Better Than Chocolate - The Bittersweet Symphony of Moony and Jayne

Remus was feeling much like himself again on his first day out after the full moon. He went to his favourite spot in the park and spent the afternoon reading a Muggle book about Thomas Edison. He was so completely immersed in his book that he took no notice of the rapidly approaching, dark, green-grey clouds until he heard the distant rolling thunder accompanying them. He frowned and rose from his chair. A sharp wind blew through the trees. He quickly walked out of the park and headed toward home.

Once he reached the street, fat, stray raindrops began pelting the ground; at first, few and far between, but then gradually they came more and more frequently. By the time he passed the mouth of the Charing Cross tube stop it was pouring. He was considering disapparating when he saw her, carrying all of her usual bags and cases and trying to balance an umbrella.

"Annabel?"

"What? Who?" She looked around wildly to find the person speaking her name. She saw Remus and gave him a weary grin.

"Let me carry something," Remus offered.

"Oh, no, that's okay," she said, clearly trying to appear as though she weren't terribly inconvenienced by the torrential downpour.

"Please, I insist," he said firmly, as he reached for one of the bags.

"Um, well, thank you." He took a shopping bag from her arm as well as the large flat case. Her umbrella blew inside out as the wind wrenched it from her hand.

"Ugh," she groaned and shook her head. Remus took a step in the direction of the umbrella when she touched his arm, saying, "Just forget it; it wasn't doing any good anyway." She picked up the umbrella and threw it in a nearby trash bin.

"Come on, let's go," he said quickly. They ran off down the sidewalk; people having taken cover wherever they could left the streets almost deserted. By the time they reached their building they were drenched. Remus fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the building door.

They climbed the stairs and Annabel, shaking her head, said, "The sun was still out when I left my job; all of this stuff is going to be a mess." They left puddles on each step all the way up. Annabel dug out her keys and opened the door to her flat. He followed her in, still carrying her case and shopping bag. She turned to look at him and smiled. She looked as though she had taken a bath in her clothes and he didn't look any better. "Thank you, that was really so nice of you," she said.

"Oh, you're welcome," he said. "It was really nothing; we were going to the same place."

"Won't you please join me for a cup of tea?"

"Oh, um, yes, I'd like that, thank you," he said graciously.

"Wonderful, here, you can just leave that right there. I'm going to get changed into some dry clothes, I'll be right out." She walked through on of two doors off of the little kitchen. Her flat was different, larger. It had a small kitchen from which you could see the sitting room, which also had a fireplace. He presumed that she had gone into a bedroom.

"Um, Annabel, I'm just going to go put on some dry clothes. I'll be right back."

"Okay," she called from behind the closed door. On his way out he quickly pulled his wand from of his back pocket and tapped it on each of her bags and packages. He went into his flat and grabbed a different t-shirt from the trunk sitting in front of his couch. He changed his shirt and then tapped his wand on his jeans, trainers and socks to perform the same drying spell he'd done on Annabel's bags. About to walk out the door, he went to put his wand in his pocket and instead thought better of it. Looking at his wand for a second, he decided it leave it under mattress. There was really no good way of concealing that damn thing, dressed as such. He carefully locked his door and crossed the landing to Annabel's door, which he had left ajar, and knocked gently.

"Come on in," she called.

"Hi," he said nervously. Nervously? What are you nervous about?

She was in the sitting room, putting a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. She looked at him and smiled, laughing slightly, she said, "Your face is still wet."

"What? Oh." Feeling slightly foolish, after going through the trouble of making it look like he had changed his clothes, he had never dried off his face and his hair was still sopping.

"Here, hold on," she said as she walked into the bathroom where she grabbed a towel and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, using it to dry his face and rubbing his hair with it.

The teakettle whistled in the kitchen and Annabel poured the boiling water into a teapot that she brought into the sitting room with two mismatched teacups.

"How do you take yours?" she asked.

"Just milk, thanks." She poured him a cup of tea with milk and fixed her own with milk and sugar.

"So, where were you coming from today?" she asked politely.

"Oh, um, I was in the park reading." As soon as he said it, he realized it sounded strange. He should be at a job of some sort; Muggle and wizard alike, that would certainly be more conventional. His answers were going to have to be more thoughtful moving forward.

"That's sounds nice, it was a lovely day before the monsoon hit," she said, smiling again.

"Yes, it was," he agreed. "The storm really snuck up on me."

"Lucky for me that it did or I would have been on my own. So, what do you do besides read in the park and rescue damsels in distress?" Her smile became slightly mischievous. He grinned back.

