Disclaimer: Though it might be nice to be the genius that owns the rights to Harry Potter and be filthy rich because of it, I am most definitely neither.

Author's Note: As usual, thank you so very much for the reviews that you left and as always, feel free to leave more! And as a special message for Flesca—all I have to say is, "All in due time." I've got a plan to work out! :-) And now, fast forward! This is another Remus chapter, with some other familiar faces tossed in for flavor.

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July 31st, 1993.

"Welcome aboard, Professor Lupin."

Remus forced himself to remain calm as he gripped Albus Dumbledore's long, thin hand. But even intense self-discipline could not keep a broad grin off of his face. Professor Lupin. He might never get used to that.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you're doing for me, sir," he replied. "I assure you, Professor, I'll do my very best."

"I have no doubt of that," the Headmaster of Hogwarts replied, his blue eyes a-twinkle. "But really, Remus… I haven't been your professor since the good year of 1977! I'm sure we would both feel more comfortable if you called me Albus."

"Easier said than done, Professor," Remus admitted sheepishly, and Dumbledore laughed.

"Yes, old habits do die hard," the old man agreed. "I suppose Professor will do for now." He pushed up from his desk and said, "Now, I'm afraid I must continue with my paperwork. I shall send for Minerva McGonagall to show you around the premises." He moved for the fireplace, sending Remus a wink. "I daresay you remember Professor McGonagall?"

He couldn't contain a laugh. He was employed again—everything was at least ten times funnier. "Of course," Remus responded, still chuckling. "I'm sure she hasn't yet forgiven me for all the mischief I was unable to keep James from getting into." Even after all these years, a slight pang went through his chest at the mention of his old friend's name.

Dumbledore echoed the laugh and took a pinch of powder from a pot atop his mantle, throwing it into the merrily crackling fire. "Minerva," he called into the green fire, "kindly come to the entrance to my office when you have a moment. I have just hired a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—I trust you will show him to his office and help him to get—ah—acquainted."

A crisp, stern voice echoed through the fireplace, "Certainly, Headmaster," and then faded as the flames returned to their normal color and height.

"Forgive me for not escorting you downstairs, Remus," Dumbledore said graciously, sitting back at his desk. He gave a good-natured sigh. "The longer I am Headmaster the more paperwork I find I have to file. Someday I suspect I shall be buried alive in it."

"I can find my way," Remus said, gripping his tattered briefcase in one hand. He hesitated at the door. "Thank you again, Professor," he said solemnly. "I really need this job. Since that anti-werewolf legislation has gone through, it's been harder than ever to…"

"I quite understand, Professor Lupin," Dumbledore said kindly. "But I hope you will not insult the both of us by assuming that I have appointed you to this position merely because you cannot get a job elsewhere." He gestured to the parchment upon which Remus had drafted his resume. "Your credentials are quite good, and as I recall from your schooling, your Defense Against the Dark Arts marks were always at the top of your class. No, I have chosen you for this position because you are the most qualified applicant. No more or no less." He cleared his throat. "You may have the remainder of the summer to set your affairs in order. I will secure a seat for you on the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. You will arrive with the students. I will see you in a month."

Remus nodded and moved to the door, heading down the spinning spiral staircase. Just as it had many years before, Dumbledore's confidence filled him with his own assurance. He left the Headmaster's office, the wall sliding closed behind him, and looked happily down the stone corridors with their flickering torchlight and animated portraits. It was so good to be back at Hogwarts.

He busied himself with memories and within moments the sound of brisk footsteps echoed through the halls. "Welcome to Hogwarts," Minerva McGonagall's clipped voice barked from behind him. He turned to face her, smiling—it had been many years since he'd heard her voice. "I am Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor house and professor of Transfigur—"

She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, and a rare smile of surprised pleasure spread over her stern face. "Why, Remus Lupin!" she pronounced, gripping his hand as he reached out to her. She tilted her head up to him. "I can hardly believe it. You are the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"As of about five minutes ago," Remus answered proudly. He shook his head admiringly. "You look exactly the same, Professor."

