A Day in the Life of Remus Lupin
by running out of ink
Disclaimer: I don't own Remus Lupin (or anything else in Potterverse for that matter), but he is quite fun to write about sometimes.
Also: Happy New Year! It's almost 2007!!!
Someone asked me once about being a werewolf. I think the girl was a journalist of some sort, because people don't generally ask you what it's like being a werewolf. I told her that she should bugger off (looking back on this, it probably wasn't a wise decision on my part, she was actually quite pretty) but I was having a bad day.
No, that's a lie. I was having a normal day by my standards, but when you compare it to someone else's day it was bad.
People think it gets easier to be a werewolf, but the truth is it only gets harder. Each transformation is worse than the last and after a while you begin to realize- it isn't going to get any better. On top of that? Well, having the whole of the Wizarding World against me really doesn't help. You get used to it, sure, but it doesn't get easier.
I've been out of the job now for, oh, two years next Tuesday- but who's counting? I actually had a job interview today. You know, got up, brushed my hair, shaved, picked out my best robes (and by best, I mean the ones I wear every day), and set off for the interview.
I had a bounce in my step and a smile on my face when I walked in the office. It was just your standard, run-of-the-mill work place. There were lots of papers lying around, a snooty looking secretary sitting behind her shiny desk reading Witch Weekly, and plenty of worn out employees. The secretary looked up at me, a frightened look on her face- oh, no. My spirits dropped, the smile disappearing from my face, as I realized that she had read my file.
Not just any file- The File.
I don't know what bright wizard decided to keep tabs on every single Half-Breed in the country, but, whoever he was, he was NOT a friend of werewolves. If only the world could understand that we're people too. Well, at least most of us are.
The frightened secretary pointed towards a door behind me, her entire body shaking. I nodded my thanks and turned around. There was a nervous looking man- balding, slightly overweight, wearing an expensive business robe- standing in the doorway. He looked like he would rather be fighting a Boggart than talking to me. Actually, no, I probably was his Boggart. He gave me a watery smile and said, stuttering profusely, that I just wasn't what he was looking for in an employee at the moment. He tried to tell me that I should look elsewhere. I told him that this was elsewhere. But, you know, you can't make someone hire you. So, I thanked him and Apparated home.
Home was a small flat located in what could be known as the "bad" end of town. The water wouldn't run without magical help, the paint was chipping so badly that you had to scoop bits out of your coffee occasionally, and the bugs could give Garden Gnomes a run for their money. Sighing, I plopped down on my bed (I swear I heard something scurry away when I did this), and stared at my wall. Five days until the next full moon. Four days to find a job. One day of mind-numbing torture. And after that? There was another month of waiting; another month of hoping to find a job; and another month of rejection.
If you're ever wondering what it's like in the life of a werewolf then be thankful, you really don't want to know.