Quick A/N:

I've been going over older reviews for the different stories in my short and painfully canon-following Rose Lupin series and I think that a rewrite and revamp was required. Most of the issues arose from the fact that there was no depth in the Rose/Remus relationship, so I will be revising that and giving Rose her own autonomy and to make the fact that Rose had no clue that Harry was still alive a little more believable. Some aspects of the story were inspired by CatsAreCool's "A Marauder's Plan," in which Sirius actually behaves like a godfather. If you haven't read it, I fully recommend it.

I think that's it. I hope you like it!

I hummed softly to myself, content as I watched the rising sun's light dance across the scarred face of my husband. The light crossed over his eyes, and he grimaced in his sleep, turning slightly to put his face into the pillow. I chuckled, but rolled my shoulders and reluctantly shifted the covers and got the my feet. I replaced the blankets, leaning down to press a kiss to Remus' forehead before he burrowed completely into his pillow. He needed more sleep, I knew. He always needed more sleep around the full moon.

The house was silent except for my footsteps as I padded my way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen of our small flat. The town outside the breakfast nook bay windows was already awake; Muggle Paris never went fully dark. Now, with the sun starting to rise, people were already darting to and fro on their way to work and school.

My hands moved in accordance to an old rhythm as I paced the length of the kitchen. Measuring coffee grounds, setting out butter to soften, preheating the oven-each movement was familiar and helped coaxed my mind to wakefulness.

"Smells good..."

I turned on my heel to see Remus dragging a hand through his sandy hair. I smiled softly as his hair stuck up at the back. "Owl come yet?"

"Not-" I stopped talking abruptly at a quiet tapping at the window. I rolled my eyes for Remus to see, but turned to let the predicted bird in. The owl was unfamiliar-a dark grey Screech owl-but it bore a letter written on very heavy parchment. I frowned at it, having expected the newspaper. "Who'd send a letter?"

"Must be for you," Remus chimed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The fact that no one in the Wizarding world would have written to him went unspoken, but it hung in the air as I offered the owl a piece of bacon as payment. I froze at the seal on the letter.

"It's from Hogwarts... To Mr. Remus Lupin..." I turned to offer it to him, but he was content drawing the cinnamon rolls from the oven. Shrugging, I opened the letter, skimming it curiously. My heart skipped a beat halfway into the first paragraph.

"What's wrong?"

Of course Remus had picked up on my heart as it threatened to beat out of my chest. Unable to form my own thoughts, I read from the letter.

"As I'm sure you're already aware, Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban Prison. For this reason, and as Hogwarts finds itself in need, would you be so kind as to entertain the idea of taking up the professorship of Defense Against the Dark Arts? The more friendly faces near to Harry Potter, the more easy I will rest this year."

There was an almighty clatter as the burning hot tray of cinnamon rolls dropped onto the floor. I was half tempted to join them on the ground, if only so my head would stop spinning.

Harry.

The shock stayed for what felt like an eternity, but it did dissipate, and it dissolved to give way to absolute rage.

"He has got NERVE! I swear, I'll-"

"Rose. Rosie-" Remus' calm voice broke through the murderous red I'd been seeing since that I ever opened that damned letter. I was furious for a brief moment at Remus before chastising myself sharply. It wasn't Remus' fault that Albus Smarter-Than-Thou Dumbledore was the prattiest prat to ever have power.

"Prattiest isn't even a word, darling."

The red fled from my vision and migrated immediately to my cheeks if the rush of heat was any indication. I hadn't realized I'd been talking aloud. I thought that I'd outgrown that during my school years.

Still-I couldn't let myself get distracted. Harry-Harry was alive! He'd been alive for twelve bloody years and no one had had the decency to tell his only living blood. Blood. Living. Petunia. No-he couldn't have. Not even Dumbledore would have been thick enough to put Harry James Potter-the epitome of nearly everything Petunia hated in both worlds-in the hands of his less darling aunt.

"We can find out when we get back to London," Remus said consoling. I must have started, because he smiled softly. "No, you didn't say that. But I know that you're likely thinking a mile a minute on where and how Harry has been since-since everything. But he's alive. The cub is alive!"

A well of shame rushed over me as I remembered suddenly that I hadn't been the only one to lose a nephew that night. Remus lost James and Lily that night too, just like we lost Sirius.

