Chapter 42: Seventeen and Proud

There's nothing quite so strange to see than watching Lily Evans and James Potter communicate normally. Nobody can tell exactly what they are, and Cressida has hardly had the mind to personally ask either of them, but one thing for sure is; there is some sort of civilisation. Well, they did snog in front of the entire House.

Cressida just suits herself to ignore him. Not completely, obviously, just… with that matter. What else is she to do? She's tried moving on to other guys and failed miserably in two drastically opposite ways. She wanted to tell him and that didn't go down well. Cressida couldn't exactly stop being his friend entirely. For her own sake, as removing James from her life is at the very bottom of her list to do. And for everybody else's. That split would be devastating for all of them.

At some moments, the absolute best ones, it feels like they've used a Time-Turner to bring themselves back to fourth year. Like tonight, Cressida's seventeenth birthday.

They sit in a tight circle, closest to the beds near the arched window. In the middle are small bowls filled with different sweets and chips that they had hunted down from both Hogsmeade and the kitchens. There is also a cake with many slices already taken out of it. It is chocolate, with a thick, uneven layering of frosting on top. And is slightly lopsided. Sirius had promised that he made it by hand with the help of Madam Rosemerta. Cressida believes him where entire heart, holding her laugh at the way it sinks down on one side.

"Blimey Pete," Sirius grins. "You nearly inhaled that piece."

Peter lowers his bowl sheepishly, with a hidden smirk. "It was good."

"Of course it was. I made it."

Cressida stretches her legs out, resting them in Remus' lap who she is sure is only tolerating it because it's her birthday. Cocking her head to the side, she wonders, "Do you reckon that if you were a dog, the chocolate would kill you or make you sick? Like, could you just transform back and be alright, or would the effects continue once they start?"

Sirius twists his lips, brows raising as he peers down at the quarter of cake left on its platter. From her right, James sits in the same stretch. "Oh, now you've done it," he drawls with a careless laugh. "If he barfs, I'm not cleaning it up."

"If he vomits, I'm vomiting," Remus adds.

"I'm gonna do it." Sirius transforms himself into his shaggy black-haired dog form and quickly trots forward to the plate. Cressida's eyes widen, her already stretched out legs kicking out to the side, knocking into the front of the dog's chest just before his snout reaches the chocolate frosting.

"Sirius," she growls mirthfully. "I don't want dog slobber on it." His fog head stretches over her calf, a long tongue lapping around his mouth. Her other leg joins, wrapping around over the top of his short neck and hooking with her ankle to pull away the needy animal.

Giving up after a short struggle, the dog transforms back into a boy, sitting on his hands and knees, head locked between her legs. "Never thought it'd be a woman's thighs my head got between." His thin lips pull near to his ears, winking. Cressida quickly unlocks her ankles, sinking to the floor as she laughs breathlessly.

Sitting back up, she taps the sides of her thighs. "They have a lot more cushioning than skinny man legs."

"I don't have skinny thighs," Sirius quickly frowns. He circles his fingers around his upper thigh, his thumbs touching. Cressida does the same thing, smirking slyly as her thumbs refuse to meet. "James has skinny thighs."

James immediately laughs. "Mate," is all he says then does the same thing as them, wrapping fingers from both hands around his leg. His thumbs don't touch. "I have muscle there."

Sirius faces drops, his eyes scanning over both Peter and Remus' legs in an effort to redeem himself. Cressida watches, smiling like a fool. She is about to tell him that having skinny thighs is not a terrible thing at all until a large hand smooths over the curve of her shoulder and breath tickles her ear.

"Speaking of having things between your legs."

Cressida's stomach does exactly three somersaults at the husky whisper. James doesn't stay at her side, moving off behind her. Her eyes trail after him desperately. He leans down at his bed, reaching underneath. From it, he pulls a broomstick of dark polished wood that has a hint of red. The effects of his innuendo calm themselves.

"Here." James hands her the broom, which she takes slowly. He had already brought her a birthday gift – a soft green blanket. It was expensive to just touch. "This is more a thank you gift than a birthday one." He sits back down on her right, tenting his knees and linking his arms around them. "Just for everything to do with quidditch this year and last and what you do. For me. I ask a lot of you, and you always deliver."

Cressida's mouth part slowly, softly trailing a finger down along the wood. It feels like it's been something she's been waiting for from him. Not the broom – she could have lived without it perfectly fine – but the validation. The recognition that he sees her trying her best. That he knows he is hard. "Thank you."

"You know-" Sirius sits up straighter, broadening his shoulders, "-quidditch has been hard for me to. Being a Beater is hard work."

Cressida laughs softly while the other three scoff loudly. "Sod off, Padfoot," James taunts. "You're just jealous cause this broom is better than yours."

"Isn't."

"Is."

Xx

Remus and Cressida stride along the dungeons' dank halls with soft-spoken words between them. They had both chosen to go down to the potion's classrooms that evening a do some further study work before their final exams. A NEWT student privilege to work in the advanced classrooms unsupervised.

