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: 2396
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.
Remus and Isabelle continued to bask in their elongated silence, neither wanting to break the peace that had settled after Isabelle's revelation. They both watched the sun fade from its light orange hue into night and moved closer together as the cool summer air enveloped them both.
As Remus wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and battled his growing affections for the woman, he couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind; what thoughts were being manufactured at this very moment.
"What's on your mind?" he rumbled quietly, leaning forward and keeping his gaze on the lake. As he waited for a response, he stole a quick glance at her through the corner of his eye and was almost overwhelmed by the mutual comfort that had filtered between them. He marveled at how tranquil she seemed, knowing somewhat well that her outward serenity may or may not coincide with her mindful musings.
Isabelle could feel Remus' observant eyes taking their fill whilst she attempted to unravel her tangled emotions. Her three hours of wandering his unfamiliar neighbourhood had not been time enough to question her actions.
She hesistated as she turned to face him, hoping that he would not read through her as he surprisingly did so well. Praying that he would not ask further, she simply replied, "Things," and shrugged her thin shoulders. "My mind appears to be on repeat tonight. I can't quite keep myself from returning to my first thoughts." Leaving it there, not seeing it fit to elaborate, she gave him a nervous half-smile and returned to her previous position; her body relaxed into his, with her head lolled on his shoulder.
Remus nodded, not wishing to pry or make things awkward between them. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander to a question he'd been dying to ask her for months, something that he'd kept on the backburner since it first came up.
Building up the courage, he maneuvered his body to face her, disrupting her cosiness against him. Though, he found that no protest came from her, as her head was all ready off his shoulder, and she was smirking at him.
"Now, what's on your mind, Remus?"
Remus gave a short laugh and responded, "Well, er, I was actually going to ask you something, but I'm not so sure if now is the right time. Maybe I should leave it for another day." He shook his head and waved his hand nonchalantly, hoping that she didn't catch on to his eagerness to change the subject.
"Might as well ask it, Remus. Put some cards out on the table," she said quietly, and brought one hand up to lace her fingers around the plain, silver chain she wore.
For a moment Remus watched her play with her necklace before he went on, "Well, I was just reminiscing about that day we ate at Benjy's."
"Yeah?" she drew out, hiding her nervous anticipation at what was to come next.
Remus averted his eyes, contemplating how to correctly present what he needed to. Lifting his chin from his chest and returning his attention back to her unfaltering gaze, he continued, "Yes. Anyway, in the excessive amount of time I possess, I realized that something was off, both about that day and a certain morning after in particular. An inconsistency."
Isabelle slowly stopped threading her fingers through her necklace and straightened up, not daring to let her eyes fall from his. She then inquiried, "An inconsistency?"
"Yes. It's just... I find it strange that you were ready to risk your life to go into my basement and make sure I was okay, minutes after I had become human again," he willed himself not to glance at her face where the tears had removed whatever glamour she had applied to her bruises, "Yet that day at the sandwich shop you couldn't say 'werewolf.'"
He stopped to collect himself and noted how tense he was. He couldn't exactly comprehend why he was so jittery. Why does this seem so difficult?
It was obvious to Remus that this was not the question Isabelle was expecting nor - from what he could tell - willing to answer. Giving it one last shot, he added, "And if you do indeed answer why," he paused, hoping that he didn't sound persistent, "I know that your reasoning had nothing to do with you offending me, but rather, I'm assuming, something more personal to you."
Realizing that Isabelle had shifted her sight elsewhere, Remus stood from where he sat and wiped off any dirt that had accumulated on his trousers. He offered a rough hand to Isabelle and helped her up.
"You know, I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." He surrendered, knowing that she must of thought it better that he not know the answer just yet.
Isabelle dusted off her worn-in jeans, but did not walk with Remus when he had begun the trek back to his home.
"Isabelle?" he questioned, noting an unreadable expression on her face.
"My brother," she said stiffly, her eyes cast downward.
"What?"
"My brother's a werewolf, and... it's been a long time since I've seen him."
"Oh," was the only thing Remus could find to say. He'd never heard her mention any family she had, or that anyone else besides her existed. Though, her short explanation only served to further his confusion.
"I suppose that day in particular... I don't know." She found that she couldn't quite describe what had come over her that day.
"You happened to be thinking about him, in that particular moment?" Remus suggested, putting his hands in his pockets and coming towards her. "How long has it been, you know, since you've seen him?"
Isabelle blinked. Thinking of her brother always brought up a barrage of memories, each memory slowly revealing her vulnerability. She had already cried twice today, once in the confines of her bedroom, and once in front of Remus. Her eyes were dry and, most likely, red. She refused to cry in front of him again.
Bottling up her unwanted emotions, she answered shortly, "Sixteen years." In nervous habit, she had begun to tug at her necklace once more, and perused her mind for something to change the subject. "It's getting cool out, and I'm hungry. I think it's time I Apparate home."
"Are you sure? I mean, I could walk you home."
Remus felt dreadful for having selfishly brought up such a touchy subject, and desperately wanted to make it up to her. Though there was little time left in the day, he didn't want her to leave.
He knew, however, that with everything at the Ministry, she was probably exhausted, and he was still feeling emotionally and physically drained from his most recent turning. Shaking his head, he looked up from where his sights were currently occupied and saw that she was watching him.
Isabelle sighed and walked up to Remus; her head reached just below his chin. Looking up at him, she said, "No, you should rest. I can Apparate," and quickly gave him a soft kiss on his lips and Apparated, leaving him to his loneliness once more.
