Thanks to Sibel88, housepower, Veraani, NC, Stromsten, Supergirl818 and Etoile Black for the reviews. Y'all make my day!

I will try to explain the trap in the house in some other chapter - Cassius himself only just discovered it. But basically, it's just an illusion charm that gave Alicia the impression of being trapped in a free fall, which was why the room turned out to be a small cell, though she was suspended upside-down midair. The falling-bit and the darkness was the illusion.

As for typos... I know, I'm bad. I've gotten lazy with editing recently but I'll work on it!

I suppose I could include other people's POVs, but generally I find myself getting confused when I read stories with too many perspectives. But I'll try to include more minor characters to give them more speaking roles, I can definitely do that.

As usual, read and REVIEW! I'm glad so many of you have favourited/followed the story but it'd be nice to hear some more feedback! Thanks to my reviewers who always have my back though! XOXO

PS

Hope this chapter isn't too... er, smutty for smut's sake. I hate stories like that. Again, critiques are always welcome!

She found him sitting in the living room, still in his boxers, staring blankly into the lit fireplace, puffing out blue rings of smoke as he rhythmically brought his cigarette to his lips. He swirled around a mug of something steaming in his other hand. Tea, judging by the smell. She almost smiled. She hadn't seen him swig anything but whiskey for about a month... She glanced around the room as she walked in, and noticed that the wallpaper was actually a giant family tree, just like the living room at her grandparents' place.

She sat down next to him on the impossibly expensive looking antique upholstered sofa and stared into the fire, pretending that she was all alone. He didn't bother to address her. She thought of Gryffindor common room, and the number of times she stayed up late just to think before the fireplace. How was it that she was now sitting here, in this foreign place so far away from everything she knew? She had changed, she mused, in four months. She feared it wasn't necessarily for the better.

"Tally's set up the guest bedroom for you," he said once he put out his cigarette, and he forced himself to pretend that she wasn't looking at him with hurt in her eyes.

"The guest bedroom," she echoed blankly, turning to look directly at him for the first time.

He swallowed thickly. She was wearing his clothes, had obviously gone through his wardrobe and had picked out the same Falcolns t-shirt he'd tossed at her that night she'd stayed with him in the Slytherin dormitory earlier on in the year. What kind of game was she playing at? He shut his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Merlin's balls, he thought angrily, she even smelled like him. She'd obviously skipped out on the bath and had decided to come after him, still smelling like his soap, the soap she'd used to wipe her face clean of tears when he'd slammed the shower door in her face like a complete prick.

"Fuck you, Cassius," she said suddenly, violently like she used to before they were... whatever they were, but her body conveyed exhaustion and wariness. She looked at him again, this time straight in the eye, and he caught some sort of visible change in her expression, something he couldn't quite place. "Maybe we really should stop seeing each other."

He turned away from her and sipped his tea.

Circe, how many times had they already been through this? They weren't even bloody going out, he thought viciously. They were getting to be worse than Parkinson and Malfoy, who were notoriously on-and-off, sometimes breaking up and making up several times in one day.

Suddenly and quite simultaneously, they both burst into laugher, a terribly quiet and hollow sort of thing that chilled his blood. We're so fucked, he wanted to say, but the whole situation went beyond that. She stood up after they fell silent, and he choked on his tea when he saw that she'd knicked a pair of his boxers. She looked down at him and gave him a small shrug.

"I, er, left my things in your room," she said hesitantly. "I suppose I'll just go and fetch them."

"Right," he said, feeling stupid. He stood up and followed her out of the room and into the corridor, and grimaced as he felt a dozen pair of eyes watching him from the walls.

"Is this the new mistress of the house, then?" one of them asked, a witch by the name of Elizabeth Jacobs who had been the mistress of a great-great-great-great uncle.

Cassius flinched at the word mistress.

"What in the world is she wearing?" one of the other portraits exclaimed in horror as they made their way up the stairs.

"Hmph," another one crowed. "In my day we women were treated with all the finery in the world."

Cassius glared at the portrait of his great-grandfather's mistress, a frosty blonde with an upturned nose who looked suspiciously like a Malfoy. Probably a Malfoy bastard, he thought cruelly. The portrait sneered back at him, before glancing at Alicia, who'd paused to look back at Cassius who'd stopped mid-step.

