Chapter 11: A Softer Side

James likes to hum in the shower. Cressida discovers that as she sneaks into his room to steal the Quidditch Cup. This is not the first time she's done so, but he had it stolen back from her room so she's come to steal it once more. It seems it will continue until one or the other gives up. And Cressida is honest with herself in guessing that it will be James that ends up victorious. He worked too hard for the silver to have it stolen by her.

Placing the Cup in plain view on her desk, Cressida contently meanders out of her semi-permanent room and back downstairs. As her heels hit each step with an unglamorous thunk, her fingers curl around her left wrists, expecting to feel the cold silver chain. But there is only skin.

Frowning, her grip tightens over her skin, eyes moving between her wrist and back over her shoulder towards her room. Her bracelet. Where had she left it? Turning back around, Cressida spends the next twenty minutes searching through her trunk and the few belongings she has in the bedroom. But with no luck, it remains missing.

Her fingers circle her wrist once more, twisting around the non-existent chain. Maybe James had taken it in revenge for taking his Cup. But Cressida doesn't even remember putting it down anywhere, and it wouldn't be like him to snoop through her belongings without good reason. But for the sake of wanting it back, she hopes he has.

Fleamont and Euphemia, as they do every Thursday night, have gone to some wizarding restaurant to have a romantic dinner. Cressida always smiles on Thursdays for that reason. Their love has been tested by time and survived.

To brighten her spirits, Cressida reminds herself that Thursday night is also James' cooking night. A night where they eat at the island bench instead of the formal table.

Though he is still in the shower, Cressida wanders down to the kitchen, knowing Sirius had gone down earlier and she could use the company. Her smile grows upon hearing the piano being played. Another similarity between the two boys that yet only contrasts them even more. Where James would play elegant and with impeccable technique, Sirius plays from passion. Where James hums the tune or murmurs the lyrics, Sirius sings them aloud. Where James plays to perform for his parents and guests, Sirius plays for himself.

The music grows louder with each step she takes. Notes are hit hard but in a perfect melody that is both fast and gracious.

Sirius looks like a true pianist, his form moving from hunched to straight, and back over. Cressida can't even fathom how fast his hands are moving, watching him from the threshold. He doesn't make any sort of gesture to show he knows she is there, but there is no doubt in her mind that he does.

Continuing forward, Cressida slowly walks up behind him. In the reflection of the black paint, his brows are pinched in concentration. There is no jolt of surprise or even a miss-press of a key as her hand slides over one of his shoulders. But the tune softens and his back straightens, no longer moving around in a pianist dance.

"I met Fredrickson at the wedding," Cressida murmurs to start a conversation. Sirius huffs, continuing to play but his attention clearly turns away from the notes. "I heard that you've met him."

"I sure have," Sirius also murmurs. "I'm betting he had nothing nice to say."

Cressida laughs softly, as to not disrupt the music. "You have the uncanny ability to make enemies everywhere you go. It's going to get you hurt one day, or worse, killed."

Sirius shakes his head. "I don't think that's what's going to get me killed."

"You better be thinking of old age," Cressida says, her murmur turning firmer. "Tell me, how do you think you are going to die?"

He repeats the same few notes over and over again. "I don't want to say."

Cressida smooths her other hand over his shoulder and links it with the other at his front, and leans down next to his ear. "I think I'm going to die doing something completely boring. Like a car crash when I'm eighty and blind." Her cheeks stretch as she gazes upon his amused expression. "Now tell me, if you don't think your enemy making abilities are going to be your downfall, what is?"

Sirius' playing slows even further, coming to a poetic stop altogether. "I don't think it's me that's going to do something incredibly stupid," he murmurs. His fingers brush over the keys but never press down enough to make another sound. "I think it's going to be you. Or James. Or Remus or Peter. I think that one of you is going to get hurt, and then I am going to go do something stupid to the person who hurt you."

"You sound like you've thought that through," Cressida muses with a note of remorse. What type of life has he led to have his idea of his death be like that? "And I pray to any god that, that's not the case."

"Me too." He plays once more, the tune sounding much more like something James would play and Cressida leans back up. "I want to be in the car when you crash it. We can go out together."

Cressida nods with a laugh, even though he can't see her. "Then we'd be leaving the others behind. And I don't think James could cope without one of us."

"As much as that sounded like a joke, I don't think it is."

Cressida only hums in acknowledgement. Her focus turns to his unruly hair. Still not as unruly as James', but the waves are growing wilder by the day and the ends brush easily against the bottom of his colour. Cressida runs her fingers over his scalp, pulling the strands back into her palm. Gathering it together, with the spare hairband to form a bun at the back of his head. She's always wanted to do that since he grew it out, but this is the first time he's let her see it through. She half expects him to stop playing and pull it out, but he doesn't—even going as far as to stay relatively still for her. Cressida doesn't know if he's doing it for her sake, or for his own, but whatever that case, it makes her feel slightly better.

