Hello! Long time no see. Sorry it took me so long. This chapter is a bit shorter, but it covers all the ground I need. I promise the next one will be much longer. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story. It really means a lot to me.

Also for future reference: I will never capitalize muggle. I think that's just silly.

Anywho, enjoy!

Chapter Five
Rational Fears

The last time Isabeau saw Nicky, he'd had an argument with their father. It was the same one they'd had for the last few years. Nicky had been all set to take over the farm, but ever since he'd gone to school in London, he was filled with all sorts of ideas. There were places he wanted to go, people he wanted to meet. At school, Nicky had fallen in love with the theater, and he wanted to travel to New York and be on Broadway.

Their father was not having it. Nicky had gone and had his fun, and now it was time for him to settle down and work the land. But they were both cut from the same cloth, stubborn and loud and vicious.

She'd heard them from her sanctuary in the barn, up in the hayloft where she hid when she did not want to deal with the world. However, it was also Nicky's sanctuary, and he stormed inside with a huff not long after they'd stopped throwing words at one another.

"Are you up there, Bo Peep?"

Nicky was the only one allowed to call her that and come out of the situation whole. She peered down from the rafters at him, and he sighed.

"Sorry you had to hear that."

"Sorry it had to happen," Isabeau mumbled back. "Do you really hate it here so badly?"

"Is that what he tells you?"

She shrugged. "He doesn't tell me anything. When you're not here, you don't exist."

Nicky nodded, lips pressed. His red curls bounced, catching the little bit of light leaking into the barn.

He was older than her by a decade, a child her parents had issues conceiving as it was. She had come along when they had accepted they weren't going to have another.

"It's not that I hate this place," Nicky said as he climbed into the hayloft with her. She had an old quilt lying out, and the radio she'd bought from her tourist scam. "I love it with all my heart. I never used to be able to imagine living anywhere else.

"But then I went somewhere else, Bo. There's a whole world out there, and the idea of me dying in this small corner of it without having tried to see it…it makes me sick."

Her brother flopped onto the quilt, effectively crushing her back with his head.

"Ruddy bastard," Isabeau coughed, smacking his arm with her fist, not that it did much. Her brother was built like a bull. His muscle felt like brick on her knuckles.

"Such language. Get that from Tommy and his terrors?"

"Because of them, maybe." Isabeau replied, accepting her existence as Nicky's pillow. She watched Briar as he picked at his hay. He was always so finicky with his food, but Nicky could offer him batteries and the bloody horse would eat them like sugar cubes. "I could always take over. I like it here."

"You think I haven't seen all those books in your room? You want to see the world as much as I do."

Isabeau tried to shrug. "That's alright. I want you to have your dream."

"And I want you to have yours," Nicky replied, sitting up. "Tell you what, when I get to America, you can visit me."

"I bloody hope so. I'm your sister."

Isabeau hacked as her brother wrapped his arm around her neck, dragging her under his pit as his knuckles rapped against her head.

"That's precisely why I shouldn't invite you," he mumbled, chuckling as she flailed in his grip. "Last thing I need is you catching the eye of some Yank."

"That's because you want them all to yourself."

That earned her a smack on the head.

Nicky never made it to the States. He returned to London without another word to their father, and was dead a week later.

The police never did learn how he died, only that it was violent and cruel. Her father had identified him, and he would not speak of it, not even to her mother. All he ever said was "he's not our boy anymore," and that was that.

She had spent the entire summer in reclusion, and not even Tommy could be bothered to tease her for it.

Isabeau was stretched out on that old quilt, watching the barn beneath her. She used to think Nicky was about to walk inside, but had given up on that dream a long time ago. Now she was waiting for someone else.

Remus had told her it would be a couple days, and she tried her best to remind herself of that, but her mind was swirling with possibilities. What if he'd gotten shot by someone else? What if he'd attacked someone? He'd never be able to look at himself in the mirror after that.

He told her they moved often. What if last night prompted a hasty retreat? She couldn't bear the thought of him being gone. She'd just gotten to know him!

Isabeau hoisted herself up. She couldn't take it any longer. Hate her if he must, she had to know.

"Mum, I'm going to the library!" she called into the house, grabbing her jacket. She may have learned her lesson about God's inclination toward her weatherwise, but at least she'd learned it.

"Again?" her mother asked, popping her head out of the kitchen. "Have you even read the ones you've got?"

"Course I did! I'm not illiterate like dad!"

"Mmhmm." Her mother had that suspicious look in her eye. "Say hello to Remus for me."

Isabeau was too focused on leaving to deny it.

She'd never biked so hard in her life, yet it felt like she was getting nowhere as the road wound round the hills of Bibury. It seemed to stretch before her, determined to keep her away from her destination.

He's fine. He's fine. He's fine.

Well, not fine. He's a bloody werewolf.

He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.

