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It was a chill summer evening when Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Appeared before the gate of a tumbledown cottage that stood out in Yorkshire open country.
Only the rays of the waning moon enlightened the cobble path which led to the door of the shack, but it was enough to step forward with sure-footedness.
Albus Dumbledore pushed the rusty gate inward, making it screech at his touch, then he walked the short path and lowered his fist on the worn wooden door.
A few minutes later he had received no answer, so he knocked again, this time amplifying the noise with a bit of magic.
He had to wait only a bunch of seconds before the door slammed open.
On the threshold there was a man as worn as his home – his eyes marked by dark circles, his clothes ratty and old, his breath short to betray the sudden sprint he must have made to dart at the door.
Yet, the hand that held the wand against Albus Dumbledore was steady, sure, ready.
The Headmaster smiled serenely, looking at him with his piercing blue eyes.
“Remus. What a pleasure to see you,” he said, his gaze shifting to the still raised wand. “I suppose you weren’t expecting my visit.”
The man kept glaring at him. “I thought I’d done a better job with the defenses around the house,” he said sharply. “I haven’t heard you coming.”
“Oh, they are excellent defenses, but I still remember some old tricks, despite the advancing years,” said the Headmaster with glee. “Now, I’m desolate to bother you at this late hour, but there are several topics I would like to discuss with you, if you would be so kind as to invite me in.”
“You know perfectly well I won’t let you in until you’ve proven to me it’s really you, Dumbledore, even if I really wish you’re the only person capable of getting past my defenses without leaving a single trace.”
“Very well, very well,” nodded Albus Dumbledore, smiling gently. “I am pleased to see you haven’t lost your old and healthy habits toward prudence.”
The ancient wizard drew his wand, summoning his Patronus non verbally. A silver phoenix rose majestically in the night, then vanished in a burst of white flames. The Headmaster looked back at the younger man just in time to see a silver wolf running away and vanishing into thin air.
The man lowered his wand, stowing it behind his shabby robes, and he finally let a smile crease his lips.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, considering the last news,” he said to the Headmaster, stepping aside to let him in.
The inside of the cottage was semi-derelict as the outside had promised.
Except for the bathroom, whose yellowish sink could be glimpsed behind the door left ajar, the house consisted in a single room.
The furniture was reduced to the essential – a bed, a small wardrobe, a table with two chairs – and eaten by woodworms, but overall the space would have seemed clean, if it weren’t for the chaos that ruled.
The table was doused in crumbled newspapers and tore magazines; in most of them Sirius Black’s moving picture stood out on the front page, while others had been flipped through to highlight related news.
On the bed, frayed clothes laid messily near an old suitcase that just waited to be packed, and close by were stored several low-quality magical objects and ingredients, such as a Sneakoscope and potion ivy leaves.
On the shelf above the fireplace there was a small stock of food, a tiny pot half-filled with Floo Powder, and an old radio.
It was the house of a lonely, poor man – a man ready to leave.
The Headmaster looked around while he approached the chair he was offered. Dumbledore thanked amiably for the courtesy and sat down, but Remus stayed up and hastily collected the newspapers on a corner of the table. He then made the water in the kettle boil with a wave of his wand, poured the hot water in two mugs and put a teabag in each one.
When he sat down, Dumbledore simply stared at him through his half-moon spectacles for a while. Remus held his gaze, and eventually Dumbledore let his eyes wander again around the cottage. When he spoke, he did it with the cheerful tone of someone who is complimenting the colour of the curtains.
“I see you are about to leave, Remus.”
“It doesn’t take your keen intuition to guess that much.”
“Oh, it does not indeed,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “But I believe it is the where and the why the most intriguing part of the matter.”
Remus huffed. “As if it isn’t obvious as well.”
Dumbledore ignored the retort and serenely picked one of the magazines, which titled Sirius Black affected by Stockholm Syndrome?
“Obvious?” he asked, flicking through the pages of the Quibbler before looking Remus in the eyes yet again. “What it is obvious is that in front of me sits a capable, fair and talented wizard that in the past years had very few occasions to prove his worth. A wizard that has lived alone for too long, but has finally found the strength to get out and put his skills at use.”
Remus smiled coyly. He didn’t receive compliments very often, and they pleased him more than he was willing to admit.
“And yet, I wonder…” resumed Dumbledore, “is he truly driven by his noble ideals?”
