The Contract

His breath puffed white in the frigid air, but his palms continued to sweat. It wouldn't do to appear nervous. So much was at stake. Crossing his arms across his stomach, he tucked his hands up into his sleeves as if he were warming them and dried them as inconspicuously as possible on the threadbare wool. There were only two left in the antechamber.

The waiting was driving him mad. He needed this job. So few places would even consider him. When the positions had been advertised, he'd sent off his letter of intent immediately and then waited for the inevitable, carefully worded rejection letter. The weeks had ground by until he'd assumed that he wasn't considered worthy of a reply. The summer had died. The positions must have been filled. If nothing else, the whole affair had been a good exercise. Or so he tried to convince himself in attempt to stave off depression. When the owl had arrived, he'd hoped for a letter from some old friend, maybe an invitation to visit. Instead, he'd received a letter written in almost illegible Black Letter calligraphy welcoming his application. As Albus Dumbledore had said, if there was ever a place where Remus Lupin's affliction wouldn't matter, it was the Durmstrang Institute.

Durmstrang. Not the sort of place he had envisioned himself working. He had always hoped that some sort of position could be made for him at Hogwarts, but there were too many letters from concerned parents on file and the Ministry's classification of people like him had created a layer of prejudice that even the great Dumbledore couldn't smooth away again. So, here he was, sitting in silence, waiting for his last chance to impress the powers that be, caught between hope and dread that they might actually deign to offer him a position. He stole a quick look around the room. The infamous Durmstrang Institute wasn't exactly what he had expected. All the years of rumor and innuendo hadn't prepared him for the reality of the place.

True, his introduction to the school hadn't started well. Not one but two Aurors met him at the Northern District's Ministry Office. Was he such a threat that two Aurors were required? He'd asked the question as a joke, hoping to break the ice. The larger of the two, Mueller, had grunted what might have been a laugh but probably wasn't when he turned away. The other Auror, Baldung, had smirked and then rattled off a response in German that Remus couldn't follow. They had escorted him through the cobblestone streets of a small village and to a pub of all places. Remus had been certain that he was the butt of some joke. The unsmiling giant of an Auror had the look of a perfect straight man, especially when he'd opened the door to the bathroom and told Remus to walk through the curtains decorating one wall. When he'd hesitated, Mueller had pushed him through the door and through the curtains. The big man's shove had just enough force to push Remus into a narrow corridor, not the wall he had expected. By the time he'd caught his balance, the two Aurors had arrived, taking up positions on either side of him. They had marched him down the narrow corridor, ignoring Remus completely until they arrived at a small room that smelled strongly of old cigarettes and mildew. The room was empty save for a stool set in the middle of it. Before he could put together the question he wanted to ask in German, Baldung touched a key that looked as though it had been forgotten on the stool and vanished. Mueller had silently pointed at the key, indicating that Remus should follow Baldung's lead. It was a joke! Whoever had set up the permanent Portkey to Durmstrang had a strange sense of humor. Maybe Durmstrang wouldn't be as grim as he'd feared.

The Portkey's destination was a similar dreary room. Still amused by the key, Remus had followed the Aurors out the door and felt his enthusiasm fade. Dark stone walls were everywhere, walls that split the sky and went as far as he could see. It was claustrophobic. Baldung called out and Remus got his first sight of the omnipresent Durmstrang red livery. Two guards stepped out of what looked like the wall itself and waved them forward. The Aurors had done all the talking, if "talking" was the term that could be applied to Mueller's growl. All Remus had had to do was nod and sign. He had signed page after page of a confusing mixture of parchments and mundane-looking forms, but a small taste of the Byzantine administration that ran the school.

The castle had lived up to his mental vision. It was huge and rather ugly, a fortress not a fairytale confection like Hogwarts. A prison, that was what it looked like. The first hall was a study in bleak. Empty of any decoration, it stretched away from the door, illuminated by unflickering, blue-fired torches. Remus's heart had sank at his first view of the inside of the Institute. His first impressions had changed.

