Chapter 32: The Hog's Head Inn

Cressida stares at the red curtain hanging from the wall. The golden embellished lion is faded and a few tassels lining the edges have disappeared. Who knows how long it's been sitting there.

She hasn't gotten a wink of sleep that night. Not one moment where she felt comfortable enough to even close her eyes and daydream about dreaming. Too much had happened and still so many uncertainties.

Cressida and Peter had been the first to talk to Dumbledore. Snape was there as well. Sirius had not yet returned, still tracking and distracting Remus who ran the entire night throughout the forest. Peter, who kept away through the first part of the night wasn't able to tell their Headmaster much, leaving Cressida the role of recounting what had happened.

It felt awful, knowing that she was condemning Sirius. It was his fault. And she's pissed at him beyond belief for not only putting another student (no matter how much they disliked) at risk, but also themselves and Remus. But the boy is still her best friend, however stupid he may be. Cressida watches her language, making sure that some of the blame is shifted onto Snape. He deserves it. He wouldn't have followed them unless he was sure he could see something to get them into trouble. And James told him to run.

But the one thing she had not brought up was they why. She is still trying to figure that out herself. Dumbledore had asked her why she thought Sirius had done so, and she responded that he'd have to ask him himself. She didn't mention the fight involving Snape earlier in the day. Cressida was going to, but her gut told her to keep her mouth shut. So she did.

Before Peter and Cressida were sent out so Dumbledore could speak with their rival in private, he assured them that the matter would remain confidential, and so would Remus' alignment.

And then Cressida went back out to the courtyard closest to the Whomping Willow and waited. And waited. Peter waited with her initially, but she asked him to go back to James so the poor boy could have some company and assurance that everything is under control.

James was right, she did need to lie down. But she couldn't.

She can't.

When Remus came back, his arm hauled around Sirius' neck, he had a large bite mark in his shoulder. A bite that she delivered. Vomit had filled her mouth, watching the dried blood mix with fresh. It was at that moment that she truly understood the fear Remus felt when he expressed that he was terrified of hurting them. Cressida hadn't even thought about how she hurt her friend, only that James was injured and she had to protect him. She saw the werewolf as her enemy in that moment, and not her most gentle friend.

And that's why she sits in the Tower. Not in the Hospital Wing where Remus is being tended to by Madam Pomfrey. Not in the boy's dormitory where Sirius is talking to James. But with Peter; no words between them.

Students walked around them of course, being a Saturday. Mostly the younger students, the older ones at Hogsmeade or preferring to study in the library.

After an hour or so of just sitting there in silence from when Sirius had gone up to his room, the long-haired boy returns. His stride is slow and cautious towards the alcove where Cressida sits with her legs pulled to her chest and Peter across from her, legs hanging over the edge, heels kicking into the stone.

Sirius stands in front of them, not meeting their eyes – not that her own are anywhere other than his shoes. "I-"

"I don't want to hear it," Cressida whispers. "Not right now." She looks up at his face. It's pale and grief-stricken. He knows what he's done. Or at least, he knows now the consequences. He meets her gaze as well and her heart splits in two. One part lurches for him, wanting to tightly hug him until the sad look disappears. The other part is horrified.

Sirius nods his head ever so softly then turns his eyes towards Peter. The quiet boy lifts his head, saying nothing but shrugging his shoulder.

"I'm going to check on James," Cressida says, giving Sirius a place to be. Peter can make his own decision about how he feels towards Sirius right now. Sliding off the alcove, Cressida quietly makes her way up to the boy's dorm. She doesn't bother knocking. "How are you feeling?"

James is sitting up on the side of his bed, elbows digging into his knees. He looks up with a sigh. "Fine," he mutters. Cressida nods, passing through the threshold of the door, softly closing it behind her. "What about you?"

Cressida sits down next to him. With a meek but honest smile, she says, "I'm fine. Tired but fine."

James nods as she had, looking back down at his hands. "I don't really want to talk abou-"

"Me either," she interjects, still smiling as much as she can. "So, when's your date with Lily?"

James tips his head to the side, tongue running over the inside of his cheek. "Tomorrow." There's a pause in his words so Cressida stays silent until he continues. "I'm not sure if I'm going to go though."

"I can tell her you're not feeling well," she offers. "If you're still hurt tomorrow. I know she has nothing on next Saturday so you can reschedule."

James is shaking his head before she even finishes speaking. "We have our monthly Zonko's trip next weekend, and then after that you and I have you're training for being a Seeker that I promised you."

"Well I'm not sure how the others will feel about our main man not coming along to Zonko's, but I'm willing to sacrifice one training session so you can have the date you've been trying to get for five years." Her words are light and an attempt to make him smile. He doesn't.

"Aren't you supposed to be with McMullen right now? You said you had a date this morning."

"Uh, yeah," she breathes, her smile falling. "I, um, told him I didn't get any sleep last night and it would be better to miss today. I think he believed me." She laughs airily at her own joke. "I don't really think this is the best time to go on a date."

"You should go." Cressida's brows pinch together, staring at the side of James' face. "No point hanging around here."

