SNAKE - Regulus Black

Chapter eleven ~ Cold Revival

    Cassandra avoided him the next morning. She'd left the Astronomy Tower in silence, lips still tingling, mind burning with a thousand regrets. Whatever that kiss meant — if it meant anything — she refused to acknowledge it.

In the common room, she ignored Regulus completely. If he looked her way, she acted like he wasn't even there. If he tried to speak to her, she cut him off with a frigid glance. The only trace of her turmoil was the way her hands trembled when she held her quill in class.

Regulus watched her from across the Great Hall during lunch, jaw tight. He didn't understand. Last night, she'd kissed him back — fiercely, desperately. Now she acted like he was filth under her boot.

Later that day, Andromeda passed her in the corridor, eyebrows raised. "You look like you haven't slept," she said with faint amusement.

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Cassandra replied coldly, brushing past her.

But the truth was she hadn't. Sleep had evaded her entirely. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Regulus — the way he'd looked at her, the sound of his voice when he said her name like it hurt.

That night, she buried herself in her textbooks in the library, keeping her head down even when Remus walked past her. She didn't look up, didn't risk seeing the question in his eyes. She didn't have answers. Not for him. Not for Regulus. Not even for herself. She hadn't told anyone about the kiss. Not Adrianna. Not Apollo. Especially not them. Her siblings might've shared her blood, but they wore scarlet and gold — a disgrace to the St. Clair name, both of them. Traitors, in every way that mattered. They wouldn't understand. They hadn't understood anything in years.

Andromeda had started watching her more closely lately, though — sensing, perhaps, that something had shifted beneath Cassandra's polished mask.

On Friday night, as the rest of the castle buzzed with excitement over the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, Cassandra slipped away to the Prefect's bathroom. The corridor was quiet, her footsteps echoing slightly off the stone. She turned the handle and stepped inside, locking the door behind her.

Only when she was alone did she let the mask crack. Her reflection stared back at her from the steamy mirror — flawless, perfect, and utterly false.

She hated this. Hated the way one stupid kiss had made everything unravel. She was not some lovesick girl. She was focused. Loyal. Unshakable. And Regulus Black was a distraction she could not afford.

Yet the memory of his touch haunted her. The way his hand had slid to the back of her neck. The way he had kissed her like she belonged to him. The worst part was that, for one brief, shattering second — she wanted to.

A knock sounded on the door. Sharp. Purposeful.

Cassandra froze.

"St. Clair," came a familiar voice from the other side. Low. Controlled. Regulus.

Of course he'd find her. He always did.

She hesitated, hand hovering near the lock. Her heart thudded once, hard.

"I'm not in the mood," she said coolly.

"I don't care."

Silence.

Then, without thinking, she opened the door.

Cassandra crossed her arms, expression hard. "If you're here to talk about that night, don't bother. It was a bad day. That's all."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "A bad day?"

She nodded coolly. "Stress. Pressure. The usual. I slipped. It won't happen again."