Chapter 34: Scared

When Cressida wakes, she is alone.

A scary feeling of loneliness.

Her room is almost completely dark, save for the soft light of her nightstand that emits a tiny golden glow across a portion of her bed and floor. The window overlooking the garden looks as though someone has painted black over the glass.

Her head aches, but it is dull. Not a headache, in a sense, but it just feels full. Cressida uses her stomach to lift her head off the pillow, a thick blanket pooling at her thighs. Her hand runs over the fabric, a sense of familiarity flowing through her. It's the one James brought her for her birthday. She hadn't said it at the time, but it was an odd gift from him. She would have expected this from Remus, or perhaps even Peter.

But the more Cressida sits there, running her fingers over the cloud-like material, the more she realises she cannot feel an ounce of the cold. The blanket acts as a magical barrier. A layer of protection. That sounds more like James.

Cressida takes her time to sit there, her mind reeling over the past day's events. As her eyes adjust to the low light, she can see her floor, which is still plagued by books and scraps of parchment with scribbles of her writing. She had been shutting Sirius out? What trance has she fallen into in her efforts to fix herself?

Fix herself. That sounds so stupid.

Recover.

That's a better choice of word. And recovery doesn't happen by shutting yourself down. Dr Kenway told her that. Remus has told her that. Now Sirius has. They are all right.

With a long and shaky breath, Cressida pushes the blanket off her legs, and the chill of a winter night creeps under the material of her pants. This can't wait until morning. Not when her mind is now so awake that she will be lying in her bed until the morning hours alone in her thoughts.

The corridor is darker than her bedroom, but she can see the silhouette of the walls clear enough to make her way around. Turning left, Cressida heads straight to Sirius' room first. The door is wide open so she peeks in.

His bedsheets have been kicked to the foot of the bed, and there is no sign of his tall body anywhere. Sighing with thought, she turns back to the hallway, creeping along to the stairs and tiptoes down them. Passing a clock, its arms are barely readable as 2:13 in the morning. Christmas Eve.

Downstairs, there is no immediate sign of life. No sound or light emitting from any room. But Sirius has to be somewhere here. He wouldn't leave. So she searches. The kitchen first, then the main living area and the dining room. Nothing.

At the very end of her tour, Cressida checks the music room. The light isn't on and there isn't any sound but she looks inside anyway. Her eyes glaze over the chairs first. She remembers how her and James were laying there when Sirius knocked on the door, soaking wet and miserable.

Then she looks at the piano. Almost camouflaged by the shadows and black paint of the grand instrument is a silhouette of a boy. A man. The piano key cover is pulled down, long arms folded on top of it, and a head covered in long dark hair sprawled across his arms.

Cressida's arm reaches out to the side, feeling along the wall until her fingers feel the light switch and the room is lit. Sirius' head snaps up with an ease that tells her he wasn't asleep. He looks around, eyes landing directly on her. "Why aren't you in bed?" she asks.

Sirius' eyes are dark and sunken, a red mark on his forehead from where it pressed against his forearm. He's wearing his nightclothes which tells her he at least tried to go to bed at one stage or another. Rather than answering her question, his legs stretch over the short piano seat and he rises to his feet. "You know I love you, right?"

Cressida's eyes close over her head nodding easily. "I do." Her eyes open again. "I never doubted that."

"I'm sorry." The right side of his cheek pulls between his teeth. "I shouldn't have just come at you like that. I was angry because I was scared."

"Scared?"

Sirius nods, looking off to the side. "You've had so much shit in your life that I'm worried it's going to tip you over the edge eventually. And usually, I know what you're thinking because you tell me. I know how to help when you tell me what's wrong. I know what to say or do. And this time I didn't. I didn't know what you were thinking or what you were… going to do. So I panicked." Cressida reads between the gaps of his words. "And when James said that he thought you didn't want to be around here anymore, I thought you might have said something to him and I know he doesn't know everything so he could have misunderstood what you were implying."

"I hadn't," Cressida breathes, her head shaking slowly but steadily. "I don't want to be anywhere else but here."

Sirius nods with a crooked smile out of the corner of his mouth. "I understand now. You were keeping to yourself because you wanted to deal with everything alone." His tone is questioning, so Cressida nods in affirmation. "It's not shameful to ask for help."

