Journey to Perfection
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. I only claim ownership to the characters I create (i.e. Isabelle Starrpynski) and the situations (that are not Canon) that I place them in.
Rating: R, for sexual and adult themes, violence, and imagery.
Word Count: 2069
Summary: Remus Lupin has not always had an easy or a happy life, but now after resigning from a job he loved and enjoyed, he's forced to, once again, sulk on his lonely and bitter existence. Wallowing in his self-pity, Remus ventures into the Hog's Head, only to meet a erudite woman that may just help to disrupt the monotony his life has become. Remus/OC, Post-POA.
Note: This story was featured on Mugglenet Fan Fiction, in March 2005.
Isabelle quietly sat in Remus’s living area, pestering the bandages on her arm and attempting to calm the rampant thoughts in her mind. She shivered slightly and glanced around the room, noting wisps of sunlight cascading through the spaces of the shutters and coruscating across the entrance of the kitchen. The light looked faint and ethereal as she watched particles of dust cavort within it.
She fixed her sight on a stain on the brown shag carpet and lightly rocked herself in her seat. She'd retreated here an hour before, after going home and showering and lathering her injury with burn paste. She hadn't wanted to be home alone, so she'd come almost unconsciously. Isabelle sat perched on the couch for another half hour before she mustered the courage to wander down the hallway to her destination.
She pulled her feet out from beneath her and stood from her rickety seat. Crossing her arms tightly, she walked stiffly down the freezing corridor as the goose bumps prickled on her arms. Her blonde hair hung in her way as she tilted her head and peeked into one of the open doors. One room to her right was lined with bookshelves filled with volumes of magical and Muggle texts while another room was occupied by a couple tanks of ghoulish water dwellers. She shuddered at the memory of Remus having tried to lure her in there. It hadn't worked in the slightest.
Isabelle's heart palpitated heavily as she drew nearer to the room located in the southeast corner of the house. Each step she took sounded wooden and plank-like, echoing eerily off the corridor walls.
The door stood ajar, beckoning her in. She reached out her fingertips and gently pushed it open wider, observing a large vertical crack along its creaking hinges, and entered.
The young girl entered behind her sister, silently shutting the door after herself. She closely followed, her sister sometimes shooing her and harshly whispering not to walk so closely and give her some space. Isabelle would grumble a response, take a couple steps back and continue onward.
Isabelle hated coming into the basement. It was cold and damp and gave her the creeps. It also smelled like rotting flesh and vomit. Her stomach churned painfully, nauseated from the stench and not having eaten breakfast yet. Though, the longer she stayed here, the more she lost her appetite.
She tugged her sister's shirt. "Morgaine?"
"What?" her sister replied with an edge. Her blue eyes tiredly reflecting her impatience.
"Can we hurry up? I'm not feeling so good."
Morgaine stared at her younger sister for a couple moments, noting a slight green tinge in her cheeks. Her look softened a tad but still held firmness. "Is, why do you come down here in the first place? You know you're not good with these things." Though, Morgaine already knew the answer before Isabelle responded, "I'm here to support Patryk. He needs us."
Morgaine shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Look, go back upstairs and fetch me all the medipotions and linens you can. It's the most, really, that you can do for Patryk since you can't use magic outside of Hogwarts." Isabelle hesitated. "I said 'go!'"
The familiar aroma of festering wounds reached her nostrils and had her stifling the urge to double over and run out of the room. She held herself though and descended the staircase into what looked to be a basement. Isabelle swallowed hard and turned off the stairs and gazed straight ahead only to see . . . .
There were almost no flesh-colored portions left on his tattered body after a full moon. There were times when Isabelle was sure he'd torn off a limb. He lay sprawled near a patch of filtered sunlight, as if scratching to escape the darkness. Indeed, his nails were always thick with blood and bits of lacerated flesh beneath them. Too often, when she crept close enough to see the whites of his eyes, they shone with a horrendous fury, glaring and slashing at her soul.
Shaking herself from the memory, Isabelle was shocked to see Remus conscious and sitting up, supported by the wall. His wounds were oozing; his cuts and scratches swollen shut with congealed blood. There were bruises sprayed across his limbs in shades of deep blues and purples. The eyes that were usually composed were alert and sunken in; a hanging malice lingering in them.
Isabelle cautiously approached him, balancing on the fronts of her feet so not to step in puddles of blood strewn around the room. The floor stung the palms of her feet and sent chills up her spine. "Remus?" she whispered. She stood next to him, averting her eyes as best she could and using the wall as an anchor. She opened her mouth to speak again, but her throat had gone completely dry.
His ears twitched and he quickly swiveled around and stared coldly at the straggly blonde. Isabelle gasped and backed away from his menacing glare, slipping harshly on a shining burgundy puddle.
"Why are you here?" an uncharacteristically low, demonic growl emanated from his throat. The animosity that reflected in his swarthy eyes sprung unwanted tears in her dilated ones.
"Isabelle!" Morgaine whispered fiercely and yanked her sister from where she stood before their brother, protectively pressing Isabelle against her. Isabelle was putting up quite a fight to escape.
"Let me go, Morgaine! Why won't—" Morgaine clapped her hand over Isabelle's mouth and pulled her struggling sister into a dark corner.
