SNAKE - Regulus Black

Chapter thirteen ~ A Measured Cut

The common room was quiet, unusually so for a Saturday morning. Cassandra sprawled across the emerald-green sofa, hair loose, a book balanced against her knees. She hadn't turned a page in ten minutes.

Her lips still tingled.

She pressed them together, hard, as though she could erase the memory—the heat of Regulus' mouth against hers, the way his hands had tangled in her hair, the way she hadn't pulled away. That was the part that made her stomach twist. She hadn't pulled away.

The fire popped, dragging her out of the thought. She flipped a page she hadn't read, trying to bury it all beneath ink and parchment. But the sound of footsteps descending from the boys' dormitory made her pulse leap.

Regulus.

She didn't need to look up to know it was him. She could feel him, the same way she felt the weight of the night before pressing against her ribs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Morning," he said finally, his voice low, measured—like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to sound casual anymore.

Cassandra pretended to read, her eyes locked on the blurred words. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep."

That answer—simple, honest—made her book feel suddenly heavy in her lap. She risked a glance at him. His hair was still mussed from sleep, his tie hung loose around his neck, but his eyes... Merlin, his eyes were fixed on her like he hadn't stopped looking since last night.

Her throat went dry.

"You should forget it," she blurted, the words sharper than she meant. "Last night. It—it was nothing."

For a heartbeat, she thought he might laugh, let her off easy. But his smirk didn't come. Instead, Regulus stepped closer, his expression unreadable, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Don't lie, Cassie. You don't kiss like it's nothing."

Her fingers tightened around her book. "You said it was nothing last time," he went on, his voice steadier now, bolder, "and yet here we are again."

"That doesn't mean anything," she snapped, heat rising to her cheeks. "People... make mistakes."

Regulus leaned against the arm of the sofa, his shoulder brushing dangerously close to hers. "Mistakes don't happen twice. Not unless you want them to."

Her mouth opened, ready to bite back—but nothing came. The words tangled in her throat, because Regulus was right. He could see it, and worse, she knew he could.

"Fine," she said at last, her voice low, uneven. "Maybe I have been thinking about it. But that doesn't mean it should've happened. Or that it should happen again."

His eyes softened, lips parting like he'd been waiting—aching—for her to say those exact words. "So you admit it. It wasn't nothing."

Her gaze flickered to his mouth for a fraction of a second, and that was all the betrayal he needed. "Pretending? Please." She forced a scoff, tilting her chin defiantly. "You're making it sound as if I need you. I am not a woman who needs a man. I am a woman a man needs."

Regulus faltered, lips parting. And then, to her frustration, something almost reverent passed across his face. "That's exactly why I can't stay away from you."

Her chest tightened, but she kept her mask intact. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"Good," he murmured, bracing a hand against the sofa, caging her in without touching. "Because I'm not trying to flatter you."