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.
Clea's knees burned with a tight pain from being squashed together, calves buckled underneath. Ignoring the excruciating process of having the bottom half of her legs fall off from lack of circulation, she stayed where she was; kneeling on an old hard wooden chair in front of Remus's desk.
The top half of Clea's body was draped, almost elegantly, over the desktop. Her arms curled around her head, and her fingers tangled in a mess of black hair.
She was shaking. Tears, large and sharp, streamed down from her eyes, landing with soft splashes on the wood.
Remus sat in front of her, behind his desk, back rigid and straight. His elbows, covered in the mismatched patches on his old sweater, were propped up, helping his bandaged hands hide his reddening face.
Slowly, Remus pulled his hands down; teasingly uncovering portions of his face until they fell with a thump next to Clea's head.
"And...And," Remus stuttered, through watery eyes. "He had this awful red bag!"
Clea exploded with a fresh wave of laughter and sat back, slamming her spine into the corner of her chair.
She twisted around in her seat and threw her legs over the armrest, allowing a river of blood to finely pass freely through the strained veins under her knee caps.
Remus's right hand was cupped over his mouth, stifling his own laughter. He rocked back and forth, trying with all his might to contain himself; but looking completely insane, nonetheless.
Clea's howl slowly decreased to whimpers, which became attempts to grasp enough oxygen to refill her deflated lungs.
Clea sighed satisfied and happy. "Ok Remus. Find another boggart. Bring Neville Longbottom here. And I'll go get my camera."
Remus laughed deeply. "I believe that it is against school rules for a professor to use a student's fear as a form of amusement."
Clea shrugged her shoulders and giggled, a wild look sliding through her brown eyes.
"Want some more wine?" Remus asked her, thoroughly enjoying seeing her laugh and knowing perfectly well that more intoxicants would only further her amusing giddiness.
Nodding, Clea moved her glass to catch the waterfall of rose colored wine flowing majestically from Remus's wand.
During dinner earlier, Remus sat down next to Clea and pulled her ear close to his mouth. Remus whispered stealth like, that he had to talk to Clea in private and that she should come to his office immediately following this meal. Clea agreed simply because she found Remus's shadow of repressed laughter enticing. She never expected to hear about a certain boggart appearing as a certain Potions Master, in a dress.
Clea recoiled back into her chair, tasting her wine and letting a few drops linger on her tongue before they slid down her throat. "That used to be your favorite charm, right?" Clea said, apprehensively and indicating the stream of wine falling into Remus's glass.
"Yes," Remus said, his eyes flashing dark for a moment. "My favorite drink too; until Wolfsbane, of course."
"God bless the potion maker," Clea shouted, smiling cheerfully. She raised her glass high, and then downed its contents.
She and Remus laughed slightly, but both were really overturning memories in their heads of the horrible times, right before the full moon, when Remus would drink huge amounts of any type of alcohol to relax his mind before the pain of having it, and his human form, ripped away.
"Poor Neville," Remus said, changing the subject. "Snape's really going to hate him now; probably detest his very existence."
"Well maybe if Snape wasn't so menacing and...cruel to his students, maybe Neville wouldn't be so frightened of him."
Remus nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "He likes having power over them."
"I'd bet," Clea said, leaning forward in her seat. "His behavior today is ALL a result of the way Sirius and James treated him." Clea made a face like she just discovered a new form of oil, and wagged her finger at Remus.
"You're a genius," Remus said, smiling.
"I, hic, know." Clea dipped her finger into her glass, mopping up the few drops left that were too weak to make there way completely out on their own.
Remus lounged back in his chair, taking in his entire view of Clea. Clea flashed a quick unnoticed glance at him. He had that look deep in his eyes like he was contemplating ripping his desk in half, and anything else that stood in the way of him and her.
"Remus?" Clea asked, looking at him and raising one eyebrow. "What are you thinking about?"
Remus blushed. Clea could see him mentally telling the hormonal wolf in his head to settle down. "Did you read the Daily Prophet today?" he asked her.
"I never read the paper," Clea started to say, but new thoughts halted her speech. "Except that one back in August that was sent to me. Did you send it to me?"
Remus's mouth pursed with a puzzling look. "No," he said. Then added in a softer voice, "I barley had enough money to buy myself one."