"You should have a little more self-respect," said the portrait of the blonde to Alicia in what was probably meant to be an sympathetic voice, before glaring at Cassius out of the corner of her eye. "This one looks to have inherited his father's cheapness. Didn't even bother to have a portrait commissioned of his last mistress, that one!"

Cassius opened his mouth to retort, but Alicia beat him to it. She marched down towards the half-way landing where Cassius was standing, and glared at the portrait of the loud-mouthed blonde.

"You shut your mouth," she said icily. "You don't know anything about me and you certainly don't know anything about him. And Cassius isn't cheap. And I'm not his bloody mistress, nor will I ever be, so you can shove that up your lovely, refined ass which I'm sure was once adorned in rubies and sapphires, you great hag."

"Not his mistress?" the portrait retorted haughtily without missing a beat. "You're just a common whore, then. Well I won't waste another breath on you -

"Shut your mouth," said Cassius coldly, "Or I'll move your portrait to the attic. Permanently."

"I can still move about you know," she replied.

"Then I'll cut you out of your frame and burn you," he replied.

"Just like your mother," the portrait sighed. "Not even original enough to come up with your own threats."

Cassius' eyes flashed angrily, and the portrait smirked at him.

"What, think we portraits don't have a memory? I remember that great bitch storming up these stairs, screaming her head off. Don't you, Carmelita?"

Cassius looked up at the last portrait on the wall, scowling darkly at the memory of his mother dragging him up the stairs, threatening the portrait of his grandfather's one-time mistress. Carmelita Gonzalez... Cassius remembered meeting her once as a child, remembered the cold, hushed argument between his father and grandfather when the four of them had run into each other on a muggle street quite by accident. It occurred to him as he looked at all the portraits of young and nubile Warrington mistresses-past that they were all now dead and buried. Long dead and buried, some of them. And here he was, arguing with the portrait of some bitch one of his ancestors had shagged in the last century.

He turned away from the portrait, shaking his head in disgust, and led Alicia up the rest of the stairs in silence.

She walked past him once they reached the second floor landing, and he followed her into his bedroom, ignoring the sparring voices in his head. The smell of lavender wafted into his nose from the bathroom. He peeked into the bathroom, and watched as Alicia gathered her things from the floor. She cursed, for she'd splashed water onto her dress in her haste to chase Cassius down after his little... episode.

She stood up straight and turned to look at him, an awkward, forced smile on her face.

"So," she said in a horrible, fake cheery voice, "Where's the guest bedroom?"

He led her out of the bathroom and opened the door next to it. She let out a low whistle, examining the white-carpeted floor and the lovely four-poster bed with sheer curtains that contrasted with the burgundy and mahogany of Cassius' room.

"Fancy stuff," she said, wandering over to the bed and running her hands over the sheets. Cassius rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, somewhat embarrassed by her admiration of what looked to him like a normal room.

"Well," she said, turning to look at him with a fake smile plastered onto her face. "Good night."

"Good morning," he replied, and instantly regretted it because he sounded like an utter twat. She snorted at the terrible joke, and glanced out the window. It was still pitch dark out, and her body suddenly felt the weight of having been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight.

"Right. Well. Er, good morning," she muttered, feeling stupid.

He nodded stiffly and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. A second later, it opened again and he mumbled, "Just knock or summon Tally if you need anything." He shut the door quickly before she could say reply.

After he left, it took Alicia about five seconds to realize that there was no way she was going to be able to stay inside this house a second longer. It felt surreal to be lying on Cassius' ridiculously plush guest bed, separated from him by a door, staring up at the white curtains pretending that everything was okay when it was not. She needed to go home. She was in London now. She could floo, or take the Knight Bus, or flag down a cab - but she would not and could not stay here for one more second.