True, the castle was every bit as cold as he'd heard rumored and there wasn't one real fire in the fireplaces or in the numerous torches that lit the hallways and rooms, but it wasn't any more uncomfortable than many of the English and Scottish cottages he'd inhabited. He'd expected legions of ghosts and quite probably demons that performed all the housekeeping. The count thus far was a disappointing zero for each. There were two poltergeists, but neither was as obnoxious as Peeves. The biggest shock was the complete lack of House-elves. Not one. Squibs did all of the maintenance; a veritable army of Squibs, all dressed in Durmstrang's blood red livery.

The students were refreshingly normal. They came in all sizes and nationalities. The hallways were loud with conversations in German, Russian, Polish, Bulgarian, French, Italian, Czech, and many other languages he couldn't identify. He'd expected silent, soulless creatures, not children. Children ranging from eleven through nineteen were what he saw. They laughed, screamed and played awful jokes on each other. Getting plastered by a snowball one Saturday morning did more to make him comfortable than any number of after dinner chats with the very polite teachers.

Then, there were the teachers. Where Hogwarts had one, Durmstrang had five. Everything was divided and subdivided into departments more like a Muggle university than the school he had attended. The Defense Against the Dark Arts department, the one he hoped to join, had comfortable - no, luxurious - offices and rooms on the top floor. The four professors, Heiniger, Jessup, Berger and Hyde, appeared to be joined at the hip. They ate together at the department table, they socialized together after hours and even spent weekends in each other's company. It felt a touch inbred to Remus, not completely comfortable, and he and the other applicants had been corralled together with the Defense professors for weeks.

From the Defense department's table in the Great Hall, Remus had spent many a meal hour observing the other departments. The Defense Against the Dark Arts' table was in a particularly good spot for that particular pleasure, set along one of the short walls where he could easily see the tables set against the long wall. The Headmaster sat at the midpoint. Interesting man, the Headmaster, not at all what Remus had expected. Any trace of Igor Karkaroff had vanished years ago when the current Headmaster had been appointed. According to bits of gossip, things had tightened up considerably after the unmourned Karkaroff had disappeared. The current Headmaster looked and acted like a military man.

And there was the smell. The first time he'd caught it, he'd frozen. The Dark Arts. It had taken Remus a few moments to track down the source and he'd been horrified to realize that it came from a group of students. Professor Heiniger, the head of the Defense department, had been watching and, in an almost apologetic tone of voice, had explained that those were the notorious Special Projects Dark Arts students. "Special Projects." Just the sound of it was both enticing and off-putting. What sorts of things were being brewed up in a course with that name? It was bad enough that Durmstrang openly taught a wide spectrum of courses dedicated to the Dark Arts, but the reality that it was being taught to children sickened Remus. He swore that the smell grew harsher daily and, in the evenings when the torches' blue light in the Great Hall was just so, he could see a miasma hang over the Dark Arts group's table at the other end of the hall.

Remus had been introduced to a few of them: the big Russian and his mistress with the black eyes, who were wolf Animagi. Professor Berger had warned Remus about the Russian's temper, calling him a drunk. None of the Defense staff would discuss the woman except to say that she was an active practitioner of the Dark Arts - as if the cursed eyes hadn't given that away. There was no way to avoid the loud, chatty little American woman, Professor Jones. She had been drafted to fill in for one of the deceased Lester's courses. The woman never stopped talking, or so it seemed to Remus. And, of course, Professor Rabe, the department head and his competitor for the Defense posts. And there were still more: a potions/poisons professor, a wards specialist who also taught courses on sexual magic (very popular), a short cheerful man who knew everyone and a man infused with the darkness itself. No one would talk about the last, even the most gossipy professors.

Interesting place, he mused. Interesting in all senses of the word. As much as he wanted the job, his thoughts kept returning to the fact that a school would be willing to hire someone like him. After all the years of being turned down, it was hard to realize that he had passed the first hurdle and was now waiting for a final decision.

