It was a gloomy day in London.
The streets were lined with rain; passersby' begrudgingly stretched their umbrellas to hide from the fall. Children donned rain boots instead of thin flats, and the hopscotch sidewalk had been wiped away. The houses mostly looked the same; two story, crème colored facades of an English lifestyle that hid away on a cold winter's day.
Remus Lupin kept his head down as he trudged along the sopping street, uncaring of the damage that would no doubt wreck his favorite pair of shoes. It wasn't as though buying another pair from one of the endless shops lining the empty streets was a task worthy of being titled difficult.
The shoulders of his overcoat were littered with droplets, and a chill would have wracked any normal man's bones. He paused at a crosswalk, eyes gazing at the empty slick park benches.
The light changed and he crossed with no sense of urgency, turning down another empty street to hulk down the sidewalk with hunched shoulders.
It was a small shop that he entered next, smiling shyly at the young women cashiers who sent him a mix between curious mischief and a sneer, one with lust and another with disgust.
His hands gripped the shopping cart—one of the wheels rattled amongst the rest, and the screech annoyed his keen ears. A rumble bellowed in the pit of his stomach as the aroma of fresh pastries flew through the air, and the heavy wallet in his pocket gave permission to buy whatever he pleased.
As long as the list from Sirius was completed, that is.
An oblong assortment of cereal lined the wall, and the bright colors irritated his eyes. His shoes squeaked as he stalked to the produce section, throwing in the items he membered Sirius muttering—"I've missed tomatoes, see if you can nab a few for me, eh?"—And the held red vegetable felt so small in his hands, a mild squeeze to test the ripeness.
"I find that if the top is still bright green, then you're good to go."
The voice came from his right; a woman with dark rich curls and tawny skin, hazel eyes that reminded him so much of the girl his heart was desperate for. Full, plump cheeks stared back at him and it took a moment to respond with a wiry smile.
"Thanks for the advice. I never would've thought of that."
If possible, her smile grew wider with his thanks, bashfully shaking her head and turning to assess the pile of robust potatoes. "No problem, I'm the chef in my home, and you looked pretty clueless."
He chuckled and placed two more tomatoes in his basket, "I have no doubt of that."
Skimming his fingertips over the other vegetables, the woman started up again, "I taught my niece everything she knows. That girl could burn water if she tried hard enough, but I've gotten into her enough that what you eat is one of the most important things in your day."
She made a particularly funny face, "And that you eat with your eyes, but everyone knows that."
Every horrendous looking meal he'd made in the comfort of his home begged to differ, "I like to think that it's the thought that counts." And they both chuckled lightly, ignoring the questioning glare from a woman passing by, her cart filled with two sleeping children.
He'd tried to ignore it at first, thinking maybe that he'd finally lost his mind, but this woman had a familiar scent, one that almost had him leaning over to investigate further. But this wasn't the wild, and smelling someone in the market could only end with a shiner and a trip with an officer.
And yet, his heart swelled as he tried to take more breaths as she weighed two eggplants in her hands.
There was nothing familiar about the facial structure, the hair, and the clothes; as far as he could tell, she was a stranger. Even more is that she was clearly a Muggle, and he hardly knew a single non-wizard folk.
He saw her ready herself to leave the spot at his side, and he acted before thinking, calling out, "What's your name? If you don't mind me asking."
She turned full body and he watched her give him a full run down, one hip slanting to rest all of her weight, "I normally don't give my name to strangers…" she smiled and shrugged, "But you do like quite harmless."
One hand with crème blue manicured nails was held out, "I'm Mara" and his own rough hand raised to meet hers, shaking—once, twice—before dropping it with a smile.
"And you are?" she questioned with a salacious smirk; eyebrows jutted high to her hairline.
"My friends call me Remus." He quipped back, frowning at the immediate change in her posture, the twitch in her right eye.
He heard her loud gulp, "Remus, you say?"
Her heartbeat grew rapid in his ear, and the urge to question her grew heavy. There was no time for that as she grabbed her cart and darted out of sight, leaving him alone once more in the produce, the distressed scent wafting off into a trail.
But he held his ground, shrugging off the woman he could guarantee a second meeting would not come. The rest of the search through the market was simple; graham crisps for Sirius, various fizzy drinks for Sirius, mince pies for Sirius, and a few pricy steaks for himself.
The total was grotesquely high and would have normally raised his eyebrows, but he paid the teenage cashier with a thin smile, hefting his bags and stepping out on the rainy day.
It was always a quicker walk back than there, and Sirius greeted him with the energy of a young man at the top of the withered staircase, cleaned fingernails digging into the banister.
The horrendous portrait of Walburga Black shrieked on the wall at the sight of a grocery hauling Remus, "Mutt! Vermin! Filthy dog!"
"Oh, do you ever shut up?" Sirius wailed from his spot in the hall, glaring up at his long past mother, turning to address Remus with a sneer, "How was the market? And don't mind her, I've been trying to find a way to shut her up."
"Have you tried a blanket?" Remus shut the fridge and started stacking up the various chips in the nearest cabinet that lacked cups or plates.
"It might put her to sleep for a bit."
