Chapter 9: A Wedding to Attend

As Sirius adamantly pointed out, it wasn't a complete lie about James needing a date to attend his cousin's wedding. Cressida adamantly pointed out in return that he still remains an option to go instead. Weddings aren't something she's used to attending. At all. She has never been to one before and only seen whatever has been on in the films she has watched on her father's television. They seem dramatic and overly tight on the dress code.

Cressida stares at her near-empty wardrobe. She couldn't bring everything in her trunk. Enough to get her through the school year but she had prepared for Hogsmeade or staying in the castle, not a fancy wedding. There are only two dresses currently hanging in the wardrobe. One is the teacup dress she wore in France that she didn't dare take home. And the other wasn't in there when Cressida first arrived, but had appeared overnight. She knew instantly that it was one of Euphemia's kind acts, though it took her a second to realise the occasion. And it certainly wasn't a wedding.

Sirius barges past her and pulls on the hanger that holds the brand new dress. "Why don't you-"

"No," she interjects before he can even finish his suggestion. She takes the dress from his hands, placing it back on the rod. "That's for something special." Every year at Hogwarts, they gave the graduating seventh years a ball just after their final exams. There is no other occasion that Cressida could even fathom wearing the dress.

"But it's gorgeous," Sirius protests.

Cressida nods with a smile. "It is. Which is why I'm not wearing to the wedding of a couple I don't even know. This, however-" she reaches for the first dress "-I've worn out before. It's simple, elegant, perfect for a wedding. Right?"

Sirius inspects the dress. He always likes to be involved in fashion choices, she's noticed. "A zipper," he notes, a finger running down the seaming. "Easy to strip off. And it's short enough to sneak a feel underneath." Cressida's eyes widen, eyes darting to her open door before hacking him with the wooden hanger. Sirius laughs, shaking his hair out of his face. "I'm just saying!" With an iconic Black smirk that suits his pointed jaw, he saunters around to her back. "Just imagine," he murmurs into her ear, almost purring. Cressida tips her head to the side, rolling her eyes but playing along. "He comes up behind you while you stand on the dance floor and…" A hand lies on the outside of her thigh just above her knee. "Then you sit down, under the cover of a table." His hand slides upwards. Cressida laughs crows through the room, shaking her head.

"You're an idiot, Sirius."

He laughs stepping away, his laughter only growing at her flustered face. "Oh, is that blush because you were thinking of James, or because it was me." Her eyes sharpen, cocking her head as though to ask him, 'really'. Of course she imagined James. Sirius holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm open to things."

"Don't tell that to James," she laughs quietly, moving around to lay on her bed. "He thinks you have feelings for me."

Sirius is on her tail but stops mid-step. "What?" Cressida nods lazily. "I'm gay."

"I told him," she drawls out in a sing-song voice. "He thinks you might like both and now since you sort of said you might back when you first told us." Cressida lays out on her stomach as Sirius stands at the end of her bed with a shock-ridden expression. "And you can't tell him I told you."

"Well, then how am I supposed to prove to him I don't?"

Cressida shrugs with an innocent smile. "Just don't kiss me."

Sirius lapses into quiet laughter, folding his arms over his chest and leans against the bedpost. "Easy done," he drawls. "Though if you ever dress up like a guy then we might have an issue."

"And we'd break the world," Cressida grins.

Sirius points his finger at her with approval. "That we would. No wonder James is jealous."

Xx

It is a very pretty wedding. A running theme of gold and white ruling the décor of the large hall. Cressida hadn't even thought about the fact that it is a wizard and witches' wedding, and it completely blew her mind when they arrived. Numerous House-elves are working, though one would not see them unless looking. Platters of food and drink float through the air between patrons, never once spilling their contents. And very much like the Hogwarts' Great Hall, over a hundred candles float above the floor, swaying in a gentle, non-existent breeze.

And the fashion…

Cressida truly shouldn't have worried about what she decided to wear because it is like she is walking down Diagon Alley. There are clothes from all centuries, and from an array of colours that clash together. High pointed hats, and fedoras. Floor-length ball gowns and fluro mini-dresses.

"James, do not forget to give Marigold your congratulations," James' father says to his son as they walk through the front entrance. The music is loud, but not overly so. Enough that someone could dance to it at any spot contently, but also have a conversation. "And perhaps it would be best to introduce Cressida to some of the other guests. Ones close to your age."

"Oh, see if you can find Bathilda," Euphemia gasps in remembrance. "But please do not find your way to Fredrickson. Last time you two saw each other it didn't end so well."

"When we were fourteen," James mutters. Cressida glances at him, huffing in amusement at his tone. Very much like his father, he's dressed in grey dress pants and a vest to match with a white shirt underneath. His glasses still sit slightly crooked on his nose but his hair is tamer than it ever has been before. She makes a silent bet with herself that it would last less than an hour.

The wedding itself had already happened and the Potter family and herself as their guest watched from the side as a happy couple that utterly adored each other married on a cliff. That was easy. All she had to do was sit, stand at the right time, and watch. But the reception means mingling.