"Actually that is my occupation; I walk all of London in search of damsels in distress and rescue them." He was biding his time, formulating in his head, and fighting the inexplicable urge compelling him to tell the truth. His non-answer reminded him of something Sirius--no James would have said in their school days. Playing the hero was more James' forte. Uh oh, am I really turning on the Marauder charm?

She said nothing but cocked her head and smirked in a way that very plainly said, 'Come on, seriously?'

"Um, no, I am actually a professor at a small school for gifted students. I teach medieval history and literature. I'm currently taking a research year," he said, satisfied with his quick ingenuity and aplomb. His deftness for fabricating plausible cover stories was the inevitable outcome of the frequency with which it became necessary as a teenager.

"Wow, that's wonderful," she commented. He was pleased that she sounded impressed. Remus, why are you concerned with impressing her? What are you doing?

"Thank you, I enjoy it enough, but it would probably be quite tedious to most people. What do you do? Why all the luggage?" he asked, manoeuvring to shift the focus off of himself.

"Oh, yes, all of that. I design and oversee the restoration of old houses. All that stuff," she cocked her head towards the kitchen where all of her bags were still sitting, "blueprints, renderings, my laptop, books, tools, everything I need. I carry it all around with me because I'm usually working at a project site."

"That's fascinating," he said, sincerely interested. "Of course, it sounds like you could use a valet."

"Yes, perhaps I could. I do like what I do, I'm a bit of a workaholic," she finished, somewhat apologetically.

"What are you working on now?"

"An old manor house in Essex," she said, her eyes lighting up. "It is positively falling apart. It really is lovely though, or I suppose it will be. I tend to look at things as they once looked and as they will look. It's hard for me to see the physical flaws when I can see the history."

"What do you do with it?" he asked.

"Well, when I take on a project I do a lot of research," she explained. "I figure out exactly when a structure was built and by whom. I study the town, the neighbourhood, everything I can, to put together the pieces of history that went into the house. Then I start sketching."

"Sketching?" he inquired.

"Ideas," she said.

"What kind of ideas?"

"Ideas of how different rooms should look and different architectural and design details," Annabel explained. "I do layers and layers of sketches until I get to how the room would look down to its furnishings."

"That's pretty detailed," he said.

"Yeah, that's what I like," she said truthfully.

"Can I see some of your sketches?"

"I don't see why not," she said, as she got up to walk over to the large flat case. Opening the case, she paused, and said, "That's odd; this is much dryer than I thought it would be." She reached out to another bag and her laptop case, feeling them as well. "In fact, they're completely dry." Remus busied himself choosing a biscuit from the plate and took a long drink of his tea.

"Hmmm?" he said absentmindedly.

"No, it's just weird, all my stuff is dry," she said, having removed her sketchbook from the bag, then shaking her head once as though to rid herself of the peculiar revelation.

"Maybe our running paid off," Remus offered, maintaining confusion and therefore innocence. She stopped before handing him the sketchbook.

"Are you sure you want to see this? It's not very interesting."

"Yes, I'm sure, I asked, didn't I?" Smiling he took the book from her, adding, "I think this is all quite remarkable, in fact." He started flipping through the sketchbook, looking at each rendering, some in shades of grey, some in colour. They were quite delicate and lovely.

"Would you like some more tea?" she offered.

"Oh, um, well, no." He didn't want to overstay his welcome. "I should really be going."

"It's okay," she said grinning. "I wouldn't have offered more if I minded you staying."

"Alright, then, if you're sure." He grinned back.

"It's nice to have the company. It can get awfully quiet around here."

"Yes, it can," he readily agreed. "It is nice to have some company."

They sat together drinking tea and chatting for another hour. The storm raged on outside, but it had been long forgotten. When he bid her good evening and headed back to his flat, he told himself that it was nice to have some company, that's all. It does get awfully quiet, especially after spending the last year living among hundreds of teenagers. It was just nice to have someone to talk to, to break the monotony. Company. That's all.

Annabel and Remus enjoyed one another's company again the next day when they had tea after she got home from work and the night after that when she brought dinner home and invited him to share it. On Saturday afternoon when she knocked on his door, he had invited her to join him on a walk to Kensington Gardens, he absentmindedly called, "Come on in," as he was finishing a letter to Sirius.

"Hi," she said as she walked in.

