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In a small, shabby flat in central London, Remus Lupin adjusted the frequency on an old battered radio. Finding the station he wanted, he left it balanced on the kitchen windowsill whilst he sat at the table, pen in hand, and began casually to jot down some notes about Grindywalds. An onlooker would have imagined Lupin to be unperturbed, without a care in the world – the truth was rather different. He was waiting for news that might dramatically threaten his livelihood, his standing, his entire future, and was seriously worried – rightly so. The calm tones of Duella Dulcet started to read out the evening news bulletin and Lupin's pen paused as he listened.

"…And the Ministry has just announced the expected amendments to the Bill on Werewolves in the Workplace. As of today, employers now have the power to ban werewolves from their businesses as company policy. This is seen as the natural progression of a clause added seven years ago that compelled these creatures to declare themselves to potential employers, and the Ministry seems delighted at having finally achieved stricter regulation. Dolores Umbridge, spokesperson for the Department of Trade and Industry, made this statement twenty minutes ago."

Lupin's face darkened as he heard the familiar, faux-innocent, breathy whisper, now animated by an unpleasant elation.

"Hem-hem. This is a great day for the wizarding world. Our people now have the legal right to protect their businesses from these dangerous half-breeds, and ensure the safety of their employees and the public. It is outrageous that it has taken so long to achieve this wizarding right, which must seem to all of us one of the most basic of standards. The Ministry will, of course, be implementing this policy among its own workers."

Of course. Lupin gave a flick of his wand and the radio cut out. He neatly tore up the papers he had been working on and tossed them into a wastepaper basket. They had been part of his consultancy work for the Department of Magical Creatures – work that had been nigh on impossible to obtain and was now gone in a moment. Lupin's face took on an uncharacteristic look of bitterness. Perhaps his replacement at the Department would be investigating him. The way things were going he would soon be locked up as a dangerous beast. Or even humanely shot. He sighed. Time again to buy the jobs supplement and see if there was anyone left who hadn't just amended their company policy on werewolves. Perhaps Gilderoy Lockhart wanted an assistant vampire-hunter, he mused with a wry smile. Except of course that Lockhart hunted werewolves as well - there would be no humane shooting, he'd be impressively mauled then exterminated with an obscure yet powerful old Bulgarian curse. Maybe he could work on the Knight Bus instead.

Three days later, Lupin had come to the conclusion that even the Knight Bus would probably exercise its right not to employ dangerous half-breeds such as himself. Everywhere else seemed to – he was even ineligible as dishwasher at the Hog's Head, and wasn't that humiliating.

Given his current status as society's pariah, it was a shock to see an owl perched on his windowsill. An enormously majestic Eagle Owl, as well, with all the stately gravitas of a royal envoy. Such magnificent creatures had not habitually called on him even before this latest attempt of the Ministry's to drive him into starvation. Noticing, however, that the letter carried the Hogwarts crest, he was confused no longer.

Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had kept in touch with Lupin ever since the defeat of Voldemort and subsequent dissolution of the Order of the Phoenix. No matter how hard he tried to disappear, to leave behind his memories and his guilt and his past, every six months or so there would be a friendly note from Dumbledore who seemed to track him effortlessly down to every godforsaken hole of temporary sanctuary. This place wasn't so bad, the Ministry work had been enough to tide him over for quite some time, but it didn't look as though he'd be able to keep up with the rent for much longer now. And here was Dumbledore, probably full of concern and intelligent sympathy and the incredible tact that made his offers of help sound nothing like charity. And he would reply, of course. No matter how painful the answer was to write, he could never bring himself to be so rude as to ignore a letter from Dumbledore. Not Dumbledore, to whom he owed his education, the only happiness - however brief - he had experienced in his life, and probably the Ministry work which had been sustaining him this past year. And of course Dumbledore's missives always brought him news of Harry Potter, which was one reason why he never felt too disappointed at realising the Headmaster had found him again.

Dumbledore's personal letters, however, were not usually embellished with all the Hogwarts paraphernalia. Lupin considered this in puzzlement, then took the envelope and watched the owl swoop off with a gloriously controlled abandon. He broke the seal and took out an official-looking parchment, covered with the traditional Hogwarts green-inked calligraphy. Reading and rereading, he felt an astonishment that turned to hope and then, what, happiness?

Dear Mr Lupin,

We are currently looking to appoint a teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and would be obliged if you would consider applying for the vacancy. This is always a difficult position to fill, as qualifications, active experience in Defence and certain personal characteristics are required. We have found recent holders of the post unsatisfactory for various reasons, and this has regrettably led to adverse effects on our students' education. We are anxious to remedy this as soon as possible and, knowing of your expertise in the field of Dark Creatures, and significant contribution in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we are convinced that should you interview successfully, you would perform the job admirably. Please find enclosed further details about the application process, and I wish you the best of luck should you choose to put yourself forward as a candidate.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

In an enclosed note, Lupin recognised Dumbledore's ornate script.

My dear Remus,

I know you are loath to accept anything from me, even that which you might expect as a friend, but please understand that this offer is made purely on your own merits. Hogwarts needs a competent Defence teacher, and I know you would be far more than that. Indeed, I can think of no-one better qualified than yourself – in expertise, experience and person - to take up this position. I ask you as the Headmaster of this school to come to Hogwarts, and I ask you as a friend to have confidence that you will succeed as a teacher.

With my best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus Lupin smiled, tucked his letters behind the toaster, and went out to walk in Hyde Park one last time before he replied to Dumbledore. The Headmaster had done it yet again: made things better, found the answer, worked some magic. Assuming that he got the job, and judging by the letters he probably would, he was going back to the place where he had spent the happiest years of his life. Better than that, he would be doing what he loved. Even better, they were paying him for it! Lupin stopped short as a sudden thought struck him. He would be teaching Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. James' son. He shook his head slowly in wonder. Dumbledore was a miracle-worker.