✦✧✦
The Slytherin common room was a place that Cress believed that she would never see in her entire life. She thought it was a dank dungeon with snakes crawling about it like the students were living in a zoo rather than a dorm. Axel said he's been in there before -- for what, Cress has no clue -- and even his recollections of the nasty place made Cress believe it was hell on earth rather than somewhere livable for the students.
She's finally entered the Slytherin common room, and she wishes that she wouldn't have.
It's a lot more sophisticated than what Cress was imagining. There is still the atmosphere of torture and doom when she walks in, but it's. . . warmer than she was expecting. The sofas are leather and very comfortable, but they sit in front of a green fire -- Slytherin pride, yay! -- and she really hates looking at it for obvious reasons.
There's a giant pane of glass on the far wall that gives the students a look into the Black Lake that Cress has to avert her eyes away from because it reminds her of the time last term where she was dragged down to the icy pits of the lake because a merman wanted to shag her. Gross.
Other than that, the Slytherin common room, despite the fact that it's filled with, you know, Slytherins, is a really cozy place. She would never admit this aloud and that is why, when Jonah asks her how she likes it, she says, "It's absolutely disgusting. Where are the chains and shackles? The bed of nails that you sleep on?"
"Har, har." Jonah pushes her shoulder with an amused grin. "We keep our bed of nails locked away so guests don't get too timid."
"What courtesy, Mr. Spencer. I had no idea Slytherins were so kind."
Jonah and Marigold make a face at Cress's words, gagging silently. Jonah throws his bag on the leather couch that Cress wants to sit on but can't because of the blasted fire in front of it, and says, "Don't go around saying that, Diggory. People will start thinking things and then we'll have a right conniption. We've got an image to maintain."
"Well, if you'd show me your bed of nails and children whom you haunt, then I could let you keep your image up," Cress replies, going over to an empty table and taking a seat. The entire room glows in green, a soft one that makes Cress's skin tingle.
"We can't show you the children, Crescent," Marigold says. "That's a trade Slytherin secret that no outsider is supposed to know about, which means we have to kill you now."
"Godric, please do," Cress begs, throwing her head down on the table. "Anything would be better than Jonah griping at me because I'm not 'paying attention to his lessons.'"
Jonah scoffs, taking his wand out and pointing it as Cress. "I swear I will avada you right now, say another negative thing about my tutelage."
"I would embrace the death," Cress says, breath clouding on the dark oak table. "Please, let me have it."
"No, not yet, and especially because you want to die," Jonah snaps, coming over and picking Cress up by her arm, pulling her to the middle of the room where there's space. "Don't you know Slytherins only kill unsuspecting targets. Makes us more evil."
"I'll keep that in mind." Cress takes out her own wand, which sits motionless in her hand, no magic fizzing through her hand the way it usually does. "What're we learning today, Oh Wise One?"
"You know, I really hate the fact that Harry suggests extra Quidditch practices and you support him, but I'm trying to help you with a serious problem and I get your snark."
By extra Quidditch practices, Jonah means the lessons that Harry had mentioned to Cress a week ago. Cress told him and Marigold about it in a moment of weakness because they were both complaining about Umbridge and she couldn't let it go on for any longer, had to make them understand that there was possibly going to be an alternate route for them to take.
"It's because I have to, Jonah. I was conditioned to hate the Slytherins. I have to give you snark or I would be going against my beliefs."
"You don't give Mari snark," Jonah points out.
"She's Mildred's sister and a lot cuter than you," Cress replies, smiling when Marigold snorts into her parchment.
"I hate it here," Jonah says. "Absolutely hate it. Learn magic by your damn self then, since you think I'm so horrible and not cute."
Cress laughs, pulling Jonah's arm when he tries to go sit down. "Shut up, Jonah. You know you're the perfect teacher, I don't have to tell you."
"But," Jonah says, pouting, "am I cute?"
A sigh falls out of Cress's mouth. "Yes, you're cute. Kind of. I can't say you're too cute because I still fancy--"
"Yeah, yeah, Weasley still burns your buns, we get it." Jonah shakes his head, smirking down at Cress. "Jesus fuck, you're so whipped for one guy, it's unbelievable."
"I think it's cute," Marigold comments, grinning at Cress. "If only Cho Chang was smitten with me the same way." She sighs forlornly, and Cress bites her lip to keep from telling her that Chang is smitten the same way Cress is with Fred. She figures Cedric didn't tell her so she would go blabbering on about it, so she doesn't say anything.
"Aw, look at you two, so in love. It's disgusting."
"Jonah, you'll find that person one day, don't worry. I suspect they're closer than you think."
Whatever Jonah was going to say to Marigold is interrupted by the opening to the common room parting. Draco Malfoy and his goons walk in, and immediately all the attention is on them.
"Malfoy," Jonah greets unkindly. "How are lessons going? Too much for your peanut-sized brain? Need my assistance yet?"
Malfoy sneers at Jonah. "Fuck off, Mudblood. As if I'll need help from the likes of you." He says it confidently, but Cress notices that the top of his cheeks are turning pink.
"Draco," Marigold sings, twirling her wand on the table. "What did I say about calling him that?"
Malfoy blanches, flinching away as though struck. Cress snorts into her hand at the affronted look on his face. He doesn't reply, but his silence is enough to comprehend that Draco is scared of Marigold.
Jonah says, "Mari, you know it doesn't bother me. It's almost like a term of endearment. I had no idea Malfoy liked me that much."
"As if, Spencer," Malfoy spits, pushing past him, his cheeks burning the more he walks. Cress notes the change of names. "I say it because I hate you."
"Thin line, there, mate," Jonah calls after him, and Malfoy groans, not even commenting on the fact that there's an outsider in the common room. When they're completely gone, disappeared into the dormitories, Jonah claps his hands together. "Now, time for Lumos."
