Chapter 16: Impact
The black and white paper has become a stark reminder of the world outside of Hogwarts. On the front page which now faces away from them as they read the articles, is a flashing picture of their Minter of Magic, a scraggly old man who most believe is failing at his job.
"A muggle family has been killed," Marlene says.
Marlene had brought the paper to the Great Hall and soon after unfolding it, a small crowd grouped around her to hear what news comes from the wizarding world.
"Do they say who did it?" Lily questions.
Sirius scoffs loudly. "Death Eaters of course."
Lily gives him a slightly peeved glare before correcting her question. "I mean, did they catch who did it?"
Marlene reads further down the article, slowly shaking her head before she even finishes it. "There's no names. They only found the bodies because of the Dark Mark above the house."
James leans closer to the table, trying to read over the paper for himself. "Any wizarding families?"
They flick through the pages which are filled with either garbage nonsense or conspiracies, but nothing is mentioned about any further deaths.
Cressida sits further into the seat, folding her arms close to her chest and resting her weight on them. They're targeting muggles and muggle-borns. It's the third major family death since Hogwarts had started.
As the group (that's larger than normal) discusses the unravelling events, Cressida keeps to herself. She wonders if her parents are in any sort of danger. They're not involved in the wizarding world in any sort of way besides their affiliation to her and even then, it's not like they make themselves known. How would Death Eaters even know where her parents lived – unless they track Cressida home.
The muggle family in the paper has seemingly no relation to the wizarding world except a nephew that they knew attended Durmstrang. Cressida tries to shake the thought away – they probably made themselves known somehow. Resisted or spoke up or something. Her parents don't do those sorts of things. And she barely has to worry about herself - being in Hogwarts. And the main other place she is, is James' house. Completely safe.
She turns her attention back to the conversation. James is speaking to Lily from the opposite side of the table. "Your parents are going to be fine, Evans," he smiles softly. "Just tell them to make sure they keep quite."
Cressida nods, placing herself in the conversation. That's just what she told herself. "He's right," she says to Lily. Lily looks like how Cressida feels: a little unnerved but trying to hold everything together. "The Dark Lord doesn't have any reason to go after them unless they do something to get their attention. Besides, he's mainly going after blood-traitors at the moment. This is the first muggle family in ages."
"Is the Minister doing anything?" All the small conversations simmer, eyes turning towards Dorcas, a seventh year Gryffindor. Marlene who has read the paper at least three times, shakes her head. Dorcas scoffs, tongue pressing against her cheek. " 'Course not. He's as useless as salt in a cake."
Peter raises a small hand. "Unless it's salted caramel," he mutters.
Cressida withholds her snarky remark to that, and it seems everybody else does the same.
The first Quidditch game of the year is today. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. And for the first time since second year, Cressida is wearing a supporting jersey rather than Gryffindor Quidditch robes. It's Sirius' old shirt from third year before he had a growth spurt. His last name, plus the number 4 is planted on the back. It's not like she could exactly wear her own. Underneath, to battle to late Autumn air is a thick black sweatshirt.
Eventually the larger group falls back into the smaller cliques and then the Quidditch teams prepare themselves to go down to the pitch. Cressida walks with them, along with Remus and Peter who never miss a game.
The air is sharp, a layer of icy frost covering Hogwarts' grounds. They can see the pitch from a distance, the stands already beginning to fill up. Cressida is going to be in the stands today.
"It feels wrong." Cressida peers to the side towards Sirius who's been as equally quiet as her this morning. "Seeing you in that," he adds.
Cressida frowns down at the shirt. "I can take it off," she offers. Perhaps he thinks people would get the wrong idea, though Sirius isn't one to care much about his reputation amongst others.
A brief flicker of a smile graces his face. "No," he breathes. "I just mean I'd rather you be wearing your own."
Cressida hums to herself, looking back down at the shirt. She whole-heartedly agrees. "Next year," she promises them both. Despising the sour mood, she stuffs her hands into her pockets, calling out towards the front of the small pack. "When we get a half-decent Captain."
