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Chapter Four
Growing Pains

"What do you mean you've never read Lord of the Rings?"

Remus shrugged, his shoulders briefly lifting a book behind him. "I've read a lot of books. I'm bound to miss a few."

They were sitting on the floor in one of the fiction aisles, leaning against opposite bookshelves, their legs outstretched toward one another. Isabeau's did not make it very far, but Remus's comfortably rested on the shelf guard next to her.

"But it's Lord of the Rings," Isabeau emphasized. "Wizards and dragons and epic battles against legions of evil. It's good stuff."

Remus only smirked, shaking his head. "Let's just say I prefer my reading to be grounded in reality."

Isabeau stuck her tongue out at him. He'd gotten a lot cheekier now that the truth was out. She guessed he never got many chances at it, always afraid of his secret.

"Bit funny, all things considered," she teased, eliciting a sigh from him. Of course, she kept all that to a bare minimum in public, but there was something so bloody tempting about it that she was constantly fighting with herself. He blushed far too easily – as did she, a fact she was vehemently ignoring – and it was all too tempting to coax the little shades of red out.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" he asked, only half serious.

"You're going to regret getting to know me."

"Never."

Well, now he was blushing again, only this time not of her making. Which was fine, she supposed, because she had a feeling she was doing it too. The only time she'd ever blushed for a boy was in the reference section of this very library, and here Remus had her doing it like it was bloody commonplace.

She could hear her mother cackling somewhere.

"Am I running some sort of bed and breakfast here?" Margaret asked, interrupting the quiet. She stood at the end of the aisle, a pile of children's books in her arms, and a stern, but breaking, look on her face. "Would you like some pillows too? Bit of room service?"

"Tea would be nice," Isabeau teased, flipping through a mystery novel she'd picked off the shelf. "Maybe some biscuits too. Missed breakfast this morning."

Remus, however, was on his feet in an instant. He was, she noticed, not the teasing sort unless he really knew the person. It took her knowing his darkest secret for him not to flinch like she'd hit him at everything he'd said. He didn't like conflict, or anything that could lead him to any sort of trouble with someone.

It made her sad, watching him walk on eggshells. He didn't deserve that.

Sometimes, she found herself wondering what he'd be like if he wasn't a werewolf. Probably a gobshite like all the rest, and they'd have never met.

It had made her briefly grateful that he was one, and she couldn't quite forgive herself for that.

"At least someone has manners 'round here," Margaret noted as Remus went to grab the books from her. "Best not get your hopes up about that one. She's as stubborn as they come."

"And you love me for it," Isabeau replied, flipping another page. "Knew it was the wife. They always throw their lives away when their husband is having an affair."

Margaret huffed. "You best not be trying to get him into that Tolkien nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Isabeau bolted upright. She knew she was playing right into the woman's trap, and she fell for it every time. "How many of your precious authors can claim they created their own language, hmm?"

They walked to the far end of the library, Remus just keeping the books balanced, not helping when Isabeau kept nearly bumping into him. She gave him an apologetic look and took some books from his pile to make up for it.

"Not many," Margaret admitted, pushing some out of place book back onto the shelf. "But they don't have those silly little magical notions either."

"Have you actually read Shakespeare?" Isabeau asked, dropping her books on the desk in a dramatic fashion. Remus was far more careful. "The ghost of Hamlet's father? Macbeth's witches? The entirety of a Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"All allegory."

"Allegory," Isabeau spat, causing Remus to grin widely. He was enjoying this. "Not everything has to be a bloody metaphor for sexual oppression to be of significance."

Margaret blanched, checking to see that they were alone before smacking her with a copy of Children's Fairytales.

"Have you no shame?"

"Have you ever known me to have any? This is all you," Isabeau teased, smirking as she gestured to herself. Margaret couldn't help but smile too. They were too much alike.

Remus was watching them, very much the third wheel of the conversation, but he clearly did not mind. A hint of a smile had remained on his face.

