My notes are at the end this time guys - you'll understand why when you've read! Enjoy!

Chapter 10

For the next few weeks, Cassandra heard nothing of Sirius. She could have sworn she'd seen him at the Quidditch match, sitting in his dog form in one of the empty stands. But that was moments before the Potter boy had had his accident, and in the commotion that followed, Cassandra's attentions had been diverted. When she finally looked to the empty stand again, the dog had gone. She was not sure if he'd even been there in the first place; it could just have been her imagination, her mind that so desperately longed to see him again.

The days that led up to Christmas were tainted with misery. For the most part, she buried herself in her work, spending more and more time under Severus Snape's private tutelage. She avoided returning to Meadow Lane as much as she could, in a desperate attempt to suppress the events of Halloween night from her memory. Instead, she would send notes and money packets to Mishka by owl, telling her she was too busy to come home at the present time.

At one point, she contemplated paying a visit to Remus Lupin, though this idea was swiftly abandoned. As far as he was concerned, his former best friend was a mass murderer, so it was likely he'd be reluctant to help Cassandra find him.

Christmas Day soon rolled around, though any chance of joy and festivity appeared to be lost. Not even the prospect of the Christmas feast, which she'd enjoyed so much in her school days, could cheer her. She simply sat in her room, surrounded by a mountain of discarded presents and shredding wrapping paper, feeling as cold and empty as the decorative goblet she'd received from one of her auror friends.

Some time in the afternoon, Snape had knocked on the door and no less than ordered her to come up to the feast.

"You said yourself you enjoyed Hogwarts' festivities," he reminded her, taking her by the arm and pulling her out of her mound of presents. "If I have to suffer through them, you can too."

It was a solitary affair, nothing like the usual loud and jubilant parties. There were no more than fifteen remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas, and Dumbledore had had them all sitting round the one table, making forced conversation and trying his utmost to be cheerful. To make matters worse, Snape slipped into one of his foul moods after pulling a cracker with the headmaster, only for it to reveal an ugly, vulture topped hat, reminiscent of the one his infamous, cross-dressing counterpart had apparently worn in Lupin's boggart lesson.

The feast lasted a painfully long two hours, during which Cassandra and her housemaster sat sullenly side by side, avoiding conversation with anyone, each too busy wallowing in their own self-pity. However when, after the students had gone, Dumbledore announced there was to be a party in the staff room, Cassandra could not resist attending out of sheer curiosity. She had always wondered what staff parties would have been like, and, despite her mood, she was not going to miss her chance to find out. Nor was she going to go alone.

"Oh come on, Severus!" she whined, tugging on the potions master's arm in an attempt to pull him from his seat. They were the only ones left in the Great Hall now; the students were back in their common rooms and the other teachers had already gone up to the party. Snape was being particularly stubborn.

"No," he insisted. "If you want to go so badly, go alone. I've had enough experience of staff parties to know to avoid them."

"Maybe this time you'll enjoy it," Cassandra shrugged. Snape gave a derisive snort. "Oh please!" she pleaded. "I don't want to go by myself, I'm not really a teacher. You have to come. If it sucks, we can leave, just please, please come!"

"Oh all right," he snapped, irritably. "But I promise you, it will be a wasted walk to the staff room."

But as it happened, it wasn't. By the time Cassandra and her mentor arrived, the handful of remaining teachers had already conjured up several cases of wine, including half a dozen bottles of Madam Rosmerta's prize mead. The alcohol was already flowing, and a distinct atmosphere of merriment, that had been absent from the feast, was fast filling the room.

"See, this is why I didn't want to come," Snape hissed in her ear. "Every year it's the same; they just drink, and get sillier and sillier-"

"Good, I could use a drink," interrupted Cassandra, snatching up a bottle of mead and a couple of goblets. "And by the sound of it, grumpy guts, so could you. Here, get this down you."

She handed Snape a goblet full to the brim with sweet, amber liquid. He sipped at it cautiously. Cassandra merely laughed.

"What are you doing?" she sighed. She took the goblet from him and drained it in one, long gulp. "There, that's how you do it."

There was a loud cheer from the fireplace; Professors Flitwick and McGonagall raised their glasses in Cassandra's direction and followed her lead, downing them in one.

"Oh please," snarled Snape. "Anyone can do that! It's hardly a skill."

He snatched up Cassandra's empty goblet and filled it again, right to the brim. Then, to her great surprise, he too swallowed the entire glassful in one, fluid movement. There was another, much louder cheer from the fireplace. Snape gave a grim smile.

"Anything they can do, I can do better," he informed Cassandra. And he was right. The remainder of the night fast became a drinking competition between the more daring staff members, namely Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Cassandra.

Dumbledore did not join them, though he agreed to act as referee to their games.

The challenges were simple at first. They began with tasks like "Who can drink a pint fastest?" and "Down a glass then cast a successful Patronus." Yet they steadily became more difficult, with the participants having to drink glass after glass without stopping. Snape proved surprisingly apt at these games. He kept his colleagues on their toes by mixing whiskies and wines and ales in vile concoctions and serving them up as forfeits.