Clea looked down at her lap and then back up to Remus. "Will you let me buy you new robes?" she blurted out. Remus started to sigh. "Not because I think you need them...that badly or because I'm pitying you in anyway. I want to buy them for you."
"The Daily Prophet said that someone spotted Sirius," Remus said, abruptly bringing their conversation back on track.
"What!?" Clea shouted, bolting up straight in her chair. "Where?"
"Pretty close to here. It was a Muggle who saw him, so by the time the news reached the ministry, it was too late."
Clea's face became an unusual shade of white. "He is coming to Hogwarts, isn't he? He knows Harry's here."
Remus nodded, with sadness and a grave sense of anger.
"Remus," Clea started, pushing stray hair out of her eyes, and suddenly feeling the shock of being sober. "Are you going to tell Harry who you are? You know, that you were friends with James."
"I don't know," Remus answered, running his fingers through his hair and silently thinking for another moment. "Maybe."
"I talked to him last night," Clea said, circling her finger around the rim of her empty wine glass. "But I couldn't do it. I wanted to, but the words sounded catastrophic in my head."
Remus blinked slowly; a sign Clea knew was agreement.
"Hi," Clea said, in a false overly bright voice. "My name is Cleopatra Black. Yeah, that's right, Black. I'm the younger sister of that deranged convict who was the reason your parents were killed, (you're mother was my best friend in the whole entire world, by the way), and is now after you. Give me a hug!"
Remus's eyebrows became lost in his bangs. "He might panic if you say that; just a little."
Clea laughed through an enormous yawn. She stood up and stretched her arms out so far that the sound of cracking joints echoed through the room. "What time is it?"
Remus pushed back the sleeve of his sweater and focused his eyes. "About midnight."
"Wow," Clea said, giggling. "We're way past curfew."
Remus laughed and walked around his desk to where Clea was. "I don't think Filch could threaten you with detention anymore."
"You never know," Clea said brushing Remus's bangs away from his face. "Actually you wouldn't know, would you?"
"I was a prefect for a reason. Come on," he said, grabbing Clea's hand before it fell away from his face. "I'll walk you down to you room."
Clea stretched her fingers into Remus's. "Afraid Sirius Black is going to come and kidnap me while I walk the ten feet back to my room?"
Remus looked down at her and smiled slyly. His lanky fingers curled tighter around her hand, squeezing it gently.
000
"Come on Severus; talk to me," Clea whined as she sat cross legged on the stony dungeon floor of Snape's office.
"I'm busy, Cleopatra," Snape said, in his usual sinisterly silky voice. Snape walked away briskly from a large cauldron that was bubbling slightly around the edges, and over to a large cabinet behind his desk.
The days had gone by faster than Clea thought they would. Before she realized, it was the last weekend of October; tomorrow was Halloween.
Practically every night, Clea would go to Remus's office. The two of them would sit and talk about their classes and students until their eyes became puffy slits that opened and closed at ten second intervals. Then Remus would walk Clea back to her room, holding her hand tightly in his own. He always gave Clea this look that made her knees buckle, but then, to her slight disappointment, he would turn back around and leave.
Snape, on the other hand, hadn't been very keen on interacting with anyone since the boggart. Not that he ever really interacted with anyone in the first place; and Clea got on Snape's bad side all by herself.
"I'm sorry, ok?" Clea said through giggles. "It was a joke!"
"It wasn't funny." Snape carefully stepped over Clea's now outstretched legs and walked over to a clean counter on the other end of the room.
"I guess I forgot that you have about as much sense of humor as a glass of water." Clea placed her hands on the floor as far back behind her as she could stretch them without unhinging her shoulders. She leaned back and looked over at the dying flames still pathetically dancing in the fireplace. She could just barely make out the burned red fabric, crisping in blackened embers.
After Remus told her about the boggart, Clea got what she thought was a brilliant idea. Last weekend, she went back to her apartment and tore through a box of things she stole from her mother when she was a teenager, and pulled out a dusty, rumpled red purse.
She assumed that enough time had passed, and that Snape might have forgotten about his drag form popping up in Remus's class. So, earlier tonight, she came to Snape's door, told him he left this in the lady's room and gave him her present.
