31 July 1993

The knock at the front door startled Remus out of his half-doze. Inhaling sharply, he sat bolt upright on his living room sofa and stared at the entrance to his small Yorkshire cottage.

He was not accustomed to visitors—not especially on Saturdays. Even the Muggle postman scarcely ventured by Remus's home, although Remus supposed that had more to do with the fact that no one in the Muggle world was writing him letters.

But for that matter, Remus wasn't exactly in contact with anyone in the Wizarding world either. Whoever this visitor was, they clearly had the wrong house.

For a moment, Remus just stared at his front door. Then, there came another knock.

Remus scrambled to his feet, padding quietly across the sitting room to the door. Driven by instincts born of wartime, Remus pressed his left ear to the rough wooden surface, clutching his wand in his right hand. "Who is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"Albus Dumbledore."

Remus's eyes grew wide—and suddenly, bizarrely, his mind flashed back to another occasion, more than two decades previous, when he had opened his door to find the headmaster of Hogwarts standing in front of him. That day, Remus's life had changed forever.

Swallowing deeply, Remus cleared his throat. "Tell me something only the real Albus Dumbledore would know."

Remus thought he heard a soft chuckle from the other side of the door. "Twenty-two years ago, I traveled to your family's old home in Yorkshire—not far from this very cottage, in fact—to offer you a place at Hogwarts. That day, you and I shared a plate of crumpets and a game of Gobstones—a game you most likely would have won, had we not been interrupted by your terrified parents."

In spite of himself, Remus felt his lips twitch slightly at the memory. Then, heart racing, he reached out and pulled open the front door at last.

Dumbledore was beaming at him, his tall, regal frame looking quite out-of-place against the backdrop of the Yorkshire countryside behind him. He was the same as Remus had ever seen him—his nose crooked, hair long and silver, long beard fluttering in the light breeze. For a moment, Remus could do no more than stare at his old headmaster in amazement, so stunned was he to see him. Then, coming back to his senses, he gave his head a shake and stepped aside.

"I—sorry, Professor—please, come in, come in…"

Dumbledore strode past Remus into the little cottage, and Remus closed the front door, following the headmaster into the sitting room. Feeling quite speechless, Remus watched as Dumbledore took a seat on the sofa that Remus had just vacated, smiling serenely around at his surroundings.

"This is a charming place," Dumbledore said brightly. "How long have you had it?"

"Er—" Remus glanced around the sitting room of his three-room cottage. The derelict, shabby, purely functional building was far from any definition of charming. "About eleven years, now."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore remarked amiably, still surveying the building with interest. Remus blinked.

"Er—can I get you something to drink, Professor?" he offered. "A cup of tea? A glass of water?"

"A warm cup of tea would be much-appreciated, Remus, thank you," Dumbledore said graciously. "I have had a busy day."

Remus nodded, retreating to his tiny kitchen. As he cast a quick Warming Charm over the teapot and began piling cups and saucers onto a slightly dusty tray, he heard Dumbledore humming to himself from the sitting room. Feeling more bewildered than ever, Remus picked up the tea service and turned around to rejoin the headmaster in the next room.

"Ah, thank you, Remus," Dumbledore said gratefully, as he accepted his teacup from Remus.

"Of course," Remus nodded. Taking a seat across from Dumbledore in his armchair, he picked up his own cup and held it up to his lips. Before he took a sip, he inhaled deeply, letting the warm scent of looseleaf Darjeeling flow through him. The tea was a luxury—one that Remus could not often afford.

"I must say, Remus, it was quite difficult to track you down," Dumbledore said softly, and Remus looked up. "The Ministry's records of your whereabouts were woefully limited. Luckily, Professor McGonagall happened to remember that you were now based in Yorkshire."

Remus sipped his tea, quiet for a moment. Then— "I've been in and out of touch with the Wizarding world, these last several years," he said. "I don't think I ever held a Wizarding job long enough for the Ministry to make a note of it—not recently, anyhow."

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze steady as he looked at Remus. Remus shifted uncomfortably, turning to stare down at his tea instead.

"I was sorry to read about your father's passing," Dumbledore said gently. "He was a brilliant student and a wonderful man."