James spins around, striding backwards with his arms open in greeting. "You called?!"
Sirius and Cressida chuckle as James turns back around, a small jump in his stride. She muses to herself that he's very similar to her in that regard. The pre-game anticipation. Jumping. Excitement. Sirius on the other hand strives to keep his cool; the charming and infectious smirk never leaving until Hooch's whistle blows.
Once they reach the pit, Remus and Peter split off, heading towards the Gryffindor seating area but Cressida lingers around for more than one reason. "Try and keep the mandrake leaf under your tongue."
The mandrake leaves had been a pain to get, and she'd rather not have to do the process more than once. The leaves have been in their mouths constantly for five days now and even in less than a week, she's had a few near misses while eating.
Sirius and James nod, the latter even opening his mouth to reveal the wrinkly leaf underneath his tongue. "Make Andrews have a little fun on the field, won't you?"
"Don't need to ask us," James grins. "You better cheer us on."
"I am Sirius' number one fan," Cressida confirms, pointing her thumbs at her back where his last name is planted.
The Gryffindor team begin to fill the edge of the pitch where the three are waiting. Cressida receives more than one pat on the shoulder from her old teammates.
James leans on his broomstick, resting a foot on his toes. "Not mine?"
Sirius makes a jeering expression. "I am her favourite," he announces. "She's wearing my shirt after all."
Cressida smiles softly at their bickering which she is sure is for her own benefit. She hadn't exactly been the chirpiest person that morning, feeling foul at the thought of sitting out of Quidditch. But it's childish behaviour, and her friends are still playing so she certainly will be cheering them on.
James shifts his weight back onto solid ground, tilting the tip of his broom to tap Sirius' shoulder. "I wasn't aware that she wanted one."
Sirius rounds his mouth as if wincing, making James pinch his brows together. "A lady should never have to ask," he draws out slowly, the wince turning into a smirk. He looks to Cressida for support, so she nods.
"The man's right, James," she acknowledges.
Any further argument is cut off by Baxton's whistle calling the team to congregate. Cressida swallows the lump in her throat, giving the two boys a small wave before slowly pondering away. It takes a while to source down Peter and Remus in the full crowd.
"They're so loud," she has to shout to them once she does sit down. While flying, the team can hear the crowd's cheers perfectly well and now it's no wonder why because already her ears begin to hurt. "No wonder you all complain about your throats."
"Just wait till the game actually starts," Peter proclaims. He's sporting Gryffindor attire as well, including a red and gold beanie and scarf. "You won't even be able to talk."
Soon the teams enter the pitch, soaring out on their brooms from the lower tented area. It's strange to watch them in game mode without being up there with them. Up there she could see every twitch of their muscles, Baxton's small gestures with his hands to perform manoeuvres, how Sirius constantly regrips his broom and baton, James constantly looking at each member of his team to place them inside the map he holds in his head. He often flies past her in spare moments, offering a small nod as though they are checking in on one another.
But down here, she's just a speck in the cloud. Unimportant except for the small projection of her voice.
Despite that, despite feeling so small and un-special, Cressida cups her hands around her mouth, making it her goal to be recognised by voice alone to her teammates. They chant a simple but sharp "Go, Go, Gryffindor," and the easy synchronisation overwhelms the stands.
Madam Hooch centres the players, releasing the bludgers and the snitch but holds the Quaffle until she calls play. And as soon as it is up in the air, James is the first to swoop in and collect it.
Gryffindor goes into formations that she recognises, but Ravenclaw's moves are unpredictable. She recalls a piece of trivia that Ravenclaw has gotten a new Captain this year. And it looks like in the short time between the start of the year and now, they've completely changed their game plan.
It comes at two costs. Cressida knows that her team isn't expecting it and she can see the wobble in their formations. Even James, who to the untrained eye looks like he's in control of the entire game already, is weaving without any real idea of what he's doing.
