Chapter 13: To Flee From Hurt

Three hours past midnight and the party is well over. Cressida wanders around the kitchen, barefoot, taking her time to clean away their mess for the night so Euphemia and Fleamont wouldn't have to come home to a garbage dump. It's soothing; a way to wind down her mind at the end of a long night.

Though she didn't ask, Peter comes to help her once he realises what she is doing. They work in a soft silence, sharing smiles and working seamlessly. After all the plates and cups are washed by hand, dried, and placed away, Cressida meanders back towards the family room, swishing her wand at litter on the ground. Sirius is asleep on the lounge, lying on his stomach which the tips of his fingers grazing the carpet. She smiles affectionately, pulling a throw rug over him and readjusting the pillow so his neck isn't crooked. "He'll be out till midday I reckon," she muses to Peter who lifts his brows in agreement. "Do you know where Remus and James went?"

Peter glances around, shaking his head. "They were out here when I left."

Knowing that they both drank their fair share that night, her stomach bubbles in concern. "I'm going to go make sure they haven't jumped off the roof or something."

Peter nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. Sending a fleeting glance to Sirius, he adds, "I'll stay and make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit."

"Appreciate it," she huffs. The quietness of the room is disturbed by a startled snore, eliciting a roll of her eyes. "He's worse at home." Trusting the dog in Peter's guardianship, Cressida sets her eyes on the roof, knowing that they would probably be upstairs somewhere if they aren't in the kitchen or main room.

The bare padding of her feet makes little noise against the carpet and once she reaches the hardwood, only a slight sticking noise. She tugs the sweater's sleeves down over her wrists. The main corridor of the second floor is empty, almost fully in darkness except for a wall lamp, and a small slither of yellow light coming from underneath James' door.

The corner of her lips tweak upwards, a sense of ease releasing as he's probably taking a shower or something. The sound of her feet grows heavier as Cressida walks towards the door, shoulder sinking underneath the hideous sweater.

But it is all short lived. The most heartbreaking sound slips through the cracked door. A sob; a near silent wail. "J-James?" Shouldering the door open, the sight is one hundred times worse than the sound. James sits at the base of his bed, back against the frame. Long gone is the itchy sweater, the sleeves of his grey shirt pulled over his palms which press into his forehead. Each elbow drives into his knees which point to the roof. His shoulder shakes and she can see the way his lips are curled wide and away from each other. His whole body shakes, not just his shoulders.

Next to him, his lanky form curled up, is Remus. He hovers next to James, speaking so softly that her ears can't digest what they are. His lips stop moving in James' ear the second after she enters. James doesn't even look up at her, but Remus is on his feet within a second. He strides towards her, enveloping her in his long arm and pushes them both out of the door, clicking it closed behind them.

"James?" she repeats, trying to push around him.

"It's okay," Remus hushes. She stares at him incredulously, making another move to shove past him but Remus holds her weight back. "Cressida, it's okay, I've got him."

"But..But-" Why can't she? Why can't she help him? One of her sole goals is to have him happy, and clearly that's not happening right now. A cry seeps through the wood. "Remus. Tell me what's going on."

Remus sighs through his nose, glancing back at the door they both want to burst through. "Just trust me, Bear. Not this time." He grasps her shoulder so tightly that the skin underneath her sweater whitens. He searches for her eyes until they stray away from the door and hold his. "He needs me, Cress. This time he needs me."

Her own tears flood but she refuses to acknowledge them, knowing they mean nothing compared to his. "Should I go wake Sirius?" she whispers, crossing her arms, trying to come to terms with accepting that she can't be with him. If James needs Remus, then he needs a friend. And Sirius is also that. Closer than Remus, though something nobody would say out loud.

Remus shakes his head, dropping his hands back to his side. At her resignment, he steps backwards, unlatching the door behind him and slips back in. Her lips quiver at the sound of the lock sliding into place. A hand slaps over them to hold the whimper she cannot control, her back falling against the opposite side of the hall. It hurts her so much to not be inside there. But Remus would always have his friend's best interests at heart and wouldn't ask her to go if he didn't think it was best. Which only hurts more.

Clutching at her chest, Cressida slides down the wall, stuck on the wrong side of the door. She never hears any words spoken, though she doesn't doubt there is some, and realises that Remus has thrown up a muffling charm over the room.

Xx

Cressida wakes from oblivion by the soft shake of Peter's hand. She arouses with a short startle, gathering her senses. Covered in something heavy but soft that wasn't on her when she fell asleep.

"Remus said to wake you up. Euphemia is making pancakes."

"Oh," is all she manages, sitting up. The clothes from last night are still on her, the scent of firewhiskey soaked through the material. Peter smiles like he always does and then leaves her room, shutting the door behind.

James.

