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Chapter Two
Questions of the Awkward Variety

This is stupid. This is stupid. This is stupid.

Isabeau had been mumbling the phrase over and over under her breath for the last five minutes as she searched the bookshelves in the library, skimming over subjects ranging from mythology and the occult to nature and biology.

The last few days had gone by in a blur. Having successfully hidden the fact that anyone other than herself had been in the household – never mind how she was going to explain to her mother why a towel was missing when she returned from London – Isabeau had joined her father and their neighbors on the wild goose chase that was tracking the wolf. Their dogs, at least, had also picked up the blood trail, so she could avoid being labeled the village loon for the time being.

Without a body – and the trail having conveniently disappeared by the creek bed – they were left to conclude that the beast had simply fled. Still, the sheep dogs were sporting new wolf collars now.

Her time freed up by the end of the pursuit, Isabeau found her mind focused on Remus more than ever, her memory constantly drawn to those eyes. At night, she would dream about them. Sometimes, they belonged to the well-spoken boy, others the wolf, more often than not both, transforming from one to the other until she woke to the sound of a gunshot, covered in sweat and breathing hard.

This was the sort of thing one was supposed to leave well enough alone, a curiosity that was perhaps a little too dangerous, but she was a Dunn, and that was why she was in the library.

She wasn't an unfamiliar face in Cirencester – much of her youth was spent on long bike rides to the closest library – but the subject matter she often glossed over was far different.

And normal.

Instead of travel or history books, Isabeau held very dated copies of mythological analysis, supernatural studies, and other strange pieces. An older woman caught her grabbing a book for the occult and grabbed the cross around her neck. Normally, silly superstitious nonsense like that never bothered her – she was far more open-minded than most – but given the nature of what she was looking into, Isabeau felt a little unnerved.

Did they still accuse people of witchcraft?

The last book she had any interest in grabbing was, of course, well out of her reach. On her tip toes, Isabeau had simply managed to nudge it backwards, yet that did not stop her from attempting to continue. She'd just put her book pile on the floor instead and continued her futile attempts with two hands.

Never mind that a step stool was probably just down the aisle.

No, she had to do this herself.

Her mother always said she'd gotten her father's stubbornness. Course, he always said she got it from her.

It was just as she felt as though her arm was about to pop out of its socket that another hand appeared, grabbing the unattainable volume with an ease she could only dream of.

"Here, let me," a male voice quietly said, offering the book back to her.

"Well, I almost had it," Isabeau lied, dropping down to accept the book. "But thank y-"

There were those blue eyes again, attached to that head of sandy brown hair. Remus Lupin was standing there in the library with her, holding her book, eyes wide as saucers. A red tinge began to crawl up his neck and into his cheeks, while Isabeau felt all the color leave hers.

He chanced a look at the book separating them.

Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat.

The instant his eyes met hers again, Isabeau tore the book from his grasp, nearly tripping as she bent down to pick up the others.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Her mantra got her through the aisles quickly, never mind she nearly ran over the old woman from before, she'd made it to the checkout safe and sound.

Christ, she'd shot a wolf without a second thought but speaking to a young man in the library had her all but running for the hills. She'd never been the flighty sort. Confrontation, if anything, had always been a specialty of hers.

Then again, it wasn't like he was one of the boys from town out for a casual stroll. He was practically a stranger, and yet she'd seen his…

Isabeau cleared her throat and slid her books onto the counter.

"Bout time you showed back up," the librarian, Margaret, noted, grabbing her stack of books and paying no mind to her frazzled state. "I was beginning to worry something had happened to you. Maybe your father finally went and locked you up to keep the boys at bay."

Ah, yes, irony.

Her father had become rather famous – or infamous – around the local area for giving a rousing speech about boys and their genitals and their relation to his shotgun should he catch any unsavory folk sneaking around his land at obscene hours. They'd had to unplug the phone for a solid week and he had to issue a public apology in church, but he didn't regret a thing.

Yes, Remus was terribly lucky her father hadn't been home.

"I've just been busy," Isabeau mumbled, attempting to get her breathing under control and fighting the urge to look around. "With mum out of town, someone has to look out for the old man."

"I'll be hearing none of that now," Margaret chided half-heartedly. Silver wisps of hair fell from her bun as she shook her head. "Your father is a good man."

"And old."

Margaret took the wolf text and bopped her on the head.

"Doesn't sound hollow," she observed. "S'pose you've been reading then."

Isabeau brushed her off with a smile, feeling more relaxed already. Margaret had always been like family to her – and very nearly was if Terry hadn't been a git – and knew exactly how to calm her. She wasn't the prying sort, but she knew when things required her attention; she'd become a sort of confidant over the years when Isabeau felt her mother or father weren't suited for it.

