Buckshot & Wolfsbane

Interview with a Werewolf

Werewolves are real.

Werewolves are real.

Werewolves are real.

Isabeau had written those lines over and over again in her notebook, alongside several questions she'd thought up and a crude drawing of a dog, which looked more like a duck if she turned her head right. The Major was sitting with his head in her lap, enjoying her absent-minded scratches.

How was one supposed to react to learning such a thing? Well, besides laughing and basically inviting themselves over for afternoon tea. Should she be questioning her sanity? Shouldn't it be more likely he's humoring her for a prank? Should she just avoid him now? After all, Remus said it was dangerous.

No, that wouldn't do at all. Whatever was happening was completely insane, there was no question of it, but she hadn't been raised to look at the world with an open mind and welcoming heart to back out of that now. Eight years ago, people were put on the moon. Humanity had a penchant for the impossible. What was one more thing on top of the many?

Isabeau sighed, looking down at The Major. "I'm in over my head, aren't I?"

The wolfhound snorted.

"You ought to take up counseling. You're a very good listener."

He barked, and Isabeau gave him a good kiss on the head before returning to her notebook.

Do werewolves have animal senses in human form?

This was getting out of hand. Clearly it was Remus who needed to be worried and not the other way around.

"Now, I know that I'm just your mother," a voice called from her doorway, causing Isabeau to jump. The Major huffed, backing up as she pushed away from the desk. "But I'd feel a sight more loved if my daughter came to greet me instead of making me search for her."

"Sorry, mum!" Isabeau apologized, jogging over and wrapping the older woman in a hug.

Betty Dunn was a short woman, nearly a head shorter than Isabeau, with a kind smile and bright green eyes. Her brown hair was fading to gray, but there was still a youthfulness to her, much like her father. The country air, they said.

"She'd be in an early grave if she'd stayed in London," her father liked to joke. When she was sixteen, her family had sent her to Bibury to escape the Blitz. Some time after, Betty met Michael, and they hadn't gone back since.

"I was distracted."

"Well, I can see that," her mother replied, glancing over. Fortunately, her eyes weren't what they used to be and the most she would be able to make out was the drawing. "Is that a duck?"

"Yes," Isabeau said quickly, shutting the notebook and returning to her mother's side. "How's grandma?"

The two Dunn ladies walked side-by-side through the cottage just as her father returned inside with some luggage.

"She's getting on well enough. Missed you," her mother replied as one of her suitcases split open and spilled her clothes across the floor. "Not so much your father."

"I was taught to hate the devil. Don't blame me for being a proper Christian man," Michael said, ducking as her mother threw one of her dresses at him.

Half-heartedly, Betty went to smack him, only for her wrist to be caught by her father, allowing him to pull her in for a kiss.

They really were still in love after all this time. It always made Isabeau smile. They'd been through so much, and deserved the world.