Chapter 48: Hospital Stays
Madam Pomfrey has ordered James to stay in the hospital wing overnight for observation. And Cressida is glad of that order for two reasons.
One: they've never seen the curse before. It is laced in Dark Magic, and even their matron was unsure of the longer-term effects. She commended Remus on his quick thinking.
Two: Cressida isn't quite in the mood to talk to him. Putting it lightly. After making sure that he was alright and safe, she left the wing and headed straight to the Room with the Hidden Door to be alone for a few hours. The only other to even know about the room is James, so she knows that she would be safe for as long as she pleases.
It isn't until she is finally confronted by Sirius who caught her sneaking to the kitchens that she is forced to speak.
"You're upset with James," he states as a fact. "You could've told him not to approach Snape and he wouldn't have."
Cressida rolls her eyes, tongue pressing against the back of her teeth. "We both know he wouldn't have listened. And even if he did, you wouldn't have listened either. Besides, I don't care why he went off at that git, it's why he did it."
Sirius cocks his head, leaning against the bench with his hip as Cressida busies herself with making a tea – simply having requested the tools and ingredients from the house-elves. "I'm the one who suggested it," he says slowly. "And we all know why he agreed," he adds even slower, more pointedly.
"Yes," she hums, stirring in some milk. "Because he wanted to impress Evans. Bloody idiot. Attacking their friend is not how you attract a woman."
"Ah," Sirius sighs as though he has finally made a discovery. "So you're upset because you think James did all that to impress Evans when you wanted him to do it for you."
Cressida forgets her tea momentarily to send the dark-haired both a withering glare. "No," she states. Yes. "I wouldn't have cared if he was doing it for the same reasons that you were. Snape deserved it after those comments. I don't want to hex and stun people for the fun of it, Sirius. Doing it to impress someone is just…" She can't even finish her own sentence, ending with a long exhale and turning back to her near-perfect tea. "It's like he just used the opportunity as a cover or something."
Sirius saunters closer to her spot in the kitchen, leaning against the counter once more, far enough to catch her eye. "Look, I can't read his mind. And I can't read yours. But I can tell you, from what he told me after you ditched him in the hospital wing-" Cressida gives a hearty huff at the word choice, "- that it wasn't simply to impress Evans. Even he's not stupid enough to think that would work."
Cressida shakes her head slowly, running her tongue over her lips. "You weren't watching then," she whispers. "He kept his eyes on her almost the entire time, even before we went over. That's why he went. And I just… it makes me feel completely sidelined because Snape said those things to me. You're right. I'm the one who is called a Mudblood. And for a stupid moment, I thought James might be doing it because he felt angry on my behalf. And maybe he was angry – you could see it on his face, but it wasn't because Snape called me that. It was because Snape might have called Lily by that name behind her back. He was angry on her behalf and that hurts. It hurts because I became an excuse. A means to an end."
"So that's why James was asking for you just an hour ago and not Evans?" Sirius inquires lightly, vastly contrasting her distraught cracks and croaks. "Because you're an excuse? Cressida, when have you ever known James to use his friends like that?" She tries to lift the mug to her mouth so she doesn't have to respond to anything, but Sirius' arm snaps out, pushing it away. The hot liquid spills over her wrists, eliciting a hiss. "Why don't you just go talk to him."
"Don't do that," Cressida breathes.
"Do what?"
"Talking for the sake of trying to make me feel better," she snaps. "You're not good at it, not unless you're providing a distraction. And it's not like I'm going to go have a good ol' chat with him about this. He has no idea and I'd prefer it stays that way."
Cressida already made up her mind that she would indeed go keep him company later that night. She can be mad at him all she wants, but that will never negate the fact that he is her friend. People do stupid things all the time.
"He wants to invite you to France."
Cressida stiffens slightly but tries not to display any particular reaction. "What?"
"France," Sirius repeats softly. "For the Quidditch World Cup."
France? He already said his parents were interested in going to see the World Cup and she assumed James would go along with them, of course, but she didn't expect to be invited. Merlin, she would have thought Sirius would have been the one to be invited if they had a spare ticket.
Cressida shakes her head. "I'm not going to France." Like her father would even let her.
Sirius shrugs. "You can tell him that when he asks you then." He pulls his sleeve up to peek at his leather watch that Fleamont gave him two Christmases ago. "I've got detention to go to. Do me a favour and just, don't assume anything when you do eventually talk to him."
Cressida raises her brows, mouth dropping open to question him about what on earth she is supposed to be not assuming, but he's already marching out of the kitchens. Picking up her mug, she raises it in a mocking toast towards the portrait door.
Xx
It isn't until well after dark that Cressida finally gathers the mindset to go visit James. It is so late, that she had to borrow his invisibility cloak just to wander the halls.
Don't assume anything, Sirius had told her. What in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean?
Cressida pulls the cloak off her head once she reaches the entrance to the Hospital wing, peeking in first to ensure that Madam Pomfrey has returned to her chambers for the night already. The entire room is empty save a single bed with a sleeping figure. All the lights are out, making it almost feel abandoned.
Folding the cloak under her arms, she debates whether she wants to wake him or not, but she can't bear the thought of him thinking that she doesn't care enough to see him.
That's the motivation that drives her legs forward. Cressida's soft soles elicit almost no sound along the stone as she approaches, placing the cloak gently down on the visitor's chair.