The Headmaster rummaged around the newspapers, picked a front page with a big picture and stretched it out on the table: Sirius Black had a gaunt face and circled eyes, but he looked at them with a determinate gaze.
“I wonder… what lie convinced this talented wizard that it was right to track Sirius Black down?”
Remus frowned at him, clenching his jaw, but Dumbledore kept speaking, nonplussed.
“Has he told himself it is his moral obligation to capture Black because who, if not him, would be able to understand his moves – to anticipate them, even? Or has he told himself that becoming a bounty hunter he may finally be able to make a living?”
The Headmaster was perfectly calm, but Remus was fuming. How dared Dumbledore judging him?
“Do you doubt I’d be able to find him?” he asked with a harsh tone.
“Of course not, my dear Remus!” said Dumbledore with an amused smile that irritated Remus even more.
“Then you’ll see how catching him is my right and my responsibility,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not to mention that I’d finally have a purpose that would make my useless life a bit less useless, for a change.”
“That would be a very noble purpose indeed, but I believe that if you really felt obligated to help catch him, you would not be here making arrangements – no, you would have already used that bit of Floo Powder you have left to go to the Ministry and tell them everything you know.”
“Pity that the Ministry isn’t interested in tagging along with werewolves,” spat out Remus with resentment.
“I fear this is one of the several lies you are telling yourself, Remus,” said Dumbledore gravely, like if he was giving him an unpleasant diagnosis. “You know perfectly well they would be ready to cooperate with you, in order to put behind bars the first wizard that has ever escaped from Azkaban.”
“Well, let’s hear what this great truth would be, then, since I’m apparently full of rubbish!”
“Oh, the truth is very simple, I am afraid. You want to look for him on your own because you do not want to capture him.”
Remus couldn’t believe his own ears. “No, no, you’re right, I don’t want to catch the man who betrayed and killed my best friends, and who also happens to be Voldemort’s right hand and one of the most powerful and dangerous wizards around,” he said with bitter sarcasm.
“No, you don’t want to catch him.” Dumbledore took a deep breath. “You want to kill him. Stop lying to yourself, Remus. We know perfectly well it is not the moral obligation nor the money to drive you. It is a blind, insatiable desire for revenge.”
The Headmaster had struck a nerve, and Remus felt exposed in a way that put him on the defense. “And what if I do?” he asked harshly. “Not even you, with all your high-sounding names, can dare to come here and blame me. Especially not you, since you know perfectly well how deeply Black ruined my life, and not just mine.”
“I totally agree with you.”
Remus widened his eyes, dumbfounded. He had expected Dumbledore to try to dissuade him, to lecture him… not to cheerfully agree.
“It happens, in fact,” continued Dumbledore with a seraphic smile, “that I am not here to blame you. I am here to offer you an alternative, one that all things considered could… how did you put it? Make your useless life a bit less useless, I believe. One that, all things considered, only I and my high-sounding names can offer. And now, if you would be so kind as to listen to this old wizard a little longer, I will gladly discuss it in front of that cup of tea that I would serve before it gets cold, if I were you.”
Remus sent an inquisitive glance at Dumbledore, eager to find out what this was all about, but the Headmaster kept smiling seraphically, not giving anything away, so he stood up, brought the mugs to the table and grabbed a bowl of sugar from the shelf with the stocked food.
“I’ve got no milk,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “And only one teaspoon. How much sugar do you want?”
“Three, if you please. I’m afraid I can’t help indulging my sweet tooth, despite all Madam Pomfrey’s recommendations,” said Dumbledore with a wink.
They sat quietly for a bit, sipping their mildly warm and probably too strong tea.
It was Remus who broke the silence, too curious to wait much longer. “I’m listening.”
Dumbledore put his cup down and fixed him with his penetrating blue eyes. “You have to know, dear Remus, that for the last few decades two have been the worries that trouble me before the new term begins. The first is if someone will finally get me a pair of wool socks for my birthday, instead of the usual, overvalued books,” said Dumbledore with amusement. If Remus hadn’t known him well enough, he would have thought he was nuts. “The second is if this year I will finally have a Defence Against the Dark Art professor actually capable of teaching something to my students – provided that I have one in the first place. Now, I already know there is no hope about my first concern, but I am here to find out if I can sort out the second one.”
