Chapter Text
Act I - The Awakening
It was the first time he’d found himself there in years.
The air was still thick with the sweet breath of winter roses and that warm, wet smell of earth. The light poured through the domed glass, turning the gleaming white petals into freshly fallen snow. Beyond the panes, the world was silent. All he could hear, as always, was the slow thunder of his heart as he moved towards where she stood barefoot and waiting. Waiting for him.
The pale woman’s expression never faltered as she watched him draw closer, her gaze coolly fixed upon his. He knew, though, to watch for that telltale flutter at her throat. For the rapid swell of her pupils. For the almost imperceptible nod of consent. And then he was across the room in two strides, burying one hand in her hair as his mouth found her neck. She tilted her head up and back so he could lose himself in the scent of her, and her whole body trembled, arms snaking around him, clinging to him as though he were the only solid thing in a rapidly dissolving world.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered urgently, as he brushed his lips against her jaw. “If you want me to stop, tell me to stop and…” but his words were lost as her mouth pressed against his. And then they were kissing as if their lives depended upon it. As if they wanted to disappear inside one another forever. As if it were the very first time. As if, too, it was the last.
Then, somewhere outside the greenhouse, a door slammed. The sound rolled through the glass like thunder, and Remus awoke with a start.
***
If there was one thing that Remus had learned from years of lycanthropy, it was how to go straight from asleep to instant operation. He didn’t need a moment to wonder why he wasn’t in his comfortable quarters at Hogwarts; he remembered all too well that he’d been forced to flee before the term had ended. That he had, having so optimistically rented out his own cottage in Yorkshire, been forced to spend the night in a tiny stone bothy in the mountains behind the school. That it had been so cold, even after using the Bluebell Flame Charm, he’d been forced to sleep bundled up in his travelling cloak. That nobody knew he was here.
So, naturally, the dream – his very favourite dream – was quickly pushed aside as he locked eyes with the large brown owl at the window. The bird stared at him meaningfully as it held out the letter tied neatly to its leg. Remus recognised the spidery handwriting on the envelope instantly, and rolled his eyes. Of course.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you,” he told the bird, absent-mindedly stroking its head as he retrieved his letter. It blinked in understanding, leaning into his hand for a moment before spreading its wings and sailing gracefully back into the sky.
Naturally, he was curious, but Remus had never been one to rush into anything. Instead, he splashed his face with some cold water from a basin, before making himself a cup of chilly black tea. He treated himself to a square of Honeyduke’s chocolate, too (he was rationing his last few bars). Then, and only then, did he open the letter from Albus Dumbledore.
‘My dear Professor Lupin, I hate to intrude upon your summer holidays,’ it began confusingly (hadn’t Remus resigned just yesterday?), ‘but it is urgent that I speak with you at once. Please return to the castle at your earliest convenience. Your friend, Albus.’
Remus snapped himself off another square of chocolate and munched it thoughtfully. Albus could have asked to meet him at Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley – even a muggle cafe, if he’d so wished (nobody ever seemed to give those flowing purple robes a second glance) – but the headmaster had instead summoned Remus back to Hogwarts. Had granted him permission, in doing so, to cross the extensive wards and protective charms that surrounded the school grounds. Why? What on earth could be so important that the disgraced former professor would be welcomed back so easily?
There was only one way to find out, he supposed. And so, with a sigh, he began bundling up his books and belongings into his battered travelling case. As he did so, he ate the rest of the chocolate bar, and allowed himself to miss her for five whole minutes.
***
Remus eyed Dumbledore warily from across the oak desk, shaking his head when the man offered him yet another lemon sherbet.
“What’s this about?” he asked quietly. “Why am I back here? It can’t be for the end of term feast.”
The headmaster looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, blue eyes unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he pulled something out of one of his many pockets. “I received a letter of my own,” he said simply, “from the board of governors.”
Remus sighed. They had expected this, of course; they had known that people would be furious their children had been exposed to a werewolf. That was why, as soon as Severus exposed his furry problem to the Slytherin students, the headmaster had so readily accepted Remus’ resignation. “If you would like me to write a statement or draft up an apology…”
“Not at all, my dear boy,” said Professor Dumbledore. “The board does not wish for you to be removed from the castle; quite the opposite, in fact. They have threatened to put a stop to some… well, let’s say some significant funding for the school if you do not remain on the teaching faculty in some capacity – and they have collected signatures from over 150 parents who have agreed to withdraw their children if you leave.”
Bloody Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, Remus thought exasperatedly to himself – although there was a fond smile playing on his lips. “I’m sure that the other Houses…” he began, but the headmaster held up his hand to stop him once again.
“My apologies, Remus, but I suspect you do not understand what I’m trying to tell you. A significant number of the parents on this list have children in Slytherin. They are, in fact, the parents of all those children who learned of your condition firsthand following Severus’ unfortunate outburst a few days ago.”
This was a genuinely startling revelation. So much so that Remus wordlessly accepted the next lemon sherbert pushed towards him and popped it into his mouth with the wrapper still on. Dumbledore, for all of his faults, was kind enough not to notice.
“I had no idea you had such powerful friends in your corner,” he remarked mildly.
