When Gryffindor's fifth year students filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, everyone was looking around eagerly for their new teacher. Since breakfast who would be the new Defense teacher had become an oft-mentioned topic of conversation. There were murmurs of curiosity and speculative glances when they found themselves the only ones in the classroom. The teacher had not yet arrived.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were the last ones to enter the room. There was already a buzz of talk between the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who had preceded them. The three of them stopped just inside the door and gave each other looks.

"Well," Ron mused and leveled a measuring look at Hermione, "suppose Hermione has the right of it and we don't have a teacher for Defense yet?"

Hermione now seemed far less convinced of her own supposition. "They wouldn't schedule it for us if we weren't to have it, would they?" The class-full of students were moving around and chatting. Every once in a while a paper ball was launched across the room. There was no sign of a teacher to bring the class to heel.

"Maybe one of the other teachers is going to sub in until we do have a Defense teacher," Harry said as he repositioned his bag over his shoulder.

"Has the state of education degraded to the point where I have to teach you how to find your seats?" a coarse male voice intoned from close behind the three friends.

Harry turned and jumped back quickly when he came face to face with Mad-Eye Moody's mismatched eyes… one brown and squinty, the other magical, enlarged, and electric blue. Harry, in a split second, remembered watching that very face melt and bubble and contort to reveal Barty Crouch Junior. His right arm ached like a flash-fire, a hint of the way it had burned when last he stood facing this man. He heard Hermione suck in a breath and grab his arm. Ron scuttled away from Moody just as the rest of the classroom went deadly silent.

Moody studied Harry through his normal brown eye while the magical one rolled to focus on Hermione, then Ron, then the rest of the classroom. The brown one stayed on Harry, and it seemed to look right through him. Harry, recollecting himself, tried to stand unflinching before him, but this man had betrayed him. The last time he'd seen that face, it had been speaking of the Dark Lord's return and how much of a pleasure it would be to kill the nuisance that was Harry Potter.

Moody grunted like grumpy bear. "Sit down, all of you, and hold your tongues." Moody clumped past the three stock-still friends and headed for the head of the class. All the students milling around quickly found stools and obeyed the professor. Harry moved toward a table in the back, Hermione still attached to his arm, while Ron slunk over to a seat like a fearful dog.

At the blackboard Moody swung around and looked at the faces staring back at him. "I guess you're expecting some speech about how delightful it is to see all your smiling faces again."

No one was smiling. Moody was well aware of it.

"Well, you'll get no such thing. During the summer holiday I was working with the Aurors in the ministry on improving the obliviate memory spell and took one right between the eyes." Moody pointed shortly to his forehead and his magical eye whirled. "Wiped the entire last term from my memory, so I don't remember a single one of you. End of story. As such, we're starting fresh this year, because you're still a lot of sorry wet children to me. And if we repeat lessons from last year, you'd do well to impress me with everything you already learned. If you impress me enough, we'll move on to a different lesson. If you never impress me, then we'll be working thrice as hard to fix into your skulls how important Defense Against the Dark Arts is. Understood?"

A meek chorus of consents went up from the students. Harry only stared at the professor. It had finally settled into his mind that this was the real Mad-Eye, not Barty under the effect of the polyjuice potion, but it was still disquieting to look on him after last year's events. He still remembered Moody asking about the graveyard, about what it was like standing in the presence of Voldemort…

Hermione was still holding on to his arm, and it was a grounding touch that kept Harry from feeling completely out of sorts. Instead he merely felt like he'd just got a jinxed broom under control. It wasn't bucking under him anymore, but his brain was still rattled.

Moody paced back and forth in front of the class, his strides hitting the floor in an uneven 'thump, clomp'. "This year above all others your aptitude in Defense Against the Dark Arts will be crucial. With the return of Voldemort," a few gasps and whimpers went up around the room, "your ability to master the spells, counterspells, and defenses to protect yourself against dark magic may soon be tested."

Harry could almost see the ripple of fear that swept through the class in a wave of stiff spines.