"Hello," he said, "I'm just finishing..." He suddenly realized that what he was finishing was writing a letter on parchment with a quill. He looked around quickly and shoved all of the entrapments into a briefcase sitting next to the table; the pot of ink was still open. He hastily turned around just to realize that his writing instruments were the least of his problems.

"Oh my god, is that an owl?" she asked in surprise.

"Um yes." Think Remus! "Strange, isn't it?" Nice cover.

"Yeah, it's really strange." She was eyeing him suspiciously.

"It's not the first time he's been here; I think that the person who used to live here must have fed him."

"Don't owls eat mice?" she asked, sounding no less suspicious.

"Oh, do they?" Playing dumb was not his strong suit, and he was relieved when Sirius' owl took the hint and flew away. "I just thought it was odd that he shows up during the daytime."

"Yeah, that is also a bit peculiar," she said, her brow furrowed, and then as though she'd given that subject enough thought she looked around his flat and smiled. "You weren't joking when you said you had a lot of books."

He was relieved that she changed the subject and also that he'd performed a useful little spell that made his books appear as ones a Muggle would recognize, many as texts on medieval Muggle history. "Shall we go?" he suggested.

"Okay," she said.

"What do you have with you?" he inquired about the spiral bound book that was sticking out of the top of her handbag.

"Oh, just my sketch book, I thought that I might be able to work on some sketches while we are sitting in the park," she explained.

"Right, workaholic is the word you used," he mused.

"I'm sorry, is that rude?" she asked.

"No, it's fine, I'm just taking the mickey," he said with a grin.

It was a lovely sunny day out and they walked slowly to the park where they found two lawn chairs. They spent the afternoon chatting; Annabel sketched as she talked. Remus told stories about his students; pleased that even when he extracted the magic from them they were still entertaining.

"They just reminded me so much of my friends growing up. Always in trouble, but they always, inevitably managed to escape severe punishment. I think that, as a professor, if a student causes trouble in a really clever way, it's hard to hold it against them. That's how these twins were; every thing they did showed real ingenuity and creativity. Looking back on it now, I think that's why we were able to get away with so much," he remarked.

"Do you still talk to them?" She put down her sketchbook and looked at him intently.

"Who? The Weasleys?" Remus asked.

"No, your friends, growing up."

"Oh, no, I lost touch with them years ago." He hoped that when he broke his eye contact with her he was subtle about it. "One of my friends was killed in a car crash shortly after we finished school. I think after that it just became too sad; we were young and weren't really equipped to deal with grieving like that." He hated the lie and it was the biggest one he'd told to date. He really needed to bury the truth about this as deeply as possible. He had to avoid fielding any other questions on the subject.

"Wow, that's awful, it's so sad," she said, her eyes glinting empathy.

"Yes, it's a long time ago now. I don't really think about it too much anymore." As he said it, he wondered if it came off as casually as he had intended. That lie hurt.

"I lost touch with my best friend growing up," Annabel said slowly. "We were like sisters and then, you know how it is...I suppose when you go off to university, you become different people with different lives. Her family moved away. I sometimes wonder what happened to her."

"You mentioned having a sister."

"Yes, I do, Georgie," Annabel said smiling slightly. "She's much younger than I am, but we're really close now."

"Where does she live?"

"When she's in London, she lives with me, but she's spends most of her time at university in Edinburgh," she said with a hint of pride.

"Where does the rest of your family live?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, um my mum died when Georgie was born and my dad died seven years ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said sincerely.

"Thank you, it's ok. You don't have to feel bad for asking. My mum was a shock. She had an allergic reaction to medication in hospital. My dad on the other hand was sick for a while, and he was never really the same after he lost my mum," she explained.

"So, did you raise your sister?" he asked.

"Well, no. Not really, I wish I could say that I did, or at least that I did more," she said slowly, fumbling for words. "I mean, I helped out, but for the most part I was really selfish and angry after my mum died. I just kind of did whatever I wanted. I mean, I love my sister and I loved my dad but...I don't know. It wasn't until my dad was sick--it kind of forced me to take stock and look at my life like an adult. I was twenty-five, which was far too old to behave as self-indulgently as I did. I finally realized that I had spent most of my sister's life being an apathetic prat. I kind of pulled it all together; I knew she needed me."

"You've taken care of her for the last seven years though," he said encouragingly.