"Hmph. Flattery will get you nowhere, Lupin," McGonagall replied, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Well!" she said smartly, gesturing for him to follow her down the hall. "I must say that your appointment comes as a rather pleasant surprise. The position's last occupants were…" She shook her head once, then looked at him curiously. "If memory serves me, you had always expressed an interest in professorial work, did you not?"

"That's true," Remus said, a slight cloud moving over his good mood, "but it just never seemed to come into fruition." He shrugged, attempting lightness, and said, "Werewolves don't make the best teachers, apparently. In fact, if it weren't for the discovery of the wolfsbane potion, I'm not even sure Dumbledore would have considered me."

McGonagall nodded sympathetically. Years before it had been she who had walked out with him, Remus, to the Whomping Willow. It had been she who had offered sympathy and guidance in moments of anger or weakness. Remus had always been fond of McGonagall for this reason. "The Headmaster recognizes aptitude when he sees it," she remarked. "And you have always had the makings of a fine professor, Lupin, despite the company you kept."

Remus chuckled at the primness of her tone. Indeed, his old Head of House had forgotten very little. "Thank you," he replied. "I still can't get over it. When Dumbledore sent me an owl this morning, I never imagined it would be to offer me a job."

"Yes, well, at least I shall know who to blame if you prove to be incompetent," McGonagall returned and they both smiled. "Come on, then, and I'll show you to your classroom."

It was like walking backwards into a memory as McGonagall waved her wand to open the huge, heavy doors that lead to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Remus paused in the doorway and let the welcoming smell of dust and stone wash over him. The huge windows that paneled the left wall looked proudly over the lush grounds—Remus could remember many a day as summer approached that his attention had been diverted from lecture out to the inviting air and sunlight. He smiled, thinking that now it would be he who would chide the students to pay attention, as his professors had done so long ago. The sensation was strangely pleasurable.

"It's like falling back in time," he remarked as he and McGonagall left the huge classroom again. "I never thought I'd be back here …" Remus laughed softly to himself. "James was always certain that they'd have jinxed the perimeter to keep us from coming back after we'd graduated."

"I, at least, was sorely tempted," McGonagall answered wryly, but her sharp eyes softened at the mention of James. "I'd have been thwarted in the end, however… Teaching his son is like having James with us all over again; all of the staff who remember him say so."

Remus stopped dead in his tracks. A dizzy wave washed over him and he had to shake his head twice to push off the sensation. "Oh," he murmured as McGonagall looked at him, concerned. "You mean… the boy was accepted here?" He laughed wryly. "Listen to me. Of course he was—with parents like Lily and James, how could he go anywhere else? He's nearly, what, thirteen?" He shook his head. "I can hardly believe it. That means it's been twelve years since…"

They were quiet for a moment and then resumed their walking, moving for one of the many staircases. When McGonagall spoke again, her voice was tender. "You haven't seen him since, have you?" she asked quietly.

"No." Remus shrugged. "How could I? The orders were explicit, as I recall. Harry was to be left strictly alone." He shook himself again—he had no desire to remember the old bitterness—and asked McGonagall, "I assume he's in your House?"

"Of course," McGonagall said proudly. "James and Lily's son in any other House besides Gryffindor, come now Lupin!"

"What's he like?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and suddenly his curiosity was rampant.

"Like James," McGonagall said instantly. "Certainly with the same potential in terms of academics, though I find I'm most reminded of his father when I'm reprimanding him."

Remus couldn't keep from laughing, but even to his own ears the sound was sad. "Even when he was a baby, he was always getting into something," he remembered. "Lily came home from market one day when James and Sir—when James was supposed to be watching him, and the boy had gotten into her cooking flour. He was simply covered." The memory slid over him and he basked in its glow. "Lily was furious, but James couldn't speak for laughing."

"Some things never change," McGonagall replied. She paused before a large door and said, "Well. You'll see him soon enough, and you'll know for yourself then, won't you?"

"So I will," Remus said, but the thought gave him no pleasure. Instead it dredged up a sadness that was still so sharp that Remus had to massage his chest to abate the feeling.

