Hello every body! Here comes at last the new chapter. You thought that Remus was little too much of a good boy? Here come something different, as he journeys on his own through Ireland. This scene is set on the lovely Irish village of Allihies, West Cork. It's a most beautiful place with a lot of nice people, and a very cold sea. Besides, it's an amazing place for me, as the houses are painted in very striking colours (pink, sky blue and lemon yellow for the church). You really would love this place. Anyway, this is something to give you an idea of what Remus's holidays were like… Enjoy!

… And please, DO review! (flames accepted)

"So we got to say good-bye for the summer

But darling I promise you this

I'll send you all my love everyday in a letter

Sealed with a kiss…"

Well, this was a good evening. It had been raining all the long dull boring grey day. Accursed country. Godforsaken place. Not enough inhabitants to fill a boat, not to mention a pub. Now, when you thought that there were three pubs in this village, how this was supposed to be logical! Young Maire O'Sullivan leaned on the counter. She had cursed herself for having taken this miserable summer job as a waitress in her aunt's husband's pub for three months, all this for a lousy pay and having drunkards three or four times her age casting lusting looks at her behind to boot! She had considered resigning four or five times a day ever since she had arrived to the tiny Irish village from her home place of Skibbereen. And then, Pat had started singing all the depressing songs he knew, bloody irish singing tradition!

And then in HE had come. THE guy. Right out of a movie. So theatrically pale, so romantically… wet… He had asked for a pint of stout. Tough guy. Then he had sat, hunch backed at the counter and stared in the nothingness of his glass. Maire was not used to that kind of words to spring in her thoughts, but, Jesus Almighty, they fitted the guy so well… This surely was a good evening.

Or it would have been if handsome guy had not ordered one, then two, then half a dozen more pints, and if, half through the third, he hadn't started crying helplessly.

"Pat" she shouted to the leader of the local music band "would you please sing us something else?"

"Anything for you sweetheart! And here it comes, straight from the heart of Erin, the Moorlough shore!"

Maire smiles. The song appeared to be about beautiful Ireland. This was fitting. Handsome guy even stopped crying to listen vaguely. Beautiful song. She waited for a few seconds, just the end of the first verse, and left her high stool by the counter to offer handsome guy another drink. Come to think of it, a soft drink would be better. He had already had more than he seemingly could handle. She paused to find the proper bottle in the bar. Soft ginger ale would be perfect. Now where was the goddam bottle? She cast a look aver her shoulder, just to make sure he was still there. There he was. Not crying. Listening to the music. Almost smiling. God, he was gorgeous! It was impossible that she could be so lucky. This was more than luck. This was destiny.

He frowned. She froze, her hand on the bottle she had just found behind three rows of Murphy's. She saw tears rim the very tips of his eyelashes, grow into fat drops, then fall and roll down his cheeks. What now? She listened to the music. To her horror, she realized that this was probably one of the most typical Irish love songs, that is, the beautiful, poetic, well sung story of a pathetic failure. She swore inwardly to murder Pat someday. It must have shown on her face, for the singer stopped his ending solo and quickly switched on to the party pieces, and to begin with, the lord of the dance.

Forcing out an approving smile, Maire turned to concentrate again on handsome guy… Only to find out that his seat was empty, three of his glasses untouched and a ten pound note on the counter. The door was already closing.

"No!" she moaned. She couldn't let that kind of things just slip away just like that. Besides, to take the note would be thievery and she didn't want trouble. That made a very good reason to run after someone on the street. People might talk but she didn't care. Just the moment she pushed the door, there came the sound of a gunshot. The music stopped dead with a shriek note from the fiddle and Maire jumped on the door step. Now, this was far south and the 12th of July was far behind, why should anything be happening around here? A cold dread gripped her insides as she hurried out. People were coming out of houses, or looking down from their windows, scanning the street for fighters.

But the street was empty. No one was to be seen. The dark fields around the village were lightly searches on to the nearby shore but no trace could be found of the young man who had been crying in the O'Sullivan's pub.

When Maire got up the stairs leading to her bedroom, later that night, after closing the pub, she was still shivering from what she said was the cold. She had to find him gain. He was the one, she knew it. Whoever he was, wherever he went, she would find him. One could not be that lucky twice in a life-time. And when she'd find him, she wouldn't wait to find nice little soft drinks or to begin a casual conversation. She knew she would grab him by the collar, and look at him straight in the face and kiss him. And if he didn't kiss back or understand, she would drown herself in the Lee. And kill him first. She knew this would be the right thing to do.

What Maire O'Sullivan didn't know, was that, waking up the next morning, she would have absolutely no memory of the young man, nor of the very strange cloaked people wielding wooden sticks who would intrude her bedroom twenty minutes later.

Three weeks after these events, on her way back to Skibbereen, Maire was to meet a very nice, very handsome young man called Mick Collins (admittedly great-grand nephew to the famous one), they would like each other, court for three weeks, get introduced to each other's family, get engaged, marry and live quite happily with a lot of children who would never imagine that their mother had once had a sudden and short-lived crush o a depressed drunk werewolf.

Hope you liked it. Next chapter is being written, a lot darker, as it involves U-No-Who, and a lot of the Death Eaters. Please, be forgiving, I know I'm a slow writer, but I'm really trying to make it right! Review, please, it's what keeps me alive!

With love

Kilis Wale