Chapter 50: The Day At Last

Cressida started at the Owlery first, breathing in the musty air and letting the constant squawking and hooting drown out every other loud thought in her mind. She tried to remember every brick and stone, every pattern of the owls sitting in their little nests. It's their last proper day, after all. She wouldn't have another chance to do so.

The Owlery is now long behind her, and she takes to the long bridge over the chasm that some students always found a good place to think. Cressida prefers the Astronomy Tower, trusting in brick over rickety pillars of wood. But she can waver her lack of trust for the moment, not wanting to regret not passing over it one last time that she can remember.

Halfway along it, hands stuffed in the pockets of her light jacket, she spots two other figures. It's not a surprise to see them there. Red hair, and sandy blonde. Instead of keeping her path, she turns around. Remus is no doubt giving his personal goodbyes to Lily, who he has grown closer to over the past two years. It's a sweet friendship that she's watched begin blossom from first year. And it may have turned into something more, but Remus held back for one reason or another and her heart is telling her it isn't because of his lycanthropy.

Just before she knows they will be well out of view, she glances over her shoulder. What meant to only last seconds, draws out and she watches with curiosity as the pair are closed in a kiss. It only lasts a few seconds until Remus gently steps back. Giving them the privacy they sought and deserve, Cressida turns back around.

They had all taken their own paths today, finding it more fitting to go where they pleased, knowing it would be their last time to enjoy the castle that's homed them for seven years. They'd still have each other after, but they wouldn't have the firewood scent of the Common Room, or the wall still singed black from an explosion two years ago on the fourth floor. They wouldn't have the Fat Lady or the Kitchens. They wouldn't have the dormitory where so many of their memories lay.

James, she knows, went to the Quidditch Pitch. She nearly laughed at first, but the humour sobered, realising that Quidditch meant more to James than the classes did. He was brilliant at it, and it became a centrepiece of his personality in many ways. It is just a part of him as having a stag side is. Many people expect him to take on a professional position. So going to the Pitch seems fitting.

She had no idea where Sirius or Peter went off to, figuring that she'd probably run into them at some point. Lunch isn't too far off anyway.

Standing in a corridor filled with beams of sunlight from the open courtyard are Marlene and Mary. Their lips are pulled in the same bittersweet smile that every other seventh year carries today. "No more illegal Gobstone betting," Cressida muses to announce her presence, glancing out to the courtyard which would usually be filled with nerdish third years, surrounded by more roguish older students with their fingers crossed. "I'm surprised no one has been caught yet."

Marlen hums in agreement, twisting her lips into a crooked smile as she gazes over the empty courtyard. "I made a few good galleons from it too."

Mary rolls her eyes indignantly. "I thought you said you didn't involve yourself in that anymore. You have an addictive personality."

Marlene only shrugs, unbothered by her friend's accusation. "At least its not on firewhiskey," she drawls. Her eyes flicker between her close friend and Cressida, thoughts forming onto her tongue. "I'm going to miss you, Hawthorne."

Cressida smiles through a long breath, shoulders drawing closer to her ears. "I'm going to miss you too McKinnon. And you McDonald. But I have a feeling we'll cross paths more than once."

Mary nods her head gently. "Hopefully it will be over Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron and not something to do with this war." They all swallow thickly at the mention of it. "Hey," Mary murmurs, knocking her with her elbow. Cressida raises her brow. "I know we weren't all that close with you, but I'm glad you were our dormmate."

"I'm glad I had you lot," Cressida smiles honestly. "I could've been stuck with Daisy Frankfurt and her weak-kneed crush on Sirius."

"And Black graduates with his streak of being one of the most attractive boys in school, yet I don't think he's actually ever hooked up with anybody," Marlene muses airily with a tilted head. Her eyes drop to Cressida. "Unless…"

"Merlin no," she laughs. "I'd rather a hippogriff."

"I think you've got one with how proud James is," Mary snorts, the whites of her eyes a dazzling contrast to her beautifully dark skin. "But I think we all have to admit, he pruned up a lot. Especially over the last year."

"I don't know," Marlene contends with an off-sided look. "He stuck his tongue out at me just yesterday because I stole the last egg that breakfast."

"Would he really still be James if he didn't?" Cressida wonders, the question more directed at herself than the two girls. She wouldn't change him for the world. Not now. It feels like she is the one who needs to evolve. To learn more. "I'll see you guys at lunch. I got a few places I want to go to."

She gets all but five paces before Marlene calls for her. "Oi, Cress!" She turns around, brow raised. Marlene cocks her head with an expectant smile. "You think you'll finally tell us where the kitchens are?"