Her first kiss, for example, remained a secret firmly planted between them.

"And my, what have you been reading?" Margaret asked, looking between her and the rather interesting collection of books she'd acquired.

Isabeau bit her lip. "You're always after me to try new subjects."

"I'd meant something like classical literature not…whatever this is. Is this why Missus Hughes is in a tizzy?"

She grinned, thinking of the old woman. "Well, by the look of her, I'd say she deserves it."

The mythology book lightly tapped her on the cheek.

"Enough of that. Go on. Don't let me hear you've been reciting funny lines now."

With a wink, Isabeau grabbed her books and fled the scene, escaping outside. Her little green bike was left leaning by the entry, unlocked and untouched. Most people knew what belonged to who and would never bother with lifting anything, not to mention there would probably be at least five prying pairs of eyes that could name the perpetrator in a heartbeat.

A few faces passed by as she planted her books in the front basket of her bike, none familiar to her and certainly none belonging to him.

Perhaps Remus was as terrified of encountering her as she had been of him.

She supposed she had shot him last they met.

Maybe.

Possibly.

She was still figuring that bit out.

Isabeau glided past the shops moments later, her mind half on where she was going as her bike weaved around parked cars and pedestrians. She'd travelled this route so often, she could probably do it with her eyes closed. The library had been her sanctuary as a child, where she could escape the confines of her day-to-day life with adventures in worlds that existed beyond her imagination. On more than one occasion, Margaret had given her a lift home when she'd stayed well later than she should have, and on one particularly bad day, she'd been locked in the building.

It was as her mind began to mull over her latest pest problem that someone stepped out into the street, grabbing the seat of her bike.

Isabeau shouted, feet flying from the pedals to keep her from flipping over the handlebars. Instead, she lost her balance, falling to the side and onto the street, her shoulder bouncing off the asphalt. Her books tumbled from the basket and scattered.

As her mind was processing the bizarre incident, she could hear the distinct laughter of three young men and suddenly everything made sense again.

She batted away the first pair of hands that entered her vision. "Tommy, why are you such a bastard!?"

"I didn't think that would happen!" the boy pleaded, stepping back as Isabeau stood.

Tommy Baker, Marcus Lee, and Randall Clarke were the three bellends she'd grown up with in Bibury. All sons of farmers, they'd been the only children she'd known prior to school. They'd managed to become almost indistinguishable over the years, each possessing the same nut-brown hair and wearing said hair in whatever way was the fashion. Meanwhile, her blonde locks were lucky if they got brushed in the morning.

However, Tommy had always been the ringleader. Taller than Marcus and Randall, with a stockier build, he was every girl's dream at school. Even Isabeau had harbored a crush once – which had resulted in the secret kiss that he would never let her live down – but as the years passed, it became unbearably obvious that she'd rather be with one of her livestock.

That said, their interactions had usually been friendly.

Usually.

She supposed their definitions of the word differed.

"Didn't think is right," Isabeau grumbled, setting her bike upright. "It's called inertia. Read a book sometime."

That was the problem with most people her age – the boys in particular. They were all destined to work on their family farms, not that there was anything wrong with it, but it led to a lack of interest in anything else. Studies were not a strong suit among kids her age and many rarely left the area.

Her father had always encouraged her to be curious about the world. Had it not been for the war, he likely would have stayed in Bibury all his life, and the experience had certainly shown him the benefits of knowing more.

Of course, he still had his expectations. Nicky may have gone to school in London, but he'd realized that one day he would have to take over the farm. Because of that, Isabeau had grown up with a sense of freedom he didn't have, but now that her brother was gone…

Needless to say, she was torn. Her father had taught her one thing and now expected another from her.

Maybe Tommy and his friends were better off in the end.

"C'mon, Bo, don't be like that! It was all in good fun!"

She huffed, stopping to grab her poor library books. "Good fun always ends poorly for me these days. You ever think of that?"

Four books in her possession, Isabeau reached for the last, only to have it pulled away by Marcus. She held her hand out, foolishly expecting to receive it. Instead, she got a wicked smile.

"For God's sake, Marcus, don't-"

Her book was airborne, flying easily over her head and into Randall's possession.

"Really?!" she shouted, glancing between them. "Are we ten?"

Randall's answer was to toss it back to Marcus.

Isabeau glanced at Tommy, but her 'friend's' response was to shrug.

"What are you reading anyway?" Marcus asked, flipping through the pages. "Not exactly school material."

