"Professor Lupin… Professor Lupin…"
Harry's voice snapped Lupin out of his daze.
The Thestral carriages had just pulled up at the front steps. Warm, golden light spilled out of the castle doors, mixing with the ghosts' cheers, students chattering, and the wind whistling through the towers and courtyards. Everything sounded exactly the same. Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance welcoming everyone, and far off on the Black Lake, the first-year boats bobbed along.
"Hogwarts… long time no see," Lupin whispered to himself.
He never thought he'd come back here. This place was practically his second home—the happiest spot in his memories. After the werewolf bite, he'd drifted from place to place, but his years at Hogwarts had been the most peaceful. It was where he'd met James and the others.
There she was, right at the entrance: Professor McGonagall in emerald-green robes, hair in a perfect bun, black-rimmed glasses, holding an orange lantern.
"Second-years and above, straight to the Great Hall. No lingering in the entrance hall or on the steps—don't block the first-years," McGonagall's voice echoed.
Lupin instinctively tugged at the patched sleeve of his robe, avoiding her eyes. He even thought about hiding behind the students to sneak past. In the end, he couldn't dodge her.
"Professor McGonagall…"
She spotted her former student and gave him a gentle smile. "Remus, you should've come back sooner. Flitwick and I would've had a much easier time."
Looking into her slightly aged face, all his nerves melted away. "When I got Dumbledore's letter, I'd just started a new job in Wiltshire. The owner was kind—I couldn't quit on the spot."
"You're in charge of decorating the Great Hall this year," McGonagall said softly.
"I won't let you down."
Lupin paused. "One more thing—on the way here, a Dementor boarded the Hogwarts Express. No students were hurt, but Harry passed out…"
"I'll send him to Poppy later for a check-up."
McGonagall stayed at the doors to greet the first-years while Lupin followed the students into the Great Hall. A full moon hung in the enchanted ceiling, bathing everything in silver light. The long house tables were exactly the same as decades ago—square, worn, with rings from years of use under the polish. Simple and ancient.
The staff table was a little fancier. Right in the middle sat a familiar figure: the silver-haired, century-old wizard.
"D-Dumbledore… Headmaster," Lupin breathed.
"Remus, having you back to teach is a huge help," Dumbledore said warmly, beaming.
Seeing the headmaster again made Lupin feel eleven years old all over. He'd always wanted to come back—he just hadn't lived very respectably these past years.
"You already know the Heads of House. Let me introduce the elective professors: Melvin, Victor, Bathilda…"
Floating candles flickered overhead. At the staff table, Melvin, Flitwick, and Lupin sat side by side. The feast hadn't started yet—just some desserts and drinks on the table. Bubbles rose and popped in the glasses, and the fireplaces sent out cozy warmth. Everything felt safe and comforting.
Melvin had only just arrived himself, still wearing his rumpled brown coat. He hadn't gotten soaked, but it wasn't exactly neat either. Lupin's patched robe wasn't much better. The two of them looked like they'd both rolled in looking rushed and windswept.
Sitting in the Great Hall, Lupin finally relaxed. All the tension, the full-moon dread—it all stayed outside the castle walls. Even talking about the Dementor on the train felt calm now.
"Butterbeer, hot cocoa, or champagne?" Flitwick asked from the next seat, holding a copper kettle that smelled sweet.
"Hot cocoa, please," Melvin said, sliding his goblet over.
"I wasn't asking you—you've been teaching two years. Get it yourself," Flitwick grumbled, pouring anyway. Then he looked at Lupin. "Butterbeer? You used to love this stuff."
"You remember…"
"Who remembers every student's drink from thirty years ago? I just know students like it." Flitwick filled Lupin's goblet halfway with foam. "You said a Dementor got on the train and Harry fainted. Was it bad? Anyone else hurt?"
"No one was hurt," Lupin explained, sipping the foam. "The Dementor didn't get close enough to the others. Harry's… special. It must've triggered bad memories, so he passed out."
"That's the Ministry dropping the ball…"
With Flitwick playing host, Lupin quickly settled in and started chatting with the other professors. Most were friendly, sharing teaching tips and life advice. The only weird one was Professor Lewinter sitting next to him.
Lupin kept catching this odd little smile. Lewinter was watching him like something exciting was about to happen.
Melvin raised his glass with a friendly smile. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor Lupin."
"Just Remus is fine."
Still felt weird.
The sweet hot drinks chased away the chill. Ghosts and students poured in, making the hall lively. Melvin studied the new professor: early thirties, still young for a wizard, but his brown hair was thinning and streaked with gray. Kinda stark.
Wonder what the average werewolf lifespan is?
Melvin noticed Lupin kept glancing at the moon on the ceiling. Right—these next couple days were the full moon. But Wolfsbane Potion had to be taken a week in advance to work.
If Lupin transformed tonight, he'd probably just have to lock himself up.
A sharp, gloomy glare stabbed over from the next seat. Melvin turned—Snape, lips curled in a cold smirk.
The feast officially began.
Flitwick conducted the frog choir in "Two Troubles," the Sorting Hat sang its yearly song (with new lyrics), and the first-years lined up. One by one they put on the ratty old hat and got sorted, each new placement earning cheers from their house table as clouds rolled across the enchanted ceiling.
The staff table murmured among themselves. Lupin just quietly watched the new students, sipping his melting-foam butterbeer, eyes full of nostalgia.
"Welcome! Welcome back to Hogwarts for another year!"
Harry and the others slipped in right after the Sorting, just in time for Dumbledore's speech. They bowed low, practically shadows, and slid into seats at the end of the Gryffindor table.