The second cost comes at Ravenclaw's expense. They haven't had much training time, and with over half of their members new this year, their strategies are weak and loose.
Cressida leans forward, hands braced on her knees. Just like if she were in the game – watching intently as a Keeper could. James is smart. Smart in general but even more so at Quidditch. He figures them out; he flies over them, through them, around them. Then he speaks to Braxton and the other members of Gryffindor's team.
And it pisses Braxton off. He waves James off and even though her friend persists for a moment, he eventually does leave to get back into position. Braxton has always been jealous of James' skill and even in training James' ideas are brushed off. But eventually they are brought up again through Braxton's slightly reformed 'original' idea. Many times Cressida has wanted to call him out on it, but James always convinces her that it's not worth the time of day.
Changing her attention, Cressida watches Sirius' play. Unlike James, he still moves unsurely. His own team's formations have changed and while both beaters are trying to adapt, Ravenclaw's unpredictability is a burden.
"Sirius is struggling," she notes to Remus. The crowd has quietened in the height of the game, no scores being won by either side. "He doesn't know where to strike."
Remus searches the pitch, watching him as she is. It must be getting to him, she thinks. The feeling of helplessness. "He's not even near a bludger," Remus notes, holding up a pair of binoculars.
Cressida nods softly to herself. "He doesn't want to strike wrong."
As if their observation is a foreshadowing, a bludger that is moving of its own accord travels right through a tightly-knit formation of red and gold robes. Cressida's eyes widen.
From the stands, they can only see the shards of broom flinging into the air and a single player falling backwards. Every muscle in her body tightens, a string around her throat tightening and though she doesn't notice it, her breathing stops.
The player falls limply through the sky, closing the space between him and the ground with terrifying speed. She can't tell who it is from afar, only that they have darker coloured hair.
It could be James, she realises. Her nails dig into skin not her own as the body is just barely caught by Hooch on her own broom. The body is limp and Hooch's hurried actions do nothing to calm Cressida.
The crowd is almost silent.
People get hurt in Quidditch all the time. Having one match without at least a broken finger would be a miracle, but even first years could tell something is wrong. Members of both teams abandon the game, flying down towards the pitch where Hooch lays the body down and Madam Pomfrey is no doubt being called.
"I-I need to go down," Cressida mutters to Remus, letting go of his forearm. "I can't see who it is."
Remus, who has eyes she doesn't with his binoculars nods. "It's Braxton," he says. "He doesn't look good."
A guilty flood of relief loosens the tightness in her throat and with it, she can take a moment to identify her team as they dismount their brooms. James is there, next to Sirius, whose long hair is a statement in itself.
Cressida pushes through the crowd forcefully, bouncing down the steps onto the field. Even though Braxton is an idiot and the cause of her lost position, he's still part of the team.
It feels unreal and the feeling only intensifies as she marches closer. So unreal that it feels like this is the only moment in life that is real. Teachers hover along with a few other Gryffindors that she knows are friends with the Captain. James looks back when she is only a few meters away, though she isn't sure how he could tell she was there. He steps to the side, opening up his arm to bring her into the team's circle.
"Is he okay?" she asks so quietly she can barely hear herself.
"I think so," James murmurs. She folds her arms close to her stomach, standing with her back pressed against his front and his open arm closing over the top of her folded ones. "But he got hit bad. On his back."
A person in front of them moves to the side. Alex Braxton is lying on the ground, but his eyes are open and moving around. Hooch is talking with him, hands pressing gently into either of his arms to keep him still.
Cressida glances to the side and slightly upwards to meet Sirius' gaze. He's unnaturally quiet, distress and guilt flooding his eyes. He must see her working that out because he blinks rapidly, turning his eyes away from both her and the scene. He wanders off by himself, towards the tented area where they would go after a game has ended.
Her first instinct is to go after him, but something holds her back. In the back of her brain, she knows exactly what it is that does so, but her consciousness refuses to acknowledge it, focusing instead on the gentle and repetitive motion of fingers brushing her arm.