When he'd arrived in the morning for the final interview, there had been six. During the last month, Remus had met all of them in one capacity or another. Strange lot, he thought, but knew better than to voice his opinion. The only woman, Elisabet Anderson, had stalked out after her meeting with the Headmaster, red-faced and shaking in fury. The second one called in, the American, Wilson, had left quietly. There had been no clue what the status was of that meeting. Benedotti, who always had something to say about everything, usually in great length, had slammed the office door open as he left, stopping long enough to spit and give a universally understood motion of anger before he'd gone. Ali, the man who never talked, not to Remus nor anyone else unless pressed, had had the longest meeting thus far. He'd left, escorted by Auror Massys, another of the local Aurors. After Ali's departure, neither he nor Professor Rabe, the other remaining applicant, had been summoned.

The time dragged. Remus tried to keep from dwelling on what he felt was a foregone conclusion. For a while, he occupied himself with admiring the decor in the circular antechamber. True, the room was interesting in that Durmstrang too much "blood red and stone" sort of way, but he'd been there for at least three hours and had already looked at every inch of it. He knew that there were thirteen melodramatic steps up to the Headmaster's office door, four stained glass windows with their Gothic "D"s encircled by their Orouborus worms at the cardinal points, and an encircling ceiling frieze that spun out a myth he couldn't quite place. He also knew that Rabe moved his lips when he read.

How much longer? he wondered. It had been hours. His nerves were stretched thin, his stomach roiled and his palms continued to sweat. Just as his stomach lurched, the somber peals began, counting out the noon hour. The practice wore at Remus' patience. It began at six in the morning and tolled every hour and half hour until ten at night. Whoever had created the big bells should have been forced to melt them down again. In his opinion, the metal must have been cursed. Why else would the bells sound so sorrowful? Rabe's head jerked up at the first peal and Remus saw him swallow and rub at his stomach. Pavlovian response? The idea appealed to him in a perverse sort of way.

As the last echo faded, the door to the Headmaster's office opened. One of the Headmaster's Aides slowly walked down the stairs, stopping half way, and in a sepulchral voice, called for Professor Rabe, who leapt from his seat. Remus watched resentfully as Rabe raced up the stairs, elbows flapping in his eagerness. How old was Rabe? Remus wondered. His competition looked more like a student than a professor, especially after executing an awkward bow followed by a loud heel click. Now completely alone, Remus tried to slide down in the chair only to have his robes catch on one of the rungs. The chairs demanded good posture. Somehow, that was appropriate. Too nervous to sit still any longer, he stood and stretched, wondering for the thousandth time how much longer he would have to wait until his turn.

Not long. Remus had finished his second slow walk around the room when the door to the Headmaster's office creaked opened. He watched while Professor Rabe repeated the bow and heel click before leaving. At the foot of the stairs, Rabe stopped and made a pointed inventory of Remus, muttering something before leaving. Remus' palms began to sweat again.

For long minutes, it was as if all sound had fled. Then, a paper rustled, followed by the wooden groan of a chair. Remus walked to the base of the stair and peered up at the bright rectangle of the doorway. He was the only one left. Maybe they expected him to escort himself up? He quickly tossed that idea aside. Everything official at Durmstrang was done as formally as possible. This would be no different. Ears straining for any sound, he slowly walked back to his uncomfortable chair and sat down.

In good time, one of the Headmaster's Aides walked down the stairs, pausing at each step for the same amount of time. Remus had to force himself to be patient. He'd seen the same procedure for all of the others and knew it wouldn't be rushed. This time it was for him and it was all he could do to be still and wait. Step and pause, step and pause.... Remus clenched his jaw and stared at the Aide. The man's features were bland. It was the livery that stood out. Red. The Aide wore a blood-red frock coat. Everything at Durmstrang was red. Remus wiped his still sweating palms on his thighs and looked down at his worn brown robes, wondering if the color would count against him.

When he reached the seventh stair down, the Aide turned and intoned, "Herr Lupin, you will follow me."

