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: 2392
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.
Pushing gently on his chest, Isabelle cautiously removed herself from Remus’s embrace and haphazardly combed her fingers through her hair. With difficulty, she swallowed the building stress wanting to wreak havoc and take advantage of her already fragile state. Though past experiences had helped build immunity to situations like this, nothing could have prepared her for the mind-reeling confusion currently circling her logic.
Crossing her arms over her chest and shuffling her foot left to right, she stared at the wooden floor boards, wishing to assuage her perplexed musings. She glanced at Remus, noting that he, too, was assessing the kiss they had shared. She hoped their momentary display of adolescent-like recklessness wouldn't ruin their friendship.
"I'm sorry."
At hearing Remus’s words, Isabelle lifted her head and shifted under the apologetic gaze with which he observed her.
"I shouldn't have done that."
"Remus—"
He shook his head and ploughed on, "No, Isabelle, it wasn't right of me to use your plight as a mean for affection. I took—"
"It's not considered taking advantage if the other party initiates it further than the first party originally planned."
She couldn't quite understand it, but his calculating look unnerved her. It was one thing to be closely examined by someone you hated, but by someone whom you thought could be more than a purely platonic interest was, to say the least, intimidating.
"Then what is it if it's not taking advantage?" he pondered aloud, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
Isabelle sighed. She knew she wouldn't be able to phrase her explanation correctly, or even come up with one for that matter. Though she found it unfair to leave him to contemplate the repercussions of today's events without a word from her, she proceeded to stay silent. Careful not to meet Remus’s eyes, she stood from her seat and began tidying the sofa cushions.
"A-are you leaving?"
She looked at him and was saddened by the downtrodden expression on his face. "I-I really must be going; many errands to run, you know. I'll probably need to go into work."
Before she could Disapparate, Remus reached out, gently grabbing her arm.
"What?" she said, sounding like she was straining to speak; as if she was suffocating.
"B-before you go, uh, could you possibly fill me in? On what happened at the World Cup?"
"Check the Prophet. I-I really—I-I have to go," and with a loud CRACK, she Disapparated.
Curiosity possessing him, Remus trudged heavily toward the kitchen, snaffling the paper from the table-top. Isabelle must've got this morning's owl, Remus thought. His eyes widened at reading the adorned headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP.
Remus sat down and thoroughly read all articles pertaining to last night's disaster. Though, before he could finish his perusal of that day's morning Prophet, he was interrupted by a tapping behind him. Startled, he immediately looked to the source and was shocked to see a large, odd-looking bird pecking on the window pane.
"What the . . . ?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Going to the window and letting the bird in, he slid a piece of torn parchment from its leg and settled the bird on the back of one of the table chairs. Unraveling the small discolored paper and glossing over it, he chuckled.
"Always there when I need a laugh, aren't ya Sirius?"
Eating a bowl of Muggle cereal, Isabelle sat chewing and contemplating a letter she had received when she'd got home. She had read the letter a few times through, wondering if it was worth her time to keep the note or to throw it in the wastepaper basket. For now, she thought to keep it so to crumple it up and throw it in Richard's face in another couple months when he'd stop by to see her. She had a sneaking suspicion that this would be the only letter she'd get whilst he bided his time in Russia, on Barty Crouch's orders.
Rubbing her forehead so to alleviate her oncoming headache, Isabelle sighed and read over the parchment once more; slower than the first three times. She firmly believed that Richard had written the entire letter in Russian on purpose, so to torture her when he very well knew that she would overcomplicate it: As Russian grammar was, to her, much simpler than Polish, her first language, (though her skills in speaking it had diminished since her adolescence).
So far, every time she made it to the closing, she hung on the words "Love, Richard." It sounded unnatural to her, forced, even. When they had first begun dating it had taken him a long while, naturally, to conjure the now befouled phrase. He used to say it so sweetly, almost if sacred to him. But gradually, as the emotional aspect of their relationship took a back seat to physical pleasure, the words "I love you" stopped ringing true.
