Warning: this was my attempt at a less humorous piece. It didn't exactly work, though.
This is the second version of my Lupin angst fic. This version is hardly different from the first version: no tragedies, no betrayals, and certainly no vampires. Lots of new spacing, though.
Reviews, especially constructive criticism, are as always most welcome.
I still suspect that some of the Lupin fans will want to kill me. He's probably completely different from the way you picture him, even if I have avoided the issue of eye colour entirely. Also, I've tried to make him suffer, really I have, but I am not sure if it'll be enough to please the discriminating audience. Perhaps, if there's enough popular demand, I'll drop a piano on him in the next version, or maybe make him listen to elevator music. Or even make him allergic to chickens.
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF REMUS LUPIN
(well, twenty-four hours of his life, anyway.)
It wasn't exactly a glamorous job, but it sounded simple enough. Simple enough to be attempted by a man recovering from, say, something like a brief illness. And really quite necessary if said man was completely short of ready cash.
A lack of ready cash meant that he had to walk quite a distance. But this was far from a punishment. The forest, though shady, was refreshingly cool rather than unpleasantly chilly, and seemed full of benign life in all its variety. It felt good to stroll past trees and shrubs, listening to the calls of birds, and be able to recall names and interesting facts with perfect clarity. Ferns may make a comfortable bed, which is all well and good, but, really, it is sometimes a fine thing to have a mind capable of appreciating their symmetric beauty and the intricacies of their lifecycle.
He was hardly winded at all when he reached his destination, where old mossy gate hung crookedly from its twisted hinges. Just the sort of gate you'd expect your average provincial wizard to have, he thought, leaning against it lightly to catch his breath.
"Good morning! Quite an early riser, aren't you!" The old man was suddenly not three inches from his nose. It was all he could do not to jump back, startled. "You'll be my new helper, I'll wager. Good. I like a man who gets up with the chickens. Healthy habit. Although," he said pensively, "it doesn't seem to be doing you all the good it could. You're grey as a piece of parchment. And the hair! You're a young man, so I'll give you some advice..." Here, the old wizard took his new helper's elbow and started towards the house. Leaning in conspiratorially, he continued his monologue. "Mahogany soot and beetle black, that's what you need. Make a potion, cover up grey hair in no time. I used to use it until I was ninety-three!" His snow-white beard and perfectly shiny head made this rather hard to picture. "Ninety-three! Of course, then I lost all my hair. You having that problem?" he frowned up, revealing a complicated set of wrinkles. "Can't tell. Too tall for me. But I'll wager not, you're young, still have all your own teeth. I'll give you something to chew on in a minute, break your fast, and then we'll get to work. Here, get in the house," he suggested not ungraciously, opening the door of a small whitewashed hut.
The room inside was warm. The brief silence gave the younger man enough time to recover. He ran his hands through his thick, and undoubtedly still present, hair, smiled vaguely, and held his hand out in introduction.
"My name is Remus Lupin," he said.
"Right!" exclaimed the old wizard, "I have been forgetting my manners. You'll forgive an old, lonesome man for rattling on, I am sure. My name", he cleared his throat, "is Fulcrum Budding. At your service," he continued, shaking the extended hand, "well, perhaps not quite, ha ha! But certainly happy to meet you. Here, help yourself to food," he suggested, opening a large basket filled with bread, cheese, and sausages. "Have as much as you can. It'll go to waste otherwise. I can't eat any of this stuff, me. No, in my dotage, all that'll agree with me is a fresh egg. Ever so grateful to my chickens, I am." The complicated procedure of lowering himself into a ratty armchair by the fire gave him a moment to catch a wheezing breath. It was, however, only a brief moment. "Eat, eat, you look like you could use a good feeding, you know... And yet you seem like a clever lad, young Reuben. What are you doing running around, looking like death half warmed-over, doing odd jobs for crazed old coots?"
Lupin swallowed his sausage and was about to give a noncommittal answer, when the old man clapped his hands in excitement. "Wait a moment, I think I understand!" he exclaimed. "Troubles of the heart!" he announced, his face lighting up. "Just the thing to make a young man take the low road. Am I right, then? Is it troubles of the heart?"
