Chapter 17: A New Role
The Common Room is near empty. The fireplace is near dead, a few extra candles floating around to keep the room lit enough in the dark hours. It's hauntingly beautiful at night, yet as comfortable as one imagines a home to be. The alcove Sirius and Cressida are settled in has a stream of moonlight, contrasting the orange glow the rest of the room falls under.
There's nothing in her hands except for a square red cushion she holds close to her stomach. Sirius on the other hand has a thick book in his lap and another to his side with a parchment set on top of it with messily scattered writing.
The others have already retired to the dorm. James spent the entire day complaining about his lack of sleep, and Remus and Peter found no reason to stay up and watch Sirius work through his schoolwork. But Cressida has her reasons.
She watches him for a while, and he's very much aware of the fact with each small peek back at her he makes. It must be distracting him, she notes, because the intervals between the glimpses shorten each time.
Eventually the sides of his lips turn upwards in the slightest motion. "You alright there?" he questions.
Cressida breathes deeply, looking away briefly before nodding. "I'm fine. How are you doing?"
His tongue presses against his bottom lip, eyes falling back down to the book. "That's not what I was asking," he murmurs. Before he starts reading, and though his chin is tilted back down, he watches her for an answer.
Matching his expression, Cressida counters with, "That's not an answer to my question." Sirius makes a fleeting illustration of agreement but doesn't bother to take her hint. Leaning forward, she pulls the book away from his lap softly, closing it and putting it aside.
Sirius makes a longing gesture but no real effort to take it back. "How often do you see me with that?" he demands with an empty chuckle.
"Enough to know that when you do have it, you're using it as a distraction." Her words cause a flicker of distaste in his grey eyes; a sign of defences beginning to build. "It's not the worst distraction," she continues lightly, "but a distraction nonetheless."
His eyes refuse to meet hers once more, pointing downwards at the space between them. "So?" his fingers splay out with the question but curl back into each other, hiding away in his lap.
Cressida tweaks her cheek with a long sigh. She's going to have to start from the bottom. "I told my mother I won't be returning for Christmas."
The unexpected turn of conversation brings his eyes back to meet hers. They squint as they scrutinise her, likely wondering why the subject has changed so abruptly. "So you're coming to James' then?"
She can't figure out if he's only entertaining the conversation out of curiosity of seeing where it is going, or out of genuine interest in her whereabouts in a month's time. To answer the question, her head shakes. "I told you I don't feel comfortable being with his family for Christmas. It's not the time and place for guests."
"I'll be there," is his quick counter.
Cressida smiles nudging his side with her outstretched foot. "Yes, but you're practically his brother. You spend more time there than your own home."
Sirius grips the top of her socked foot, holding it from hitting him again. "So do you. Besides, remember our deal – you stay, I stay. And if I'm staying, James will put up a fuss and force us both to go anyways. Save us from grumpy James and just come."
Cressida lifts her chin in dignified defence. "I don't recall making any deals," she sings quietly. "Grumpy James is going to be your problem since you're spending Christmas with him."
Sirius pushes out his jaw, his nose flaring slightly. He appears to observe her for a short while and Cressida lets him. "You're difficult, you know that?"
Cressida smiles downwards. "No, I didn't actually. Perhaps you're starting to wear off on me."
A sharp breath of air passes out of his nose. "I've been rubbing off on you a lot longer than that." He leans forward with a glare, pointing to the book she took from his hands. "And you've been rubbing off on me. That's a charms book."
"Does this mean we won't have to cram an entire year's worth of lessons into one week before the exam?" she dares hope, tracing her finger along the edge of the book. "I might be able to get more than three hours sleep."
"Considering you took the book away, I'm going to presume that as a no." His hand falls back into his lap as Cressida clearly has no intention to give it back. "I assume you didn't stay up just to watch the moonlight."
Cressida leans back against the stone wall. "Have you seen Braxton yet?" Her eyes trail up his body slowly, resting once they meet his, but the intensity doesn't leave them. She won't let him scoot around her.
Sirius seems to already know what she is doing – he probably did all along. "Yes," he sighs, turning his head away and towards the dying fire. "I saw him this morning."
"How was he?"
"Rough." His throat bobs with a slight shift in his seat. "He's got a long recovery ahead of him."