He tossed it again as soon as she made a move.

"My mum would have a fit if she caught me with this," Randall said. "You planning on sacrificing something?"

"None of your business."

She faked out Randall, stepping close enough to make him toss the book before quickly turning on Marcus. Knee met groin, and Isabeau took the opportunity to grab her book before Marcus fell to the pavement with a whimper.

"Thank you," she said, retreating to her bike and placing the precious cargo in its basket. She could hear the boys snickering behind her, mocking their friend's misery.

Nicky had taught her to fight back. Boys would underestimate her, he'd said, and for that, she should be grateful. They were easier to take down that way.

"Hey, what are you looking at?"

Isabeau turned away from her work to see the boys staring down Remus. He was just standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching with an amused smirk on his face.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

And then he moved on.

"Creeper, that one," Marcus said, standing up again. "Moved into Bill's old place last month. Never see any of'em though."

Randall shook his head. "My dad swears they're Commies."

Isabeau rolled her eyes. "Your dad thinks Churchill was a Commie."

"You got proof he wasn't?"

Deciding it was a worthy sacrifice, Isabeau grabbed one of her books and smacked him with it.

Eventually, Isabeau pried herself free of the boys – though not before making them buy her something sweet to make up for being complete gits – and began to make her way home. It was a solid eleven kilometers between the towns, but the distance felt shorter every time she covered it.

Sometimes, when she was younger, she'd grab on to local vehicles driving by and let them drag her most of the distance. That was, until her mother caught her at it, and if there was one thing in life Isabeau feared, it was the fury of her mother. So, she took to getting home by her own means instead.

It wasn't so terrible a thing. The Cotswolds were a sight that never grew old to her, the picturesque hills dotted with trees greeting her at every turn, the locals waving their hellos at her and she to them, the flocks of sheep running across acres of grass with collies nipping at their heels.

She may have wanted to see the world, but she didn't mind calling this small corner of it home.

At some point, she caught sight of a figure walking on the side of the road, and quickly recognized them as Remus.

As she knew from their first meeting, his house was halfway between Cirencester and Bibury, yet Isabeau had convinced herself that she wasn't going to run into him for a third time that particular day. But life, it seemed, always had other plans.

She thought about just ignoring him, and at first, she did, speeding right past him into a sloping bend in the road; she felt his eyes on her, boring into the back of her head. He was probably thinking about the book she'd had, or what other books she'd possibly gotten. It felt rude, all of a sudden, to be reading into all these things about him, making assumptions about a boy she hardly knew. She'd accused Randall of being silly for calling him a Commie, and what was she out here doing but the very same thing?

So, Isabeau stopped, her bike grinding to a halt on the hill. She swung her leg off and turned around, walking her bike back to him.

Remus had, of course, stopped in his tracks and was watching her warily.

Enough was enough, she decided then. She was going to ask him what was going on, get a clear answer, and be done with it. With her curiosity set aside, Isabeau could move on with her life.

Except, when she finally got up to him, she couldn't find the words. She stared at him, a bloody fool who'd forgotten how to use the English language, while he looked anywhere but at her, his face going red again.

"So," she started, just able to resist smacking her face. "I was wrong."

Remus blinked, finally looking her in the eye. "What?"

"The, uh, book…I didn't almost have it," Isabeau said pathetically, her shoulders slumping. What a coward she was.

"Oh," was all he said, his hands going back into his pockets while his eyes retreated to the ground.

Isabeau stood there, watching him, at the very least confident that he wouldn't try to escape while she was standing there. His clothes were a little big on him, and older, definitely not the sort others her age would wear, but she had to admit, there was something fitting about it for him. His nature was already mysterious, so the idea of him dressing like everyone else seemed wrong.

With his face lowered, she could just make out one of his scars. She remembered all those other marks on his body, how unnatural it seemed on someone so young; she didn't even think her father carried so many.

He managed to look up again, and she caught that blue of his eyes. Suddenly, her lost confidence took hold of her.

"Are you the wolf that attacked me?" she blurted.

Utterly shocked and embarrassed, Isabeau slapped both her hands onto her mouth lest something else come spilling out of it. Unfortunately, that meant she was no longer holding onto her bike, and instead of falling into her, the blasted thing tipped right off the side of the road and into the ditch.

"Shit!" she shouted, scrambling after it, only to scramble right back up the hill when it looked like Remus was going to make a run for it. "Please don't leave! I'm sorry! That was very, very rude of me. Can we just…can we just talk once I…shit!"