Remus swallowed and nodded stiffly, still avoiding Dumbledore's eyes. "Thank you, Professor." He felt Dumbledore's gaze boring into the side of his head.

"Remus—"

"I know you're here because of the Azkaban news," Remus blurted out, before Dumbledore could continue. At last, Remus looked up at the headmaster—and a chill stole over him as he remembered the front page of the Daily Prophet from last week. It had taken Remus several, horribly long minutes to recover from the shock of seeing his former friend's gaunt, graying face splashed under an enormous headline calling for his immediate capture.

There was a pause.

Then, Dumbledore sighed, putting his teacup down. "Remus—"

"I don't know where he is, and if I he had tried to contact me in any way, you would have received an owl from me in minutes," Remus continued, his voice strained. "And I haven't got the slightest idea how he escaped—"

"Remus," Dumbledore said again, his tone firm now. "I am not here to interrogate you. I have just spent my entire morning listening to Minister Fudge blubber about the escape in his office, and I've no desire to revisit the subject."

Remus blinked several times. "What—?"

"Remus, I am here to offer you the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued evenly. "Our previous Defense professor is unable to continue his post this year—and in any case, Professor McGonagall and I had no intention of extending his contract. We decided back in February that we couldn't imagine anyone better suited to the job than yourself."

Remus's mouth fell open. He gaped at Dumbledore, lost for words.

"I know that this is an enormous ask—and a last-minute one at that. The start of term is scarcely more than a month away," Dumbledore said heavily. "If you need time to consider—"

"Professor, I-I can't—I can't possibly accept," Remus spluttered. "I—I don't have experience—"

"Remus, I haven't forgotten that you joined an underground resistance right out of school, to help fight the most powerful dark wizard this country has seen," Dumbledore frowned. "And Professor McGonagall informed me that you have spent the last several years teaching, here in Yorkshire—"

"At a Muggle school!" Remus's voice cracked. "Professor, I've never held a job in the wizarding world for longer than a month—!"

"And that is no fault of your own," Dumbledore said in a steely voice. "Fear-driven prejudices are institutionalized deeply into the fabric of our society. I should have done more, after the war, to help you navigate them—"

"And do you really believe these prejudices don't exist at Hogwarts?" Remus croaked. "What do you think students will say when they see their Defense professor disappear into the Whomping Willow every full moon—?"

"No student will ever witness that," Dumbledore interrupted firmly, "because you will never have to transform in the Shrieking Shack again. If you accept my offer, you will receive the Wolfsbane Potion prior to the full moon every month. Professor Snape has already arranged for monthly shipments of the necessary brewing ingredients."

Remus's head snapped up. "Snape—?"

"Severus heads the potions department at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, and Remus could have sworn he saw the corner of the headmaster's lips twitch. "And you have no reason to be concerned by it. On my insistence, Severus took the International Potioneers' Oath before I hired him, twelve years ago. He understands deeply the consequences of tampering with potions on malicious grounds."

Remus simply stared at Dumbledore, unable to formulate coherent thoughts. His teacup felt numb in his hands.

Dumbledore gazed back at Remus for several, long moments. Then, with a small sigh, he reached out and set his own teacup down on the coffee table.

"The minister and I have successfully managed to keep this information from the public," Dumbledore said quietly, "but we have reason to believe that the reason Sirius escaped Azkaban is to track down and capture Harry."

A swooping, sickening sensation filled Remus's stomach. He gripped his teacup tightly. "He's after Harry?" he breathed, unable to make sense of the words, even as they left his mouth.

Dumbledore leaned back in the sofa. "Today is Harry's thirteenth birthday," he told Remus softly. "When was the last you saw him?"

Remus's mind swam with disjointed memories—he, James, and Peter chatting on the hearthrug of the Potters' Godric's Hollow cottage, a cooing, black-haired baby between them…Sirius grinning, laughing, as he swung a giggly baby Harry high into the air, while Lily clucked nervously behind him…

"I-I—" Remus stammered, feeling disoriented and numb. "I can't remember exactly. I think it was before the Fidelius Charm was placed—so just over a week before…" he trailed off, unable to go on.