"But he's awake?" Sirius nods gently. Ever since the match – ever since she walked onto the pitch – he's been distant about the topic and Cressida endeavours to figure out why. She'd asked James and Remus the day before and they had both acknowledge Sirius' dissociation, but he had revealed nothing to either of them. "Then why are you feeling guilty?"
The word 'guilt' is a guess and nothing more. He could be feeling anything but somehow guilt just makes the most sense. As far as Cressida could see, Sirius wasn't anywhere near the bludger when it struck Braxton.
"I don't."
Cressida leans forward again, resting her folded elbows over his raised knee as if it's the most casual thing in the world. Her attempt at making him feel uncomfortable enough to talk. "So why'd you walk off the pitch then?" she pushes. If she was right, he would avoid answering. If she is wrong, he'd defend himself with the answers. However, Sirius doesn't answer her at all. Giving up her charade of all-knowing, Cressida unfolds her arms, simply resigning to resting a hand on his knee out of her own comfort. "Sirius, you know I'm not going to say something to anybody else. I don't even know if this is about the match in complete honesty. But I do want you to at least talk. To me or James."
"I was pissed."
Cressida blinks, straightening her back and opening her ears. The answer comes so quickly that he clearly had been deliberating telling her before she finished her spiel. "Pissed at what?"
"Braxton," Sirius says through a long breath. "About the whole thing with Andrews. We were losing and I blamed it on him. Out of spite, I wasn't focusing on the bludgers unless I was sending one towards the Ravenclaws. I was secretly hoping one would hit him, so I just… didn't watch." He pauses, staring at his knee. An indent appears on his cheek where his teeth pull the skin inwards. "But then it all happened, and I realised how stupid it was. It could've been James just as easily. He was right next to Braxton."
Cressida takes her time listening to him, replaying the words over her head after he finishes. She won't sugar-coat things, but her priority is helping him deal with whatever is going on in that mind of his. A confusing place, she knows. "There are four beaters on the pitch during a game," she states. "Two of those were Gryffindor. I'm not sure what you saw, but that bludger came out of nowhere. It could have been sent by a Ravenclaw, Hedley also missed it yet he was closer than you were." Seeing the flicker of intent listening in his eyes, Cressida smiles softly but wide and leans forward. She places his hand on either cheek. "I know you think you rule the world, but your mind can't control a bludger. You didn't send it his way."
His lips protest the movement at first, but a tired chuckle escapes them. "Damn. And here I am hoping that by pure will, this homework will write itself."
Cressida sits back once more, content with the conversation at hand. "Sirius, if you find a way to do that – by will or by magic, you better tell me." They laugh together, the sombre mood transforming into a comfortable warmth.
Xx
The tip of her fingers whitens against the cold metal, the rim pressing hard into the skin. Her target remains unaware, speaking without worry to his companion who is just as oblivious.
Before she strikes, Cressida looks out the side of her vision. James is barely holding his smile back, pushing his porridge around with his spoon. He raises a brow, daring her to release.
Blood rushes back into the skin as she releases the spoon. A thick glob of James' porridge scatters the air. One can almost hear the short 'glop' as the oatmeal and milk lands on Remus' freshly cleaned uniform. A rouge chunk lands on the side of Sirius' face, eliciting a rapid succession of blinks in surprise.
Cressida quickly sets the spoon down, picking up her toast. Remus and Sirius glare at her side of the table. "It was James," she fibs, biting into the buttered toast. James directs a short-lived glare in her direction, already knowing that the porridge in front of him that she stole the ammunition from is enough evidence against him.
Quickly she occupies herself with eating while Remus spends the next few minutes chiding James about his now spot-covered uniform and Sirius wipes the porridge away with a napkin.
She is quite surprised that James didn't throw her back under the bus, only letting Remus continue until his fumes die out. James leans close to her ear, his breath fanning her skin. "Now you owe me," he whispers before going back to his breakfast.
"Mr Potter." All five pairs of eyes turn upwards. Professor McGonagall stands over James' shoulder, donned in a velvet green robe. Her face portrays no indication of what has brought her to them, or specifically James, but history would say that it is nothing good. "Do you mind coming with me for a moment?"