"No point? James, I want to make sure you're alright. That everyone is alright. I want to say here with you."

For the first time since she's come in, he lifts her head to look directly at her. "I'd rather you go."

Her face blanches. Her stomach drops. "Oh." Blinking rapidly, she brushes off the invisible dirt on her pants and stands up. "I'll see you another time then." Not exactly the goodbye that close friends would give, but that's exactly the point she wants to prove to him. He hurt her just then.

Cressida meanders back down to the Common Room, not bothering to change from the clothes she's been in since yesterday afternoon. Peter sits with Sirius, but neither of them are speaking to each other. She intends to just walk past them and head back outside, but pause just as she passes the couch.

"You should apologise," she declares.

Sirius looks up at her with round, drooping eyes. "Cress, I am-"

She shakes her head firmly. "Not to me. To Remus." Sirius doesn't look away from her. Cressida knows that at this moment, Sirius will do whatever he can to earn forgiveness from them. She won't give it to him on a platter, but she also won't refuse it if he does what she thinks is right to try and begin fixing it. He's not spewing defences. He's not trying to change their minds about last night. And that shows to her that he already knows what he did was wrong. "You used him, Sirius. And used the part of him that he hates."

Sirius nods calmly. She can't hear his response, but she reads his lips. "I will."

Cressida leaves Hogwarts. Not with Arthur, who is probably in his Common Room. Or maybe he went to Hogsmeade without her. She hopes not, because that's where the carriage she's sitting in takes her. If James hadn't wanted her company – her close friend – she highly doubts that a boy she hardly knows would find her company pleasant. Where has she gone wrong? Where has she gone so wrong that everything has fallen apart right at her fingertips? If she had just spoken to Sirius yesterday when he stormed out, maybe he wouldn't have acted so irrationally. That's what she's always done. It's why she wants him to learn to speak to her more. Ever since first year, Cressida has tried so desperately to tune herself into him so she could prevent this because she knew it would happen. Not exactly what – but something.

And James.

What is she supposed to do when it comes to him?

Back and forth, and back and forth.

Is there a strain in their friendship? Is there something else that is going on she hasn't caught onto?

So many questions, yet not a single answer.

Cressida drops out of the carriage, pulling her cardigan tighter over her chest to fight against the chilly breeze of late winter. The ground is dusted in white, but spots of green and brown poke through as the snow melts in the warming temperature. Though she's sure nowhere in Britain could be classified as warm at any time other than mid summer.

A few Hogwarts students are wandering down High Street, many heading the direction of the Three Broomsticks. It is around lunchtime. But the picture of warmly orange hues, loud patrons, music, and laughter doesn't sit well in Cressida's head. She wants somewhere quiet. And someplace that will give her a drink.

At first she follows behind a group of three students heading to the Three Broomsticks. But at the fork in the road, where they go left, Cressida goes right. Her head hangs low, letting her loose hair curtain around her face to hide it from the side. The Hog's Head Inn isn't someplace that students often go to, and those that have, don't go back.

She and Sirius had been there once. He was desperate for some firewhiskey and the owner handed it to him without question. But they never went back. Even though Sirius liked the place.

It has a stench that wafts out through the fogged windows that are cracked open. A heavy and alcoholic scent. The remaining snow around the path is dirty and covered in something that looks like dirt, but isn't quite.

Cressida uses her sleeve covered forearm to open the door, and an obnoxious bell rings out through the almost silent inn. Her eyes filter over the large room. There's approximately eight or so people, mostly men with dirty faces to match the dirty interior. They look at her with a range of sneers and judgement but ultimately ignore her and turn back to their drinks and business.

The innkeeper, behind his mountain of thick grey hair, narrows his eyes in a similar matter to his patrons. Unlike them, though, he continues watching her until she takes a stool at the bar directly across from him. "Firewhiskey please."

He doesn't move. Grey eyes run over her face, inspecting every inch.

"I've had a long night, and I suspect today will be long as well. A firewhiskey would make it more pleasant."

She watches his nose flare in a subtle huff. Still he gives her no verbal response, but he turns around to the manky looking cabinet filled with an assortment of bottles that have no labels. He pulls one out with a familiar, amber-coloured liquid that she hopes is firewhiskey and not some strange concoction that looks similar.

As he pours it, Cressida rests her head in the palm of her hands. By Merlin's socks she's tired. She tries blinking away the feeling, but each time her eyelid press together, it becomes harder to open them back up. Fortunately, the innkeeper places the glass in front of her.

"Thank you," she drawls sarcastically. It's a wonder how this man gets any business at all, but then again, it is the reservation and the unreputable nature of this place that draws its patrons in the first place. She grasps the glass in a firm, but unstable grip. Taking it straight to her mouth, her eyes screw tightly together as the burning liquid waterfalls down her throat in something that is far more like a gulp than a sip.

It goes straight to her head in a sudden wash of dizziness. "Fucking h-"

Cressida doesn't get to finish her proclamation of profanity, promptly falling off the side of the chair. She faintly feels her head slamming against the horribly dirty floor of the inn and then nothing more.