Cressida glances away with an amused huff. It, of course, became somewhat common knowledge of their awareness of the kitchen location after they continuously returned to the dorm with food in their hands. "First floor, right above the Great Hall and near the Hufflepuff Common Room. There's a painting with a fruit bowl." She walks backwards, drawing out the reveal as the two girls stare at her with owl-like features, eagerly anticipating the information to come. "Tickle the pear."

She lapses into laughter as the two girls take off in a run.

"You're just telling everybody where it is now, then?"

Her smile falls but doesn't disappear entirely. Regulus emerges from a column separating the courtyard from the corridor. "No point in not telling them. If I told a conniving snake, I think my own House-mates deserve it as well."

Regulus nods, his lips turning downwards, but in an odd smiling sort of way. "Conniving?"

Cressida hums affirmatively. "Mischievous might be a better word," she disputes. "Scheming?"

Regulus shakes his head, tossing his soft curls around. "I'm not scheming," he denies.

Cressida tucks her lips towards her teeth. "Perhaps not." While no one would deny that Regulus is well suited to the House of Slytherin, he has never tried to get anything out of her. She debated that thought a lot, running through their conversations, the reasons he may have told Sirius about the oncoming attack. But she truly couldn't come up with a valid reason he would have done so with the intention of getting something out of her. It's not like he sought her out at any other time then the two times he personally warned her. And letting her know he'd be in the kitchens that night. "Thank you," she says to him, slow and steadily, showing him that it is not something she has to spit out in order to say. Cressida truly means it. "You warned me, and I didn't listen. If the worse could have happened, it would have been on me."

"It would have been," he agrees swiftly. It startles her slightly, so used to her friends trying to stop her from blaming herself for something. They would tell her its not her fault. And it's… satisfying to hear someone just simply agree with her that she should take the blame. No coddling that often makes her feel worse. It makes Cressida feel mature; taking responsibility and acceptance of her choices. And for a moment, she doesn't feel like the youngest Marauder, or the breaking girl who is just trying to keep the pieces of herself together. She feels like who she might be if there weren't any cracks. Someone is finally treating her like a grown adult and not a china doll. That she's capable of making decisions and living—or dying—with the consequences.

"I'm sorry too," she murmurs. "I don't fully understand your life. I know Sirius' but you're both very different. I think you can understand that after seeing that Mark over my home, I wasn't so sure about seeing it on you."

If she's learnt one lesson from her time here at Hogwarts, it's that people do things-strange things—that others won't understand. And she can only judge from what she knows, but sometimes that judgement is wrong. And sometimes it is right. And Regulus… well, she hasn't decided yet, but gathering all the logical evidence, it points to him doing the exact opposite of bringing her harm. So until he proves her judgement wrong, that is what her mind's jury has decided.

"I didn't want you to see it," he confesses, his hand ghosting over his forearm. "My parents… It wasn't a choice that I was given." His dark eyes trace over the floor, slowly rising to hers. "It's not the choice I would have made."

Her voice is scarcely a whisper. "Really?"

"I don't-I-" he swallows heavily "-I don't want to hurt people."

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.

The embrace feels different from the ones Sirius gives her. When she hugs him, she feels protection and warmth soaking from him to her. But with Regulus, despite their equal height, she feels like the one offering the protection.

"You have choices, Reg," she breathes into his ear before pushing him back by the shoulders, holding to them tightly. "Dangerous choices, but choices nonetheless." His eyes grow helpless, a weak argument forming on his lips. "Do you not think that you have the same choices as your brother?"

"I don't have anybody to turn to," he answers, voice flat and steady. "I don't have a Potter to live with. All my friends would turn against me."

Cressida smiles confidently. "You have a Hawthorne. And in my humble opinion, that's better than a Potter." She digs into her jumper's inner pocket, withdrawing her two-way journal. It's the only paper she has. Leaning it against one of the stone slabs where students sit, she tears a page towards the back out and hastily searches for her pencil whilst Regulus watches on silently. She writes down hers and Sirius' address. Now torn from the journal, the magic is gone. "Here." She hands him the folded piece of paper. "Do with it what you want. Owl. Visit. A place to turn to."

He unfolds it, reading over the address. "This is your home?"

Cressida's lips twitch, about to add that it is Sirius', but she holds those words back. "It is. In warning, I don't have a spare bed, but the lounge has a pleasant view."

A single bell chimes, alerting the residents of the castle that lunch is being served. Regulus doesn't move and Cressida takes the hint that it would be odd to arrive together.

Smiling crookedly, hands stuffed in her pockets, she bids him a simple farewell. "See you around." Not needing an answer, Cressida turns around to watch where she is walking.

"Thank you." Her smile grows, glancing back over her shoulder. "Cressida," he adds in an afterthought. Her smile moves straight, her head bowing in acknowledgement.