As she thought on her and Richard's emotional decline, her musings drifted to a more difficult subject: Remus. She wasn't quite sure what had gone through her head when she had further invested their kiss this morning, but she did remember why she had come close to tears when it ended. Though, to describe it would be more confounding than concocting Felix Felicis.
"Isabelle!"
Hearing her name from the living area, she ran into the room and saw a woman's head floating pleasantly in the fire.
"Hello, Amelia," she said unsurprised.
The older woman reprimanded, "Where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you since early this morning!"
Isabelle knelt down by the fire. "Yeah, well, some things came up." She paused briefly and continued, "So I assume you need me in?" Amelia nodded. "Great."
"What happened to your arm," said Amelia, glancing toward Isabelle's bandaged arm, "and your face for that matter?"
"Well, what was I supposed to be enjoying yesterday?"
Amelia stayed quiet for a couple seconds. “Oh! Sorry, slipped my mind that you went to the World Cup. I didn't think things had got violent, though.”
"Not quite. My tent caught fire and some man in filthy robes rescued me," said Isabelle somewhat disgustedly. She heard Amelia scoff. "Is that funny? I could've died."
Amelia shook her head, amused. "Sorry, but I wouldn't have got into Magical Law Enforcement if that phrase actually held meaning. Besides, you playing damsel-in-distress and being saved by a street peddler pose an entertaining image in my head."
"Piss off."
Amelia laughed. "Anyway, we can continue this conversation later, after work. I need you in, so get your arse moving." Amelia's head disappeared from the fire.
"Fuck," Isabelle cursed and got up from her position on the floor.
Heading to her bedroom, she changed into dark purple robes and black trainers and went into the bathroom. There, she brushed through her hair, brushed her teeth and cleaned herself up. Opening the mirror cabinet, she grabbed a small yellow vial labeled Elfleda's Bruise & Blemish Effacer and shook it, watching the condensed liquid thicken significantly.
She carefully applied the very strong smelling maroon-colored lotion to the left side of her face, wincing when she rubbed a particularly sensitive spot. After administering a sufficient amount, Isabelle boringly read the back of vial, waiting for results and ignoring the pungent aroma.
Staring in the mirror, she observed the glamour potion begin to take effect, morphing her skin to its normal pale shade. Though the pain would still be there, at least no one [except Amelia and Remus] would know that anything had been there. If only I could do the same to my arm, she thought.
Liking her new bruise-less visage, she opened the cabinet to replace the Effacer and removed a few other small containers from their spots. She had noticed that she still had a cut or two on her face, but she wasn't sure if they were from this morning's bludgeoning or last night. She didn't see a need to fix these when they would easily heal on their own with no scarring. Adding light make-up to her eyes, lips and cheeks, she put away her things and left the bathroom.
Seeing that there were no candles lit and checking to see that she had her things, she Apparated to work and was floored at how busy it was. There were employees running left and right, Apparating and Disapparating, Flooing in and whatnot. Not wanting to know what would happen if she proceeded to dawdle, she walked quickly toward the lift and continued to level two of the Ministry.
Stepping out, she groaned. There was never a day when Magical Law Enforcement wasn't busy, especially nowadays with Sirius Black on the loose and Death Eaters torturing defenseless Muggles at the Cup. Though she worked in this department, she was happy to say that she was not an Auror. During the summer (and once in a while in the fall and spring), she’d teach them the Potions skills they'd need to become an Auror. During the year, however, she worked on the Research Team for the Development of Authenticity Serums and Protective Spells.
Walking through the crowd, not bothering to greet her fellow colleagues, she noticed two men with whom she held a great dislike: Bartemius Crouch, Sr. and Ludovic Bagman. Isabelle wrinkled her nose in disgust, feeling the stinging of her bruises beneath her skin, and speedily walked to her department's work lab. Though, before she could reach the door, an arm reached out, grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.
"You were going to walk past without saying hello, weren't you?" Amelia Bones forced a smile, which told Isabelle that something was amiss.
