Chapter 15: The Dog Star
Another sleepless night. Five of them in a row now. They all begin the same way; the restlessness and her eyes refusal to stay closed. But they all end differently. The first night she had woken in a sweaty panic, the ghost of the Dark Mark floating over her room. She had screamed in her sleep, and moments after she woke herself, she had two more occupants in her room. James had stormed forwards, encasing her within his embrace while Sirius stood at the door, watching over like a silent guard.
The second night she hadn't slept at all, still terrified from the previous night's terror. So she stayed awake, writing letters to no one in particular. She stole James' wand as he slept and burnt them afterwards. She has a feeling he knows she takes his wands sometimes, but he says nothing. They couldn't leave to get her one until the Aurors deemed it safe for her to leave protected premises.
On the third night, Cressida fell asleep before she even reached her bedroom, but awoke inside it, nevertheless. And awoke hungry. She scavenged the pantry and fridge, eating so much that they were worried when she hadn't taken a bite of anything the next day.
On the fourth, Cressida awoke to violent nausea that boiled in her stomach and erupted just as she reached the guest bathroom. She couldn't erase the acidic taste from her mouth, no matter how many times she brushed it. That was the only night she woke James up, desperately wanting someone to tell her what she needed to do.
Now, on the fifth night, Cressida is cursed with the empty feeling of loneliness. Her bed feels so big, yet she barely takes up a quarter when she sits on it. Though the window is closed, her skin prickles with goose-bumps like she has walked through a ghost without the sticky sensation.
Her stomach twisted and churn all day and now bothers her well into the night. Her fingers drum on her knee. Cressida keeps looking around her room, her mind waiting for something to happen. But nothing does. She doesn't want to wake James, but maybe she could just crawl into bed with him without the waking part. Yes, that is what she needs.
Already out of the covers, Cressida slips to the floor. Her eyes are well-adjusted to the darkness so she glides easily out of her room, leaving the door open behind her. She passes Sirius' room first, his door also open. He never used to leave it open. She can't see him, but his bathroom light is on. Strange for the middle of the night, but maybe he is just as sleepless as her. He certainly looks it through the day, but she hasn't spoken to him much, other than a few passing remarks. Cressida couldn't decide what to make of the situation, but it is hard to imagine that he wanted to hurt her. So for now, all she is doing is focusing on herself, then she can deal with Sirius.
Cressida moves onwards to the very end of the hall, angling to the right and wraps her hand around a silver knob. It clicks open, and she peeks in, spying his lump of a form underneath a thin summer blanket. Shadows of a branch that hangs near his window decorate the plain pattern, almost blending in. A full moon. A piece of the loneliness chips away knowing that Remus is awake too, no matter how far away he is.
The paranoia doesn't leave. The itch that is under her skin.
James looks fast asleep at first glance, but as soon as he pulls back the covers, his eyes open in a sleepy haze. "I think you should move in permanently," he mumbles, hardly coherent. Cressida huffs a strained smile, craving the comforting warmth that embraces her legs first.
The itch doesn't leave, but it eases.
"I am living here technically," she answers, finding a comfortable spot for her head on the pillow. Obviously, he doesn't have his glasses on. At the beginning of fifth year, it had been odd to see him with them. Now they are a staple James Potter look. He smiles tiredly at her, his face half-devoured by his pillow.
"Yes, but in your own room."
Cressida's lips twitch higher, rolling her eyes. "We haven't even gone on a first proper date yet."
"Our improper first one didn't go so terribly."
Cressida shakes her head. "No," she agrees softly. "Besides, I enjoy sneaking in."
He hums melodically. "I enjoy waking up to the surprise." Cressida turns her face into the pillow to hide her blush, only to be brought back out of it by a kiss on her neck before he patiently waits for one from her mouth. Obliging, Cressida trails her fingers over his cheek like he is a piece of carved marble art to be appreciated. "Couldn't sleep, could you?" He questions her as he leans back. Cressida shakes her head again, this time her lips dropping. James breathes out slowly, his hand curving over her side, down to her leg and back up again. "You didn't eat today either."
"I did," Cressida denies. "I had toast and an apple."
"Okay," he nods, "good. I'll make you an omelette in the morning." Her smile rises again, eyes closing as she digs her face into his neck, drawing her knee up to rest over his closest leg. James laughs, wrapping his arms around to hold her in position. "I'll take that as a 'yes please'." Cressida nods her head. "Easy done, Princess."
Both satisfied with their planned morning to come, Cressida finds herself in a position that draws her closer to sleep. She must be so close to it, or just past the brink of consciousness when there's another knock on James' door. Cressida arouses at the noise, but her determination to stay sleeping is louder so she doesn't move in response. The door opens as James shifts.
"Prongs? I don't know where Cressida is."
James sinks back into his pillows, a hand running down his face. Cressida opens her eyes at her name. "She's here mate." Sirius stands in the doorframe, a small light at the end of his wand just bright enough to illuminate the side of his face and some of the surrounding space.
