Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, events and/or places that are recognized as being written and created by J.K. Rowling. J.K. Rowling owns all the characters and places from the Harry Potter books including the ones used in this story.

A/N: Thank you VERY much to everyone who reviewed!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am glad that people are still reading my little/long story, lol! Enjoy! :D

"Do you like being the head of house?" Clea asked Snape, breaking a silence that she felt had lingered to long between them. The two had been walking around the cold, long dungeon hallways, not going anywhere in particular, but not wishing to really stop.

The last two weeks of August dragged on at an enjoyably steady pace. Clea spent most of the days inside her office, pacing the length of the room while going over different runes and planning her classes.

Every other morning she visited Hagrid and talked about his plans for Care of Magical Creatures. Most of their conversations went no where because Hagrid felt it necessary to keep everything a secret, causing Clea to suppress her annoyance and constantly point out that he can tell her anything because she wasn't one of his students. No matter how many times Clea said this however, Hagrid's mouth stayed zipped. Slowly, during every talk, the topic would switch from magical creatures, to what they both really had upfront in their minds, Harry. Clea felt like a child, on the edge of her seat, mouth almost touching the floor whenever Hagrid told her a story about Harry's first two years at Hogwarts.

What disturbed Clea the most about these last two weeks though, what unhinged her and made her mind swirl, was that every other free morning, every other free moment, every time she took a breath away from dusty runes, Clea found herself somewhere in the castle; and always with Snape.

Half of the time they didn't even talk to each other. They would just sit in one of their offices, usually Snape's, and work in silence; sharing awkward glances in between busy thoughts. When they did talk, neither one brought up the past or the future, or even why they seemed to crave the others presence; Clea felt dirty.

Snape shrugged his shoulders at Clea's question. "Somebody has to do it," he said. Clea smiled. Snape was always so perfect at masking his true thoughts.

"You love it," she said, in a deep voice, and swinging her hip so that it collided with Snape's, causing him to waver off of his course slightly. The corner of Snape's mouth twitched upward.

Clea spent hours of her day staring at the pages of books, eyes drifting over blurry words and constantly thinking about why she felt so comfortable around Snape and what it was about her that made him seek out her company as well. If Sirius ever found out about those thoughts, he would come out of hiding just to shoot her a disgusted face.

After what felt like a century, September First finally arrived. Feeling like a compound of nervous energy, Clea spent the first half of the day deciding what she should wear. The last time she had this problem was when she was getting ready to teach her very first class ever.

With the urge to vomit slowly rising, Clea sat down on the floor in the middle of her bedroom and pulled her legs close to her chest. She stared ahead into her closet, her eyes going in and out of focus.

She started to mentally list the range of emotions running through her body. She felt happy and delighted in the fact that in just a few hours she would finally get to see Harry. He wasn't going to recognize her, of course, but that didn't matter; just seeing him was enough to make her head swell with joy.

Through her happy thoughts, Clea also couldn't hide the fact that she was terrified for Harry. If Sirius was after him, it couldn't be for a good reason; and Clea was positive that less to nothing would keep Sirius from getting to him.

Noticing the time, Clea quickly grabbed the first thing her fingers came into contact with, threw it on and made her way down to the Great Hall.

The four long house tables had been returned to their places and an equally long staff table stretched across the back of the room.

Clea instinctively walked over to her old seat at the Slytherin table. Her footsteps echoed loudly around the empty room. When a foreign echo began to accompany her own, Clea spun around and found Dumbledore gliding towards her.

"Ready, Cleopatra?" Dumbledore asked, smiling mischievously at her.

Clea shook her head. "I'm so nervous," she said, hoping to find some reassurance in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Everything is going to be fine, Professor Black," Dumbledore said, putting his arm around Clea's shoulders and guiding her over towards a door in the back corner of the hall.

"I wanted to discuss that with you, Headmaster. At Beauxbatons, my last name was Patra because, well, because I didn't want to be known as Black," Clea said. Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to face Clea. "And now that Sirius is...known again," Clea continued; "I think that it would be extremely more relaxing for everyone, if I went by Professor Patra here too."