Troubled or not, Lupin didn't have the heart to disappoint him. "Something a little like that," he said.
"Now, do tell me, young Reuben. You must tell me, unless you don't want to, that is. You're running away: are you hiding from her, or hoping that she'll run after? Because, if it's the latter, then you've picked a poor spot. No-one'll find you here."
"That's quite all right. I don't imagine anyone is looking for me," Lupin smiled in reply. It was probably true: he was pretty sure all those torch-waving mobs had dispersed by now. And, well, who else was there?
He was pleased to be drawn from such thoughts by the sausage before him. His stomach growled, and he attacked it with abandon.
"When I was your age," Fulcrum started again, regarding him indulgently, "I had quite an appetite myself. And not just for sausage, mind you," he said with a lingering man-of-the-world wink, "You would not have caught ME running from the young ladies, no, not at any price. I could tell you stories, ha ha... But then one day there was Bellamy," he sighed, pointing to a portrait hanging above his smoky ash-filled fireplace, "my wife for sixty-five years."
Lupin looked up at a darkened painting of a handsome middle-aged woman with red hair and a slight squint.
"Dead now, of course. Buried right under this here doorstep," the old man continued, stamping his foot and sighing even deeper, "You know, everyone's dead now but me. Never thought I'd outlive all my friends, and sit here in this hut all alone. Oh, people do come by: young Rowena shows up once a month. Regular as clockwork, she is: you'll meet her, I'll wager. Quite a filly that, makes me wish I was fifty years younger," here he grinned, briefly, and then his face was drawn into sadness once again. "I know I'm boring her, though, with my stories. She can't remember how it was, anyways. There's no-one left now to remember how it was..."
Lupin finished off a chunk of cheese and glanced over at the old man with concern. The sudden silence didn't seem like a good sign, and he could empathize only too well with such problems. All alone in a decaying house; all alone even on the road; the good memories fading until they seem little more than make-believe...
He tried to shake it off. This was completely pointless. It wasn't even true. His closest companions, his brothers, were certainly gone, but there were others left who remembered. Perhaps he would travel up to Hogwarts, and pay Albus another visit. As soon as he could get himself looking a bit more respectable, of course: he wouldn't want to worry his friend unduly. They could walk through those winding corridors, which seemed so much smaller now, and hear the familiar footsteps and laughter. He would visit Minerva in her office, feeling that long-ingrained, if no longer appropriate, sense of foreboding as he passed through the door. They would all have a good laugh about the old times...
Of course, neither Albus nor Minerva would know anything about those midnight runs through the grounds of Hogwarts, the clarity of mind, everything made brighter and stranger by an unfamiliar sense of belonging. Being part of a pack at long last, he thought, smiling at himself a little. Oh well, he sighed internally. It was hard not to dwell on happy memories, but there WAS work to be done, after all. If he really wanted to reminisce about those times with someone, he forced himself to realize, his smile twisting, he should try visiting Azkaban. This thought, intentionally cruel, jolted him out of his reverie. Here was one memory he did not wish to examine in detail. His eyes refocused.
Looking around again, he couldn't help but notice that Fulcrum had dozed off before the fire. He coughed politely.
"Humpf! Don't you go falling asleep on me, young Reuben!" the old man sat up bolt upright.
"It's Lupin, actually," Lupin explained, "And I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'd love to get to work."
"Work!" the old man clapped his hands. "Come on, young Rubin, I'll walk you there. It's quite a ways. Dirty, too. Good thing you wore your work clothes," he muttered appreciatively.
"Yes, well, they're certainly the clothes I work in," was Lupin's answer, as he followed his new employer out to the edge of the farm. It wasn't that far, but they had to stop to let the old man rest and then again to introduce young Rubin to some chickens and a duck. But, eventually, they arrived at an enormous tangle of brambles. Fulcrum stopped short and made a great production of waving his wand while muttering hoarsely. Nothing much happened, although the songs of the birds seemed louder in the ensuing silence. Lupin looked away casually, examining a nasty new rip in his sleeve, as the old wizard made several further attempts to work his magic. At last, a gleaming wispy fence appeared, running right through the brambles.
