If you're one of those few people who are impatiently awaiting "The Speculum Curse: Remus", sorry. I'm working on it, but, in the meantime, here is another Lupin fic. It's a follow-up to "A Day In The Life". For those of you who haven't read that, it was a Lupin:The Lost Years story in which Remus did odd jobs for a strange old coot and mets a seductive female werewolf.
This was very fun to write: not, I suspect, quite as much fun to read. There is no intrigue, you see, no explosions, and the jokes don't come quite as often as in, e.g. "The Bathroom Incident." It's a bit of a romance, but not an unironic one, there's a little angst in it, but really not enough to demoralize poor Remus completely. There's a mildly sexy part near the end: you could skip right to that, if you're so inclined.
If you do get through it, please, please review. Constructive criticism is particularly welcome.
A DATE IN THE LIFE OF REMUS LUPIN
"You know, Remus," Rowena simpered, "I bet we could howl just beautifully together."
A reply was clearly called for, Remus thought. Something witty. Something subtle. Something that would imply interest in howling, and togetherness, in general, and at the same time suggest that perhaps the time for such things had not yet come. All without insulting Rowena, or making himself sound like a prig.
"I've never howled... I mean, I've never thought of howling as beautiful. Objectively speaking. My howling, that is. Which is the only howling I've ever really heard. Except of course for the werewolf who...never mind," Remus finished feebly.
Rowena had been staring at him expectantly the whole time. Now she turned half away with a small sigh.
It wasn't his fault, not really. The situation, the situation was to blame. It was entirely surreal. Anyone who'd spent most their life concealing a terrible secret and cultivating emotional detachment would surely be at least a little put out by a half hour during which the secret had been torn out of him during an emotional scene with a strange woman he'd only just met.
A strange woman who seemed very interested in what was under his robes. She'd only taken his arm a moment ago and already she'd somehow managed to work her hand up under his sleeve.
"I'm not worried about your howling," she said encouragingly. "I am told many people sing better in a chorus than solo."
Here was his chance to redeem himself as a conversationalist. Sadly, his brain was still made of pudding.
It was therefore rather fortunate that, at that very moment, a familiar squat figure rounded the corner of the nearby boat shed.
It was Fulcrum, and he was lost in thought, or perhaps, more accurately, in conversation. Now there was a person well used to singing solo: and his rapt expression made it rather clear that he found his own mutterings interesting and full of sentimental value. They couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but the words "chickenfeed", "celebration", and "square root" seemed to be playing an important part.
Rowena stopped. Looking down at her, Remus noticed that she was smiling fondly.
"Good morning, Fully," she sang out.
Fulcrum noticed them then. Looking up, he froze, only his enormous snowy eyebrows moving up in surprise. It was very nearly possible to see his thoughts running about behind his eyes: and they quickly reached a point of obvious significance, since he started to sputter, then cough. Remus became rather alarmed as his employer's face grew beet-red.
Rowena, meanwhile, was practical. Releasing his arm with a parting squeeze, she stepped lightly over to her friend's side."Alright there?" she asked, pounding him hard on the back, with what looked like a practiced motion.
"Har Ar, aye, Rowena my pet." Fulcrum answered. "I see you have met young Lumping there. Not giving you any trouble, is he?" here his eyebrows shot back down as he sent a penetrating look towards Remus, who was trying to look as innocent and untroublesome as he was confused.
"Of course I've met him. I took him the breakfast like you asked," Rowena said right into Fulcrum's ear. "His name is Remus. REMUS. And I think he's rather sweet."
"Do you, now? Ah, you young fillies," Fulcrum shook his head at her before turning back to Remus. "You're in trouble now, young Remus Lumping. Ha, ha. The best thing to do," he advised, with a theatrical wink, "is to play hard to get: act like a lord and never let her get a word in edgewise. Or do I mean woo her with flowers and speak fondly of other ladies? Never mind, the most important..."
"Yes, never mind all that now, Fully," Rowena interrupted, "The important thing is, you'll have to give Remus... Lumping?" she shot a brief quizzical look at Remus, who shook his head quite firmly. "some more work to do now, so he'll have to stay."
"Aha... Alright..." Fulcrum was pondering this request. Suddenly, his eyes filled with a mischievous light as he peered back at Rowena. "He could try to find and deal with Rusalka in the northeastern corner, the one who..."
"No," Rowena rolled her eyes, "he isn't 'dealing with' Goplana any more than you are. I'll go talk to her one of these days," she concluded, as Fulcrum concentrated on his thinking.
A Rusalka was akin to a Veela, Remus remembered. He expected he could have a go at 'dealing with' her, and he was fully prepared to say so, but the others had by this point moved on and were now giggling at some joke about leeches. He wondered just how much of an imposition his presence was. Besides, his pride was starting to hurt: he did not want a made-up job. Did he really look so shabby so as to make Rowena think he really needed one? He decided to speak up.
"You know, Fulcrum, if there is no work that needs to be done... I really don't want to put you out in any way. I could be on my way."
"Hmm?" Rowena looked back towards him. "Oh, there's work, of course, we've just trying to think of something interesting... Unless, Remus," her eyes suddenly widened and grew moist, "you really want to leave, that is? You're welcome to, of course," she finished, waving a delicate hand about in slightly lost fashion.
"No, no, of course not..." Remus found himself saying. "There's an inn in the village, I could perhaps..."
"What nonsense! But how wonderful of you to think of it!" Rowena's eyes brightened. "Anyway, you must stay here. Especially as I'm not done with you quite yet," she added, stretching back against the shed wall in a way that made the curve of her hip suddenly very apparent.
"Yes, I think," Fulcrum spoke up decisively, drawing Remus' slightly grateful gaze away from this, "that you had better do something about the hinkypunk situation. They've all gone completely wild again, which is most vexing. Most vexing indeed. Need to be re-captured, re-tamed, and set with their lanterns all along the path to the privy. Follow me, young, er, Remus," he finished, with a quick questioning look at Rowena.
Rowena nodded cheerfully. "That's all sorted out, then," she announced with satisfaction. "I suppose I'd better leave you boys to it," she added, giving them both a long sideways look, "and go talk to that watery tart Goplana. I'll need to change, of course..." she murmured to herself, looking down at her robes and running one hand down the side of her thigh. She walked off slowly, making the best of each step, casting Remus one final, lingering glance.
Remus, meanwhile, went off with Fulcrum. To clear his mind, he forced himself to pay great attention to his employer's monologue.
"Those hinkypunks!" Fulcrum was saying with outrage. "Raised them from a chick, I have, trained them up to do an honest day's work, and how do they repay me? By trying to lure me and mine into muddy pits, that's how! I have tried to be understanding, always try to be understanding of young ones, even Rowena with her robes, in my day we'd have called them indecent, though flattering, hahaha, and you wouldn't believe all the cold remedies I've had to brew up for that girl, young Remus..."
