Remus Lupin was sitting on a bench in a park in London, his briefcase at his feet, and pulling corn kernels from a paper bag in his palm. He tossed some across the path and watched as a good deal of grey pigeons, their feathers ruffled with warm misty rain that wad falling, pecked and bobbed about, eating his offerings with muted coos. His green eyes followed the birds, and each time they ran out, or else one of them might appear to be getting left out from the piles of corn, Remus tossed a new handful to them. At last, though, his bag was running out, and he crumpled it up, dusting off his palms on his shabby slacks. He pulled a very old pocket watch from his jacket pocket, curious about the time, and then sighed and stood up, his bones creaky with the effort of it.

"Good day, my friends," he said to the birds, "Until I see you next." Remus Lupin turned, gathered his briefcase and patched robes from the bench seat, collected his umbrella from its place against the little wall that enclosed his bench from the elements, and was just about to deploy the old thing, when he turned and walked smack into none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Headmaster!" Remus said with utmost surprise. "Hullo, I beg pardon, sir. You - you startled me. Whatever are you doing here?"

Dumbledore smiled benignly, rocking slightly on his toes. "Hello, Master Lupin, and good day to you!" He had a lemon drop in his mouth, which clinked against his teeth as he spoke, and his beard waggled, his eyes twinkled. Under one arm he held a rolled up newspaper and his glasses were low on the bulbous end of his nose. "How have you been?"

Remus hesitated, "As well as could be expected, I suppose." If Dumbledore could look upon him and ask such a question, then Remus figured he might as well give as oblivious a reply as the question merited. His robes were shabby, his hair limp and overgrown, his nails dirty, and face slightly gaunt from lack of meal. He shook with arthritic pain from his furry little condition and the promise of a full moon rising soon had his bones creaking. But just fine - as always, as politeness dictates.

Dumbledore made a thoughtful noise, but did not speak, and continued to rock upon the ball of his feet, his droll mouth twisting around the lemon drop. After a great long pause, he finally said, "Mr. Lupin, I have not come upon you by chance, I must say, and I'm quite glad to have found you for it is a highly urgent matter with which I come to you."

Remus raised his eyebrow. "Oh?"

Dumbledore shifted his newspaper beneath his elbow, and seemed to be considering something. As his hand fell away from the paper, he looked Remus over again. "Have you... seen the Daily Prophet today?"

Remus shook his head. "'fraid not. Anything interesting?"

Dumbledore murmured, "Oh, the same rubbish for the most part, I'm afraid. The Department of Transportation is still banning the flying carpets from the Middle East, fourth year in a row they've tried at importing them to Britain, you know."

"I've never cared for carpets," Remus answered vaguely, unsure why Dumbledore was standing here babbling on about flying carpets. "I feel as though with the luck I've got, I'd fall off it or something. There's not very much to hold on to."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, that is true." He paused. Then, "There is one thing in the paper that might... be of interest." He pulled the Daily Prophet out from under his elbow, drew a deep breath, and unrolled it, handing it over to Remus with an air of a man dolling out a rather terrible telegram or something. "I am sorry for you; to have to go through this again... But you've got to know..."

Remus took the paper from Dumbledore's hand and nervously turned it over to look at the headline on the front page.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN -- THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC REACTS

Remus felt dizzy. He stumbled backward, dropping onto the bench heavily, and stared at the paper, dumbfounded. "Escaped?" he said quietly, his voice rising in a note of horror and disbelief, "From Azkaban?" He looked up at Dumbledore. "How?"

"How, indeed," Dumbledore murmured. A small muscle in the right side of Dumbledore's lip twitched ever so slightly, and he studied Remus's face carefully as Remus turned his attention back to the newspaper.

"Aurors say that the Azkaban Guards reported a prisoner missing very early in the morning on July the 29th, during the changing of the wizard guards on duty, shortly after midnight," Remus read the paper aloud in a hurried, nervous voice. "Upon inspection of the cells, it was found that the missing prisoner was none other than Sirius Black, the notorious mass murderer, infamous for bringing about the death of 12 muggles and one wizard, Peter Petti--" Remus's voice broke in the middle of the name. He shook his head and pushed the paper away, back into Dumbledore's hand. "But nobody's ever escaped from Azkaban before, have they, Professor?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No," he murmured, "Not to my knowledge, Mr. Lupin." He took the paper and folded it neatly, then sat down beside Remus, a silence falling over them.