Cressida sniffs, running her sleeve under her nose. "I just haven't felt… Very Gryffindor-like in a while. I feel like I'm always reaching out for help that it's pathetic."

"And you think I don't?" Cressida stares at Sirius. No, she doesn't think he does. Sirius gestures to the lounge, sitting down and waiting for her to join. Cressida pulls her legs under her. "I showed up here, having run away from my home with nowhere else to go. I wouldn't be the person I am today without James. Or without you. The number of times you reach out to me even when I don't think I need it, but I do. I vividly remember, a twelve-year-old Cressida flipping off Rosier who was taunting me in the hallway for a reaction outside of Charms class."

Cressida lapses into a bubble of laughter. Sirius joins her.

"Yet I don't belong anywhere but Gryffindor. Even with all the help that I get. It's not just about physical bravery. Fighting or being competitive—which you are both good at. It's about being strong and resilient. Always standing for what you believe in. And that to me, sounds a lot like you."

"Sirius," she laughs through teary eyes, "do you have this alter side that comes out whenever somebody is in need of good advice?"

Sirius grins mirthfully, laughing softly and resting his head against the back of the cushioning. "I'm glad you think my advice is good, because I'm sure Remus once said it was more useless than sandals in a flood." Her chuckling turns into a snort. "It sort of just comes out naturally. I am very wise."

"I'm sure McGonagall would say otherwise. I'm sure all the Professors would say otherwise."

"Look, I said I'm wise, not bright."

"See," Cressida smiles, "I would say it's the other way around. Wise, maybe not so much. But you're incredibly bright. Both you and James. It's annoying sometimes, because you don't act like it and then you just fly through school and somehow manage to turn into Animagus-"

"Don't forget you did that too."

"I wouldn't have been able to without you both."

"I think that more has to do with you being smart enough not to go through with such a stupid plan."

"I thought you called it brilliant."

"We could have permanently miss-transfigured ourselves or worse, but theoretically it was brilliant." They laugh in sync. Cressida loosens her back muscles, sinking further into the lounge, leaning her head against the bone of Sirius' shoulder. He sobers, resting a hand on her knee and affectionately runs his thumb along it. "I'm not going to ask about it right now, but I didn't miss what you said about my brother."

Cressida swallows. She realised exactly what she said when she said it. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats softly. "We can talk about it later. I feel like it's a story on its own and I think you deserve some time to get yourself back together before I bombard you again. But now that you have told me what you've been caught on, don't keep it to yourself anymore. If you want to do this yourself, that's okay, but at least let me know what's happening. What you're thinking about, what's worrying you. Just so I know and I can do something if you need it."

"I promise," Cressida whispers. "Do you know how much James heard?"

Sirius' chest rises in a long breath of contemplation. "I don't. He didn't say and I didn't ask. What are you going to say to him?"

Cressida shrugs. She has no bloody idea. "Everybody is telling me I need to talk to him. And I know that. But I was waiting until everything… Felt better. But I don't think that's going to be anytime soon. At least not what it usually felt like to be okay. And I don't to wait that long, or make him question things that shouldn't be doubted because I refused to tell him."

"I think that's a good idea, Bear. I've had to put up with you two bloody not talking properly for so long that I think I could be slightly insane." Sirius groans playfully, head rolling around. "Nights of just telling James to fucking tell you. But no, he had to write a letter. And then you didn't get the blasted thing. McMullen and Lily. And you refused to admit anything because you don't like change and convinced yourself that he still liked Lily even though he hadn't even mentioned her while she wasn't there for nearly a year." His large hands plant on either side of her head, shaking it back and forth with wide eyes. "If you don't talk to him in the morning, I am going to Polyjuice myself into you and just do it for you. That's how desperate I am. And Polyjuice tastes like absolute goblin piss."

Cressida lets out a shaky laugh. "Are you sure you think that's a terrible idea? I mean, I thought it was ridiculous that James was jealous of you, but maybe I should be jealous of you and James," she cheeks. "I mean, you share a dorm together and everything."

Sirius chuckles airily, hands dropping from her face. "He's a handsome man, but not my type." He winks at her, drawing a knee closer to his chest.

"So what is your type?" Sirius doesn't answer her, his eyes pointed at his feet. "Someone we know," she concludes from the silence. Sirius' eyes turn to her. They're sharp at first but soften as his throat bobs. "You hide it well. I haven't the faintest idea."

"Good."