"This will be your office," McGonagall told him. Silently, Remus followed her into it and looked speculatively around the room. It was simple: cupboard for spare robes, bookshelves, and a handsome, though slightly decrepit, desk and chair. "And then if you'll come back here—" She lead him into an adjoining room "—this will be where you sleep. It isn't much," his former professor said apologetically. "But I'm sure you'll find—"

"No," Remus interrupted, voice soft. "It's perfectly fine, Professor."

Understatement of the century. Remus felt more at home in this room of which he had been the occupant for five minutes than he had in any of the flats that he'd lived in over the course of the past twelve years. The stone walls, rather than seeming cold and blank and imposing, instead seemed warm and worn. His palm tingled as he placed it against one wall—the rock felt alive beneath his skin. A circular stained-glass window above sent streamers of cobalt, emerald, amber and crimson light trickling through the air. A strange, triangular bed was tucked into one corner and the room was finished with a small writing desk and a worn armchair before a wide-mouthed fireplace.

He turned away from the scene and smiled at McGonagall. Suddenly he felt as though he wanted to be alone. "This is just fine," he said again. "If you don't mind terribly, Professor McGonagall, I'd like to look around a bit more, familiarize myself again. Don't let me keep you if you have something else that requires your attention."

McGonagall graciously took the hint. "I do have to start compiling the book lists for the students," she said. She turned, her long robes sweeping, and then glanced over her shoulder. "While you're getting your things together, would you be so kind as to do some research and determine which book you'll be using? I need to know that and a tentative lesson plan within the fortnight."

"Of course," he said. "I'll get it done for you as soon as possible."

"Thank you," McGonagall said. She gave another rare smile. "It certainly is good to have you back, Lupin."

"Thank you," Remus accepted. He sighed as the door closed behind her and sat down on his new bed.

Back at Hogwarts, he thought, rolling the words over his mind. Nothing could dampen this for him. Some of the best years in his life were spent within these walls. This is the start of something new, he vowed. I can feel it! This is something better. There is nothing from the past to tie me—

He paused and abruptly stood up. Idiot. There was something from the past here—trying to run from it was useless. Between Dumbledore and McGonagall—former members of Dumbledore's order from days of yore—now there was another element to contend with, an element that would keep him quite tightly bound to the past. Harry.

Sitting down heavily, he drew a tired hand over his face. Harry Potter. The boy had been small enough to blanket in one of Remus' t-shirts the last time he'd seen him. Now he was thirteen. Remus laughed and wondered wildly if the boy would remember him—for Remus certainly remembered Harry, who was now the closet thing he had to family left.

Don't be stupid, he chided. He was a year old: hardly old enough to speak. He most certainly won't remember you. And if he did, why would he care? You're not his father.

But I'm as good as he's got, a traitorous voice whispered. Maybe…

Remus rolled his shoulders and forced himself to calm. "Enough. Harry is just another student I will have to teach," he said aloud, standing and moving for the door. "A student I will have to treat the same as everyone else."

It sounded good, coming from his mouth. Let's just hope I follow through.

Somehow, though, he doubted that he could.

---

"Note to self," Remus murmured, ducking under a dusty tapestry for the third time. "Second staircase on the left changes destinations every ten minutes. Try not to get caught on it."

Having spent the bulk of the day exploring his old haunts, Remus was feeling somewhat exhausted and quite ready to head back to his old flat. He'd wandered down the halls for hours, happily mentally planning the next month before he could return.

Give my landlord notice. Start packing—oh, who are you kidding? That'll take all of ten minutes. Head to the library, find out what book I'm going to use for my class—Ha! It's unbelievable: my class! Anyway, pick a book… then leave London… Leave London… LEAVE LONDON!

But in his wanderings, he'd entirely lost track of time. He found himself deep in conversation with Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, the old Gryffindor ghost, when the growling of his stomach echoed down the halls. Bidding farewell to Nearly Headless Nick, he realized he should probably head into Hogsmeade and get some dinner before taking the Floo back to London.