"You see that there?" he asked, waiting for Lupin's nod before going on. "Inattention spell. Put in by my great-grandma: a good piece of work, but getting a bit threadbare in places. Especially after a rough winter. Easy to tell when it's about due for repairs: the Muggles start slipping in. Don't know what they want with this here bit of forest - except for the young couples, looking for privacy, ha ha. I'd let the young ones in alright, but it gets worse: a few years back, twenty maybe, there were all these men with dogs, sniffing and searching... The pigs thought they were looking for truffles, took me days to calm them down..."
"It certainly looks like a fine piece of work," Lupin said, taking advantage of the brief lull in monologue. "I'll get to work then, shall I?" he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
"Good idea, my boy," Fulcrum replied, "Now you be careful: it goes over quite a few ditches. Else I'd do the job myself, of course," he added, his chest swelling slightly, "But I have my rheumatism to worry about, and the ditchwater wouldn't do it any good."
Lupin had made his way through the brambles to get a closer look at the section of spell-fence. As he considered the work ahead, his mind cleared. The laughably morbid mood he'd fallen into earlier lifted. His problems were not relevant here.
Apart from, that is, the immediate problem of Fulcrum's endless supply of conversation. Lupin was just starting to formulate a polite way of telling the old wizard to shove off when, fortunately, he was spared the trouble by a loud snorting noise somewhere off to the right. Startled, Fulcrum paused in mid-rant. With tender concern, he muttered something about needing to see to the pigs. He then shuffled off slowly, leaving behind the magical sausage basket and, naturally, a few final words of advice. Left alone with the birds, Lupin shook out his wand and began to work in earnest.
It turned out to be a very tiring day. The ditches were certainly there, full of unpleasant greenish mud and low-flying mosquitoes. There were also vast quantities of brambles and poison nettles, and at least one vicious pixie, which had expressed its frustration with pixie life in general by kicking him sharply on the kneecap. By the late evening, he had become so dazed that he let Fulcrum talk him into standing in a ditch as a lure for leeches, which apparently did wonders for the old man's rheumatism when eaten with chicken eggs. It was quite fortunate for Lupin's health that he managed to collect only a couple of rather shrivelled specimens.
The best time of the day turned out to be the evening, when he was finally able to wash the mud off and attend to his numerous bites and scratches. Clean and whole again, he felt like he had discovered the key to human happiness. His mood was improved even further by the chunky bag of money the old man pressed into his hand. Lupin did try to protest the amount - it seemed to rather more than had been advertised - but he dropped the subject when Fulcrum started muttering something about "Leech-bait union wages." Instead, he asked if he might have a place to sleep.
"Of course! I'm forgetting my manners again! Come along, I'll show you the chicken coop, young Rupin."
"The chicken coop?" This was not exactly the answer he'd been looking for. It was true that he was, at that moment, one of the happiest social outcasts in England. Still, he was really quite tired of being misunderstood. And of being called young Rupin.
"Aye. I norm'ly offer guests my place in that there cow shed, but I figured a young one like yourself wouldn't mind being so near the duck pond," Fulcrum explained.
"The duck pond... Ah!" Realization dawned. "Of course! Bad for your rheumatism. And you're right, I don't mind, although I AM just a bit surprised that you don't sleep in the house."
"Can't do that. Where would the pigs go, then?"
Lupin was too tired to follow the logic behind that statement. Instead, he stepped into the ramshackle hut which served as the chicken coop. He was quite pleased to notice that it was clean and well-lined with straw, and also that several of the chickens he'd met were already there. It made him feel like far less of an intruder. Politely, they moved aside to offer him a man-sized spot, and he was asleep before he'd had time to count them all. Very quickly, in fact, as there were only twenty-three chickens and Remus Lupin was a pretty fast thinker.
He woke up with the chickens. It was quite hard to avoid, what with all the crowning and the bustle taking place in the coop just inches away from his face. In spite of this, he felt well-rested: he was definitely starting to recover. He yawned and stretched, but then froze in mid-stretch when he realized he was not alone.