"Oh, yes," Remus agreed distractedly. He'd never manage to focus on his work on this rate! "Now, about the hinkypunks... you were understanding, you said?" he asked in businesslike fashion.
"So I was!" Fulcrum exclaimed, shaking his head, eyebrows moving wildly. "I told them to try luring people to the privy, that's a muddy pit too, you know..."
Remus nodded in silence. He'd seen the privy. He could recall it perfectly. And he did: the image was just the thing for driving thoughts of young women from one's mind.
"Thought they'd leap at the chance, I did, but they will wander off..." the old man continued, nodding sagely. "One night, poor cousin Lister followed them all the way to the next county. Drunk as a lord he was, and some were of the opinion as the poor creatures were just trying to escape his singing."
Quite likely, Remus thought to himself. Loud discordant sounds were one of the methods of confusing this unpleasant swamp creature. It was all coming back to him now: he could see the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom, with its ink-stained (and, often, gore-stained) desks, Professor Asquith walking up and down in front, lecturing on "minor pests."
"Hinkypunks. Page One-two-one. Illustration. Habitat: swamp. Best strategy: confuse the creature before it confuses you..." the Professor's clipped syllables drifted across Remus' memory.
"OK, here we are now," Fulcrum's more relaxed tones cut into the reverie. "They should be around somewhere, I'd go with you, but my rheumatism..."
Remus sympathized, and asked after the chickens: and soon he was alone in a particularly damp and green section of the forest. Armed with a cage, and with all his re-discovered knowledge, he started searching for nests, memories of the classroom still at the edge of his mind.
Sniffing at the air, his eyes darting from side to side as he picked his way through mud, he tried to focus on the task at hand. But it was hard to forget that hinkypunk illustration, so artistically augmented to show Snape's likeness. Sirius had done that: Sirius, spitting mad over something Snape had said about his friend Remus.
And what would Sirius have made of Rowena, Remus wondered. Recognized a kindred spirit, perhaps? He recalled a scene he'd witnessed dozens of times: Sirius, leaning over a girl, snaring her with charisma born of vanity, hedonism, and genuine interest.
And why only girls? Hadn't he himself been equally deeply charmed? He could remember Sirius, talking him into his first (illegal) ride on a broomstick; Sirius, making detention sound like a prize, a badge of honour; Sirius, laughing at his friend's troubles in a way that made them disappear.
Sirius, talking himself into betrayal and, possibly, laughing as he made his friends disappear.
And this was the man who reminded him of his new admirer? Remus decided he was being very unfair to Rowena. And to Sirius, no doubt: who knew what demons had driven his friend to betrayal? He had always known, after all, that Sirius was not as mindlessly shallow as he often seemed...
But how can you trust a person who hides constantly behind jokes or innuendos?
Oh, well, he decided, with a bit of luck Rowena would turn out to be just as silly as she seemed. And this certainly was the most interesting job he'd had in weeks... He got to work in earnest.
He hunted for several hours, and stopped only when the cage was so full the animals inside started working out complicated time-share schemes. This took much of the day, and testified to his good work ethic, as he'd somehow forgotten to take food along that morning. Berries are tasty, but hardly a substitute for a hearty lunch, and as for meat... he had considered catching a rabbit and eating bunny steak tartare, but dismissed the idea. After all, just because one of his new acquaintances was a werewolf did not mean that she wouldn't look askew at such barbaric habits.
As a result, he was ravenous when he got back. Still, for some reason, he felt compelled to go and wash up at the well before presenting Fulcrum with his trophies. And not until he had dried his hair with the edge of his cloak, and quickly reviewed his reflection in the water-bucket, did he make for the main hut.
"I see you hunt well," Rowena was leaning against the fence off to one side. "That's quite a package you've got there."
He held the cage up wordlessly for her inspection. She had changed. Instead of this morning's revealing dress, she was now wearing an oddly muggle-like outfit: a pair of tight leather trousers and a blouse, which was tied up high on her stomach. Presumably to keep it out of the omnipresent mud, although, even knowing her as little as he did, he already suspected she may have had other motives.
"How was the rusalka?" he asked innocently, as she moved closer, cooing at the captive beasts.
"Don't you worry about the rusalka," Rowena replied darkly. But then, she looked up at him, and her eyes glittered in the hinkypunks' light like moonlit water. Smiling, she placed her hand on his, on the cage. "I've been waiting for you..." she murmured. "And I'm getting very hungry... Aren't you?"
"Well, yes," he replied truthfully. "Have you seen the sausage basket anywhere?"
"Sausage basket," Rowena sighed sadly. "I was hoping for something a bit more fun."
"I saw some rabbits... " Remus began, but he was soon interrupted.
"There's quite a nice Muggle pub in the nearby village," Rowena explained. "Rabbits are tasty, of course, but a few days after each moon I feel a need to be more... civilized."
"I think I know just what you mean," he answered. And he did, though this was the first time he'd heard the thought expressed by someone other than himself. He smiled at her vaguely, transported by the sudden sense of kinship. "Let's go, then," he suggested.
"Oh, you can't go like that!" Rowena exclaimed with some amusement. She drew back and gave him a long, critical look.
Well, his robes were looking a bit ragged, he supposed. He'd closed up most of the tears quite carefully, but the patches were still visible and, besides, he'd had no time to deal with the effects of yesterday's thorny plants...
Oh, it was a Muggle pub. That's what she was worried about... He was quite relieved not to have to think of her as that shallow...
"Don't worry," Rowena announced after a moment's contemplation. "I have lots of suitable clothing, as you can see," here she turned slightly, displaying her legs to better advantage, "and I think I have a couple of things that might fit you: you might be taller, but you don't have my curves." With a wiggle of her hips, she turned towards the house. "Come try them on," she said.
Remus followed. The room inside was pretty much as he remembered it: the armchairs, the fire, Bellamy's portrait over the fireplace. No Fulcrum, though.
"Fully's caring for a sick goat," Rowena explained, taking the cage from his hands, and replacing it with a cloth bundle. "A malingerer, if you ask me, but then nobody never does."
Remus examined the clothes: a pair of trousers of a hard, blue material - jeans - and a soft blue shirt. The colour had obviously been picked out to match Rowena's eyes: he wondered vaguely if the shirt would still hold her scent.
"Yes, they should fit you just fine," Rowena said encouragingly.
He looked over at her, raising his eyebrows. And waited. She met his eye, and for a moment they just stood there: eventually, however, she shrugged and slinked out.
He was then able to change in peace, if not in privacy, as Bellamy looked rather outraged in her frame. He supposed she didn't get out much.
Buttoning the shirt, he realized he'd been right about the scent. Rowena, meanwhile, had been right about the size: well, perhaps the jeans were a bit tight, but he'd seen Sirius wearing much worse... Anyway, judging from the smile with which she met him outside the door, the effect was just what she'd anticipated.