"Get on, you two," Margaret chided, lightly shoving Isabeau away. "Stop spending all day in the library."

Isabeau gasped. "It's like I don't even know you."

They hadn't had much more to do anyway. She'd already convinced Remus to borrow her books – and gave him a not-so-subtle threat over not returning them – but once she'd sat on the ground, Isabeau was resigned to not move until forced to. Remus might have allowed them to stay until the library closed, although her stomach would have motivated her to get up at some point.

Speaking of…

"Do you like chocolate, Remus?" Isabeau asked as they left the building.

"Is that a serious question?"

"I like to check!" Isabeau admitted, hands up. She leaned over to whisper. "Dogs aren't supposed to have it after all."

"Unbelievable," Remus replied, searching the heavens for help, but there was a smile just below the surface, quickly teased out by her maniacal giggles.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not, but you could let me finish first," Isabeau continued, nudging him.

They were walking further into the city where little shops lined the street, bakeries, antique stores, and the like, out to take advantage of the vacation season. Tourists had flocked the area, oooing and awing at the picturesque cottages with their green backdrop. It tended to be unnerving watching people clamor to see something she lived in, but the money was good. She'd spent a whole day charging for pictures once and bought herself a radio. Her mother had given her a verbal lashing she'd never forget, but her father just laughed.

"Please tell me to shut it if I'm taking it too far. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"As opposed to what you normally do?"

She shoved him again as he laughed.

"No, it's fine," he continued as they walked along. The sun was out that day, warm and welcoming. It was turning out to be quite the pleasant summer. "It makes it all feel…normal. I guess."

Isabeau felt briefly ashamed. It wasn't that she was bored in her small town, but some part of her really did wish for excitement in her life. One doesn't read as many books as she did and still find themselves content with mediocrity. She was, perhaps, a little too attracted to the idea of knowing someone as special as Remus. Was he simply her means of escaping the day-to-day?

But when she looked over at the soft smile on his face as they passed through the crowd, Isabeau safely decided there was more to it than that.

"Well, here's to normalcy then," Isabeau declared, hooking her arm through his as she turned them into an ice cream parlor.

And there it was: the red tinge crawling up his neck.

See, that never grew old.

Isabeau emerged again sometime later with her small cone in hand. At some point while they waited in the crowded space, she and Remus had been separated by the throng of tourists. She'd admittedly left him to his fate and decided to give him five minutes before launching a rescue mission.

Of course, she'd stepped out to a far less desirable image: Tommy and his goons.

"Just one nice day, that's all I ask for," she grumbled, straightening as they approached her. "The hell do you want, Tommy?"

"What you doing with him?" he asked, his tough guy voice on full parade.

Oh for the love of-

"Havin' an ice cream. You've got eyes, haven't you?" Isabeau replied, waving the tiny cone in his face before taking a bite. She'd better finish it all now before she shoved it onto his face.

"With the freak?" Marcus asked, crossing his arms.

"The freak? Really? Original go there, Marcus, well done. Just because his vocabulary includes words with more than two syllables doesn't make him a freak." She raised a finger in Randall's direction. "I hear you spout one word about communism, I will drop you. Don't ask how. Use your imagination."

Tommy drew uncomfortably close, but Isabeau stood her ground. "He's not someone you should be around."

"Not someone I should-! Listen here, knobhead," Isabeau started, shoving Tommy back. "Just because you snogged me once, doesn't mean you get to lay claim to me. I'm not your girl; I'm barely your friend."

Tommy actually had the nerve to look offended by that. Maybe Marcus and Randall were too thick to care otherwise, but his definition of friendship wasn't something she much cared for, at all. It demanded he be in the right at all times, and any attempts at doing otherwise were punished accordingly.

"You want to talk about people I shouldn't be around? Let's start with you. Remus doesn't throw my books around for fun, he doesn't knock me off my bike, and he sure as hell doesn't mock my interests, and that's just from this month!"

