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: 1020
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 wandered Hogsmeade aimlessly, hoping to assuage his anxieties and
bury his worries. Having recently resigned his job at Hogwarts, Remus had
found that he was listless and apathetic, unresponsive toward the things that
he used to enjoy and had loved. He was meaningless in a world where people
perceived him as a bloodthirsty, malignant beast.
The day after he had resigned, the Daily Prophet not only praised Fudge for his
capture of Sirius Black, but in an article below, had dragged Remus’s name
through the mud as well, disrespectfully calling him “incompetent,” “unworthy to
teach” and “an abomination to the name of Wizard.” Uncharacteristically, Remus
threw the paper into the fire and watched critically as it curled into ash.
Stupid paper: What do they know? he had thought. They’ve never
had to endure a Turning or endeavor to keep their human mind.
That night, Remus had eventually found himself outside the entrance to the
Hog’s Head, the sign creaking on its rusty hinges above his head. Feeling that
he needed to get some things off his chest, he entered the ill-lit bar and sat
down at the counter, observing the current onslaught of customers. Though,
onslaught was a hyperbole for how many occupied the dingy room.
There were three people seated at the bar, and that was it.
Sitting down on the hard, wooden stool, and placing his elbows on the black,
dusty counter, he looked over the three patrons and wondered if he could strike
up a conversation with any of them.
The stool on the farthest right hosted a stout man with pepper-colored hair. He
wore brown robes and was rubbing his temples worriedly, as if attempting to rid
a terrible migraine.
I doubt he’d be a good conversationalist, Remus had analyzed, deciding
that he would rather keep away from touchy, dispiriting subjects for one
night.
The next person, swiveling on the stool three from Remus’s right, was a young
man and appeared to be no older than twenty-five. His dark hair fell into his
olive-toned face, and he currently held a cigarette between his left index and
middle fingers, taking long inhalations of the tobacco product and exhaling large
clouds of smoke. Though Remus had nothing against smokers, since he used to
be one himself but had quit a few years ago, he didn’t feel like so closely
breathing someone’s second-hand smoke; and yet again, bad conversational
material.
The last person in the room was one stool from Remus’s left, and from what he
could tell, this person was a woman. Though her face was hidden beneath her
scarlet hood, which for an odd moment reminded him of the Muggle fairytale
Little Red Riding Hood, something about her fascinated him. But before
he could finish his observation, she pivoted in her seat and was facing him,
which, to say the least, had startled him.
“Hello,” she greeted distinctly, slipping off her hood.
Remus, having caught on, stuttered, “H-hello,” slapping himself mentally for
being so unprepared.
Her hair was a light blonde, long and straggly, curling slightly at its ends. Remus
thought she looked a tad sick, as her pale skin shined unnaturally in the pub
light, but it did not detract from the fact that she was, indeed, a beautiful
woman. Though, the one thing that captivated him, more than anything, was
her eyes. The dark pupils and deep brown irises made her slight imperfections
disappear. He could have found a million words to describe her, but her eyes
summed her up in two: determined and obstinate.
His curiosity piqued, he delicately asked, “Why would someone, such as you,”
he gestured, “be in a place like this?”
Her eyebrows rose, and she darkly inquired, “Excuse me? Do you not like me
cavorting about in this establishment, or are you implying that I should not be
allowed in here?”
“No! No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I’m just curious as to why
someone like you would venture into such an indecorous rat-hole as this,”
Remus recovered.
“Well, if you must, I prefer this ‘indecorous rat-hole,’ not for its charm and
vitality, but for its solitude and peace. Besides, the men here are far more
enchanting than the pig-headed arseholes who occupy the Three Broomsticks,”
she finished, taking a swig of her Butterbeer.
Having caught Remus off-guard, he only answered, “Oh,” feeling quite idiotic for
asking in the first place. He cast his head down and could feel the blood rushing
to his cheeks.
“Anyway,” she continued, “before we get off to an even worse start, how about
we introduce ourselves?”
Remus gazed up to see her smiling at him, though it wasn’t a genuine smile
from what he could tell. Clearing his throat and hoping his blush had diminished,
he stuck his hand out and began, “Remus, Remus Lupin,” and smiled.
She did the same, offering her hand to Remus. “Isabelle Starrpynski.” She took
her hand away and stared at him peculiarly, opening her mouth from time to
time, but nothing ever coming out. A couple beats later, she spoke, “You
wouldn't happen to be the same Remus Lupin that the Daily Prophet humiliated
last week, would you?”
Remus’s smile faltered. “Um, yes, that would be me,” he choked out.
“Unfortunately,” he stated as an afterthought, biting his lip in nervous
anticipation.
“Remus, the people who write those articles and the Daily Prophet itself aren’t
good enough to wipe the shit off my trainers.” She huffed. “You are who you are
and you can’t help that. No one can help that.”
Remus didn’t smile but, instead, regarded her perceptively. He noted the
double-entendre in her last sentence and remarked that there was more to this
au courant beauty than he had first appreciated. Before he could
comment though, he heard the pub’s door creak eerily and observed that she
had left, leaving a small, white card in her place. In-between the pictures of a
bubbling cauldron and a waving wand shooting sparks, it read:
“The journey to fame is nothing without
a Potion Maker's struggle for perfection.”