A Paris Tradition

Chapter One

In a tiny flat overlooking a small courtyard (which contained a dustbin, several broken glass bottles, and a used condom), Remus Lupin opened one of his eyes. Then he opened the other one, which seemed to take an unfair amount of work. There was a tapping on the cardboard that covered the hole in the wall, which had been a window in a previous incarnation. Muttering to himself that it was the middle of the night, and why couldn't owls be diurnal, he peeled himself off the ageing couch, stubbed his toe on the elderly coffee table, and shambled over to let the dratted thing in.

He removed the drawing pins holding the cardboard in place, and blinked twice as the mid-afternoon sunlight struck him, followed in short order by a large grey owl carrying a letter with familiar green ink. Remus relieved the owl of its burden and patted the pockets of his trousers.

"I'm afraid I don't have any treats for you. How about a scratch under the chin instead?" The owl gave him a withering look and took off through the hole in the wall.

Remus replaced the pins and opened the letter.

Dear Mr. Lupin,

As you may be aware, the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is currently empty. After careful consideration by the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, it has been concluded that you are an excellent candidate. Should you accept the position, rest assured that any special circumstances would be taken into account and provided for. Living quarters and board are included in the salary, which can be discussed further if you should wish to.

We hope to hear back from you as soon as is convenient.

With Best Wishes,

Albus Dumbledore (Headmaster),

Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)

Had Remus been very much heavier, the settee would not have held up under his suddenly boneless collapse. He sat staring at the letter for a good while, unable to read it properly due to how much his hands were shaking.

Hogwarts? Flashes of memory ambushed him in little pieces: James running a hand through his hair in a feeble attempt to achieve the 'ruffian' look he'd heard was very attractive; sitting in a corner as Sirius and James earnestly discussed whether or not it would be possible for Mr. Moony and Mr. Wormtail to look even remotely presentable at the Yule Ball, and deciding that it would be hopeless without much intervention; Peter - poor Peter- chewing on the end of a quill as he struggled over an Arithmancy problem before James pointed out that he'd forgotten to invert the strength of the spell before trying to find its opposite.

A crater, surrounded by so many wards it was blurred, three days after his life had been taken away from him. He hadn't done a thing to stop it happening. Not one thing. Indeed, he'd been blissfully unaware until Professor McGonagall had Apparated into his flat (the one Lily had reinforced with Charms so that the wolf couldn't damage anything) and said 'Lily, James, and Peter are dead. Black is being sent to Azkaban. I'm so sorry, Remus'. It had stuck in his mind as the very first time she had called him anything but 'Mr. Lupin', and he had listened numbly as she explained that Harry was alive, and that the Dark Lord was gone, and it would be all right now, and she really was very sorry, and after she left he had stood in the very same place in his kitchen, sieve in hand, staring at the place she had been, until his legs simply wouldn't hold him any more.

He felt a bit like that now. He'd have to refuse. He couldn't protect his best friends and an infant. What parent in their right mind would trust him with a school full of children?

Nothing for it but to owl back and...bother. The owl had left, hadn't it? Flown right out of the window in a huff. Fine wizard he was, not to have a treat on hand... or in the whole flat, come to think of it. When was the last time he'd been to the grocer's? It had been a while, he thought. The last of his hard-earned Muggle francs had gone to pay the rent a week and a half ago, and M. Brodeur wasn't due to pay him for three days yet. He wasn't about to use the Floo Network either. He suffered from the terrible affliction of not being able to say 'no' if he could see someone's face. It was his night off, so he'd be able to get outside the city and find a wild owl in a barn somewhere. He could probably 'borrow' his downstairs neighbour's bicycle. The man never used it and would be too drunk to notice if it was gone for a few hours.

Remus spent the remainder of the afternoon drafting a reply. Several dozen possibilities were thought through, mulled over, and eventually discarded before simplicity won out, and he carefully set quill to parchment.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall,

It is to my sincere regret that I must decline your generous offer of a teaching position at Hogwarts, for reasons that I would prefer remain private. I wish you every success in finding a suitable candidate.

Yours,

Remus Lupin

There. Short, concise, to the point. It looked innocent, sitting there on the coffee table, black ink on creamy parchment. It was even fairly honest, in a non-disclosure sort of way. He rolled it neatly, tied it with the bit of shoelace that was all he could find in the way of ribbon or string, and took it downstairs. As he passed his neighbour's flat, he heard snores, and felt a flash of relief, which promptly vanished when he opened the courtyard door to reveal the bicycle, standing in a puddle that was growing deeper by the minute. He tucked the letter more securely under his shirt, straddled the bike and set off. Five minutes later, he had to stop to set the rusty chain back on the gears.

Some time later, he stood dripping wet under a tree in a park, having caught sight of the familiar lump of an owl having a snooze in the crook of a branch. In one hand, he dangled a mouse he'd caught earlier in the hopes that a well-bribed owl would be more likely to do him a favour. Not at all pleased with the situation, the mouse squeaked, which had the happy side effect of attracting the owl's attention.

Remus solemnly proffered the panicking mouse. The owl deigned to descend to a lower branch level with Remus' face, revealing that it was the Hogwarts owl that had stopped for a rest before crossing the Channel and returning to the school.

"I've brought you a mouse, as you can see. Would it be a terrible imposition on you if I were to ask that you carry this letter to the Headmaster?"

The owl looked at him.

"It is very important, I'm afraid. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

If the owl had had eyebrows, it would have raised one skeptically as it contemplated the matter at hand. Coming to a decision, it shot a talon out and skewered the mouse, which shut up in short order. Remus politely turned his back while the owl ate (owls are very fastidious creatures, and it is nearly impossibly to eat every bit of a mouse neatly), and, when the lack of crunching noises indicated that the mouse was thoroughly no more, he surrendered the letter to the owl's safekeeping. Remus regretfully left the shelter of the tree, retrieved the bicycle and pedaled off.

When he finally reached his block of flats, he replaced the bicycle in the corner, listened to make sure his neighbour was still snoring, and plodded back up the stairs. Remus then set his alarm (work tomorrow, he thought, and then the full moon night) and fell face down on the couch, closer to passing out than falling asleep.