And it's been two weeks since I last posted, so… new chapter!

The quote comes from "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov. I'm very much in love with that book. ^_^

There's a longer author's note after this chapter; it gives too much away to put it above the chapter, but the reaction of my Beta's told me there were some things in this chapter that needed explaining.

Well, enjoy! Or not.. Oh, and review of course!

November/December 1994.

"No," I said, "you got it all wrong. I want you to leave your incidental Dick, and this awful hole, and come to live with me, and die with me, and everything with me."

"You're crazy," she said.  

* * * * *

Moony?

* * * * *

The paint made a soft squelching noise. Lova made long, slow strokes over the canvas, covering it with the dark blue paint. She was careful not to smear it over the parts of the canvas she had covered with a cream coloured paint, where Remus would eventually appear. She hummed softly to herself, not aware of the world around her.

The real-life Remus was watching her, looking at her but not really seeing her. He was sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up, his head resting on his knees. There seemed to be a faint buzzing inside his head – he had had a vague headache for a few days now. Not enough to call oneself ill and stay in bed the entire day, but enough to be annoying. He wondered if he was getting sick.

The last two weeks had gone so quiet and peaceful. Apparently Bill Hunter had really only been interested in Lova's paintings and nothing else; he hadn't showed his face again.

Love had barely left her house, emerged in her new project, 'giving birth to a new painting' as she put it. Even though it was hard to have a conversation when she was in that state, it was fascinating to see the painting grow.

Lova was done with the darker paint, and she turned around to put more colours on her palette. She suddenly noticed there was someone else in the room; she had quite forgotten about Remus.

"Hey," she said. "What do you think of it so far?"

Remus turned his face towards the painting. "Nice," he muttered. "Like the white and dark blurs, it really looks like me." Lova laughed. She plopped down on the bed, next to him.

"Yeah, it does. I´ll be adding shadows later, and more detail, and then it'll really look like you."   

"I got a huge nose," Remus commented, frowning. "Is it really that big?" For the first time in two hours, he lifted his head. The floor seemed to sway a little but finally came to rest.

"Yes," Lova confirmed mercilessly. "But it's not as big as Professor Snape´s."

"Well, that would be quite impossible," Remus said dryly. He looked at her. "How do you know Snape?"

She shrugged. "He started teaching when I was fifteen. I only had him for one year though – I was smart enough not to choose Potions for my NEWTs." 

"That's odd."

"Why? What is?"

"Snape and I were at school together. Imagine that, I could've taught you."

"Yeah." She got to her feet again and picked up her palette. "What are you doing tonight?"

Tonight would be a full moon. The last months, Remus has always travelled back to Derbyshire. Lova flatly refused to drink the Wolfsbane potion ("If I wanted to poison myself, I would have done it a long time ago"), and Remus had no desire to get killed in a territorial werewolf-fight.

"I´ll go home," he said. She nodded and returned to her painting. Remus rested his head on his knees again and closed his eyes.

The key made a loud grinding noise when Remus turned it around in the lock. "Remind me to oil the lock," he told Monster. The animal, resting safe and warm inside Remus' pocket, purred.

Remus let himself inside the house and lit the lamps. He took Monster out of his pocket and let him fall down. The Puffskein bounced twice, then scurried off to see if the house was the same as he'd left it. Remus did the same, only from a much higher viewpoint.

Apart from being dark and a bit dusty, his home was still the same. He did need to water the plants, though, and the windows could do with some washing as well.

He looked through his window to see how much time he had left. It was already dark outside – it was late November and darkness came early. He decided there was just enough time to water his plants, so he took the flask with Wolfsbane potion from his inside pocket, hung his cloak away and started filling the watering-can.

Monster hopped through the cat-flap, back from his inspection-round.

"Bet you like being home, don't you?" Remus asked. Monster and Lova had a mutual dislike for each other; Lova had never completely trusted Monster after he'd tried to eat her paint, and he could sense her distrust. Monster gave a content sort of half-snort and wandered off under the table.

Remus had filled the watering-can and started pouring water over the dry earth in the pots. It felt good being home. The surrounding was familiar, and he felt more at ease here. His headache seemed to have subsided a little as well. He hoped he'd only caught a cold, and nothing worse.