Remus picked up his battered case and fixed what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his face. He could do the job, had done the job. This could very well be his new home. All he had to do was impress them with his ability. Halfway up the stairs, his thoughts shifted. How could this be any different from any of the other positions he'd applied for? Would the rejection's wording include "danger to our students" or "possible contagion by contact" or "insufficient experience" - all of which were real concerns and all of which he had heard over the years as reasons not to hire him. The last shreds of hope frayed away with every step.

"You will have a seat." The Aide pointed towards a pair of ornately carved chairs and then walked around the enormous dark desk where the Headmaster, Professor Heiniger and Chief Auror Werner were seated. None looked up when Remus had entered and only Heiniger had glanced up when the Aide spoke. Good, bad or indifferent, now was the time that a decision would be made.

"Remus J. Lupin," Werner muttered, not looking up. The Auror printed a note, folded his hands and fixed Remus with a cold stare. "Your C.V. is rather sparse, Herr Lupin." Before Remus could defend himself, Werner continued, "A year teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, several positions as a tutor, quite a few Muggle jobs." Werner arched an eyebrow and, for a moment, let a thin smile creep across his face. "The teaching position at Hogwarts was the longest one you have held and it was for only a year."

"Well, yes," Remus began.

"The Lycanthropy." Professor Heiniger shook his head slowly. "So many are prejudiced against it."

Caught before he could launch into his carefully prepared speech about his abilities, Remus sat straighter and waited. The Auror leaned an elbow onto the desk, turning to face Professor Heiniger. Although Remus had made an effort to learn as much German as he could between the time he had sent in his application and now, there was no way he could keep up with the rapid exchange between the two. He caught "Gefahr", "Angriff" and "Gesetze." His heart sank. Of course, the Auror was right to be worried about an attack. Remus had spent the last month at the Institute so they could determine how well the Wolfsbane Potion worked. Nothing had been said after his transformation although everyone had encouraged him to eat afterwards. Professor Berger had forced food on his plate and he'd seen one of the school's medical staff conferring with the woman in charge of the kitchen. Both women had made no secret about whom they were talking as they pointed at him.

"Excuse me," Remus said, hoping that his pronunciation was clear. "I have a letter of recommendation from Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He stood and pulled out a folded piece of parchment from a mended pocket in his robes. He'd tried to give the letter to various members of the administration before, but no one would take it. Clearly, now was the time. The Aide stretched his hand out for the missive, but the Headmaster shook his head.

"It is not necessary. Professor Dumbledore has sent several letters extolling your abilities, as have ten of your students and four professors, former colleagues of yours. In all, there was only one negative letter."

Only one? Remus thought. He itched to know whether it was from Snape or a Malfoy. "Would you like it for your files?" He held the parchment out again to be rebuffed by a glare from the Headmaster.

"Herr Lupin, your work with students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts courses was commendable. Frankly, I am amazed that Hogwarts has but one teacher for the discipline." Professor Heiniger arched his busy eyebrows to meld with his gray hair. "Here, we employ five professors."

"The English school merely gives an overview, Professor," Werner said, sneering. "What we provide here is far more comprehensive than what they do."

"True, true." Heiniger leafed through a stack of pages, ignoring Remus' flash of anger. "Herr Lupin, I see you have done quite a bit of research on the Dark Arts. Your C.V. cites two papers you have had published in Defending the Defenseless, three in A Candle in the Dark and one in another journal I do not recognize."

The other journal. Remus swallowed down the urge to laugh. He'd forgotten about it. More years ago than he cared to think about, he'd written a paper on "Ten Methods to Disarm and Confuse the Evil and Dangerous Werewolf." It had been a joke, but Sirius had found the paper and sent it the now defunct Weekly Wizarding Way, a periodical of dubious integrity, which had printed it in all of its hyperbole. Sirius had penned the addition to Remus' C.V. during an impromptu ceremony, complete with a fanfare and pompous speech by James. If Remus recalled correctly, a great deal of drinking had accompanied the affair.