Instead of finding the humor in it, Snape grabbed the bag and threw it into his fireplace.
Clea collapsed onto the floor, holding her stomach and cackling like she was a madwoman; and not only because of Snapes's reaction, she was thanking the highest power that he wasn't trying to burn her alive also.
Clea's eyes drifted lazily back and forth, watching Snape glide slowly around his office, dropping the occasional thing into his potion.
"Are you going to sit there all night?" Snape asked Clea, with annoyance dripping from every syllable.
"Maybe..." Clea said, stretching her legs out as far as they could go and pointing her toes. "If you say that you forgive me, I'll move."
"I hope you've packed a suitcase then," Snape said, leering down at her as he poured a vile of red liquid into the potion.
Clea smiled and shifted uncomfortably on the cold, hard floor. She picked her hand up and without even looking at it she could feel the flecks of dirt clinging to her palm. She brushed her hands together over her lap and saw the small black dots falling like bizarre snow onto her robes; her pure silk, pure white robes.
"You're in my way," Snape snapped at her, when he had to step over her again to get back to his cabinet.
Clea happily lifted herself up, and folded her legs closer to her chest so that her feet could plant themselves on the floor. She began to straighten into a standing position. Halfway up, a hard force on her shoulder, pushed her back down to the floor with an ungraceful crash.
"Ow," Clea screamed, massaging the bottom of her spine.
"I didn't say you had to get up," Snape said, from behind her.
"I wanted to," Clea shouted, standing up quickly. She shot Snape a sour pout as she brushed the dirt off of her robes. "I guess when someone says that you're in my way,"—Clea's perfect imitation of Snape's nasally, icy voice did not go unnoticed by Snape, who almost dropped a bottle into his cauldron upon hearing it,--"you kind of get the idea that they really want you to leave."
"Don't leave," Snape said, quietly.
Clea sighed and shook her hair, so that her bangs fell like a veil over her eyes; a motion reserved only for Severus Snape.
The rhythm of perfectly timed chops filled the room. Clea made her way over to where Snape was, suddenly interested in what he was making.
"Oh, Merlin!" Clea gasped, stopping a foot away from Snape and his potion. "Dat reeks," she said, using her thumb and forefinger like a clamp over her angry nose. "How can you sand do be near id?"
"The smell will filter out slowly," Snape said, looking at Clea's revolted face from over his shoulder. "Come on," he said, grabbing her elbow. "Stand over here."
Snape took Clea over to a spot on the opposite side of the table and conjured up a stool for her to sit on.
Clea let go of her nose, which was now a pretty purplish red, and pulled herself up onto the stool. "Thanks," toppled out of her mouth, sounding overly affectionate and grateful.
Snape made a confused, jerking motion and then eloquently turned on his heels and scurried back behind his cauldron. His face was half hidden behind a slight steam floating up from the potion.
"You know Severus," Clea said, finding she was somewhat bored; "when Remus invites me to his office..."
"I didn't invite you."
"He has some sort of chocolate out for me to snack on."
Snape walked over to a small cupboard across from the table and lifted a small container from the shelf. He walked over closer to Clea and held the bowl out. "Dried mushroom?"
Clea peered into the bowl, and then shifted her eyes up at Snape's. "Is this all I'm worth to you, Severus Snape? A shriveled old fungus?"
"You can have two."
"I'll take zero, thank you."
Snape shrugged one shoulder and replaced the bowl back into the smaller cabinet. He returned to his potion, which was steaming even more than before.
"What are you making anyway?" Clea asked.
Snape waved his hand, making streaks of clear lines through the steam. "Wolfsbane," he said slowly.
"Really?" Clea asked, sounding more astonished than she intended.
"Dumbledore needs me to make it for Lupin before every full moon. It is very important that he drinks this...so he won't harm anyone," Snape said. "It's not like I'm doing something nice for that werewolf for no reason."
Clea rolled her eyes, annoyance and anger flashing through them. "God forbid," she mumbled. "And don't talk about Remus like that."
The soft gurgling of the potion was the only sound in the room. A prolonged moment of intense muteness fell between Clea and Snape; both collecting their thoughts and biting their tongues.
"Why are you so mean to your students?" Clea finally blurted out. "Well, not counting the Slytherins."
