saying thank you because she can't find the right words. "Ow," he drawls slowly but mirthfully. She realises that maybe she just wants to go back in time a little – to when they were younger and careless. "I'm not dessert, however delicious looking I am." She misses not worrying about anything other than her small world.

"Damn," she whispers, releasing him and resting her chin on the spot. "I'm hungry. How long does popcorn take?"

"You tell me." Cressida grumbles, swinging around his side until she is in between him and the stove, staring at it impatiently. "I know," Sirius says. Cressida tilts her head to the side and backwards, unsure of what he's referring to. "I know how you're feeling, and I can see its frustrating you." Her head turns back straight.

She lets her shoulders sag. "I feel like…I feel like I don't have a point right now."

"To heal," he answers swiftly. The kernels begin to pop. "And keep me company. I know you have a habit of looking at things in the long run, but it's good to have short term goals."

The popcorn doesn't take much longer to finish after the heat began to truly accumulate in the pot. Sirius takes charge, filling a large bowl with the salty snack-food. They eat on the lounge, watching whatever is on television on a Friday night. He was right, at least, as picking up small pieces of popcorn are incredibly light and easy on her fingers. The most painful part is bending her elbows to reach her mouth, but she could live with that pain. Cressida thanks him properly as they split off for the night into their separate rooms and she gets a small wave as he slips away.

Cressida doesn't find sleep easy that night, and by the way she can hear her housemate tossing and turning under his covers constantly, it seems like he is struggling as well. She leans against her headboard, using her time alone to examine the fickle natured ring closer. There are no inscriptions on the inside of the gold band and she's sure that it was nothing more than a place-holder for the stone.

Her thoughts are distracted by a momentary thunderous strike of lightning near her window. Cressida's heart hammers at the shock, eyes stuck on the window. It starts to rain heavily with no warning for the Londoners still stuck in the streets on their late night out. It makes her window unclear and hard to see out of, and the sound of the rain itself drowns out the silence she had before.

She looks down at the ring again. It has a pulsating magic that she hasn't felt on anything else before. But there is more than one enchantment on it. Her fingertip traces the curve of the metal as she has done so before in the past two weeks, threatening to slip over her finger but she doesn't dare. A part of her, a part that is instinctive to keep her alive refuses to allow it to be anything more than a thought. A good thing for that instinct, since her bound arms are the result of protections encasing the ring. Now it's a wonder what is in it.

The symbol carved on the stone is nothing recognisable. Cressida had not seen it in any books that she has read, nor in any of the runes that Remus had written down in his old school notes. And now she's doomed herself to not being able to ask without the risk of revealing that she has it.

Cressida is just about to give up on pondering, and tosses the ring back into her draw but her door opens before she can clamber under her blankets. Sirius says nothing, only shutting the door behind him and lays horizontally on her bed. His head lops against her thighs, just above her knees, perfectly aimed to gaze out of her window.

"Oh hello, Cress. Do you mind if I interrupt you for some gloomy staring at the rain?" she mutters sarcastically. "Of course not, Sirius, I love that you asked me first."

He waves a blind hand towards her. "Yeah, that," he mutters back. Cressida softens her peeved exposure, sensing his quite evident disconnection. She smiles softly to herself, noting how they so often seem to switch roles with one another. Though usually the change is not so quick to appear.

With her covered palm, she affectionately pets the top of his head. "What's wrong? I know you like storms so it's not that." There's a twinge of pain that flares from her palm which has the most tender spots of burns considering that was their point of origin, but she only changes the angle of her strokes to relieve the pressure.

"You've been under the cruciatus curse before, haven't you?" he whispers.

Her heart twists at the sudden memory. It wasn't something she tried to remember unless she needed that source of anger and resentment that so easily bubbled. "Yeah," she whispers back. "Why?"

"It pisses me off." Sirius stares blankly at the window still. Cressida raises a brow even though he could not see it. "I'm sorry." He sits up, shaking his head which sends his black hair waving over his face. "I've just been having dreams."

Cressida reaches out for his hand, unable to hold it so she urges it into her lap instead. "Still?"

Sirius nods, turning and leaning back so he matches her pose against the pillows and headboard. "I don't know why I am. I used to have them after I first went to Hogwarts, but they went away. Now they're back again. My father…"

The tip of her nose stings briefly, filled with a sudden blurriness at her eyes. she understood exactly what his insinuation is. "He cursed you?" she questions nevertheless, hoping for another answer. Sirius' home life wasn't a secret, but he often spared them the details and they never pushed for them.

Sirius nods slowly, his fingers widening then contracting over her leg. Cressida bows her head, his hurt echoing onto her. "And I hate that… I hate that I used to be so naïve in thinking that it was only because of them that things were wrong. But really, they're barely the worst. I was the wrong son. It made sense at least, why I was punished. I didn't understand why someone would have attacked you though. I didn't understand how their hatred could go so far into using an unforgivable curse on you simply because they don't like the way you were born. The world is so messed up."

"Yeah." She cannot help but agree. It has been and probably always will be. "I'm sorry that you're having these dreams. Maybe I can go buy you a few sleep tonics for when they get bad like tonight."

"Might not be a terrible idea," he whispers, resigned and his tire showing. He closes his eyes and leans further into her pillows. Cressida stares at him with a wry smile. Feeling her gaze, he peeks an eye open and reads her expression. "Can I stay here tonight?"

She lets out a small breath of laughter but nods her head. "Just be careful of the arms please. I also tend to yelp if I turn onto them so be warned." He agrees with a silent nod of his head and he digs himself underneath her covers and she soon follows.

She settles with her arms above the blankets, hoping that it would keep them safe with the extra body around to knock into them. Sirius finds himself comfortable soon enough, on his side, one arm under the pillow, the other lazing across her stomach, the heat transferring to her skin underneath her top. Cressida quietly examines the comfort that it brings her and shuffles herself closer until her side presses against his front. Guilt riddles her, knowing how a certain someone would feel about seeing this but she feels even more guilty that she truly doesn't feel that guilty. She wants Sirius and that's not something she ever sees herself giving up. She could go about her entire life, but it was like a string attached between the two that would never be cut. It takes Cressida longer than she imagined to fall asleep, despite the solace of her position, wondering how terrible a person she is.