Chapter 26: Black to Dark
Cressida bounces from foot to foot, shaking her hands out to the sides and stretching her neck in a wide circle. First game of the year. And Slytherin is their opponent. As she shakes out her pre-game nerves, she spies the young, lithe Bastian standing at the far end of the tent. His broom is pulled close to his chest, eyes pointed towards the ground. Cressida remembers that feeling.
Climbing over the benches, she makes her way towards Bastian, smiling easily; nonchalantly. "You ready, kid?"
Bastian looks up at her with wide, youthful eyes that are bright blue. A crooked smile rises. "As I'll ever be?" he answers as a question. Cressida laughs, nodding her head. She walks closer, spinning around to face the rest of the team. She points to Sirius.
"You see Sirius?" Bastian nods. "Don't tell him I told you, but on his first game, he vomited just outside the tent because he was so nervous." A lie. Sirius had been so cocky that even James rolled his eyes. Though in her opinion, James was worse.
"Really?" Bastian wonders with a small laugh. Cressida hums affirmatively and mirthfully.
"I know James can be rough during training. But he's doing it because he wants to push us. You wouldn't be on the team if he didn't think you could do it." Cressida watches James psych himself up, patting Kirk's shoulder as he pushes past him. "Trust me when I say, I know Potter can seem like the most arrogant prick, who doesn't give a shit about other people, but he knows more than anybody here how important a team is."
"I like James," Bastian declares with a small smile. With a quieter voice, he adds, "It's Black that I'm not sure about. One time, I was just sitting in the Common Room and he was glaring at me for like twenty minutes." Cressida can't help but laugh. Sirius, in all of the things he is, is a softie. A dangerous one, but a softie.
Smirking from one corner of her mouth, she leans down to his shorter height. "Were you sitting on the lounge?"
Bastian nods meekly. "Yeah, why?"
"He's territorial. Like a dog. Don't worry about him." Leaning back up straight, she gestures in his direction with her head. "You should go talk to him. It's good to have positive relationships with your teammates."
"I don't know," he mutters. "He looks like he wants to hex someone."
"He always looks like that," she dismisses. "An unfortunate birth defect." She can see her attempts making at least some progression. Leaving him be, Cressida wanders back to Sirius, turning him around so his back is to the young boy. "Can you go have a chat with Jacobs? He thinks you're really cool and he's nervous about the game."
Sirius straightens his shoulders at her information, thin lips drawing into a smirk. "An admirer? I always have time for them." Cressida smirks to herself as Sirius immediately marches over to the young boy whose eyes widen. Sirius immediately gives a pep talk. Dusting off the side of her shoulder, she turns away, satisfied by her work.
"You ready?" Cressida smiles over her shoulder. James has his broom in hand, meaning that its nearly time.
"How could I not be?" she counters. "You've been drilling me to the ground. Is this how you feel all the time? Just an overwhelming sense of confidence?"
He stands shoulder to shoulder with her, glasses off and his hair unkempt. "All the time?" he echoes. "Definitely not. But it's a good feeling, isn't it?" Cressida nods eagerly. Flicking back his Quidditch robe, he looks down at his watch. "Time to go."
The crowd is always eager to watch the Gryffindors go against the Slytherins. The two Houses with a never-ending feud. Two aggressive teams, in their own ways. Cressida soars around on her broom, warming her reflexes and muscles. It doesn't take her long to find Regulus amongst the Slytherins, her personal opponent. Sirius and his paired Beater swing their bats around, flying together between the stand posts. James and the Chasers flying lower around the grass of the pitch and Hackley already at the posts. Being a Seeker gets better with every game. It's becoming her position.
Hooch enters the field, and the teams fly into the circle, hovering the trunk with their balls. The Bludgers are let loose, making a swirling sound as they soar up past. Then the Snitch is released, Cressida's trained eyes watching its every swift move.
Then the whistle blows. Cressida leans forward and low, robes rippling against the air. Players fly past her for the Quaffle, but her eyes are on the Snitch and the Snitch alone. One Slytherin knocks into her side, but it only sends her off her path for a moment before rolling her broom back straight.
"Potter is in possession."
She slows, losing sight of the Snitch as it flies too far out of her sights and blends with the blurred colours of the crowd. Only a few seconds later, there's a ding and the Gryffindor side of the stands are cheering. Cressida grins, taking a second to watch her team cheer and holler. But one score doesn't win them the game. Picking up her pace, she searches the pitch, keeping a close eye on Regulus who is flying slowly around the hoops. In a moment of thought, she spins around, heading straight towards him. Regulus eyes her from a distance, gripping his broom and is ready to fly off in a second, but Cressida slows as she approaches, turning to face the same way as him.
Bastian is passing the Quaffle to James who holds onto it until they reach the hoops and he passes it back to Bastian. He shoots, earning them another ding. Regulus huffs indignantly. "You know," Cressida begins with humour in her tone, "this game won't end until one of us catches the Snitch. We could just stay here and watch them for hours on end. Pay someone in the stands to bring us food."
"Then I'd be stuck watching your posse for an undefined amount of time," he quips back, eyes watching the game. "Not my idea of fun." Cressida snorts at her description of James and Sirius. Her eyes filter the crowd, wondering what people are thinking about her flying next to Regulus in such a casual manner. It's not her place to care, really. Just as she sighs and lets her shoulders drop, he does the opposite. Immediately she snaps to attention, looking back and forth between him and the pitch.
