Chapter 25: Without a Goodbye

The freshly placed log on the fire hisses and crackles, sending a plethora of sparks raining around it. The warmth of the hearth is a comfortable contrast to the harsh snowfall that appeared overnight, painting the entirety of Hogwarts' grounds white. And add the thick, purple blanket Cressida has dragged down from her dorm to lay over herself whilst she writes her letters, one could almost forget the winter is cold.

Peter is on the other side of the same lounge, deep in a book about some sort of wizarding history. His feet have dug under the end of her blanket to steal some of the warmth for himself.

Students around them are layered in clothes and scarves and beanies. Trunks by their side. Her friends aren't down from their dorm yet – no surprise by her standard, even without Peter grumbling about how behind they were on packing last night.

When they do eventually come down, most of the students have already left to go down to the main entrance where the carriages would soon be leaving.

"Oi!" Sirius calls out from the staircase, the wheels of his trunk smacking against the last few stones steps. "Where's your trunk? We've got to go."

Cressida pauses her writing, the letter resting against a school book, to look over the back of the couch. She hadn't exactly told them she would be staying behind – and neither had Peter for that matter. They sort of just avoided the topic altogether and the others made their assumptions. It's not their fault they assumed wrong. "It's upstairs," she answers, going back to her letter. Peter presses his lips together, smiling tightly at the group of three boys that appear at the side of the lounge.

"What do you mean?" James huffs with mirth. "You two better hurry up or we'll be missing the train."

"Oh, we're staying here for Christmas," Peter answers this time. His voice is soft and calm. Squinting his eyes, he peers at Cressida. "Didn't we tell them that?"

Her mouth opens and closes. They both knew that James and Sirius would convince them to come to their place, which they both didn't want to do for their own reasons. "Yeah, we mentioned it," she lies just as easily. "Pete's parents have gone to Italy and I'm staying to keep him company." She smiles up at them, placing her quill back in the jar on the small table.

Remus is the first to respond. He frowns, quite clearly disturbed that he missed that information. "Oh. I guess we'll send you your presents by owl then."

"You definitely didn't tell me," Sirius states firmly, his brows pinched accusingly at her. "You know you both could have stayed at James'."

The pair's eyes invertedly flicker to the said boy. James hasn't said anything. "It's fine," Cressida shrugs. "We want to have a Christmas here."

She waits for his protest. To call them both stupid and jump on the train with them anyways. His moan about not seeing them for three weeks. Just something to show any sort of care that his friends are not going to be there.

And he finally does say something. "Come on." He pushes his sleeve up to look at his watch. "We gotta go."

James picks up his trunk, wheeling it out of the tower without even so much as a goodbye. No argument. No protest. Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And that hurts so much more.

Remus sighs, but in agreeance, he says his goodbyes and promises to write to them at least once. Sirius glares at both James, and her and Peter. Letting go of his trunk, he stalks around the back of the couch and leans over behind her. "I'll miss you."

Cressida smiles to herself. "I'll miss you too." The back of her head presses against the cushion as she looks upwards, eyes fluttering close as Sirius leans down and kisses her forehead. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he sighs. Glancing at Peter, he adds, "Don't let her get you into trouble."

Peter nods with a soft grin as Cressida flicks the side of Sirius' head. He too soon has to leave, jogging to catch up with the narrow-sighted James. Why didn't he care? Last year he pled with her to come to his house. Though their decisions had already been handed to McGonagall, they still have the chance to change them right up until the last moment. All she had to do was bring her already neatly packed trunk down. The only things she would be leaving behind are schoolbooks and her uniforms and maybe a few choices of muggle clothes.

"I wonder how quiet Hogwarts is going to be without them," Peter muses. Cressida huffs slightly, wondering the exact same thing.

Xx

Hogwarts is extremely quiet without its two main trouble makers and deviant planner. McGonagall had visibly blanched when Cressida and Peter walked into the Great Hall the next morning, fearing that she would not be gifted a break from their antics, but when it clearly became only the pair of them, that fear simmered.

Peter has chosen to take this time to completely relax. He doesn't look at his school work and loudly complains whenever Cressida even so much as mentions a teacher's name. In his defence, it already has been a stressful year. The NEWT level classes are well beyond what they've done before and the revision, study, and homework pile up every day. Which is why Cressida is doing the opposite of Peter and taking the chance to catch up – and maybe even get ahead – on her schoolwork. It'd be her only chance to have such a clear stretch of study with no other distractions. In fact, she works so intently that she finishes everything she had planned to do before Christmas even comes around.