Dumbledore stared at Clea in silence for a moment. "I know you want to hide, Cleopatra," Dumbledore finally spoke; "but you shouldn't change yourself because of someone else's mistake."

"Please, Albus, just consider it," Clea pleaded, batting her eyelashes for effect.

Dumbledore put his arm around Clea's shoulders again and continued walking. "Everything will be fine," he said, his eyes glittering under their half moon spectacles. "Come and wait in here. There is still about a half an hour until the students arrive."

Dumbledore led Clea into a small room to the right of the Great Hall.

Inside, all the other Professors were waiting and chatting to each other. Clea instinctively started to walk over to Snape. She was about half way towards him when Snape looked at her, made a grim sort of face and briskly walked away. Clea felt utterly confused. She exhaled heavily as she turned and made her way over to the next closest body, Professor Sprout, standing in the opposite corner.

Clea quickly decided that Snape must have some weird menacing image to up hold during school and couldn't afford to be seen smiling with some woman professor. She rolled her eyes, and shook away her strange feelings of disappointment.

Sprout, happy to see a new friendly face on the staff, launched into stories about a rare plant she found over the summer, and the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

"Harry's a seeker!? That's impressive," Clea squealed, after Sprout told her that Harry played Quidditch for Gryffindor.

"Oh! Come on dear," Sprout said suddenly, looking around the room. Clea followed Sprouts wild look and also noticed that the room had become void of other people. "Let's get out to the hall," Sprout continued, pushing Clea's back gently, so that she would start walking.

Clea stepped ahead of Sprout and out of the room. She clasped her hands tightly together, trying her hardest to make them stop shaking.

"That's your chair, right there," Sprout said, pointing over Clea's shoulders at an empty seat in between Snape and another vacant chair.

Snape was sitting up perfectly straight in his own chair. When he saw Clea, Snape once again gave her the same menacing, grim face and then faced the front of the hall.

Mentally Clea started to run through everything she had said to Snape in the past twenty four hours that would make him look at her like she was leaving forever; not one moment came to mind.

She didn't want to look at him anymore. Clea shook her head so that her hair fell across her eyes. A tall man passed Clea on the right, bumping into her elbow and sat down in the open seat farthest from Snape.

Pushing hair away, Clea refocused her eyes on the back of the new, unfamiliar professor, now sitting next to her chair. As if he knew she was looking at him, the man sat back, unblocking himself from Clea's view.

The sounds of mumbling voices and echoing footsteps in the Great Hall all of a sudden were replaced in Clea's ear by the loud banging of her heart inside her chest. Every emotion, every thought she had a moment ago completely vanished, and she was unable to move or even breathe.

The man was staring straight ahead. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, causing the light above him to illuminate the few strands of gray that was mixed in with his natural light brown.

Clea could only see the left side of his face, where she clearly saw the beginnings of three long, light red scars that stretched across his tired, yet young face.

Clea stood there staring, her eyes widening. There was three feet between the two of them, but it could have very well been a thirty foot long canyon.

Suddenly Clea spun around with the intent of running as far away as her legs could carry her, but instead, she collided with Professor Sprout, who was still standing behind her.

"Are you ok, Cleopatra?" Sprout asked her.

Clea nodded her head and rocked back and forth, trying to get by.

"You're not ok." Sprout grabbed Clea's arm, stopping her from leaving. Clea tried to pull away but Sprout's rough, grubby hands were clenched shut around Clea's wrist.

"You're face is so pale, dear. Madam Pomfrey!" Sprout called Madam Pomfrey over, who jumped up at the call of duty, and ran down to where Sprout and Clea were standing.

"Oh my!" Madam Pomfrey said when she got to Clea. "Are you going to be sick?" she asked, placing her hand on Clea's forehead.

"I'm fine," Clea said, unable to hide the trembling in her voice. "Just let me go," she said, slightly pleading.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Filch called over the staff table. "Professor McGonagall needs you to meet her in her office. Potter needs looking at."

Madam Promfrey nodded her head and grabbed Clea's other wrist. "Come with me," she said sternly, dragging Clea away.

