29 June 1994

To say the least, I am shocked, angry, and appalled that you ever thought you could get away with this. I have no idea how on Earth you managed to dupe Professor Dumbledore into giving you the Defense professorship, but I have already contacted the headmaster and my acquaintances in Law Enforcement about making a formal inquiry into the matter. Expect to hear from Madam Undersecretary Dolores J. Umbridge in the next few weeks, you wretched half-breed.

Miriam Edgecomb

Remus put the letter aside, feeling ill—whether from what he'd just read or from the lingering effects of his first real transformation in nearly a year, he didn't know. He had received more owls in the five days since he'd moved out of the castle and back into his tumbledown Yorkshire cottage than he had in the decade before. The sheer volume of letters was so much that Remus was afraid of leaving his house for more than an hour at a time. On Monday, when he'd gone down to the village market to buy some bread and meat, he had come back home to find a swarm of owls pecking incessantly at every window and door of the building. And though Remus lived far enough away from the heart of the Muggle village that he needn't worry, the mere thought of driving any more unwanted attention to himself was unbearable.

Remus glanced at the letter he'd just tossed aside. Miriam Edgecomb—whom he suspected was the mother of Marietta, a rather tiresome fourth year he'd taught this year—had sent Remus one of the more civil letters he'd received in the past five days. For one thing, it wasn't a Howler. And for another thing, it wasn't hexed, jinxed, or cursed. Remus knew he ought to stop opening the letters, but for some masochistic reason, he couldn't bring himself to. The letters (abominable though some of them were) were proof that the last year he'd spent at Hogwarts was, in fact, real and not a fading nightmare, as it was beginning to feel.

Of course, over the past few days, he'd also received some letters from people who didn't wish him dead. Minerva had sent him photographs of the end-of-term feast and had told him in her letter, much to Remus's relief, that Hermione had finally dropped Muggle Studies and turned in her Time-Turner. She'd also told Remus that Snape had become the pariah of the staff. Even professors Sinistra and Vector, who had been quite distrustful of Remus, couldn't stand to be around him. This had cheered Remus up a little.

Dumbledore had written twice. The first time was to let Remus know that by no means should he take any threat of Ministry action against him seriously, for the headmaster himself had made sure that Remus was protected from it all. (This had only made Remus feel worse, for even after everything Remus had kept secret from Dumbledore throughout the years, the headmaster continued to be nothing but supportive.) Dumbledore's second letter had included a list of prospective employers he'd contacted in the last week, all of whom were willing to offer Remus an interview despite the Ministry's recent Anti-Werewolf Act. Remus had thrown this letter out immediately—he would not let Dumbledore put himself on the line for him one more time.

Sirius's letter had come as a delightful surprise. He and Buckbeak had made it safely out of Scotland and were now in hiding. He'd signed his letter Mischief managed, Sirius, and the mere knowledge that his friend was alive and well—that the twelve years he'd spent in Azkaban, clinging to his innocence, were not in vain—had made Remus sure that he himself would get through these next few weeks, owls and Howlers be damned. Remus imagined his friend somewhere warm and sunny, with pretty witches. He deserved nothing less.

And finally, Remus had received countless letters from former students. Harry, of course, had written him immediately. Dean Thomas had sent Remus a hand-drawn portrait of himself in his office, grindylow tank and all. Ginny Weasley had sent Remus her exam scores, all top marks. And Cedric Diggory had written him an a nine-inch essay on all the ways Remus could fight the Ministry for his employment back.

Just then, there was a whoosh from the window, and Remus looked up. A new owl had just flown into his kitchen. Wearily, Remus reached out to take the scroll from the bird—but before he could so much as touch the letter, the owl bent down and bit his hand—hard. Remus cried out in alarm, jerking back. And with a satisfied, indignant sort of hoot, the owl dropped the letter unceremoniously onto Remus's kitchen table and swept out through the window.

Gritting his teeth in frustration and exhaustion, Remus tore open the letter.

