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.
Song Excerpts: Tears for Fears, Mad World
Rating: R, for sexual and adult themes, violence, and imagery.
Word Count: 2389
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 sat at the desk in his bedroom, gazing out the window, his eyes
squinting at the glaring sun. Before him laid a piece of parchment, an inkwell,
and a quill that was missing a few feathers and had bite marks down its shaft.
Like him, it looked battered and worn.
The last three days for Remus had been quite uneventful. There was no longer
any slander about him in the Daily Prophet, which he assumed their
articles about him had begun to bore their patrons to tears, and though his
mood was still not up to par, it was considerably better than it was a couple
nights ago. To the point where he decided his pigsty shack was a contributor to
his downbeat temper and had cleaned up a bit.
Hygiene wise, Remus was very clean, but domestically he didn’t have the same
obsessive-compulsive nature. The only places that stayed consistently tidy in his
home were his bedroom and bathroom. Otherwise, he didn’t bother with the
rest of the house. Besides, taking a book from the bookshelf and blowing a
layer of dust from its cover was fun. To Remus, it was like going back in
time.
Shaking himself from his daze, Remus, in his usual messy scrawl, began to
write:
Hello Padfoot,
Dear friend, how are
you? And since I know you’re wondering, I’m fine. A bit fatigued, but fine.
Hopefully food rationing hasn’t gotten you down to consider eating Buckbeak.
Be sure to inform me if you need anything, such as food, or even a bar of soap.
Though I do not know what it is like to be a convicted criminal on the run, yet, if
the Werewolf Registry has its way, I do know what it’s like to be living with
nothing but the clothes on your back. Or should I say fur?
Anyway, keeping this short and dulcet,
Moony
P.S. No, I have not written Harry, but I’m sure he’s fine. I will, hopefully, get to
writing him later today.
Remus checked his writing and figured as long as it was legible, it was good.
Padfoot wouldn’t care if it was grammatically correct or that everything was
spelled correctly. As long as he received it and knew that everything was dandy,
nothing else mattered.
Scooping up the note and standing up from his antique desk, Remus stretched
and headed out, grabbing his raggedy coat from the rack on the way. Since he
didn’t have an owl, he’d have to stop by Hogwarts to borrow one, as going to
the post office was out of the question for this particular letter.
It’s a good thing that I have nothing, better, to do today.
Isabelle gathered her clothes and sat on the bed, slipping her black boots on,
having slight difficulty pushing her heel into her right boot.
“Damn it, shove in, will you?”
“Stop growling. I’m trying to sleep,” a lump under the sheets groggily
complained next to her.
“Oh, keep quiet Richard. My boot seems to not want to cooperate with my heel
at this moment.”
Once Isabelle had conquered the battle of the boot’s rebellion, she maneuvered
to face her indignant boyfriend and sighed unhappily. Of course, Richard didn’t
take note.
“Why can’t you wear normal shoes like everyone else?” He placed his arms
behind his head, completely ignoring her deathlike stare, his eyes twinkling with
ignorance.
Through gritted teeth, she answered, “If you haven’t noticed, I prefer not to be
associated with society’s normality.” She continued to glare pointedly at him. “I
rather focus my attention on more antisocial, self-absorbed matters, such as my
Insomnia or unappreciative, conceited partner.”
She wondered if he would detect her sarcasm or, at least, her concluding words
of wisdom. If only. She rolled her eyes and stood from her seat,
straightening her top, checking if all the buttons were correctly fastened.
Propping up on his elbows, Richard responded, “Fuck, Isabelle. Why do you
have to make everything into such a colossal predicament? Always such a
drama queen— oh wait, you hate being normal, make that drama
heroine.”
Score: Isabelle, one. Richard, zero.
“You know the world doesn’t revolve around you,” he concluded, rolling over
onto his side.
Oh, I know that. You, unfortunately, think the Earth orbits around you. Why
do I even put up with you? Isabelle contemplated, though she knew
perfectly well why.
Keeping opinions to her, Isabelle regretfully and quite bored, stated, “I know.