A girl was leaning in through the door, looking at him attentively. She seemed quite unembarrassed to find him awake, so that he felt oddly comfortable returning her gaze. Her hair was dark, very dark, and her face very pale, with distinct shadows under the cheekbones and around her deep-set eyes. Her lips were pale, but full and half open. Lupin couldn't decide whether the latter was also true of her robes. Certainly, he could see all of her white neck, her well-defined collarbones, and a deep shadow that could only be her cleavage. As his gaze was drawn downwards he noticed that she seemed to be panting a little.
"Hi. I'm Rowena," she said, giving him a steady, wolfish look, "as in "Rowr"-ena."
"I'm Remus," he answered, feeling a bit silly. Remus as in what?
"Fulcrum sent me over with your breakfast," she smiled slowly, "Are you hungry?"
"Well, yes," he replied, "I'll just get up and join you in a moment." For some reason, the thought of her entering the closed confines of the chicken coop disturbed him.
Row(r)ena pouted. "You're not afraid of being alone here with me, are you?" she asked, "Well, there's no reason to be. Not at the moment, anyway." She slinked away.
After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Lupin smoothed out his clothes and ran his hands through his hair. It seemed to be particularly wild right at that moment, and he caught himself hoping that the effect was carefree and artistic rather than slovenly. He even made a real point of trying to pick out all the chicken feathers. Then, with a final brush at his robes, he stepped out.
Rowena was sitting comfortably in the morning sun. In the light, she seemed both older and more vulnerable. Fine lines at the corners of her lips and on her pale forehead gave her a slightly wistful expression. The sausage basket sat unattended by her right arm.
Feeling that it was somehow required of him, Lupin sat down on the overturned trough beside her. He was ravenously hungry, but a little voice in the back of his mind was telling him that there was some small but important detail he should be noticing.
And then he noticed that Rowena's dark blue eyes were focused on the setting moon.
Remus raised his eyebrows. He couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking.
"You're looking at the moon," he said, feeling slightly foolish.
"Yes," she said quietly, "I like to watch the moon closely: don't you?"
Did she know? But she did not seem afraid: was just making small-talk in response to his ridiculous comment? He was confused. Aware that it's usually easier to think on a full stomach, he picked up a sausage. "Will you be joining me?" he asked with a small smile.
"I don't think so," she sighed, "I still feel slightly ill. It's that time of the month, after all."
Now, here was real food for thought, he decided as he started on his sausage. In the years since puberty he had become accustomed to the kind of vague references women sometimes make. He had stopped staring in mild shock even on those occasions when their timing seemed dead on. But this seemed different. The slightly coy way she said it made it sound like a secret message, coded just for him. He decided to try playing her game.
"Maybe you should take a nap," he suggested, "I find that it often helps."
Rowena turned at him and looked at him oddly through thick black lashes. Her pose was languorous, making the calculating gleam in her eye oddly out of place.
"I might," she said. "I do find it hard to sleep at night, these days. After all, the light's so bright, and there's so many strange sounds in the woods," here she drew he knees to her chest and shivered slightly. "It's frightening for a girl, out there all alone in the toolshed..."
Now Lupin felt guilty. Sounds in the woods? Him? Had she really been afraid? He was also utterly confused. What kind of a game was this? If it wasn't for her earlier behaviour, her emphasis on the word "toolshed", actually accompanied by a half node in the direction of said shed, would have led him to conclude that this was just an ordinary flirtation. He decided to try again.
"You don't seem to like the moonlight much," he asked, one eyebrow raised. He'd been told it was his most attractive expression. "Aren't you a romantic at all?"
She regarded him evenly. "Moonlight alters things. Makes people act out of character," she said in a serious tone of voice. Then, suddenly, the wolfish grin was back once more. "It lowers people's inhibitions," she murmured, stretching and running a finger along her neckline.
Fair enough, Lupin thought. He decided to press on, ignoring all distractions. "So do these... effects upset you?" he asked, keeping his eyes firmly focused on her face.