Her broken mantra carried her all the way to his house, where she found herself suddenly standing before it, terrified. It was such an imposing structure all of a sudden, that quaint little cottage with roses in the garden and a rabbit snuffing at the grass. She felt as if her life was about to take a turn, and it all started with that silly little green door.

She stared at it for a moment, dumbstruck, mouthing the words that her voice did not dare utter. What if she ruined everything by doing this? How could she be so selfish?

Confidence about her position utterly spent, Isabeau decided to make a hasty retreat before something disastrous occurred. Of course, she was the master of terrible timing, thus she found herself halfway back down the steps when the front door opened, and she froze.

Standing in the doorway was, undoubtedly, Remus's mother. She had the same light eyes as her son with a weary kindness she knew all too well reflected in them. The hair was the same too, but she possessed none of the height Remus had. Hope Lupin was a small woman, a wisp, ready to blow away with a stiff breeze. Remus had lamented to her about the toll moving and his condition had taken on his parents, and she could see that now.

"Um, hullo," Isabeau said meekly, doing her damnedest not to bolt at the sudden confrontation like she belonged to her father's flock.

"Hello to you too," Mrs. Lupin replied with a singsong voice. "May I help you?"

Isabeau began to scratch the back of her head. "I, uh…well, you see…there's, um…"

Oh, out with it already!

"I know that Remus is a werewolf."

Not that much, you idiot!

"Shit. Shit shit shit. Sorry! You didn't hear that. I mean, you did. I-" Isabeau struggled to find the words to keep his mother from slamming the door in her face and fleeing the town with her family. Her eyes had gone so wide and her skin paled even further than it already was. Bloody hell, she was about to kill the poor woman! "Please, don't take him away for this. It's not his fault. I just want to know if he's okay."

Her face softened at that, though her hand still hovered over the door handle.

"Also I'm a shite liar. I should have bothered coming to check on him," Isabeau mumbled, pausing. "Sorry about the language. This is a terrible first impression."

At that, his mother actually smiled. "Believe it or not, you're not the worst."

Visions of three idiots manically staring into her car came to the forefront of her mind, and managed to make Isabeau smile.

Recovering from the full moon was an…experience.

Waking to pain in every fiber of his body was something he could never adjust to. It wasn't a constant pain that he just learned to live with. He knew what it was like to live normally, active and strong and unstoppable. It allowed him to forget, briefly, only to fall apart all over again when the month-long respite ended.

Worse still was the mental strain. It was like emerging from an endless nightmare. Chased by the memories of the previous night, he would often struggle to remember who he really was. Eventually, when his tongue stopped sticking to the roof of his mouth, he would remind himself.

"Remus," he mumbled, voice dry and cracking. "My name is Remus Lupin."

"Pleasure to meet you again, Remus Lupin," a familiar voice spoke from beside him. He turned his head to see Isabeau sitting across from him, a warm smile on her face, a warmer look in her green eyes. "Isabeau Dunn at your service."

It was a reference to The Hobbit, he had learned that much, but Remus was more concerned about the fact that Isabeau was in his room. At least, he thought it was his room, unless something had happened again. He began to look around him, finding only familiar walls and decorations.

"This is my room."

"Yes."

"And you're in it."

"Also yes."

"How?"

Isabeau didn't immediately reply to that one. She'd bitten her lip, looking at anything but him. It gave Remus the opportunity to notice that she had his hand in both of hers. It was warm and comforting, and it lessened the pain pulsing in his joints. He had to actively fight the urge to close his fingers around her hand.

"I made a mistake," she finally replied, her eyes having gone round and emotional. "I…might have let spill that I know what you are to your mother. I know I promised not to say anything, and now I've gone and ruined it, and now you might leave and I can't take it. I just wanted to check in on you, and I've always been miserable at lying and now look at what I've done."

"It's okay," he said, hating how wretched she looked. "Everything will be fine."

Isabeau sniffed. "I know you're just saying that to make me feel better. We both know you're in a terrible spot. And you just moved here. I don't want you to have to move again. I just got to know you, and it would be-"

"Bo, would you just-" Remus tried to sit up, and was hit with a wave of lightheadedness. He would have fallen back and cracked his head against the headboard had Isabeau not rushed in and placed a pillow in the way. She propped him up a bit better than before, resting her head on his mattress. "Please don't panic."

"But that's all I ever do," Isabeau pouted, shoving her face into his pillow until he was only staring at a mess of blonde waves.

"We both know that isn't true," he reassured her, hand briefly hovering over her head before thinking better of it. "Where is my mother anyway?"

Her voice was muffled as it made its way through the pillow. "Making tea."

Despite the pain, Remus actually chuckled.

Isabeau's head popped up, and she blew a stray hair out of her face. "What?"

He shrugged. "My mother has never made tea for any of my friends before. I think that's a good sign."