"You know, that just might work."
"Traitor! Traitor!—"
Sirius flicked his wand and sighed as a blanket that had been sprawled across a loveseat covered the screaming witches face, her insults blanketed and slightly muffled. Sirius grinned, "Much better."
He sauntered into the kitchen and stuck his head on the fridge, "I refuse to let the old witch muff up my new home. It's bad enough dealing with Kreacher. I can't do both."
Remus internally agreed, loathing the portrait that loved to speak about his lycanthropy in relation to a household mutt, and Kreacher was just a little monster.
"Did you get the new milk I told you about? It's made from nuts or something. Supposed to be good for your organs, and you know mine can use all the help they can get."
Sirius groaned at the sight of regular cows milk, "Did you even look? Did you?"
"They were out." Remus snapped, shrugging off his coat and collapsing in one of the chairs surrounding the long table, head falling back as a low groan emitted from his parted lips.
Sirius was quick as a whip, "I already checked the mail, so don't even ask."
A spot of tea whistled on the stove, and Sirius fashioned them both a cup, adding three teaspoons of sugar to his friends, knowing he had a sweet tooth. "Drink up, tell me about the outside world."
Remus groaned as he straightened in the hard chair, feeling it creak under his weight, "Not much too report, Sirius. I got the things you asked for and came back."
"But did you meet anyone?" Sirius begged. "Humor me, Remus."
"I talked to a woman in the store—she helped pick those tomatoes you were so desperate for—said her name was Mara."
Sirius wiggled his eyebrows like a juvenile boy, "Mara, you say? Did you get her number?"
Remus sputtered like a dusty car engine, red covering his ears and he tried to calmly sip his tea, "Ah yes, I should write to Elizabeth that I'm leaving her for the tomato woman Mara. How romantic."
A harsh dip crossed Sirius' brows as the girl's name fell from his friend's lips, and it was easy to see the forlorn look cross his aging face. The letters had stopped a little while back, and the longing yet accepting mask that Remus had adopted had slowly fallen.
"Have you thought about going back to the Ministry?"
Remus nearly choked on his tea, "What? Why?"
Sirius shrugged with no real emotion, "I don't think what you're doing is good for yourself or Elizabeth." He put up a hand as Remus tried to protest, "Hear me out, Moony."
"I think it would be best if you met some other people—and no, I'm not asking you to go and shag half of London—but I am saying that some time with other people will do you good. I didn't want to have to say it and cause some trouble between us, but how well do you even know Elizabeth?"
Remus sputtered, "I—"
"That's right. What's her favorite color? Her favorite food? How does she take her tea?"
It was a punch to the gut, and Remus slumped against his seat, frown marring his features.
"I'm not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about mates, or werewolves, or what you two feel for each other." He tried to reason with his friend. "I just think you two should maybe have a date or two, and until that can happen, you should make some friends. Yeah?"
A war raged inside the werewolf; the human part thinking his friend was right, that while yes, Elizabeth was his life mate, he barely knew her. What were her likes? Her dislikes? How had he not properly tried to woo her with sweet words?
The wolf part of him thought those worries were pathetic, that simply mounting her was the way to go. Having them join as one in a meeting of passion and lust was the true way to find happiness with her.
"…You're right. I barely know her." He nodded to himself, "I could surprise her at their next Hogsmeade trip."
Sirius beamed and knocked his bulkier friend on the shoulder, "You've got this, Moony. And, do you remember Tonks from a while back? I think she's still good with Shacklebolt and could help with a position."
A brief snapshot of a pink haired woman with rosy skin and a nose that on more than one occasion became a pig snout; she was conventionally pretty, and had a sense of humor to boot. Perhaps in another life something could have happened between them, but not in this one.
The harsh snap of apparition jolted the two men from their stupor, and the wrinkled form of Kreacher stood in the doorway, paper in hand. His voice was aged and crooked, "Daily Prophet for the dog and blood traitor."
"Give it here, Kreacher." Sirius harshly commanded the house elf, snatching it from the creature's hands.
"If you were nicer to him, maybe he wouldn't call you that." Remus added before gratefully nodding to Kreacher, lips thinning as Kreacher was gone once more. "Is there a reason you still keep him around? It's clear you despise him."
Sirius snorted, "I think he hates me more, just as Mother taught him. And besides, he won't leave, believe me, I've tried."
Remus shook his head and sipped the lukewarm tea, eyes skimming the picture on the front page, headline bolded with words that shook him to the core.
Death Eater Attack at Quidditch World Cup! Dark Mark Cast!
His hands snatched the paper away from Sirius—"Hey! I was reading that!"—And let the front page splay across the table, reading the words with worry, trying to ignore the ghastly picture of the horrific Dark Mark front and center.
It was a mark he knew all too well, and could only imagine the carnage that had taken place.
"Oh shit." Sirius whispered, coming to read next to his friend, "I wasn't even looking, I swear."
The dark wooden table shuddered under the werewolf's grip, creaking in protest. Sirius tried to read along, practically feeling the tension in his friend's shoulders as they saw the same sentence.
Witnesses to the casting of the Dark Mark include Harry Potter and Elizabeth Jones.