“I didn’t think I had any friends in my corner,” replied Remus truthfully, wiping the hastily retrieved boiled sweet on his trouser leg. “Yourself and Minerva agreed that it was best I left; Sirius isn’t exactly in a position to campaign on my behalf. And Harry already tried and failed to keep my job for me, if you’ll remember. If the Boy Who Lived couldn’t do it…”
“And yet someone has done exactly that, Remus,” replied Dumbledore, wordlessly summoning two cups, a jug of milk, and a steaming teapot in the sort of lurid tea cosy that reminded Remus of one of the Weasley children’s homemade jumpers. “Shall I pour?”
Remus nodded, suddenly all too aware of his two-day-old clothes and stubble. He probably smelled of damp. “I can’t possibly stay on,” he said, stirring two sugar cubes into his cup. “I was reckless, and I almost killed three students. I almost killed Severus! It’s my fault we lost Peter, and it’s my fault that Sirius…”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore simply. “Yes, all of that is true. And then there’s the fact that I’ve already offered the position of Defence Against The Dark Arts Professorship to someone else.”
Remus focused his attention on stirring his tea, spoon clanking noisily against the cup. It had been less than 48 hours. The end of term feast had yet to take place. And yet, somehow, his job no longer belonged to him. He knew he had no right to be upset, and yet there it was; it hurt. Especially as he knew that Albus had gone to such lengths to save Hagrid’s job for him. Twice.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I had to move more quickly than usual, owing to the unusual circumstances of our next school year. But the fact of the matter remains: you must remain a member of the Hogwarts staff, or there apparently won't be any students to teach.”
“I’m sure there will be,” countered Remus, still staring at the contents of his cup. “It’s a bluff.”
“Of course it’s a bluff, but that doesn’t mean it’s a risk I’m willing to take – particularly given recent events,” replied the headmaster. “So, where to put you?”
Remus finally looked up, hardly daring to believe that he was being offered a second chance. Especially one he didn’t deserve. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.
“Who are we to ignore the will of our esteemed governors?” he remarked lightly. “It’s been brought to my attention that Professor Binns’ teaching methods are less than exemplary, and so I wondered if perhaps it might be time for…”
“If his dying didn’t stop him turning up to teach History of Magic each day, I doubt something as trivial as someone else taking on his job will,” replied Remus throatily, hastily dragging the back of his hand over his eyes.
“True,” replied Dumbledore, his voice suddenly far gentler, “which brings me to my second idea. Alastor Moody has agreed to come in as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor…”
“Mad Eye! That’s one way to instill some healthy paranoia in our inquiring young minds,” said Remus, only half joking.
“I’m sure Alastor’s experience of the Dark Arts will prove incredibly illuminating” corrected the headmaster with a patient smile. “As I was saying, he will be taking over your old position, but it has been brought to my attention –” and here, he brandished the letter again, “that we don’t have anyone to oversee our Duelling Elective.”
Remus didn’t say anything; he was far too busy watching the sheet of expensive ivory paper clutched between Dumbledore’s thumb and forefinger. It was from the board of governors, the headmaster had said – so why did he feel so drawn to it?
“Traditionally, we’ve always had staff muck in for this one, but we haven’t run any Duelling-specific lessons since Severus and Lockhart…” Remus snorted at that, and Dumbledore shot him a conspiratorial wink. “It went about as well as you’d expect, yes. But we’re hoping to run Duelling lessons more formally going forward. I feel it’s more important than ever that our students are able to defend themselves – properly – in wand-to-wand combat.”
“But Moody…”
“… Professor Moody is only signed on for a year, and will be far more focused on showing them what the Dark Arts look and feel like than how to survive a fight with a Death Eater. Remus, please; I urge you to consider this an act of mercy – yours upon yourself for once.”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my resignation before the board threatened you with financial ruin,” replied Remus, but his heart wasn’t in it. He could stay at Hogwarts. He could become a proper part of Harry’s life. He could stop running, stop hiding, and start making a real difference at long last.
“My dear boy, I only ever did as you asked of me. I had, if you’ll recall, originally turned down your request.”
Remus let out a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, and then nodded. “Of course I’ll accept, as you knew I would,” he said. “But only if you let me read it.”
Dumbledore glanced down at the letter in his hands. “Later,” he said gently. “If you hurry, you can tidy yourself up before the feast. We’ll announce your new post before the students leave for summer.”
Remus murmured his assent, but as Dumbledore turned toward the door, he reached out and slipped the letter from the desk. He told himself it was for record-keeping; that it meant nothing.
Then the scent hit him. Cool Sicilian lemon. Pink peppercorn. Sea salt and roses. A thread of ice and something wild beneath it.
For a moment, the office blurred as that intoxicating perfume pervaded his nostrils, made his head swim, and stirred the wolf slumbering deep inside him. Her. It could only be her. He didn’t even need to read the letter; she’d have used another name, buried her intent in chilly formality. She’d have done all she could to hide every last trace of herself from the page. Her scent, though. Her maddening scent. He’d know it anywhere.
“Lucius Malfoy,” he said suddenly in a too-loud voice, hoping he didn’t look as undone as he felt. “The letter was from Lucius Malfoy, wasn’t it?”
Dumbledore did not look back, but he paused with his hand on the door and nodded. Remus swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to think of her. He certainly shouldn’t spend any time wondering how and why Narcissa Black – no, Lady Malfoy – had persuaded her monstrous husband to keep his job for him.
He pressed the envelope deep into his inside pocket and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.
“I’m ready, Albus,” he said, though his voice sounded strange to his own ears.
Then the scent rushed up to meet him again, like a ghost that refused to fade, and he was back in that greenhouse, her long white hair in his hands and her neck at his throat.