"That, uh, journal didn't last very long, sir." Remus attempted his most sincere expression, noting that neither Heiniger nor Werner was fooled. Damn Aurors.

"I see." Heiniger slid a look over at Werner.

That was it. It had to be. Stupid. How could he have forgotten to check his C.V. before he sent it in? One dumb joke perpetuated when he was twenty and it would probably be his undoing.

"You have no other employment to report after your time at Hogwarts?" Heiniger asked and then quickly added, "No, of course not. I understand that your Ministry classifies cursed individuals such as yourself as beasts, not beings." He clucked sympathetically.

"The other papers, some were quite good."

Still caught up in the mire of memories and a sense of impending failure, Remus almost missed the comment. His ears caught "good" and that was enough to wrest his attention away from the far too familiar cycle of self-examination. There would be more than enough time for that once he was back in England.

"Yes?" Remus hoped that would be enough to get whoever had been speaking to repeat himself. Maybe he could salvage something from the interview.

"The work on concealed hexes was especially impressive. Do you not agree, Professor?" Werner nodded once at Heiniger, who smiled broadly and bounced forward to lean on his elbows.

"Quite, Auror Werner. The paper on concealed poisons was not as impressive. Much of that work had been done and published before your paper." Heiniger pulled out a dusty, leather-bound book. The gold leaf letters on the spine were almost illegible, but with a little imagination, Defending the Defenseless 1982 could be made out.

"Not impressive?" Remus muttered. He'd spent most of 1980 researching the topic, pulling together every piece of information he could find and interviewing as many Dark Arts practitioners who would talk to him.

"The English do not have our resources." Werner managed to insinuate centuries of scorn in his half shrug.

"Most of which came from the former USSR." The Headmaster stared down Werner until the Auror looked away. "We are here to discuss Herr Lupin, not any rivalry between the Unified European Aurors and their English equivalents. If the topic has changed, Auror Werner, let me assure you that there are other stories to be told."

Barely audible, Werner grumbled a response. He kept his eyes fixed on the tabletop while he sorted the paperwork in front of him into three separate piles.

Three. Remus immediately noted the number. Maybe he still had a chance. "The Ministry's Aurors found my research very useful." By the end of the sentence, his voice had lost its initial bite. There was, he realized, a very good chance that Professor Heiniger and Auror Werner were attempting to see if he'd rise to baiting. He held onto that thought.

"Yes, I am certain that they appreciated whatever they could use," Werner muttered, still looking at one of the stacks of paper. He turned a page and read through it. "There was a mention that you have a tendency towards favoritism with your students." Without raising his head, Werner watched Lupin with heavily lidded eyes.

"Never!" Remus said and then remembered the long sessions with Harry Potter. "I am more than willing to help students with specific projects."

"Specific projects." Werner sniffed, smiled and turned the page.

"The Institute supports and encourages private research." Heiniger folded his hands on the desk and nodded. "Publication in journals is especially encouraged."

"I have several topics I'd like to pursue." He had hoped that someone might mention research. Remus pulled his battered case towards him, eager to share the list of possible subjects he'd prepared.

"I am certain they are all worthy." The Headmaster waved his hand to stop Remus. "The Durmstrang Institute has been existence for centuries. Many of the oldest families in Europe have sent their children here for generations. We have a proud tradition to uphold." Both Werner and Heiniger slumped in their seats and soon Remus followed suit.

How long the Headmaster rambled on was a mystery. Remus remembered nodding at what he hoped were the proper points and making agreeing noises to chime in when the others muttered "Yes, it is true" or "Of course." By the time the Headmaster had finished his speech, Remus was numb.

"Of course, you may feel that our salary is not competitive," Heiniger said.

Remus jerked in his seat. Salary?

"The monetary amount may seem low, but it is offset by the fact that all of our professors are provided with both rooms and board throughout the school year. Many choose to stay during the summer as well. The area is charming." Heiniger flashed a smile.

