Chapter 37: A Warning

Cressida's eyes droop downwards, rimmed with black lines. "I thought you said that study group was fun," she grumbles to a perky Marlene. The blonde's hair swishes down the middle of her back, notebooks perched in her folded arms. "I think Professor Sprouts' planting seeds in first year class was more thrilling."

"I meant that it was fun because people don't talk," she drawls. "I get so peeved when people are trying to study, and they don't talk in whispers."

"That's why you go to the library," Cressida drawls back. "Study groups should be active and engaging. People talking and sharing ideas and tips. Not sitting around in a circle and silently reading. I can do that in my bed."

"Oh." Marlene frowns, tipping her head to the side. "I never thought of doing it like that. It sounds fun, but I don't know how much I'd learn."

Cressida only mutters her response under her breathe. "Compared to reading for pages on end? Colossal amounts." Adding in a regular volume, "That's because the people you study with get distracted when you talk. It becomes unproductive. You need to study with people who are interested in what you're doing. There's this really good Charms group run by Rowan from Hufflepuff this term. I used to go to it when I was in second and third year and learn from them since they were mostly NEWT students."

"No wonder you're good at Charms," Marlene replies with a shrivelled nose. "Studying for classes you weren't taking."

"But I'm taking them now," she counters, "so it was more preparatory than anything. And the guy leading it at the time was hot."

Marlene makes an expression of agreeance. "That'd make me focus," she laughs. "I have to go catch up with Lily at the greenhouse. Bloody git volunteered us both to help clean up after a Mandrake class. Don't feel like replacing me, do you?"

Cressida keeps walking straight as Marlen stops at an off-turn. Cupping a hand against her ear, she calls, "Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you." Marlene gives her a particularly vulgar gesture before a fifth year Ravenclaw prefect strides to her and Cressida is left hearing another string of vulgar words.

Swinging in her step, her mind is set on finding her way uninterrupted to her dorm, putting her belongings down and dragging the first unfortunate Marauder soul that she finds down to the kitchens since she missed a good portion of lunch trying to convince Slughorn that Sirius wasn't involved in a series of pranks that befell a group of seconds years. It was, of course, entirely Sirius' fault, and she recalled with great clarity the description James gave him of the way his Christmas present would work. And to be fair, it did exactly what it said it would.

With thoughts of delicious rolls of cheese and ham filling the space of her mind, her eyes easily glaze over the sea of students who have also finished class for the day. And it is almost easy to miss the short black hair of someone Cressida isn't particularly keen on seeing, but a fierce hand on her elbow forces her out of thought.

Upon seeing Regulus' face, Cressida huffs silently, pulling her arm back and makes way to move on without speaking to him, but he grabs the back of her shirt, pulling her back into the partially hidden alcove. "Don't you touch me," she seethes with narrowed eyes and a harsh gaze.

"Just listen," Regulus hisses back. "I told you I would let you know if I heard something about you." Cressida's insistent protesting wavers, her ears tuning more carefully to his voice, but her eyes stay pointed at the opposite wall. "That McMullen guy? He came up to me and was asking about some pretty lethal potions. I thought it might have just been for schoolwork since it all sounded pretty advanced, but I ask Severus and he's not even doing NEWT Potions this year. I have no idea if it's related to you, but I know that he's been a pain in your arse lately and I thought I owed you the warning."

Lethal potions? McMullen doesn't want to kill her. In fact, he seems to very much want her in good health—and see that her friends know that. So she says so. "I don't think that has to do with me. If he hurts me, then he'd be ruining whatever crusade he's on to get into my friend's good books."

"It might not be for you directly," Regulus deliberates in their hushed tone. "Maybe he wants to attack someone close to you? Find a weak spot and claw his way to you in a moment of weakness?"

Cressida sticks her jaw out, thinking over the possibility, forgetting her loathing for the younger Black for just a moment. "How do you know so much about him?"