Ugh. Cress doesn't groan, but she throws her head back, sighing. She hates Lumos. They've been doing it every night for the past week and she has yet to keep it ignited for more than two minutes without her magic acting up on her. Jonah sends her an unimpressed look, motioning for her to carry on with the spell. The tip of his wand blares with light.
"Lumos," Cress mutters, holding her wand tightly in her right hand.
At first, nothing happens, as it usually does, but then the light appears, dim at first, but then growing bigger as the moments pass by. Jonah gives her an encouraging smile, and Cress feels light for a moment, glad that he's proud of her.
"Now," he says, "since you've gotten better with keeping it lit, I want to try something, okay? Can you do something for me?"
Cress nods, concentrating on her wand and the spell she's performing.
"Okay, can you think about your happiest moment? With your brother? Think about the times when you were content with him."
Cress falters, her heart stopping for a moment. She thinks about Cedric everyday, but mostly it's about the loss of him rather than anything remotely joyous. She searches her memory for something that Jonah is looking for, but she can only see a vacant grey and the dark green of the grass beneath him.
Her light diminishes.
Jonah sighs. "Okay, didn't work. Let's try something else. Did he say anything or do anything that made you happy? I mean, of course, he did, but what was it? It can be one phrase, even a name. Something."
Cress bites her lip, putting her wand in between her legs to wipe her palms on the skirt of her uniform. "He came up with-- he called me 'Cress' when I was younger. That's how I got that name."
"I haven't heard anyone call you 'Cress,'" Jonah replies, seeming confused. "Figured you were like me and didn't have a nickname."
How can she tell him that after Cedric died, she immediately made everyone start addressing her by Crescent? To say it now feels shameful. The way she acted, so immature and selfish, seems wrong to her now that she's thinking about it.
"I guess we'll start there, then," Jonah says before Cress can explain her immaturity. "Mari and I will start calling you Cress, then, so you can get used to it." Jonah doesn't even ask for Cress's approval; he looks towards Marigold for agreement and the girl puts her thumb up, not even looking up from her homework. "And right now, you need to think about the memory of him calling you 'Cress.' Think about the good times."
She tries, she really does. Cress stands there for a moment -- even closing her eyes to get the authenticity of it! -- and racks her brain for the very first memory she has of Cedric calling her 'Cress.'
When she remembers it, it's like the recollection is caked in tar, like Cress'd brain is shunning away something light and carefree, only leaving room for the shadows. She shoves past the blurry parts of it, listens to the words from Cedric's mouth when he said, "Crescent is too long, don't you think? Let's shorten it to 'Cress.'"
"Cress. Why?" It's almost like she's watching from outside of her body, seeing her five-year-old self talk to Cedric, who's hair was messy, one of his overall clasps undone. Something in her burned and froze simultaneously, something lodging itself in her throat.
Cedric shrugged, and his eyes were too big for his body. So big and so grey and so lively. "I dunno. Sounds nice, I guess. And I can pronounce it. Do you not like it?"
Cress remembers not really caring about what she was called. She had wanted to search for a rare bug that day and Cedric was supposed to be helping her. Merlin knows how they ventured onto the subject about her name. She thinks that she told him that she didn't mind the name, that it was okay, you can call me Cress, Ced, it's better than Sir Shakespurr anyways.
It had been a warm day.
Thinking back to this memory doesn't ache as much as it had months ago, when Cress had wanted to remember him as he was, not as he is now. She regards the memory with a little bit of apprehension, but mostly it makes her feel tingly, good.
The wand illuminates again, brighter than before.
"Nice," Jonah comments, pointing at his bag on the couch. "Now, can you try the Levitation Charm?"
Cress gazes at him uneasily. "Are you sure?"
Jonah nods.
So, Cress takes a deep breath, focuses on his satchel, and then whispers, "Wingardium Leviosa."
At first, nothing happens, but Cress just keeps thinking about that day, about her brother singing her new name for the rest of the day, introducing Crescent as "Cress" to their mum with the brightest smile. It makes Cress feel heavy and light, makes her hand twitch and the veins crack through her skin. The black vines tickle, but they don't hurt -- don't prick -- like they usually do.
Jonah's bag rises into the air, levitating over the couch.
A laugh escapes Cress lips, watery and surprised. She glances towards Jonah, silently asking, Is this real? Did I do that?
"You're a natural, Cress," he tells her, smiling earnestly.
The name stings, but Cress ignores it in favor of the elation rushing through her at the very thought of having her magic back, even if it's for a moment. She grins at Jonah, and moments later, the bag flops back onto the ground, but it doesn't matter because Cress lifted it, and her magic is healing.
It's an accomplishment she holds onto for the rest of the week.
✦✧✦
For the rest of the week, Cress works on her Levitating Charm, and Jonah gripes at her more than once while Marigold encourages her and pets Cress's hair like a good teacher. On Saturday, there are no classes and everyone who can go is already at Hogsmeade, so she heads to the Hufflepuff common room after trying to swallow down some breakfast.
Seeing Cedric's portrait there is like a kick to the gut, but Cress finds that she doesn't want to be in the dorms right now, so she sits on the couch, trying to lower herself so far into it that she's not in the portrait's view.
Cedric's portrait sees her anyway, greets her with, "Good morning, Cress!"
Cress just wants the common room to return back to normal. Well, not normal because a common room that Cedric will never enter again isn't normal, will never be normal, but she wants the silence to return. Wants the stupid portrait to combust into flames.
To the portrait, she snaps, "You're not real. Stop pretending that you are."
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the portrait frown; he looks so much like Cedric when he would get upset at her or Hamlin, and it makes her sick. Why did Dumbledore approve this? Why is it still here?
"Well, yes," he responds. "But I can't exactly be still, can I?"
"You could," Cress shoots back, gripping the notebook she pulled out so tightly that the paper crumbles in her hand. "You could just sit there and shut the fuck up and not be a nuisance to any of us. You weren't wanted, you know? You'll never be wanted."
It feels like she's saying all this to Cedric, and Cress has to try extra hard to remind herself that it's not him, it will never be him. Cedric is gone. Gone, gone, gone. Nothing can replace his absence.
