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: 1930
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.
Moony,
Yeah, I'm well. Sorry it's taken me so long to respond. It's kind of hard to find a spare piece of parchment when you're on the run. Don't worry about food rationing, being a lovable stray has its perks. Beaky's good, too. I hope you're right that Harry's okay. I'll write him as soon as I can. Hope everything's good with you. I need to go.
Padfoot
P.S. Fur is better.
Remus finished perusing Sirius' note for the hundredth time that night, considerably less worried about his convicted criminal friend. The brief letter was scribbled messily on the back of an old, stained Ogden's Fire whiskey label. Remus hid the note in a shabby, waterlogged notebook and placed it inside his threadbare pillowcase. He took a last glance around the room before he blew out the candle.
His room was small and dismal, decorated with a few furnishings and a couple paintings he had inherited from deceased relatives. Above his two ill-formed mattresses hung his mother's rosary, and a cherished painting of himself, his mother and father, painted by the latter. Across the room, under the window, was Remus’ desk. Parchment, an inkwell, a few bills and a quill were organized neatly in a pile in the middle. Between his bed and desk, an old throw rug of his great grandfather’s had been laid to occupy the empty space. Though many of his possessions were a bit run-down and may not have been of much worth anymore, the intrinsic value they held to Remus was invaluable.
Remus situated himself beneath his thin covers, protectively inserting his hand into his pillowcase and laying his hand upon the spiral notebook. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and he relaxed into his worn mattresses, his thoughts overtook his consciousness.
Yet again, his musings were better entertained by a certain woman rather than his usual depressing introspections. Remus couldn't deny that his life had taken a wonderful turn in the right direction after his many fascinating run-ins with Ms. Starrpynski; he had never been so intrigued by a woman before. Although, he may not have had many women to compare her to, as being a werewolf was hazardous to one's love life. Fortunately for him, she was not one to conform to traditional social mentalities. His incessant thoughts of her were beginning to drive him mad. He couldn't comprehend why he was so taken by her. His reasons behind his intrigue were broad and confounding.
For one thing, Remus definitely felt a physical attraction to Isabelle. There had been numerous times when he wanted to comb his fingers through her sparkling strands or gently stroke his chapped knuckles against her pallid cheek. He had resisted with every fiber in his being from doing so. Secondly, the better he came to know her habits, the further he invested himself in them. His emotions were tangled in her web; every heartstring knotted in her mystery. And thirdly, his investigation of her devil-may-care attitude was currently overriding his common sense.
Having little to no experience with these feelings troubled his mind greatly; it was difficult for him to register an inclination as strong as this. His calculations revealed that he was smitten with her, mildly infatuated. Though no foolish acts had come from it, or so he thought.
Remus sighed impatiently and relit the candle on his bedside table. "Damn it," he cursed.
He sat up and wrapped his arms around his bent knees and paused briefly, then swiftly ran a hand down his weather-beaten face. His hand stopped below his lips, resting on his chin where he subconsciously stroked stubble. He had an inkling that he wouldn't be sleeping very well tonight.
She gazed nostalgically at the photo in her trembling hands, a young man with twinkling white, uneven teeth and hazel eyes smiling jovially back at her. Silent tears ran like crooked streams down her cheeks. She sat cross-legged on a floral quilt in front of her living room fire, with her hair up in a loose pony tail. Reaching for the ashtray where her lit cigarette smoldered, she took a long drag and exhaled a large cloud of smoke in its wake. She smoked and watched the fire crackle until she was startled by a loud "POP!" from behind her.
A pair of muscular arms snaked around her midriff and lifted her from her seat before she could turn to look who it was. Though, after she registered what was going on, she realized whose arms had wrapped around her.
"Richard!" she said, her voice raising an octave. "Put me down!" Her tears of melancholy mixed with her tears of laughter as Richard fell into the couch with her still in his arms. He began to plant kisses up the soft skin of her neck.
Isabelle calmed down, having caught up in the moment and said breathily, "You're, in, a seemingly, good mood." She stopped him from moving farther. She changed positions and sat straddled on Richard's lap, and pushed him against the arm of the sofa. "Why?"
"No mishaps at work. Nice weather. A gorgeous girlfriend who's currently sitting in my lap," he listed, eyeing her fervently. "What more could I ask for?" He attempted to make another pass at Isabelle but ceased when he noticed the malicious glint in her eyes.
She shook her head and smiled seductively, "Don't think I don't know what you want. We've played this game one too many times." She straightened up. "You Apparate into my home, we speak of our wonderful days, and then we retreat to the bedroom for a romp," she listed.