Tiny Professor Flitwick was the first to drop – quite literally - after he was finished off by one of Snape's forfeit cocktails. The remaining players simply banished him to his quarters and carried on without him. Next, to her surprise, was Cassandra herself, who lost at shots against her housemaster when he jinxed her under the table. She found it so funny that she did not complain, and sat back quite happily to watch the last two contestants battle it out.

Snape and McGonagall's final challenge was straightforward enough. They each had five glasses of wine, lined up one after the other. The task was to be the first to drink all their wine then successfully blow up the empty glasses, with only one shot of their wands. When Dumbledore cast the starting shot, McGonagall took a quick lead, downing three of her glasses in less than a minute. For a moment, Cassandra thought she might actually win. Yet Snape caught up to her fast and they both finished their last glassful at the same time, raising their wands to shout the same spell: "Reducto!"

Snape's shot hit true and his glasses shattered one after the other. McGonagall's, however, missed and ended up blowing a great chunk out of the table, to cries of triumph from both Cassandra and her competitor.

Soon afterwards, however, Dumbledore called the party to a finish, citing that he did not want his staff too hung over, for Madam Pomfrey was away on holiday. Cassandra could see his point. Both McGonagall and Snape were spectacularly drunk.

"I think that last task rather finished them off, don't you?" the headmaster smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Cassandra had to agree. She slipped an arm around her mentor's shoulder and began to lead him back down to the dungeons.

It was an exceptionally difficult walk, as Snape was much taller than Cassandra and kept flopping over onto her. Despite his near incapacitation, he was fiercely adamant that he was not at all drunk.

"I'm probably more sober than you," he growled, just as he stumbled on the hem of his robes and nearly fell flat on his face. Cassandra, however, caught him and pulled him back.

"Yes, you're probably right," she sighed, not wishing to start an argument.

"Of course I'm right," he mumbled. "I'm always right…"

Cassandra smiled wearily. Far from the typical scenario of drunken "I love you"s, she found her housemaster to be even more callous than he was when he was sober. As they trudged on towards the dungeons, briefly passing Lupin's office, which was dark and quiet, he paused to hurl a stream of abuse at the empty room.

"Sneak!" Snape bellowed at the door, attempting to lunge for it but finding he did not have the necessary control of his legs.

"Shhh!" Cassandra hissed. "You'll wake him!"

"I don't care!" shouted Snape. "He's a sneak! Did you notice he wasn't at the thing…the feast, yes, the feast. I bet he was plotting to help his old friend Black again!"

Cassandra had to use all her physical strength to pull her housemaster away from Lupin's door and to make him carry on to the dungeons. Her heart ached at the mention of Black's name. She had managed not to think about him all evening, what with the hilarity of the staff drinking contest. But now, at the very sound of his name, all the pain and misery she'd been repressing came flooding back. As she half carried Snape down the marble staircase and into the cold corridors of the dungeons, she felt hot tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She wondered if she had irritated him so much that he wouldn't bother her again. She couldn't have, could she? After all, what had she done?

Exactly, what have you done?

A peculiar little voice piped up in the back of her head, a voice that sounded like her own and yet not: it was colder, almost detached, and very, very angry

You've done nothing but give to that man! the voice went on, becoming more and more like a hiss. He doesn't deserve the tears you cry for him!

Cassandra shook her head. It wasn't Sirius's fault the way he acted like he did – he had been wrongly imposed for twelve years… and his godson was his first priority.

Oh yes, his godson that would probably kill him on sight if they met face to face, came the sneering response in her head. The boy who thinks he's a murderer over the one woman who fights for him – I can see why he'd make that choice.

Cassandra bit her lip. Actually, it was a fair point. She was the only person who'd ever believed he was innocent and yet she'd been shunted aside for a petulant thirteen-year-old boy! A wave of sickly hot anger passed over her and her face folded into a scowl.

I'm sorry, my dear, but that's why you get for trusting a Gryffindor. And he's such a typical Gryffindor, don't you think? They're all so alike, marching under the banner of nobility, using the mask of bravery to compensate for their selfishness and cruelty.

"Selfish" – the word buzzed around her head like a disgruntled insect. Yes, that's precisely how Sirius had behaved on Halloween. He'd come to her, bathed in her bathroom, feasted at her table and very nearly used her to complete his binge of satisfaction… Then once he'd had his fill, he scampered without so much as a thank you.

Your house elf was right in what she said, the voice crowed. You have sacrificed everything for him: your career, your noble family home, your reputation… and he just defecated on it and handed it back to you. Yet it is still you that cries for him?

By now, Cassandra as filled with a deep and bubbling rage. He'd used her! He'd played her for an idiot! She could have gone to Azkaban for what she'd done…and all for a stinking, lying Gryffindor like him?

As quickly as it had come, the heat of her fury left her and an empty, bitter coldness took its place. Her eyes flashed with visions of vengeance. No one plays Cassandra Starr, she thought angrily, as the voice in her head laughed with triumphant glee. I will make you hurt as I have been hurt. But how?

