"Did you hear?!" James shouted, bounding into the dormitory in a flurry of excitement. "I mean, you slept in today, and we were going to let you sleep in, so of course you didn't hear, but this is really, really big news!"

Remus groaned. "I just faced a Dementor yesterday. Let me sleep."

"No," said Sirius, yanking the blanket off of Remus. "Breakfast is almost over. Up and at 'em."

"My big news will wake you up for sure," said James. "Ready? Are you listening?"

"I'm listening," Remus mumbled, mostly insincere.

"Good. Ready? Albus has found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"

Sure enough, Remus was certainly awake now. He shot into an upright position, still clutching his pillow, hair dreadfully askew. "What did you just say?"

"A new Defense professor! And we have him first thing today! We're the first class to meet him!"

"How do you know it's a bloke?"

"He was eating breakfast at the staff table. He looks nice. Attractive. Smiles a lot. Dark hair. Probably in his late thirties, and seems like he has a good sense of humor. Albus was chatting with him—he seems to like him."

Remus dragged his hands across his face. "I s'pose Dumbledore's already told him about my lycanthropy," he muttered.

"Probably, but he has to be okay with it if he still decided to teach here."

"There are different levels of 'okay with it', though." Remus accepted his robes from Peter and started to get dressed—first the collared shirt, then the trousers, then the plain black socks, then the robe, and then the thin, black gloves that James had given him in second year to hide the scars on his hands.

"Some people are 'okay with it' like Professor Dumbledore," he continued while he dressed himself. "They're passionate about the fact that I should have rights just like everyone else. Some are 'okay with it' like Professor Sprout or Professor Sidus—wary, but they respect me.

"Some are 'okay with it' like Professor McGonagall. She was afraid of me at first, but she worked really hard at getting to know me better and overcoming the ingrained prejudices that weren't her doing at all. Some are 'okay with it' like Professor Questus and Professor Slughorn—intensely curious about me and my condition. Some are 'okay' like Professor Flitwick, who doesn't care one bit. And some are 'okay' like Professor Craff, who didn't try to murder me or anything, but clearly hated me for what I am."

"Here's hoping the new professor is James Potter level of 'okay with it'," said James with a cheeky grin. "James Potter is always perfect."

"Oh, I couldn't handle another James Potter. One is more than enough."

"You're the worst, you know," said James conversationally, leading Remus out the door to grab some breakfast before class.

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was standing outside of the door to the classroom, greeting students as they came in with a quick "good morning" and a smile. James had been right: he really did look kindly. His eyes were bright blue, and they twinkled in all the right places. He was thin, and the fitted, expensive-looking black robes made him look even thinner—but there was a certain air to him that told Remus it wasn't the weak kind of thin (like Remus); more like the healthy kind of thin (like Sirius). The professor also carried a cane, just like Professor Questus had, but his was significantly fancier—intricate leaves of silver wrapped up and down the ink-black wood like ropes, and Remus found himself staring at it for a second longer than was probably normal.

"Good morning," he said as Remus stepped into the classroom, and Remus said it back. There was a brief moment during which the new professor's eyes scraped over Remus, and there was a slight triumph—then a small smile—then a proffered hand. Remus stared at it for a few moments before he realized what he was meant to do.

"Sorry, sir," he said, shaking the professor's hand. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Perfectly all right." The professor's voice was smooth; gentle—perfect RP, like ice cream sliding off the cone on a hot day, laced with a bit of good humor and something else that Remus couldn't quite place. "I like your gloves."

"Er. Thank you." Remus nodded curtly and then hurried into the classroom to find his friends.

"See?" said James with a grin. "He seems nice, even though Moony's terribly awkward sometimes. Maybe he'll take over and help Flitwick with Duelling Club."

"I'm not sure how to feel about him," said Remus, shaking his head at James' assertion that he was awkward. "There was something… I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something almost… creepy, I guess."

"You're awkward and paranoid," said James. "The Dementor really did a number on you, mate."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I think that…"

Remus' voice trailed off as he saw the name written on the board. Professor Sal Manard. He knew that name. Why did he know that name?

James rambled about paranoia and confusion as Remus searched the recesses of his subconscious, trying to figure out why that name was familiar. A Ministry worker? Manard certainly looked like a Ministry worker—his posture and relaxed expression screamed "casual wealth," and everything about him told Remus that he was from an old wizarding family. Had Remus met him at the Werewolf Registry?

With a jolt, Remus remembered a newspaper clipping that Professor Questus had sent him in his first year. An Alexander Adamson article. Alexander Adamson was a famous werewolf advocate, and he'd written an essay responding to the claims of Salvis Manard. Remus remembered the anti-werewolf passages he'd read in the Prophet, alone in the Hospital Wing, only just having been scratched to ribbons by his own claws and now reading about the dangers of werewolves (as if he didn't already know). He remembered Manard's senseless hatred—no, his logical hatred, and that sort was even worse.