"I think I hear James in the kitchen," she urges after a while of just listening to him play. The pair leave the music room, making their way into the overly tidied kitchen. James is already rummaging through the pantry, pulling out all sorts of ingredients that Cressida wouldn't even look twice at in a supermarket. "Can I help?"

"Only if you want to." James smiles as he passes by her. His eyes flick to Sirius, but shows no sign of anything on his face in regard to his hair being up. Cressida nods. It's the least she can do. And picking up a few kitchen skills couldn't be the worst thing. "Can you slice up a few tomatoes for me?"

"Sure."

Cressida circles around the bench and a wooden board with a large sharp knife and a bundle of tomatoes are placed in front of her. He shows her how he wants them done before moving off to the stove.

"Cress said that you ran into Freddie, the nice ol' chap," Sirius drawls. "How did that go down?"

"Not as bad as it could've been," James admits. "Tilly saved us in the end. But it still wasn't nice for Cressida." Cressida only shrugs at the mention of her name. Like James said, it could've been worse. Her focus is on not cutting herself with the knife. "But I don't think the rest of the night was terrible."

"It wasn't," she agrees. "I like Tilly. And the food was nice. Though the fashion was a bit… strange."

Sirius snorts at her description, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl and plopping it in his mouth. James comes back past her with a pot in hand. "Some would have thought you were the strangely dressed one."

Though she knows that it is a teasing remark from the way he says so, Cressida's stomach still twists around. She probably did stand out from them. She hadn't meant to. How was she supposed to know what a wizarding wedding was like?

James catches her expression as he passes on her other side. "Hey," he laughs softly. "You looked beautiful." He presses a kiss on her cheek before continuing on. Cressida blushes, her eyes pointed down at the tomatoes.

"She did, didn't she?" Sirius muses. Cressida's sharp eyes rim the top of her eyelids as she sends a questioning glare towards him. His lips are pulled back in a long smirk. "Though I thought the other dress looked even better."

"What other dress?"

Cressida shakes her head. "Just one that your mother brought for me. I'm going to use it for the Seventh Year Ball. It was way too fancy for a wedding, anyway."

James raises his brows, leaning against the counter next to the stove. "Why haven't I seen it?"

"I wasn't showing everybody," she laughs. "Sirius just invited himself into my room just as I was about to change."

The bottom of James' eyes lift slightly as he looks to Sirius. "You should knock." The longer-haired boy only gives a mocking expression in return, and even Cressida is about to remark about the occasions that James hasn't done so, but chooses against it. Instead, she looks to his right.

"Your water is boiling over."

"Damn it."

Cressida goes back to her chopping, but her attention is soon pulled away by Sirius silently waving for her attention. Once he has it, he mimes pulling his shirt down slightly around the chest area. Cressida frowns before looking down at herself and realises that she is wearing a singlet. With a deadpan she looks back to Sirius who is only grinning with a nod, winking dramatically. Shaking her head at him, he sighs and presses his point with hand movements. "No," she laughs aloud.

"What are you two on about?" James questions softly, glimpsing at them over his shoulder.

"Sirius is just being a dickhead," she dismisses with a smile that she tries to hide. James hums, placing the lid back over the pot and saunters towards the island counter. He comes to stand just over her left shoulder, acting as though to check her work. "Am I doing alright, chef?"

"Beyond brilliant," he sings. A hand plants on either side of her, trapping her between him and the bench. "It's nice to have some help," he goads, words aimed at the other boy.

"I would burn everything and you know it," Sirius defends. "Besides, now I get to watch attractive people cook for me." Cressida only rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what he's trying to do. "Oi, what's that look for, Prongs? I was complimenting you too! Though you're not the better looking off the two."

Cressida doesn't give in to her instinct to look over her shoulder at James' face. But she glares at Sirius. Of course, now knowing from her mouth about James' thoughts about Sirius having supposed feelings for her, Sirius is playing on that to get a rile out of James. Though she had enjoyed the idea at first, toying with his feelings is not something she wants to do for the sake of it. She's probably done that enough.

"I think many people would contend with that," Cressida declares in a causal manner. She looks over her shoulder, James' head nearly resting over it. Cressida leans to the side, pressing a kiss against his cheek as he had just done for her. "Though I don't think I need to defend you. You've always been confident in that."

"I don't think there's any competition between us."

James' head disappears from her shoulder, but she feels the side of his cheek pressing against the back of his head as he must be looking off to the side. Cressida smiles to herself. Part of her just knows that he knows. He knows that she feels the same. He knows that she knows he knows. And Sirius comes to the same conclusion, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin, fingers drumming the table.