Chapter 39: Remus' Firewhiskey

Cressida smacks Sirius' hand away as it reaches for the side of her face. He whines, holding his hand to his chest. "You have a bruise," he grumbles, eyeing off the side of her temple.

"I know that," she drawls, pulling herself up onto an empty bench. They've hunkered down in the kitchens for Remus' birthday night, celebrating with food in their stomachs and no chance of being caught up so late at night. Most of the house-elves have retreated to wherever they sleep for the night, leaving only a few to finish working late into the night. "It's been there for days."

"Well it's the first I'm seeing it."

"That's because I forgot to cover it up." Rolling her eyes, she shoves a scone in his face to occupy him with something else. "It was just from a Quaffle."

James, who is perched on the counter opposite with a bowl of pudding, raises his eyes in a narrowed manner. "I thought we agreed that you would inform me if you got hurt."

"It wasn't during a game or training," Cressida huffs, digging into her own bowl of jelly-ice-cream. "I was mucking around with Elias at the pitch, and I got something in my eye just as he threw the Quaffle to me."

James' eyes only continue to narrow in bafflement. "Why were you at the pitch with him?"

The questions come from him lightly – probably trying to make sense of her half-arsed story – but Cressida finds it hard to focus properly. The sleeves of his white school shirt are folded up over his elbows and untucked from his pants, his tie loosened but still there. And the way that one corner of his mouth is pulled up more than the other-

"I needed a distraction," she answers hastily. Looking for another distraction, Cressida eagerly turns her focus to Remus who is pouting much like a young child. "Remus? What's wrong?"

His lips round, arms extending out in a gesture to Sirius. "Why does he get firewhiskey on his birthday, and I don't?" The rest of the group fall into sniggers, Peter even almost falling from the stool he dragged over.

Sirius, with a swagger in his step, strides over to his school bag. His hair is longer than ever, the ends brushing over his shoulder and almost completely covering his uneven collar. His tie is long gone, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and his sleeves scrunched up, unlike James' neatly folded ones. "Mate, it wouldn't be a proper birthday without some alcohol."

He turns back around with a large bottle of a dark amber liquid in hand. Where he got that from, she'd never know. Remus hollers in celebration, pulling Peter along to find some glasses. Sirius, chases after them, arms in the air, bellowing something about not needing cups to drink from.

"At least he's enjoying tonight," James notes softly, watching them with fondness. "Considering tomorrow night…"

The full moon tomorrow night. "I think that's why he wants the firewhiskey," she chuckles. He joins in with her, sliding off the counter. James comes to her own side, turning around to lean against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. Cressida gulps slightly as his side presses up against her legs, and his shoulder against the arm she has braced on the edge. He watches the other three for a few moments, laughing as Remus snatches the bottle from Sirius.

"What are you doing for the Summer holidays?"

Cressida blinks. "Oh." She hadn't thought much about it. Nothing unusual, she realises. "What I always do, I suppose. You?"

He breathes deeply, finally tilting his head back and up until their eyes lock. "My parents want to go to the Quidditch World Cup."

"That's in France," she recalls. "Are you going too?"

James laughs shortly. "I'd be stupid if I said no." He pushes himself away and Cressida's heart longs for the contact that is snatched away at that moment. But it rejoices once more as he pushes himself onto the counter like she is, and the distance between them closes even more.

She wonders if he knows. Knows that she can feel every part of him that touches her. Knows that her hands feel clammy. Knows that every muscle in her face is hiding a gigantic smile. She wonders if he knows that she is tracing her eyes over every feature – the way his hair has a slight curl, the freckle behind his ear.

But he doesn't.

"Sirius and I might have to retreat to Remus or Peter's then," she jokes. "I've never actually been to Peter's. I wonder if his mother won't mind guests."

James laughs softly, his face poking over his shoulder as he hunches forward, resting his weight on the edge of the counter. "We'll only be gone for a few days." He straightens suddenly, hands folding in his lap as he clicks his tongue. "Besides, I don't even know if I want to go."

Cressida smiles unsurely, leaning closer to his side – if it's even possible. "You just said you'd be stupid to say no," she says.

James laughs again, nodding. "I know. But it doesn't feel right; going away without any of you. I mean-" he gestures out to their friends who are still squabbling over something, "-what would you guys do without me?"

Cressida breaks into laughter that matches his. "I think I can manage them for a few days," she goads.

James chuckles louder, swinging an arm over her shoulders. "I'm sure you can. But if you need an escape, just floo powder into my house. We'll leave the channel open for you."

Cressida rolls her neck in a sarcastic manner. "Thank you. Make sure you leave some lasagne in the freezer. I crave that at least once a month."

She feels his chest moving in almost silent laughter against her shoulder. "How about I learn some French recipes if I go?" he suggests mirthfully, his towering figure leaning down over her slightly in a teasing approach. "Maybe sneak back some frog legs? Snails?"

Cressida shrivels her nose, shaking her head avidly. "No," she chuckles. "I think I'm good with your lasagne and omelettes. But feel free to tell me how they are when you try them. And I want picture evidence."

"You say that like I'm not game enough to try them without someone egging me on."

