Chapter 23: Feeble

The dark wood under her hand couldn't be more polished if one used magic on it. The railing to the stairs almost appears like marble. It must come from a magnificent tree.

Cressida can hear them before she even reaches the bottom step, her footfalls softened by fuzzy grey socks that she was gifted just a few days ago. A stark redness lines her nose which her sleeve is constantly rubbing at. She hadn't bothered to look in the mirror that morning, but Cressida imagines dark circles and pale skin the sight her friends will have to behold.

Downstairs is warmer than the upper level, so she sheds her cardigan, leaving a mid-length grey shirt with three buttons on the bottom of a non-existent collar.

Their voices lead her to the kitchen, the backs of two of her friends facing outwards as they perch on the island bench. Like her, they've stripped out their warmer layers, laying them over the backing of the stools.

"Why is there flour on the floor?"

"I made pancakes," is Sirius hearty defence.

Cressida smiles meekly to herself, creeping forward into the kitchen. "From scratch?" James howls. "We have pre-made mixes in the cupboard."

"Fuck's sake," Sirius sighs audible, "I wasn't going to search through that mess of a thing when the ingredients were already out." She leans against the open archway, observing fondly as James prances around the kitchen. Like the rest of them, he's donning a plain shirt, the long sleeves pushed up to just above his elbows. His hair looks unbrushed – even more so than usual.

Sirius sits on the stool with wet hair as though he's come straight from a shower. On his right is Remus, his lanky and tall figure hunching over slightly, resting his chin on his joined fists. "Didn't bother to make the rest of us any?" he inquires.

"Nobody else was up," Sirius shrugs.

Cressida finally pushes off the archway, sauntering in with a tired smile and a sniff. "I wouldn't trust his cooking anyways, Remus," she says. Her voice sounds clogged which is no surprise even though it is the first time she's spoken.

James grins from the other side of the island, his hands braced on the bench. "Morning sunshine," he greets in a jolly tone. "You're looking…well."

Cressida would snort if she had the throat to do it, instead settling for a sarcastic eyebrow raise. "Don't flatter me. I'm just here for some food then another nap."

Remus shrivels his nose as she wanders over to take the stool on his right. "Must have gotten it from Peter. He went home late last night because of it."

Cressida presses her lips together, folding her hands on the island. "Well unfortunately you two are stuck with me," she mutters, addressing Sirius and James. "I think my mother would whoop my behind if she knew I wasn't at Hogwarts."

"I know you're tempted," Sirius calls, leaning forward onto the bench to smirk at her, "but don't snog me, will you? I don't fancy getting sick. A red nose isn't my look."

Cressida tries to laugh but it ends up in a dry cough which she covers with the inside of her elbow. With a watery-eyed smile, she manages to rebuttal, "Please, it's not you that I fancy. How do you think I got it off Peter?" The group falls into soft chuckles.

"You want an omelette?" James queries, holding up a frying pan. "I'm pretty good at them."

Cressida smiles tiredly again, resting her chin in her palm, fingers stretching over her red cheek. "How could I resist watching a man cook for me?" she answers. And how could she?

James winks, taking the pan to the stovetop which he lights up. With his back turned to them, occupied by slicing up something on the chopping board, Cressida watches him freely. Well, in half-freedom as she is well aware of the other two occupants of the room.

"Were you actually with Peter last night?" Cressida forces her eyes away from the red shirt and onto the dark eyes of Sirius Black. "I went to talk to you last night, but you weren't there."

"Oh-I, uh…" Cressida darts her eyes to James who's back is still to them, giving no clue if he is listening to their conversation. Why should it matter? "I went out for a walk for about an hour. Just past midnight."

Sirius' brows twitch in a furrow but he nods, accepting her answer. Why didn't she just say the complete truth? There would be no harm in it.

Because suddenly the complete truth isn't the complete truth. It was a harmless night in physical events, but she isn't sure if that would be the only thing her words would convey. Physical truths aren't the only truths. And apparently, she can't keep the truth off her face. They can always tell when she's lying as she recently discovered.

… Manipulated truth…

"My parents are at my uncle's house for the day," James announces. "They won't be back till late this evening."

"Explains why you're cooking," Cressida retorts. James in the kitchen isn't the rarest sight to behold, but one that doesn't happen if he has no need to be there.

"Yeah, and not for us," Sirius barks, sipping his mug with black coffee inside.

James half-turns, holding a spatula as he would a wand. "You've already eaten. And Remus doesn't eat breakfast every day." He points the spatula at the sandy-haired boy. "Terrible habit by the way."

"You didn't know I had eaten before you started preparing," Sirius grumbles the argument he knows he's losing.

"Merlin's beard," James cries airily. "Sirius. Would you like an omelette?"

Sirius sits straighter in his stool, both hands cupping his mug. He thinks intensively for a moment about the offer. "No thanks," he decides. "I've already eaten."

Cressida bites her lip to hold the grin as James' eyes burn holes into the nonchalant male's head. She's honestly quite surprised steam isn't blowing through his ears.

"I know it's a bit late," James says, still facing the stove, "but I was thinking maybe I should buy Lily something for Christmas. Something small like you suggested, Cress."

Her mouth runs dry. She had suggested that. At the time it seemed like a good idea – nothing elaborate – and she even offered to help him buy it. But now the idea of it is more sickening than the cold. Covering her hesitation to answer with a cough, Cressida takes a moment to think her answer out logically. "Maybe," she swallows. "What were you thinking of?"

James shrugs, still not facing them as he focuses on the eggs sizzling which she is grateful for since her face gives away too much. "Maybe a bracelet or something."