He looked through the window again. He was nearly running out of time. He hastily watered the last few plants; when he put down the can he could already feel the familiar itching. He walked to the kitchen, almost limping, and quickly uncorked the flask. Without thinking to much about it, he gulped the potion down and flinched. Disgusting, as always.

He walked back into the living room, using the walls for support as his right leg, where he had been bitten and where the Change always began, was about to give way. Great, he thought, why did it have to be my leg? Such an unuseful place… "Monster!"

Monster immediately emerged from under the kitchen sink and looked expectantly. Remus sat down on the hearth rug and started taking off his clothes, folding them and laying them on the couch.

Monster might not have a large brain, but he had a good memory, and he knew what was going to happen when Remus undressed himself in the living room. He purred and bounced closer.

"Yes, that's right," Remus told him. He was almost completely covered with fur now, and speaking became more difficult now his teeth were growing. "That time of the month again." He gasped when the bones in his feet snapped and broke, setting themselves in another position. He clenched his fists, nails digging in the palms of his hands to keep himself from screaming.

It was a short but painful torture. Only a few minutes later, there was no Remus, only the Wolf. 

The next afternoon, he woke up in his bed, not able to remember how he had managed to get there. It seemed all the more impressive since a small herd of goblins wearing army boots appeared to be doing an Irish dance on his head. Remus stayed very still, and after half an hour the goblins were replaced by a slow, resounding drum. He tried to swallow but this turned out to be difficult and rather painful. He realised he was ill.

Well, this is unusual, he thought. Last time I was ill was… ten years ago?

He managed to climb out of bed, took a long warm shower, and slowly dressed himself, sitting on the edge of his bed because he swayed too much when he was standing. He didn't bother shaving, he didn't bother having breakfast, and he didn't look at his reflection in the mirror – all he cared for was getting back to London, get back in bed and have Lova care for him. The advantage of having a girlfriend.

He got downstairs, put his cloak on and scooped Monster in his pocket. The hallway was swaying and he really wanted to lay down on the floor and pass out, but he knew he couldn't. He walked outside, locked the door (dimly aware of the grinding lock) and Apparated to London.

Remus staggered and had to lean against a street lantern when he arrived. He shook his head (he shouldn't have, it only made his headache worse) and let himself in. The climb upstairs was a slow and difficult one, and he had to rest a few moments before he was able to walk into Lova´s apartment. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead and he was breathing difficulty.

Lova was in the bathroom, he could hear her rummaging about. He just managed to get his cloak off before collapsing on the bed. He closed his eyes, determined not to leave this spot for the rest of his life. His head was pounding feverishly and his shirt was sticking to his back. He felt utterly, utterly miserable.

He heard footsteps approaching but couldn't care to open his eyes. "Hey, what's up?" he heard Lova asked. A cool hand was pressed against his forehead. "God, you're hot!"

There was no resisting it. Despite everything, Remus felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I know," he muttered. 

"Whatever you meant, I meant that you're incredibly warm. Just a sec." She walked away again and returned moments later with a wet cloth, which she used to wipe his face. Remus was reminded oddly of his mother taking care of him when he had been ill as a child.

Lova peeled his soaked clothes off him and carefully draped the covers over him. "Go to sleep," she whispered, and Remus, wanting nothing else, sighed and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.  

The next few days seemed to blur in and out of focus. Later, he could only remember bits and pieces – waking up and seeing Monster next to him on his pillow, humming softly and soothingly, or Lova wiping his face again, telling him he'd caught the flu and that he wasn't the only one. The painting of his portrait seemed to go by jilts and starts, every time he opened his eyes some more was added, his features had become clearer.

The rest of the world passed by unnoticed; he was sleeping through the 24th of November and missed all the newspaper articles about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Lova had thrown the papers away before he was well enough to read them, and she could only remember that it had been dragons and that Harry and Krum were in first place. And that was all she wanted to tell him anyway, because she thought he was worrying himself too much. 

The first days, Lova was really fussing over him, spoon-feeding him, giving him water to drink, washing his face. But she soon grew restless; she wasn't made for nursing. When she started to look longingly at the painting while giving him something to drink, he had had enough.

