Chapter 14: What A Word Means
Remus gives her a tight-lipped smile as he slips past her to exit the charms classroom. Cressida's own things are packed but Flitwick had asked her to stay behind for a few moments to speak to her.
It's no mystery what it will be about. They had a research assignment handed in less than a week ago and even as she handed it over, Cressida was dreading her mark. She hadn't had the time to do it. Not with helping Sirius with his classes, Remus' upcoming full moon, or constantly worrying about Transfiguration and their Animagus plan.
"Miss Hawthorne," Flitwick greets, standing at his tall desk. "Let me assure you that you're not in trouble."
Cressida forces a humoured smile. "What a surprise."
"Indeed," Flitwick chuckles. "You are a good student in this class, which is why I am concerned about your most recent results. I just want to know if there's something going on that a staff member should be made aware of."
Cressida pretends to think. Then she shakes her head. "No. I just don't think I understood the topic as much as I could have. I think I'm still getting back into the swing of school again."
Flitwick nods in resignation. "Alright then, go enjoy your weekend."
The weekend. That's not what she's excited for. Tonight, however, is a different thing. Halloween is over and it is November third, otherwise known as Sirius' birthday.
Wandering out, she finds her four friends waiting in the corridor. "Lunch, yeah?" she calls. Their classes for the day are done so they'd be spending the rest of it doing whatever Sirius requests.
"What did Flitwick want?" Sirius asks as they meander towards the Great Hall.
Cressida's hand lays over her bag where the poorly graded paper lies studded inside. "Just wanted to tell me what a good job I did on the essay," she lies easily. It isn't a hard lie to believe and fortunately, the subject is dropped there. "Confident about the match against Ravenclaw?"
The match is in a week or so and the first one of the year. She asks the question expecting a cocky remark or something along those lines, but the first response is James' grumbles. "I'm going to threaten to leave the team if we lose because of Andrews."
Cressida frowns deeply, fixing her pace to walk next to him. "No you won't." It's more of a command than an observation.
"Don't tempt me," Sirius glowers from behind them. "He's pathetic in training. And we've actually made an effort to get him up to scratch."
"It's like he thinks he has his spot sealed no matter how shitty he is," James continues. Cressida's legs work harder, sharing a struggling glance with Remus and Peter as they try to keep up with the infuriated boys. Cressida normally keeps from asking anything about Quidditch both for her own sanity and not to hear anything about Andrews, but she now realises that was a childish mindset. Face the bludger.
James glances down at her over the curve of his shoulder. "He talks shit about you too, right in front of our faces." Nothing she doesn't expect. "I'd give him a good curse if I knew it didn't risk my chances of being Captain next year. And at the moment, I only want that job simply for the satisfaction of kicking him off properly. No detention, our Keeper is back, and Andrews can go sulk in a corner where he belongs."
"If he and Rosier are ever close together-" Sirius jumps forward, miming swinging his beater bat around, watching an invisible bludger strike something in the distance. "Let fate have its choice."
Cressida smiles to the ground, admitting to herself that their trash talking is cheering her up. Sirius grins at her as they turn into the Great Hall.
The warm lighting contrasts the rather dull day outside. It is already filled with students; many wandering around between tables to chat with their inter-house friends. Lunch and breakfast are a lot less formal than dinners, but dinner does have a specific atmosphere about it that Cressida lives for.
They find their seats, greedily digging into the food. Cressida eagerly takes the bread rolls and searches for the crumbed chicken to put on it, but to her horror, there is only one piece left and Remus is scooping it up with his tongs. In a flash moment, Cressida reaches over the other side of the table, snatching it from the tongs and drops it on her open bread roll.
Her lips press together, watching Remus blink slowly, staring at his empty utensil. James, sitting next to her, casually glances over the situation. "She does that," he says. "Watch your wands as well."
Cressida laughs in disbelief, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she manages to say through airy chuckles. "I panicked."
Remus only nods slowly, forcing himself to come to terms with what just happened. He places the tongs back on the empty tray. "It's fine," he whispers. He picks up his plate, looking up and down the long table. "I'm going to go find more."
Doing just that, he wanders down towards the end closer to the teachers, peering over shoulders for more chicken.
"Merlin, Cress," Sirius breathes from opposite her. His hands curve around the rim of his plate, pulling it closer to his chest.
"I'm not going to steal your food," she whines. Sirius gives un a disbelieving look, keeping his plate close as he stabs a potato with his fork. Wanting nothing more than to eat, Cressida brings the stolen chicken sandwich up to her mouth, but it halts halfway, noticing James' stiff stare. "What are you looking at?"