Thudding her feet against the floor, Cressida slides from the bed and the grogginess of sleep evaporating at the one-worded thought. The hallway is well light, straining her eyes. Her hand trails along the wall for balance and guidance as they adjust, passing the guest bathroom and Sirius' old room. He never made it there last night.

Stopping at the junction, Cressida glances down the stairs, wondering if he's already down there, but the door to his room remains shut. He only shuts it when he's in there. The determination she had to force to become submissive last night rearises in full fury, passing right by the staircase.

Furling long fingers the handle, she half expects it to still be locked, but it twists easily under her shaken grip. There's barely any light in his room, the curtains drawn closed. He fell asleep without opening them. Cressida steps inside the bedroom that has become her second place of residence, spending just as much time in here as she does at the apartment. Her clothes hang in the wardrobe, a blue toothbrush in his ensuit. A pair of her shoes rest on top of his old school trunk which is now used as a storage container for her odd bits and pieces.

James lies on his stomach, spread across the bed. The blanket rests around his waist, scrunched and tossed. His hand lays over her pillow which is always crooked because she likes to sleep at an angle. He still wears the shirt from last night, but his pants are strewn across the floor.

Knowing it would annoy him to see them scrunched and tossed, even if he did it himself, Cressida walks towards them, scooping them up from the floor. Something small falls from the pocket, creating a light 'plopping' sound against the carpet. Bending back over, she searches for the small trinket in the dim light.

It is the shine that first alerts her, running her fingers over the spot to pick it up. Straightening her back, she blindly tosses the pants over his chair, eyeing off the item in her palm.

It's a ring.

A simple, but elegant design of a starlight silver for the band, and a small diamond in the centre with even smaller ones trickling from it off either side that slip back into the band itself. Cressida pinches her brows, holding it up higher. It certainly isn't hers, and she doubts James would wear such a feminine piece of jewellery.

'What would you say if I asked you to marry me right now?'

Her lips round with a quivering breath before closing tightly, her head bowing with clenched eyes. A ring; she knows those to be a symbol of engagement. She had seen it on the television and in a few books from the romance genre. She hadn't even thought that James would want to give her one.

She said no to wanting to marry him now. That's how their conversations had gone previously. They talked about getting married sooner rather than later, but she needs the later. "Godric," she whispers. If they had a few more moments to talk last night…Roots claw from the earth, tugging at her hands and winding around her shoulders, yanking her down.

Unable to hold such a precious item for so long, Cressida darts back to his pants, tucking them into the same pocket they fell out of. She debates just leaving him to sleep, but she can't bring herself to leave him again. Listening to the will of her feet, she ends up next to his bed, crouching down by his head. She reaches out, raking her fingers through his curls to arouse him as gently and soothingly as possible.

James' eyelids flutter open after a few seconds, despite the pain in his face only a few hours ago, his lips fall into a natural smile as though simply happy to see her.

Cressida can't smile. How can she when she brings him such pain without even realising it? She would never intend to hurt him and every time that she has, she thought she was doing what was best. How can he stand to look at her when she is the source of so many problems and pain?

"Your mother is making pancakes," Cressida whispers. "I can tell her to save you some if you want to sleep longer."

James inhales heavily through his nose, resettling the weight of his head which is half hidden by the pillow. "No, I'll get up." He lifts it again, looking over to the other side of the bed. "You didn't sleep in here. I'm sorry, I should have told Remus to let you in."

"It's fine." Her throat bobs. "I think you deserved the night to yourself."

James looks back to her with mildly amused pinched brows. "Deserved?"

Cressida doesn't answer, standing up and pulling her hands back to herself. "I'll see you downstairs. I'd imagine Sirius is still dead asleep so don't worry if you change your mind. Nobody will think you're a terrible host."

James grunts, sitting up nevertheless. He reaches out for her hands, taking them both and stands up. His mouth curves around her head, pressing against her temple as he plays gently with her healing hands. Cressida's eyes fill once more, her lips parting but it takes longer than she wants for words to come through. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispers into her ear, the softest wind of air touching the skin. "That won't ever change."

It should, she thinks to herself. But no answer forms for him. Cressida steps back, pulling her hands out of his. He holds them out, as though asking for her to step back into them. "Don't come downstairs with only boxers."

Whilst he's distracted looking down at himself, Cressida makes her exit, barely shutting the door behind her. She flies down the stairs, picking up the sound of Remus and Peter in the kitchen. Instead of joining them, she turns right, heading straight towards the front door.

The icy breeze of mid-winter is a shock to her skin and mind but her legs keep walking without thought, taking her straight to the boundaries of the property. As soon as she feels herself walk through the magical barrier preventing apparation, she disappears with a 'pop'.

Guys ya'll had me worried about what James was thinking. ME! Like I'm not the one writing this thing. "Omg, what if James doesn't love her anymore?" BRUH.