The immediate Potter family is a rich family by all means, but Cressida honestly has no clue about the rest of James' extended family. Maybe they come from all sorts of backgrounds. Maybe there would be someone like her that comes from a place not so good. Maybe they're all posh and uptight like Sirius'.

Euphemia and Fleamont divert away from the younger two, Euphemia's arm linked around Fleamont's who crosses his arm over his stomach. They merge with the forming crowds, disappearing within seconds.

Completely out of her comfort zone, Cressida looks at James. His face is relaxed and at ease. More so bored than anything. "I know you think this is going to be incredibly boring," he sighs, continuing to say something more, but she interjects.

"I have no idea what to think."

The corner of his mouth raises lopsidedly. "It will be. I'll try to find us some decent company for the next two hours."

"Like Fredrickson?" she taunts, pushing her elbow into his side. "I want to meet him now."

"You don't," James protests, his eyes scanning the crowd as though looking already for the face to the name. "He's an absolute flirt and a cocky, arrogant bastard." Cressida cannot help but snort at his description, covering it with the back of her hand. James instantly frowns. "What? He is."

Cressida shrugs. She isn't fighting the description. "Must be a family trait then." Her smile grows, though she tries to hide how ridiculous it looks by keeping her lips tucked between her teeth as James slowly guides them through the crowds. "It sounds like you."

"He is very much worse than me," James says after a moment of thought. "And you like me so I can't be that bad." Cressida offers him a doubtful expression. "Shut up."

Cressida laughs freely at his agitated state. "Don't worry. I like you enough… now."

"Now?" he draws out with a short laugh, catching onto her tease. "How long did it take you to warm up to me?"

Cressida tips her head from side to side, plucking an odd-looking bit of finger food off a floating platter. "Five years. Give or take a few weeks." They both know that is nothing further from the truth. She had instantly clung to the boys as soon as they stood up for her on the train to Hogwarts before they had even been sorted.

"Ah," James laughs. "So that's the epiphany you had."

"What do you mean?"

"Back during Christmas," James smiles, "in fifth year. We were skating, and you just had this look on your face. That must have been the moment you realised you actually liked me."

The words choke in her throat. He has no idea how right he actually is. Instead of confirming or denying, she only questions, "You remember that?"

He nods with a small, yet utterly devouring and charming smile. "I do. And it must have been something since you also know exactly what I'm talking about."

Damn. Gave herself away. So, finding herself only able to play along, Cressida shrugs. "It's the moment I realised that I like you." They've stopped walking at some point, now surrounded by unfamiliar faces. She takes the moment of break to eat whatever she had taken. It is sweet and rich, a chocolaty flavour overwhelming her mouth.

James smiles softly at everything around him, one hand sitting in his pocket, the other resting by his leg as her hand stays wrapped around near his elbow. "It took me a while to warm up to you as well."

Cressida smiles teasingly through a bite. "Really? So how long didn't you like me for?"

He laughs almost silently, eyes squinting as though in deep thought. A memory comes to him. "When we first turned into Animagus," he recalls, "I remember thinking, hey, maybe she's not so bad." Cressida laughs with him, rolling her eyes and turning away as though insulted but turns right back. "In my defence, I had Sirius always telling me how terrible you were."

"It mustn't have been too much of a surprise," she grins, "since you didn't look too shocked to realise it."

"Honestly, I'm insulted that you were. But it took me a while to accept it."

Her neck pulls back. "Was I that terrible?"

James shakes his head, the smile never wavering. "Utterly horrible. I couldn't begin to fathom the thought of being friends with you. But now look at us—inseparable."

"Glad to know it."

Cressida dusts off the crumbs of the dessert off her fingers subtly on her other arm, spinning around slightly to figure out where they are, and where they should be. Someone, a young boy maybe a year or so older than herself, catches her eye. His build is sleek but fit, a hair of cascading curls that she imagines James would have if he grew out his. His lips are drawn in a thin but broad smirk as he converses with an older man in a purple robe. "Is that Fredrickson?" she questions James, who is still facing the opposite way.

His brows press together, quickly glimpsing over his shoulder. The arm that he had been letting her hold moves to lie on her back. "Yes." James looks away as quickly as he turned his head to look. "Don't encourage him to come over."

Cressida glances between the two boys. "How would I do that?"

"Jimmy!"

Fredrickson's hand shoots up in the air. "Nevermind," James breathes. He turns around, swapping the arm around her. He leans close to her ear. "I'm going to seem like the most humble man on earth after this." Cressida stands, already agreeing with his foretelling just by the way the tall boy saunters towards them. "And I would never usually ask you this, but please don't mention being Muggle-born."

What was a mirthful curiosity of the boy coming towards them turns to icy dread that encapsulates her spine. Never once before had James told her to do something like this. And never had she imagined there would be a situation where he would ask her to. A shaky, "What?", passes her lips. What exactly is she facing?

"Every family has a few," James whispers back, his arm tightening and pulling her flush to his side just as the strange boy emerges entirely from the crowd.