"Overheard Potter and my brother talking about it in the Great Hall once," he answers with a shrug. "Then I just observed things."

"How very Slytherin of you."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

A hint of a smile shows. "Not necessarily." Cressida remembers who she is talking to. The ghostly smile drops. "Thank you, but I don't need your help so don't bother spending your time on it." Ending their interaction there, Cressida removes herself from his presence, keeping her head forward and ignoring the eyes of other students that are sure to have at least seen a moment of them together.

Sirius had, of course, before the end of the holiday, queried her intensely about her relationship with his younger brother. Cressida thought he deserved nothing less than the truth. So she admitted that they had just run into each other in a few events that led to them talking and sustaining a mutual grounding. Sirius then proceeded to rant about his brother's supremacist views and went as far as to admit that his brother had become a formal Death Eater. James it seems, had missed that part of her screams between everything else. Cressida might have tried to argue for the sake of Sirius' view on his brother, but now she wouldn't bother. Regulus was, and always has been what Sirius condemned him as. But she still can't help but wonder what would have happened in one of them could have convinced him otherwise.

Too late for that now. The Mark is as permanent as one's service to Voldemort. Until death.

Xx

Cressida flies between the Quidditch Hoops, her sharp and keen sight set on a lithe built boy with a Quaffle under his arms. She's learnt more of his habits now, giving her an edge compared to his first day at training. Jacobs shoots at her third goal and Cressida is already flying towards it. She knocks the Quaffle with an outstretched arm, the wood of her broom pressed against her chest.

"Good! That was good!" she praises, using an accio charm to bring the Quaffle from where it falls to the pitch grass. James has her focusing on Jacob's shooting techniques since Bastian Jacobs has become quite the notorious scorer. Even more so than James himself who has willingly taken a more middle-man position of offensive manoeuvres and keeping the Quaffle in Gryffindor possession until they reach the scoring area where Jacobs shines. "But I saw which one you were going for just a second too early. That made the difference on whether or not I reach it in time. We should do some drills with quick-turns."

Bastian nods eagerly, squinting against the sun. "Okay!" he calls back. The boy would happily do whatever she or James ask of him. And he's a quick learner. Cressida won't lie and say she hasn't taken a particular liking to the youth. He's a bubbly personality and his light voice is refreshing sometimes from the deep voices of her friends.

For the rest of training, the pair continue training drills with different ways to turn his broom quickly and without signalling to the opposing team his plan. James is training with the third Chaser against the Beaters who are having the time of their life, hunting them down with the Bludgers.

Near the end of training, despite the winter air still being frigid, Cressida and Bastian are doused in sweat, so she gives them both an early mark by a few minutes. They stand on the pitch, watching the other players. "I'm sure glad I ain't them," Cressida murmurs, laughing as Sirius tails James aggressively.

"Me too," Bastian chuckles. "Thank you. For the help."

Cressida shrugs, picking up their Quaffle and leading him off the field. "You're my teammate. And I'm graduating this year, so I want to make sure a potential future Captain is learning from the best," she adds with a wink.

His face enlightens considerably. "Really? You think I could be the Captain?"

"Yeah," she answers honestly. "I think you have what it takes. I'm not sure who will take over James, but in a few years that could be you. Maybe I'll try to sneak onto the grounds to watch your games."

"I'd be honoured. Do you know if James plans on playing professionally?"

Cressida's mouth pauses open. "Uh, I'm not actually sure. He's talked to someone from the Falcons, but I don't know how he feels about them. But it's definitely an option. He's a good enough player to get on any team."

"You're just saying that because you love him," Bastian grins cheekily. Cressida's brows raise in surprise. "I'm joking," he adds at her frozen expression, misreading it. "He is really good."