"Easier said than done," he said now, turning around a step in frustration. "I'm more likely to wander around and starve to death."

He ducked through an archway that he was almost certain would lead him back to the Great Hall and grunted when he saw that he'd reached a dead end. But to his immediate and immense relief, he saw a tall, thin, dark figure at the end of the hall. At last. Who says men are too proud to ask for directions? he thought ruefully.

"Excuse me," he called out, his voice raised, "but I was wondering if you might…"

His voice trailed off as the robed figure turned around. His flesh went immediately icy as he plunged forward into a pair of cold black eyes.

The figure's hand blurred as it shot into his robes. Remus barely had time to blink—in an instant his hands were in the air, and Severus Snape's wand was pointed evenly at the dead center of his chest.

"What," Snape rasped, his voice whispered venom, "are you doing here?"

Remus' voice was lodged in his throat. He could not force himself to speak. All his muddled brain could focus on was that Snape, bane of his schoolboy existence, had his wand pointed very eagerly at his heart. Snape! Snape, who had antagonized the Marauders for the duration of their years at Hogwarts. Snape, who had never been shy in expressing his hatred for anyone with less than the purest blood. Snape, who in the beginning had joined Voldemort's cause and had cavorted with Death Eaters before Remus' eyes. Snape, who had returned to good before Voldemort's fall, vouched for by Albus Dumbledore and suspected by the rest. What was he doing at Hogwarts?!

"I asked you a question," Snape snarled, bearing down on Remus like an enormous vampire bat.

He cleared his throat, finding his voice at last. "I'm here at Dumbledore's invitation, Severus," Remus said, careful to keep his tone even.

"Oh indeed?" the other man asked, the barest hint of mockery in his tone. "The Headmaster has many guests, but I rarely find any of them lurking through the hallways like a common thief." Snape's gaze flashed, a kind of savage triumph on his face. "I should call Magical Law Enforcement and have you arrested for trespassing."

"I left Dumbledore's office awhile ago, Severus," Remus continued, ignoring the threat. "I was just looking around, getting familiar with the place again… Dumbledore offered me a position for the upcoming school year. Call him and ask him if you don't believe me."

Snape faltered, then recovered just as quickly. "What position would that be?" he asked in a low, dangerously silky voice. "The castle pet? I fail to see any other position a werewolf could adequately fill."

Remus snapped back, his voice biting, "Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am to understand the position's last occupant is currently in St. Mungo's, dealing with a severely backfired memory modification."

The same ugly something moved across Snape's face. "Don't move," he directed, then sent a light, silvery object flying out of his wand. It zipped down the hallway and disappeared around a corner, out of sight.

For a few moments the hall was silent, save for Snape's loud, angry breath and the sound of Remus' own blood pulsing in his ears. He nearly cried out in relief when Dumbledore, his face politely confused, emerged from around the bend.

"You called for me, Severus?" Dumbledore questioned. The bemusement instantly vanished when he saw Remus with his hands in the air and Snape glaring at him, wand out. A kind of understanding flooded the ancient eyes.

"What seems to be the problem here?" he inquired.

Remus cleared his throat. "Severus seems to believe I am some kind of threat to the empty school," he said, unable to keep the edge off of his voice.

Snape snapped, "Be quiet." To the Headmaster, he said, "Sir, I found the intruder lurking around the hallways and—"

"Lower your wand, Severus," Dumbledore instructed. "Professor Lupin is not an intruder here—he is my guest."

"It's true, then?" Snape demanded quietly, not moving his wand an inch. "You have offered this… this… wizard a teaching position?"

"Wand, Severus," Dumbledore ordered, his tone clipped with impatience. Reluctantly Snape lowered his wand. "Yes, I have indeed offered Remus the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He was our most qualified applicant and is as welcome at this school as you are."