Isabelle causually walked up her mother's front steps, taking out her keys and opening the door to the plain cottage. As she closed the door behind herself, she couldn't help but shake her head at how symmetrically her mother lived. The couch and end tables were perfectly aligned, with the same amount of space between each piece. From where she stood, she could see her mum's usual stack of Muggle tabloids neatly and equally piled on either couch arm, most likely in order by month and year or by title.
Why did I have to get the odd one for a mum? Isabelle thought. She rolled her eyes and headed toward the kitchen where the Arcadia doors lead to the back garden. Dropping her purse upon the countertop and taking out her smokes and a lighter, she slid open the heavy glass door and stepped outside.
"Mum?" she called out. She had an inkling that her mother was probably somewhere knee-high in fertilizer and shrubbery. Deciding she would rather not look to find out, she sat at the table by the door and lit a cigarette, secretly hoping that her mother would take as long as she needed. Seeing a magazine, she scooted her chair forward and began to disinterestedly flip through it.
After a few minutes, Isabelle heard soft footsteps coming up beside her and knew instantly that her mother was peeking over her shoulder to see what exactly she was reading.
Isabelle closed the magazine and pushed it away, not finding anything remotely fascinating besides the usual Muggle tips on how to spice up your married life and how to acquire voluminous hair. Feeling that her mother had stopped reading over her shoulder, as she knew it irritated Isabelle to no end when she did, Isabelle discovered her mum rinsing her hands under the hose nozzle.
Noting an uncomfortable quiet between them, Isabelle sighed, holding her arm out and tapping the fag end of her cigarette onto the grass. "How have I removed myself from your pedestal this time?"
The squat woman glanced at her daughter, ignoring her comment about the pedestal, and continued to wash the dirt from under her nails. "You haven't called-in in two weeks."
"Nine days is not two weeks," Isabelle corrected.
Drying her hands with a towel she kept by the hose, Adelaide sat down across from her daughter, staring curiously at her.
"What?"
Her mother continued to stare and then took her daughter's arm in her hands, having seen the peeled skin and redness. "What happened to your arm?" she questioned, her curiosity turning into worry.
Isabelle jerked her arm out of her mother's hands, regretting that she had done so afterward when the familiar stinging sensation began to prickle underneath her skin. Grimacing, she sternly responded, "It's nothing."
"It is something, and that something is a second-degree burn. What I would like to know is where is it from."
Isabelle smashed the end of her cigarette in the ashtray, and exhaled. Knowing that, unless she wanted a headache to go along with the pain in her arm, she would be better off filling her mother in on the recent events in her life, sans Remus.
As vague as she could, Isabelle informed her mother of what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, both the match (to the dislike of her mother) and the Death Eaters, and how she had been saved by a street urchin. As she recalled that day’s events, Isabelle’s mind drifted to another event that had occurred the very next morning. For the time being, she didn’t realize she had gone silent.
"Dear?" her mother asked with concern.
"Hmm?" Isabelle came out of her reverie.
"You trailed off," her mother supplied, her concern building. Glancing back to her daughter's arm, she said, "I'm going to go inside and get something to remedy that burn."
Isabelle instantly began to protest when she saw her mother getting up from her seat. "No, Mum."
"Why not? It's looks awful. It should be bandaged." Her mother had stood from her chair and was headed toward the door.
Isabelle closed her eyes and responded angrily, "It's perfectly fine, mother! I'm taking care of it!" She saw her mother's shoulders slump in defeat and could see the knot on top her head bobble as she shook her head side to side.
"Must you be so stubborn?" Adele questioned. She had turned around to face her child, not quite wanting to believe that she any hand in helping to create such an unpleasant woman.
Isabelle did not reply.
Adelaide sighed. "I'm going to head in and begin making tea. Are you coming in?"
"Yes, in a bit," she said distractedly. "I'm gonna have a quick smoke."
"Okay," her mother said, sliding the door shut behind her.
The young woman got up from her chair and leaned against the wall of the house, lighting the fag that loosely hung from her lips. She took a long drag. Can this day end all ready?
Adelaide watched her daughter from the window, wishing to read every thought going through her mind. Though Isabelle visited often enough, there was a distance between them that could never be jumped, and Adele couldn’t ignore or stop the broiling it brought to her insides.
Like any good mother, Adele would always love Isabelle unconditionally, but to be the mother of such a difficult young woman never proved easy. She wanted the relationship she would often see portrayed on those made-for-telly movies. The one where the mother and daughter started out as the best of friends or the one where a strong bond was formed after a mother and daughter had overcome their obstacles and learned to understand each other. Unfortunately, Adele's hope for the latter, (as the former was obsolete in this situation), dwindled with each year her daughter gained. Isabelle's thirty-first birthday was on the horizon, and it bothered Adele that her child, though well-established in her career, had no interest in setlling down and starting a family.
All I want for you is to be happy. Why won't you let me have that? Adele sighed, shaking away the thought. Hearing the glass door slide open, Adele let her musings roam, not in the mood to express the aspirations she wished her daughter to fulfill. She did not have the strength to argue tonight. Seeing that Isabelle had come inside, she queried, "Your nicotine craving under control?"
"For now," Isabelle replied nonchalantly, throwing her pack of fags and lighter into her purse and came over to stand across from her mother. She leaned over the counter onto her elbows. "What's for dinner?" She asked, watching her mother crouch low to retrieve a pan from the cupboard. When she did not receive an answer, Isabelle irritably inquiried, "Are you angry with me?"
Adelaide looked at Isabelle from over her shoulder and replied, "No," then said, "I know the last time I asked you had said 'no', but I was just wondering if you've heard from Richard recently. It's been almost six weeks since he left, and it must be getting quite lonely, in a sense, to have no one to come home to."