"Do me a favour and paint, please," he said hoarsely.

"Really?" She looked as if she couldn't really believe it.

"Yes. Look, I'm almost better, you don't have to watch over me anymore."

"Okay." She picked up her palette, looked back at him as if to ask if he was really sure about his, and when gestured for her to get a move on, she turned towards the painting and started painting again, humming happily.

It was true, he was getting better. Half a week later, he could sit up against some propped up pillows again, and the day after that he was able to read for hours on end without getting dizzy again.

The better he got, the worse Lova´s mood seemed to get. She had reached the final stage of the painting process, and was now carefully adding details. She turned out to be a perfectionist; she spend a few hours on getting the colour of Remus' hair right, and Remus had had to turn over on his stomach once so that she could see exactly where he had scars on his back. She was working too hard on it, she was too focussed on the painting.

The bomb burst in the first week of December. Lova was standing with her nose about an inch from the portrait, carefully painting eyelashes with a tiny one-haired brush. She had a frown of concentration on her face and her wand at the ready to wipe away paint if she made a mistake. Remus was sitting propped up against the pillows, a book in his hands. He occasionally glanced at her, to see how she was doing.

He had just watched her wipe some paint away again, when he said: "it would almost seem easier just to take some of your mascara and paint it on."

She gritted her teeth. "Shut up. Do you use mascara?"

"No, but – "

That was too much. She angrily threw the brush down. "I told you to shut up!" she yelled. It was so completely different from what Remus was used that he sat in shock for a few moments. Lova marched towards the hatstand, put her cloak on and made to walk out of the door. She almost immediately came back and threw a piece of paper on the bed. "Tell your… friend, whatever he is, to use normal envelopes next time," she hissed, then left, slamming the door shut.

Remus blinked a few times. This was certainly unexpected. He had no idea she could be so snappish and short-tempered. It puzzled him, he had no idea what could be bothering her.

He picked up the piece of paper she had thrown on the bed. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet, from the front page; the picture showed Fudge shaking hands with Umbridge, who had made another promotion. But Remus couldn't remember Fudge having a beard and a black eye, or Umbridge having all these pencil-coloured scars and missing two teeth.

"How childish, Padfoot," he muttered, smiling. He turned the cutting around, but there was no message. Or – in one of the margins, Sirius had written a sad "Moony?" And in the other he had written the address: "Remus Lupin, somewhere on this planet, somewhere in this universe – hopefully."  

It sounded all so miserable and depressed that Remus felt a rush of guilt. He had been neglecting Sirius. And he couldn't even really remember why he'd stopped writing – somehow other things had got in the way. Not this time though.

He climbed out of bed, walked steadily to one of the tables and took several sheets of sketching paper and a pen. He got back in bed, made himself comfortable and began writing one of his longest letters yet.

When Lova came back, hours later, he had just filled the eighth page. The longer he was writing, the easier it got. Without really deciding to, he was almost pouring his heart out; page-long stories about last year, Harry, his family, baby Ralph, Lova…

The closing door made him look up. Lova seemed completely changed. She was smiling, her face somehow seemed to be glowing with joy. There was a spring in her step Remus hadn't seen before.

"Hey," he said.

"Oh, hi," she replied, as if she'd just noticed him. "I'm back!"

"So I've noticed," he said. "Where've you been?" She shrugged.

"Leaky Cauldron. I met some friends." She bowed down and kissed him. "I see you're feeling better."

"Yep." And she was feeling better as well – it was a startling change from how she'd reacted earlier that afternoon. It was a bit fishy, but Remus could not think of an explanation for it. 

Lova made dinner that evening, and the two of them ate it in silence. Lova was looking at the painting with a pensive expression on her face.

"D´you really think it would work, using mascara?" she asked suddenly. Remus shrugged.

"I dunno. But I figured, it has that little brush, you know – " he gestured, " – which kind of looks like eyelashes, right? So I thought, wouldn't that make it easier?"

