Chapter 19: Living with Monsters

Cressida saunters into James' room this morning intending to wake him with a tea in hand—just to annoy him with the fact that she made it. And annoyed is what she gets.

James rouses at her shake, a hand flopping around his nightstand in search of his glasses. The other hand is already resting on her knee while she waits with a smile and the tea in hand, sitting on the side of his mattress. Perching the frames, he smiles at her, but it flattens as his eyes drift down to the teacup. "We have rules in this household, you know," he drawls in a rough and scratchy voice.

"Sod off," she grins. "You make my tea, so let me make yours."

James sits up against his headboard, rubbing his eyes underneath the glasses. "I make your tea and my own. It's the way it goes."

"The way what goes? It never used to be. You told Remus to get lost when he asked for one yesterday."

James smiles from the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm not trying to dote on Remus." Cressida's eyes sharpen, but the corner of her lips rise uncontrollably and coyishly. As if to just end their banter, he takes the teacup, sipping it then placing it where his glasses once rested. "Thank you."

She smiles bitterly. "Do you believe me now? When I tell you that Sirius is completely gay. It wasn't that he had feelings for me, it was just the fact that he was paranoid about Death Eaters finding me."

James sighs, his lips pressing together. "Alright, I feel a little stupid," he coughs out, laughing airily at himself. Cressida hums in acknowledgement, sliding off his bed to wander around his room. The trophy isn't there, but it also isn't in her room. "I think Sirius stole it," James notes at her gaze. Cressida rolls her eyes, moving onwards to his desk which is neater than usual.

There's a golden badge on top of an opened envelope. At first she just puts it as his Quidditch Captain badge, but the shape is all wrong. Frowning, she walks closer, picking up the crest to read the engraving. Head Boy.

Words stick in her throat. Unable to physically ask anything, she simply holds it up to James in questioning.

His lips part which recognition. "Ah. Yeah, I got that last week. Bit of a shock. Thought it was meant for Remus, really." Cressida stares at him. James? Head Boy?

"Has Dumbledore gone mad?!"

James nods quickly. "Yeah," he laughs. His shoulders shake, the tops of his cheeks pressing up against his eyes. "I figured he was thinking 'anybody but James Potter' and wrote my name by accident."

Cressida looks back at the badge. Dumbledore might be a crazed old man some days, but he isn't stupid. Nor would he make a simple mistake like this. "Why didn't you tell me?"

James shrugs, taking another sip of the tea. At least she's victorious there. "Had a lot on your mind. I figured it was unimportant really."

"Unimportant?" she repeats. "James." She laughs maniacally, placing the crest back down at the same time he places the cup down again. Marching over to his bed, she engulfs him in a tight embrace. Cressida soaks in the warmth of his arms slithering around her. Leaning back but staying within holding distance, she cups one of his cheeks. "You are a Quidditch Captain and Head Boy. Not to mention you have been coming first in Transfiguration for six years in a row and top three of almost all your other classes. I know you're an arrogant bastard, but my gods, sometimes I think it's well deserved."

James' grin is bashful. "Thanks, but ouch," he laughs. Cressida marvels in his modesty. "Still better than a douchebag though."

Cressida kisses the high point of his cheek. "Much better."

xx

Cressida couldn't feel more underdressed as she approaches the large family dining table. Euphemia stands near the archway leading to the kitchen, her light coloured wand like a baton that an orchestra conductor would use, only instead of instruments it is plates and bowls. It is comparable to a Hogwarts feast. Her only consolation in that matter is that Sirius is also wearing something simple—a black shirt and sweatpants.

"I am starving," Peter grins to James' mother, his eyes wide as the food situates itself on the table. Fleamont takes the head of the table, a space on his left for Euphemia, James taking the one on his left. Cressida would usually take the seat on James' right, across from Sirius, but tonight she grips Sirius' innocent wrist and pulls him further down the table. Peter ends up sitting on James' right, Remus taking Euphemia's right, leaving Sirius and Cressida at the far end of the table together.

"Has something happened between you and James?" he whispers into her ear as they settle themselves into the seats. Cressida shakes her head, her eye inadvertently moving towards James who is looking over Peter on his side with a peculiar expression before they lift to meet hers. She smiles at him, hoping that he understands her choice of distance has nothing to do with him. His mouth curves upwards gently, nodding almost invisibly to himself and turns his attention back to filling his plate.

Sirius mutters under his breath, reaching over her to fill his plate as well. Cressida takes bits here and there but her mind can barely think about food. She had been waiting for tonight for the chance it would give her. The pressure of formality. She had given herself enough time to come to terms with the deaths of her parents, and now she needs to know how. How Sirius knew. If she asked him at any other time, he could just walk away and not answer her. She doesn't know how reluctant he is going to be. But here at a dinner, walking away or making a scene would only put attention onto him.

"I have to buy a lot of textbooks," she says to start a conversation, using the fact that they are travelling to Diagon Alley for their yearly supplies the next day. "My arms are going to be tired tomorrow."

"We can share my potions book if you want," he offers. "But that means you have to be my partner for the year."