Remus’s hearts hammered at the Headmaster’s words, but he didn’t dare take them for granted. “You... are you offering me a job at Hogwarts?”
“Absolutely,” said Dumbledore with delight. “Between us, I am quite proud of my choice. I could have hardly thought of a more fitting candidate.”
“Are you kidding?”
The Headmaster smiled brightly. “Not at all. Of course that would mean you will have to give up your little... hunt, to move at Hogwarts on a permanent basis.”
“Teaching at Hogwarts…” murmured Remus, all the arrangements to leave suddenly meaningless. Could he really do that? It seemed crazy and too good to be true at the same time… It would be the best thing that happened to him in more than a decade… It would be a dream...
“I promise the castle is as welcoming as it has always been, at least until you run into Peeves,” said the Headmaster, clearly enjoying himself.
But Remus couldn’t share Dumbledore’s amusement, because he had just remembered the reason he had always struggled so much to find or keep a decent job – or any job at all, actually.
Was he supposed to transform in the Shrieking Shack? He felt an unpleasant lurch at the mere idea… The last time it had happened, he had had his friends beside him, and the idea of being there without them was painful and terrifying at the same time.
And there was the fact that when he had been a student not everybody had noticed his absences, but as a teacher all the school would have: students were meant to find out, eventually, and the Shack wasn’t even that safe, was it? He had been followed once, so it could happen again…
He swallowed. “What about the full moon?”
“Oh, I am very glad you brought it up, my dear Remus,” said Dumbledore with a pleased smile. “I should have mentioned right away that one of our teachers happens to be able to brew a perfect Wolfsbane Potion, and the school is willing to bear all the costs.”
Remus felt his eyes prickling at the unbelievable news; he blinked hastily, trying to maintain his composure. The Wolfsbane Potion… Merlin, he would be willing to work for free in exchange for a hot meal per day, a proper roof upon his head and a painless transformation.
A moment later he realised which teacher Dumbledore was referring to, and he almost choked on his tea.
“Snape?” he asked, loudlier than he intended. “You want me to drink a potion brewed by Snape?”
“I have complete faith in the goodwill of all my teachers and absolute trust in the talent of some. Severus is among them,” stated Dumbledore, looking truly serious for the first time.
Remus wasn’t very convinced by those words, and from Dumbledore’s look, he knew he wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it.
The Headmaster sighed. “Dark times await us,” he said, concerned. “With Voldemort who I am afraid soon or later will be back and Sirius on the run, Merlin knows how much Harry needs a professor capable of actually teaching him how to defend himself…”
Remus’s eyes widened upon hearing Harry’s name, his heart beating fast yet again. “Do you think… do you think Sirius will look for him?”
“As a matter of fact, I would be surprised if he will not, and I am quite baffled that you had not thought of it, being so determined to catch him.”
Remus could see how silly he had been, now. “I thought he’d be on the track of what’s left of Voldemort,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Oh, I do not doubt that this is one of his next goals, but I will not deny that I would sleep more peacefully knowing I have a trusted man at Hogwarts – one that knows the castle as well as Black, and Black better than anybody else.”
“What’s he like?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” said Dumbledore with amusement.
“I meant… Harry,” specified Remus, despite being sure that Dumbledore knew perfectly well who he was referring to.
“Why ask me when you have the chance to see it with your own eyes?”
Dumbledore put his mug down and smiled kindly before checking his unintelligible watch. “It is running quite late, I am afraid. I am sorry for taking so much of your time. If you are not interested, I will look for another candidate, but it has been a pleasure to s–”
“All right.”
“All right, what?” asked Dumbledore with a knowing smile.
Remus rolled his eyes. “All right, I’ll teach at Hogwarts. But only for this year, giving the circumstances,” he added on a second though. He would love to teach there forever, but he didn’t want to delude himself about it – he had been burned too often to fall in that trap once more.
“Wonderful!” Dumbledore exclaimed cheerfully, clapping his hands. “I will see you on the first of September, then.”
“Yeah… see you on the first.”
Dumbledore had already stood when Remus gave in to the temptation of asking for more. “Hagrid says he looks exactly like James.”
The Headmaster smiled softly. “He does… except for his eyes.”
Remus nodded. He remembered that. “He has Lily’s eyes.”
“He does indeed.”
Finally, Remus was smiling as well.