The pair often find themselves in the company of Mary who also decided to stick about for the break. Though they don't know much about her family – and know better than to ask – they are aware that her parents are no longer together and that the holidays are always hard on even the tough-hearted girl.

Just two days before Christmas, the Great Hall is filled with an illusion of falling snow that evaporates before it lands on their heads. Green wreaths with red and gold bells and bows decorate the walls, and a large fern-like tree is out in the main hall with an assortment of charms and ball-balls hung from its branches.

Peter had decided the sleep well in that morning, so Mary and Cressida naturally sat with one another. Though Cressida had never felt any desire to be close with Mary who often closed herself off to anybody other than her closest companions, she can hardly deny the enjoyment of gossiping over sweets for breakfast.

"You're sneaking off to Hogsmeade?" Mary hisses, despite not being near anybody else in the near-empty hall. Cressida nods, biting into a slice of cherry cheesecake. "With Arthur McMullen? Damn, maybe I need to get into Quidditch more. What I wouldn't do for that hunk."

Cressida's hand covers her mouth to stop food from flying from it as she coughs out in laughter. "I wasn't expecting it. I've only talked to him a few times during classes."

Mary nods with parted lips, enthralled by the conversation. "Wait, weren't you and Black a thing?"

"No," she answers easily. "Never were. We had a small fling, but it wasn't anything serious and we like being friends more." At least this time, she and Sirius had agreed on a story beforehand so they could say the same thing. And at least this time, the other boys know exactly what's going on as well. "It sort of just came out of this accidental situation and we thought something might be there, but there wasn't."

"Huh," she breathes. "And it's not weird between you two?" Cressida shakes her head. "Well you better tell me everything that happens with McMullen, Hogwarts' dreamboat."

"Pinky promise," she grins. "Are Marlene and Davies still, you know, meeting up? She hasn't snuck out in weeks."

Mary makes a 'pfft' noise, sipping from her hot chocolate. "Nah. He got too boring apparently." She leans closer to Cressida. "Between you and me, I think Marlene has commitment issues. She won't admit to it, but you see what she's like with guys. She's not getting bored, she's getting scared."

"That's understandable," Cressida mutters. Her lips tug upwards slyly. "Boys are scary. Their hygiene frightens me the most. And their lack of hairbrushes! I mean, seriously, James' father is literally famous for his hair taming potion, yet he wanders around with the messy mop of a thing."

Mary cackles, head tipping backwards as Cressida shakes her head with a careless grin. "You know, I think Lily is starting to warm up to him." That catches her attention. Cressida shifts slightly in her seat, waiting for Mary to continue. "I mean, you clearly know that Potter hasn't hexed Snape at all this year, and she's noticed. And yeah, he didn't lay off constantly asking her out at the beginning, but he hasn't even mentioned a date since October."

Cressida tries hard to hide the pinch her brow makes. "Do you think Lily would say yes? If James asked again?"

Mary shrugs over another sip of her drink. "Who knows at this point. All I do know is that she hasn't called him a toe-rag and we aren't falling asleep to her nightly rants anymore."

Cressida hums. They hadn't been falling asleep to that.

What if she does say yes? What happens then?

She knows exactly what would happen. Cressida wouldn't be able to handle it. She wouldn't be able to watch and stand by and pretend any longer. She could pretend by clinging to hope that, although she knows is false, still exists in her head. But if Lily was there too, sitting in the boy's dorm on James bed where Cressida has been sitting for the last five and a half years, she wouldn't be able to take it.

Mary bursts out laughing at seemingly nothing in particular, making Cressida's snap out of her daydream with wide eyes. Mary's dark eyes are pointed to the entrance of the Great Hall and following her line of sight, Cressida also can't help but giggle. Peter is slowly hobbling towards them, still in his sleep clothes with another thick jumper and slippers. His nose and under his eyes are tinted red, his blonde head of hair sticking out in a wild arrangement. His arms are tightly folded over his chest.

"Glad he's coming on your side," Mary laughs, clearly content with sitting on the opposite side of the long table. Even so, she shifts away slightly as Peter sits down next to Cressida. "Morning Peter."

The sick boy's tired eyes lift sluggishly. "Mornin'," he coughs.

Though she is slightly grossed out by the horrid looking sickness, she can't help but sympathises about being sick so close to Christmas. "Merlin, Pete," she whispers, so not to irritate his likely sore head. "I'm going to make you a lemon tea for now, but I'm taking you to Pomfrey after you finish."

He nods, laying his head on his arms over the table. Pouting, Cressida rubs his back softly and begins putting something together for him. She's come to be closer to Peter this year, in a strange turn of circumstances. She always thought that he was a bit of an oddball, and he still is. His strength just doesn't lie in crowds and talking.