I’m sorry for my outburst. It’s just that nothing’s been going my way lately. I
didn’t mean to take my anger out on you, Rich.”
She averted her gaze from his pale blue eyes, not wanting to be sickened by
the smile that played on his face.
Their conversations always begun and ended the same way: She would make
some witty remark; he would ignore it and her, and accuse insubordination on
her part. She would then brew cruel thoughts, not reveal her musings and
surrender, shutting down and letting her facade dominate the rest of the way.
It was a never-ending masochistic cycle in their relationship and she hoped, one
day, she would be confident enough to end it.
“Look, I’m sorry if you had a bad day, but you don’t need to take it out on me. I
haven’t done anything.”
Oh, sure you haven’t.
“Anyway, we’re on for tomorrow night, correct?”
“Well, it depends if I’m stuck training trainees or not. I’ll owl you if I can’t make
it.” She grabbed her handbag from beside the bed and was halfway out the
door before he could reply.
I’ll make sure I can’t make it.
“Morning, Headmaster,” Remus nodded curtly.
Dumbledore smiled warmly and motioned for the young man to sit down.
“Remus, you are no longer a student here. There’s no need for the formalities.
Call me Albus.” Remus blushed, embarrassed. “Lemon drop?” Dumbledore
offered.
Remus kindly took the lemon drop. “Thank you, Head—Albus.”
Dumbledore leaned into his cushy Head’s chair and stared inquiringly over his
spectacles at the former student, crossing his legs, one over the other, and set
his intertwined fingers on his knee.
Remus Lupin had been one of his brightest and most studious of students;
always kind, willing to help others, and never nasty to those who were to him,
though that did not mean he didn’t get angry. He was a model student, and
grew up into an intelligent, modest gentleman, with his priorities and head on
straight. If it wasn’t for his Lycanthropy, Dumbledore would have made him
Head boy, but fearing that too much attention would be brought upon him and
his mysterious absences (or that a certain Slytherin would’ve had a fit), his
second choice had been James.
A long time ago, the old Headmaster had wondered how a boy, like Lupin, could
be found gallivanting about with boys like James Potter and Sirius Black, but
soon figured why.
They complemented each other. They all had an interest in mischief-making, and
had the brilliant minds to do such. James was the quirky one, with his ruffled
hair, egoistical attitude and fun-loving demeanor. He believed that money
shouldn’t rule one’s actions. Sirius was the trouble maker, the one who didn’t
think before he acted. Though, emotionally, Sirius was quite closed off, one
would not ever see him without his partner in crime, James. He wanted to make
a reputation all his own and show that he was nothing like his relatives. Then
there was Remus. The introverted, quiet, malnourished boy brought up in
poverty. The moment he walked through Hogwarts’ doors, he was driven to
succeed. He had a mind, and was determined not to waste it. And last, there
was Peter Pettigrew; a chubby, straw-haired boy whose friends would jibe at
him and use him for the butt of their jokes, but always in good fun. Though, a
tad clumsy and shy, the boys had taken the boy under their wing and made him
one of their own.
Albus broke from his reverie and inquired, “So what brings you back to
Hogwarts, Remus?”
“Well, I came by to ask if I could borrow an owl and line a note to Sirius, since I
don’t have one of my own.” He gave a half smile and joked, “Really though, I
just can’t stay away,” popping the sweet into his mouth.
Dumbledore replied, “Of course, you can borrow an owl. Keep it as long as you
like and you know you are welcome here anytime, Remus, staff or
non-staff.”
“Thank you, Albus, but I couldn’t imp—”
“I insist.” His eyes twinkled cordially as he stood to shake Remus’s hand.
Remus stood and shook his hand, “Thank you, again.”
“Anytime,” Albus smiled.
“All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces. Bright and
early for their daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere,” Isabelle sung
mournfully, sitting alone in a booth in The Three Broomsticks, lazily twirling a
spoon in her tea.
Staring at the imaginary spot on the table and hearing the bell over the door
ring, she quietly carried on, not bothering seeing who came in. “Their tears are
filling up their glasses, no expression, no expression. Hide my head I want to
drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow.”