"And the department head is in agreement." Werner's shoulders shook in silent laughter and he slid around in his seat, one hand raised to cover his mouth.

"Professor Heiniger, are you offering me a position?" Remus' hopes soared. He knew there were two positions open. One was an advanced position and the other taught the introductory two years. It didn't matter which he was offered. Either would work. It made no difference whether he was teaching children the basics or young men and women who hoped to enter the police forces. He would work very hard to prove his worth.

There was an awkward silence. "In a sense yes and also no." Heiniger looked away and ran his hand through his wild gray hair.

"I don't understand." Remus looked at the three, noting that all three looked uncomfortable. Heiniger began playing with his stack of papers, riffling the corners. Werner's eyes closed to slits and Remus was almost sure that the Auror was laughing. The Headmaster tapped a pen against the desk until his Aide stepped forward. It was clear that none were eager to explain so Remus took a deep breath and said, "The positions that were advertised were both for the Defense Against the Dark Arts group."

"Yes, that was true." Heiniger looked over to Werner, as if expecting him to elaborate. Werner's response was to pick up one of his stacks of paper and tap the pages into alignment. Folding his hands on the desk, Heiniger cleared his throat. "We have had to shift personnel around this fall as we attempted to cover Professor Lester's courses." He coughed and looked quickly at the other two men.

"In the course of the shifted responsibilities, we have uncovered a new...." Werner slumped back in his chair and paused while he sought for a word. "Paradigm." A thin smile curled his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, paradigm within the balance between departments."

"And what does that mean to me?"

"You must understand that we had many factors to consider," Heiniger said. "There was, of course, the need to fill the positions within my own department. Due to many extenuating circumstances, we were unable to conclude our search for new staff before the school year began. Therefore, we were forced to look within the Institute's current teaching staff to find qualified individuals to cover Professor Lester's courses. We were forced to look in other departments. While we were reviewing qualifications, some records that had been sealed were opened, and we have since sought to utilize those abilities which have come to light."

"Elegantly done." Werner began shuffling his three stacks of paper into one pile.

"And there was you own background to consider." Heiniger nervously licked his lips. "One such as you would be more comfortable with those who are more familiar with your, uh, situation and capable of dealing with it."

"My situation." Remus grew cold. "And what does 'my situation' have to do with this 'paradigm'?"

"Well...." Heiniger scratched his head. "We have decided to permanently move Professor Haken into the position that he is currently holding. The other slot has been offered to Herr Ivanov (Remus raced through the names of the other applicants and realized that he'd never met Ivanov.) so that filled both of the currently-open positions within my department and created a vacancy in the area that Professor Haken taught."

"And where did Professor Haken teach?" Remus looked first at the Headmaster, who was now looking at paperwork, to Heiniger and then Werner. There was a prickly feeling in the air as if everyone was waiting.

"Professor Haken teaches the Introduction to the Dark Arts for the first and second year students. Professor Rabe has been instructed to inform him of his new position. His rooms will be ready for you within a week." The Headmaster was handed a sheet of parchment. He read it over carefully, dark eyes narrowing to slits while he continued, "Currently, Professor Rabe is teaching the Introduction to the Dark Arts courses, you will be expected to relieve him of those duties by the end of the month." He gave a curt nod and extended the document to Remus. "You will sign."

"The Dark Arts?" Remus sagged back in his chair in shock. "I've been fighting against the Dark Arts for years. Why would I teach anyone how to practice those arts?"

"That is a very good question, Herr Lupin and, I feel, you have already given the answer we are seeking." Werner turned a surprisingly friendly face towards Remus. "Such an attitude could help us achieve our goal of containment of such activities." When the Headmaster cleared his throat, Werner sped through: "The Institute is famous for offering such courses, but there is considerable feeling that such activity should cease. I personally would hope that you would direct your classes more towards an avoidance of such work, instill the feeling within the next generations that it is more important to suppress such magic, do you not agree?" Werner paused a beat. "Professor Lupin?"