"It depends," she smiled, fluttering her eyelashes. "Some can be a terrible curse. But then, the others..." here she shrugged, moving her entire body in a most interesting way. "Do YOU have many inhibitions, Remus?" she asked suddenly, still toying with the front of her robe.
This was a very odd situation. He was not used to being approached this directly. In fact, he was finding her lack of subtlety very disconcerting. And yet, he was hooked. He had to know.
"Doesn't everybody?" he asked, almost mechanically. His eyes had been drawn by something right above her left breast. Just for a moment, as she shifted her robe: had he seen a silvery scar?
His shift of focus had not gone unnoticed. Rowena crossed her legs slowly and smiled with pleasure. She looked as if she'd just scored a point. Perhaps she had: logical thinking was getting slightly harder. He had to admit that her neckline compared most favourably to the one he was most familiar with: his own. Or was it the possibility that she was... like him... that was affecting him so? He wasn't sure that he even liked her.
He just had to sort it out.
Oh, what the hell. It was an innocent enough question. "Is that a scar?" he asked.
SLAP! His left cheek was burning. As were Rowena's eyes. With one hand, she had closed her robes up all the way to her neck: she had clearly decided to protect her honour rather violently with the other. He put his hand up to his faced and stared at her in utter confusion.
"A clever one, aren't you?" she hissed. "Won't relax and enjoy getting to know a girl. No, you have to go right for the scar. So very clever. I suppose you're planning to tell Fulcrum. Well, go right ahead: he knows. That's right," she continued, obviously misinterpreting his disbelieving expression, "He knows and he lets me come down here every month!" she exclaimed, spinning to her feet. "Lucky for you it's not two days earlier!"
With this final threat, she stomped off towards the toolshed, knocking over the basket. Lupin hesitated. He considered ripping his robes open and calling her back to look at his own marks, but it seemed a trifle overdramatic. So, he followed her instead.
When he reached the shed, she was leaning into the building, her face hidden, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
"Rowena," he said softly.
She sniffed and turned her head a little. Her gaze was suspicious, but she did not object as he took her hand and placed it under his robe, on his shoulder. "I was very happy to see your scar," he said simply.
They stood like that for a while, her hand cold on his shoulder. Slowly, slowly, her eyes widened in realization. She made a small sound and turned to face him. She took a step closer.
And fell into his arms, crying so hard that both their bodies shook.
Lupin just stood there, stroking her hair. Feeling her heat so close to his skin made him slightly dizzy. It had been a quite a while since he'd touched anyone more than casually, and even longer since he had taken part in such an emotional scene. At the moment he was numb, not quite ready to hope for anything...
He looked down at Rowena, her nose and cheeks reddened by weeping. With her seductive expression gone, she looked normal and human. He realized that he liked her much better already.
They went for a walk round the farm.
"I'm sorry I slapped you," she said. "But a girl has to be careful."
Even at the risk of another slap or bout of weeping, Lupin had to ask. "But you weren't exactly being careful, over there, were you?"
"You mean all my little hints..." she smiled. "That's how I always play with my prey." He raised his eyebrows at this, and she took his arm before continuing. "Not everyone is as clever as you, Remus. Few men ever get it. They appear... oddly distracted by other things at first," she said archly. "Then later, once we... know each other a little better, and they have to be told, they can't well say it's entirely out of the blue. Many of them are too proud to ever admit that they had no idea," she shrugged, "And of course, by then, they are often quite attached to me..."
Lupin was a little disturbed by the implications of the highly plural word "many". Rowena looked over at him, studying his reaction. "Well, how do YOU handle it?" she asked with sudden curiosity.
"I don't. I doesn't come up that often," he replied truthfully, with a wry smile.
They walked on in silence a bit. Then Rowena looked up at him through her eyelashes.
"You know, Remus," she simpered, "I bet we could howl just beautifully together."
She was back in top form: even her wolfish smile was back. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling owns Lupin and all his memories. I do not intend to make any money off this. Also, Rowena is certainly NOT my alter ego - I don't even like her much.
Note: I am now on vacation, and I might continue this when I get back. If you enjoyed this, I suggest that you take a look at my other pieces, if you haven't done so already. Or, if you have, you could go and review them at some length.