But she wasn't shocked by his taunt. It struck something in her. Something prideful. James had said to her, when he came to her distressed over the quality of their relationship, that she was so distant with him at times, that people never even guessed they were more than friends. They stilled have made no sort of announcement—feeling no need to declare such a thing publicly—yet this young third year figured it out through simple observation. And that makes her proud of herself, knowing that if people around them can see it, then James will too.

They make it to the tent and begin stripping off their extra gear while they have spare time. Cressida is tucking away the Quaffle into the ball trunk as the tent fills with the rest of the team. As James heads to the front of the tent for his usual post-practice talk, Cressida sits on top of the trunk, watching him with simple admiration.

"Game with Ravenclaw next. We know their new Chaser is annoyingly quick, but she is also small and that means we can use barging techniques effectively to steal the Quaffle. They will protect her from this, so Beaters you'll have your work cut out for you. Jacobs, I want your aim to be as open as possible and not get caught up in locked formations inside them. Sirius, your task is to keep him clear. Hackley, remember to keep your shoulders steady. Weak shoulders and you will let a Quaffle slip through your fingers. And lastly, our Seeker." Cressida sits straighter with a little wave to signal where she is. James exhales slowly, his tongue running over his bottom lip. "Catch the Snitch."

"Aim of the game," she replies instantly, with a swift smirk. James winks subtly, dismissing the team. Sirius leaves quickly in a race for the showers, as does the rest of the team, leaving behind James to clean the blackboard and ball trunks and take off his own gear. As he fiddles with his arm braces, Cressida moves to stand in front of him, taking over the task.

"You didn't give me the honour?" he questions. Cressida frowns, searching his face for the meaning of his words, finding them pointing over her body. She already took off her braces and kneepads.

"Oh yes, such an honour to remove sweaty leather," she taunts with a very Sirius' styled smirk. "I'm only doing it for you because you'll take half an hour without me."

"Is that right?"

Cressida nods confidently, eyes constantly flickering between his hazel ones and the ties on his arm. As she becomes distracted with a particularly well-tied knot, James' lips capture hers, drawing her face upwards. The arm that she is trying to untie it off moves from her grip, rising towards her face. She pulls away from his lips, pushing his arm back down and goes back to untying it.

Abruptly, James pulls his arm away from her. It startles her enough that her eyes jump wide and concerned. "I don't care about it." Before she can answer, he's leaning down and once more taking her mouth. Cressida sinks into it, relishing the privacy of the empty tent. Now with empty hands, she finds them something to do. And that something is to run through his hair. At the very touch, the kiss becomes harder and his chest moves against hers. They part for only a moment as he bends down, and his hands circling the back of her thighs. Locking her arms around his neck, she jumps and with his help, locks her legs around his hips.

He smiles underneath her lips. "I have been thinking about you all day."

"You've been with me all day," she taunts back with a matching smile.

James nods his head with a long breath. "I know. Which was very agitating since I couldn't exactly do this in the middle of Transfiguration."

"I mean, you could've, but I'm not sure what Minnie would have thought about the Head Boy having his hands in such an inappropriate place." James laughs against her mouth, then presses kisses trailing up his cheek and his fingers elicit more pressure on her skin under her breeches. "Mr Potter, this is such improper behaviour," she mocks in the best Minerva McGonagall impression she can manage.

James lets out a short groan, his forehead dropping to press against her collarbone. "Can you please not sound like our professor right now?"

Cressida laughs freely, cupping the back of his head and pressing a hard kiss against his temple. Then she drops her mouth to his ear. "Detention, Potter."

Suddenly, the hands holding her let her drop back to the ground, only catching her so she doesn't fall back before they rise above his head. "Nope. You ruined it." Cressida catches the back of his jersey as he turns away, pinching his chin and pulling it down to her mouth for one last taste. She lets him go after a few seconds, smiling victoriously, and then leaves him to head to her bag. "It's back," James prattles, striding after her but she bends down before he can pull her face to his.

So I've actually got some sneak-peeks for you for the upcoming chapters spanning over both Part 3 and Part 4. These are mixed up and in no order. Some words have been changed.