"I think I'd rather buy the book," she smirks to her plate. Her laugh grows as he kicks her under the table. "Stop," she laughs quietly, "Or I'll tell on you."

Sirius scoffs, his fork prongs scraping against the plate. "You're such a child. Besides, what are they going to do? Ground me?" Cressida shakes her head, utterly amused by the way he works up so easily. "Is there a reason you isolated me from everybody? Jealous so I can't talk to anybody but you?"

"Yes," Cressida answers quietly. "To the first." Sirius aura of defensive bickering softens. He eats slower, watching her from the corner of his eye. The rest of the table is chatting away about their oncoming final year at Hogwarts. "I need to know how you knew," she declares, eyes drifting ever so slowly from her plate to his, then to his face. Sirius shifts, but there is no sign that he is about to run away. "I don't care why you didn't tell me, not anymore anyway, but… how could you have known?"

Sirius places his knife and fork down, fingers smoothing over the wood of the table. "Regulus." Cressida doesn't understand his answer at first. Regulus? Did Regulus do this? "Reg warned me at King's Cross that if I wanted you alive, I needed to get you somewhere safe by July." His words are so quiet she can barely hear them. "I don't know how he knew. Or why he told me. Why would he have warned me, Cress? I don't… I don't understand."

Regulus warned Sirius. Regulus is the reason she's alive. "I don't know," she answers Sirius off-handedly. Her thoughts have gone down an entirely new rail track. Why had he warned Sirius? Was it because Sirius was his brother and despite his firm assurances that he doesn't care, he does? Or is it because Regulus cares about her? More likely the former than the latter, but at the same time, she can't help but think that it is a mix of both. Regulus had even said to her that he didn't want Muggle-borns dead. He just didn't want them in power. Cressida has never once questioned his power, but she had questioned his alignments. It clearly wasn't enough to make him detach from her completely. That was why Sirius had looked at her like that at the station.

Another realisation hits her, like a fist directly into her stomach. How did Regulus know? He had been at school with them for the entire year, except perhaps at Christmas. But even Sirius has told her that his immediate family isn't active (yet) within Voldemort's ring. How would he have known unless it was a topic brought up in school?

Her fork clatters loudly against the table, a shaky hand rising to her mouth.

Students knew. Slytherins knew. No, more than that. It was their doing. It was planned. Her family's death wasn't because they spoke out or posed a threat, nor did they hold information. They were killed because she did. Because Cressida did something. Was it Snape? She threatened him - however petty it feels now. Rosier? Avery? Mulciber? They have to have connections with someone that could produce a Dark Mark; from what they understand, it is only a spell the innermost circle are taught. This was an act of revenge. They expected her to be there.

And she has to go back to school with them.

"-essida?" Her hand is pulled away from her mouth, her head slowly following its direction to find Sirius staring at her, his eyes wide and searching, lips parted with her name falling from them. The table has fallen silent while she was locked inside her mind. Sirius' eyes drop to her other hand which is still tightly latched around the steak knife. Her thumb is pressing right into the blade. With his other hand, he reaches out, almost cautiously like she would lash out at him and pulls the knife away, placing it at the head of her plate.

Her stomach twists and sploshes, rising into her throat then back down.

"Excuse me," she whispers. Her chair scrapes against the floor and she darts away from Sirius' grip, ignoring the eyes and movement at the table. Her legs take her, almost automatically, to the upstairs guest bathroom. How ironic that she hoped Sirius wouldn't run away. But unless she wants to vomit all over their dinners, there is quite a little choice.

Her foot kicks the toilet door close behind her before lurching her guts up into the bowl. Her eyes screw shut, knowing that watching anything would only make it worse.

"Cress?" There's a knock at the door. "Cress, are you alright?"

Cressida cups her throat, leaning back against the wall. Taking a series of short, ragged breaths, she calls out, "I'm fine, James." The door swings open, barely missing her foot.

James looks down at her. "Worst lie you've ever told me," he murmurs gently. He comes down to the floor with her, scooting into the space between her and the corner of the wall in the tiny room. Cressida hiccups, trying to swallow away the acidic taste in her mouth. He draws her into his arms, raking his fingers through her frizzy halo of hair to push it away from her face.

Another dark clothed figure appears int the bathroom threshold, leaning in. "Hey-"

"It's fine," James interrupts Sirius. "I've got it." Sirius opens his mouth as though to argue, but James uses his foot to close the door on him. They only hear footsteps after a few moments. "Was it the food? I know Mum's cooking isn't as good as mine."

Cressida chokes out a laugh, shaking her head. "No, it was really good."

James laughs with her. "Good." He smiles, kissing her forehead. "You don't have a temperature."

"Funny way of taking it," she mumbles, resting her cheek on his shoulder bone, making her words a bit crooked. "I'm not sick, I-" She could tell him, but then he'd be brought down by her worries too. "Think I just ate too fast or something. You know I'm a slow eater." Sirius. She'll confide in Sirius since he's already been brought into it.

James sighs, pressing another kiss to her temple. "You worry me sometimes. That's a lie—all the time."

Cressida only lets out a ghostly huff, whispering, "I worry myself."