It was clearly Tommy was growing uncomfortable with the confrontation. They'd drawn a small crowd of tourists. Eyes averted her gaze every time she turned her head, but it didn't bother her much. Wasn't her reputation up in the air.

"That was just a bit of fun, Bo," he weakly replied.

"Well, it's not fun, Tommy! It hasn't been since we were ten! And it wasn't even then, but I didn't have anyone other than you blockheads to do anything with!"

"Is everything alright?"

Remus always had excellent timing, didn't he?

Marcus stepped forward, but Isabeau held her hand out. It would be the only warning she'd give him.

"Perfectly fine, Remus," she replied, turning to her actual friend. "Let's go."

It was as she turned to leave that she felt someone grab her wrist, attempting to stop her. She didn't even hesitate, turning on her assailant and punching them.

Tommy stumbled back, stunned. Isabeau blinked. She should have known it was him – and some part had – but she was still utterly surprised that she'd done it. Her spats with the boys had always gotten physical – like the other day – but this was something else. Something had severed, she could feel it.

Good riddance.

"Let's go," Isabeau said, grabbing Remus's hand and leading him away.

He didn't say anything for a long time, allowing Isabeau to lead them through the crowds until they were on the outskirts of town. Never mind that she'd left her bike at the library. Everyone knew it was hers.

"Asking if you're alright is probably a stupid question," Remus started quietly, testing the waters. "But you're crying and I-"

"Am I?" Isabeau blurted, rubbing her hands across her face. "Bloody hell…I'm such a woman."

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know."

"What? Being a woman?" Isabeau replied, her ill-timed humor rearing its ugly head. "Because I'm starting to think there is."

Remus couldn't help but grin at that, walking a little closer to her, their arms gently brushing. "With crying. We all need to do it sometimes."

"But I don't even know what I'm crying for! All I did was punch a bastard for being his namesake."

"Tommy was your friend," Remus said softly, remembering the argument. He'd been there when she'd mentioned the snogging. He imagined that one party punching the other officially ended any speculation about their feelings for each other, but a small voice in his head pried away at his surety nonetheless. What was a werewolf next to someone who, well, wasn't?

"Some friend he was. You've been better to me in the last couple weeks than he ever was, and that includes the whole wolfy bit."

His grin was short-lived. "We make do with what we can. Sometimes, you just can't help who you grow attached to."

Isabeau snorted, but said nothing else.

They walked in silence for some time, not moving particularly fast. Every now and again, a car would pass by and honk, and Isabeau would half-heartedly wave. She seemed to know everyone in the area, a fact Remus found himself slightly jealous of. He often wondered what it would be like to stay in a place long enough to know everyone. The closest thing he had was Hogwarts, but his seventh year was rapidly approaching, and then where would he be?

It was the sort of thought that made him panic at night.

Distracting himself, Remus glanced over at Isabeau. She was looking straight ahead, mouth set in a firm line, not an inch of her relaxed in the slightest. It didn't sit well with him. She was supposed to be the carefree girl who got stuck in the rain and rambled despite having nothing to say.

He looked down at her hands, watching them clench and release over and over.

"Does your hand hurt?" he asked.

Isabeau stopped in her tracks and bent at the waist, cupping the offended digit against her. "So much."

He couldn't help but laugh at her sudden reaction, the volume only increasing when she shot a glare over her shoulder. The betrayal on her face was too adorable for him to feel bad about it.

"Let me see it," Remus said, offering his hand.

Straightening, Isabeau gingerly placed her right hand in his. She hadn't hesitated in the slightest, and Remus was acutely aware of the fact as he pressed her knuckles between two of his fingers. Her hand was so much smaller, but it was rougher, calloused from a life of farm work. He remembered her comment about carrying sheep, and smirked in amusement.

For her part, Isabeau winced once in a while, but was otherwise still, fully concentrated on her hand as if something would happen to it if she looked away.

"Doesn't feel like anything is broken."

"Are you an expert on that then?" Isabeau asked with a smirk.

