Chapter 3: The Kitchens
Perched in her favourite chair just to the left of the fire and close to the far wall away from the windows is Cressida. The tip of her quill feather's tickling the skin over her cheek, a drop of ink threatening to drop off the point onto the freshly written page of parchment. The fire is alight as per usual, but it's flames soft against the already well-warmed autumn day.
It has only been one week since classes at Hogwarts returned and already Cressida has a long list of schoolwork she needs to catch up on. At least, like Remus, and very unlike James and Sirius, she had completed her summer work and has some idea what the teachers are talking about when they discussed the ways to reverse venomous bites or versions of the vanishing spells. But of course, James and Sirius being themselves would find some miraculous and rather surprising way to not only pass, but do relatively well in their grades. Even Sirius, though his struggle isn't an unknown secret.
The first thing to distract her in over an hour is a bustling near the painting covered entrance. A flush of long red hair bounces off a petite girl's shoulders, a few fly-aways frizzing to create a halo are a flushed face. Lily Evans huffs indignantly to herself, plopping on the loveseat with a glare that would obliterate the Whomping Willow. Cressida debates whether she should say anything or just pretend that she is too engrossed by her work.
Holding a sigh, the parchment is placed on the side table with the quill back into the inkpot.
"Alright there, Lily?" she asks.
Lily's eyes flick over to her, not giving any indication if Cressida's concern means anything to her. "One week," she snaps. Cressida blinks, no words coming to her mouth. Lily huffs again through her nose. "I couldn't even have one week without that toe-rag bothering me."
Cressida pushes her tongue into her back teeth. She, like quite literally everybody else in the school, is very much aware of the unrequited feelings her friend has for the red-headed Gryffindor. And while Cressida does often seek to remain at least impartial with Lily, even friendly, when it comes to her against her own friends, she can't help but side with them. And it isn't that she agrees with James relentless pursuit, but it is an honest one that he puts his heart into. And by all means, James can be a toe-rag. Arrogant. Selfish. Spoilt. But he has qualities that overshine those by a mile.
"Maybe he'll get tired sooner or later," is all she can offer, not being able to insult her friend for the sake of Lily's satisfaction. "He didn't talk about you too much over the holidays. At least when I was there."
Lily breathes heavily through her nose in a long sigh and Cressida swears the fire faltered at its power. "Hopefully," she murmurs. "Maybe I should just stop responding altogether."
Cressida bites her tongue softly, thinking about her answer. What would hurt James the least but would also satisfy Lily? "Maybe you should have a proper conversation with him," she suggests instead. "If you ignore him, he'll just want to know why. But if you talk with him properly, maybe he'll start acting normally too." Figuring that she has nothing else to say, she picks the quill and parchment back up, resting it along the book over her bent leg. "I don't know," she shrugs off-handed.
Lily is left in thought by her clear exit from the conversation.
It is a Saturday night, many still lingering in the Great Hall from dinner. Cressida herself hasn't eaten yet, waiting on Sirius to return from detention and James and Remus to return from their adventure to find wherever Peter went. She knows by the time they do, the dinner feast may well be over but she can't bring herself to go eat alone.
Well, alone might not be the completely correct term. She could sit with the Prewett twins. Two years above her and as mischievous as anything. They also have quite a comedic relationship with the poltergeist, Peeves. Not a single soul in the castle enjoys seeing that ghost and the Prewett brothers have silently declared their mission and legacy to annoy the prat by foiling his plans. Many of the students have involved themselves as well, taking it upon themselves to inform the brothers if they overhear or see anything that Peeves might be up to. Merlin, even some of the Slytherins help out by informing the Bloody Barron who has become the only person that damn ghost is afraid of.
Sighing softly, Cressida glances at the grandfather clock, eyeing off the hands that read seven-thirty. The food would disappear at eight. But Sirius should also be finishing his detention by now. In hopes that she can cross paths with him, Cressida tucks her belongings away into her satchel and then rests that against the wall.
The entrance to the common rooms opens as she strides towards it.
"Hopefully you and your friends won't be waking me in the middle of the night this year."
Cressida comes to a slow stop, half-turning on her toes. The Fat Lady isn't looking at her, but by the lack of other presence, there is no doubt that snarky statement is addressed to her. "You're a painting, you don't even need sleep," Cressida barks back.
"Hmph." The Lady's nose twitches, her chin rising higher to the side, elongating her neck. "Just be glad I haven't informed the headmaster."
Not bothering with a response, Cressida rolls her eyes with a mildly amused smile on her lips. The Fat Lady is a rather dramatic and lively personality. All the paintings are. But she supposes that if she were stuck inside a canvas for all eternity, Cressida would also be over the top in the only way they are able to be. Some small part of her feels bad. The only time students every speak to her is to get through to the other side. Once, Cressida did try to have a conversation but it became completely one-sided and more boring that Professor Binn's history class.
Hogwart's halls are just as empty as one would expect. With no classes, students are either hunkering down in the Great Hall, in the Common Room or wandering the ground. The first years are no doubt trying to memorise their way to classes.
Cressida smiles fondly at the memory of doing so herself. She of course, had her friends also just as lost so it is hardly a taunting thing to recall. More fondly than anything.
She leans against the railings of the stairs, waiting for it to float through the air and join at another platform. The naturally planted smile she has grows even further at the odd sight of the brothers she had just been thinking about, also waiting for the stairs to arrive. "Fabion, Gideon," she greets slowly. The brothers have their arms full of sweets. If they had their robes on, no doubt they would be using the material as make-shift bowls. She might not have thought it odd if they came from the direction of the Great Hall, but Cressida has taken a path that would lead her closer to the west third floor where Sirius' detention is being held.