For some reason as she slipped on her stockings and garters, she thought about Carson, and she wanted to crawl into a hole and die because she was a terrible, terrible person. She hadn't thought about him all night, not since he'd brawled with Cassius at the ball, and as she put on her shoes, she realized that something would have to give. And right now it looked like she and Cassius were done for good. But what if they weren't? They'd been through this breaking-up thing several times already, and each time they'd come running back to each other, unable to keep away. On the other hand, it wasn't like they were going to be able to keep on seeing each other once school started up again... the project was over and NEWTs were less than six months away and she could only push Carson off for so long before he'd get suspicious over why she didn't want to sleep with him. If she didn't break it off with Cassius now, he certainly would initiate then. As much as Montague had hinted about Cassius being the... sharing type, she somehow couldn't imagine him being delighted with the idea of her hopping from Carson's bed to his and back. Not that she was any more for it. Worse, she couldn't just break up with Carson either... he was a good bloke, he'd taken her to Yule, he'd helped her in school, and he genuinely liked her and she him. Sometimes she felt so close to him it was like Cassius didn't exist - but then the second Cassius came within sight, her double life came back to haunt her, like the incident on the Hogwarts Express.

It was time to end this farce, she thought determinedly as she picked up her clutch and stuffed her gloves inside it. Cassius had done the right thing in sending her to the guest room. He'd recognized them for what they were - a huge, unsolvable problem, the mistake of the century. Well, at least the millennium was just around the corner, she thought wryly.

She had to go home. She would crawl into her own bed, surrounded by her own things, and in the morning she would write to Carson and she would do things right by him. He didn't deserve her. She was scum, and if he never found out about Cassius, she would be the luckiest girl in the world with the kindest, most perfect boyfriend the universe could have ever provided.

She folded Cassius' tshirt and boxers and held them with one hand. Cringing slightly, she eyed her dirty knickers and wondered if she could get away without having to put them back on... her dress was floor-length, it wasn't like anybody would notice... But if there happened to be a draft outside, should she be forced to hail a cab... Or if she had an apparition mishap... They didn't look bad or anything... She shrugged and slipped them back on. There were worse things in life.

Last but not least, she stepped into her dress and dragged it up her body. She held up the front against her chest and took one last look around the room. Pity. It was lovely, really, like a hotel suite. If it weren't for the circumstances, she would have loved to stay the night.

She yawned unhappily before gathering the courage to knock on his door. She steeled her nerves for their confrontation as she waited for him to answer. After a moment of silence, she heard him call out, "Door's unlocked."

"Warrington," she said crisply as she marched as confidently into his room as possible. He looked at her in surprise from his bed, his eyes flashing as his last name tumbled out of her mouth. "I'm going home," she announced as she approached him. She hitched up her dress a little higher and looked away from him, distracted by his near nakedness and the unnerving burn of his gaze, so unwavering and unrevealing. He was irritated that she'd called him Warrington, that much she could gather, but he'd shut down after that. He seemed not to care that she was going to leave - he had yet to move from his bed, and his hands were still propped up behind his head. It was like she'd announced it was dark outside - he had absolutely nothing to say. Good, she thought. Better that way. She dropped his clothes unceremoniously onto the foot of his bed.

"I just need you to lace up the back," she said as professionally as she could, turning around so that he could see the flapping back of her dress. "Then I'll be on my way."

She watched him through the large mirrors that hid his wardrobe, and held her breath as he finally shifted from the bed. He placed an old-looking tome that had been on his lap onto the bedside table, and slowly made his way over to her. He caught her eye in the mirror, his expression stony.

"How are you getting home?" he practically growled, and she felt a shiver crawl down her spine as his hands brushed against her bare back as he reached for the satin laces. She felt her mouth go dry when his fingertips stroked her skin every few seconds as he threaded the laces up the back of the dress.

"Floo," she managed to spit out, trying to keep her voice neutral and confident. She let out a harsh breath when he tugged on the laces, bringing the bodice together, his eyes watching her through the mirror. Her face was flushed, her breathing terribly erratic, and she desperately wanted to go home before it was too late. But of course it was too late, it had been too late the second she'd made the stupid decision to come to this house. They always played this stupid push-and-pull game. She could have easily summoned Tally to do up her laces and she could have just as easily left his house without alerting him of her absence until the morning. She felt a rush of heat pump through her veins when one of his hands skimmed her shoulder blades to brush her hair out of the way so that he could tie the laces without tying her hair with them. His expression darkened, his pupils growing wide as his fingers skimmed her collarbones when he pushed her hair over her shoulders with his free hand, and Alicia watched him lick his lips through the mirror. He stared back at her as though he might devour her.

"Every fucking time," he ground out harshly, and she let out a soft cry when he released the laces of her dress. With one sharp inhale, she felt the laces come flying apart, and the hand that had been on her shoulder slipped down her side and cupped her breast while the other violently tugged the dress down, past her waist until it pooled itself at her feet. "Fucking hell," he choked, staring at her through the mirror, unable to help himself.