"Well, ouch, Cress," Cedric says, laughing lightly like this is all a game to him. "I suppose that some people were against me being put in the common room, but, uh, well--"
"Well, what, you blasted git?"
Cress snaps her head up to stare at the horrendous portrait. He scratches the back of his head just like Cedric does, coughing into his hand just like Cedric does when he doesn't want to admit something.
"Um, Cedric kind of-- well, he made me in case, he. . . you know--"
"You're lying," Cress states, blank. "You're lying." He has to be. Cedric didn't know. He didn't know that the tournament would kill him -- otherwise he wouldn't have entered it. He wouldn't. He promised Cress, so why would he enter the tournament if he knew he was going to die?
No. No, this blasted portrait is lying. It has to be.
"You don't know anything," Cress continues, and her arms are prickling again. She stands, walks over to the idiotic portrait and she grabs ahold of it, pulling and pulling and pulling. "You don't know. You couldn't have known. Cedric would have never-- he promised."
And tears start falling and she keeps pulling because she has to get this stupid thing off because it's lying and Cedric would have told her if he was going to die. He would have told her and she would have fixed it to where he didn't, and he would still be alive and this thing is lying and--
"It was just in case, Cress," the portrait says, pleading. "He didn't know--he only wanted something in case he did. I never thought I would be-- I didn't think I would be here."
"Shut up!" Cress yanks it roughly, pulling at the frame with the utmost strength. Her eyes are swelling with tears and her fingers have splinters in them, and everything is aching. "Shut up! He wouldn't have done that! He would have never made a portrait of himself! He didn't know he was going to die, shut up! You're wrong." Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Papers fly across the room, moving in a whirlwind, and they cut at Cress's arms, smack against her face as she yanks and pulls and tries to remove this permanent fixture in her new life.
She pleads, begs someone, anyone to help her, to get this blasted thing out of here. Cedric wouldn't have wanted himself paraded in the common room like some kind of memoir, Cress knows this -- the portrait is lying and Dumbledore told it to and she's just got to pull a little bit more. . .
Someone touches her shoulder, and Cress swivels around, shoulders heaving, head pounding, and hands shaking. Sobs escape her lips as she stares at Axel, who looks so, so sad -- so stricken and upset -- and she pauses for a moment, the papers in the air halting then drifting to the floor silently.
He doesn't say anything, only wraps Cress in his arms, bringing them both to the couch where he hugs her tightly. Cress fights it at first, so angry that she wants to punch something, but her arms grow weak and Axel has gained muscle over the summer (probably from his stupid, beefy boyfriend, Cress assumes) and he holds her flush against him, whispering into her hair.
Cress has been so good recently, too. Jonah and Marigold's reclaiming of the name 'Cress' has not made her skin crawl. Cress hasn't cried in over four days, but she thinks that has to do with the fact that she's been spending most of her days in the Slytherin common room rather than her own; when she does return to the Hufflepuff common room, she escapes to the dorms before the portrait even knows she exists.
But now it wants to tell her that Cedric made him in case he died -- that Cedric was thinking of two alternate futures instead of hoping that he would make it out alive. It's lying to her and ruining all the progress that she's ever made and it feels like she's back on the Quidditch pitch, and Cedric is cold underneath her fingertips.
Axel never utters a single word, but Cress welcomes the silence like a warm blanket in the winter.
✦✧✦
Later, Cress blinks her eyes open groggily. She squints against the harsh light coming in from the windows of the eastern wall, rubbing the crust from the inside corners of her eyes. Sitting up, she stretches her arms above her head, yawning.
Axel is not beside her, but the lack of his presence doesn't upset Cress. She is grateful for him, loves him for what he did more than he could think, but things are still awkward between them and she doesn't know if one moment of weakness is going to solve their problems.
It is only Cress and the portrait in the common room. Cedric's face is scrunched up like he's eaten something sour.
It says, "Axel left to go to Hog's Head. Apparently that's where some meeting is being held for Defense lessons? He said to meet him there when you wake up. That was an hour ago, I think."
Oh, shit. Cress had promised Harry that she would attend the meetup for the secret lessons. She jumps off the couch, grabbing her bag and running out of the common room and straight into Marigold on the outside.
"Ouch," Cress mutters, rubbing her shoulder where it slammed into Marigold's. "Sorry, Mari. Kind of in a hurry. What're you doing out here?"
Cress hopes that Marigold follows after her because she doesn't stop to check behind her and see. Two sets of footsteps clatter behind her, so Cress assumes that it's Marigold and Jonah, the oaf.
"Well, we were waiting for you," Marigold says, running to keep up with Cress's pace.
It takes Jonah almost no time to catch up and surpass Cress. He smirks at her, turning around and walking backwards. "Yeah, can't exactly go to a secret meeting when you don't know where it is."
"No one told you?" Cress asks.
"Nope," Marigold responds. "I was going to ask Mil, but she left in a hurry because she wanted to go to Zonko's before it started so I didn't get the chance. Girl sprinted."
"She did," Jonah agrees. "So, we had to do the next best thing: Wait on you! We came down to the basements because obviously we stalk your every move and know where you are at all times and staked outside until now, when you came out."
"And none of the Hufflepuffs thought it was odd?" Cress raises an eyebrow.
"Jenson did," Jonah says. "He thoroughly questioned us and our intentions with his dearest 'Mo.'" He snorts at the nickname.
Cress shoves Jonah, hoping that he trips for her efforts. "Fuck you, Axel made it, it's special." Then, a moment later, "What'd he say?"
"Oh, you know, the usual threats and questions. 'What do you want with Mo?' 'You better not hurt her.' Stuff like that. It was almost terrifying."
Marigold laughs in agreement, and Jonah doesn't trip so Cress counts her losses, but her heart feels oddly warm at the thought of Axel interrogating someone on her behalf.