Remus shook his head, keeping a hold on her hand. "You're not the only one who's grown up with bellends. Although, broken bones tend to be one of the better outcomes."

"If it's those three I met earlier, I don't doubt it."

He chuckled. "The very same."

Briefly, Remus wondered how Isabeau would do with them. James and Sirius wouldn't stand a chance against her. She'd take every hit they dealt and throw it back at them tenfold, but she'd easily go along with their antics as well. She would be kinder to Peter than the others, and Lily would adore her. It was so easy to picture her nestling into the little life he had, as if she was made for it, lack of magic aside.

"Am I going to get my hand back any time soon?"

Remus blinked, quickly relinquishing his hold on Isabeau. She smiled mischievously – James and Sirius indeed – and turned back to the road, ambling away until his wits returned to him and he caught up.

"Are you named for the Roman Remus?" he heard Isabeau's voice ask above him. "Son of Mars, brother of Romulus, was raised by a wolf."

"Not that I'm aware of."

Another week had passed, and the two had taken to spending a couple hours together in various places. Sometimes the library, once in his garden. That day they were in the woods behind her home, just within the tree line, the outline of her house still visible.

Isabeau had apparently grown bored of sitting normally, ditching Remus and the comfortable blanket she'd laid out at the base of a tree for its branches instead. She was currently stretched out along one that crossed just above him, her silhouette reminding him of a cat warming itself in the sun. There had been a book in her possession, but he could no longer see it. He suspected she lost it and was too proud to admit it just yet.

"And did you know lupine literally means 'wolf-like?'" Isabeau continued, somehow turning over on the branch without falling. A leaf fell into his copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. "I mean, it's not quite Lupin, but it's awfully close."

"I have a very unfortunate name, I know," Remus replied, lightly tossing the book aside. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree. There was a throbbing in his temples. It was only bound to get worse as the day went on.

"I mean, it's not a bad name. I think it suits you rather nicely," Isabeau said, sounding a little further away. "Not because of the wolf thing, mind you. I just think it fits regardless. Can't picture myself calling you Frank or Bobby or something like that. It's just too…"

"Normal?"

He heard her sigh. "Now I've gone and made myself sound like a prick. Again."

Remus smirked, settling in.

Of course, Isabeau's discovery of his strange name's origins wasn't the first time he'd heard of it, and it probably would not be the last. There'd been long stretches of his early school years trying to figure out the meaning of it all. Was it fate or some cruel joke by the universe? Surely in a world full of magic, there had to be something involved, but as with most things surrounding his illness, there were no answers, and he was left with setting it aside to puzzle over during random moments.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes opened, seeing little more than the green of hers. Somehow, Isabeau had dropped from the tree without him noticing. Had he fallen asleep?

"I…no," he admitted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "It's just that…tomorrow night…"

"Is a full moon," Isabeau finished, realizing. She sat down across from him, gently placing her hand on his knee. "It affects you so far out?"

"Usually further. I felt like rubbish yesterday."

Now she smacked that knee. "Remus! You let me drag you bicycling into the countryside!"

"I had fun if that helps."

She bit her lip, looking down. "A little."

They sat there for a moment, silent. Remus was painfully aware that Isabeau's hand was still on his knee, warm to the touch. She did that a lot, he realized. Gentle, friendly touches, things that reminded him that she was indeed there and not some figment of his imagination. He didn't know if she did it for his benefit, or if that's just how she was as a person, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

"What does it feel like?" she asked quietly, her gaze remaining on the blanket.

He sighed. "Like something wants out."

A monster clawing at him from the inside, ripping him apart slowly. Sometimes, he was used to the sensation and hardly noticed it. Others, it haunted him for up to a week prior, nearly to the point of immobility. When he was a child, he had cried endlessly, and his mother would sit with him all the while, a pained look on her face. Parents were supposed to be able to help their children when they suffered, and there wasn't a thing she could do.

He'd stopped crying for her sake.

"Does it…does it hurt?"

"Every time."

