Disclaimer: Own nothing. Still saving up for that damned werewolf pretty-boy.
Note: Time-skip to Harry's third year of Hogwarts.
Remus looked around his den at the people wandering. There was Albus Dumbledore, the wise old Headmaster of Hogwarts; Arthur and Molly Weasley, parents of seven children; Minerva McGonnagal, the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts; Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius' favorite cousin's daughter; Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror in charge of tracking down Sirius; and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a retired Auror who had filled up most of Azkaban prison single-handedly.
There was also a number of other people, but the author of this story is lazy and doesn't feel like remembering them all. Harry was upstairs, working on his summer Charms homework, and Dumbledore was now speaking to the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, all of whom were paying no attention due to the blistering heat.
"...And our final matter of business...Hogwarts is still in need of a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, due to Professor Quirrel's demise and Professor Lockhart's memory being erased by young Misters Potter and Weasley," he said, his usual twinkle back in his clear blue eyes as he turned and looked at Remus. "So, Remus. Will you take the job?"
Remus turned and stared at Dumbledore, awestruck, as did Minerva.
"But Albus! Mister Lupin is only thirty-three, and a werewolf at that! No one will take him seriously!," she protested.
"But sir! I'm only thirty-three, and a werewolf! No one will take me seriously!," I protested simultaneously, and the rest of the Order began to chuckle.
"You may have forgotten, but Severus is thirty-three as well, and a reformed Death Eater. I'm sure you'll do just fine, Remus. We'll see you September 1st," Dumbledore said, smiling as he swept from the room, a horrified Minerva McGonnagal hot on his trail.
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