She was naked waist up, as he'd known she'd been, her small round breasts having been held up by the bodice of the dress. But below... he'd forgotten about her lace knickers and white garters and those nude stockings that he knew she'd been wearing because when he'd released her from the trap room downstairs, she'd been suspended upside down, legs in the air. Her hair was down now, still somewhat damp from her impromptu shower, and she smelled like him and looked so fucking sexy and it was beyond the most intoxicating thing he'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing, even if all she was doing was standing there, held firmly in place by his grip on her waist and on her breast.

"Why the hell," he managed to say as he began to kiss her on the back of the neck, "Are you wearing garters?"

"Hose is ugly," she squealed as he dragged his teeth across her shoulder.

His eyes flashed, and she froze under his reflection's gaze.

"And who were you planning on showing these off to?" he demanded heatedly, tugging on one of the garters and snapping it against her skin. She gasped out his name, and he smiled possessively at her.

"And how did you know that you were going to see me?" he asked as he gave her nipple a rough tweak. She let out a beautiful moan, and Cassius pushed his hips against her to meet her lace-covered bottom.

"I didn't!" she gasped, "My gran said you can't wear ugly underthings under a pretty dress."

"Smart woman," he said as his hand dipped below the waistline of her panties. He hissed out a string of curses as smooth instead of the usual shaven flesh met his callused hand, the tips of his fingers skimming a pool of moisture.

She let out a gasp of disappointment when he suddenly pulled away from her and stepped back. She turned around, covering herself in embarrassment, and bent down to grab her dress, utterly humiliated and enraged.

"Alicia -

"Fuck you," she snarled.

"You're so impatient," he said in a low, scolding tone, grabbing her by the arm to force her up.

"Let go of me!"

He took her by both arms and forced her to look at him.

"I want you to touch yourself."

The room fell dead silent, and Alicia felt the bright red spots of anger on her cheek join the flush of embarrassment that suddenly took over her from chest-up. He looked down at her, amusement tugging on his lips. He backed away from her and sank down onto the lone armchair that was parked by the window, his eyes dark, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Had she heard correctly? He couldn't actually be serious. And yet there he was, sprawled out so elegantly on his chair, watching her as though he were waiting for some kind of show.

"You're mad," she breathed, clutching her dress to her chest even tighter in a protective gesture.

"And you're looking sexy as hell," he snorted. "So if this is going to be the last time, might as well make the most of it."

The last time.

The words hang heavily in the air.

Yet how many times had they said that?

Just about every time, after every kiss, after every time they met. Just this once, we'll stop after this - yeah right.

"I'm not doing it," she said stubbornly, her nose upturned.

"You'll do it," he said in a low voice, with a cheshire grin, "And afterwards, I'm going to fuck your brains out. You won't walk straight for a week. You'll never forget me, Spinnet. I'm going to do bad, bad things to you."

"And you'll never forget me, Warrington," she retorted hotly, suddenly blinking back tears.

He looked at her sharply, and for a second she saw a ghost of sadness flicker across his face. Then, just as quickly, he flashed her a dark grin, waving his hand imperiously before him, gesturing at her to begin.

"I can't," she said softly.

"You can," he replied. "I know you can. You don't think I forgot all about that book of yours, do you?"

The Book.

Good lord, how could she have forgotten? The thing that had started it all. She stared at him, eyes wide, remembering how he'd teased her, flicking through the book, taking in it's filthy contents. Reading it out lout to her in the stairwell where anybody could have heard.

Detention. They'd gotten detention for being late.

Their first civil conversation.

Four months. It had only been four months ago.

"Dungeons."

She blinked, brought back to earth by the sound of his gravelly voice.

"What?"

He looked at her pointedly, a small smirk on his face.

"I said you had a thing for dungeons. A lot of... bondage going on in those stories."

She flushed in embarrassment, and he let out one of his rare laughs.

"If it helps," he said, "I'll do it to."

She looked at him for a second in confusion, and made a face when comprehension dawned on her, squealing in disgust.

"Ew, I don't want to watch you - do that!"

"Do what, masturbate? Say it with me, babe -

"Cassius!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, you can read about it but you can't call it for what it is?" he said mockingly.