"Very good!" she said, looking him up and down. "It's a pity I don't have one of those poet's blouses, though. Not very practical on a farm, I know, but it would suit you... You do have that consumptive look that used to drive women crazy back in the olden days."
"Thanks, I think," Remus replied. After a moment's though, he decided that they had not reached the poetry-reciting stage of the evening yet. "Well, lead on," he suggested, offering her his arm. Which she'd no doubt been going to take, anyway.
She did take it, graciously. "You're just lucky I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl," she murmured, directing him towards a path.
The journey to the pub took no time at all, since Rowena suggested Disapparating the moment they were out of Fulcrum's domain. She was starving, it seemed: and, following her instructions, they were Apparated under a stone bridge and climbed out into a small-town High Street. There were quite a few people walking about in the early evening air, but Remus' outfit, to his relief, raised no comment. As for Rowena's - well, a few people did stare. It was not, however, the "what are you doing here?" stare many wizards were accustomed to; more of a "what have you been doing all my life?" sort of thing.
On the whole, he was quite pleased when she finally pointed out the painted sign of the Bell and Sickle, and they walked in. The decor immediately struck him as faintly ridiculous: denim-coloured walls, splatter paintings, and chairs covered in a very shiny-looking fabric.
"Do you like it?" Rowena looked up at him through her eyelashes, before giving the barman a cheerful nod.
"Well, the walls do match your eyes," Remus smiled back. "But I must confess that I am more used to the traditional dark wood of the Cauldron..."
"Oh, it's absolutely hideous here, of course," she interrupted. "Isn't that right, Tony?"
The barman shrugged phlegmatically, opening a bottle of Chianti. He handed Remus the bottle and two of glasses, and pointed vaguely in the direction of an empty booth.
"Most Muggle bars look better," Rowena continued, "but I don't suppose you'd know; you don't seem like the bar-hopping type. Not with those robes."
"I used to go," Remus answered lightly, "when I was much younger. I had a friend who loved to party."
"What happened to him? Did he get married?" Rowena asked, sliding into the booth. She wriggled, grimacing at the way her leather clothing stuck to the vinyl.
Well, Sirius had always said marriage was a kind of prison... "No, I don't think so," he said vaguely, looking down at the wine he was pouring. "You know," he continued, looking up and passing her a glass, "Sitting here brings back quite a few memories. I do remember that Muggles always seemed very fond of artificial fabrics... The music sounded much better back then, though." The tinny sounds drifting across the room were grating on his nerves. Were the owners scared of hinkypunks?
"This place is famous for having the worst music in town," Rowena explained. "Tony's deaf, you see, so what does he care? It draws in rich old tourists. I think the local Muggles refer to it as 'elevator music'. They are being ironic, I assume. It doesn't exactly do much to elevate one's spirits, does it?"
"Wait a moment," Remus said, fumbling for his wand. A nine-inch wand was an awkward thing in a pocket: he was grateful that his date had not commented on it. Most likely she had not noticed it yet. It took his a full minute to pull it out.
A few seconds later they were enveloped in a cone of silence.
"A Cone Of Silence! Wonderful!" Rowena gushed, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
"We'll have to take it off if someone comes by to take our order," Remus commented. "Unless it's Tony, of course."
"Oh, no need to worry," Rowena replied, "We don't have to place an order, we're getting the house specialty: steak. It's the main reason to come here, really: you'll love it," she said seriously, before breaking into a grin. "It's just the thing to energize a man after a long, tiring endeavour... or before one."
"Let's have some wine," Remus said. And they did. Then, suddenly, he remembered something.
"I don't think... I don't really know your name. It's not just Rowena, is it?" he asked.
Rowena didn't seem very pleased with the question. "No," she sighed. "Although I wish it was, sometimes. It's Rowena ffoliet," she mumbled quickly.
"Rowena ffoliet?"
Rowena toyed with her glass gloomily. "Yes. Still," she cheered up, "It doesn't sound as bad as my sister's. She's Filomena, Fifi for short."
"Fifi ffoliet?" It did sound odd, Remus had to admit..
"Yes. She chose it herself. She loves horses. Riding them, I mean." Judging by Rowena's tone, she was issuing the worst sort of condemnation. "Me, I make horses skittish, naturally: so, I used to tell her how tasty they looked to me," she finished with childlike self-satisfaction.
"Ah." A child prevented by her curse from joining in her sister's fun: he could certainly sympathize. He still remembered that moonlit camping-trip his cousins couldn't stop talking about. He had spent several hours sulking, throwing stones into a river with all his strength. He smiled at her, refilling both their glasses.
At that moment, their food arrived. The steaks looked rare, and delicious. They were delicious, too. Only after a couple of bites did he recall his manners.
"I'm Remus Lupin," he said.
Rowena took his outstretched hand, and shook it, frowning. "Is that your real name?" she asked.
"Yes," he sighed. "My mother was a bit of an unconscious seer, I suppose..."
"But Lupin," she was still confused, her fork dangling in mid-air.
"I don't understand it myself," he confessed. "My long-standing assumption has been that the... werewolf who bit me had a very sick sense of humour."
"Makes sense to me! Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd kill for a name like Rowena Lupin..." Rowena stretched a little. "You didn't know that werewolf well, then?"
"Not at all," Remus explained, "I was very little."
"I did. Know my biter, I mean. It was my uncle Jumbo." She bit into a piece of meat, as if in retaliation.
Remus was intrigued. "Are there many werewolves in your family?" he asked.
"Just the two, I think. It's all his fault, too," Rowena explained. "He went to Poland with some woman he'd met, and when he came back Mother noticed he was shutting himself up in his room a lot, and breaking the furniture. We all thought he was an alcoholic, like grand-papa," she was slipping into more childlike, and posher, tones again. "And, of course, he was. But he was also a werewolf, and one time he broke out and bit me before the dogs could stop him."
"How old were you? If it's not too personal a question?"
"I was ten. And no question of yours could be too personal, as far as I'm concerned," her voice was throaty once more. "This is quite a lot of fun, isn't it?" she commented. "Exchanging biting stories. Rather like the usual first-date conversation about losing one's virginity, except far more original." She grinned at him, willing him to phrase a question.
"Quite," Remus said, drinking some wine. "Will it put a damper on the conversation if I ask you about school?"
"What about school, exactly? Because I have heard quite a few stories, especially about Catholic schools, which..."
"I meant Hogwarts, actually," Remus replied. "Don't worry, I do have some rather good stories about Hogwarts," he continued. Sirius, again. Sirius had told him several stories that should interest Rowena very much.... He cleared his mind, yet again. "The thing is, I don't remember... you didn't go there, did you?"