"Before the feast scrambles your brains with delicious food, a few start-of-term notices."
"First, please welcome Professor Remus Lupin, who has kindly agreed to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Also, Professor Kettleburn has decided to retire and enjoy his remaining limbs. Luckily, his replacement is none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid!"
Dumbledore turned to introduce them.
"Let's have a big hand for Professor Hagrid!"
"Good luck, Professor Lupin," someone called.
Lupin stood and bowed. Between the applause, he clearly heard the two professors beside him muttering.
"Dumbledore really needs to work on his wording. 'Good luck'?"
"Maybe because Defense professors haven't had much luck—especially since you started teaching here."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Quirrell and Lockhart both got run out by you."
"That's slander—pure slander!"
Lupin couldn't help smiling as he sat back down and took another sip. He didn't care about the supposed curse. What curse was worse than lycanthropy? What bad luck was worse than wandering homeless?
Dumbledore kept talking:
"One final serious matter. For your safety, at the Ministry's request, Azkaban Dementors will be stationed at Hogwarts until the escapee Sirius Black is recaptured. They will guard every entrance."
"I have been assured they will not interfere with daily school life, but I must warn you—Dementors are vicious creatures. They do not distinguish between the prisoner and anyone in their way. So I must tell you—"
"Do NOT give them any reason to harm you!"
…
Night fell.
Hogsmeade's streetlamps glowed, stretching out from the central post office. Most shops were closed, but The Three Broomsticks and the Hog's Head were hopping.
Across from The Three Broomsticks, in a dark alley, a figure huddled under the eaves, staring at the bright pub windows.
The door kept the cold rain and stray dogs out. Fans kept coming and going—apparently there was a big Quidditch match on the mirror. Loud cheers every few minutes.
The Thestral had dropped Sirius Black outside the Hog's Head earlier that day. The patrons there were rough; a stray dog didn't get food—he was lucky not to get kicked. Using his dog nose and Animagus form, Sirius had wandered half the village, piecing together blurry memories of the place.
The day had been bizarre. That young wizard hadn't eaten him—instead he'd flown him straight to Hogsmeade. Sirius kept waiting for Aurors or Dementors to show up, but hours passed and nothing.
He needed answers—revenge and Harry's safety were on the line—but the Thestral had flown off. Questions unanswered. He couldn't give up revenge, so he stayed in Hogsmeade.
School had just started; sneaking into Hogwarts could wait. Right now, food was priority.
The black dog curled tighter, breath fogging in the air.
Early September in the Scottish Highlands shouldn't be this cold, even in a downpour. Blame the damn Dementors—their cold mist had stolen the last warmth of summer.
At least The Three Broomsticks had expanded, added two floors, and kept the fires roaring. Pressed against the wall, his stiff body warmed up. He could probably last until winter.
"Did you see that goal? I'm telling you, Bulgaria's making the World Cup next year!"
"Scotland didn't score once. How? They were favorites last Cup!"
Two patrons stumbled out, shivering in the wind, carrying the smell of hot food—takeaway.
Sirius smelled fish and chips and trotted over.
Three Broomsticks regulars were locals. Seeing a half-starved stray on a rainy night, they sighed, shook a few pieces out of the paper bag, and tossed them to the dog.
"When did we get a black dog in the village?"
"No idea. Good luck to him—hope he doesn't freeze this winter."
Sirius wolfed down the hot fish. Food from the pub cooled fast—he swallowed in three bites. No shame left; Azkaban had ground that out long ago.
He finished and curled back up, waiting for the next kind soul.
Hogsmeade was a good spot for food. Mornings outside Honeydukes, the Flumes gave away sugar scraps. Lunch by Madam Puddifoot's—couples loved feeding a cute dog. Tonight he'd come late, so Three Broomsticks for dinner.
Half an hour later, belly full, the black dog trotted off happily.
Food sorted. Now he needed a warm, hidden place to sleep. He knew just the spot—no one would bother him. He'd crashed there every full moon back in school.
The Shrieking Shack. The Marauders' secret hideout.
…
Orange torches lit the staircases, stone cold underfoot. Suits of armor dripped with condensation. Passing students chattered, shaking droplets loose and waking the castle from its summer silence.
At the back of the student line, the professors walked and talked. A few who knew the situation kept glancing at the new colleague.
"Remus, need any help tonight?" McGonagall asked.
"I'm fine. Cloud cover's thick."
"Be careful. Come find me or Poppy if anything happens."
"I know."
After saying goodnight, Lupin returned to his office, locked the doors and windows, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a long time.
Since that May when he was bitten, he'd survived over three hundred full moons. He knew the drill. He pulled chains and shackles from a trunk and locked himself in. Even if he transformed in his sleep, he wouldn't hurt anyone.
…
Hogwarts boys' dormitory
Harry lay in bed listening to Neville snore, tossing and turning. Finally he whispered, "Ron… Ron…"
"Mmm?"
Ron was half-asleep. "Why're you still up?"
"I can't stop thinking about the Dementor."
"Don't. Dumbledore said they won't come near the castle."
"But—"
"If you're worried, teach yourself the Patronus Charm. You and Hermione have weekend tutoring—ask Professor Lewinter or Flitwick."
Harry pressed his lips together, burrowed into his blankets, and rolled over. Professor Lewinter's words kept swirling in his head until the rain started pattering again outside. Only then did he drift off.
On the next bed, Scabbers the rat curled in Ron's arms, smacked his lips, and dreamed of all the feast food.