Remus wandered into the Three Broomsticks, hoping to find a decent place to
sit, observing the usual entourage of customers seated at the booths and
stools. Walking across the establishment, his ears perked when he heard a soft
lilting coming from his left and turned to see the same woman he encountered
at the Hog’s Head four days previously, her back to him.
Decisions, decisions. Should I seat myself across from the caustic blonde, or
should I not bother and seat myself at the counter? Remus contemplated
heavily. It’s either bravery or the coward’s way out and if I choose the latter,
I would be contradicting the house I was sorted in. Coming to a decision, he
concluded, The former.
Remus turned on his heel and slid in the booth, across the table. She didn’t take
notice.
“And I find it kind of funny, I fin—”
Remus cleared his throat.
Startled, Isabelle knocked over her tea.
Taking his wand out and pointing it at the brown liquid rapidly encompassing
the tabletop, he muttered, “Evanesco.” Putting his wand away, he
looked up to see her catching her breath and her eyes closed. “I am so sorry. I
didn’t mean to startle you,” he smiled apologetically.
She put her hand up to quiet him. “No, no, it’s my fault. I should have been
more attentive and not so lost in thought.”
Though he barely knew her, for the second time he gazed at her imploringly. His
senses were telling him something was wrong, but he wasn’t about to ask. He
didn’t think it was possible, but she looked paler than the first time he saw her,
her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. Her hair looked straggly just as
last time, but didn’t have the same volume as before; bed-head would be the
best term to describe it.
“I assume you haven’t had a good morning?” It was more of a statement than a
question.
She laughed, “I have had better days.”
“Interesting,” he nodded. “Um, you know, from our conversation a couple days
ago, I also assumed that you didn’t venture into the Three Broomsticks. So,
again, I ask, what brings you here?”
“I come in here when I’m depressed,” Isabelle answered, combing her fingers
through her pale gold strands.
Remus raised an eyebrow and thought about it, then nodded again, “Makes
sense. You come in here when you’re depressed and when you’re in an all-right
temper you go into the Hog’s Head. Yes, it makes perfect sense.”
“Oh, you’re funny,” she accused.
“I like to think I am.” He flirted smugly.
Lupin, what the hell are you doing? You don’t even know if she has a
boyfriend. She could even have a girlfriend for all you know! One part of his
mind was yelling at him, but the other was rooting him on. Go for it! Go for it!
She’s dishy! You haven’t had anyone companionable in a long time!
He hated it when he argued with himself. In these situations, he stayed neutral.
He learned long ago never to take one side or the other; either would get you
in trouble.
“So what has got you down?” He asked boldly, switching his mind off from its
current battle.
She sighed, “People, life, stupidity, there’s a long list. Shall I go on?” She bit out
angrily, her eyes squinted menacingly.
Remus surrendered hands in front of him. “Whoa. Calm down. There’s no need
to take your day out on an innocent bystander.” His smile faltered when he saw
her eyes widen considerably.
Have I offended her?
Standing up and throwing her hands into the air, she exasperated, “What the
hell is it with your gender that accuses me of taking my anger out on them? Tell
me! WHAT?” She slammed down a combination of sickles and knuts on the
table, and seized her things then stomped out.
People stared at the booth, but Remus didn’t care. He was too confused as to
why Isabelle had just left like she had.
What did I say?
Rosmerta, the owner of the Three Broomsticks, wandered over and in her usual
nosy manner, asked, “What happened, Remus? You and your girlfriend have a
fight?”
“One,” he started pointedly, “she’s not my girlfriend, and two, I haven’t the
slightest.”
Isabelle, surprisingly, was able to Apparate home, and thanked heaven that she
didn’t splinch herself. She had changed her clothes, and was now nursing a
cigarette and staring into the fire, listening to an old Muggle stereo her mother
had given her when she was sixteen. It was the only thing she could do to keep
herself from crying.
Remus finished listening to the song in which Isabelle had been singing beneath
her breath earlier that day. He knew it well. It was the song of his life, and
something about the tune must have described Isabelle’s as well.
He wanted to get to know her more than anything now. This summer, she was
his book and he would analyze the surface of the words she represented.