The boys grin at her like wild children high on sugar. They probably are. "We got it," Fabian declares.
"We tickled it really," Gideon corrects.
Cressida's mouth parts, eyes darting between them. "What?"
As she slowly walks down the rest of the stairs, they walk opposite, passing around each side of her. "You can ask for anything," Gideon continues airily. Cressida doesn't even know what to ask to figure out what they are talking about. The stairs begin moving again, the stone grinding echoing up and down the wide tower, leaving Cressida on the platform in no less confusion than she was in before. "The pear!" he shouts out at the last moment before he and his brother scamper off back to the Common Room.
"The pear?" It clicks. "The pear."
Shaking her hands to let off some of the energy building up, the sound of sandals clicking off the stone is the loudest sound to her ears. In the distance, Fabian and Gideon can probably hear her delayed rush and are laughing to themselves, giddy that they figured it out before her friends.
Cressida isn't sure where exactly she should be running, but figures that she'll have to cross paths with Sirius eventually unless he decided to take a detour. The rather horrid fruit repeats like a waterfall from her lips, begging herself not to forget it. As if she ever could now.
Their meeting comes like a snap of lightning. One moment she is skidding around the corner, the next, her head is clanging against bone and her behind is grazing the ground. A series of groans pour from each mouth. "Bloody hell," Sirius mutters, rubbing his collarbone. "I probably should have anticipated that. Could hear you running from two corridors away."
Ignoring the flare in her tailbone, Cressida rises to her knees, a fistful of his shirt near his collar being scrunched in each hand. A shocked, almost fearful expression overcomes him as he scans her from head to toe. Probably wondering if she's gone mad. "The pear," she draws in a hissed whisper. "It's that darn pear."
His brows scrunch, his hands rising to her wrists as though about to pull her off him before the same realisation that came to her, comes to him. The concerned features lighten and stretch into similar madness of her own. Instead of pulling her hands off, he grips her own shoulders right back. "The pear?"
"The pear," she squeaks, not bothering to contain anything. "Let's go, let's go."
They scramble to their feet, collecting his things off the floor as they are already walking. Well, marching. No longer are they headed to the Great Hall or the Common Room, but to the first floor east wing under the library. "How'd you even find out?" Sirius demands breathlessly.
"Fabian and Gideon did," she grins. "Saw them heading back with arms full of food but not from the Great Hall."
Soon neither can keep their much too slow pace and they move into a jog, ignoring the questioning gazes of other students that they pass. They reach the painting in reference, lost of breath, shoes slapping the ground heavily in the last few steps.
Cressida looks up to Sirius who nods at her impatiently, his chest puffing heavily. Reaching forward to the fruit-themed painting, her fingers slowly tickle the green pear. It comes to life, giggling loudly. To both their amazement, it begins to protrude from the canvas. The pair jump back but they do not need to fear as the pear morphs into a green door handle.
A bit unsure still, Cressida motions to it. "Have the honours," she says to Sirius. He doesn't argue, more daring. The handle turns with a solid 'click' and the painting swings open like a door. A rush of hot air wafts through the entrance but with it, a buffet of smells for their noses. Led by that alone, they step through the small portal way and into Hogwarts' kitchen.
Half the students probably never realised or considered that it even existed. But those with any comprehension of magic should know that food cannot come from nowhere.
The steamy room is filled with house-elves, small creatures with large, pointed ears. With dinner nearly over the height of the night seems to be over, leaving them to clean up the kitchen. None of them takes much notice to the two young wizards, going about their duties, only the ones walking past sparing any glance their way.
They both breathe out, shoulders sagging. "Wicked."
Xx
Sirius and Cressida saunter back into the Common Room, just past the stroke of nine. A few students still linger in the main area, namely Remus, James and Peter who are spread out on the sofas.
James upon seeing their arrival cocks his chin. "Finally decided to join us? We missed dinner trying to find you two."
"Oh stop being a sourpuss," Sirius goads with a wicked grin.
"Besides," Cress joins in, "we brought you some toast." She holds out a napkin with a freshly cooked slice of bread between it. James scowls at it but snatches it from her hands.
"Planning on sharing or do you have more toast?" Remus asks them, half teasing, half searching for more food. Sirius takes the remaining empty single seat, nearly sinking into the red cushioning. Cressida, knowing that their return is to be short-lived simply perches on the armrest next to Remus.
"Just the one slice I'm afraid," Sirius drawls as though he is also disappointed.
"How'd you even get this?" James questions through a mouthful of crumbling bread. "We didn't see you in the Great Hall."
Cressida resists the urge to lean over and cup her hand under his mouth, settling for knowing it would be cleaned up anyways. "You mean to say you went to the Great Hall, but didn't eat while you were there?" she wonders. "I don't think you can blame us for missing out on your food."
"No, I blame Remus. Bloody guilt-tripping me saying we should try and find you." James leans over the chair to speak closer to herself and Sirius – as though he needs to with how far his voice travels naturally. "After we spent an hour looking for this bastard." He shoves his thumb over his shoulder to a meek Peter. "Blimey, we need some sort of tag to find each other some days."
"Appreciate the love, Remmy," Sirius barks, "but we've already eaten our stomachs full."
Remus squints his eyes at them. "We definitely didn't see you at the table," he notes. "Where were you?"
"The kitchens of course," Cressida answers, leaning against the back of the chair, still balancing on the arm. There's a pause through the group as they register her words.
James is the first to react, snapping up so straight he nearly falls over the edge of his seat and his new glasses becoming lopsided. "Did you say the kitchens?"