Remus would not have an opportunity to observe the new professor until the following Monday. He spent his first weekend refamiliarizing himself with the labyrinthine halls of the school and paying a visit to Hagrid's cabin. His excuse for making such an early trek to the gamekeeper's home was to merely offer his congratulations on getting the thestrals trained and ready for the new school year, though he had ulterior motives. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew's interest in him had not flagged after the train ride to Hogwarts, as he rather expected it would. They had invited him to breakfast the following morning, and it was only after several excuses that he was able to effect an escape. He found it indispensable to be outside their common room and out of reach. Hagrid's cabin was a blessing.

By Monday, the boys seemed to have forgotten about Remus. Everyone was too busy consulting their class schedules to pay much attention to anything else. With the help of his map of the moving staircases, which he had carefully preserved with a charm to prevent ripping, fading, or stains, he was the first of his class to arrive in Flitwick's class that day.

What followed was a fairly normal day. Professor Flitwick seemed genuinely pleased to see him in good health, and Professor Sprout was as kind and cheerful as always. Even Professor Slughorn greeted him by name as he sat down to Potions that afternoon, and cordially hoped he'd had a "very relaxing summer."

The kindness of his teachers, and the indifference of his classmates, was all that Remus had wished for. He was in an unusually good mood as he made his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, his final class of the day. He even ventured to hope that Professor Squabs, if not as accommodating as Professor Corvus had been, would be at least as attentive as his other teachers.

He realized quickly that his hopes had been misplaced. Professor Squabs presented as a firm disciplinarian. At the start of class, when Frances Greengrass and Rosina Rook failed to stop their conversation when the professor had called for order, she simply waved her wand wordlessly at the girls, whose mouths continued to open and close a moment after their voices were silenced, like gaping fish out of water. When they turned to their professor with wide eyes, Professor Squabs merely replied, "I will not be talked over. When I begin class, I expect your full attention."

The second-years were too frightened to laugh at the girls' expressions, and even Potter and his crew sat in dead silence as Professor Squabs outlined her lesson plans and aims for the students that year.

There was no doubt that the professor was strict, but Remus had no reason to suspect any particular dislike toward him. That is, until Professor Squabs reached the end of her syllabus, and abruptly stated, "Mr. Lupin, can you tell me the proper method for handling a swarm of Cornish Pixies?"

Remus flinched. His head had been bent toward his desk, intent on making note of the various creatures and spells they would be learning about over the course of the term, so that he might look them up in the library later. He had, as usual, selected a seat toward the back of the classroom, the better to observe while not being noticed himself. Now he looked up in embarrassment to see the faces of his classmates turned toward him.

"Erm… What?" he said intelligently.

The professor's expression did not change, though there was a note of irritation in her voice as she repeated, "We were discussing Cornish Pixies, Mr. Lupin. I asked if you knew the proper method for handling a swarm?"

Remus's father worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Though his work usually called on him to banish creatures like boggarts and poltergeists, Remus was sure he had mentioned pixies in the past. Called upon so suddenly, however, and under the scrutiny of so many eyes, he couldn't seem to recall his own name, much less a spell that would help against an angry swarm.

He cast his eyes around the room in desperation. Snape was sitting toward the front of their class, his arm raised stiffly in the air. He was glaring at Remus, as though he had purposely stolen this opportunity to show-off in front of the new professor. By his side, Lily Evans watched the professor with a crease between her reddish brows.

"I… I'm not sure…" Remus muttered at last.

Professor Squabs, satisfied that she had properly humiliated Remus in front of his peers, abruptly turned away from him, and continued to instruct the class.

"Cornish Pixies are of course quite strong for their size, capable of easily lifting a student of, say, Mr. Lupin's size, into the air. They are particularly fond of leaving people at the tops of tall trees. Despite their strength, however, they are easily dissuaded by a simple Knockback Jinx, Slowing Charm, or even a Tickling Charm. All of which you will learn during the course of this term…"

The conclusion was simple. Professor Squabs hated him. Though Remus had done nothing to offend her, he continued to be singled out during subsequent lessons. As if calling on him when he was unprepared wasn't bad enough, she also developed a habit of selecting him whenever she needed to demonstrate a new jinx to the class. There could be only one explanation for this evident dislike. Professor Squabs hated werewolves.