There was only one seat left next to James and Peter. "Sirius," he said slowly, "I would like to sit in the back this year."

Sirius grinned. "What? No. You'll have to fight me."

"I've gotten the worst seat in Defense Against the Dark Arts every single year thus far. You always sit with James and Peter. It's my turn."

"No." Sirius slid into the seat, clearly expecting a good-humored battle. "Try to get it yourself."

"I'm not joking, Sirius. I… I actually need it this time."

"Don't we all."

"Sirius, please. Please. I'll do anything. I'll do your Astronomy homework for a month. I'll bake you a cake. I'll… I'll play chess with you, or the piano, or…"

A light of understanding appeared in Sirius' eyes—Remus knew that he was realizing that Remus was not joking. Just as he was opening his mouth, presumably to give Remus the seat, the clack of a cane sounded on the hardwood floor. Remus went silent.

"Good morning to you all once again," said Manard, shutting the door. "You needn't bother unpacking. I've decided to assign seats, just because it makes it easier for me to learn your names—but don't worry; I've looked at the last three seating charts, and I'll make sure to put all of you next to your friends."

Remus ground his teeth together to suppress a groan. That meant that he would be put with Evans, since they'd ended up next to each other for three years straight. He didn't mind that, not really—but he'd really wanted a seat in the back, and he was a hundred percent certain that Manard wasn't going to put him there.

"I have Mary Macdonald in the rightmost seat in the front—your right, not mine," he said, and she scurried up to it with her bag. "Next is Thomas Dupont… Avery Lewis… Marcy Stevens…"

Remus waited with bated breath as Manard sat Lily Evans. "And I have a Remus Lupin at the end of the first row," said Manard, confirming Remus' fears—he'd put Remus on the leftmost seat of the front row, directly next to Manard's desk. For a moment, Remus was incapable of moving. As soon as he did, Manard would know who he was—surely Dumbledore had already told him that Remus Lupin, Gryffindor, was a werewolf, so Manard would know as soon as he moved, and…

"Remus Lupin?" Manard repeated. "Absent? I heard he was out for the past couple of days…"

"No, here," Remus mumbled, and he picked up his things and sat in the leftmost seat in the first row.

Manard smiled at him in a way that seemed partly sinister, partly curious, and partly scrutinizing. "Nice to meet you, Remus Lupin," he said; although his voice was quiet, Remus was certain that everyone in the classroom could hear it. "Next time, do try to react a tad quicker, mightn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

Manard stared for half a second longer, and then he moved on.

Remus started unpacking his things, looking anywhere but Manard. Even though he knew, logically, that Manard wasn't staring at him anymore, he felt eyes burning into the back of his neck, boring into his very skull…

"All right?" asked Evans, and Remus nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Fine," he lied. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Evans nodded. "He seems all right. The new professor, I mean. Better than Questus, at least."

Remus swallowed. "I don't know about that."

"Just because this bloke reprimanded you for ignoring your name being called! What were you doing? Hoping you could sit with your friends after all? Playing a practical joke on the poor man?"

"No. I just… didn't hear it at first."

"Ha! A likely story."

"You remember how I damaged my ears last year for a bit. Maybe I'm still recovering."

"Doubt it." Evans grinned. "It's all right, Lupin. I understand. You just chickened out of playing a joke on the new professor. Personally, I think you and your friends should chicken out of things more often, because some of your jokes are just cruel…."

"I'm not a chicken!"

"Ah, surely not."

Suddenly, Manard clapped his hands once. The class fell into dead silence, and then the clack of the cane sounded once again as Manard made his way to the front of the room. "Now that we've finished with that," he said, smiling, "I think some introductions are in order."

Remus glanced across the classroom. His friends were sitting in the rightmost three seat in the back corner, exactly the opposite of where Remus was sitting. Remus wasn't sure whether Manard had known that the four of them were the best of friends when drawing up the seating chart, but he wouldn't have been surprised if he had.

"My name is Professor Manard," he said. "It was a French surname, once upon a time, and then it slowly became anglicized as time went on. It's pronounced "mun-ARD", with the accent on the second syllable—but, unlike in the French, please pronounce the D at the end. My first name is Sal. Well, technically, it's "Salvis", but that sounds a bit stupid, don't you think? Many Latin wizarding names do."

He smiled, and there was a soft rumbling of laughter from the class. Remus, who also had a Latin wizarding name, did not.

"I tell you this, of course, because I've heard there are three of you who find it funny to address Hogwarts staff by their first names. If I'm not mistaken, it's the three boys in the back right."