The three of them make their way to Hogsmeade. As soon as Cress leaves Hogwarts, she is slapped in the face by bitter winds. The cool breeze almost knocks the breath out of her, but Cress suppresses her coughs, gathering her jacket closer to her and running down the hill towards Hogsmeade. She trips over herself a total of three times before they make it into the village.
Marigold has a hand on her arm to keep her steady, and Cress gives her a smile of gratitude, feeling completely and utterly winded. Jonah is about ten hundred feet in front of them it feels like, his giant needle legs carrying him farther than Cress's and Marigold's own legs.
When they finally reach the Hog's Head, Cress has to take a moment to get a hold of herself. Jonah stops shy of the entrance, turning back and glancing at the two of them. Marigold is currently rubbing Cress's back as she huffs out breaths in hopes that it will calm her burning lungs.
"Fuck, Cress, didn't know you were so out of shape," Jonah comments. "Don't you play Quidditch?"
"Riding a broom and running for your life are completely different things, Jonah," Cress breathes out, coughing harshly. "Not everyone can have stilts for legs."
"Literally just grow and you can."
Cress groans, rubbing a hand over her sweaty forehead. She has calmed down enough to breathe properly, but her lungs are still searing a bit. She picks herself up, patting Marigold's hand graciously before walking towards Jonah.
"Why haven't you walked in yet, dumb ass?"
Jonah rolls his eyes. "Had to make sure your ass was still breathing, didn't I? Plus, I don't know if you've heard, but we're not exactly invited to this shindig."
"He's right," Marigold says. "We're probably going to get so much heat walking in here."
Cress shakes her head, determined. "No, you won't. You're with me. They'll understand."
✦✧✦
They do not understand.
Upon walking in the Hog's Head, Cress trips once again, and Jonah has to catch the back of her jacket to keep her upright. He sighs at her like she's beyond help, and the entire pub smells like the mouth of a dragon and there's complete silence when the three of them enter.
Harry, who is standing at the front of the room, his back towards the door, turns around. "Crescent," he greets cheerily, then glances at the two flanking her with hesitance. "I was wondering if you were even going to show up."
"Sorry," Cress mutters, pulling her zipper up to her chin. She tries to ignore the many eyes on her -- kudos to Harry for getting all these people here, the turnout is amazing -- and instead walks forwards, looking for a vacant seat. "I fell asleep in the common room. Sprinted down here. Am I late?"
"No," Hermione replies quietly. "You're just in time."
"What's with the company?" Hamlin asks before Cress can push Jonah and Marigold to the back of the room where she spots three vacant chairs.
Cress glares at him. He's sat up front with Lee (of fucking course) and the twins, leaning back against his chair, butterbeer foam making a mustache on his mouth. He is staring at Cress hard.
"They're here to learn Defense," Cress states. Jonah calls to the bartender, pulls at her sleeve twice, and she reaches in her pocket, gets out the change for him to give the man. Rolls her eyes when he gives her a cheeky smile. "Just like everyone else."
"Well, uh, Crescent," Hermione states hesitantly, coming up to her. "They're, uh, well--"
"We're Slytherins, get over it, Sugar Queen," Marigold spits, going to the back and sitting down forcefully. "What, just because we're in a certain House means that we can't learn proper Defense like the rest of yous?"
"I think not," Hamlin argues. "In the off chance that you might use what is taught to you against us."
"Why would we do that?" Jonah asks, carrying three butterbeers in his hands. He nudges Cress, handing her one, and she holds it without really knowing what to do with it. She didn't want a drink, after all. "Seems right stupid, if you ask me. You're not the only one that's got something to protect, Hufflepuff."
Hamlin flinches, grinding his teeth together. He snaps, "I just don't think a bunch of snakes should be allowed here."
"What happened to Inter-House unity?" Marigold asks scathingly. Jonah takes a seat next to her, patting the empty one beside him. "You mean to say that because you hate some Slytherins, we should all suffer at the hands of that blasted woman?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Hamlin says, frowning.
"It's what you're implying," Cress retorts, voice stone cold. Her lips press into a hard line, and she glances around the room; no one seems comfortable that two Slytherins are in their presence, and it twists something in her that she hates. "Not everyone is bloody Mafloy, Hamlin, and it seems like last term you were on even terms with him when you were flaunting your Potter stinks badges around."
Hamlin glares at her. "That's different. I got one badge from a Slytherin. I didn't invite them to a secret meeting so they could run and tell Umbridge about it. You're basically ruining every chance that we have of learning Defence by bringing them here."
"Do tell me how, you right idiot?" Cress asks, rolling her eyes. "Umbridge isn't here. She didn't follow us. Unless you're her in disguise since you've got a stick shoved so far up your ass it's coming out of your nose, I don't see her anywhere."
Jonah snorts in the back of the room. Hamlin sends him a glare as does most everyone in the room. Hermione comes up to Cress, holding his hands up in a placating manner.
"Now, now," she says, "there's no need to get angry. We're all here for the same reason. That's to learn magic. No need to fight."
Cress huffs, turning away from Hamlin, taking a deep breath. The butterbeer sloshes onto her hands but she pays it no mind. How could he sit there and say that because of someone's House, they don't deserve to learn the same magic as everyone else? When he was the one seeking that very House out last term! The audacity!
Cress turns to Harry before she says something truly regretful. "Well, you have the last word, Potter," she tells him, her voice oddly blank. She can't believe that everyone -- even Mallory and Axel -- is nervous about two students coming to the meeting just because they wear green and silver. "You can kick us out, if you want."
Harry glances between Cress and the duo at the back of the room. He bites his lip, runs a hand through his hair, and then adjusts his glasses.
"I. . . I don't mind," he says. His vibrant eyes almost make Cress flinch. "If you trust them, I guess they can stay."
Collective groans echo around the room. Cress is simmering with so much agitation that it takes all of her not to toss her butterbeer in the nearest person's face.
"Crescent, maybe you should take a seat, so we can begin," Hermione suggests.