McGonagall tries to hide her amused smile, but Alastor Moody doesn't bother. "So she does have the foolishness," he muses to Dumbledore. There's a pregnant pause that she looks between all three of them, waiting for something. "Let's hope this one doesn't get killed."

Cressida raises her brows, tilting her head up at the Auror. "What?" she demands with a tight smile. Dumbledore laughs softly, but Moody's strong cackles of delight drown it. She looks to McGonagall who is the only one just as unamused as her. "He's joking, right?"

"Alastor has a peculiar sense of humour," the Professor mutters, giving a stink eye usually reserved for misbehaving students to the school's guest.

"Cressida?" Elias draws out slowly. She keeps going, the heat travelling through her fingers and to the back of her hand which now glows a bright red like a sunburn. "Your hands," he adds urgently.

"R-Releasio." A final spell that simply opens the lid of the box, releasing its contents now that she has broken through layers of protection that usually would have taken her longer to break through.

For a moment, Sirius flashes in front of her eyes. The same desperate plea for help when he showed up on James' doorstep. Soaked and broken. The pain in Regulus' eyes are true; however deeply covered it may be.

Her feet are striding forward in long and quick steps, the distance between them eradicating like two polar opposite ends of magnets meeting. Her arms wind tightly around his shoulders, giving him no chance to evade her embrace. After five seconds exactly, like his arms suddenly release from a binding curse, they snap around her back.

"Exactly. That's what I feel." He leans closer, arms dropping to the back of her thighs, and he hoists her onto the counter. "We'll talk about it properly, and I'll talk to him as well. I'm not keen on being upset with either of you, alright?"

Cressida tips her head back with a nod, wishing the tears would retreat back into her eyes. The fear of losing him became all too real once more and she knows that if she were the one to face the Boggart in the Prefects' bathroom, whatever it would conjure, would elicit a feeling similar to this. "Thank you for telling me. It was a bit of a wake up call but I'd rather we talk about it now than leave it until you can't deal with it anymore."

"And thank you for understanding. It's not something I'm proud to feel but I'm very much in love with you...

His brows are set in a frown, thumb pulling at the skin of his opposite hand. Cressida frowns as well, peering over the spot where there are two light indents ringed by reddish skin. "What happened there?"

"That's where he bit me," James mutters.

Her eyes widen in shock, head jolting backwards. "Bit you? You mean Sirius did actually bite you?"

James nods with wide eyes. "Yeah," he hisses. He is just as flabbergasted as she is.

Sirius hadn't taken that night very lightly. Or kindly. He isn't exactly livid with her, and she knows it's only because he knows that would be the wrong approach. But if he could be, she doesn't doubt that he would.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, following her around the kitchen as she made herself a sandwich.

"Because I didn't want to be a whiny bitch," she answered flatly, plating her lunch. "But if that's what I have to be for you to listen to me, I will be."

He continued arguing with her well into the evening. She didn't know what he was trying to get out of it. She settled with the conclusion that he was upset—because that's what Sirius does when he doesn't know things. He gets upset and angry. He lashes out. He would calm himself after a while.

"It's like a parasite in my mind and I can't get it out."

"I-I did. After Sirius and I went inside, I stayed up almost all night with James. Neither of us wanted to go to sleep."

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, tears prickling at her pure misery of missing them all. The comfort of her own bed. Not having to look at a different face in the mirror and know it is the mask of someone who has killed relentlessly.

"Are you in love with my brother?"

Cressida doesn't react at first, only blinking and watching a trickle of rain patter against the glass. Then her head slowly turns to Regulus whose expression is even but curious.

Thank you so much for your continuing support. I do just want to add a trigger warning of sorts. This is mostly mental health related; if you are not in a good position right now, this story may not be for you. In later chapters I have kept things as light and undetailed as I could whilst still harbouring an impact but things are still mentioned.