Remus swiveled to face James, who grinned. "Guilty as charged, Sal," he called with a small salute.

"Yes, thank you. The rest of you are permitted to call me Sal without punishment, of course, but I would really rather you didn't—if only because it's a bit weird. Now… hmm. You probably want to know a little bit about me, don't you? Well, I'm thirty-six years old, and I had a wife named Helen, who died a few years ago. Defense Against the Dark Arts was my favorite subject in school… and I was a Ravenclaw, but all my friends were in Slytherin. I was very nearly a Hatstall, you know, between the two Houses. So, yes… anything else you want to know?"

"What happened to your leg?" blurted Sirius, and Remus nearly sighed aloud. He had a pretty good idea of what had happened to Manard's leg, and he didn't particularly want to hear that story.

"Oh, yes. That goes along with my career. I was a werewolf hunter, you see, and one time I, er… didn't run fast enough."

Remus turned around to steal a glance at his friends, whose mouths were agape. "So you're a werewolf now?" James asked in utter delight.

"Heavens, no." Manard laughed. "No, it wasn't the werewolf's teeth that got me, fortunately. It was the claws. Nasty things, werewolf claws. Scratches don't heal up quite right, and the thing managed to claw me to the bone… so I'll have to use a cane for the rest of my life, I'm afraid. It's not so bad. Makes me look distinguished, I reckon."

"Oh," said James, and the delight in his voice had given way to pure bitterness. Remus cringed. James was never, ever going to let this go, and controlling him around Manard was going to be nearly as difficult as controlling himself.

"Anyway, I'm rather passionate about werewolves," said Manard. "Not just werewolves, actually. Dark creatures in general. I want to make sure you all know how to defend yourselves against them, especially because of the upcoming war. I have no doubt that You-Know-Who will utilize all the Dark creatures he can find in the future, and I intend to teach you how to keep yourselves safe."

"Not all Dark creatures are bad," blurted James, and Remus very nearly banged his head against the desk. Shut up shut up shut UP, Prongs, he thought furiously.

But Manard merely smiled. "True," he said, "and I admire your openmindedness. I met a vampire once who was very tame. We had a nice lunch out in a little bar near Liverpool, and he didn't try to drink my blood once. But, because there are so many dangerous Dark creatures who have capabilities we do not, I think it important to know how to defend oneself. Some vampires are lovely people, and others are not. The ones that are not are dangers against which we must defend ourselves. That's all there is to it."

So far, Remus was agreeing with everything he was saying. It was something about the way he was saying it, though, that set Remus' teeth on edge.

Marnard rested his cane against a table by the blackboard, standing on one leg, and then he placed both hands on the table and pushed, easing himself into a sitting position on top of the table. "I was rather stunned to learn that your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year didn't teach a thing about Dark creatures," he said. "Usually, third year is the year with the focus on creatures, so I'm sorry he deprived you of such an interesting subject. Your second-year professor, I hear, was even worse. Your first-year professor touched on the subject, yes?"

"Yes, sir," said Evans. "We went through the Practical Defense, Year One book. He went into depth about everything in it."

"Ah, that is helpful," said Manard. "I'll take a look tonight so that I can see what you've already been taught. You must understand, Albus offered me the job less than twenty-four hours ago. I haven't had much time to put together a curriculum. Your professor in first year was John Questus, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," said a Ravenclaw boy.

"I remember him. I liked him. Sharp as a whip, he was. I heard he died, didn't he? Heartbreaking. We needed him back at the Ministry, but he left soon after being reinstated. Not surprised he left, though, after Auror Webb died in that werewolf ambush…."

Remus slumped a little, trying not to think about anything in particular.

"Anyway. I'll be assigning you new books, of course. You won't need those books on curses that Andrew Dilley assigned, but…" Manard pulled a pouch out of his pocket, eased himself back off the desk, and picked up his cane. "I don't mind paying for your new books out of pocket. Three Galleons each should do it, I think. You'll need Dark Creatures of Britain, the extended version, and Practical Defense, Year Three. Oh, and Year Four, please. We'll cover the important bits in both books."

The clack of the cane sounded once again as Manard walked around the room, dropping three Galleons on each student's desk. He started in the back right (James tried to give his back, but Manard insisted), and he ended with Remus, sliding the three Galleons onto Remus' desk with a very slight wink.

"Wait," said Remus quietly, "I already have the first book."

He regretted the comment as soon as it came out of his mouth, but Manard didn't seem angry. "Of course you do," he said, and Remus cringed slightly. "Keep the money anyway. Buy yourself something nice. Trust me, I got some hefty payment from the Ministry a while back, and I can stand to lose a few Galleons."

"Are you paying for every single student in the school to buy new books?" Evans asked. "That's an absurd amount of money."