Cress nods, sending one last glare to Hamlin, pondering over whether she should send him the bird while she's at it. In the end, she decides against it, and plops herself down beside Jonah angrily. He takes the butterbeer from her, having already finished his, and gulps it loudly. Cress sends him the bird, instead.
Opposite of Cress's boiling emotions, he seems like this is the best day of his life. Jonah has an easy smile on his face and even Marigold looks sedated but that's probably because she's staring at the back of Chang's head more than anything else. He pats her leg encouragingly, but Cress can't stop thinking about how everyone is a prat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone staring at her, and when she glances up, it's Fred, who turns away swiftly, the back of his neck red. Cress's stomach drops, and her own face turns red though she can't gauge why. Perhaps she's embarrassed to once again make herself a spectacle in front of him. Would make sense.
Godric.
Hermione starts speaking. "Er. Well -- er -- hi."
The room seems to be racked with nervous energy, staring from Hermione to Harry and back again.
Hermione continues, "Well. . . erm. . . well, you know why you're here. Erm. . . well, Harry here had the idea --" Cress snorts at that, watching Harry send Hermione a look, "-- I mean -- I had the idea -- that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts -- and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts--"
"Hear, hear," says a Ravenclaw who Cress doesn't know.
"Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands." Hermione glances at Harry quickly before she says, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells--"
"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too, though, I bet?" someone else asks, another Ravenclaw who Cress doesn't know.
"Of course, I do," Hermione responds quickly. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defence because. . . because. . ." She heaves in a great breath, says, "Because Lord Voldemort's back."
Beside Cress, Jonah's back goes stiff, his entire body taut. Cress shivers herself, flinching at the mention of that monster. She swallows thickly, and someone else shrieks and it all feels too real, the reality of what they're doing. Defending against dark magic. Defending against You-Know-Who and what he did. What he could do.
"Well. . . that's the plan anyway," Hermione continues. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to --"
"Where's the proof that You-Know-Who's back?" Zacharias Smith, the bane of Cress's existence, asks arrogantly.
Oh, Helga, Cress could write an entire book about how much she hates the blasted git. Not only is he cocky and arrogant because he's a 'direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff,' but he thinks that he knows everything about anything. And he doesn't believe that You-Know-Who is back, even though Cedric's body came back -- dead.
"Well, Dumbledore believes it --" Hermione says.
Zacharias cuts her off. "You mean, Dumbledore believes him." He nods towards Harry. Cress thinks about chucking the empty butterbeer glass at his head.
Her entire body is warm again, like a hot stake pierced her with rage.
"Who are you?"
"A nuisance," Cress mutters.
Jonah chuckles as Zacharias says, "Zacharias Smith, and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."
Cress bites her lip so hard to refrain from screaming in his face. Does Cedric's dead body not ring a bell? Does the funeral not pop up in his mind? Was he not there when the tournament ended? Did he just forget last term?
"Look," Hermione says sharply, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about --"
"It's okay, Hermione," Harry interrupts calmly, regarding Zacharias smoothly. "What makes me say You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."
"All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know --"
Cress is losing her grip on everything. She can't believe that Smith would have the courage to say something so brave to Harry. How could he even insist that Harry tell them? Why would he make him relive that?
"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you," Harry snaps, still glaring at Smith. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."
Harry sends Cress an apologetic stare before turning sharply to Hermione. Cress brings her legs up on the chair, wrapping her hands around her knees in hopes that it'll ease the pricks in her arms, the rushing of shadows through her body. She closes her eyes, counts to ten, and thinks about punching Zacharias Smith.
"But, I just don't understand why you wouldn't want to say what happened, especially if you were there --"
"Smith, I swear to your fucking ancestor Helga, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, you're going to be the next portrait in the common room," Cress snaps at him before he says anything else.
A lantern shatters to the right of Cress, but she can't think about if it's her magic or not. Zacharias has turned his ugly face her way. He seems unbothered by her threat.
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking," Smith replies. "It is rather odd that Dumbledore wouldn't give us details about your brother's death. Aren't you a little curious as to what happened? You are his sister, after all."
"No," Cress snaps, clenching her fists together as her feet hit the ground. Everyone has turned their heads to her, intrigued by the argument. "And even if I wanted to know just what Cedric looked like when he was fucking struck down, I would never try and make someone relive that moment, so either shut the hell up or we can go outside and you can get a sense of what it looks like when 'ole Voldy kills someone, yeah?"
Smith quiets at this, going ashen in the face, and Cress finds that it relieves some of the anger, just a bit. He says nothing more after that, and Cress breathes out some of the tension in her. In front of her, Axel is openly laughing, leaning on Mallory for support. Cress suppresses a smile.
When she glances up, Harry's expression isn't completely shadowed; his lips twitch. Cress grins at him.
Hermione brings the attention back to herself, saying, "So. . . like I was saying. . . if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to --"
"Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?" Susan Bones asks Harry.
Harry nods. "Yeah."
"A corporeal Patronus?"
Hmm, Cress muses. Interesting. She knows, of course, that Harry is a very impressive wizard but a corporeal one is -- wow.
"Er -- you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" Harry asks.
"She's my auntie," Susan chirps. Cress rolls her eyes, leaning down in her seat. Jonah hands her a Chocolate Frog without preamble. She tears the wrapper open and chomps on the head. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So -- is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"
"Yes."
A bloody stag. Cress has not seen many Patronuses. She's seen Augie's and her brother's and Hamlin's when they were bragging about the fact that they could produce them and she couldn't. Cedric's was a white stallion; Hamlin's is a husky. And Augie's, of course, is Augie's beautiful black bear that Cress is smitten with. A stag is new, and unusual.
"Blimey, Harry!" Lee exclaims. Cress catches the back of his head as he leans forwards in his seat. "I never knew that!"
"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," Fred comments, and the hairs on Cress's arms stand, her entire body warm at the rich tone of his voice. Fuck all. "She said you got enough attention as it was."
