Whimsical {James Potter}

Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Confidence

How in Merlin's name the cloak is able to cover them all is beyond Cressida's comprehension. Some strong enchantments likely. She's been pushed to the front – a punishment in James' eyes for always stepping on his feet. Now she only has to deal with their oversized ones scraping against her heels constantly.

To say her heart is racing would be an understatement. She can't recall a time she's ever been so nervous for something. Besides perhaps the first time they ever saw Remus in his other state back in second year.

The one thing Cressida wishes she brought is a jacket, but that was hardly part of the thoughts running through her mind back in the tower, but now down in the courtyard, using the walkways for shelter, her bones are practically shivering.

"Could you stop?" Sirius mutters. Already knowing it is aimed at her teeth chattering, she sends him a nasty glare over her shoulder. It softens on the realisation that he's just as nervous as her; blinking rapidly and twitching muscles.

"It's freezing," she defends nevertheless, just as to lessen the tension thicker than flobberworm slime.

"We'll get to the Whomping Willow in a few minutes," James consoles, probably to ease all of them. They reach the end of their sheltered path, leaving the rest of the distance between them and the tree open to the pelting rain. Thunder lights the sky, turning the clouds momentarily gold. "Should we just run for it?" James suggests. "The cloak won't stop the rain."

Cressida glances back up at the castle. There aren't many lights on, and it'd be hard to see them in the dark. "If I slip on mud and land on my arse, none of you are allowed to laugh," she mutters, pushing the cloak off her head.

"As long as the same terms apply to me," Sirius grumbles, also pushing the cloak off. James rolls it back up, handing the potion bottles to Sirius. "Who's going to get that blasted tree to stop?"

James steps forward to the very edge of the stone, eyeing off the darkness of the grounds. Cressida steps in line with him, pulling the sleeves of her shirt down. "It's just the little node, isn't it? I could probably fling a rock at it."

James nods stiffly, turning his eyes towards her. "You're up for it?"

"Unlike you three, I don't mind my hair getting wet," she teases through her chattering teeth. "Besides, you've all done it before and I haven't."

His mouth twitches up, amusement flooding his eyes. "I'm not going to argue. Here." He shrugs off his jacket – denim with fur lining. "Can't cast properly if you can't speak right."

There's no argument from her. The jacket floods her with a warmth that's stayed from his own body. The cuffs end midway down her fingers but the sizing is the least of her worries. "Thank you. I'll try not to get it dirty."

His smile widens briefly. "It is my favourite."

"Get a move on before the storm ends, would ya?" Sirius presses, half smirking.

Not bothering with a retort, Cressida pulls out her wand and without any further hesitation, starts marching down the dirt path towards the large tree. Its branches sway wildly both with its own movements and from the force of the high winds. Almost instantly she stumbles as it blows against her, the wind howling against her ears that are already being drummed down on by the rain.

Even with the jumper, the freezing claws crawl over her skin. Cressida grips her wand tighter in fear of losing it.

By the time she reaches the base of the tree, her hair is two shades darker and clinging to every inch of skin it touches. As though the tree can sense her, its branches become ever fiercer – swooping all through the air and lashing out like a whip.