"No, no. Only my fourth-years. Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite." He winked. "I'm only joking. Maybe. The real reason is that the library has a class set of Practical Defense for my first, second, and third years, and Hogwarts is willing to cover my fifth, sixth, and seventh. Fourth is the man in the middle, and I don't want any of you to pay out of pocket for something you've already bought."

"That's still an absurd amount of money."

"I barely feel it. I was absurdly good at my job, after all—and even though I'm no longer on the field, the Ministry pays me better than ever before. They feel bad for me, I think."

"Good at your job," James muttered. "You mean you murder a lot of people."

Manard stared at him for a moment. "Well, I have to kill sometimes," he admitted, "but I prefer to detain. There are ways of restraining werewolves without killing them—not many, but there are a few. In many cases, of course, killing is the only way, but trust me when I say that I regret every single life I've taken."

Remus turned his head toward James, who looked like he wanted to say something else. "Stop," Remus mouthed, and James paused… and then nodded. Thank goodness.

"We have quite a bit to catch up on," said Manard, "but of course we shan't start until you have your books. I'd like each of you to send for them tonight, and I have a few extras for those of you who get them late. In the meantime, I'd like you all to tell me exactly what you learned from the esteemed John Questus back in your first year."

Hands shot into the air, and Manard called on people patiently, taking notes in a small, leatherbound journal. The students described jinxes, creatures, and even a few of Questus' assorted lessons on controlling emotions and reactions, the intelligence of Muggles, and Voldemort's motives. Manard smiled and nodded all the way through. "He really was a clever man," he said. "You seem to have learned a lot."

Most of the students hadn't like Questus much, so there was some grumbling, but Remus had been rather close to Questus. He didn't like the thought of a werewolf hunter admiring his favorite professor, oddly enough.

"Good, good," said Manard as soon as the chatter died down. "I'm going to put together some plans. I'm not going to dismiss you early, because I may have questions… you may talk or read quietly, but please don't get out of your seats. Excuse me if I don't fancy the idea of fourteen-year-olds wreaking havoc in my classroom. I'm still a new teacher, after all."

There was some laughter, and then the students started chattering quietly. Remus turned to talk to Evans, but she pulled out a book—a Muggle book that Remus recognized, having read it himself a couple of times. "Oliver Twist?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yeah, it's pretty good."

"I love it."

"Ah, yes," said Manard. Remus jumped. He'd nearly forgotten that he was sitting directly next to Manard's desk—now Manard was easing into his chair, cane still in his hand, a mere few feet away from Remus. "Oliver Twist. I've read it, myself. Good book. Features poor boys on the streets, stealing from others. Really shows that circumstances can and do affect actions."

"They can," said Remus, unable to keep his head down and his nose clean, "but the main character grew up in horrible conditions, is exposed to the possibility of doing the easy thing over the right thing, and yet remains good and kind despite his circumstances, showing that overcoming circumstances, while difficult, is possible."

"Oi, I haven't finished the book," said Evans. "No spoilers."

"Sorry."

"It's all right. I knew it would have a happy ending. It's Dickens, after all."

Manard stared at Remus, eyes glittering oddly. "If you liked that one," he said, "you may want to try The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Similar writing style, and similar feel. It's short, too. You would like it."

"I've already read it," said Remus slowly, "and I didn't like it much. I can't imagine being a monster all the time. That would be awful."

"Wouldn't it?" said Manard, and then he turned back to his own work.

Remus looked at his desk quickly. He hadn't read the book, actually, but he knew the plot enough to know that Manard was subtly mocking him.

He was… right?

Or perhaps he was trying to compliment Remus undercover. Perhaps he was just trying to be kind, and Remus was taking it all wrong because of inherent bias toward werewolf hunters.

Right?

He wasn't sure how to feel about Manard. He seemed kind enough, of course, and he hadn't said anything to suggest he was disapproving of werewolves (besides, perhaps, the brief battle of the books he'd engaged in with Remus). He even said that he regretted killing werewolves. Was it possible that this man was like Professor Questus: wary of Remus for good reason and willing to protect the students if worst came to worst, but fair? What if Manard had potential to grow to respect Remus, just as Questus had?

But no. There was something deeply unsettling about the man—something in the ominous clack of his cane, in his glittering dark blue eyes, in his smile that seemed so gentle but hid something sinister underneath. Everything about him screamed danger, and Remus was nearly on pins and needles merely sitting next to him.

Finally, class let out. The students filed out of the classroom, but just after Remus stood up, Manard reached out and tapped his cane on Remus' desk. Remus jumped.

"Not you," Manard said quietly. "Just stay a moment after class, please. I won't keep you long."

Remus nodded and sat back down. He was starting to feel a bit like Oliver Twist: despised, scared, and completely alone in the world.