Remus could hardly blame her. He knew nothing about the professor beyond her domineering teaching style. Perhaps she had a family member or a friend who had been attacked by a werewolf. And while it was true that Remus had not chosen this life, it did not change the fact that werewolves were dangerous. That alone might have prompted Professor Squabs to condemn the decision to raise one among so many innocent, unassuming children.

Remus weighed his options. He briefly considered writing home, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He didn't want his father writing to Dumbledore, or worse, coming to the school in person to vent his indignation at Professor Squabs. That would draw too much attention to himself. In the end, he resolved to face the teacher's petty behavior and veiled insults without complaint, and to work harder at his studies. She could criticize him all she wanted, but she would not find fault with his schoolwork.

Ironically, it wasn't Remus who gave the new professor the most trouble. Potter and Black, usually joined by Pettigrew, seemed determined that their reputations as the school's most troublesome tricksters would not fade away after they had established themselves last year. The trio found themselves in detention more often than not, and almost always, it was Professor Squabs who put them there.

This did not mean the other teachers were lenient toward them. Filch was under constant orders to keep a close eye on the boys whenever he patrolled the halls of he school. Filch was second only to Professor Squabs in sentencing the boys to detention, though usually, it was only Potter and Black who were caught. Pettigrew was most cautious of the three, and seemed to wriggle his way out of situations that would have landed Potter or Black in detention, though Remus knew he was just as culpable in their pranks.

About a month into the term, Remus was approached by this most slippery of the trio. He had been sitting by himself in the Great Hall, reading a copy of The Daily Prophet he had borrowed from Frank Longbottom. He had already burned through the first three novels he'd brought with him from home. Considering that one of these novels had been Charles Dickens' Bleak House, he thought it would be better to pace himself, lest he run through his entire collection before the winter holiday. The newspaper was therefore a welcome change.

He had been midway through an article discussing the current Minister of Magic's policy regarding werewolf colonies when a shadow fell across the page. He looked up, and found himself staring into the round face of Peter Pettigrew. He was posed as though modeling for the cover of a Muggle superhero comic, with hands resting in fists against his hips, his feet spayed apart, and a broad grin across his face. He smiled down at Remus with a magnanimous expression, only accomplished by the fact that Remus was sitting down. Remus was tall for his age, and had he been standing, he would have towered over the shorter boy.

"What?" Remus asked as the silence dragged on, and it became clear that Pettigrew was waiting for him to speak.

"I come bearing an invitation!" Pettigrew declared, extending his hand toward Remus with pompous cordiality. "You, Remus Lupin, have been selected to join a secret brotherhood, a fraternal order of warlocks, an exclusive gathering of the boldest, cleverest, and most cunning minds to attend Hogwarts since the four founders themselves! Rejoice, for you have been chosen to join the Marauders!"

"I have no interest in joining your stupid little gang," Remus said instantly, folding the pages of his newspaper as he prepared to leave. His breakfast was only half-eaten, but he had rather lost his appetite.

His rejection stunned Pettigrew. He seemed to think he was conferring a great favor on Remus by inviting him to join their group, and was astonished that Remus had declined.

Remus froze halfway out of his seat as Pettigrew called further down the table, "He said no!"

Potter and Black were watching from the other end of the Great Hall. Black seemed embarrassed. He looked away with feigned disinterest while Potter shouted back, "Don't yell at us, you idiot!"

Remus frowned. A darker suspicion rose in his mind as he gathered his bag and marched toward the pair, who tried and failed to pretend they didn't notice his approach.

"I don't know what the two of you are planning," he said coldly, "but you can leave me out of it."

He wasn't sure what the trio wanted with him, but he was certain the overly loquacious invitation had concealed nothing more than a cruel prank. Very likely they intended to pin some of their own misdeeds on him. Remus didn't desire their friendship, but he would not tolerate their bullying either.

Potter's mouth fell open in protest, but Remus did not stay to hear his excuses. He turned, and marched out of the Great Hall.