"She's not wrong," Harry mutters.
Jonah chuckles along with other people in the room. Close to them, a witch sitting alone at a table stirs in her seat. Cress side-eyes the woman, squinting at her cloaked form.
"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" asks another student. Cress isn't positive if it's the same Ravenclaw from earlier. "That's what one of the portraits told me when I was in there last year. . ."
"Er -- yeah, I did, yeah."
A laugh flies past Cress's lips silently at the expression on Harry's face. The boy looks as though someone gave him a rancid Acid Pop, and she can see him turning red from even the back of the room. Serves him right for being the talk of the school. People are going to whistle at him and be in awe. Beside her, Jonah looks impressed; even Marigold has stopped staring at the back of Chang's head to put her eyes on Harry. Ugh.
"And in our first year," Neville announces to the group, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone --"
"Sorcerer's," Hermione corrects with a hiss.
"And that's not to mention," Cho inputs because it seems everyone is throwing Harry's accomplishments out there, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year -- getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things. . . ."
Cress huffs, frowning. Har, har. It was funny, watching Harry squirm and preen under the attention but he's not the only one who participated in that tournament that year. Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur all struggled and beat the challenges that were laid out in front of them, not just Harry.
"Look, I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but. . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff. . ."
"Not with the dragon, you didn't," another Ravenclaw says as if Cedric's wasn't impressive, too. He didn't need a broomstick to win the challenge. . . "That was a seriously cool bit of flying. . ."
"Yeah, well --"
"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer," Susan supplies in a cheerful tone, the sun personified.
"No, no, okay," Harry replies, "I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is--"
"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Smith asks. If Cress could get away with the Unforgivable curses and if her bloody magic worked well, she would have hexed him to another dimension by now.
"Here's an idea," Ron snaps before anyone can reply, "why don't you shut your mouth?"
"Hear, hear!" Cress shouts, giving Smith the bird when he turns to glare at her.
Rather than responding to her, he turns to Ron, says, "Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it."
"That's not what he said," Fred snarls at Zacharias and fuck, if that doesn't do things to Cress's heart. A pang of longing shoots through her and she leans on Jonah heavily, hoping that the feeling fades. Not for the first time, she wonders if breaking up with him was the best idea; it eased some of the pain that she felt but left room for a bigger ache, something deeper and more profound that strikes through her when she so much as looks at him.
"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" George asks, and Cress can't see what he pulls out, but she hears clanking and assumes it's a lethal weapon. Yes, please. Someone take him out.
"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this."
Cress laughs into Jonah's shoulder, imagining the affronted look on Zacharias's face right about now. Serves the git right.
"Yes, well, moving on. . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?" Hermione interrupts before the twins can take action and that disappoints Cress immensely.
She nods, though no one can see her; only Jonah can feel the action. Marigold and he mutter their reluctant agreements as do the rest of the group. Hermione goes into the details of the meetings and how often they'll meet, but Cress barely pays attention, picking her head up from Jonah's shoulder and leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knee as she glances down at the floor.
Ernie goes into a lecture about how the Ministry was wrong to send them a teacher that doesn't want them to learn Defense, Hermione says something else, then Luna Lovegood, Cress is assuming, gets into it with the girl about some fire spirits, and it's all static in Cress's ears.
Nothing is really going through her head, but something is amiss. Cress's heart is racing, beating faster than she can account for. Her hands are shaking and she doesn't know if it's the onslaught of conversation rushing through her ears, or the echo of words praising Harry for the tournament -- the tournament where everything went wrong, where Cedric fought and fought and still died and left her with a portrait that he may or may not have made beforehand -- but everything feels off, her chest caving in like it's being pressed on, like she's having a panic attack.
But that can't be right. There's nothing wrong. Cedric's portrait was a miscellaneous thing, and Cress is over that. Why do her hands still shake? Why are her eyes watering despite the fact that there's literally nothing wrong?
She flees to the bathroom, the smelly, dingy bathroom in the corner of the establishment. Her back hits the wall roughly, textured drywall smacking her shoulder as she breathes in, breathes out. Counts to ten. It's okay. Everything's okay.
Breathing doesn't come easily to her, and she curls up in a stall, muffling her cries with her jumper, clenching her eyes shut because it feels like she's falling into nothingness, her heart clenching and unclenching in her chest like a hand is squeezing it.
She thinks of anything, trying to take her mind away from the increasing paranoia rushing through her. The walls are caving in now, the dark green of the lavatory resembling the bottom of the Black Lake, and Cress is drowning under the fluorescents.
Counting to ten again helps a bit. It eases the shadows curled around her chest, lets her clear her mind so it's not a mantra of wrongwrongwrong. She focuses on a stain on the floor, letting it anchor herself to her surroundings. She's in the Hog's Head; Harry's teaching Defence; she's doing better, she's okay. She is okay.
When it's over, when her lungs start to function and her heart doesn't feel as tight, she inhales slowly, shakily. Her chest is tense with pain, feels like she's been punched in it over and over again until it was bruised. Each breath is shallow but it's something.
Cress stays in there for longer than necessary. She clenches her knees, and the toilet she sits on is so fucking grimy and nasty and she's certain that something's died in here, but she can't figure out what it is. She releases her knees, lets her legs fall to the ground, standing. She breathes through her mouth, going to the sink with a broken mirror.
The water she splashes in her face is probably toxic. Cress suspects that her face is going to fall off in a few hours or so, but the coolness of it is welcoming, helps her wash the warm salt off her face.
When she exits the bathroom, she feels thoroughly run through, like she's taken a hard fall off a broom. With surprise, she notices that there's no one left except Harry, Ron, and Hermione; everyone else must've left. The pub looks ten times worse without the people covering up the flaws.
Cress heads for the door, but Hermione gestures her to them, a clipboard and quill in her hand.
"Crescent," she says. "Sorry, I was just wondering if you'd sign this so we can know who's coming to the meetings."