Cressida sits up, her sleepy mind trying to figure out if she had done something wrong. She hears Sirius' short cuss of relief and he falls against the frame, two fingers pinching at his nose with a sharp sniff. "Sorry," he mutters. "You just… Weren't in your room or downstairs."
Cressida doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't need to apologise, so she isn't about to say sorry. But thanking him for worrying also doesn't feel right. Sirius leaves before she can decide on an answer. Cressida stays upright for a little longer, contemplating his behaviour. Turning to James, she lays a hand on his chest. "I'm going to go get a drink."
"Do you want me to get it for you?"
Cressida shakes her head, forgetting to thank him for the offer and climbs out of the bed that somehow manages to be larger than her own. She passes by all his belongings on his desk and dresser, the spot of the Quidditch Trophy empty.
She travels back into the dim hallway, a few creaks of age sounding from every few steps. Sirius' door is cracked open as though he meant to shut it but didn't bother to check. But he's in there as the room's main light is switched on.
Cressida pushes the door open, unsure of what she'll find. His room always brings her a bit of comfort. Much like James' there is Gryffindor memorabilia, but also things from the Muggle world. Posters. And pictures. Some that he took, some that he stole from her or one of the other three boys. And a snowglobe with a moving picture inside.
Sirius sits at the end of his bed, forehead pressed against the palm of his hand, lifting it at the sound of his door creaking open. He resets his shoulders, wiping his hands off on his pants and turns his face away. "Sorry," he croaks.
Cressida stares at him, stuck in the entrance. "Why?"
"I really shouldn't be crying. I have no reason to." His words are dismissive and airy. Brushing off his emotions is a terrible Sirius trait. Cressida takes a few steps forward, glancing around his room. Sirius watches her from the outskirts of his vision as she wanders over to his desk, leaning over to peer at the pictures on it.
They're all so different, yet they hold the same thing. Smiling kids. Well, some have faces other than smiling, but they're all happy moments in time. Cressida wonders why people don't take pictures of the sad times. The times that test people's friendship. The moments where they were being torn apart but somehow stayed together. They mean just as much.
She picks out one. It was taken by Remus in their third year just before the Christmas holiday. It had snowed heavily the night before so they had a snow fight the very next morning. Sirius stands in front of Cressida, and a stranger might think he was trying to block her from being in the photo.
Cressida takes it to the bed, sitting down next to him. She holds the picture out. "Do you remember this?"
Sirius glances at her, as if asking if that is really what she wants to talk about but her offer doesn't waver. He nods, taking the photograph. "James was targeting you," he recalls. "I took about five hits in the face."
Cressida chuckles under her breath. "Why?"
He shrugs, flipping the photo over to read Remus' label. "Because I… stood in front of you." He says it more like a question.
Cressida turns the photo back around. "You said just as this photo was being taken that you were protecting me. That you always would." It was later that year he kept his promise. And ever since then. Her own eyes begin to tear. "You've never failed me in that promise."
In everything that she's thought about in these restless nights, no matter how hard she tried to push it to later, she always came to the same conclusion. Sirius protected her. He never made a promise to protect her family, and he never would have. He sees them as a mirror of his own. He sees them as part of the danger. And no matter how much it hurts to remember her mother lying on the kitchen floor, her mother also never protected Cressida. Sirius has done more for her than her family ever had. More than her mother ever had.
"I feel like I have." Sirius looks to her, his eyes glossy and red-rimmed. They're tired. "I didn't want you to be there, and I didn't want you to see that."
Cressida shrugs slightly, forcing herself to be numb in that moment. "And I would've seen it on the Daily Prophet. Or maybe a Ministry Official would have come knocking. But to be honest, I don't even think I'm grieving. At least, not entirely." Her words sound vacant, as though speaking from a mouthpiece. "My father was just a man that I happened to know and my mother… They weren't killed because they were Muggles. They were killed because I was born a witch. It doesn't matter if I was there or not, the attack was for me."
Her thoughts begin to make sense. She is mourning their deaths, but her grief is built on shock. If she had seen their deaths coming, or if it had been in a car accident or sickness, Cressida knows that her reaction would be different. But Death Eaters come from her world, a world that she cannot run from like running away from home. Unlike her mother, these wizards have the guts to chase her.
Cressida realises she's been staring at the floor for much too long. "Go to sleep." He nods feebly. Standing, she takes in a long breath and looks around the room once more. All she can see is them. Her friends. They're his entire world, just like they're hers. Leaning down to the side of his face, she kisses his temple. "I'm not angry at you," she whispers.
Sirius stands, bringing her with him, trapping her close.
"I love you, Bear. So fucking much."
"Love you too, Sirius. To the Dog Star in the sky and back."
Me with a grin: And it only gets worse from here. I'm writing Part 4 and ooft I have so many plans.