James is well and truly asleep, the blanket pulled up under his arms and his head flopping against the fluffed pillow. His glasses laying unfolded on the nightstand. She doesn't want to wake him.
Nevertheless, she lays a delicate hand on his uninjured arm, jostling it softly. "James?" she whispers. It doesn't take much to rouse him. James' signifies his waking with a short but sharp intake of air and his brows pinching together. At his own pace, his eyes come to open, darting all over her face and body. "It's me," she says, realising that he's probably having trouble identifying her without his glasses and no light.
His weight seems to drop further into the bed with an audible sigh. "Oh, hey," he chuckles with a throaty croak. His chest moves up and down rhythmically with long breaths.
"How you feeling?" she asks, leaning onto the edge of the mattress. From a simple observation, he looks a little pale, though it could just be the lack of light and maybe from being tired.
"Fine," he answers easily. "After Pomfrey patched me up with some dittany, I haven't really felt much. It'll take a few days to fully heal though." Cressida nods slowly, eyeing off the bandage that pokes out from underneath his shirt which is unbuttoned down further than usual. "I'll be honest, didn't really expect that from him."
"Snape?" she questions. James nods, peering down at his own shoulder with interest. "Like Sirius always says, he's been dabbling in the Dark Arts even before he came to Hogwarts. He's just finally found the guts to use them."
James hums in agreement then sends Cressida a friendly smile. Shifting his weight onto his elbows, he shuffles closer to the far side of the cot. "Don't be a stranger. Remus almost climbed on because he was tired."
Cressida doesn't move straight away, not exactly sure if her gut is telling her to or not. Everything with Lily comes flashing back in front of her eyes, yet here James is, unaware and oblivious. Smiling slightly, she takes his offer and carefully places herself on the mattress. She lies on her back, keeping her arms neatly tucked by her side and on her stomach, and her knees bent and pointing to the ceiling.
To break the thickness between them, she says, "McGonagall is still handing out homework. Do you want me to bring it to you-"
"Don't you dare," James cuts her off. The pair lapse into quiet chuckles, their bodies brushing at the movement. "What's on your mind?"
Cressida lets her head fall to the side, meeting James' whose's cheek is already indenting the pillow. "Why do you ask?"
He smiles again, softer and more intimate than the typical one that he uses in public. With his left arm, the injured one, he reaches over. She nearly stops breathing as his thumb trace down the contour of her cheek, the other fingers resting underneath her jaw. "You've gotten better at masking your lying face, but I don't think you realise how much your eyes betray you."
Cressida knows he can hear her gulp, eyes pointing downwards fleetingly. Finding herself unable to directly respond to that, she wraps her fingers around his forearm. "Don't hurt yourself," she murmurs.
"Worrywart," he breathes through an open-lipped smile. Cressida offers him a fleeting smile, eyes pinned on her own hand which pinches and rolls his black night-top material between her thumb and forefinger. The soft pad of his thumb is both soothing and infuriating. The agonizing irony that all she craves is his affection yet it is so painful to receive when she knows his intentions don't match hers.
It's become a horribly familiar feeling. A rush of blood in the back of her nose making it heavy and begin to ache. A rim of water coming from the outer corners. Cressida sniffs hard in an attempt to control herself. She's cried enough.
James' brows pinch together, his chest rising higher in a long breath. "Hey," he whispers. He shifts himself over and onto his good side, the arm still in bandages still reaching towards her face. "Everything's okay. Snape doesn't have the balls to do anything more. And I'd like to see his friends even try us."
Cressida nods, finally meeting his gaze. He thinks it's the whole Snape ordeal that has her a mess, and he's not completely wrong. It's shaken her more than she'd admit to them, but it is also mixed in with a handful of other thoughts.
His fingers move up from her jaw, tracing a line down from her forehead and over the outline of her face with each finger following the trail of the last. Then it moves to his nails brushing over her cheek then to raking them through her hair to push it away from her face repetitively.
Cressida breathes slowly, closing her eyes. Her hand drifts upwards, feeling the muscle curve under it. His movements don't stop until she finally reaches his hand, letting her fingers slip through the gaps of his own. She could tell him; right here and now. If it goes so terribly wrong, at least she'd have the Summer to recover.
"James?"
He takes a moment to respond, the skin of his lips peeling away from each other. His eyes flicker between each of hers hurriedly. In a hushed whisper, he responds, "Yeah?" He flexes his fingers upwards until each of her own is pinched between two of his.
"You're going to put me to sleep."
Chicken.
James gives a short and chesty laugh with closed lips. "I think this bed is a bit too small for that," he muses with a rough croak in his voice. "Do you want to go back yet?"
Cressida shakes her head. No, she doesn't. She would stay right there forever if the world allowed it. "Just pinch me if I close my eyes." He whispers something in agreement, but she's too lulled out of the world to hear it properly. He pulls his hand from hers, going back to stroking the baby hairs around her face with the back of his fingers. Cressida sighs slowly, eyes drifting shut without control. "You've failed," she murmurs as he fails to pinch her.
His chest huffs in what might've been a chuckle if he also wasn't so close to sleep as well. "My apologies." His stroking stops and that alone almost pulls her eyes open, but they snap shut once more as his breath fans her skin. His thumb runs along her chin, circling up to trace along the bottom line of her lip, the friction tugging it down slightly. Then a soft weight presses against the spot at the very top of her nose bridge. Cressida wouldn't be able to open her eyes if she wanted to, already in a deep sleep by the time it happens.