Dumbledore's expression grew somber. "It pains me how little Harry knows about his parents," he said heavily. "I've never felt it was my place to share their stories with him—not when there were others who knew them better."

Remus tightened his jaw against the painful lump that had swelled in his throat.

"Remus, try as we might to hide it from Harry, I have no doubt in my mind that he will learn the truth about Sirius's escape somewhere," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "Like his father, he has a particular proclivity for getting involved in things he ought not to be involved in."

Despite himself—despite everything he had heard and relived in the last half hour—Remus let out a short, morose laugh, shaking his head. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Harry needs you, Remus," Dumbledore said. "Hogwarts needs you. And although I'm sure you wish it weren't the case, no one on Earth knows Sirius as well as you do."

Remus pressed his lips together. If there was one thing that the past had made clear, it was that he didn't know Sirius as well as he had thought.

"Despite my vehement arguments, Fudge has initiated the process of stationing Dementors at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, his tone icy. "The castle desperately needs a Defense professor capable of protecting our trauma-impacted student population from the horrors they could be forced to relive."

Remus closed his eyes. He, a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? It was ludicrous, absolutely inconceivable—but it was also all he had ever wanted. To teach, to teach at Hogwarts. To join the ranks of witches and wizards he had long admired, who had taught him, shaped him, made him into the person he was today. And Dumbledore was promising him limitless Wolfsbane—and the opportunity to know Harry, Harry, the son of the two most kind and passionate friends he had ever known…

For a very long moment, nobody spoke. At last, Remus released a shaky breath.

"I would be honored to serve as your Defense professor," he said hoarsely.

Dumbledore blinked. Then, his face split into a beaming smile. In a flash, he leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together loudly. "Remus, this is excellent news. I and the rest of the staff are so delighted to have you."

Remus thought of Snape and how the surly former Slytherin could hardly be anything close to delighted about the news of Remus's hire—and he had to bite his lip to contain a snort.

"When am I expected to be on campus?" Remus asked, standing and following Dumbledore in the direction of the front door.

"That is entirely your prerogative," Dumbledore said, lifting his rippling blue traveling cloak onto his shoulders. "Many professors will arrive near the end of August, to set up for the next year. Others, like Professor McGonagall, scarcely leave the campus at all for the summer—and of course, some choose to arrive on the first of September, just like the students."

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. "I look forward to seeing you there, Remus."

"Me too, Professor," Remus nodded, giving Dumbledore a small grin.

Then, just as Dumbledore reached to open the front door, Remus was seized by the urge to ask the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since the moment he'd picked up the Prophet last week to receive the shock of his life.

"Do they know how he did it?" Remus blurted out.

Dumbledore paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at Remus, frowning. "I beg your pardon?"

"Siri—I mean, Black," Remus said in a rush, his face heating up. "Does the Ministry have any leads about—about his escape?"

Dumbledore's face grew heavy. "None whatsoever, no matter what Fudge has been telling the Prophet," he murmured. "Not a soul has ever managed it before—Fudge was certain that Sirius had died trying to swim off the island, but then he was sighted in the West Country."

He's an animagus, he's an animagus. The words were at the tip of Remus's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say them. What was the point? Remus asked himself. He would have to tell the whole, messy tale, causing posthumous harm to the memories and reputations of James and Peter. Besides, there was no guarantee that Sirius had used his Animagus form to escape the prison in the first place—no matter what the nagging voice in the back of Remus's head thought.

"Remus, is there something on your mind?"

Remus jumped, his eyes latching onto Dumbledore's. But then almost immediately, he looked away—Dumbledore's gaze was a little too piercing for Remus's liking.

"No—not at all, Professor," Remus said, shaking his head. "I—I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Remus could feel Dumbledore's gaze linger on him for another moment. Then— "At Hogwarts," Dumbledore repeated warmly, clapping Remus's shoulder, before he opened the front door and slipped out onto the cottage's tiny veranda.

Remus watched the headmaster stroll into the rolling Yorkshire landscape. Then, he closed the front door and leaned his forehead against it—waiting keenly until he heard the faint pop of Dumbledore disapparating to release the long, heavy breath that had built up in his chest.