You, werewolf, are a curse upon this world. That our children had to endure months of close proximity to you is something we will never be able to forgive ourselves for allowing—and we hope for your own sake that you never forgive yourself either.

Wilfred and Agnes Smith

Remus was shaking. A terrible, wrenching scream was building in his chest, tearing at him from the inside. And suddenly, for the first time in five days, Remus was acutely, painfully aware of how unfair it all was. All these parents, and grandparents, and Ministry officials would never know—never understand—the guilt he was feeling, that their harsh words could never measure up to the voices inside his own head. They would never understand that Remus had, in one day, lost his best friends all over again. They would never understand the pain of finally, finally knowing their best friends' son—only to have to bid him a rushed, disingenuous goodbye, not ten months later.

They would never understand, never believe that Remus was a good person. So what was the point?

The annoying voice in his head—which always sounded so much like James—was already calling him an idiot for thinking such useless thoughts. There were plenty of reasons, good and bad, for Remus to continue to plow through this next year—Harry, Sirius, Peter, Voldemort. But right now, Remus didn't want to be brave. He didn't want to be resilient. He wanted to wallow and wither away, and he wanted to pretend that he had never been a professor at all. Because right now, the pain and the hurt of the past ten months was beginning to remind Remus of every reason he had ever had to give into the hatred and bitterness that the Wizarding world wished upon him.

Remus was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and self-loathing that he didn't notice the new owl that had entered the kitchen until it was right next to him, cooing softly. Remus jumped in his chair, turning to look at the owl, which was gazing back at him through wide, perturbed eyes. Without second thought, Remus reached out a trembling hand and untied the scroll of parchment from the owl's foot.

Then, numbly, scarcely aware of what he was doing, Remus unrolled the parchment and began to read.

Dear Professor Lupin,

Thank you so much for everything you've done for me this year. I've never liked a class besides Herbology before, and I never thought I would enjoy D.A.D.A. so much. Thank you for letting me sit in your office at lunch, giving me tea after classes, and helping me with my homework. Most of all, thank you for not hating me when Sirius Black got into the castle because of me. Everyone else made fun of me or treated me differently, but you never did.

You're the best Defense professor we've had, and most everyone in my class is so sad you won't be there next year. My gran's always told me that you should never judge people for what they are, only who they are. We don't care that you're a werewolf because you're the nicest, most supportive teacher we've ever had, and it's not fair that you had to leave.

I got good marks in Charms and D.A.D.A. this year for the first time, and it's all because of your help. I hope you get to be a teacher somewhere else next year. Your students are going to be so lucky.

Yours sincerely,
Neville F. Longbottom

Remus didn't realize he was beaming until he caught sight of his reflection on the window in front of him. The sight startled him, and he realized, with a jolt, that it had been so long since he'd smiled like this, really, fully. Remus looked down at the letter again, feeling his heart leap into his throat as he reread Neville's words: We don't care that you're a werewolf because you're the nicest, most supportive teacher we've ever had, and it's not fair that you had to leave.

He had spent so many days—years of his life, really—convincing himself that he was undeserving, of love, of appreciation, of employment. To hear the opposite, especially put so matter-of-factly by a teenager, was staggering.

Remus stared down at the letter for a few more moments.

Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, walked to the kitchen window—which had been open for five days straight—and latched it shut.

Author's Note:

Originally, this chapter was going to be about the five goodbyes Remus said before leaving Hogwarts—to Dumbledore, to Sirius (via letter), to Peter (mentally), to Harry, and to Minerva. But that got me thinking about what the first few days out of Hogwarts might have been like for him, about all the goodbyes Remus *didn't* say because he didn't think he deserved to. And thus, this chapter was born.

With this chapter, we conclude our PoA arc. Chapter 51 will jump ahead by exactly one year, to June 29, 1995. Get STOKED for The Order, Take Two!

Also, I can't believe it, but we are now 75 percent done with this story. *shrieks and runs around*

Best,
Ari