"Yes, and I'm lucky, she's always been really good and clever. I guess I still have a lot of guilt about not taking care of my father. He was a good man and a really good father, and I just wasn't there to make things any easier for him. He never really made me feel badly about it either; he just let me do what I wanted. I didn't get into too much trouble or anything like that. I just wasn't ever around; I was always with my friends." She paused thoughtfully and said, "It's strange; I've never really talked about this with anyone before. There's something about the way you encourage me to talk that..." She trailed off. For a moment she surveyed him carefully and then continued, "I mean, I really dedicated myself to making it up to my sister, and I'm happy and lucky that we are so close now, but it's an odd thing telling someone that you weren't a very good person."

"You were young and angry," consoled Remus. "You've grown up; you should absolve yourself of the sins of youth. I mean, you seem like a good person to me." He gave her a warm smile.

"Yeah, I'd like to think I am now. I just had to learn a lot of lessons the hard way," she explained.

"I think a lot about things I did when I was young and I can't help being appalled; we were just so thoughtless," Remus said somewhat darkly. "As an adult all you think about are the repercussions and as a child, you don't even know they exist."

"I can't imagine you getting into all that much trouble. I would peg you to have been a bit of a swot," she said grinning at him.

"Yeah, well, you may not be that far off," he said, grinning back, "but I still managed to cause my fair share of mischief. You know, the stupid, dangerous things that boys do." If only she knew. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said standing up.

"I know a really good Thai restaurant a few streets away," she suggested.

"Um, okay, I don't think I've ever had Thai food before."

"Really?" she asked. "We can go somewhere--"

"No, I'd like to try it," he said quickly.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, definitely." As he said it, he realised that she could have suggested pretty much anything and he would have gone with her. This was a dangerous path he was treading and he knew it.

It was late when they arrived back at their building. They got to the landing between their flats and Annabel was unlocking her door when she said, "I'm going to the Tate on Tuesday. Would you like to join me?"

"On Tuesday?" he asked. "Don't you have to work?"

"It is for work, I'm working on a design for an art dealer whose house was built in 1803. I'm going in search of inspiration from paintings of that period. It's something I do from time to time, not exactly the most productive day, but I do tend to get ideas. Would you care to come along?" she asked.

"Sure, I'd love to." This was a decision that went against his better judgement. He had decided over dinner that he might need to step away from her, allow himself some space. He found her to be quite charming and that was problematic. The more he saw her, the more he lied to her and the worse he felt about it. He was, however, having a very difficult time turning down the opportunity to see her.

"Great," she said, "it'll be fun."

"Yes." He swallowed hard and hoped she didn't notice. "Well, goodnight then." He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her; it would have been the completely appropriate moment. Not to say that he was entirely sure that that is what she would have wanted. Regardless, it was most certainly not an option.

"Yes, goodnight," she said with an awkward nod, "okay." She turned and stepped up into her flat.

Once in his flat, Remus pulled his wand out from under his mattress, dug out the quill, parchment and the inkbottle which he had been using earlier in the day and muttered evanesco to clean up the spilt ink; a mess that, surprisingly, wasn't all that extensive. He had to stay away from her. He knew it and decided that he wouldn't see her again until their trip to the gallery on Tuesday. In fact, he knew that what he really should do was cancel the trip to the gallery. Yes, he would cancel. He would apologise, thank her for the invitation and explain that he had a lot of revision to do. That was that. He finished his letter to Sirius.

Padfoot,

Glad to hear you are doing well. All is well here; please extend my apologies to the owl that brought me your letter. My neighbour, Annabel, came to call and I didn't have a chance to write back straight away.

Any word from Harry recently? I haven't heard anything of interest. I've been lying low of late, haven't spent a whole lot of time in Diagon Alley, just a few trips to the potion master. I have, however, overheard a surprising amount of discussion about the Triwizard Tournament. Did you know that that halfwit Ludo Bagman is overseeing the execution of both the Tournament and the World Cup Match? Excellent beater, but to make him accountable for organizing anything is utterly absurd. Who makes these appointments to the Ministry?

I'll be off to bed now, keep in touch. I look forward to hearing from you.

Your friend,

Moony

Tuesday morning rolled around rather slowly as Remus had spent the last two days avoiding Annabel. However, he had not cancelled their trip to the Tate. He was trying to read but was having difficulty concentrating. When she comes over I will tell her that I'm very sorry but I just can't join her today. And then came the knock at the door.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "Are you still coming with me?"

"Yes." What ARE you doing?

"Great, it will be fun," she said smiling.

"I think so." He sighed, and said, "I'll be ready in just a moment." He went into the bathroom and closed the door. He leaned back against the towel hanging from the door and closed his eyes; he was haunted by his own vulnerability.