"Hmm…" Lova walked to the bathroom and came back with a pen-like mascara-dispenser. "This is an old one," she said. "I actually needed to throw it away, but I can of course recycle it. Let's see if this works." She smeared some black paint on the little brush and brushed lightly over a sheet of paper. Hair-thin lines appeared. Lova was delighted. "Hey, it works!" She enthusiastically got to her feet and put a little more paint on the brush. Then, with a small flick of her wrists, she smeared it on the canvas. Painting-Remus suddenly had eyelashes.

"So," Lova said contentedly. "We're almost finished."

Remus' health was rapidly improving. Within a few days, he was out of bed again. He did stay indoors though – it was too cold outside and he didn't want to risk getting ill again.

Lova, on the other hand, went outside quite often. Her 'project'  was nearly finished, all she now had to do was add a finishing touch to the background and varnish the painting. She had put the portrait on an easel, and Remus couldn't help but look at it ever so often.

It was nothing like looking in a mirror. His portrait-self seemed… smoother, even though the scars on his back were painfully visible. His face was turned left as if somebody had called his name and he was looking left to see who it was. His eyes were cast downwards, his mouth was closed but he was smiling. It wasn't how he pictured himself, and at the same time it strangely was. Odd.

Lova added the varnish on a lazy Sunday afternoon. When she was done, she stepped back.

"That's it," she said. She tilted her head. "Hmm, could've been better."

Remus laughed. "Well, I couldn't have done it."

"Of course. I am exceptionally talented," she said smugly, her nose in the air.

"Sure." He plopped down on the couch, a book in his hands. She frowned.

"Are you gonna read all afternoon again?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

She sighed. "As usual. Hey, I need to get some shopping, mind if I leave you for a few hours?"

"Of course not." He watched her pack her bag and leave the house, then he opened his book and started to read.

He couldn't concentrate on the pages, however.  Her sigh and "as usual" echoed through his head. He hadn't realised it bugged her so much.

Determinedly, he closed his book and got to his feet. He'd try and find her, so that she could see he wasn't always spending entire afternoons on the couch. Monster emerged hopefully from under the couch but Remus told the animal to stay put; he wasn't going to do anything exciting. Monster huffed and disappeared again.

Lova was wearing her cloak so he figured she'd gone to Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron was only a few blocks away so he walked that short distance and got inside. He waited a few minutes to get warm again, greeted Tom the bartender who cheerfully waved back, then he got into the back garden to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

The Wizard street was fairly peaceful. It was cold outside and nobody was really happy to go shopping in these icy conditions. Remus scanned a few of Lova's favourite shops but couldn't find her. Then he decided for a more pleasant method; he'd just go shopping himself and hopefully the two of them would eventually meet. And if they didn't – well, that was just too bad.

He immediately headed for the bookstore.

Remus couldn't for the life of him understand why people didn't like books. To him, seeing a familiar book was like meeting an old friend. If he didn't keep himself in check, he'd even greet the book. Now he only whispered hello to it, leafing through the pages to find loved scenes. He was weird, he knew it. But there was nobody around, he was practically alone in the bookshop, so he enjoyed his strange habit.

Time passed unnoticeably, and before he knew it, it was the end of the afternoon. He left the bookshop and walked leisurely to the Leaky Cauldron. He suddenly remembered why he had come to Diagon Alley, and he started looking left and right for Lova. She was nowhere to be seen. He noticed a stand outside a shop selling robes. There were all kinds of funny colourful wool hats perched on the stand. Remus smiled and walked towards the stand.

The hats were actually quite ugly, but in a funny way. They were pointed, with flaps to cover the ears and a pompon on top. There were multi-coloured ones, striped ones, even tartan ones. Remus amused himself for a few moments with searching through the hats, looking for one that was reasonably wearable. He suddenly heard voices. Lova´s voice. He looked up.

When he thought back on it later, he realised he could've know. It was a simple matter of adding up all the signs, of putting two and two together. But in retrospect, everything seems obvious.

She was laughing, clinging to the arm of a man with long black hair. For a split-second he looked like Sirius but he looked too healthy for that. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled and slapped him playfully. He drew her closer.

Remus narrowed his eyes.

He kissed her, long, and she clearly kissed back.

And Remus knew exactly how it felt. He knew the taste of her mouth, the way she would always hold on to his arms as if looking for support. She stepped back from the stranger, and Remus knew that she would now lick her lips and smile, baring her teeth.

