Whimsical {James Potter}

Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Face of Lies

"You must have the tolerance and patience of a mother."

Cressida sits politely on a stool by the kitchen island bench. Euphemia is baking the 'muggle way' as she puts it, testing her skills at gingerbread men. The scent fills the entire lower floor, and she's surprised the boys haven't wandered down from James' room yet, following their noses.

Cressida smiles as innocently as she can. "Maybe I'm just as bad as them," she counters.

"Please," Euphemia huffs in the most lady-like manner. "No one is as bad as my son. Although Sirius is probably close." She smiles kindly at Cressida, taking the Christmas treats out of the oven and placing them one by one onto a spaced metal tray to cool. "You remind me of myself when I was your age."

"Really?"

Euphemia nods with a hum. "I was a rugged young lass." Her youthful smile glows in reminiscence. "James' father was a friend of mine long before we got together. We always got into trouble doing stupid things during the Summer."

Cressida grins, resting her chin on a poised fist. "I can imagine that," she muses. And she can. Though Euphemia's age is physically visible, so is the external youth that some people just glow with. In the eyes and the smile.

"Which is why we're lenient with James. He'll grow up someday. He's more like his father than he'll let us say." Euphemia leans her weight into her hands along the bench's edge, smiling up to the roof where the bedrooms lay. "They're children. You all are. I teach what I can as a mother, but it's up to the world to teach them what I cannot. And from what I know of your little group, is that you're all good learners." Cressida's smile stays; a sudden urge to re-join them despite her need for a break not less than an hour ago. Whether James' mother can see the expression on her face, or just through instincts, she pats Cressida on the arm. "Let's get these guys decorated then you can take some up."

Sliding from the stool, Cressida takes over the icing and dots each gingerbread man with three small dollops of the white coloured sugar as Euphemia trails behind her with a bowl of small lollies.

Within half an hour, Cressida is wandering back up the stairs with a large oval plate in hand, stacked neatly with the still-warm gingerbread. Impulsively her socked feet guide her towards James' room at the very end of the hall down the left. She can hear a scuffle as the smell finally wafts down the far end of the manor. The door swings open, a head poking out right next to the frame. Cressida giggles quietly, holding up the plate in display. James' open mouth forms into a delighted beam at the same time that Sirius appears from further back in the room on a wheeled chair.

"So that's what you've been doing for the past two hours," Sirius calls down. "Can't say I'm too displeased by your disappearance if this is what you bring back."

"You can thank James' mother," she hints, sparing a smile at James as he picks one off the plate as she passes through. Sirius pushes off with his feet, the wheels rolling across the wooden floor. Without once leaving his seat, his arm stretches up blindly to take a gingerbread, before rolling back towards the desk where he rests his feet.

James room is basically a projection of his small dorm area. A large king-sized bed with a dark oak frame. A window that takes up half the outer wall, overlooking the acreage. It's dark in colour but flooded with light and rather homely.

In the far corner is a large cupboard, magically extended of course. And inside it, between clothes and shoes and other stray belongings, are the ingredients they need for that night's full moon.

"When's Peter arriving?" she questions, sitting down on the large bed. James goes back to lounging around as well on the bed between her and Sirius on the opposite side of the frame, splaying out with his eyes pointed at the ceiling.