Before she heads towards the Great Hall, Cressida wanders all the way up to the seventh floor and into one of the quietest corridors of the entire castle. She stands in front of the empty wall, repeating in her hand, "I want somewhere to walk through. With memories of Hogwarts."

The door appears and Cressida walks into the Room with the Hidden Door with a grin. This time, it is something completely different from what she has ever seen inside there before. It is a room beyond the physical capabilities it would hold without magic. But that isn't even the extravagant part. Mounds upon mounds of objects lie around. Everything from furniture, old shoes, books, shelves.

She walks through it, running her fingers over some things, leaving trails of dust in the air. Hints of magic linger, touching and poking her skin. It leads her footsteps. One of the most prominent things is a large cupboard. Cressida opens it, knowing that it must have some magical ability if she can feel it a powerful charm on it, but there is nothing inside. She stares at it, pondering, then leaves it be to continue around.

The next thing she hadn't even meant to focus on, but as her skin drifted over the table it perched on, its magic felt like a flick against her bone.

Cressida widens her eyes but purses her brows, leaning down to look at the object. It is a small crown of sorts with a blue gemstone in the middle and two smaller ones hanging from it. She has never seen something so sickeningly enchanting.

The diadem warns her hands away, but she pushes through, picking up the silver jewellery. There's magic on there for sure. Figuring that it could be a puzzle for later when her mind is bored, Cressida shoves it in her small side bag. In doing so, she catches sight of the time on her watch. "Shit."

Xx

As students gather in the Great Hall, Cressida settles down between Sirius and James. "Do you think we made a legacy of ourselves?" James ponders, twirling his fork around in the air. "I think we have, but that's a bit of a conceited view."

Remus looks at him oddly. "Have you been reading self-help books about self-imposed negative characteristics and identifying them, or did you just hear the word conceited and put it in a sentence?"

James shrivels his upper lip to his nose. "Have I what?"

Remus nods once. "No," he answers himself. "What was I thinking? James Potter reading something other than Quidditch Through the Ages?"

Cressida and Peter, however, are looking at James with the same expression of narrowed eyes set in accusation. She glances at Sirius, who is eating with an innocent smile. There's only one thing innocent about Sirius and it's not his involvement in whatever James has planned.

Just as she is about to let it go, a series of explosions go off from almost every direction around her. In a matter of seconds, the hall is filled with thick, red smoke; a truly Gryffindor colour. James and Sirius cackle as everybody, including Remus, Peter and Cressida, cough and splutter. The teachers are in hysterics, ordering for calmness as students run out of the halls with patches of red on their clothes and skin.

Instead of worrying about detention, Cressida laughs with them eventually. Running her fingers along the table which is coated in the red dust, she stripes them along Sirius' cheeks, earning her the same along her nose. In her attempts to escape more, she leans into James who envelops her into his arms but betrays her and holds her open to Sirius' oncoming, red-painted fingers.

Okay. So Part four. The War.

This is mainly just a warning and kinda a preparatory. There will be some things that could be triggering, ranging from mentions of mental health to scenes that may be hard to read for anybody that has any sensitivity. I just want to make clear that this is not a warning for any type of sexual abuse and those themes will not appear in this story.

I just want to make it clear from the start, that I've tried to represent a true reconstruction of someone who suffers. It is not a continuous line going upwards, it will dip and rise. War isn't a happy time.

There will be happy chapters but there will also be chapters that are not. I have tried to keep descriptions of anything to absolute minimum so if you feel like a scene is really shallow then it's because of that. Other scenes I have already taken out completely. Mostly I'm aware that children are reading this so I've tried to keep some topics light, but they are present.

Anyways, cheers and thank you to people that have made it thus far. I know it's not the best writing but I compromise that with daily updates. I have quite literally spent over 780 hours editing/writing this as a first draft. And I only created the document for it just over five months ago so I have literally spent a month of my life writing this. I am nearly finished writing it at just over 400,000 words. I liked the idea of writing with the Marauders because a) I absolutely adore all of them and b) It gave me the chance to write something with pre-created characters and settings but no plot. I've used this as a bit of an experiment to see what I do and don't like writing and I've found one of my biggest weaknesses is that I used character failures a lot as a plot device. Which is something to improve on because I know that I could strengthen a character by not having their own actions be the cause of something going wrong for once. And I'm using that thought as I currently write my own original book.

I have no idea how well it will go but I already enjoy writing it and it's already quite a bit better written because I'm not compromising on time restraints and I will be editing and re-drafting it. I would love to publish traditionally but I feel like I will go down the path of self-publishing if I get to that stage. It's slightly more enjoyable to write knowing that I don't have to have it finished by a certain time, but I'm also missing out on receiving immediate feedback. (But in saying that, I would be looking for alpha readers after the completion of the first draft).