He stood up, and she screeched as he suddenly lunged forward and tackled her, tossing her onto his bed, his fingers wiggling as they reached out to tickle her sides.

"Cassius! S-stop! No m-more!"

"More? You want more? Well why didn't you say so?"

"N-no!" she wailed, laughing so hard that it hurt, "N-no more!"

She laughed hysterically as he held her down with his weight, one of his hands pinning her hands down against the mattress while the other made its way up her side, until he was tickling her armpits.

"Say it, babe - masturbate -

"N-no!"

"Well, I guess I can't stop!"

"Oh god, it hurts!"

"Masturbate," he repeated with a big teasing grin, enunciating each syllable for her.

"Alright! Alright, s-stop! M-MASTURBATE! God, you're such an arse!" she said, giggling even after his fingers came to a halt.

His hand slid away from her side, but he kept her pinned to the bed, his hands joining hers, and she looked up at him as their fingers intertwined. She blushed as his eyes traveled from her navel to her breasts, lingering for a moment before meeting her gaze. She let out a small gasp as she felt his stiffness against her when he shifted over her. He groaned as she bumped up her hips.

She sighed in relief when he bent down to kiss her, and he rolled them over until he was lying on his back, while she straddled his waist and looked down at him.

"Come here," he groaned, dragging her down for a kiss. "Now go stand over there and give me a show," he demanded with a grin, shoving her off of him with a playful push.

He watched silently as she reluctantly crawled off the bed and crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child.

"No."

"You mean yes," he said smoothly as he followed her off the bed and plopped himself back down on the armchair. He smirked at her knowingly. "Anyway, you wouldn't have gotten off the bed if you didn't want to do it so really, you're just being difficult and -

His voice trailed off as she suddenly flashed him an embarrassed but sultry look, if such a thing were even possible, while she ran a perfect manicured finger over her knickers before slipping it under the elastic.

"Fuuuuuck," Cassius hissed as he watched part of her hand disappear under the lacy fabric.

"Like that?" she whispered.

"Like that," he groaned as she let out a high whimper. "Take off your knickers - no, slowly - slower than that. That's it. Turn around and bend over while you take them off."

He gripped himself tightly, his left hand stroking himself while his right hand gripped the armchair as she peeked at him from over her shoulder, shimmying out of her knickers.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a great arse?"

"Yeah, you. All the time," she said snottily, and he smiled to himself. Now there was Alicia the lioness.

"Fuck, you look hot," he muttered, mostly to himself, his eyes glued to the white garters that held up her stockings. She was quite nude otherwise, and he'd never seen anything so fabulous.

She turned around shyly, and was startled to find that he was touching himself. Masturbating, she thought, giggling out loud.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, suddenly realizing that she was now utterly naked except for the garter belt, her stockings and shoes. She flushed under his heated gaze, but obeyed him with only a slight hesitation when he beckoned her over towards him.

She stepped in between his legs, covering herself despite his apparent irritation with the fact.

"Why so modest?" he asked mockingly. "On the floor, beautiful."

She swallowed hard, every nerve in her body on fire as Cassius stood up and forced her to sink down to the floor when she hadn't budged immediately. She found herself on her knees, and he gently slid his foot between her knees and ordered her to separate them.

"Sit up," he growled, and she found herself quick to obey. He hummed in pleasure.

"Not such a mouthy little Gryffindor now, are you?" he said with a small, smug grin of satisfaction. Suddenly, she gave him a dark look, a familiar look that he was used to seeing on her during a Quidditch game, and he let out a string of swear words as he watched her lean back onto one hand and pleasure herself with the other. She looked up at him triumphantly, even as she writhed under the work of her own hand. He tightened his strokes as she licked her lips in concentration.

"You think you're such a big, bad Slytherin? You think you can boss me around?" she said, meeting his gaze. "I'll have you know that I'm just letting you -

"O-ho," he said in a low voice, "Letting me? I don't think I can boss you around, sweetheart, I know I can," Cassius replied, bending over and snapping her garter against her thigh. She let out a squeal, and he smirked at the angry red mark that appeared on her skin.

