Remus was finishing up a bowl of chicken stew, his third of the week, when he heard a soft rapping at his door. Carefully he set down his spoon, heart pounding; no one was supposed to know where he lived, not even his colleagues at the cauldron manufacturing plant where he was working. No one except for a few old Order members he'd left his information with in case of emergency.

Swallowing, he went to answer the door, climbing over his cottage's tattered furniture with his wand in hand. He pulled open the door to find none other than Albus Dumbledore standing at his threshold, dressed in velvet robes and a very large hat. It certainly didn't look like any kind of emergency.

"Professor," Remus said, stumbling aside to let him in. "I wasn't expecting you." He hadn't seen Dumbledore in over ten years.

Dumbledore smiled in response. "I hope you'll forgive my intrusion, Remus," he said, "but it wasn't easy to track you down. You've certainly been staying out of the limelight since the end of the war."

Remus stared at his feet. The years following Voldemort's defeat, wonderful for the rest of the wizarding world, had been nothing short of hell for him. He had no friends, no future prospects, and without James and Sirius, no source of income. Finding jobs as an unregistered werewolf wasn't easy; mostly he took on manual work, the sorts of jobs where no one looked too deeply into your past before hiring you, and he quit each one as soon as his coworkers began to voice suspicions about his disappearances. He could have gotten work in the Muggle world, of course, where he wouldn't have to worry about being found out—but Remus had lost and given up so much already, and he couldn't bear to leave behind the world he'd been raised in, too.

"I suppose I have," he murmured. "I—after everything that happened, I guess I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet from it all."

"Certainly understandable," Dumbledore said. "How has your father been doing? I haven't heard from him in quite some time, either."

"He's all right." Remus visited him for Christmas every year, and every year Lyall Lupin begged his son to move back in with him—"you'd be doing me a favor, Remus, I could use the company"—but Remus wasn't going to burden his father with his problems and his presence any more than he already had. Lyall didn't deserve that.

Remus glanced back up, and he and Dumbledore locked eyes. "And how have you been doing?" the professor asked, a bit softer this time.

Remus sighed, gesturing to himself in response. He was only thirty-three, but he looked much older—his hair was already peppered with gray, and his face was wan and marred by scars and wrinkles. He'd undergone twelve years' worth of full moons without any Marauders by his side, and they'd certainly taken their toll: he was almost never entirely free of pains anymore, and sometimes after the moons he was so drained he had to use a cane to get around. Werewolves didn't tend to live very long lives, but Remus felt like his time would be up sooner than he'd expected. The thought was almost relieving.

"I fear Madam Pomfrey would not be pleased with the state of you," Dumbledore said gently. Remus's lips twitched. "Still, I'm sure she has plenty of pick-me-ups in her arsenal that could help if you were to come back to Hogwarts with me."

Remus blinked. "Is that an invitation?"

"A job offer, actually. I came here to ask if you, Remus Lupin, would like to become Hogwarts' new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Remus couldn't have heard him right. "What—me, a Hogwarts professor? You can't be serious, sir." Could he?

"On the contrary, Remus, I am very much serious. Our last professor for the position, Mr Lockhart, is very much indisposed, and I am in need of a competent replacement. Professor Byrne—the last Defense professor I've had who was able to last more than a year—always spoke very highly of you, and your time with the Order certainly proved you possess the skills to contend with even the darkest of the Dark Arts. I can think of no one better to pass their knowledge on to the next generation."

For a moment, Remus felt a brief rush of happiness; teaching at Hogwarts had always been a dream for him, one he'd never thought could actually come true. Then he fell back down to reality, to his senses. "I'm honored, Professor," he said. "It means the world to me that you'd want me for the job. But with my…my condition…. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I agreed to something that would put the Hogwarts students in danger. I know the Shrieking Shack is still there, but it's—it's not perfect. Something could still happen."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I suspected that might be a concern for you," he said. "And I'm happy to say I have a solution. You've heard of the development of Wolfsbane Potion, I'm sure?"

"Of course." When Remus had first heard of Wolfsbane Potion—a brand-new concoction that allowed a werewolf to keep his human mind during the full moon—he'd thought for a second that the curse which had plagued his entire life might finally have a cure—or something close enough to one, at least. But the potion was expensive and ridiculously complex, requiring a master potioneer to complete, which Remus certainly was not. There was no way he could make the potion himself, and it wasn't exactly the sort of brew one could pick up from their local apothecary. Unless Remus were to register with the Ministry, he had no way of trying it.

"If you take me up on my offer," Dumbledore said, "I will personally ensure that you have access to a constant supply of Wolfsbane Potion during your tenure, brewed by our Potions master himself—your old friend Severus."

Remus narrowed his eyes, surprised. "Severus agreed to that?"

"He will," Dumbledore assured him. "He is…less than pleased at my offering the job to you, but he'll come to respect my decision."

"I'm sure he was far less than pleased." Remus was silent for a moment, hesitating; then he asked, the words sticking like tar in his mouth, "Your decision…it doesn't have anything to do with Sirius, does it?"

A muscle twitched in Dumbledore's jaw at the mention of Sirius's name. The former Marauder had broken out of Azkaban only days before, and it was all anyone in the wizarding world could talk about. Yesterday Remus had disconnected his radio and cancelled his Prophet subscription—he couldn't stand to hear any more about it, to even think about it. Sirius, who he hated, who he still loved…Sirius was out there, somewhere, and no one knew what he was going to do. Remus had been having nightmares every night since his escape: Sirius's dog snarling over him, going for his throat…Sirius in his bed, kissing him fiercely with blood staining their tangled sheets, the mangled bodies of James and Lily and Peter hanging from the walls….

"No," Dumbledore said firmly, "this has nothing to do with Sirius. I made up my mind to ask you weeks before he broke out." He tilted his head; Remus let out a soft sigh. "It does have a bit to do with young Harry Potter, though. I believe your influence would be good for your old friend's son. He's been through quite a lot these past couple of years—you'd be proud of who he's become, I think. He looks almost peculiarly like James."

Remus bit his lip. He knew: he'd seen pictures of Harry Potter in the papers, and the resemblance was painfully apparent. So many times throughout the years, he had almost convinced himself to take a trip down to Little Whinging or King's Cross just to catch a glimpse of the boy, see how he was doing—but always he had talked himself out of it. Harry would have no idea who he was, and seeing him wouldn't do either of them any good. Still, last summer when Hagrid had written to him asking for photos of James and Lily to compile for their son, Remus had spent hours digging through his storage and his father's attic to find every last one he could send. The thought of seeing Harry at Hogwarts—of teaching him, of mentoring him as he would if James and Lily had survived—made Remus feel unexpectedly warm inside. Maybe this one thing could turn out a little bit like it was supposed to.

"You really think I'd be a good professor?" he asked.

Dumbledore bowed his head. "I believe you would be a phenomenal one, Remus."

Remus took a breath, his heartbeat drumming fiercely in his ears, and gave his old headmaster a slow, small nod. "All right, then," he decided. "I'll do it."