"You'll be getting classroom instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts every day. You can expect extensive, difficult homework assignments and even harder exams. I'll hear no belly-aching about the workload, because the application of what you will learn is far more harrowing an ordeal than any essay I can assign you.

"You'll also have practical Defense Against the Dark Arts twice a week. You will practice the techniques, spells, and principals discussed in class during these additional lessons until you're chanting them in your sleep. Also, the practicals will be led by a different professor each time. Every professor in the school will instruct you, whether you have their class or not. They will teach you how their subject of expertise can be made to work in defense against the dark arts. Any questions?"

A lone Hufflepuff raised a tremulous, uncertain hand. "Yes?" Moody asked sharply.

The girl dropped her hand quickly, glanced around, then said, "Professor… so it's… it's true that You Know Who has returned?"

"Dumbledore said as much end of term, didn't he?"

The girl swallowed. "Well, yes, he did, but… well, since then there's been not a word about it in the Daily Prophet, and my mum and dad said…"

Moody scoffed in derision. "The Daily Prophet. Are you taking your information from the greatest wizard of our time and your headmaster to boot or that rumor-mongering rag?" When the girl seemed to go pale at the rebuff Moody turned to the whole class in general. "First lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts; never underestimate dark wizards or dark witches. You want to stay on top of danger, believe the worst. It'll save your life sooner than allowing yourself to be lulled by reassuring lies.

"And why hasn't there been word in the Daily Prophetabout You Know Who or the ministry's efforts to fight him? I'll tell you, but first, answer this. What do you have to do to get a copy of the Daily Prophet delivered to you every morning?"

A silence reigned before Seamus answered cautiously, "Subscribe and pay the delivery owl a knut?"

"Exactly! And what would a Death Eater have to do to get the Daily Prophet delivered to him every morning? The exact same thing. Easy as that. You want the Daily Prophet to detail every step of the ministry's war efforts against You Know Who? Why don't we just deliver our plans for defense and counterattack into the hands of You Know Who himself?"

"But they…" the girl from before sounded more and more like a mouse, "but the ministry is doing something, trying to kill You Know Who?"

"They are and have been since the end of the Triwizard Tournament." Moody whirled on the rest of the class, "And what have all of you done during the summer to prepare yourself to face this danger?"

Hermione's fingers dug deeper into Harry's bicep… his stronger, bigger bicep. Harry sat up straighter and he set aside his discomfort to attend to Moody as only someone who would not coddle them. These were the kinds of words only he and Hermione had braved to speak during the summer. Until now, it had seemed they had been the only ones who realized what it meant. This was what he'd needed since last night… affirmation, acknowledgement, action.

Moody's magical eye rested on every student in turn, like an inquisitor judging their misdeeds. "You all were told the truth, you knew the threat… so what have you done, eh? Let no news be good news, let your parents assure you there was no reason to worry and wave you off to bed with a kiss and a cookie? Well, worry. Worry a lot, because Voldemort is back." Moody scowled at them all, but Harry was oddly comforted by the gruff, blunt demeanor. "The last time You Know Who cut his swath of destruction through the magical world hundreds upon hundreds of witches and wizards died." Hermione's grip on Harry's arm became bruising. "My job is to hammer into your soft brains all I can, all I've learned from a career as an Auror dealing with dark magic every day, and maybe if you pay attention to what I tell you, and to what your other professors tell you, you'll live to see the death of Voldemort instead of falling before his wrath."

A strange ferocity stirred in Harry at the words. He glanced at Hermione and saw a similar resolve, a similar stony determination, burning in her eyes. They'd known every word from Moody's mouth before he'd spoken it, they'd vowed it already over the summer to one another. For the first time since returning to Hogwarts, they felt they'd found a place where that end could be served.

"Now open your books," Moody barked, and everyone jerked and hurried to do as bade.