Cress stares at the scrawling on the paper, then at Hermione's hopeful face, her grin wobbly. She shrugs, printing her name in messy letters.
Hermione beams. "Thanks, Crescent. Can't wait to see you at the first meeting!"
"Welcome," Cress mumbles, about to head on her way. "Congratulations, Potter. Don't disappoint me with these lessons, okay? I want to see a full stag when I walk into class."
Harry snorts, ruffling his hair. "Sod off, Diggory. You get what you get and you don't complain." He shoves Cress's shoulder. "Be lucky I even wanted you to come."
Cress grins. "Yeah, lucky. That's what we'll call your incessant begging, will we? I'll remember that next time."
Harry burns bright red at that, and Cress snorts at him, telling him to fix his glasses before she leaves the small establishment and heads outside. She wonders where Jonah and Marigold are; she's got to buy Jonah new robes or something for his tutoring sessions. Merlin, Cress is going to go broke before term is over.
Outside, the wind still knocks Cress back, but it's better than the stale air of the Hog's Head, and Cress welcomes it with open arms. Her chest still feels tight, and all she wants to do is go to the dormitories and sleep it off, but she's got to find Jonah first, at least to give him some money so he can buy himself something -- a payment since knowledge "comes with a price."
Before she can start her search for them, four figures standing to the left of the Hog's Head like they had nothing better to do break her train of thought. When Hamlin spots her, he marches over to her before Cress can flee the country, the three trailing behind him like shadows.
"Since when are you mates with Spencer?"
Cress ignores the question, looking past him, towards the establishments lining the streets. Perhaps Jonah and Marigold went into the Three Broomsticks. Mari did say something about drowning her sorrows in butterbeer. Jonah likes the food there, too. Cress steps away from Hamlin and the group, keeping her eyes down, ready to go hunt him down and rip him a new one for leaving her in the Hog's Head.
Hamlin presses a hand on her shoulder. "Crescent."
Cress flinches at the contact, ripping her body away from him and taking a couple of steps back. "What?" she demands, staring up at him, her eyes stinging and her chest tight. "What do you need, Hamlin?"
He assesses her, and George, Fred, and Lee slink away quietly, Lee telling Hamlin, "We'll be in Zonko's, mate."
She stares at the hand pressed on Hamlin's back, at the way it lingers there before all of them walk away. Something nasty eats at Cress, makes her skin crawl. In her head, something screams. Her heart seems to deflate in her chest. Her stomach turns; she wants to vomit.
"Crescent," he starts, walking towards her.
"What do you need? I need to find Mari and Jonah," she says shortly. Her throat aches. Her eyes are tired, aching with the need for rest.
Hamlin's face twists. "Why are you keeping company with the likes of them?"
"Why do you care? You haven't paid me a bit of mind these past few weeks, so you don't need to start now. I was fine without you butting your nose in my business."
Cress stalks past him, feet hastening her steps as she walks towards the school. Forget finding the two, she needs to escape this conversation, escape everything that is wrong with it. Hamlin hasn't cared since they got on the Hogwarts Express -- he doesn't get to have an opinion now.
"Surely, you know that they aren't good company. They're Slytherins, Crescent. You can't just invite them anywhere." Hamlin strides beside her easily, keeping her pace with no problem.
Cress keeps her head down so she doesn't have to look at him. "Yeah, thanks for that bit of information. Not like I hadn't already deducted it myself."
"Crescent!" Hamlin yanks at her arm, pulls her until she's facing him. The expression on his face is nothing like she's ever seen. He looks angry, livid; she's only seen pity or sadness for the past months. "They can't come to the meetings! They'll only tell Umbridge when the opportunity strikes!"
"Not my problem," Cress says, shoving him away again. Deep breath. In and out. She exhales through her nose, shoves her shaking hands into the pockets of her jumper. "They want to learn Defence. What they do afterwards is no concern but theirs."
"You don't understand," Hamlin says, running a hand down his face. "This isn't extra lessons for exams. This is real Defense against the Dark Arts. Against him."
"And you think I don't understand that?" Cress levels him with a watery glare, sniffling despite herself. The wind whips through her hair, and it tickles her chin. "You think I don't understand how crucial this is for all of us? You think I don't know that every second we waste is a second where someone else could die? Where someone could be taken from their family? Because I know, Hamlin. I'm not stupid. I know what he can take from us if we don't prepare ourselves."
"I didn't mean it like that--"
"You meant to say that because they simply are in the same House as him that they are likely to turn out like him? Well, news flash, Jonah's a Muggleborn and Marigold's family were traitors to him. He's not going to be so keen on making them a part of his army, is he?"
His eyes widened. "Cres--"
"And you know what else makes me so angry about this? You've only spoken to me because you think that I'll be influenced by them. That I'll suddenly turn 'evil' and tattle on you lot as well. That's all you care about. You don't care about my wellbeing, only that yours isn't affect by my decisions."
"That's not what I meant," Hamlin says softly.
It is, her voice says snidely, laughing openly at the conversation. It's glad that Hamlin is so alienated from Cress, that he only cares about himself and not her. He doesn't want to console her, only wants to help himself. Foolish girl.
"I don't care what you meant, Hamlin, and I don't care about you or anyone else or what you have to say about my choice of friends."
Hamlin swallows thickly, shaking his head. "You don't mean that, Crescent. You don't. You're speaking nonsense because of those blasted Slytherins--!"
"You could not possibly know what I mean, Hamlin, considering that you have not been there for the past weeks!" Cress points a finger in his chest, eyes flowing freely. "You left me when I needed you the most and I didn't know why and I was alone and no one visited me in the Hospital Wing and I had no one but they gave me someone and you can't take that away from me! I won't let you!"
Her chest heaves with loud sobs that seem to wrack through her entire body, and she takes her hand back and wraps it in her other one and tries to breathe. Cress knows that she's attracting attention and she wishes the ground would swallow her whole -- or a ravenous unicorn from the Forbidden Forest, she's not picky. She wants to be concealed, to be away from Hamlin and the stinging emotions striking her heart.
