Ms. Carmen Rysk was not at the front of the classroom when her first fifth-year class of the day filed into the surprisingly spartan chamber. It was not a woman's space; Gilderoy Lockhart's had been more feminine. The shelves were almost bare, holding only a few opaque vials scattered among them. A neat desk sat at the front of the room.

As a matter of fact, it bore an uncanny resemblance to Snape's dungeon, only with sunlight.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. She didn't need anything to remind her of Potions class: Slytherins and Snape. Who, as Ron had correctly predicted, had been absolute hell.

She'd gotten separated from Ron and Harry by a staircase that simply had to change at the most inconvenient time--and just when they had figured out the fastest route to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now she could only hope the two boys could find their way without her--although she seriously doubted it.

A small silver bell sitting on the unoccupied desk leaped into the air and rang sharply--Rysk's way of separating those on time and those tardy, Hermione supposed. A minute passed, and the classroom remained teacherless. Students started whispering among themselves.

The door slammed open. The room fell silent as the young woman with the eccentric hair (uncovered by a hat) swept in, her robes once again serving more as a cloak, revealing her khakis and bright red shirt with black spirals winding about the sleeves. Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the door as the professor passed her. Harry and Ron had still not come.

"All right, class," Rysk said. Even her voice was a novelty: young but sarcastic and more than a touch cold. "Do me a favor and shut up. I've only had one class and I'm already reconsidering this job."

Hermione blinked. Everyone probably blinked. And fell silent.

Rysk reached back and tugged at her low ponytail, tightening it. "You're in Defense Against the Dark Arts now. And no, I am not an impostor using Polyjuice Potion. No reason to tell you that, except maybe for a class of idiot second years acting like I was here to murder them." She hitched a hip onto her desk as she spoke.

At that moment, a commotion by the door turned all heads to the back of the classroom. Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and
Draco Malfoy were all three shoving to get through first. Malfoy fell against the doorframe with a snarled curse, and the other two pushed past him.

They were stopped cold by the sight of a Muggle-clad witch striding down the aisle to meet him halfway. Malfoy nearly ran into Harry, who had pulled up short in front of Rysk.

Rysk crossed her arms and stared down at the three boys for a moment. Harry shifted uncomfortably--the woman looked downright strange with her wildly colored hair and slate-grey eyes. Ron recovered his breath first, but he was still panting when he broke the silence. "We're...we're sorry, ma'am. We, uh, see, we came from Potions and the staircases changed and--"

"I see," she said succinctly. The brisk phrase contrasted sharply with her youthful face. Ron's mouth worked for a few seconds longer before snapping shut. She turned her gaze down onto Harry. "What about you?"

"Same--same as him," Harry said, jerking his head toward Ron. Rysk nodded slowly, still staring in a most unnerving way.
Somehow, Harry didn't think that introducing himself as The Boy Who Lived was going to impress her much.

Rysk released Harry from her gaze and looked over him to Malfoy. The entire class was dead silent and seemed intent on
remaining so. Harry looked around the room and his eye was caught by Hermione, who mouthed, "A-mer-i-can," at him. She pointed at Rysk's back, and Harry nodded slightly. The woman's accent made it obvious.

Draco Malfoy was openly eyeing Rysk's highlighted hair and her clothing, his face looking as though it was on the verge of breaking into a sneer. He began without waiting to be asked, "Potter and Weasley saw me in the halls and shoved me down--"

Ron whirled. "Like hell we did, Malfoy--"

"Shut up."

Both boys fell silent. Rysk's eyes were travelling up and down Malfoy in a keen, almost scathing manner. "Slytherin, aren't you?" she said softly.

Malfoy reached up and brushed a lock of sweat-plastered hair from his forehead as he replied, "Yes." His lip curled near-imperceptibly. "Professor."

The American stared at him inscrutably a moment longer, causing the scorn to fall from the blonde boy's face like leaves in autumn, before saying in a vaguely sarcastic voice, "I'm sorry."

Malfoy's mouth opened a few centimeters and shut sharply. He edged towards a seat, glaring venomously at the teacher.

"And that," Rysk turned to Ron and Harry, "would make you both Gryffindors."

Ron's chest swelled a bit and Harry's shoulders straightened as they said in unison, "Yes, ma'am."