"You mean you did?" Rowena was clearly surprised. "How? No, don't tell me," she held a hand to his lip, "It was Dumbledore, wasn't it? Papa often talks about his power, and his odd habits. Well," she drew back, looking pensive, "you must be very young, then. That explains some things..."
Remus wondered about that, but not a lot. "I'm twenty-five," he volunteered.
Rowena nodded. "I was twenty-five for several years, myself. Now I'm twenty-seven. But," she leaned forward again, "you went to Hogwarts! You must tell me your stories. I was home-schooled, you see. 'Just the thing for a young lady,' but very tedious, what with Fifi as my only classmate. The tutors changed a lot, of course, and that was fun. Some of them were rather attractive. When I was seventeen," she laughed, "There was one who was quite a bit like you."
"Was that why you acted... so familiar?" Remus asked. "When we first met?"
"Partly, I suppose." Rowena waived one hand about vaguely. "I didn't think you were him, of course, but I was wondering if you'd be just as shocked as he was... Say, can I call you Professor?" she asked suddenly.
"I was a professor, once." he explained, his eyes falling on the empty wine bottle. He had noticed that Rowena's cheeks were flushed, and now he was starting to feel a little woozy himself.
"Until they found you out, you mean?" at least Rowena's deductive powers were not seriously impaired.
He told her a bit of the story, then. Unlike most people, she did not seem overly interested in the Voldemort parts: but she liked hearing about his friends. So, he told her more stories: about Peter's foibles, and James' pranks, and the time Sirius tried to post himself to Bermuda, and they both laughed. He had not talked so much for months. For years.
"Such good friends, you all were," she muttered, "it warms me just to hear about them."
He was quite pleased, on the whole, when she pressed her leg against his under the table. Physical and emotional warmth, it made sense to mix them together.
But then it was last call, and it was time to go home. Arm in arm, they stepped outside the door. The cold air was a bit of a shock: it seemed to sober Remus up quickly. He watched himself discuss Disapparating in their current state, and decide against it. He noticed himself start off for the farm, arm wrapped around Rowena in an attempt to keep off the cold. But, most of all, he noticed a strange knot forming at the bottom of his stomach.
Rowena seemed a bit different, too: calmer. They walked back in silence. Well, relative silence; the forest night was full of sounds: rustling leaves, strange chitters, sudden screetches, the occasional howl...
The occasional howl?
"Oh, it's not wolves," Rowena explained, "it's the Copycats. They learnt it from me, I imagine."
"Ah. Right." Remus said. He felt distracted. "Copycats... Even more magical creatures... What kind of farm is this, anyway?" he finished with an a laugh. He thought he'd sounded rather awkward. Nervous and distracted, that's how he felt. Quite suddenly.
"A magical one," Rowena laughed. "The Buddings used to, well, raise various strange creatures and sell them through a catalogue. But then Bellamy died, and... Fulcrum has never been very practical," she explained. "It's not senility, it's just his way."
"I see..." Remus thought about this. "And I suppose that is the reason for all these ever-so-useful sheds?" he asked very casually, noticing Rowena's toolshed right ahead.
"Yes, that's where the different magical creatures slept. Still do, in some cases," Rowena answered. "This, for example, is the sleeping place of the werewolves," she announced, slowing right outside the door and turning to face him, placing her hands lightly on his shoulders.
A goodnight kiss, then, he thought, leaning towards her, pulling himself down with arms around her waist. His nose touched her hair, and he moved one hand up to brush it aside. He was amazed to notice how composed he suddenly felt as her white face, pale and shadowed like his own, looked up at him seriously. He moved forward and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. A couple of friendly seconds, and he was pulling back, tucking her hair neatly behind one ear.
He straightened out, making to go. But her hands, rubbing at his triceps, held him in place.
"I can't just let you go back to those muggle chickens," Rowena explained. "You're a magical creature, too, Remus, you know..." Her lips curled in a half open smile, and she pulled him back into their kiss, and he fell.
That's what it felt like. The sudden lurch in his stomach, the hum in his ears, an awareness of coolness (wind?) on his skin. The feeling lasted for a long moment, and his mind lit up with panic: and then, suddenly, it cleared, and he was standing in front of a shabby shed, his arms around her, his chest touching hers, their lips pressed together. The empty feeling in his breast was gone, he could hear the sounds of the forest, and his skin registered the warmth of her skin and the smooth fabric of her shirt.
A voice in the back of his head told him he'd just reached freefall.
He liked freefall. He pulled her closer, and she moved against him: hips, breasts, lips. He liked being part of this kind of scene, and not an anxious observer. No anxious voice in the back of his mind, even: why should he be afraid for her? Feeling the surprising warmth of another felt so right. This was why he had a body, why he was more than just a detached, controlled mind... He had entirely forgotten. Why had he waited so long to recapture this feeling? It would be wrong not to keep kissing her, infinitely stupid...
It was Rowena who pulled back. Again, she held his at arm's length: but this time, she smiled and her cheeks were, again, flushed.
"I knew I could count on you," she breathed. Stepping out from under one of his arms, she turned away and pulled him towards the hut. At the entrance, she paused briefly, looking back at him. "Just don't think so much," she said with a smile, brushing his temple with a finger.
He smiled in return, and moved past her, drawing her in behind him. He barely took in the room: shelves holding tools that smelled strongly of metal, and a pile of sheepskins that was obviously her bed. Moving past him again, Rowena slid one hand back to its accustomed place under his sleeve, caressing his forearm. He put his hands back around her waist and nuzzled at her ear.
Then, stepping back suddenly, she disentangled herself entirely and crossed her arms before her. In a second, her shirt was gone, and she was dancing back towards him, smiling up at him through tousled hair.
He did exactly what he wanted to do most: he put his arms around her, and bit her shoulder. Well, why not? She laughed quietly, obviously understanding.
***
He woke several hours later. Careful not to disturb her, he got up, and walked over to the window. The moonlight was bright outside: everything looked at least four-dimensional. It was not a very real moment. Following a ray of light, he looked back at the bed. A pale girl wrapped in a fur: the deliberate irony of a werewolf in sheep's clothing. He felt love for her then, for her, for Sirius, for all those who had somehow led him to do the things he longed to do. Without them, life would be infinitely simpler, and as cold and still as the moonlit landscape outside.
Looking out of the window, he imagined Rowena waking up behind him. He imagined her rising up on one shoulder, looking up, and seeing him as he was: a man, standing in shadow, small before a large bright moon.
So, how was it? Different from my other stuff, wouldn't you say? I'm sorry that I left the most interesting bit out: the three stars are meant to symbolize the camera moving away to focus on curtains blowing across the window, for several hours of course...
Disclaimers: Remus, Sirius, and Hogwarts belong to JKR, of course. I have no intention of making money by writing about their pale imitations. Oh, and most importantly: I hope I haven't given people the impression that it's a good idea to let strange women lead you into strange shacks and take advantage of you. It usually isn't. So don't try this at home.
