Howdy all and thanks for the wonderful reviews of chapter ten! Glad you enjoyed it.

Not a moment too soon, here is chapter eleven for your viewing pleasure. I have to warn you that chapter twelve might be a while to follow, owing to it not being written yet (ahem...what? I'm a busy girl! ) but I'll do my best! Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven

The morning of Boxing Day dawned and Cassandra felt no better. She was tired and irritable, having tossed and turned all night long, unable to sleep. When it was finally a decent hour, she gave up on slumber and decided to check on Snape. It was imperative to find out what he remembered of last night. Stepping over the pile of broken gifts and wrapping paper that surrounded her bed, she threw on a cloak, picked up her potions kit and made her way to her mentor's quarters.

As she expected, he was rather worse for wear upon opening the door. There were heavy, grey rings around his eyes and he looked even paler than usual standing in his grey nightshirt.

"Are you here to tell me what I did last night that made me feel like this?" he groaned, irritably. Cassandra smiled and stepped past him into his parlour. From the looks of things, he had not slept much either. There was a heap of tangled blankets on his leather sofa and a pot of tea was steaming on the table nearby.

"That better be your be your potions bag, Cassandra," he said, settling himself in the blankets with a moan of pain. "I'm fresh out of elixir of Vervain."

"I thought you might be," she responded, She bypassed him and began setting up a cauldron in the already roaring fire. "That's why I came over. Is it bad?"

"Awful," he muttered. "I blame you."

"Me?" she exclaimed, her heart skipping several beats. "Why?"

"You were the one who dragged me to that infernal party," he growled, as he poured himself tea. "And, as I recall, you were the one who started the damned drinking contest."

"How much of that do you remember?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"I can't remember anything after when Flitwick passed out," he admitted. Cassandra breathed a silent sigh of relief. That meant he would not remember their kiss and, though that did nothing for her guilt, she would not have to worry about it affecting their working relationship.

"Right," she said, a little more cheerfully. "If the patient would like to take a seat and explain to me the symptoms…"

"Ha bloody ha," Snape growled. "I'd imagine you're rather familiar with the symptoms Cassandra – the pounding headache, the sickening nausea, the dizziness…in fact, I'm surprised you managed to escape them."

"Well, I wasn't the one who drank six glasses of wine, one after the other."

Cassandra smirked at him as she began to throw ingredients into her cauldron, stirring them casually with her wand. She narrowly dodged the teacup that went sailing past her head with great speed.

"I told you we shouldn't have gone," he snarled, looking as though he wanted to cuff her, though thinking better of it once he realised how much effort this would take. "And that's too much belladonna: take some out."

"I pray forgiveness, your highness," muttered Cassandra under her breath, though keeping a weather eye for anymore teacups. She fiddled around with the potion for a little longer, ignoring Snape's dramatic moans and groans from the sofa. It did not take her long to brew up the draught she needed; she was surprised Snape had not done it himself.

"Here you go, grumpy," she announced, handing him a goblet of the steaming purple liquid. She took a seat at the end of his sofa and watched him drain the potion in one long gulp.

"Urgh!" he declared, giving her back the empty vessel. "Still too much belladonna."

He hiccoughed and for a moment Cassandra thought he was going to be sick.

"Don't throw it up!" she warned. "It won't work otherwise. Here, lie down…"

Snape gave another suffering moan and slumped back against Cassandra's chest, casually, as though it were something he did regularly.

"This is all your fault," he growled again, glaring up at her. Cassandra merely smiled. Looking into his fathomless eyes reminded her of the thrill she'd felt last night, the rush of excitement as she'd struggled with him. It was a peculiar thing, to enjoy such a sadistic form of romance; surely a Slytherin trait. No Gryffindor could understand the thrill of a physical tussle, the effect of pursuing something seemingly unattainable. If it wasn't bad enough that she'd kissed him, she'd actually, in some sick way, enjoyed it, and that made her guilt worse.

It only took a little while for the potion to kick in and soon Snape was fast asleep, his back against her chest. Cassandra left him napping on his sofa and decided to finally pay a visit to her cottage in Hogsmeade.

This time, she walked the short distance from the castle to the village, relishing the icy winter wind that whipped her hair and face. Her eyes stung and watered but she did not care. It's no less that I deserve, she thought bitterly, glancing at the forbidden forest as she passed it. He was in there somewhere, hiding from the cold and those that sought to hurt him; he, the man she'd betrayed.

Mishka the house elf was ecstatic to Cassandra return.

"Mistress, Mishka has been very worried!" she squeaked, as Cassandra removed her coat and scarf in the hallway. "Mishka was frightened they was overworking mistress!"