"So, those boys do know your secret," Isabeau replied. It occurred to Remus that he hadn't told her that. Of course, he hadn't told her much about them in the first place. Any stories involving the Marauders usually involved magic, so he was better off focusing on her rather than himself.

"Yes," he said tentatively. "They've known for quite a while."

Isabeau pouted again, although it was more mocking. "Here I thought I was special."

"Well, you are. Special, that is. To me, at least. But I'm sure to other people too. I, um…" his voice disappeared, the traitor that it was, and he was left silently staring at the wall – and most definitely not at her – while his cheeks heated up.

She was special. And while he was determined to make her feel better about the whole situation, Remus knew that they were in real danger now. Maybe his mother might like her, but if his father found out, that was something entirely different. Knowingly allowing a muggle to have knowledge of werewolves might compromise his job at the Ministry. It was, after all, a violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. To make amends for it, they'd have to alter her memories.

But he didn't want them altered. And he didn't want to leave her. They'd known each other for just a month, but she'd given him so much in such a small span of time. A chance to feel normal, and to be accepted despite his condition. He couldn't expect the Marauders to be around forever – they'd all have lives after school – but with her, something about it felt more…permanent.

"I'm just glad you're here," he finished with a sigh.

He continued to stare resolutely away from her, that was until he felt her gently take hold of his hand again. In awe, he watched her fingers interlace with his. Her grip was strong and solid, even though her hand was so much smaller. Everything about it simply fascinated him.

And when he finally managed to turn to her again, the look in her eyes made his pain vanish.

His mother cleared her throat in the doorway, holding a small tray with two steaming tea cups.

He and Isabeau broke eye contact immediately, both looking to their laps. She'd even relinquished her hold on his hand. He missed it.

They spoke for a while on this and that, nothing really in particular, both avoiding the very obvious subject. His mother had taken the wind right out of them, and the idea of her walking in on anything else had left them both deflated.

With about a hundred different kinds of assurances that he was going to be okay to satisfy her, Isabeau finally left his side about an hour later. He watched the chair she had once occupied with a frown, waiting for the inevitable.

His mother gave him roughly ten minutes before deciding to appear, a tea cup of her own in her possession. She sat at the end of his bed, staring at the steam rising out of it, gathering her thoughts.

He'd had a similar conversation a thousand times over. It was always after a full moon that his parents would come into his room, sitting on his bed as his mother was now, and telling him that they were about to move again. When he was younger, it had excited him. The prospect of seeing different places and experiencing new things had always felt like a fantastical adventure to him, but the older he got, the more tiring it became, and the more he noticed how much it actually hurt his parents.

"We're not moving," he said. His voice was quiet, but firm. "We're staying right here."

His mother raised a single eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I know it's dangerous, but Isabeau is trustworthy. She wouldn't tell a soul."

"Like she managed to not tell me?" his mother asked. Remus frowned at the point she made, but crossed his arms and continued to stare her down. "How much does she know?"

"Just the werewolf part. Nothing about magic."

"That's not a particularly safe place to be standing."

Remus knew that. The more they got to know one another, the closer they were getting to all his secrets being laid bare. Magic was intrinsically involved in his life, and he was more than likely to accidentally reveal it to her over time. It would be hard not to. Knowing his biggest secret made him feel like she already knew everything else about him.

But the longer he was with her, the more he wanted to tell her too. She'd accepted him being a werewolf with a laugh. Surely magic wouldn't be so different.

"How does she know you're a werewolf?"

He sighed, thinking about how to phrase it. Telling his mother he was shot was definitely not an option, but he couldn't completely avoid the truth. She'd know. "When I was missing last time, it wasn't without incident. The boys didn't find me. She did, and she put two and two together. It's a bit funny, really, Bo thought she was crazy, and was actually happy to learn that I was a werewolf."

She had laughed.

"I know I shouldn't have done it, but Bo has done a lot for me these past few weeks. She's not a witch, but she doesn't care about what I am. She's shown more kindness to me than most of our world ever will, and I just…I don't want to lose that."

His mother was giving him a look, a very knowing one that made the heat creep back into his face.

"You have been happier as of late. I've forgotten what it's like to see you smiling all the time," his mother confessed, staring into her tea. "I never get to see you when you're at school and with your friends; I never get to see what Hogwarts has done for you. But if it's even half as much as what this young girl has done, I suppose your life isn't all that bad."

There were tears in the corners of her eyes when she looked back up at him. He hated seeing his mother cry; he hated how his misery made her miserable.

She wiped her face then, standing. "I won't tell your father. He doesn't need that kind of burden right now, but there is a choice ahead of you, Remus. Either trust her enough for everything, or nothing. Don't do her a disservice by thinking you can have both."

He nodded once. "I know. I'm just…scared."

"You're forgetting, Remus, I'm a muggle too. Give us a little more credit than that, dear."

She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, and took his empty cup back downstairs. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Remus thought his mother might have been happier because of it.

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Thank you for reading! Until next time!