At any rate, please, please review, especially if you have something constructive to say. I have lost all sense of perspective with regard to this piece: I'm not even sure if it's about Remus anymore.
This was very fun to write: not, I suspect, quite as much fun to read. There is no intrigue, you see, no explosions, and the jokes don't come quite as often as in, e.g. "The Bathroom Incident." It's a bit of a romance, but not an unironic one, there's a little angst in it, but really not enough to demoralize poor Remus completely. There's a mildly sexy part near the end: you could skip right to that, if you're so inclined.
If you do get through it, please, please review. Constructive criticism is particularly welcome.
A DATE IN THE LIFE OF REMUS LUPIN
"You know, Remus," Rowena simpered, "I bet we could howl just beautifully together."
A reply was clearly called for, Remus thought. Something witty. Something subtle. Something that would imply interest in howling, and togetherness, in general, and at the same time suggest that perhaps the time for such things had not yet come. All without insulting Rowena, or making himself sound like a prig.
"I've never howled... I mean, I've never thought of howling as beautiful. Objectively speaking. My howling, that is. Which is the only howling I've ever really heard. Except of course for the werewolf who...never mind," Remus finished feebly.
Rowena had been staring at him expectantly the whole time. Now she turned half away with a small sigh.
It wasn't his fault, not really. The situation, the situation was to blame. It was entirely surreal. Anyone who'd spent most their life concealing a terrible secret and cultivating emotional detachment would surely be at least a little put out by a half hour during which the secret had been torn out of him during an emotional scene with a strange woman he'd only just met.
A strange woman who seemed very interested in what was under his robes. She'd only taken his arm a moment ago and already she'd somehow managed to work her hand up under his sleeve.
"I'm not worried about your howling," she said encouragingly. "I am told many people sing better in a chorus than solo."
Here was his chance to redeem himself as a conversationalist. Sadly, his brain was still made of pudding.
It was therefore rather fortunate that, at that very moment, a familiar squat figure rounded the corner of the nearby boat shed.
It was Fulcrum, and he was lost in thought, or perhaps, more accurately, in conversation. Now there was a person well used to singing solo: and his rapt expression made it rather clear that he found his own mutterings interesting and full of sentimental value. They couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but the words "chickenfeed", "celebration", and "square root" seemed to be playing an important part.
Rowena stopped. Looking down at her, Remus noticed that she was smiling fondly.
"Good morning, Fully," she sang out.
Fulcrum noticed them then. Looking up, he froze, only his enormous snowy eyebrows moving up in surprise. It was very nearly possible to see his thoughts running about behind his eyes: and they quickly reached a point of obvious significance, since he started to sputter, then cough. Remus became rather alarmed as his employer's face grew beet-red.
Rowena, meanwhile, was practical. Releasing his arm with a parting squeeze, she stepped lightly over to her friend's side."Alright there?" she asked, pounding him hard on the back, with what looked like a practiced motion.
"Har Ar, aye, Rowena my pet." Fulcrum answered. "I see you have met young Lumping there. Not giving you any trouble, is he?" here his eyebrows shot back down as he sent a penetrating look towards Remus, who was trying to look as innocent and untroublesome as he was confused.
"Of course I've met him. I took him the breakfast like you asked," Rowena said right into Fulcrum's ear. "His name is Remus. REMUS. And I think he's rather sweet."
"Do you, now? Ah, you young fillies," Fulcrum shook his head at her before turning back to Remus. "You're in trouble now, young Remus Lumping. Ha, ha. The best thing to do," he advised, with a theatrical wink, "is to play hard to get: act like a lord and never let her get a word in edgewise. Or do I mean woo her with flowers and speak fondly of other ladies? Never mind, the most important..."
"Yes, never mind all that now, Fully," Rowena interrupted, "The important thing is, you'll have to give Remus... Lumping?" she shot a brief quizzical look at Remus, who shook his head quite firmly. "some more work to do now, so he'll have to stay."
"Aha... Alright..." Fulcrum was pondering this request. Suddenly, his eyes filled with a mischievous light as he peered back at Rowena. "He could try to find and deal with Rusalka in the northeastern corner, the one who..."
"No," Rowena rolled her eyes, "he isn't 'dealing with' Goplana any more than you are. I'll go talk to her one of these days," she concluded, as Fulcrum concentrated on his thinking.
A Rusalka was akin to a Veela, Remus remembered. He expected he could have a go at 'dealing with' her, and he was fully prepared to say so, but the others had by this point moved on and were now giggling at some joke about leeches. He wondered just how much of an imposition his presence was. Besides, his pride was starting to hurt: he did not want a made-up job. Did he really look so shabby so as to make Rowena think he really needed one? He decided to speak up.
"You know, Fulcrum, if there is no work that needs to be done... I really don't want to put you out in any way. I could be on my way."
"Hmm?" Rowena looked back towards him. "Oh, there's work, of course, we've just trying to think of something interesting... Unless, Remus," her eyes suddenly widened and grew moist, "you really want to leave, that is? You're welcome to, of course," she finished, waving a delicate hand about in slightly lost fashion.
"No, no, of course not..." Remus found himself saying. "There's an inn in the village, I could perhaps..."
"What nonsense! But how wonderful of you to think of it!" Rowena's eyes brightened. "Anyway, you must stay here. Especially as I'm not done with you quite yet," she added, stretching back against the shed wall in a way that made the curve of her hip suddenly very apparent.
"Yes, I think," Fulcrum spoke up decisively, drawing Remus' slightly grateful gaze away from this, "that you had better do something about the hinkypunk situation. They've all gone completely wild again, which is most vexing. Most vexing indeed. Need to be re-captured, re-tamed, and set with their lanterns all along the path to the privy. Follow me, young, er, Remus," he finished, with a quick questioning look at Rowena.
Rowena nodded cheerfully. "That's all sorted out, then," she announced with satisfaction. "I suppose I'd better leave you boys to it," she added, giving them both a long sideways look, "and go talk to that watery tart Goplana. I'll need to change, of course..." she murmured to herself, looking down at her robes and running one hand down the side of her thigh. She walked off slowly, making the best of each step, casting Remus one final, lingering glance.
Remus, meanwhile, went off with Fulcrum. To clear his mind, he forced himself to pay great attention to his employer's monologue.
"Those hinkypunks!" Fulcrum was saying with outrage. "Raised them from a chick, I have, trained them up to do an honest day's work, and how do they repay me? By trying to lure me and mine into muddy pits, that's how! I have tried to be understanding, always try to be understanding of young ones, even Rowena with her robes, in my day we'd have called them indecent, though flattering, hahaha, and you wouldn't believe all the cold remedies I've had to brew up for that girl, young Remus..."
"Oh, yes," Remus agreed distractedly. He'd never manage to focus on his work on this rate! "Now, about the hinkypunks... you were understanding, you said?" he asked in businesslike fashion.