Remus felt Isabeau squeeze his knee. She managed to look up at him then, eyes wide and full of emotion. It made his chest feel heavy.

"I can't control myself when it happens," he found himself admitting. "But I remember everything after. I remember you, and the fear in your eyes, but you stood your ground despite that."

Isabeau smiled softly. "Well, it's like I said. I'm a bigger danger to myself."

He watched her for a moment, really taking her in. Her hair practically glowed in the sunlight, but it was unkempt and wild, a perfect reflection of her personality.

Had she been born with magic, they would have been in the same year, and undoubtedly the same house. There wasn't a more perfect example of a Gryffindor than Isabeau, with her fierce loyalty and inability to back down from a fight.

She would have been popular, he decided, friends with students from every house, and she'd have been a beater on the quidditch team. But her favorite class would have been Care of Magical Creatures, maybe even Herbology. She worked with her hands, and didn't need a wand to win her battles.

They would have never talked, unless it was for class. She'd know his face in passing, be aware of his name, but he would not been in that privileged circle of friends. He was the outsider, the quiet one, the kind not made for people like her.

And if she had ever learned the truth about him…

"Why don't you care about what I am?" he asked, voice cracking slightly. He'd probably asked her this a dozen times by this point, but it was never good enough.

Isabeau looked as if she was going to make a joke, but her smile faded quickly. She pulled away from him, drawing her knees up to herself, a contemplative look on her face.

"My dad was in the second world war, but he doesn't talk about it, outside of the occasional joke. I used to ask him, and he'd get this distant look on his face, and suddenly he wasn't my dad anymore. He was someone else. He said 'never ask me that again, Bo,' and walk away.

"But asking me to not ask is as good as saying 'learn everything you can,' and so I did. I've found things of his and I've heard things from his mates. I don't have a complete picture, but I've got enough pieces.

"He's a good man, my dad. A bit bonkers sometimes, but it keeps life from being boring. He's a good worker and a good husband and a good neighbor, but he…he did things in the war. He was the dependable soldier, the one everyone knew would get the job done, and in order to do so, he had to do things that would be viewed by society as unspeakable, disturbing, belonging to a person who had no right to exist outside of a prison cell. Instead, they called him a hero."

Her green eyes were darker when she looked at him, serious, full of an emotion he could not quite place. "I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that what the world forces us to be isn't who we are. My father would never have done those things if he hadn't gone to war, and you, Remus, don't go out of your way to harm people, so why should I judge you for something outside of your control? You didn't choose to be this way, and I know if you could stop, you would. That's all there is to it, really."

Remus did not know what to say. He was overwhelmed by her words. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and there was a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. He ran a hand through his hair, processing it all.

"I…"

A loud huff caught his attention. Both he and Isabeau turned to The Major's large form stalking toward them. The wolfhound stopped before them, sniffed at him once, then proceeded to lie on top of Isabeau, who immediately broke down into laughter as she was crushed by the massive hound.

"Major, you miserable beast," Isabeau cried out, her voice strained, but she was patting the creature with her free hand. "S'pose that means dad's home. Better sneak you out of here before a second member of the Dunn family fancies using you for target practice."

The Major was watching him the entire time Isabeau spoke. Remus had to wonder if he had more to fear from her dog than her father.

"Alright, get off, you oaf," Isabeau mumbled, groaning as she shoved the wolfhound off her. The Major snorted, and trotted back toward the house.

She stood then, brushing herself off, and offering a hand to him. Remus took it, honestly surprised by her strength as she all but yanked him off the ground.

They walked in silence through the trees, purposely away from the house.

"Is there anything I can do for tomorrow?" Isabeau asked, looking up at him. "Can I help you in some way?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do," he said, hands in his pockets, thoughts drifting to the Marauders. He wondered if Isabeau would do what they did, if she could. "Just…don't go investigating any strange noises, and I'll see you in a few days."

Isabeau didn't sleep the next night. She stayed up and stared out her window, watching for moving shadows under the light of the full moon.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!