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Moody's class was sobering. He did not allow anyone to believe that You Know Who's return was a fairy tale or a lie. For the hour they were in his class it was irrefutable fact. No one had the nerve to challenge Mad-Eye, and by the end of class, when students were filing out to go to lunch, Harry noticed the looks his classmates were turning his way were different. They were too recently cowed and lashed by Moody to still blame Harry for their disquiet. Moody put it back on Voldemort, where it belonged, and Harry detected an immediate shift in his peers. The looks cast his way now were sorrowful… Harry had been forced to face that monster of a wizard, as he had once been at the dark wizard's wand as a baby. Some were scared… it was an immense thing for a then-fourteen-year-old boy to best the darkest wizard of their lives for a second time. It was one time more than most witches and wizards had the opportunity to do. Some students could not grapple with the idea that Harry had managed to survive. Others, though far fewer, seemed almost grateful to him. His escape meant there was warning of the danger simmering in the dark shadows of their world. They were allotted this time to prepare and study and work their asses off because Harry had brought them word of Voldemort's return. The memory of Cedric's death, his absence in the halls this term, was a final seal of veracity and reality on the issue. Maybe they could believe it a lie, but that left a student's body to explain. As long as they were under Moody's watch, it was useless to argue. It was Voldemort's doing, and given half the chance he'd do it again to everyone in the room.

"Potter," Moody called before Harry and his friends could leave. Harry looked toward the professor, at Hermione and Ron, then ticked his head in silent direction and moved toward the front of the classroom. Hermione and Ron followed as the room emptied.

Moody was directing the erasers to clean the board and turned to Harry... and set a heavy scowl upon his face when he saw Hermione and Ron. With a flick of his wand the classroom door slammed shut and closed the four of them in alone together. Only then did the professor speak. "So I assume you two already know?" he spoke to Ron and Hermione directly.

Ron shrank back a little from Moody, but Hermione stood at Harry's side, chin up in a show of strength, and she said, "About Barty Crouch Junior? Yes, we do."

Moody grunted and sat down on the edge of his desk. "Dumbledore told me to expect as much from Potter to tell you two."

Harry was not about to apologize for that. "You lied."

Moody eyed Harry closely. It was almost hard for Harry to remember at all times that this gruff, surly Auror was not the same one he'd dealt with so extensively last year. Barty Junior had done his research on mannerisms and demeanor.

"I did. And do you know why?"

Harry hesitated. It was Hermione beside him who answered, "If the students found out about Barty Junior last year, if they knew it had been him and not you, they'd doubt you. They'd question you all the time, because they'd believed what they thought was you once, and it had been a lie."

Moody let out a dry, cackling bark of a laugh. "Well, now, Dumbledore told me to expect you to be sharp as a tack. You're right. And for that reason, they should continue to believe I was obliviated." Moody reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. Harry's eyes went immediately to the container and he regarded it suspiciously. Last year, it had been polyjuice potion, the instrument of Barty's ruse that buffaloed them all.

Moody saw Harry's attentiveness. "I like your caution, Potter. Here," he handed the flask to him. "Take a swallow, see if you turn into me."

Harry took the flask even as Hermione cast him a startled look. It was a fair bet that Moody was toting around a nip of alcohol, and for him to offer it to a student…

Harry met Moody eye to eye before putting the flask to his lips and tipping it back. A splash of firewhiskey slammed into the back of his throat and his eyes watered but he fought to keep from coughing. He swallowed and stoically handed the flask back.

Moody matched Harry's gaze, unblinking and steady. A moment of import passed wordlessly between them, thick and wrought with tension, but very significant. And for Harry, necessary for him to ever trust Mad-Eye again.

Finally, Moody nodded, "Feeling yourself?"

Harry didn't glance down at himself but simply nodded. He knew he wouldn't need to look if it had been polyjuice potion. One didn't transform from drinking polyjuice potion without realizing it.

Moody had passed the test.

Moody took a swig himself and capped the flask, "Yeah, Dumbledore told me you three had taken polyjuice potion before. Gutsy. And for a trio of second years, too. I hope you lot will give me just as much grief, though I'll hardly call that kind of ingenuity 'grief'.

"I'll also expect you all to keep quiet about Barty Junior."