"That was the, er, general idea," Isabelle said uncomfortably, conversing with Amelia optically.
Amelia turned to Bagman and Crouch and back to Isabelle. "Anyway, Barty would like a word with you." Isabelle nodded, noting her apprehensive expression. "It was nice talking with you Barty, Ludo," and she walked away, glancing briefly to Isabelle before heading into her office.
"Walk with me," Barty said impatiently, gazing coldly into her brown eyes. "Ludo, if you could . . . "
"Sorry. I'll meet you back in your office," he said distractedly, without the annoying boyish perkiness he usually had.
"What'd you want to speak about?"
"You were at the Cup, correct?" Isabelle nodded. "So why didn't I see you helping your fellow Ministry workers?"
Lifting her left arm, she scoffed, "I wouldn't have been of much help, especially since I had no idea what was going on until I woke in the arms of a complete stranger and saw that my tent was on fire."
"You slept through the screaming?" he asked sternly, not letting his look falter.
"If you were a severe insomniac and were actually able to get yourself to sleep, I believe you'd be sleeping quite deeply as well," she countered.
He made a derisive noise and paused. Isabelle could tell that those were not the exact questions he wanted to ask her. She observed a slightly disturbed glint in his eye, but dismissed it, figuring it was due to everything being utterly chaotic in all departments of the Ministry.
Isabelle felt her arm being tugged on and Barty was leading her into a dark corridor. She knew this hallway well. It was where the Potions labs and Protective Spells testing rooms were located.
The long passageway was hazy and smelt strongly of sulfur and smoke. It was a narrow walk, and she could hear the chink of mortars and pestles and muffled spells from behind various doors. Before long, she found herself being pushed inside a small room at the end of the hallway.
Flustered, she said, "What is this about, Barty?"
Crouch's light blue eyes were wide, and the disturbed glint from before had increased. Isabelle suddenly felt uneasy, to say the least.
Barty spoke slowly, "I know you were in the forest. I saw you."
"Wait one bloody minute, you saw me, and yet you interrogate me on my whereabouts?" she asked angrily.
"It was a standard question. I had to ask. Besides, that's not what I'm here to ask."
"Then what do you want, Barty? Why drag me here?"
He cast his eyes to the floor, contemplating how to carefully word his question. "Did you see anything suspicious in the forest? Anything that could indicate who conjured the Dark Mark?" His eyes bore deeply into hers, daring her to answer.
"Besides the fact I was tripped by an invisible branch, I haven't the slightest," she said forcefully. "I have no close provisions to Death Eaters, Mr. Crouch, if that's what you're thinking. So if you please, I'd like to get back to my job, as should you," she spat angrily, slamming the door on her way out.
Isabelle seethed, "The nerve of him! It's not his place to question me on my whereabouts or to be catching Death Eaters! Yet he still prefers to corner me because he feels I played a part in his son becoming involved with scum!"
Remus closed the door behind him, having just fed his water-dwelling pets. His thoughts had been preoccupied by the numerous events of the past day and Isabelle. He didn't care how adamant she was that he hadn't taken advantage, he still felt guilty. He needed to get through to her. He wanted to know where they stood with each other; whether friends, acquaintances, or even, he dared, a romantic entanglement. He didn't want to lose her.
To abstain from thinking about Isabelle, Remus’s thoughts skewed to Sirius' letter.
Moony,
I recently (using the term loosely) received a letter from Harry stating that his scar's been hurting. He said the last time it hurt; it meant Voldemort was near. Moony, do you know anything about cursed scars? Help! Respond quickly!
Anyway, finishing up, you better answer soon, or I will sic myself on you! (When I'm back in London, that is.) Also, if you exclude information on what's going on in your life, I will find a way to send a howler next time.
With love and hilarity,
the Nomadic Padfoot
Remus laughed to himself once again, and decided that tomorrow he'd go and speak to Isabelle. Right now, he needed to look up information on cursed scars.