"So I was!" Fulcrum exclaimed, shaking his head, eyebrows moving wildly. "I told them to try luring people to the privy, that's a muddy pit too, you know..."
Remus nodded in silence. He'd seen the privy. He could recall it perfectly. And he did: the image was just the thing for driving thoughts of young women from one's mind.
"Thought they'd leap at the chance, I did, but they will wander off..." the old man continued, nodding sagely. "One night, poor cousin Lister followed them all the way to the next county. Drunk as a lord he was, and some were of the opinion as the poor creatures were just trying to escape his singing."
Quite likely, Remus thought to himself. Loud discordant sounds were one of the methods of confusing this unpleasant swamp creature. It was all coming back to him now: he could see the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom, with its ink-stained (and, often, gore-stained) desks, Professor Asquith walking up and down in front, lecturing on "minor pests."
"Hinkypunks. Page One-two-one. Illustration. Habitat: swamp. Best strategy: confuse the creature before it confuses you..." the Professor's clipped syllables drifted across Remus' memory.
"OK, here we are now," Fulcrum's more relaxed tones cut into the reverie. "They should be around somewhere, I'd go with you, but my rheumatism..."
Remus sympathized, and asked after the chickens: and soon he was alone in a particularly damp and green section of the forest. Armed with a cage, and with all his re-discovered knowledge, he started searching for nests, memories of the classroom still at the edge of his mind.
Sniffing at the air, his eyes darting from side to side as he picked his way through mud, he tried to focus on the task at hand. But it was hard to forget that hinkypunk illustration, so artistically augmented to show Snape's likeness. Sirius had done that: Sirius, spitting mad over something Snape had said about his friend Remus.
And what would Sirius have made of Rowena, Remus wondered. Recognized a kindred spirit, perhaps? He recalled a scene he'd witnessed dozens of times: Sirius, leaning over a girl, snaring her with charisma born of vanity, hedonism, and genuine interest.
And why only girls? Hadn't he himself been equally deeply charmed? He could remember Sirius, talking him into his first (illegal) ride on a broomstick; Sirius, making detention sound like a prize, a badge of honour; Sirius, laughing at his friend's troubles in a way that made them disappear.
Sirius, talking himself into betrayal and, possibly, laughing as he made his friends disappear.
And this was the man who reminded him of his new admirer? Remus decided he was being very unfair to Rowena. And to Sirius, no doubt: who knew what demons had driven his friend to betrayal? He had always known, after all, that Sirius was not as mindlessly shallow as he often seemed...
But how can you trust a person who hides constantly behind jokes or innuendos?
Oh, well, he decided, with a bit of luck Rowena would turn out to be just as silly as she seemed. And this certainly was the most interesting job he'd had in weeks... He got to work in earnest.
He hunted for several hours, and stopped only when the cage was so full the animals inside started working out complicated time-share schemes. This took much of the day, and testified to his good work ethic, as he'd somehow forgotten to take food along that morning. Berries are tasty, but hardly a substitute for a hearty lunch, and as for meat... he had considered catching a rabbit and eating bunny steak tartare, but dismissed the idea. After all, just because one of his new acquaintances was a werewolf did not mean that she wouldn't look askew at such barbaric habits.
As a result, he was ravenous when he got back. Still, for some reason, he felt compelled to go and wash up at the well before presenting Fulcrum with his trophies. And not until he had dried his hair with the edge of his cloak, and quickly reviewed his reflection in the water-bucket, did he make for the main hut.
"I see you hunt well," Rowena was leaning against the fence off to one side. "That's quite a package you've got there."
He held the cage up wordlessly for her inspection. She had changed. Instead of this morning's revealing dress, she was now wearing an oddly muggle-like outfit: a pair of tight leather trousers and a blouse, which was tied up high on her stomach. Presumably to keep it out of the omnipresent mud, although, even knowing her as little as he did, he already suspected she may have had other motives.
"How was the rusalka?" he asked innocently, as she moved closer, cooing at the captive beasts.
"Don't you worry about the rusalka," Rowena replied darkly. But then, she looked up at him, and her eyes glittered in the hinkypunks' light like moonlit water. Smiling, she placed her hand on his, on the cage. "I've been waiting for you..." she murmured. "And I'm getting very hungry... Aren't you?"
"Well, yes," he replied truthfully. "Have you seen the sausage basket anywhere?"
"Sausage basket," Rowena sighed sadly. "I was hoping for something a bit more fun."
"I saw some rabbits... " Remus began, but he was soon interrupted.
"There's quite a nice Muggle pub in the nearby village," Rowena explained. "Rabbits are tasty, of course, but a few days after each moon I feel a need to be more... civilized."
"I think I know just what you mean," he answered. And he did, though this was the first time he'd heard the thought expressed by someone other than himself. He smiled at her vaguely, transported by the sudden sense of kinship. "Let's go, then," he suggested.
"Oh, you can't go like that!" Rowena exclaimed with some amusement. She drew back and gave him a long, critical look.
Well, his robes were looking a bit ragged, he supposed. He'd closed up most of the tears quite carefully, but the patches were still visible and, besides, he'd had no time to deal with the effects of yesterday's thorny plants...
Oh, it was a Muggle pub. That's what she was worried about... He was quite relieved not to have to think of her as that shallow...
"Don't worry," Rowena announced after a moment's contemplation. "I have lots of suitable clothing, as you can see," here she turned slightly, displaying her legs to better advantage, "and I think I have a couple of things that might fit you: you might be taller, but you don't have my curves." With a wiggle of her hips, she turned towards the house. "Come try them on," she said.
Remus followed. The room inside was pretty much as he remembered it: the armchairs, the fire, Bellamy's portrait over the fireplace. No Fulcrum, though.
"Fully's caring for a sick goat," Rowena explained, taking the cage from his hands, and replacing it with a cloth bundle. "A malingerer, if you ask me, but then nobody never does."
Remus examined the clothes: a pair of trousers of a hard, blue material - jeans - and a soft blue shirt. The colour had obviously been picked out to match Rowena's eyes: he wondered vaguely if the shirt would still hold her scent.
"Yes, they should fit you just fine," Rowena said encouragingly.
He looked over at her, raising his eyebrows. And waited. She met his eye, and for a moment they just stood there: eventually, however, she shrugged and slinked out.
He was then able to change in peace, if not in privacy, as Bellamy looked rather outraged in her frame. He supposed she didn't get out much.
Buttoning the shirt, he realized he'd been right about the scent. Rowena, meanwhile, had been right about the size: well, perhaps the jeans were a bit tight, but he'd seen Sirius wearing much worse... Anyway, judging from the smile with which she met him outside the door, the effect was just what she'd anticipated.