And now he knew she would never again smile that way at him.

Lova and whoever it was walked on. They hadn't noticed Remus, and he had enough control over himself to stay hidden. When they were gone, he noticed he had unconsciously clenched his fists; an orange hat had gone almost out of shape (But they don't have any shape to speak of) because he was squeezing it so tightly.

How he reached her house, he could not remember. With every step he took, he was getting more angry, the memory more painful.

He arrived there before Lova. Seeing the house deserted only made his anger worse. Apart from feeling utterly betrayed, he couldn't understand it. Granted, he wouldn't claim himself God's gift to women (Sirius had done that once, and the other Marauders had pushed him – with his clothes on – under a cold shower until he took it back) but he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong.

Lova arrived half an hour later.

She walked inside, unaware of Remus, humming happily. Remus was standing in the kitchen, but he couldn't remember what he was doing there.

"Hey," he said tonelessly. He started her.

"Oh, hey. Not reading?"

"I went to Diagon Alley instead." If she realised the implications of this, she didn't show it.

"Oh."

He did a few steps towards her. "Who was that man I saw you with?"

"My brother." An obviously lie, but she didn't flinch. She didn't look him in the eye either.

"You didn't kiss him as if he was your brother," he said coldly. Now she did look up, aggressively.

"Okay, so he wasn't. So what?"

"Where did you meet him?" he demanded to know. "Who is he?"

"Just some bloke I met in The Leaky Cauldron," she shrugged irritably.

"When?"

"About a week ago, okay? When you were going on about those stupid eyelashes." She turned her back to him, the conversation was over on her part.

But not according to him. He walked towards her and roughly grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her around.

"What?!" she snapped.

"Why?" he nearly shouted. "Why?! What did I do wrong?!" He was on the verge of exploding.

But so was she. "You were boring, okay?" she shouted back. "You were simply boring the heck out of me. That infernal reading of you – it made me itch! And I couldn't stand it anymore! You were okay at first but now you're nothing more than a nuisance!"

Without really realising what he was doing, Remus lashed out and hit her in the face. He hit her hard on the right cheek and she staggered backwards, her hand pressed against her cheek. She felt inside her mouth, and when she draw her hand back, there was a faint red on her fingertips. 

"You bastard," she whispered. He grabbed her wrists and held them in a painful grip.

"Tell me," he hissed. "Tell me. Did you ever love me?" Lova didn't squirm under his grip but looked back, a defiant look in her yellow eyes.

"No," she hissed back. "You were a good shag, that's all."

If she had hit him, she wouldn't have hurt him more. He roughly pushed her away from him and she staggered backwards, against one of the long tables. A pile of sketches fell down and she stepped on them, trying to recover her balance.

"My drawings!" she gasped, bowing down to pick them up. "Look what you did!"

"Is that all you care about?!" Remus shouted. "Those stupid drawings?"

"Yes!" she screamed back. "As a matter of fact it is!"

"I loved you!" he shouted. But she shrugged, turned her back towards him. She had piled up the sketches again and was touching them almost lovingly. It was infuriating.

Remus realised that the most painful thing was not that she had cheated on him, but that she didn't seem to care about it. It meant nothing to her. She was more concerned about her paintings than about who she was sleeping with.

This realisation shocked him so much that all his anger suddenly ebbed away.

He walked towards her and took her by her shoulders. She froze, but didn't turn around.

"I loved you," he whispered. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

She hesitated. "Not anymore." Lova took his hands and pushed them off her shoulders. "It's over. Leave, please."

He opened his mouth, ready to beg, but she shook her head. "Get out." She saw he was about to protest again, and she screamed: "Get out!"

He had no choice. He nodded shortly, then he turned around and started gathering his things together.

"Don't bother, I´ll pack everything and send it to you," Lova interrupted. She still had her back turned towards him.

"Okay." He put on his cloak, picked Monster up and put him in his pocket. "Goodbye."

She finally turned around to face him. Her expression was unreadable. "Goodbye."

He nodded, then turned around and walked out.

