Author's Note: Well, here we are again, yet another story about Remus Lupin. Thank my beta, gem-care-ma, for everything good about this story and blame all mistakes on me. I hope you enjoy. Please review. I love feedback. If I get enough reviews I might continue this storyline. I'm not sure if anyone is interested in something like this. Thanks for reading.

Love and well wishes,

Zosia Rose

When I heard that there was a werewolf in the area, I snatched the fabulous opportunity to interview It. I mean, it was a werewolf, an actual werewolf. How could I not? Now, if I could only find It again, I'd be golden. The rumors said that It was going from business to business looking for work. I'd watched the people's reactions earlier while gathering intel. They'd all turned It away in disgust. One had even spat in Its face. The werewolf hadn't responded as I'd expected. I thought Its kind would've punched the store owner right then and there. But It hadn't. It had merely wiped the frothy white saliva away with Its sleeve and silently moved one. The grizzled old woman who had opened the door at Its next stop had continued the trend, slamming the door in its face before it could get even one word out. But not me. I wouldn't dare turn a werewolf away, not when it meant sacrificing my project. Any other time, I couldn't care less but now, when it was so very crucial to win the contest, I was willing to do virtually anything to get It in the door.

It was getting late and rain had started pounding against the roof of my cottage. I paced the length of the front room, nervous that It would give up before It got to my home. I was just about to give up myself when a shadowy figure limped past my window to stand on the stoop. I rushed over, wanting to examine the thing I'd placed all my hopes on. It hesitated, visibly gathering Its courage, then timidly knocked on the front door. I stood stock still for a second, dumbfounded that It was actually there. The moment I'd waited for all day. The werewolf stared at the door for a bit more, then rubbed a calloused hand across Its face with a deep sigh and turned to leave. That snapped me out of my daze in an instant. The werewolf couldn't leave. It would disrupt all my plans. I rushed to the door, throwing it open. The werewolf jumped a little at the screech of the rusted hinges and glanced back at me.

"Hey," I said.

"Hello," It said.

"Are you the werewolf I've been hearing about?"

Its body tensed, and Its eyes widened ever so slightly. It would've been unnoticable to the average person. Of course, I wasn't the average person. I was a filmmaker. "Yes, sir. I usually am," Its quiet voice held more sadness than fear.

I grinned, "Perfect. I have a proposition for you. Would you like to come inside out of the rain first?" I held the door open behind me as the werewolf stood in the middle of the sidewalk, the heavy raindrops splashing against Its sandy blond hair. It nodded slowly and followed me into the cottage. I gestured for It to sit in the wingback chair by the bookshelf. It did so awkwardly, while I perched myself on the edge of the dining table and studied It. It wore a brown sweater over a gray button-down shirt and jeans, both patched and nearly worn straight through. Its hair drooped down over Its keen amber eyes that sparkled with an emotion I couldn't quite place. Scars traced over Its wan skin, creating a kind of patchwork that I followed with my eyes. Two of them ran vertically down the right side of Its face from forehead to chin. Wire-rimmed glasses with thick lenses framed Its face, their bridge spellotaped together after being broken one too many times.

A half-smile appeared on Its face, though it didn't quite reach Its eyes, "What was your proposition, sir? To stare at me for hours?"

Surprised at Its forwardness, I chuckled a bit, "No, no. I'm making a film. Do you know what a film is?"

"It's a muggle invention. It's a bit like a longer version of our photos," It frowned slightly, "Why?"

"I want you to be the star."

Its eyes widened ever so slightly again and Its lips parted, betraying Its shock.