SNAKE - Regulus Black

Chapter twelve ~ Faultline

The castle felt colder than usual.

Not in the way winter settled into the stones, but in the way silence pressed against her — every corridor stretching longer, every shadow seeming to whisper a question she didn't want to answer.

She barely remembered what she ate in the Great Hall. Bread, maybe. Something bland. Her hands trembled slightly as she poured pumpkin juice, but she kept her eyes down, face expressionless.

She could feel Regulus watching her from a few seats down.

Andromeda was whispering with Narcissa, their eyes flicking between her and the Gryffindor table — where Remus sat, quiet, unreadable, as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn't just tried to break past every wall she'd spent years building.

As if he hadn't almost succeeded.

🕸️

Later that night, Cassandra sat curled in the farthest corner of the Slytherin common room, a book in her lap and a lie on her lips if anyone dared speak to her.

She wasn't reading. The words blurred together.

All she could see was Remus — the way his voice had softened without losing strength, the way he'd looked at her like she was worth saving.
She hated it. She hated him for it.

Because deep down, buried beneath the armor of her bloodline and the snarled expectations of her family, a tiny part of her had wanted him to follow.

Just once.

Her dorm was dark when she slipped inside. She didn't light a candle. Just dropped the book on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed, fingers curling around the edge of her blanket. That's when she saw it.

A letter.

Neat, folded, sealed with no crest this time — just a tiny smear of silver wax, already cracking at the edges. She picked it up slowly, heart skipping.
It wasn't Regulus' handwriting. And it wasn't Remus'.

Inside, in fine, slanted script:
"Be careful who you walk away from. Some won't wait behind."

There was no name.

No signature.

No return owl.

Just a blank window and the rush of Black Lake water against the common room glass. Cassandra stared at the words until they stopped making sense — until they curled into noise and fury and doubt. She didn't sleep that night.

🕸️

She folded the letter once, twice, then again until it was barely bigger than a knut. Her fingers moved on instinct, delicate and deliberate, like she could fold the meaning out of it. But the words still rang loud in her head. She had walked away from both of them now.

Cassandra carried the letter with her the next day, tucked inside the hem of her robe like a splinter she couldn't pull out. She barely heard a word in Potions. Slughorn praised her for her stirring technique — she didn't look up. Her quill snapped in Transfiguration. She blamed the desk. She didn't speak to Remus when she passed him in the corridor between classes.

But he looked at her.

Just once.

Just long enough.

By the time dinner rolled around, the walls of the castle felt too tight. The food too hot, the air too thick. She pushed her plate away and left early, ignoring Adrianna's stare and Narcissa's quiet call after her. Down the hall. Left at the statue of the weeping witch. Through the shadowed corridor to the Astronomy stairwell. And of course—he was there.