Remus wasn't sure what he was feeling. The world felt as though it were closing in very fast and in a very confusing manner. He'd packed away so many feelings so many years ago and they were storming to the surface like a rough tide at daybreak. He'd let that old part of him go - it was the only way to stay sane during all the questions and the accusations that had thundered around him during those days. How many times had people asked him about Sirius? How many times had he heard the words, "Did you know? Before, I mean, what he was really up to?" Of course he hadn't! He wasn't even sure he knew now exactly what had happened, exactly when Sirius had changed sides... He'd never seen any signs of it, but of course Sirius was -- well, he was Sirius Black, wasn't he? And Sirius's emotions had always swung so violently, hadn't they? But to be a traitor? Remus wasn't sure he could fathom it. He'd never been able to fully comprehend the idea of Sirius Black turning his back on James Potter... of all people...

"Mister Lupin," Dumbledore's rumbling voice broke through the reverie Remus had fallen into.

Remus looked up.

"I have another matter which I have come to discuss with you."

"Sir?"

"It seems, Mr. Lupin, that I have found myself woefully without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher once again," Dumbledore said in a regretful tone.

"Yes, I heard about what happened to Gilderoy Lockhart," Remus said slowly.

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes. Yes, most unfortunate for Mr. Lockhart. The mediwitches at St. Mungo's say that he has been diligently relearning some of his more beloved hobbies. Such as answering fan mail and signing autographs."

Remus coughed to cover up the snort he could not hold back.

Dumbledore reached into a pocket and took out his bag of lemon drops, studying the packaging for a moment, and running the hard candies through his fingers thoughtfully. "I was looking through my drawer of resumes on file," he mused to himself, "And I realized that I have overlooked a most excellent candidate for the job for... far too long." He glanced at Remus.

Remus's eyes turned to look at Dumbledore out of the corner of them, his mouth a carefully guarded straight line. "Is that so?"

Dumbledore nodded, opened his candy bag, and withdrew one, turning the sweet about in his fingertips. He offered the bag up to Remus, who waved the bag off in dismissal. Dumbledore shrugged, pocketed the bag of candies, and unwrapped the one he'd selected, popping it into his mouth merrily.

Remus took a deep breath, "If you're offering me a job at Hogwarts so that you can keep an eye on me until Sirius Black is captured then you're quite mistaking where my loyalties lie, Dumbledore," he said firmly. "Despite -- despite the fact that we -- I --" he paused, trying to figure out how to word it. "I mean to say, Dumbledore, my past feelings will not have me running about looking for -- for him." Remus ran his hands over his knees and as he did, the sun caught a glint of the ruby ring on his finger and Remus pulled his hand back, twisting it with his thumb so that the stone was on the inside of his hand, which he tucked smartly into his jumper pocket.

Dumbledore's eyes were too quick, though, and Remus saw his eyes flicker to the pocket knowingly before moving back up to meet Remus's eyes. "As have I kept myself from Numengard all these years," Dumbledore murmured. "Remus, whatever your feelings were - or are - I am not worried about you running about looking for Mr. Black. I am more worried about him running about looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Remus asked, then with a sour chuckle he said, "I very much doubt as whether --"

"You know as well as I, Mr. Lupin, that you are one of the people who Black may very well seek out now that he has escaped. I feel that it is in your best interest - for your own safety - that you come to the castle. And the fact that you happen to be a teacher and I happen to have an open position that perfectly fits your expertise at the current time, I do believe that is what they call kismet."

"Sirius wouldn't --" Remus began, and he broke off, braced himself, and finished, "He wouldn't kill... me..., sir."

Dumbledore's voice was thick with a regretful tone. "There was a time in which I would have whole heartedly agreed with you, Mr. Lupin. But then, there was a time when we both would have believed that Sirius Black wouldn't betray James and Lily to Voldemort as well, wasn't there?"  With that, Dumbledore got up from the bench and started to walk away. He got several paces down the walkway when he paused, turned back to look at Remus, and said, "Consider it, at least, Mr. Lupin." Then he walked to the small bridge at the end of the row and disapparated.

Remus sat in silence for several long moments, digesting everything that had just passed between the pair of them, and he closed his eyes and drew his hands out of his jumper pocket, laying his palm against the bench. But his left hand found something there and he looked down to see that Dumbledore had left the Daily Prophet behind and there, staring up at him from behind the placard that bore his Azkaban identification number, was the gaunt face and dark, sallow eyes of the most recent picture of the prisoner, Sirius Black.