"Crescent, I-- I'm sorry," Hamlin whispers and it sounds like the ghoul on the third floor that never stops apologizing. Broken and quiet. Shattered. "I didn't know. I didn't--"
Cress shakes away his remorse, slaps it away with a shake of her head. "No, forget it. I don't really care. I'm being stupid."
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she do that? Why can't she ever keep her mouth shut? She should have just let him chew her out for ten minutes then nod at him in compliance and leave and find Jonah and Marigold. Why'd she open her mouth?
"You're not stupid," Hamlin denies. "Crescent, I really am sorry that I just stopped talking to you. I'm sorry I left you alone. I shouldn't have done that. I just-- the twins, they. . ."
"What about them?"
"They-- the money from the tournament," Hamlin admits with a sigh. "They have it. They're using it for their joke shop."
Cress chuckles even though it feels like she's been beaten with a bat. She thinks back to her conversation with Fred, where she had only called the shop a dream, where she basically told him that it would never happen. Now, it's actually a plausible thing, something that's going to be created.
She knows that Harry gave the money away; he told her in their letters. He said that he felt bad because he had the fortune and he felt like he didn't really earn the money anyway -- which, Cress disagreed because he brought Cedric back and that's priceless in itself. He never told her who he gave it to, but it makes sense that the twins would get it.
The longing from before bites back sharper than before. Cress wants to run up to Fred, to tell him that she's excited for him, she can't wait to see everything they've done. Not too long ago, she would have been filled with resentment at the thought of them taking the money she had once thought belonged to Cedric (dead or not), but it makes her smile; something bright in her dark days.
"That's good," Cress whispers through the wind. "I'm happy for them."
"You're not angry?"
She pats at her tears, ridding herself of them. "If not them, then who else? Mum's got savings and an inheritance from her parents. Harry is apparently well off. Why not give it to someone who's going to do something useful with it?"
"But," Hamlin says, seemingly confused, "that could have been Ced-- Cedric's money?"
The thought doesn't hurt her as much as it used to. She nods with a grim smile.
"Yeah, but it's not. That's okay, too. I'm glad it's Fred and George, if no one else."
"Still," Hamlin continues, frowning. "I'm sorry I ignored you because of it. I felt guilty. So guilty."
Cress doesn't understand why, but she imagines that Hamlin feels guilty in more ways than one. She nods in acceptance, sending him a reluctant smile. Her body is still heavy with the weight of her panic attack, of the subject of Cedric in the tournament -- in the maze, the graveyard, below the Black Lake -- and all she wants to do is retreat to the dormitories and rest for the rest of the weekend.
"I don't need you up my ass twenty-four seven," Cress tells him. "But it'd be nice if you could just talk to me sometimes. Just to know that we're in this together."
Hamlin's eyes are pained, but he nods anyway. "We are. I promise I'll do better."
"Thank you. So will I." Cress grins, her tears dried on her face from the chill winds.
"Does this mean you'll drop Spencer and Payne?"
"Not a chance in hell."
Hamlin snorts as though this was expected, but he grins at Cress all the same. Moments later, the twins and Lee catch up to them, smiling hesitantly at Cress. With a knot in her chest, she grins back, trying to let it unfurl so she can look at Fred without wanting to explode into a million pieces.
"Congrats on the shop, lads," she says quietly, heart racing. How does one act around her ex-boyfriend and his twin brother? For all she knows they're telepathically speaking to each other about how to murder her.
But Fred promised they'd always be friends. And Cress aches with how much she misses him.
Shamelessly -- with what she hopes is Marigold's level of discretion -- she stares at him with what she hopes is an encouraging grin. She's not sure, though; her smiles haven't been up to par lately. Maybe it looks like a grimace. Maybe she looks like an ogre. Probably the latter.
They both smile back, and George says, "Thanks, Little Diggory. Hope you don't mind that we took your pimple idea. We promise to give you credit."
"Hopefully a commission as well? That spell was not easy to master."
"You can have ten percent," George says.
"I demand no more than fifty."
Fred snickers, staring down at Cress and holy, she's forgotten what it feels like to boil herself alive but his warm brown eyes remind her of the sensation. She welcomes it kindly, cheeks darker than the ripest apple.
"But you forget who made the spell a cream. You get thirty-five take it or leave it, Diggory."
The use of her last name is a bit disheartening, but Cress does not let it sway her in the least. (She's lying.) She ponders on it for a moment, then says, "I take forty or else I will corrupt every single batch of Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher, Weasley. Mark my words."
"You drive a hard bargain. Deal."
They shake on it, and even the minimal contact of their bloody hands sends Cress's body into overdrive. She pulls away much too quickly, blushing to the tip of her head, and does not think about how warm his hand was or how much she wanted to wrap her arms around him.
Instead of doing any of that, she makes a horrible excuse up and flees from the scene before she can embarrass herself. Her chest is still tight in her chest, but she feels okay, not like she's going to suffocate. She imagined her talk with Hamlin going terribly wrong in her head for so long, imagined that Fred would spit in her face when he spoke to her again, but the outcome warms her heart.
When she gets to the common room, the portrait of Cedric asks her how her trip was, and Cress is so lost in her thoughts she doesn't even curse at the thing for speaking to her. She flips it off and walks to the dormitories and sleeps for the rest of the night.
✦✧✦
a/n; uh,, well here's another update that i'm a bit hesitant about but one i hope you guys enjoyed anyway. once again, thank you for the boundless love and support you've all given my story! i cannot begin to describe the love i have for each and every one of you! as always let me know what you think of the chapter and point out anything that seems awry and i just love you all so much and am so happy i can explore cress's journey with people who care about her as much as i do...
a happy holidays to all of you! i hope you're all taking care especially now. stay safe and be kind. ily
(also sorry the chapter is so long shsjd and if you don't mind me asking would you rather they remain longer or would you rather i make them shorter from now on? just curious is all..)