Strange amusement flashed across Rysk's face. "My condolences." They blinked. "Go to your seats and be on time next time. Unless Snape finally decides to poison you, then you won't need to worry about it."

This drew some uncertain laughter from a few of the class. Rysk turned and began to walk down the aisle. Harry let out a breath and Ron blinked hard, several times, before they both meekly made their way to the seats Hermione had saved.

"Potter!"

Rysk spun on her heel, a wand appearing in her hand from out of no where, and pointing directly at Harry.

"I'm going to put the the death curse on you now," she said, advancing a few steps. Her slender, attractive face was unnervingly blank and focused. "You have two seconds to react before you die. One..."

Harry snapped to his senses in time. He didn't know what drove him to his reaction; something about this woman truly frightened him. He was certain that she would kill him without a qualm. He drew his wand. "Expelliarmus!"

Rysk's wand sprang from her hand into the air. Before anyone could blink, or gasp, or run, the young woman had darted forward and grabbed her wand. "Accio wand!" she rapped, and the weapon ceased to resist. She pointed it at Harry. "Expelliarmus!"

Harry's wand flew through the air. Rysk caught it easily with her left hand.

Ron and Hermione were on their feet, wands out.

The entire class was gaping.

Rysk sauntered over to Harry. "Good reaction, Potter." She offered him his wand, business end pointing away. He stared at her before taking it back. "But I countered, didn't I?"

Harry nodded. Rysk looked at Ron and Hermione on either side of him. "Sit down, you two. You don't really think I would have killed him?"

Their silence was more than enough answer. Rysk shrugged and walked back to the front of the class.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron whispered as they sat down.

"My God, you're shaking," hissed Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry only shook his head.

"I'm--I'm fine," he swallowed, staring raptly at the table's edge. "I'm fine."

Rysk hitched one hip onto her desk again as she addressed the class. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said, sarcastically. "Two rules. If you don't want to pay attention, that's fine, but shut up and stay out of my way about it. If you don't stay out of my way, you will be used for target practice when we start throwing the Pain Curses."

No one laughed. She wasn't joking.

"Any questions?" The witch surveyed her students with something like amusement before continuing. "This," she bounced her wand lightly between two fingers, "is a weapon. You might have figured that out during my demonstration with Potter there." She nodded toward him, and for a split second Harry felt her eyes study him. "Avada Kedavra!"

The entire class cringed reflexively.

"And boom. You're dead." Rysk's voice was disturbingly soft. "So I want you to forget about defense." She stood and
rapped the desk with her knuckles. "In combat there is only offense and counter-offense. Say it, offense and counter-offense."

The class repeated it.

Rysk watched them all with her grey eyes. "Good. And as far as offense and counter-offense goes...the one who moves the fastest...lives.

"You've been taught about the three Unforgivables?"

Nods from around the class.

"You've all practiced resisting the Imperius, too."

Murmured assents.

"And the nasty creatures, you know how to deal with all that."

"Of course we do," Malfoy sneered loudly from his seat, breaking the terse quality of the air. "Our teacher was a werewolf."

Harry twisted around in his seat. "Shut up, Malfoy."

Rysk pinned her gaze onto Draco, who was sitting back in his chair and looking smug. "A werewolf?" she said slowly. The edge her voice had suddenly taken on wiped the smug expression right off of Malfoy's face.

"A werewolf, ma'am," Hermione answered sharply, and with defiance. "Professor Lupin, the best we ever had."

Rysk stared hard at Hermione. "Lupin was here?" In a soft, drawling tone.

She nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

The grey eyes narrowed for half a second at something invisible before the teacher resumed as if nothing had happened. "Lectures, the Unforgivables, some hands-on with animals. But." Her piercing, unnerving gaze swept the room. "I doubt any of you have ever been in the situation of life or death facing another human being. And even if you have," another swift glance at Harry, "who here knew how to deal with it? Hm? Who was ready to kill that other person in order to live?"

No one moved, no one spoke.

Rysk steepled her fingers and tapped them together. "All right. Get out your books. This year you're going to learn how to get into someone's head, how to think on your toes. You're going to learn how to duel to the death and live.

"Oh, by the way," she said over the noise of bags being unzipped and books being opened, "I'm Professor Harrison."