The answer was standing right next to her, leaning against a stone pillar in a vain attempt to regain his balance - Snape. Sirius hated her mentor with a passion. Perhaps a little friendly competition with an old rival would remind Sirius of much she was worth.

It's perfect, her little voice confirmed. If Severus boasts about you as much as Black says, he's bound to hear about it.

This seal of approval from her subconscious spurred her. She would make him pay- the hard way… the Slytherin way.

She turned around to face her former teacher, who was still clutching the pillar as though it were his last shred of pride. The dungeon corridor was quiet; no one would come by and disturb her. Now was as good a time as any.

It seemed as though Snape had noticed the frightening change of expression on Cassandra's face, as though he'd seen her mingled fury melt into a mask of feigned hunger. He tensed as an animal might under the gaze of a predator and, for an amusing moment, Cassandra thought he was going to pull his wand on her. Yet he didn't; she lunged, pressing him to the pillar tightly with her bosom. Her mouth locked onto to his and she kissed him almost violently. Snape did not respond at first, though after a moment his hands circled Cassandra's waist rather lamely and his tongue began to fight hers back. It was a cold kiss; a cruel, vengeful gesture absent of love or even lust. In any other circumstance, it would have repelled her. Yet she was filled with a burning wrath, which fired her and fuelled her onwards.

Yet not even a minute had passed before Cassandra felt a hot pain in her stomach and she found herself flying backwards and onto the stone floor. Snape stood over her, his wand arm outstretched and pointing at where she'd been standing moments before.

"Do not mock me!" he snarled, a foul mixture of anger and embarrassment upon his face. He was still swaying somewhat on his feet; apparently even his drunkenness did not detract from his self-loathing sense of paranoia. "How dare you mock me!"

"What makes you think I'm mocking you?" Cassandra asked, clambering to her feet and doing her best to hide her annoyance. "I'm being perfectly sincere, Severus."

In an attempt to prove her point, she approached him again, this time much more slowly, reassuringly. Snape lowered his wand, allowing her to press herself against him once more. She brushed a hand delicately against his cheek and made to kiss him for the second time. However, his bony hand shot out and he placed a finger over her lips. He leant in close to Cassandra's face; she could smell the alcohol on his breath, see the lack of focus in his eyes. For a single fleeting second she felt a rush of excitement, though this was gone in an instant.

"Sincere or not," Snape murmured in a low whisper, "I hardly think this is appropriate behaviour considering my lack of sobriety."

Cassandra gave a snort of disbelief; her eyes widened to reveal their whites.

"I'm sorry," she scoffed, shaking her head in amazement. "Are you declining my advances?!"

Snape's lip curled into a cruel smile. Then, quite suddenly –THWACK! With a harsh sound, Cassandra slapped her mentor across the cheek with all the strength and fury she could muster. One rejection was enough for her, but two? And from him?! She raised her hand again, preparing to strike another blow, but Snape caught her by her wrist and held her tightly. Once more came that rush of peculiar excitement. Cassandra lurched forwards and attempted to kiss him again. Cruelly, he let her, allowed her to wrap herself around him in triumph before he punctured her again and threw her to the ground.

"If you are sincere, Cassandra," he told her coldly, as he turned his back on her figure, sprawled on the floor, "you can try and play your games when I am sober enough to deal with you, though I cannot guarantee that you will get any further than you did tonight."

"You swine," hissed Cassandra, as tears of anger and frustration began to trickle down her cheeks. "You rotten old miser!"

"Now, now, be careful what you say," Snape muttered, and he began to stumble away down the corridor towards his quarters. "You never know what I might remember come tomorrow."

And he gave a nasty laugh as he hobbled away, still leaning on the walls as he went, if a little proudly. Cassandra sent of few jets of sparks after him in a temper.

"Swine!" she shouted again, though it was useless; he had rounded the corner and gone out of earshot. .

Tears of miserable fury streaming down her face, she followed her housemaster's example and returned to her room. Her bed was still piled high with presents, which she swept roughly onto the floor in her anger. This time she really had done it. Over the pain of her humiliation, she felt a pang of shame and guilt. Suddenly her plan did not seem so clever. Suddenly her actions seemed foolish and immature, not to mention small-minded. How could she have thought revenge would have worked? He was a Gryffindor, after all! Furious at herself, she climbed into her bed, fully clothed, and proceeded to strangle her pillow. Now she'd jeopardised everything: if Sirius found out, everything she'd sacrificed would have been in vain.

A.N. - Ok, please don't hate her. It was a silly thing to do, yes, but what can I say? She was not only a woman scorned but a Slytherin scorned, and I imagine that to be twice as dangerous!

I did my best to keep Snape in character here. Obviously when he's drunk he's bound to be different from what he's usually like, though I imagine he woul;d still retain his old sarcasm and self-loathing. I'm not sure if that corroborates with what you think but hey, I tried.

Also...I've always loved the idea of staff parties. They must have them! How dull would it be if they didn't?

Hope you enjoyed it.