A few days later, a box with his things arrived through the mail. Remus started unpacking it when he noticed a square object, wrapped in brown paper. He took it out and, after a short moment of hesitation, unwrapped it.

The varnish gleamed in the sunlight. Portrait-Remus was smiling faintly and, it suddenly seemed, sadly. Remus looked at the painting for a few minutes, then he wrapped it with the brown paper again. He walked up the stairs, to the attic. He carefully stored the painting away.

It was done. Finished. Over.

~*~

" – I flew upwards again but the dragon was onto me. She tried to roast me, but I was quicker than she was. I managed to escape the fire, and I flew from side to side so that she had no chance to shoot more fire at me. Then I flew closer to the egg, but the dragon – "

Sirius turned the piece of parchment around and continued reading Harry's letter. It wasn't the first time he was reading it – in fact, he had read it so often that the letter had begun to fall apart at the folds – but he couldn't get enough of it. In his mind, Harry looked more and more like James, and he relived his friend's Quidditch success through his Godson's letter.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Harry had even survived the first Task in the Triwizard Tournament, and it was even more amazing that he had managed to get in first place – even though it was a shared first place.

He finally put the letter down and picked up one of his battered plastic bags. He rummaged about, looking for something to eat. He settled for a packet of musty old biscuits which nearly fell apart when he took them out. He really needed to find another way to get food instead of raiding trashcans. He really had to start thinking about what he wanted to have for his Christmas dinner so that he could start gathering things together.

It turned out he didn't have to. A grey owl zoomed into his cave and landed soundlessly next to him. A letter was tied to its paw. Sirius untied the letter and recognised, to his surprise, Remus' handwriting.

"Finally!" he said. He tore the envelope open and started reading. It seemed as if his birthday had come early – the letter was huge. Remus had managed to fill almost ten pages with all kinds of things; anecdotes, news, lose rambling… but the ending was what really made his day.

* * * * *

Again, I'm deeply sorry that I haven't written to you in such a long time. But I think I know a way to make up for it – what would you say if I came over to Hogsmeade for Christmas? Then we would really be able to talk and catch up.

Please write back,

Moony.

* * * * *

About the hitting-thing: no, I'm not a fan of domestic violence myself (but really, who IS?!). The point is, when I make up scenes for my fanficts, it's usually as if I'm Remus (or whoever the main character is) myself (and I already know I'm gonna cry my eyes out at the end of OotP). When I was imagining this particular scene, I myself got to angry with Lova that I wanted to slap her, and before I really knew what was going on, Remus had slapped her as well. An uncontrollable action of pure anger. I know that doesn't make it good or anything, but... maybe... natural?

About Lova: Lova is a person who more or less lives for what you could call excitement. She isn't the kind of person to sit around on the couch all day, reading a book, like Remus loves to do. Remus is a quiet person, but Lova gets bored easily. She was so short on Remus in the "eyelashes-incident" because he irritated her. He was just... boring (according to her). It may sound a bit harsh, but that was why she took such good care of him when he was ill - it was something new, something different. But after a while... it all stayed the same, and she returned to her paintings again.
Lova more or less throws herself into a relationship because it is something new. Same with Remus. The first few weeks of their relationship were passionate (of course, Remus is a very passionate man!), but after a while, things calmed down and she had to look for new sources of excitement.
Yes, she did love Remus, and actually not so much differently as he loved her. He was drawn to her because of the way she looked (raging hormones, eh?), she was drawn to him because he was something different. After a while, the novelty wore off, and she went on to look for something new.
The only things she really lives for are her paintings. They are not only a way to make a living, but for her also a way to express herself. Stepping on her drawings was awful, because to her it was like stepping on a piece of herself. And it's also the reason why she didn't destroy Remus' portrait; she spent so much work on it, she couldn't destroy it! And anyway, it was Remus' portrait - it had him on it, she made it for him, on his request, it was only logical and fair that she send it to him. And with the portrait out of the house, she wouldn't be reminded of him and if he'd destroyed it, she would never find out, and would never had to live with the fact that she'd destroyed it herself...
Actually, I quite like Lova. She may have some despicable habits and personality-treats (sp?) but she's, in her own way, an interesting character. She somehow reminds me a bit of Wulf actually.