"Do you have any tea?" she called. "I'm all out and I forgot to stop at the market last night."

"Oh, sure," he said, recovering himself. "I'll get it."

"No, don't worry, I'll get it." She walked over to the kitchen cabinet and just as she opened a door, behind which more books were stacked--books he had forgotten that he kept there until this moment--he appeared by her side having grabbed the tea from the table.

"Here you go," he said abruptly. He closed the cupboard quickly, taking care not to slam it in her face.

"Oh, okay, I'm sorry." She sounded a bit spooked. "That was really rude of me, I didn't think..."

"It's all right," he said quickly, "not to worry."

"Okay," she said cautiously. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little odd today."

"No, I'm fine," he said a little too quickly. "Do you want to get going?"

"Um...okay, I was just going to make a cup of tea before we go." She then added cautiously, "you could join me... if you'd like?"

"Um...well...yes, I'm done with that chapter anyway." As much as that voice in his head protested, he just couldn't bear to be rude. I'm just being cordial.

Their day at the Tate made him forget all about that scolding voice, and so grateful that he didn't cancel. They leisurely wandered through the galleries, chatting about the paintings and everything else. Annabel occasionally made notes in her sketchbook. Remus told her about his childhood and his family. It didn't even bother him all that much that most of his stories felt like a string of paper dolls with holes cut throughout. As long as he could continue making her laugh, nothing else really mattered. She talked about her sister, she talked about her job, she talked about how she loved to travel, she talked about what she liked to read and what she liked to watch on the telly. He encouraged her to talk, because the more she spoke the less lies he had to tell. At the end of the day they walked home through Hyde Park. She was just commenting on how she felt like all she did was talk about herself when she was with him, when he saw a sign posted announcing 'Opera in the Park.'

"What's Opera in the Park?" he asked distractedly, barely realising he said it out loud.

"Hmm? Oh, it's lovely, especially if it's a nice night," she said fervently. "You bring dinner and a blanket and sit out and listen to a live opera performance."

"That sounds nice," and before he could event think to stop himself, he said, "we should go."

"Yes," she said with a look of pleasant surprise, "we should go."

"Okay, good, we'll go then." He knew he would lay in bed tonight castigating himself over this, but he just couldn't help it. Regardless, he did need to preclude another awkward moment on the landing; after they stopped at the market so that Annabel could buy tea, he talked about how much revision he needed to get done tonight. When they got back to their building he thanked her for a lovely day and said that he had better get to work.

"Okay, well thank you for coming; I had a lot of fun." Just then the telephone rang from inside her flat. She looked at her watch and said, "It's probably my sister. Have a good night." Their doors closed at the same time.

Remus did lie in bed that night thinking about Annabel; thinking about 'Opera in the Park'; thinking about how much he wanted to stop lying to her. Why shouldn't I be happy? Why don't I just tell her the truth? Through his window he could see the crescent moon shining brightly, grinning at him, mocking. Because this isn't just telling a Muggle about the wizarding world, that was dicey enough. There's so much more at stake.

He started to think about the next full moon. He hated the idea of being so close to her. Of course he took excessive measures to make sure that he couldn't get out of his flat and that no one could get in. And with the Wolfsbane Potion, even if someone could get to him he wouldn't be dangerous. But the very idea of her ever seeing him like that sickened him. He knew he was going to have to leave. He thought about Sirius' letter, when he wrote 'Peculiar how very little ever seems to work in our favour.' It was an overwhelming theme, one that had been a constant for thirteen years. It had to happen, whether he liked it or not. He would go to 'Opera in the Park' and then tell her that he had to leave to do research in another city.

The next few days were uneventful; he carried out his usual array of activities, Diagon Alley, reading, walking, writing letters; thinking about where he would go when he left, and then trying not to think about it.

He made a half-hearted effort to avoid Annabel; it wasn't terribly successful. Whenever their paths crossed they usually ended up having dinner or drinks or going for a walk. They walked an awful lot, but as money was always an underlying concern for him, walking provided activity without requiring gold, or pounds as it were.

At the end of each meeting he always made it a point to excuse himself while she was otherwise occupied, so as to avoid inelegant moments where his desire to kiss her quickened his pulse and clouded his senses. He wondered if she noticed; occasionally he indulged himself to wonder if she felt the same way. He would ponder as to why else she would spend so much time with a neighbour she had only known so briefly and why she didn't spend so much time with anyone else, or didn't as far as he could tell. Again, he tried not to think about that too much.