Remus had been one of the few people to believe me without reservation when I said that Sirius was innocent of betraying Lily and James. With James and Sirius as close as brothers, and Lily and I actually being sisters, Sirius and I had been the obvious choices for their Fidelus. It couldn't have been us, I had said to James and Lily. Remus would have been with me or working undercover for Dumbledore, so he was out, I had reasoned. Choose Peter. Choose Peter, I had told them. I had been a fool, but I wasn't going to make old mistakes again.

"I need to go to work and let them know what's happened. I'm already probably late... I'll give in my resignation."

"I'll go to the bank and get the preparations for a transfer started," Remus promised. "The flat won't take long to pack up, but we'll also have to figure out where we will be staying in England off-term."

"I still have my old house."

"No one's lived there since your Da passed," Remus shot down. "It'll be a ruin. I'll write some letters. Don't worry, love; I'll figure it out. Go to work."

Trusting Remus was easy; he'd always been better with numbers than me. I dressed in a rush, throwing on a set of dark blue robes over a cream knit sweater and dark slacks. I slid my wand into a holster on my right forearm, and I was ready to leave. I stopped in the living room, where Remus already sat among a scattering of papers, just long enough to give him a kiss and a 'see you soon' before I was on my way out.

Walking through the streets of Paris calmed my strained nerves and, as my walk took me out from between the crowded buildings and under the protective shadow of the Luxor Obelisk. I didn't slow-the Place de la Concorde had lost some of its luster once I lived a brief walk away from it-and continued on my way.

The Wizarding World in Paris was more difficult to access than the British Ministry, but I suspected that that was largely due to France's former political instability and the old Muggle habit of guillotining unwanted persons in the street more than anything else. Shaking off the darker thoughts, I quickly made my way to the Petit Palais.

The Petit Palais was open to the Muggle public as an art museum, but magic helped immensely in disguising additions and averting unwanted eyes. The trick the Parisians had developed in order to avoid detection during the revolutions that shook their country was 'divide and survive.' Pockets and small centers of wizarding activity bloomed separately across Paris, with a dedicated Floo network to connect them, but each small community was maintained so that, if it were detected, the others would remain safe havens. It was extremely effective-so effective that even I, after living in Paris for over a decade, didn't know how to access all of the little communities from the outside streets. The pocket hidden within and beneath Petit Palais was the newest, and was popular for small starting businesses.

I slipped away from the Muggle Palais and tapped my wand against one of the tapestries decorating a peripheral corridor. The tapestry depicted a marketplace as shoppers went to and fro on their way. A large marble building dominated one edge of the tapestry, but the rest was an open marketplace, where peddlers hawked goods from small stalls that nearly blocked the buildings opposite the marble building behind them from view. There were signs describing the goods, but the writing would have been obscured for any Muggle lost enough to find this corridor. At my touch, the tapestry began to move and I laid my hand against the fountain in the center of the cloth hanging. My vision went dark for a brief moment before my senses caught up. My hand relaxed against smooth marble and I blinked in the artificial sunlight streaming down from the charmed ceiling.

Logically, I knew that Sous le Palais was, as the name suggested, buried under the Petit Palais. Even so, looking up at what appeared to be a bright blue sky led me to doubting the truth for just a moment.

Clearing my thoughts with a shake of my head, I wove between the stalls. Peddlers spoke to me in rapid French, begging me to bring my attention to their color change bangles and neck ties charmed to never choke or knot improperly. I walked away from it all to walk into Mme Verre's Apothecary.

"Ah, Rosie! I was wondering where you-Oh, you look as if you've seen a ghost, dear." She continued to chatter away in rapid French, alternating between glancing at her medicinal wares and feeling my forehead and tutting with disapproval. Cecile Verre was a warm woman, not much older than me, but with a half-grown brood of children to support. She and her husband had started the apothecary decades ago, but he had fallen ill to a bout of dragon pox while traveling abroad to meet with suppliers. I never directly asked, but the way the light left Cecile's eyes when she spoke of her husband assured me that he had not gone quietly, quickly, or painlessly into the night. I had been hired on shortly after his death as an in-house potioneer, and Cecile had moved the apothecary to Sous la Palais once the new community opened.

"Cecile, I've told you about the war in England before, haven't I?"

"Ah, yes. Awful business... Flight of Death, indeed!" Cecile laughed softly, perhaps at the irony. Having had years of practice, I no longer needed a moment to remind myself that Voldemort had not made an effect on the mainland of Europe. These people did not fear him, especially not in the shadow Grindelwald left behind. Still, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

"Yes, well, he definitely flew somewhere..."