Then she sees it. Just a flicker of gold that shines in the sun's reflection for briefer than a second. And they're both off. Their brooms are an equal match, leaving the chase to their abilities alone. They fly far enough apart that their shoulders don't bump, and neither one of them try to barge the other. The Snitch is well in view, scurrying away like a toddler running from its parents.
"It looks like both Seekers have seen the Golden Snitch."
Cressida's hands are completely on her broom, still a distance away from the small flying ball. It waves up high and into the rest of the players. Cressida ducks under a Slytherin player, spinning underneath him so his footrest doesn't de-scalp her.
Regulus took a different path, but he soon returns to her vision, just at her left corner. He's closer. A Bludger comes from the sky. Cressida ducks lower, but it doesn't even come near her. Her eyes trace its path, neck whipping around as it heads straight to Regulus who only just sees it in time. The younger Black boy turns his broom, the Bludger grazing against his left arm. It is close enough to pull the green robe from underneath the tight tuck of his brace, probably hurting more than it looked and she won't be surprised if he turns up with a large bruise the next morning to breakfast.
Cressida searches around for who sent it, but the voice over the announcement answers her inkling.
"Ooo. Was that just House against House, or inner Black House drama?" Cressida rolls her eyes at the play on wording, but her moment of mirthless grunting is ruined, realising that she has lost sight of the Snitch. At least Regulus has too, as he circles around, searching eagerly.
Keeping him in her sights, Cressida also searches. James and his two Chasers soar past her, right into the formation of Slytherins. He tries to duck underneath one, but that bastard sticks out his leg, catching James on the shoulder. He spins off course, but the Quaffle doesn't drop from his grip, even as the other Slytherins try to take advantage and barge into him from either side. That's her man. Cressida feels a surge through her, wanting her to whoop and cheer for him, but it isn't the right moment. She has a job and catching the Snitch would make him happier than simply yelling and hooting.
It takes nearly twenty minutes of the game for Cressida to find the Snitch once more. Without even giving a moment to think where Regulus might be, she takes off. She keeps low and straight, using as much speed as the broom can give her. Whether he saw it himself and was already speeding towards it, or saw her and chased, Regulus catches up to her as the Snitch flies around the outskirts of the pitch. The blue and silver material of the pitch tenting turns yellow and black, making the Snitch harder to see. Regulus flies on her left, the stand on her right.
She's so close. Giving her broom the extra power, she inches in front of him, arm reaching out. Regulus matches her speed, his left arm reaching out as well. The speaker says her name, no doubt detailing their chase but she blocks it out. The curve of the tent gives Regulus the extra bit of speed as he has the shorter distance and he creeps in front of her. Cressida narrows her eyes which flicker between him and her goal. His robe, still untucked from the brace, is pushed back past his elbow from the wind, flapping wildly.
There's a marking on his forearm. Faint as it may be, catches her attention.
Cressida's eyes turn wide, an icy grip holding her heart. The marking is a tattoo, faded, but still there. If she had not seen it so many times, her brain wouldn't have thought twice. If she hadn't seen it above her own home, she would have let it go. What else should she have expected but for the youngest Black brother to bear the Dark Mark?
She can see the curve of the skull and the body of the snake before the rest is hidden under the leather.
Her lips dry against the wind, breath catching in her throat. She looks back up to his young face. He's just a child. A child bearing the mark of a killer. Regulus' expression is sharp and focused, but he glances towards her. Just as quickly as the look comes, it disappears.
They fly shoulder to shoulder. But Cressida has all but forgotten about the Snitch. Her mother is dead. Her mother is dead because of that Mark. She could have been dead because of that Mark. The fact that Regulus played a part in saving her doesn't even seem to matter anymore. Shielding her from his own spell.
Regulus juts his elbow out, and Cressida doesn't even have time to counter it. She feels the brush of the now red fabric over her robes, then a sharp, unforgiving pain erupting in her shoulder.
A wooden beam? A pole? She would never know, but it catches on her shoulder bone, tearing her from her broom. Cressida flies off it to the left, her back scraping against the ground first, then her face, her back again. Every part of her smashes against the ground, but the pain is only complimentary to her shoulder's.
She doesn't scream, but the sensation of scorching liquid pouring over her arm is enough to pull gritted groans of agony. Her left hand forms a fist, thumping against the ground in her half-seated position. She can't even get back on her broom and continue. She's touched the ground. Disqualified.
"Black has caught the Snitch, bringing Slytherin's score to a whopping three hundred and ten verses Gryffindor's one hundred and eighty."
Eighteen times. Her team score eighteen times and she fucked it all up by becoming distracted. A section of the stands erupts in cheers, the sound travelling through parts of the Ravenclaw stands, and even into some of the Hufflepuffs.
It isn't long before she has robes of red surrounding her. Cressida hovers a hand around her shoulder so people don't touch it, her focus drained and still lingering on the image of the Mark. "I'm sorry," she croaks as soon as James' face appears.
"Where are you hurt? Is it your shoulder?"
Cressida searches his face. Is he not even going to acknowledge the outcome of the match? Her failure? "Yeah," she breathes with a short nod. "I think it's just dislocated. I'm sorry," she says again, needing to just see his reaction so she can read how he's feeling. Cressida wonders if he's ignoring it out of anger.
But James smiles affectionately, a hand slipping around her head to hold it steady as he kisses her closest temple. "Shit happens, Cress. I'm proud of you. Now, lets' get you to the Hospital Wing for some Skele-Gro." She bothers herself to make a disgusted expression, letting him help heave her from the ground.