Richard stared thoughtfully. "Romp? Intriguing terminology," he drawled. "Let's skip the chit-chat for once. Games are fun to play. Another round won't hurt, will it?" He raised his eyebrows, his steel eyes swimming a cesspool of indecent thoughts in her mind.
Isabelle locked eyes with him and gradually lost herself in the blues of his irises. She stood, grabbed his hand, and led him to her bedroom where Richard shut the door and pushed her onto the bed. He roughly smashed his lips into hers, snaking his hands beneath her shirt where he felt the smooth material of her bra.
“Silk?” he questioned, breaking their kiss and moving to her throat. “What happened to lace?” his voice mumbled as he sucked and kissed the area where her neck met her shoulder.
“More,” she gasped, “comfortable.” He had undone the clasp and she felt her breasts' restraint loosen. She watched as he slid her bra out from under her shirt and let it drop to the floor from his fingertips. “Lace,” she said, closing her eyes when his hands found their way beneath her shirt again and his thumbs were grazing her pert nipples, “is not, and it’s itchy.” She managed to conclude before her hips eased forward and her back arched from his touch.
Isabelle yawned and cracked open her watery eyes. She threw her forearms in front of her, blocking out the harsh rays of light permeating the window. As she attempted to adjust her blurry vision, she looked beside her to see a fully dressed Richard tying his trainers. She sat up, pulling the sheets just above her ample bosom to cover her bare torso.
"So were you planning to leave a note, wake me, or walk out that door without a damn word?" she inquired. Richard faced her, his gaze informing her that he had planned to leave peacefully, without a word. He opened his mouth to explain, but it seemed he could not express in words what his exact motive was. He went back to tying his shoes.
Isabelle temporarily pretended she hadn't asked and let her words burn into ashes in the recesses of her mind. "Okay, well, Ludo's stopping by later to drop off our Quidditch World Cup tickets," she said, blatantly changing the subject. "Would you like me to contact you the moment I have them in my possession or do you plan on being here when I receive them?"
Without turning around, he replied, "Um, neither." He stared guiltily at his palms which were resting on his knees. "I can't go."
"What? No. We have been planning this for months, Richard!" she hissed. "How can—"
He interjected, "Damn it Iz, let me finish." He sighed. "It seems old Barty needed someone to go to Russia to promote magical cooperation, so he decided to send me since I'm one of the few who speaks Russian. I leave at the end of this month." He eyed her suspiciously, wondering what exactly was running through her mind.
She quietly asked, "How long are you there for?"
"Barty said at least two months, but I have a feeling I'll be there longer. I'm estimating three and a half. I would ask you to come with me, but I know you have your own job to maintain," he said, shifting awkwardly on the bed.
"So where do we fit in this?"
"I don't know."
(One month later)
Remus watched her from across his kitchen table as she sat comatose, her eyes reflecting that she had something to ask but didn't quite know how to present it.
For Remus, the past month hadn't been so bad. Ever since his and Isabelle's first real conversation at Benjy's and realizing his slight affection for the woman, he had endeavored, with more persistence, to analyze her beyond the surface. Though recently, he had acknowledged that he only had begun to scratch the exterior of her multifaceted persona.
There were two things, in particular, that nagged Remus at the back of his mind. First, he wanted to know why she wasn't bothered by him being a werewolf. There were many assumptions he could make on this, but there were too many bad outcomes. So he figured he'd wait for her to explain, rather than hypothesize himself. Two, over the last few weeks, Isabelle had been in a temperament he had never seen her in before. He didn't know how to describe it, but the only word that came to mind was unchained, which he found odd.
Remus was brought out from his deep musings when he heard Isabelle clear her throat. "Something on your mind?" he asked politely, the right side of his lip twitching upwards into a friendly smirk.
She tipped the ashes of her cigarette into the tray beside her and left it to burn. She clasped her hands together in front of her and looked Remus directly in his dark blue eyes. "Well, I've been meaning to ask you this for the past week, but,” she let the sentence trail off and decided it better to get straight to the point, "I have an extra ticket to the Quidditch World Cup, and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?" She quickly added, "The person who previously held the ticket is unavailable, and all my other acquaintances are busy, out of the country, or also unavailable." Offhandedly she said, "And I really don't want to go alone."
Remus was completely taken aback by her inquiry. It wasn't that he didn't like Quidditch, as he found the sport quite enjoyable and entertaining, (though he didn't feel the need to obsess over it, however). He was startled by the fact that she had asked him. If he agreed to go, he would spend the entire day with her. If he said no, he would miss a vast opportunity to learn more about her.
"It would be my pleasure."