One of the books had fallen into a puddle, the muddy water seeping through the pages. She pulled it out with a desperate shout, mumbling curses as she shook the book back and forth, as if that would magically dry the thing out.

It seemed Never Cry Wolf was determined to avoid being read by her.

As she mourned her book, which would undoubtedly take up a large chunk of the money she'd saved, Isabeau suddenly noticed Remus making his way down the hill. He picked through the tall grass, saving her other books from the dirt, pausing to read each title for a significant amount of time.

"I swear I'm not a witch," she blurted, as if he didn't know exactly why she had those books. It was sort of a default setting of hers. When in doubt, resort to terrible humor.

"I wouldn't dream of accusing you," Remus replied, actually laughing. He wiped off her books with his sleeve, gently cradling them in his arm. "Looks like these have been spared at least."

"That's a relief. I've never been so careless with library books before," she said, shuffling closer to Remus and holding out her book. "Do you mind?"

He shook his head, adding it to the stack.

Isabeau made her way to the bike then, halfway planted in the puddle itself. With a sigh, she yanked the poor thing out of the muck and hefted it onto her shoulders.

"Have you got that?" she heard Remus ask.

"Not to worry. I do this with sheep all the time. And the bike doesn't kick back." Isabeau replied, digging her feet into the hill and slowly climbing back onto the road.

Right as she did so, a car with none other than the three clowns from earlier drove up, brakes screeching as they stopped before her.

"Having a rough go of it, Bo?" Tommy asked, leaning out of the window.

Isabeau kicked his door in response, the car quickly speeding up and leaving the area, the sound of their mockery and laughter lingering in the air.

"Bloody pricks!" she shouted, holding her bike with one arm so the other could give them the much-needed hand gesture.

When she slammed her bike down onto the road, Isabeau noticed the middle-aged woman across the street staring at her. The little white dog she was walking was growling in her direction.

"Hullo, Missus Sanders. Lovely day for a walk, isn't it?" Isabeau lamely called out. The woman merely stuck her nose in the air and carried on, yanking the poor dog along with a yip. "Lovely…lovely day…Christ."

She leaned over, resting on her handlebars a moment, just willing the day to end already. The last two hours of her life had been the most embarrassing and frustrating all at once, and all she'd wanted to do was read a book from the library.

Well, there was a little more to it than that, but she didn't expect so much trouble over it.

"I take it you're not having a good day," Remus remarked behind her. She turned around and looked at him, his head just poking above the road as he still stood halfway in the ditch.

"I imagine it could be worse," she replied. His small smile quickly disappeared at that. "Can we…can we just forget I said anything and move along?"

He nodded once, climbing onto the road. "I'd like that."

They walked in silence for several minutes, neither really willing to break it. Remus was still holding her books, but she didn't feel like telling him to stop. Her basket was still a little wet from the off-roading excursion.

She'd look at him every once in a while, though it appeared he was determined to stare resolutely forward. Did looking at her make him uncomfortable?

Well, she probably couldn't blame him for that one.

"What were you doing earlier?" she ventured to ask, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Back in town, that is."

Remus cleared his throat, playing with the collar of his shirt. "I was…well, it doesn't matter now."

"What?" she pushed, looking up at him. His blue eyes briefly flicked to her before going back to the road. "C'mon, it can't be that bad."

"I had been planning on doing something…I don't know, chivalrous, I guess?" he admitted with a sigh. "Then you very quickly proved you could handle the situation yourself."

Isabeau smiled, glancing back at her bike handles. "Yes, well, I grew up with those bellends, and if there's one thing I learned from them, it's how to not take their shit."

They continued on again in silence, but something about it was far more relaxed. She felt less afraid to break it and more like she was simply enjoying it.

"How's your arm?"

Isabeau had almost forgotten about that part, after all the other strange things that made up their first meeting. He hadn't been carrying himself like he was in pain, and was, in fact, looking much better than before, the color returned to his face. She hadn't even noticed he was using the afflicted arm until now.

"Oh it's…it's much better, thank you," he said quickly, shifting the books to his other arm. She looked between him and the books but decided not to say anything; she could play along.

Eventually, they came upon his home, another quaint cottage, though unlike many, this one had a second floor. There were little red flowers in boxes under the windows and around the small fence enclosing the home, and what appeared to be a garden growing on the side of the house. She glanced at the windows, waiting to see strange yet familiar sets of eyes peering out at them.

"My friends aren't here, I promise," Remus said, reading her mind. "They just come to visit once in a while."

"Probably for the best," she noted. "I'm not sure the town could handle them."

"Neither am I."

The silence had become awkward again.

"Mind if I have my books back?"