"Very good!" she said, looking him up and down. "It's a pity I don't have one of those poet's blouses, though. Not very practical on a farm, I know, but it would suit you... You do have that consumptive look that used to drive women crazy back in the olden days."
"Thanks, I think," Remus replied. After a moment's though, he decided that they had not reached the poetry-reciting stage of the evening yet. "Well, lead on," he suggested, offering her his arm. Which she'd no doubt been going to take, anyway.
She did take it, graciously. "You're just lucky I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl," she murmured, directing him towards a path.
The journey to the pub took no time at all, since Rowena suggested Disapparating the moment they were out of Fulcrum's domain. She was starving, it seemed: and, following her instructions, they were Apparated under a stone bridge and climbed out into a small-town High Street. There were quite a few people walking about in the early evening air, but Remus' outfit, to his relief, raised no comment. As for Rowena's - well, a few people did stare. It was not, however, the "what are you doing here?" stare many wizards were accustomed to; more of a "what have you been doing all my life?" sort of thing.
On the whole, he was quite pleased when she finally pointed out the painted sign of the Bell and Sickle, and they walked in. The decor immediately struck him as faintly ridiculous: denim-coloured walls, splatter paintings, and chairs covered in a very shiny-looking fabric.
"Do you like it?" Rowena looked up at him through her eyelashes, before giving the barman a cheerful nod.
"Well, the walls do match your eyes," Remus smiled back. "But I must confess that I am more used to the traditional dark wood of the Cauldron..."
"Oh, it's absolutely hideous here, of course," she interrupted. "Isn't that right, Tony?"
The barman shrugged phlegmatically, opening a bottle of Chianti. He handed Remus the bottle and two of glasses, and pointed vaguely in the direction of an empty booth.
"Most Muggle bars look better," Rowena continued, "but I don't suppose you'd know; you don't seem like the bar-hopping type. Not with those robes."
"I used to go," Remus answered lightly, "when I was much younger. I had a friend who loved to party."
"What happened to him? Did he get married?" Rowena asked, sliding into the booth. She wriggled, grimacing at the way her leather clothing stuck to the vinyl.
Well, Sirius had always said marriage was a kind of prison... "No, I don't think so," he said vaguely, looking down at the wine he was pouring. "You know," he continued, looking up and passing her a glass, "Sitting here brings back quite a few memories. I do remember that Muggles always seemed very fond of artificial fabrics... The music sounded much better back then, though." The tinny sounds drifting across the room were grating on his nerves. Were the owners scared of hinkypunks?
"This place is famous for having the worst music in town," Rowena explained. "Tony's deaf, you see, so what does he care? It draws in rich old tourists. I think the local Muggles refer to it as 'elevator music'. They are being ironic, I assume. It doesn't exactly do much to elevate one's spirits, does it?"
"Wait a moment," Remus said, fumbling for his wand. A nine-inch wand was an awkward thing in a pocket: he was grateful that his date had not commented on it. Most likely she had not noticed it yet. It took his a full minute to pull it out.
A few seconds later they were enveloped in a cone of silence.
"A Cone Of Silence! Wonderful!" Rowena gushed, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
"We'll have to take it off if someone comes by to take our order," Remus commented. "Unless it's Tony, of course."
"Oh, no need to worry," Rowena replied, "We don't have to place an order, we're getting the house specialty: steak. It's the main reason to come here, really: you'll love it," she said seriously, before breaking into a grin. "It's just the thing to energize a man after a long, tiring endeavour... or before one."
"Let's have some wine," Remus said. And they did. Then, suddenly, he remembered something.
"I don't think... I don't really know your name. It's not just Rowena, is it?" he asked.
Rowena didn't seem very pleased with the question. "No," she sighed. "Although I wish it was, sometimes. It's Rowena ffoliet," she mumbled quickly.
"Rowena ffoliet?"
Rowena toyed with her glass gloomily. "Yes. Still," she cheered up, "It doesn't sound as bad as my sister's. She's Filomena, Fifi for short."
"Fifi ffoliet?" It did sound odd, Remus had to admit..
"Yes. She chose it herself. She loves horses. Riding them, I mean." Judging by Rowena's tone, she was issuing the worst sort of condemnation. "Me, I make horses skittish, naturally: so, I used to tell her how tasty they looked to me," she finished with childlike self-satisfaction.
"Ah." A child prevented by her curse from joining in her sister's fun: he could certainly sympathize. He still remembered that moonlit camping-trip his cousins couldn't stop talking about. He had spent several hours sulking, throwing stones into a river with all his strength. He smiled at her, refilling both their glasses.
At that moment, their food arrived. The steaks looked rare, and delicious. They were delicious, too. Only after a couple of bites did he recall his manners.
"I'm Remus Lupin," he said.
Rowena took his outstretched hand, and shook it, frowning. "Is that your real name?" she asked.
"Yes," he sighed. "My mother was a bit of an unconscious seer, I suppose..."
"But Lupin," she was still confused, her fork dangling in mid-air.
"I don't understand it myself," he confessed. "My long-standing assumption has been that the... werewolf who bit me had a very sick sense of humour."
"Makes sense to me! Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd kill for a name like Rowena Lupin..." Rowena stretched a little. "You didn't know that werewolf well, then?"
"Not at all," Remus explained, "I was very little."
"I did. Know my biter, I mean. It was my uncle Jumbo." She bit into a piece of meat, as if in retaliation.
Remus was intrigued. "Are there many werewolves in your family?" he asked.
"Just the two, I think. It's all his fault, too," Rowena explained. "He went to Poland with some woman he'd met, and when he came back Mother noticed he was shutting himself up in his room a lot, and breaking the furniture. We all thought he was an alcoholic, like grand-papa," she was slipping into more childlike, and posher, tones again. "And, of course, he was. But he was also a werewolf, and one time he broke out and bit me before the dogs could stop him."
"How old were you? If it's not too personal a question?"
"I was ten. And no question of yours could be too personal, as far as I'm concerned," her voice was throaty once more. "This is quite a lot of fun, isn't it?" she commented. "Exchanging biting stories. Rather like the usual first-date conversation about losing one's virginity, except far more original." She grinned at him, willing him to phrase a question.
"Quite," Remus said, drinking some wine. "Will it put a damper on the conversation if I ask you about school?"
"What about school, exactly? Because I have heard quite a few stories, especially about Catholic schools, which..."
"I meant Hogwarts, actually," Remus replied. "Don't worry, I do have some rather good stories about Hogwarts," he continued. Sirius, again. Sirius had told him several stories that should interest Rowena very much.... He cleared his mind, yet again. "The thing is, I don't remember... you didn't go there, did you?"
"You mean you did?" Rowena was clearly surprised. "How? No, don't tell me," she held a hand to his lip, "It was Dumbledore, wasn't it? Papa often talks about his power, and his odd habits. Well," she drew back, looking pensive, "you must be very young, then. That explains some things..."
