Buckshot & Wolfsbane

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?"