James nods straight away, but looks over his friends to see if they have any idea but they are just as lost as him. "Certainly Professor." He slips out of his seat, trailing after their Head of House towards the entrance to the Great Hall.
Cressida watches them until there are out of sight. "Any idea what that's about?" she wonders aloud. .
To her dismay, they all shake their heads. "I mean, we haven't done anything recently," Sirius says in reference to their usual antics "But it's a bit odd that she's only speaking to James if it was something like that."
Cressida nods softly in agreement. Her worry begins to grow, wondering if it could be something more personal. James' family. They oppose the Dark Lord, but not as openly as some. They're smart and keep their political opinions to themselves.
Just as the physical jitters begin to creep in, James and McGonagall wander back into the Hall. From sight alone, she cannot tell anything but his lips are slightly angled upwards which is not what she's expecting.
McGonagall walks straight past them and towards the staff table where she usually perches to watch over breakfast. James slides back into his seat, saying nothing as he picks his spoon back up. The rest of them stare at him, waiting for anything.
After a moment of silence that James is evidently dragging on for his own entertainment, Sirius breaks. "Bloody hell mate, tell us before I throw my juice at you."
James' mouth tweaks in a smile which he covers as he swallows his meal but doesn't raise the spoon again. "I've just been made Captain of the Quidditch team."
Cressida's face morphs from concerned wondering to delight in less than a second. The fact that he's Captain isn't surprising in itself since he's been the presumed heir for years now, but it wasn't expected until next year. "James," she gasps. Launching forward, her arms encircle him completely. "That's amazing."
And it is. Nobody could underplay how skilled a player James is. He's been working towards this for years – training through the summers, devising game plans in spare time to propose to Braxton. It's the one school thing he's worked his arse off for.
"Nice work," Remus congratulates.
"Thank you," James chuckles in response to them both. Cressida finally lets him go, watching the pride flood his face. Not that he needs any more, but she'd be the last person to ruin anything like this for him. "It's a bit bittersweet since that means-"
"Braxton can't play," Sirius finishes. He shrugs it off, both for James and himself. "If he's willing to risk the Cup for a girl, he didn't deserve it in the first place. Besides, it's not like he's dead. Just retired."
James nods in agreement, almost forcing himself to remember that. "So. Cress." Cressida perks at her name, smiling and signalling her attention. "Training is this afternoon. You coming?"
A small twinge of pain sources from her stomach. It tells her to say no, but her mouth doesn't listen. "Can't miss watching you as your first day as Captain," she goads, forcing a short laugh at the end. James rolls his tongue over his lip, turning away from her to laugh to himself. Cressida faux smile falters slightly, eyes darting to Remus, Sirius and Peter who are also silently chuckling. "What?"
James turns back to her, resting an elbow on the table and leaning forward enough that Cressida feels obliged to lean backwards. "Some days I think you're smarter than our resident nerd here-" he gestures to Remus with his head, "-and others I think you're denser than Peter." Peter frowns but doesn't protest. Cressida also frowns, compelling herself to lean back up straight as she figures out what has made them laugh. Apparently, her efforts are taking too long for his short patience. "Blimey, Cress. I'm saying you're on my team."
It takes another few seconds for it to actually register what that means. Her bottom lip pulls downwards. Pointing a finger at her chest, this time she leans forward. "You mean as your Keeper?" she whispers, afraid that she's going to misinterpret.
"Yes," James affirms, still laughing in disbelief at her supposed denseness. "I'll tell Andrews after breakfast of the disappointing news. Can't say I won't get pleasure out of it." Cressida takes a long breath, knowing the smile at her lips is too big to hide. She tries anyway, pressing it into her conjoined hands with her elbows pressing against the table. "No need to thank me, of course."
Breaking from her attempted hold, Cressida drops her shoulders and hands, enveloping James in a second embrace this morning. She still doesn't thank him, not able to find the words but she's sure he understands the message. One hand rests on her back, but she can feel in his muscles how the other one moves out, followed by the clinking of metal. Pulling her head back, she finds James raising a full spoon to his mouth.
"Class is soon," he defends, "I wasn't sure how long you were going to take."
Shaking her head in baffled amusement, she retreats to let him finish his food since class is starting in a few minutes. "Thank you."