"We will," Hermione answered for them. Ron gave a wordless nod and Harry merely looked Moody straight in the eye.

Moody studied each of them, both with his normal eye and his magical one, then he grunted and rose from his desk. "I understand whenever there's trouble you three tend to be in the thick of it." Moody turned a penetrating look on all of them. "I won't harp on you for that. Sometimes you find trouble," he glanced at Harry, "and sometimes trouble has a habit of finding you. Remember I'm here to teach you how to get yourselves out of trouble. I'm not a McGonagall or a Flitwick or even an Albus Dumbledore. I'm not here to tell you to hole up safe in your beds and pretend you can live your lives without coming across danger or that you should even try. Sometimes risk is inevitable, sometimes it's part of what makes life worthwhile. Just keep me in mind if you ever find yourself needing help getting out of danger, however you may have stumbled into it."

"We'll remember, Professor," Hermione answered.

"Then off to the Great Hall with you, students weak from hunger won't do any of your teachers a bit of good."

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In the Gryffindor common room late that evening, Harry and Ron were sitting before the fire with their History of Magic homework in front of them. Harry was in the armchair to the side of the hearth while Ron was sitting in the middle of the couch directly across from the fireplace, his parchment on one side of him and his book on the other. In his lap were his notes from last year, woefully spotty and unhelpful but Ron was desperate enough to keep hunting for notes he had not taken. Both boys had their robes and ties draped over the back of the furniture, their collars unbuttoned and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was getting late and their fellow Gryffindors were beginning to trudge up the stairs to their beds. Harry was halfway done with his History of Magic assignment, the paper's seemingly fated state since the beginning of summer. Ron, on the other hand, had not even started and was fretting over the hour. They had History of Magic first thing the next morning and their summer assignments would be due at the start of class.

"Bollocks," Ron whined as he flipped through his sparse notes furiously. "I just don't know, Harry, this is stupid anyway. Who needs History of Magic? What with You Know Who back, well, you'd think we could all focus on the present, right? So who needs history? This assignment is pointless."

Harry looked up from his partially-finished scroll. "Somehow I don't think a teacher who's a ghost will appreciate the suggestion that we should only worry about the present. Binns might take it a bit personally."

Ron grabbed at his hair and scowled viciously at his parchment. When he brought his hand away his hair was sticking up in wild orange tufts to match his frenzied state of mind. "I just can't be bothered to think about the house elf pandemic of 1284 with the dark wizard running around on the loose." He leaned about against the cushions of the couch and closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. Harry shook his head and returned to his essay. He wasn't quite to the point of matching Ron's disgust with the assignment, but sleep was starting to look very appealing and he'd just as soon finish his work and get up to bed.

"Oh, Harry, really, and you had all summer…"

Harry looked up and saw Hermione standing near the far end of the couch. Her day robes had been shucked and she wore the pleated skirt and sweater set that went under her regular robes. In Harry's opinion, much nicer than her Hogwarts robes. She was frowning at Harry's last-minute homework with an expression as though she took Harry's failure to finish all his work on time as her own personal short-coming.

At Hermione's voice, Ron jumped and sat up, his hair still a fright. "Her-Hermione… hey! You… you want to sit next to me?"

Hermione's face quirked strangely. "Umm… okay."

Ron hurriedly moved his book over to the other cushion, crushing his barely-begun History of Magic assignment and looking up at Hermione eagerly.

Hermione, with a quick, questioning look at Harry, sat down and folded her legs beneath her. She examined the scene before her, regarded Ron's rather frazzled if somewhat goofy appearance, and she seemed to address the greater need first. "How's the homework coming along, Ron?"

Ron's face fell. "Oh, you have got to help me, Hermione. I'm sure to fail if you don't."

"Can't be all that bad, let me see what you've got so far."

Ron pulled his crumpled parchment from beneath his book and handed it to her. Hermione took it, looked at the paper, and her eyes went wide. "RON! All you have is your name?!"

"I'm not smart like you!" Ron practically wailed.

"But you didn't work on this at all the entire summer?!"