Morgaine continued to keep Isabelle's mouth shut, though her sister was attempting to bite her palm. She rested her head on Isabelle's shoulder and said threateningly into her ear, "Is, stop struggling! If I let you go, you must promise me that you won't scream." Isabelle nodded into Morgaine's hand as her sister prodded on. "You cannot make loud noises in front a recently turned back werewolf. It. Isn't. Safe. They aren't in their right mind. If you're not careful, he will hurt you."
Isabelle replied, "I-I'm he-here t-t-to help y-you." She tried desperately to keep her voice steady, but his eyes were boring savagely into her.
He said defensively, "I don't need help." Remus slowly attempted to stand from his place.
Isabelle found her voice again and spoke strongly, "Remus, please listen to me. You're not mentally stable." She articulated, "Let. Me. Help. You," and carefully stood up.
Remus had his back to her. There were large slashes across his shoulders and plugs of flesh missing along the furrow of his back. She hesitantly traced one of the gashes that drew from the top of his left shoulder down around his right shoulder blade. He hissed painfully as her fingertips trailed along the inflamed skin. The muscle involuntarily flinched when her nail drifted into the open sore and Remus bit back a scream. Isabelle's stomach twisted and her lip quivered. She proceeded to follow the enlarged tissue and felt him tense under her touch.
Isabelle could hear her heart hammering in her ears, pounding against her eardrums. Accidentally, her trembling hand slipped and touched the white of the wound, causing Remus to rear his forearm back, knocking her harshly to the freezing concrete once again. She gasped and gently ran a hand along her face. She found remnants of blood across the tips of her fingers and gazed up at Remus, terrified.
He swiftly maneuvered to face her, burnished blues glaring stonily as if she was worthless. "Turn your face, slag. I told you before; I don't need your help." He ascended the stairs and left the room as quickly as a limping werewolf could.
Isabelle sat on the couch, her knees closely huddled to her and arms encircling them. Her forehead touched the tops of her knees, and her face was buried in her arms. She lifted her head when she heard footsteps coming from the corridor.
Remus peered into the living area, an unreadable expression upon his face. He still looked battered and bruised, but cleaner. He wore a pair of brown corduroy trousers and was holding the edges of a white towel that was around his neck. His hair was dripping water down the sides of his face.
"Isabelle?" His voice was back to its normal soothing tone.
"What?" she inquired darkly.
He walked behind the sofa and came around to sit next to her. Remus braided his fingers together and rested his arms on his thighs, not willing to look up at her to see if she deemed him forgiven for his sin.
"I'm sorry. I-I—"
"There's no need to apologize," she said woodenly. "You had no control of yourself. It was the werewolf. You have no need to apologize for him."
Remus gazed up at her and sighed. He closed his eyes and said solemnly, "Let me see your face."
"No."
"Isabelle," he pleaded.
"I said 'no,' Remus. What part of that do you not understand?" she responded, agitated. In the process, she had maneuvered her torso and turned toward him.
The entire left side of her face was nastily bruised. From what Remus could tell, she had been crying. His heart wrenched painfully when he noticed a lone tear trail along her cheek, and watched as she once again delved her face into her shoulder. His stomach knotted up as the scene played before him.
"How can you even look at me, knowing what I did to you?" He tried with difficulty to keep his voice from breaking. He observed her and then something happened that he hadn’t expected: She smiled. It wasn't a sympathetic one, but one of . . . simplicity.
She sighed and stretched her legs out, crossing her right over left and propping her elbow on her knee and resting her chin in her hand. She answered, "Because I can, Remus."
"I don’t quite understand."
She stared at him thoughtfully. "Do you remember what I said when we first met? Before I left the pub?"
Remus furrowed his 'brows and nodded. He recited, "'You are who you are, and you can't help that. No one can help that.'"
"Exactly. There's no need for me to wish an apology from you. Yes, my face is disfigured. It will heal." She bothered with a thin, silver necklace and stared fascinated at the floor. She softly continued, "I wouldn't, uh, feel right staying angry with you for something that not even you could help." She quit playing with her jewelry and rested her hands on either side of her. She swung her foot uncomfortably in the air, keeping her gaze on the floor.
Remus watched her awkwardly. Averting his eyes from her swollen bottom lip, he noticed her bandaged arm. He cleared his throat and asked, "What, um, happened to your arm?"
She callously said, "A story left for another day, Remus. There are many intriguing events I need to fill you in on; things that happened at the Cup." She waved her hand nonchalantly and faced him. His eyes reflected an emotion she couldn't quite comprehend. His piercing look reading her as if she were an ancient tome uncovered from its cobwebs.
Remus allowed his arm to wander, fulfilling a nightly acknowledged yearning. Isabelle observed his hand coming toward her and winced when his knuckles gently stroked the unharmed side of her visage. She closed her eyes and welcomed his rough touch. She placed her hand on top of his and found herself gazing into his dark blue eyes. Slowly she leaned in, and his lungs lurched upward as he followed in her example.
Softly their lips grazed the others, a longing developing with each second. Isabelle initiated the kiss deeper, slithering her tongue into his mouth. Remus was a tad surprised at her aggressiveness, but played along. The kiss went from an innocent peck to a manifestation of muted desire. It faded slowly. They pulled away from each other somewhat reluctantly, gazing intently at close range, and then averting their eyes downward with a sigh as they rested their foreheads together. A furious blush graced Remus’s cheeks and a smile was creeping upon his lips. Isabelle, on the other hand, was astray in a world of confusion and entangled feelings. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall while she was in the comforting arms of one Remus Lupin.