"Forgive my misunderstanding, Dumbledore," Snape said, his voice unreadable but his eyes smoldering with contempt, "but I was under the impression that the Ministry of Magic classified werewolves as—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, cutting the other man off. "As I informed you nearly twenty years ago, I find there to be no harm in Remus' presence in this school," he reminded Snape. "But since you are so concerned, I trust that you will be willing to use your position as Hogwarts' Potions master to brew the wolfsbane potion for Professor Lupin every month, to guarantee that he will bring no harm to our students?" Remus started unconsciously, his eyes moving instantly at Dumbledore, who did not acknowledge him. Snape was the Potions master of Hogwarts?!

Snape's lips were pursed so tightly that Remus felt certain they would begin bleeding at any moment. "Certainly, sir," he said in a voice that told Remus he should be very, very careful of any potion that was placed before him. No one said this job's occupational hazards included being poisoned! Remus thought wildly.

"Very good." Dumbledore glanced now at Remus. "I assume this goes without saying, but I shall make the point regardless. I certainly hope that neither of you will be letting the past interfere with the fact that you are now colleagues?"

Easier said than done! his brain shouted. Nevertheless, Remus spoke first. "Of course not, Professor," he said, voice low. They both turned to Snape, who remained silent but finally jerked his head in accordance.

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well," he accepted. He looked evenly into Snape's eyes. "And of course, I trust that the agreement of the past will still hold? That only the staff and myself shall be aware of Professor Lupin's condition?"

Snape grunted. With the barest of nods to Dumbledore, he turned on his heel and retreated to the end of the corridor, where he disappeared into a classroom.

The Headmaster sighed, almost inaudibly. He turned back to Remus and offered a wry smile. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Remus," he said, a bare note of weariness in his voice. "I trust the rest of your tenure here will be somewhat less… eventful."

"At least I'll be kept on my toes," Remus answered. Then, hesitantly, "Ah, Professor… I hope you won't mind… escorting me out? I seem to be hopelessly lost."

Dumbledore laughed. "This way."

Remus was quiet as he followed Dumbledore to the entrance hall (which, he noted to his embarrassment, was simply around the corner of opposite end of the hallway where he'd met Snape), but inwardly, his mind would not quiet. He could not get over it: Snape back at Hogwarts. How long had he been there? Back in the days of Dumbledore's order, the last time Remus had seen him, Snape was head of the Research department of the Controlled Potions and Substances sector of the Ministry of Magic—a very distinguished position for a man only a few years out of school. But then, Snape had always been brilliant—even Remus, who disliked him, could not deny it. So what was he doing at Hogwarts? he asked himself.

A sudden thought crowded into his already full mind. Harry! Remus missed a step and staggered, ignoring the concerned glance his former Headmaster gave him. If Snape had been so outwardly hostile to Remus, whom he had never liked, he could only dread how he acted towards Harry Potter, the son of Snape's greatest and most hated adversary.

He was tempted say something to Dumbledore in this vein as they approached the mammoth front doors, but the look on Dumbledore's face as he turned to his former pupil quelled Remus' tongue. "You needn't worry about Severus," Dumbledore assured Remus. "He won't present any trouble for you—he is a professional, as I know you will be."

"Thank you, sir," Remus said slowly, "but that wasn't what worried me. What I was more worried about—"

"I have complete confidence in Severus Snape," Dumbledore mildly interjected, "both in his personal and professorial traits." His eyes held a note of reproach as he said, not unkindly, "He would not be here if I felt otherwise."

Appropriately chastened, Remus nodded meekly.

"I will see you in a month, Professor Lupin." Dumbledore clapped a hand on Remus' shoulder in farewell. "Take care of yourself until then."

"You too, sir," Remus replied, and shook the older man's hand as he left the school.

The doors thudded closed behind him as Remus slowly made his way down the path to Hogsmeade. He still could not believe it. If there were anything more surprising than Remus' own appointment at the school, it was Snape's.

But what did it matter? He had a job again.

Ah well, Remus thought, his good mood overcoming him once more. At least this year won't be boring. He paused, looking around at the lush summer grounds. A glorious, claret colored sunset blazed overhead as Remus took his last look at Hogwarts. "See you in a month," he said with a grin.

The castle stood silhouetted against the red sky, stoic and impassive, but Remus felt certain the halls echoed his farewell. He could not wait for September.