"Isn't that a bit romantic?" Sirius calls out.

James finally turns around, but his attention lays on Sirius alone. Tucking her head down, Cressida disengages from the conversation. "Isn't that the point?" he counters.

"I think what Cress means by small, is something simple. Nothing attached. Nothing romantic. Maybe a... book or something."

"Watership Down," Remus adds straight after. "She was talking about it. Just came out last year and she hasn't had the chance to buy it yet."

James leans against the bench in thought, looking at nothing in particular then straight at her. He raises his brows; an inquisitiveness of her thoughts. Cressida straights slightly again, nodding feebly. "What's the harm in trying."

"I'll go down and buy it before we go back then," he declares easily, turning back around to the stove. "Should be at that muggle book store down in Grindling."

Cressida is strangely glad for the sudden onset of the cold, wondering how terrible she would look right then even if she weren't sick. Soon a plate is lain in front of her, steaming fluffy eggs with tomato and basil sticking from it. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Do you mind if I take it to my room?"

James shrugs lightly. Sliding from the stool almost silently, Cressida crawls back to her room with breakfast in hand and doesn't leave it for many hours.

Xx

By nightfall, a few days after recovering from her cold, Cressida still hasn't removed herself from the bed. Staring out the window, her mind is filled with too many thoughts to simply go to sleep, but she has no urge to sneak out again. Not with how it ended last time.

She wants to talk to someone. Talk without talking. Her options are quite limited however. Talking to James is out of the question considering he is one of her main problems. Sirius has been barking at her on and off ever since the holidays started and despite James' assurance, she still isn't sure whether his actions should be taken personally or not. He practically growled at her offer of a blanket the previous evening as they watched a movie on the projector Remus got for Christmas. And her final option is Remus, but he has an uncanny way of making people talk about things they don't want to talk about and that is the complete opposite of what Cressida wants to do.

As reluctant as her choice is, Cressida still slips from her warm covers and walks quietly into the empty hall. She wanders down the other end, the position of the rooms permanently ingrained in her memory. Upon reaching the door, Cressida raps her knuckles against it softly, knowing he is mostly likely half-asleep already, if not completely.

Her fingers move down to grip the round metal handle, turning it until she hears to soft click and pushes it open enough for her upper body to poke through. The soft light that still fills the hallway from a lamp creeps through the room, enough to light distinguishable silhouettes. "Sirius?"

A lump in the bed moves slightly as he turns away from the far end wall. "What?" he growls.

An invisible hand squeezes at her throat. "N-nothing," she croaks. Not able to conjure anything more – or bring herself to upset him further, she leans back into the hall, closing the door once more with another soft click. Rejection overwhelms her heart.

Maybe she's just being overly sensitive. Her emotions are clearly on a heightened course. But that logic doesn't work against its contender.

Feeling vulnerable in the wide hall, Cressida quickly scampers back to her room, nearly diving under the covers and pulling them taut under her chin. The sniffle that should have left at least three days ago returns unwelcome, bringing along guests in the form of water as well.

The loneliness becomes a lot more comforting than it had been before, and any desire to talk has snapped like a thin twig under a boot.

Yet the door to her room creaks open. Cressida peels her eyes open, squinting them immediately as the figure holds a wand with a light on the end. It lights his face as well, everything from the slightly disarrayed hair to the wrinkles in his sleeping top. She doesn't say anything as he strides towards her bed, pulling back the covers without invitation and settles himself in. The light on his wand evaporates as he places it on the nightstand behind him before mimicking her position to face her.

"I'm sorry," Sirius whispers. "I was half-asleep and thought you were James."

Cressida smiles softly. "Do I have a low voice or does James have a high one?"

"My brain couldn't tell the difference. Did you want company or did you need something else?"

Cressida hesitates her answer. What does she want from him right now? Answers. "You've been…agitated all holidays," she begins slowly, reading his features carefully through the dim light. "I just want to know if I need to apologise for something or…help you. I don't know."

Sirius coughs dryly, clearing his throat. "No, it's not – nobody has done anything. I'm just being a dick."

Cressida croaks out a chuckle, rearranging herself with an arm outside the cover, the other curling under the pillow. With a humoured tone, she questions, "And why, may I ask, are you being a dick?"

Sirius laughs bitterly, turning to lay on his back. "I don't even know myself. I just – everything seems so perfect here." He swallows, head falling to the side to stare back at her through the darkness. "But perfect is for stories. It's make-believe. And stories end."

"You're scared it's going to be snatched away," Cressida whispers, reading between his words. His chest rises under the blanket slowly with a long sigh. "I can assure you of two things." Sirius turns back onto his side, listening intently to her words. Cressida smiles, holding up a single finger. "One: nothing is perfect. Not even here. And trust me, sometimes I feel the same but that's because I'm only seeing things shallowly. Our friend is a werewolf who has unaddressed mental health issues. James is in love with a girl who won't call him anything but toe-rag. You've got a fucked-up family. Peter has social anxiety. And me… well, let's not get started on me tonight."

Sirius smiles gently.

Her second finger raises. "Two: it's not going to be snatched away from you. I won't let it. Remus and Peter won't let it. And by Merlin's socks, you know James would rather die than give all this up."

"You know I came in here because I thought you needed me."

Cressida answers quickly. "I do. I need to know that you're alright."

A tired but still arrogant grin slowly morphs as he rakes his hair back with his long fingers. "How doting of you," he muses. "There's nothing you wanted to talk to me about?"

Cressida smiles into her pillow. "Don't worry about me."