Clea's pleads to be left alone were blocked out by the loud stampede of students suddenly spilling into the Great Hall.

Pomfrey led Clea all the way to the infirmary. Half way there, Clea gave up trying to struggle free and allowed Pomfrey to take her wherever she wanted.

"Wait in here. I'll be right back," Madam Pomfrey ordered, before she let go of Clea and sped off towards McGonagall's office.

Clea sighed with frustration. She thought Pomfrey was taking her to see Harry, not to wait alone in the hospital wing.

She quickly decided to leave and return to the Great Hall. As Clea opened the door to exit the infirmary, the weight of why she was here in the first place hit here.

"Remus..." Clea whispered to herself.

Clea walked across the infirmary and sat down on one of the beds. She pawed at the white drapes that were hanging perfectly pressed against the wall. As she dragged her fingers down the edge, she remembered when she snuck in here to visit Remus, and for the fist time sat so close to him his breath became hers. She could almost feel his hands on her arms.

Clea started thinking about the Remus Lupin she saw in the Great Hall moments ago. She only saw half of his face, and through the pale, ill-looking skin, he was as handsome as ever.

Sighing, Clea sank her face into her hands. Why did I want to run away!? She screamed inside her head.

"Cleopatra, do you need anything?"

Clea looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who was talking in an unusual sweet voice. Clea shook her head.

"Potter's ok; he was attacked by a dementor on the train,"—Clea gasped—"but...Lupin, helped him." Clea's face relaxed into a relieved smile, but she felt weak at the mention of Remus's name.

"As I walked back here from McGonagall's office," Pomfrey continued; "I realized that you're not sick...physically. So you can go."

Clea smiled again and nodded at Pomfrey, who shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Clea heard an enormous amount of clapping seeping out of the Great Hall, as she stood inside the small room she was in before. She had her ear pressed against the door, waiting for the right moment to sneak in.

"Well, I think that is everything of importance," Clea heard Dumbledore say. "Let the feast begin!"

Clea held her breath, and slowly opened the door. With one glance, she saw everyone busy eating and laughing; which meant she could sneak into her seat without hundreds of little eyes following her.

Clea quietly made her way down the table and sunk into her chair, turning to face Remus. She was so close to him now.

She reached a steady finger out and prodded Remus's cheek. Feeling warm flesh raised slightly at the top, where her fingertip pressed against the bottom of a scar, and the gnashing of busy teeth, Clea with drew her finger. She just wanted to make sure he was real.

Remus was eating extremely fast and didn't even glance in her direction, or give a sign that he didn't appreciate having his face jabbed at while he was eating. Clea fought down the urge to cry.

"Eat something, Cleopatra," Snape whispered close to Clea's ear. Clea spun her head around.

She stared at him, forgetting who he was for a second. "I missed everything Dumbledore said."

"He introduced you as Professor Patra," Snape said, glaring over Clea's head at Remus.

Clea smiled slightly and faced her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus eating politely but fast and devouring every crumb.

Her eyes drifted across the house tables and stopped at Gryffindor. She smiled brightly when she saw a boy with messy black hair and glasses laughing and talking in a sea of red heads.

"He looks just like James," she whispered to herself.

"He has Lily's eyes."

Clea dragged her head slowly towards Remus, who was also looking at Harry. Remus's voice was more harsh and raspy than she remembered; still, tingles ran up and down her spine upon hearing it.

Remus's eyes met Clea's for a moment, before he returned to his food. They were misty blue and deep.

Clea picked up a piece of chicken and began to eat. She looked at Snape, but he seemed to be trying to ignore her.

After a while, Dumbledore stood up and announced that the feast was over and everyone can make their way to their common rooms.

Clea backed her chair up a couple of inches and shifter her legs so that her whole body was now facing Remus. "Aren't you going to say anything to me?" she asked him, in a small, far-away voice.

Remus's neck creaked slightly as he turned his head, so that his eyes melted into Clea's; she felt her mouth go dry.

"It's nice to see you, Clea," Remus said. He got up from his seat and quickly walked out of the Hall; leaving Clea dry-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring at an empty space.