"No, Mishka, they weren't," Cassandra sighed. "It was just a little busy, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

She abandoned her outdoor clothing and made her way into the living room, slumping down into the softest armchair. She had to try very had not to think of the last night she had been here, the night she had almost spent with Sirius…

"Mishka will make mistress some cocoa," the house elf was saying happily. "Mistress looks cold."

Cassandra felt cold, though it had little to do with the frosty weather outside. It was a horrible, internal sort of chill that seemed to begin in her heart and emanate outwards, seizing her entire body in a peculiar numbness. She knew it was her own fault. She followed her silly, impassioned impulses at the wrong time and had probably made matters worse.

"Oh, mistress," came Mishka's voice again as she shuffled back into the room, carrying something behind her back. "This arrived yesterday morning."

She handed Cassandra a bunch of fragrant wild flowers, which had been tied together with a long piece of grass. Tucked in the middle of the little bundle was a card; or rather, a piece of parchment folded in half with a dirty paw print on the front. Cassandra nearly dropped the flowers as she fumbled, heart racing, to open it. Inside was a message.

Cassandra,

I'm so sorry. Your elf was right. You've sacrificed everything for me – your home, your career, your reputation… and I just took that for granted. I don't know anyone else who would do that, who would be as patient as you've been with me. I really appreciate it, you know. When this is all, over I shall make it up to you.

I meant what I said about Harry being a priority. But you're my priority too. From now on, I promise I will take better care of you both.

Sorry this took so long for me to say. You'd be surprised how hard it is to steal a quill.

I miss you and I can't wait to hear from you. Write to me. Please

S.

x x x

Cassandra felt physically sick. Why had she not received this a day earlier? If she'd had know this, then no way would she have kissed Snape. Someone out there truly hated her. That, or they just did not want her and Sirius to be together.

She couldn't even bring herself to cry. She had to write something back, she knew it, but what could she say? Should she tell him? No, she decided. That would be the sort of stupid, noble thing a Gryffindor would do. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and as long as she kept her mouth shut, he never would. Severus recalled nothing, that was clear, and she could cope with her own private guilt so long as she learned from it.

Biting her lip in anguish, she conjured up a quill and some parchment and began to write a reply.

My darling,

You have no need to apologise to me. Your actions were not intended to hurt- I know you were only trying to do what's best.

We can be together without neglecting Harry, you know. You don't have to feel so guilty about doing something for yourself every once in a while. You've suffered for so long; give yourself a break.

I think I love you, you know. You're all I ever think about. I hope you think about me too. Write back soon.

With love,

Cassandra.

She re-read what she'd written, still gnawing nervously at her lip. There were a million ways she could tell him she loved him, most of which were probably much more articulate or poetic than what she'd written. Yet her letter was honest and heartfelt, much like something she'd say if she told him face to face. She folded the parchment and handed it silently to Mishka, who was standing attentively besides her, having apparently forgotten her bid to make cocoa. The house elf knew what to do. She took the parchment to the kitchen, where a handsome tawny owl was sitting on a gilded perch, preening her brown feathers.

"Come to Mishka, Lamia," the elf coaxed, holding out a long, skinny arm. The owl clicked her beak and swooped down from her perch, landing neatly on Mishka's shoulder. Mishka attached the letter to the bird's leg. "Lamia must go into the forest and find Mr Sirius Black," she instructed squeakily. "Lamia must wait for a while, to see if he replies. If not, she comes home."

The owl gave a soft hoot of comprehension. Then Mishka opened the kitchen window and the great bird took flight, soaring out into the wintry sky, buffeted by the frosty winds.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Mishka attended to her mistress as dotingly as she could. Mostly, Cassandra said and did very little. She simply sat in her armchair, gazing into the flames that were crackling merrily in the fireplace. Occasionally she would speak, though it was usually only to thank Mishka for the fresh cup of tea. From time to time, she would say things like "Oh, is that the time? I really should get going soon." Yet she never did. Only when the clock struck five and the sky had gone completely dark did she decide to head up to the castle. She had half-hoped that Sirius would have sent her a reply. Then again, she thought, sadly, did she really deserve it?

Once she was bundled up in her coat and scarf, she said farewell to Mishka and apparated back to the Hogwarts gates. They were locked, as they so often were these days, yet it was of no concern to her; Dumbledore had trusted her with the spell to unlock them, which she did, eyeing the two dementors that floated warningly above the gateposts. They paid no attention to her and she passed safely through, trekking carefully up the icy path to the main doors. When she was but metres away, she heard a loud hoot and she stopped dead in her tracks. She glanced nervously around. Out of the darkness of the forest, her faithful owl Lamia flew towards her, dropping a note that she'd held in her beak into Cassandra's gloved hands. Frantically, her heart racing, she fumbled to open the grubby, folded parchment. It read simply:

I love you too.

Take care princess.

Cassandra's stomach knotted with guilt.