Remus wondered about that, but not a lot. "I'm twenty-five," he volunteered.
Rowena nodded. "I was twenty-five for several years, myself. Now I'm twenty-seven. But," she leaned forward again, "you went to Hogwarts! You must tell me your stories. I was home-schooled, you see. 'Just the thing for a young lady,' but very tedious, what with Fifi as my only classmate. The tutors changed a lot, of course, and that was fun. Some of them were rather attractive. When I was seventeen," she laughed, "There was one who was quite a bit like you."
"Was that why you acted... so familiar?" Remus asked. "When we first met?"
"Partly, I suppose." Rowena waived one hand about vaguely. "I didn't think you were him, of course, but I was wondering if you'd be just as shocked as he was... Say, can I call you Professor?" she asked suddenly.
"I was a professor, once." he explained, his eyes falling on the empty wine bottle. He had noticed that Rowena's cheeks were flushed, and now he was starting to feel a little woozy himself.
"Until they found you out, you mean?" at least Rowena's deductive powers were not seriously impaired.
He told her a bit of the story, then. Unlike most people, she did not seem overly interested in the Voldemort parts: but she liked hearing about his friends. So, he told her more stories: about Peter's foibles, and James' pranks, and the time Sirius tried to post himself to Bermuda, and they both laughed. He had not talked so much for months. For years.
"Such good friends, you all were," she muttered, "it warms me just to hear about them."
He was quite pleased, on the whole, when she pressed her leg against his under the table. Physical and emotional warmth, it made sense to mix them together.
But then it was last call, and it was time to go home. Arm in arm, they stepped outside the door. The cold air was a bit of a shock: it seemed to sober Remus up quickly. He watched himself discuss Disapparating in their current state, and decide against it. He noticed himself start off for the farm, arm wrapped around Rowena in an attempt to keep off the cold. But, most of all, he noticed a strange knot forming at the bottom of his stomach.
Rowena seemed a bit different, too: calmer. They walked back in silence. Well, relative silence; the forest night was full of sounds: rustling leaves, strange chitters, sudden screetches, the occasional howl...
The occasional howl?
"Oh, it's not wolves," Rowena explained, "it's the Copycats. They learnt it from me, I imagine."
"Ah. Right." Remus said. He felt distracted. "Copycats... Even more magical creatures... What kind of farm is this, anyway?" he finished with an a laugh. He thought he'd sounded rather awkward. Nervous and distracted, that's how he felt. Quite suddenly.
"A magical one," Rowena laughed. "The Buddings used to, well, raise various strange creatures and sell them through a catalogue. But then Bellamy died, and... Fulcrum has never been very practical," she explained. "It's not senility, it's just his way."
"I see..." Remus thought about this. "And I suppose that is the reason for all these ever-so-useful sheds?" he asked very casually, noticing Rowena's toolshed right ahead.
"Yes, that's where the different magical creatures slept. Still do, in some cases," Rowena answered. "This, for example, is the sleeping place of the werewolves," she announced, slowing right outside the door and turning to face him, placing her hands lightly on his shoulders.
A goodnight kiss, then, he thought, leaning towards her, pulling himself down with arms around her waist. His nose touched her hair, and he moved one hand up to brush it aside. He was amazed to notice how composed he suddenly felt as her white face, pale and shadowed like his own, looked up at him seriously. He moved forward and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. A couple of friendly seconds, and he was pulling back, tucking her hair neatly behind one ear.
He straightened out, making to go. But her hands, rubbing at his triceps, held him in place.
"I can't just let you go back to those muggle chickens," Rowena explained. "You're a magical creature, too, Remus, you know..." Her lips curled in a half open smile, and she pulled him back into their kiss, and he fell.
That's what it felt like. The sudden lurch in his stomach, the hum in his ears, an awareness of coolness (wind?) on his skin. The feeling lasted for a long moment, and his mind lit up with panic: and then, suddenly, it cleared, and he was standing in front of a shabby shed, his arms around her, his chest touching hers, their lips pressed together. The empty feeling in his breast was gone, he could hear the sounds of the forest, and his skin registered the warmth of her skin and the smooth fabric of her shirt.
A voice in the back of his head told him he'd just reached freefall.
He liked freefall. He pulled her closer, and she moved against him: hips, breasts, lips. He liked being part of this kind of scene, and not an anxious observer. No anxious voice in the back of his mind, even: why should he be afraid for her? Feeling the surprising warmth of another felt so right. This was why he had a body, why he was more than just a detached, controlled mind... He had entirely forgotten. Why had he waited so long to recapture this feeling? It would be wrong not to keep kissing her, infinitely stupid...
It was Rowena who pulled back. Again, she held his at arm's length: but this time, she smiled and her cheeks were, again, flushed.
"I knew I could count on you," she breathed. Stepping out from under one of his arms, she turned away and pulled him towards the hut. At the entrance, she paused briefly, looking back at him. "Just don't think so much," she said with a smile, brushing his temple with a finger.
He smiled in return, and moved past her, drawing her in behind him. He barely took in the room: shelves holding tools that smelled strongly of metal, and a pile of sheepskins that was obviously her bed. Moving past him again, Rowena slid one hand back to its accustomed place under his sleeve, caressing his forearm. He put his hands back around her waist and nuzzled at her ear.
Then, stepping back suddenly, she disentangled herself entirely and crossed her arms before her. In a second, her shirt was gone, and she was dancing back towards him, smiling up at him through tousled hair.
He did exactly what he wanted to do most: he put his arms around her, and bit her shoulder. Well, why not? She laughed quietly, obviously understanding.
***
He woke several hours later. Careful not to disturb her, he got up, and walked over to the window. The moonlight was bright outside: everything looked at least four-dimensional. It was not a very real moment. Following a ray of light, he looked back at the bed. A pale girl wrapped in a fur: the deliberate irony of a werewolf in sheep's clothing. He felt love for her then, for her, for Sirius, for all those who had somehow led him to do the things he longed to do. Without them, life would be infinitely simpler, and as cold and still as the moonlit landscape outside.
Looking out of the window, he imagined Rowena waking up behind him. He imagined her rising up on one shoulder, looking up, and seeing him as he was: a man, standing in shadow, small before a large bright moon.
So, how was it? Different from my other stuff, wouldn't you say? I'm sorry that I left the most interesting bit out: the three stars are meant to symbolize the camera moving away to focus on curtains blowing across the window, for several hours of course...
Disclaimers: Remus, Sirius, and Hogwarts belong to JKR, of course. I have no intention of making money by writing about their pale imitations. Oh, and most importantly: I hope I haven't given people the impression that it's a good idea to let strange women lead you into strange shacks and take advantage of you. It usually isn't. So don't try this at home.
At any rate, please, please review, especially if you have something constructive to say. I have lost all sense of perspective with regard to this piece: I'm not even sure if it's about Remus anymore.