Suddenly, he had enough. It'd been too long. He'd been too patient. He'd tortured himself enough. He'd watched her dance about all night, so tempting and terribly out of reach in her lovely dress. He'd spent too many drunken nights in bed alone, hand down his pants as he pretended he wasn't thinking of her. He'd already told her in a moment of folly that he'd loved her. She'd as good as told him the same thing back in the music room at Hogwarts all those nights ago. There was nothing left to be said between them anymore. This was it, the Last Night. And he'd just about had it with waiting.

He slid down from the armchair and bent forward until he could kiss the inside of her thighs. She slid a hand into his hair, and he drew the other one into his mouth, groaning at the taste of her. She cried out his name, wailing obscenities as he leaned forward to lick her swollen, glistening nub while sliding his thumb into her core.

He scooped her up into his arms before she could come and roughly tossed her onto the bed despite her angry protests at having been denied an orgasm. She looked up at him, and he ordered her to stay put as he quickly cast a contraceptive charm before crawling onto the bed over her. He slid into her without warning in one fluid movement, and Cassius groaned as she bucked wildly against him, her legs locked around his waist as she forced him to pound into her as she came.

"Already?" he gasped as he pulled out of her and turned her over onto her knees. She looked at him over her shoulder to say something, but let out a moan instead as he slid into her again.

He didn't let up until it was six o'clock, and was convinced that he might not ever have children if they continued.

When Alicia awoke, there was light streaming in through the windows, and she was terribly alone. It took her a moment to realize that the large bed she found herself in was not in fact her bed at the Villa, but was rather Cassius' bed in his... family home for Warrington mistresses.

The word left a sour tang in the back of her throat.

Mistress.

She was his bloody mistress.

She looked around the room, and found it utterly devoid of personality. Cassius' school trunk was pushed up against the wall, and she recalled that his wardrobe had been rather empty, obviously only containing whatever had been inside of his trunk. He'd probably only just moved in, she thought, as she crawled out of the bed.

She walked over to his desk, and examined the books with curiosity. They were old tomes, handwritten, some of them in French, some of them even in old French. One of them was familiar, a newer book that Alicia was unfortunately well-acquainted with due to the time she'd spent with it while researching for the project. She glanced at the neat pile of parchment with Cassius' writing on it.

Blood magic. He was researching blood magic. But why? Their project was over, along with their relationship. Speaking of which, where were her clothes? She had to get home, her parents were probably frantic if her grandparents had the decency to inform them that Alicia had run away.

She dropped his notes, just as the door swung open, and Cassius sauntered in carrying a glass of orange juice. He froze when he saw her standing by his desk.

"What are you doing?" he barked, striding over to her, visibly angry. She glared at him, startled, as he reached past her and snatched the stack of parchment of his desk.

"Nothing! What crawled up your arse and died?"

She looked up at him fearfully when he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes blazing.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing!" she spat angrily. "Get off me, how dare you -

She was going to be late. She was going to be late, and the girls would kill her, never mind that killing her would defeat the purpose of seeing her after all those months she'd been in school. She hunched herself forward, bracing herself against the cold as she drew further into her coat while a gust of wind raged past her. Suddenly, a man walking past her in the opposite direction grabbed her by the shoulder, his grip firm and unrelenting as his gaze bore into her eyes while he groped her chest for a moment, before walking on as though nothing had happened, leaving her to stare at his retreating back, frozen by fear and horror and disbelief.

Cassius stared down at Alicia's crumpled face in horror, and anger surged through him as he recalled what he had just witnessed. She stared blankly at him, her gaze cold and shuttered, and he let out a grunt of pain as her palm suddenly connected with his face.

"You bastard," she breathed, her voice tight and enraged. "You're a legillimens - I - I -

"Alicia -

She shoved him hard, just like she did during Quidditch, and Cassius let out another grunt as the glass shattered in his hand from the force of his grip. He called after her, his heart clenching painfully as she stormed naked around the room in search of her belongings, furious tears leaking out of her eyes as she brushed them away in rage.

"Fuck you!" she screamed, hurling a shoe at him. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you -

She threw open the mirrored doors that revealed his wardrobe, and yanked out her dress that hung next to his dress robes. She whirled around, almost sensing his approach, and gave him another violent shove.

"Get the fuck away from me," she shrieked. "How dare you, how fucking dare you - I could kill you - Oh god." She broke down into a sob and turned away from him, crumpling onto the floor like a broken rag doll.

He'd fucked up. He'd royally fucked up.