"I'm not mean to them," Snape stated. He walked slowly over to where Clea sat. "I'm tough with them. I intend on weeding out the unskilled students and pushing the rest to the best of their ability."
"Well...I do that too," Clea said meekly. She felt like Snape was undermining her own teaching style. "I just smile occasionally. You do know what a smile is, don't you?"
Snape made a face like he was attempting to smile but his face muscles were to weak to allow it; which made Clea's own smile broaden even wider to include the corners of her eyes.
"That was a great first attempt," Clea said, patting Snape's hand. Snape scowled at her. "I'm glad that I don't have Draco Malfoy in my class though," Clea said, to change the subject.
"Does he recognize you?" Snape asked, conjuring up another stool for himself. He pulled the stool over, and sat extremely close to Clea. She waited for her stomach to turn over uncomfortably, but it did something completely different which she didn't like at all.
"I don't think so," Clea said. "The last time I saw him he was five; at my mother's funeral."
"I'm sorry."
"That's ok; you didn't kick me," Clea said, looking down at Snape's legs.
"I meant..."
"Don't," Clea stopped him, failing at hiding the rage embedded deep in her voice. She exhaled and stared down at her lap. "I was mum's perfect little quiet Slytherin daughter, until the night Sirius left and I begged and screamed for him to take me with him. She held me back and I yelled at her. I told her I hated her, and I hated this family; that I wasn't like them. She still didn't let me leave, probably because she wanted to save face in front of my aunt and cousins. But, she never spoke to me for more than was required after that."
Clea realized that she was digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands and that she was probably pouring her heart out to the wrong person. She cleared her throat and looked up. Snape's stool was empty. Figures, Clea thought. She squirmed in her chair, scanning the room, but he wasn't there.
Soft footsteps sounded into the room. Snape appeared coming from a dark room in the back of his office. In his hand was something rectangular and shiny.
Snape grabbed Clea's hand and gently dropped the object into her palm. The word 'Honeydukes' was stamped across the silver wrapper.
"Don't tell anyone I had this," Snape warned, wagging his finger in front of Clea's face.
Clea smiled and nodded. Snape checked his watch and slid back onto his stool.
Tearing back the paper, Clea snapped off a piece of the chocolate bar. She couldn't help laughing at how the taste of the chocolate resembled Snape; dark and bitter.
"The Wolfsbane has to settle for exactly ten minutes," Snape said, more to himself. "How do you like Ancient Runes?"
Clea shrugged her shoulders, nibbling on another corner of the chocolate. "I'm trying to come up with ways to get Hagrid fired so that I can teach Care of Magical Creatures."
Snape laughed; short dry barks of laughter that made Clea jump and almost topple off her stool.
"I do know how to laugh, Cleopatra," Snape said, when he saw the look of terror on Clea's face.
"Please don't ever do that again. You've turned my entire world upside down."
Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Seriously!" Clea exclaimed. "Eight minutes, by the way."
"If Malfoy does say anything to you, you can let me know."
"Why?"
"So I can sit him down and explain everything to him. I am his head of house. Seven minutes."
"I don't think he even knows I'm his cousin. He winked at me in the hall, you know. It wasn't like an 'I know your secret' wink, either. It was more like a 'Hey baby' wink; slightly disturbing."
"I would poison his food for you, but..."
"Four minutes. You don't want to die?"
"Exactly."
"And I'd hate to be the reason behind why Lucius Malfoy blew you up."
"I'm forever grateful. Three minutes. Perhaps you just don't want me gone...?"
"Who would make the Wolfsbane? One minute."
"Is, ahem, that the only reason?" Snape asked, in a slow timid voice.
Clea stared at him; her voice caught in her throat, a smile creeping uncontrollably across her face.
What the hell am I doing? Clea shouted in her head. This is Snape! Oh God...he's moving closer. Why is he moving closer? Why am I not stopping him!? Pull away Cleopatra Cassiopeia Black! Pull away! OH MY GOD! I'm kissing Severus Snape!
A/N: Heehee! Don't panic, have faith in the story. A tiny spoiler: what Clea does with one she'll do ten times better with the other. Thank you to those that reviewed again!! You guys rock my world!! :D