"Oh I know you are. I want the pictures to see your reaction." She leans to the side to counter his own lean, but he doesn't move backwards, almost challenging her. "I've seen you eat seaweed and you nearly vomited." She pokes his stomach with a crooked smirk, tipping her head to the side. "How do you think you'll deal with eating a frog leg?"

His head matches her tilt while his arm curves inwards, moving from resting over the back of her shoulders to the back of her neck, hanging down her front. "That's because it tasted like seawater. Same reason I don't like fish."

Cressida raises a doubting brow. "But you'll eat a snail? A slimy, chewy snail?" She prolongs the words, seeping in his reactions.

He considers her points, one eye squinting more than the other. "As long as it doesn't taste like the sea," he decides. "And did you feel my abs?" His grin widens, taking her hand and planting it back on his stomach. "They've been coming through."

Cressida sends herself into a fit of laughter, lips pressing against her teeth, head falling forward. His stomach does indeed feel firmer than what she first expected. "You're going to be shirtless all Summer now, aren't you?"

"Of course," he declares. "Now you have something to look forward to."

"Please," she drags out vociferously. Shoving his arm off and leaning backwards, Cressida slides off the counter to stand in front of him. Her defences are building up, though she tries to play it off as teasing. "Sirius has a much better body."

James' jaw drops partially, his eyes darting around the kitchens to find their forgotten friend. "I have more muscle," he claims.

Cressida clicks her tongue against her teeth. "I don't know. He is a Beater so he may look slimmer, but his muscles are stronger. Especially his shoulders-" she jumps back with a giggle as James pushes off the counter, "I've seen girls drool over him."

James scoffs, sauntering forward with a purpose in each step as Cressida takes one back with each of his. "You think they're drooling over him because you only have eyes for him." He gestures to himself with a broad smirk. "If you took the time to look at me, you'd see what they are actually drooling over."

Cressida snuffs, folding her arms. "I don't see it."

James opens his mouth to no doubt reply with something witty, but the words change in his mouth, eyes darting over her shoulder. "Sirius," he calls as the said boy wanders over with Remus and Peter on his tail, glasses in their hands while the former sticks with the bottle. "Cressida apparently thinks your fitter than me."

Sirius drapes an arm over her shoulder, toasting the air with his glass, the scent of alcohol already on his breath. "So she should," he cackles. Cressida laughs along with him as James mocks offence. "We've already had this discussion, haven't we? Pretty boy, I think you called me."

Cressida laughs harder as the memory of his drowsy conversation resurfaces. "Well, you are very pretty. And I love your hair."

Sirius shakes his head, letting the hair fan out in a display. From the side, Remus cries out, looking into his glass. "I think a hair just flew in there," he wails, staring down longingly at the amber liquid. Peter quickly checks his own, eyes lightening when he finds nothing.

"It's a gift. Happy birthday," Sirius winks. "If you ever want to Polyjuice yourself into me."

Remus delves his fingers into the glass, pulling out a strand of black hair. "I'm fine," he croaks, shaking the wet strand off his fingers. "The jacket was enough."

Winking, Sirius raises the bottle again. "Knew you'd like it. Peter! You need a refill!" Peter doesn't argue, holding his glass high in offering as Sirius steps forward, holding the bottle like he is the god it belongs to. Cressida's eyes widen as she is yanked along by Sirius' arm – and she doubts that he even realises properly that he does so. "Remus?!"

"Fill me up," he croaks, straight after drowning what was left in the glass.

"James?!" Sirius bellows, holding the glass towards their unassigned leader. James, however, holds up a mug of tea that he had almost forgotten about prior, smiling warmly over the rim. "Loser."

"Evans and I are studying early tomorrow morning," he defends easily, the smile growing wider and more…bashful. "Don't exactly want to be hungover."

Cressida's grin wavers, but she stops it before it becomes noticeable by anybody else. Snatching the bottle from Sirius' grasp, she takes a long swig with clenched eyes, wrapping her own arm around the back of his neck. She expects it to be taken away at any point, savouring the flavoured burn down her throat as long as she can. But at long last, her stomach gargles, filling to the brim and she forces the bottle away from her own mouth. Her eyes open, lids almost peeling apart.

Sirius is staring down at her with a touch of concern behind his dark eyes. It's like he can read her own – quicker and easier than he reads any book. And it scares Cressida to realise how fast she could fall apart in front of him at any second. All he had to do was look at her a certain way and she'd be spilling her heart out – crying and thrashing about. He's become – somehow and Merlin knows when – the one person that could tear the cracks in her shell that not even James would be able to pry open. She doesn't know whether to fear that or welcome it.

He pries to bottle back, placing it behind him on the counter James first sat on. Cressida glances at James but he's only laughing raucously with Remus at something they both missed. She could kiss Sirius right now and he'd probably cheer them on. He doesn't see her the way she does him.

Before the emotion can flood her face, Cressida brings her other arm up, digging her face into the side of his neck with laboured breaths. His arm drops to around her middle, the other holding the back of her head in place like one would to a babe.

"She alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius breathes in answer to James Potter. "Just drank too fast."

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