"I'm sorry," he croaked helplessly, and she let out a string of insults that he undoubtedly deserved.

"How could you," she gasped, looking at him for the first time. "You bastard, how fucking long have you been doing that to me? How could you, how could you -

"I haven't -

"How do I know that?" she shouted furiously.

"Because I fucking suck!" he snapped. "If I wasn't so fucking shite at it, you think that would have happened? You wouldn't have even noticed - "

"That doesn't excuse the fact! Do you have any idea how it feels, to have somebody just tear your mind apart -

"Yeah, actually, I fucking do," Cassius snarled.

She gave him a strange look and he swallowed.

"Then you shouldn't have done it to me, if you know how it feels to be - to be violated like that," she said quietly, unevenly as she hiccoughed through her tears.

"I'm sorry," he replied gravely, angrily, furious with himself for his foolishness. Violated. The word made him feel like a monster, and his heart shrivelled inside his chest at the way she looked up at him, as though he were nothing. Violated. She felt violated. She probably felt worse now than when the sonofabitch from her memory had come out and groped her. He clenched his teeth in rage. At least the man had been a stranger, some fucking bum on the street. But he hadn't meant to - he'd done it out of panic, without thinking - if she found out about Florrie and Evan... And now she felt violated. Would never trust him again, probably. Not that it mattered, he thought, angst welling inside of him. She would have to take the next train out of his life today, preferably for good. He was poison to her, here was the proof.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she said numbly, as though to accentuate the fact.

"I know it isn't," he answered.

She looked up at him, and glanced down at his bloody hand for the first time, before looking aside.

"I need you to go away," she said softly, tonelessly, hugging her knees to her chest in a protective gesture. "I don't want to see you again. Just... just let me get dressed and I'll leave right away -

"Don't go," he choked out, hating himself for how petulant he sounded.

She bowed her head, crying silently this time, and Cassius wanted to kill somebody. Chiefly, himself. He lowered himself to his knees so that he could be face-to-face with her, pleadingly, calling her name, but she continued to sob into her arms, shaking her head violently whenever he said her name. He reached out to touch her, and she let out a cry and scrambled backwards as though terrified, and he felt something inside him break.

He stood up shakily and took a deep breath, unable to look away from her despite wanting to vomit each time she let out a shuddering sob.

"Okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm going. You can ask Tally for the Floo Powder. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He winced, feeling the pain in his hand for the first time. Sobriety could go suck it. If there was ever a time he'd needed a drink, it was now.

Once she was sure that he was gone, Alicia looked up and around, brushing the back of her hand against her eyes. She took a deep shuddering breath to calm herself down.

It was time to leave. For good this time.

She called for Tally, and the elf appeared in the room, looking around at the mess with wide, frightened eyes.

"Yes, miss?"

"I need you to help me with my dress," she said distantly, holding the front of the dress against her chest.

"Yes, miss," the elf squeaked. It snapped its fingers and the laces looped themselves through the holes, tying into a bow at the top.

"I also need floo powder," she said. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Yes miss."

"Oh. By the way, is - is your master gone?"

"Yes, miss."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll see you in a bit."

The elf disappeared with a loud crack and Alicia fingered her wand inside of the hidden pocket in her dress. It was time to learn some Occlumency.

She took one last look around the room to make sure she hadn't left anything behind, before hurrying towards the door. She cringed as her hand came into contact with something wet and sticky on the doorknob. She looked at her hand in horror. Blood. His blood. She looked around to see if there was something she could wipe her hand on, and her eyes fell on a piece of parchment on Cassius' desk that he had apparently failed to collect.

She walked over towards the desk, curiosity flaring. What was it that had caused him to go berserk and try to legillimens her? What was he hiding? Something about blood magic, obviously. She picked up the piece of parchment, wiping her hand against the blank side facing her, before turning it over in case there was something on the other side.

She stared down at the crest, a carefully drawn coat of arms consisting of a blue shield with a gold chevron in between three silver roses. It was surrounded by two hyppogriffs on each side and a helmet on top, with a terrifying black space where there ought to have been a face, and intricately drawn vines and the usual bits one found on old family crests.

Rosier.

Delapsus resurgam.

What in the hell was Cassius up to?

Well? Whaddaya guys think? I'm still all nervous about writing smut but I think (and hope) it was okay!

-Coalhaus