His lips part. The calm expression morphs back into the tinted resentment it was in before they entered the Great Hall. "Hanna Andrews," is all he says. Sirius frowns, looking over his shoulder towards whatever he's searching for and Cressida joins him in the search. Nothing appears out of the ordinary, but the name does ring a bell. "Hanna Andrews and Baxton."
Sirius and Cressida's eyes pin on the Ravenclaw table. There, a blonde girl in sixth year sits with her back towards her friends. Instead of other Ravenclaws, Hannah is talking ardently with their Gryffindor Captain.
Sirius turns back around, his fork and food forgotten but Cressida still isn't sure why they're making such a big deal. "Here we are bashing on Andrews when we should have been shitting on our own Captain."
Cressida shrivels her nose, trying to keep up. Andrews. As in Hanna Andrews. As in Colton Andrews. Brother and sister. Cressida's hand slaps to her mouth in the horrid realisation.
Colton Andrews didn't get the position by being better than her at try-outs. It's no secret that their Captain has liked Hannah Andrews for years – maybe longer than James has like Lily. Maybe they made a deal of some kind, or Baxton did it to get in Hannah's good books.
"Baxton asked Andrews to try-out," she recalls slowly. "…He wouldn't. Baxton isn't that stupid."
"No, but he's desperate," James growls. "I'm going to talk to him." His hands press firmly against the wood of the table, already halfway up. Cressida's gut jolts. She can't let him make a scene.
She grips his robes, feverishly shaking her head. "No, James. Please don't."
James is stunned at her resistance, his head dipping down closer to hers. "Cress, he gave up your spot for a chance at a date. That's not fair, and absolutely stupid of him."
Cressida holds back her bite that he would do something stupid like that if it helped his chances with Lily. But she can't let James make a scene about it. She's fought too hard to press the loss of her place away and it sits in a spot within her mind where it can't hurt her if it's not brought up. "Sit down, James," she pleas. "Please."
Her wrists are covered by his own lanky fingers. Long and lean to hold a Quaffle in place firmly. "I'm not going to sit here and let him get away with this," he presses, his mouth parted. His pupils move back and forth, looking into both her own, probably wondering why she's resisting it so much. "I'm trying to get you back on the team."
"T-that doesn't matter." Cressida's voice is quavering now, panic and the foretelling of humiliation crawling over every inch of skin. "I don't care, James. Please leave it."
His eyes narrow. "What's gotten into you? I'm trying to help you."
Thinking that he's finally giving in to her pleas, Cressida lets go on his school robes. Instead of sitting down though, James only stands up further, swinging out of the bench before Cressida can even argue and then he's striding down the long table. Her mouth opens in a silent protest, but he's too far gone. "Thanks for the help," she snaps to Sirius and Peter who have only watched on silently. Peter shrugs timidly.
"I don't see what the problem is," Sirius says. "James is just trying to help you. He wants you to be back on the team."
Cressida rubs her eyes roughly before throwing them in the air. "Well maybe I don't want to be on the team this year now." Her jaw clenches, not meeting Sirius' eyes. "When I say no, I mean no."
Every fibre of her being wants to walk out of the Great Hall and the impulse on grows with every step James' takes towards their Captain. His strides are long and confident, even in the midst of such a large crowd.
He scuffs Baxton's shoulder in a rough greeting, a sarcastic smile placed on his lips as he gestures away from the table. Baxton puts up a small argument but eventually follows James away from Hannah. Then it starts.
James' face screws up as he steps close to Baxton, fingers already being pointed at the older boy's chest. Her only sense of relief is that she can't hear their conversation which would mean there's no yelling. Yet.
It feels like the eyes on the entire Hall, students and teachers, are all on either her or James. In an effort to escape the moment, Cressida hides behind her hands, shrinking into her seat. Leave. Just get up and leave.
Before she can even debate herself properly, a brush of cloak touches her arm, accompanied by a soft thud on the seat next to her. The hands fall from her face, revealing the red skin underneath. James scowls at his food, muttering something to Sirius.
Cressida grabs the nearest glass to her hand, fingers curling so tightly around it, she's shocked it doesn't crack under her grip. It feels full and that's all she wants. In one quick movement, the water is tossed from the glass and onto James Potter. "You're a real dickhead, you know." Cressida stands up, gathering her belongings as James is stunned into silence, water dripping off his hair and face onto his dark school robes.
Remus appears on the other side of the table, slowly sitting down with his plate full of chicken. "What on earth did I miss?" he mutters.
Without another word, she turns, marching out of the Great Hall with no destination in mind besides somewhere quiet and cold enough to cool her burning skin.