"Oh! Yes, of course," Remus replied, handing the pile to her. When she went to take it from him, however, he didn't let go. "Please, don't read into it."

He was looking at her directly, with no hint of fear or hesitation. It was as if his entire personality had changed. Remus looked bolder, determined, even his shoulders had stopped slouching.

"It's not safe."

"Why wouldn't it be safe?"

Remus sighed, glancing around for an answer. He'd clearly been hoping she would have left it at that, but Isabeau was never one for leaving questions unanswered, and Remus was nothing if not the biggest question in her life.

That debate was back in his eyes, the heavy responsibility between either decision, life or death, but whose life was he wondering about?

"Because I…because it's…it's very complicated and…"

"And anything you say is basically confirming what I already suspect?"

"I…" He paused, those blue eyes staring solidly into hers for longer than she was comfortable with, but Isabeau held that gaze. She'd do so all day if she had to. "Yes."

So, that was that. The coincidence of the wolf and the boy in the creek. They were connected. But of course they were. How could they not have been?

Remus Lupin was the wolf.

Isabeau couldn't help herself.

She laughed.

It wasn't funny, God no, of course not, but there was something so relieving about being right about the whole thing that had her breaking down into a fit of giggles. And Remus, the poor boy, was left staring at her like she'd gone absolutely mental.

Well, she probably had. The boy in front of her was a bloody wolfman and she was happy about it!

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she managed between giggles, taking deep breaths to finally calm herself. "It's just…I thought I was mad. I mean, I still might be, but not because of you or thinking you were…I mean, I should be freaked out about this, yeah? I should be scared out of my mind and running for the hills, but honestly I'm just so relieved right now."

Remus blinked. "Why?"

Isabeau shrugged. "I don't know! Because…you are what you are and I'm not accusing you of being something you aren't?"

"What I am is dangerous."

She snorted. "Please, you caught me by surprise and I still almost killed you. I'm in more danger from my own clumsiness."

The utter shock and confusion on Remus' face was downright adorable, if she was being completely honest. She'd never seen someone so flabbergasted, so utterly unsure of how to proceed. He'd clearly braced himself for a multitude of reactions, none of which was remotely close to what he received.

"Are you positive we're talking about the same thing?"

"What? That you're a-" Isabeau caught herself then, noticing how Remus backed away and looked around the area. Right, crazy revelations aside, it wasn't something she ought to shout to the world. "-W-E-R-E-W-O-L-F?"

She ran over the letters again in her head after he didn't respond, hoping she'd spelled it right.

"And…you're not scared of that?"

Isabeau shook her head. "No, I don't think I am."

At that, his face actually lit up, and a large smile graced his features. It was how he ought to look, she decided.

"Um…do you mind if I take that book back? The damaged one, that is."

She grabbed her poor wolf book, handing it over. "Sure, but what for?"

"I may have a way to fix it, but you'll have to come back tomorrow, if that's alright."

For some reason, the prospect of that made her smile. "Sure, yeah. I mean, I have to go to the market in the morning, but I can drop by in the afternoon."

Drop by in the afternoon…to meet her werewolf friend. Yes, that was normal, completely and totally normal. Nothing weird about that sentence whatsoever.

She pinched herself when he wasn't paying attention.

"Good!" he said, a little too quickly by the look on his face. "That's…that's good. Yes, uh…"

Remus stopped, looking down at her book. If she didn't know better, Isabeau thought his scars might have been brighter.

"This wouldn't really help you anyway," he continued, gaze firmly fixed on it now.

"Well, I hope you can fix it then," Isabeau said, inching closer. "Wouldn't want to go through all this trouble for nothing."

Eventually, he looked up again, those blue eyes locking onto hers. They were so different now, she realized. Clearer, less guarded, perhaps even…happy? He looked like a completely different person, and it took all her willpower not to just bombard him with a series of questions right then and there.

Instead, she cleared her throat. "Right, I should…I should go now. My father is going to think I've gone and gotten myself locked in the library again."

"Again?"

"It's a long story…involves a wizard and a bunch of hobbits?" she stammered, retreating to her bike. She thrust the books firmly into the basket, glaring at them as if to scare them into not falling out for a third time that day. "I won't say anything, I promise. Not that anyone would believe me anyway, I mean, it's almost kind of nonsense isn't it? I mean, not for you but…"

He was smirking at her.

God, she really was the village loon.

"I'm going to stop talking now," Isabeau said, planting herself on the bike. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus."

She didn't even wait to hear what he had to say, biking off before something else foolish fell out of her mouth.

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to ask me any questions! Until next time!