What they had both failed to recall is that it is also the night of one of Slughorn's dinner parties. James hadn't been present at dinner because of it, but Cressida tried not to put much thought into it. And usually, she wouldn't need to. He goes to these things only on the rare occasion now when he thinks the night would be more entertaining than studying. And why it is noteworthy that it is something neither of them recalled it, is because James Potter strides around a corner, lingering behind a few others in the Slug Club, talking avidly with Evans.

"So," Remus says, notably louder than their previous volume. His head turns downwards towards her from his lanky height. "I was thinking we could go over the Draught of the Living Death."

"Draught of Living Death," she corrects, looking towards the classroom on her left instead of back at Remus. James and Lily pass them. She looks to Remus. "There's no 'the'."

Remus swallows, nodding stiffly. "Right. Yeah."

A bell of laughter echoes down the corridor, but by the time it reaches the Gryffindors' ears, the sound has turned to skewers. "It's rough, isn't it?" she questions him, her voice barely above a mellow whisper.

Remus doesn't bother lying or hiding. "Yeah, it is." Cressida hums, turning into the classroom but she doesn't miss the sudden stop of Remus' footsteps behind her. Placing her bag on the floor underneath a bench, she turns around. Remus is staring at her with doe-like eyes. "You say like you feel the same."

Cressida shrugs, quickly turning back away. "I just empathise is all." Remus doesn't answer her so she purposely ignores his observation and moves around the classroom to gather their supplies. On her return, she smiles nonchalantly at him but doesn't receive on back. "You might want to light your cauldron."

Xx

"He's just… not bad," Lily sings, shrugging off Mary question of her long-time feud with James. "I mean, I think he's matured a bit and he's not all over me calling me Lilypad. In fact, he hasn't even asked me out. I think he's just waiting for me to ask him."

"And will you?" Marlene inquires, leaning against her bedframe, picking at her nails.

Lily pauses in her attempt to make her bed. A slow, but very confident grin emerges. "I think I am. I might give him enough hints to ask me first."

Cressida pretends to nap, simply so she doesn't have to give any input into the conversation. No doubt Lily would be asking her things about James. She doesn't want to tell Lily anything. Not his favourite colour, where he likes to go, or what he would do if she asked him to go out with her. Cressida knows the answer to anything Lily could ask her. And she knows because she's spent the last six years as his friend, learning James. Being his friend. Cressida' stomach boils at the idea of Lily learning things that took her years.

She has been there for him. And she will be, until the very end. Cressida had sat there with him when his grandmother died and watched him try to hold his tears. She had been there when they found the kitchens for the first time. She had been there when he felt his most vulnerable and she had been there when he's felt his best.

And now Lily gets to swoop in and make Cressida stand to the side.

Xx

The tent is filled with nervous jitters. The last game of the year; Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Cressida sits on the bench, bouncing her knees wildly as the stands begin to fill. She was the first there in the morning, even beating James who had been silently impressed that someone had managed to do so.

Most of her nerves revolve around the fact that she's going against Regulus. They haven't discussed quidditch in the slightest during their few interactions and she has no idea how good he's going to be. A slither of her nerves come from the fact that this match will either give them the House Cup, or leave it to the Slytherins' hands. And the remainder of her nerves come from the growing pit that is constantly reminded that the end of the year is near. Home really isn't someplace she wants to go back to.

"You're shaking the whole bench." Cressida tears her strong gaze away from the grass, silently looking to her right where James sits down next to her. Like the rest of the team, he's in his red quidditch robes. Another handsome look. He never sits down in the tent. James smiles at something. "I had that broom enchanted, you know?" Cressida narrows her eyes, still not speaking but her face says enough. James leans closer, pointing at the broom laying in her lap. "That as soon as the rider sits on it, all their worries go away. Just like that." He snaps his fingers together.

Cressida finally smiles, shaking her head. "That was terribly cheesy. But I'm going to have to believe you."

James hums in amusement, leaning back straight. "I know that this is the match that might win us the Cup, but don't stress yourself out too much, okay? I'm proud of you either way."

"Thank you," she says immediately. "You've been very soft on me about quidditch recently," she adds pointedly. "Are you planning on making me a Beater or something next year?"

"If Sirius keeps getting penalties, then yes," he laughs. "No, I um. When you snapped at me, just before Christmas I realised that I was being a jerk. A real big fat jerk." Cressida snorts in agreement, earning a soft smack on the side of her leg. "Oi. What I'm trying to say is, that I know I'm hard on you. Harder than I am on some others maybe and I have my reasons for that, but I should've never let it get to the point where it was affecting us outside of quidditch. I'm sorry."

Cressida takes his words in, drowning out the excited chatter of her teammates around them. "I appreciate that you see that now. And I also appreciate your efforts to make it up to me." The chants outside the tent grow louder. "Why are you so hard on me, James? You know that you're harder on me than you are Sirius."

James' smile softens but doesn't disappear. He nods slowly. "I know I am. Was. I won't be anymore. Like I said, I have my reason but I don't-"

"Oi, mate!" Sirius' hands slap on either one of James' shoulders. "Come on, we're starting."

Their conversation gets tossed aside. James hastily stands up, picking his broom up and then gives her a look filled with excitement, adrenaline and confidence. "Kick. Their. Arses."

Cressida winks at him. "Aye, aye Captain."