A/N:

Hi!

I recently took up writing again in order to find a hobby that keeps me from going crazy, and I decided to tackle an old piece of mine—It's Love, Actually. This was originally published on AO3 (where the finished story can be found under my pen name, KMWells), but if you're too damn lazy, then I'll post it here for you, as well. The earlier chapters of this story have been edited and revised (with a few minor alterations that aren't so critical to the story), so this is the most recent version.

As I've rewritten this story, Darcy has become very dear to me—more so than when I created her as a sickly fourteen-year-old many, many moons ago. I hope you enjoy her as much as I do! (In fact, I love her so much, I may or may not have a Pinterest board dedicated to her.)

Cheers, to the new and improved characters and plot line.

'Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?'

Mary Oliver

"You shouldn't have done that… oh, you really shouldn't have—just you wait—why would you—?" Her eyebrows furrow in concentration. "How did you…? She was floating… that way…" She looks up at the night sky, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. She searches, but the sound of her trunk falling over makes her jump and she picks it back up, chasing after her brother. In just a few long strides, she catches up to him again, slowing her pace and dragging her trunk noisily behind her. "All right—I won't say that I'm not impressed, but you really shouldn't have done that."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry argues, rolling his eyes at her. "I just got angry is all."

Darcy scoffs, her eyes quickly roaming the sky one more time for the silhouette of their currently distended aunt. "Angry at what?" she asks casually.

Harry looks sideways at her, huffing, his nerves still jangling. "Were we at the same dinner table?" he snaps. "You heard what she said."

"Yeah, I heard what she said," Darcy replies. "A whole load of horse shit about mum and dad."

"It doesn't matter! She shouldn't have said those things!"

"Harry, the Dursleys—Marge—they're bitter and jealous and don't like things they can't understand, that's all! We have nothing to prove to those people."

The words comes easily to her, words that she's said to him so many times before, but she can't pretend that Marge's words hadn't hurt her too.

Harry doesn't answer.

Darcy smiles down at him. "C'mon, Harry, you know that stuff wasn't true. What does Marge know about our mum and dad? I'll bet a whole lot less than we do." She shrugs. "Don't let that stuff get you fired up. She was only doing it to get a rise out of us."

"And she succeeded, didn't she?" Harry hisses, sneering at the thought of his aunt's crooked, gleeful smile she had worn at dinner. "So she got what she wanted—she got what she deserved. Just because she likes you better—"

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! You know that's not true." She purses her lips as she thinks. "Remember when that damn dog bit my arm and the whole way to hospital Marge kept laughing and said that I must've deserved it if he bit me? I probably have rabies because of that."

"Shut up," Harry says. "You'd be dead by now."

Darcy ignores him. "Where are you headed anyway?"

"What do you mean, where am I headed?" he demands. "Like you've got a plan?"

"Of course I've got a plan," Darcy chuckles, infuriating Harry. "I thought I'd just let you lead this time. See where you take us."

Harry sighs and stops walking, dropping his trunk and pushing it to the side of the road. He rubs his eyes and messes up his hair, breathing in the cool air. "You know, you didn't have to come with me," Harry says coldly, walking over to his trunk and sitting on the curb. "You're more than welcome to leave at any time."

"Harry, stop being so dramatic," she teases. "Do you have any money on you?"

He shakes his head as if the idea is ridiculous.

Darcy holds out her hand to him, expecting something from him. "Wizard money, Harry."

Harry shrugs. "In my trunk, I think."

"Good," Darcy says, swooping to his trunk and beginning to open it before he can say another word. She digs around in his stuff, pushing around the contents inside to find some money. "Remember how much I took out last August? I spent it all before Easter holidays. Nearly died on the train ride home without those little cookies they have—you know the ones? Oh, got some!"

In her hand are thirty silver Sickles. A broad smile crosses her face and she puts all of Harry's stuff back into place and closes his trunk again. "What are we going to do with that?" Harry asks, and then he adds quickly, "And you should really save your money next time so we won't have to use mine!"

But as Darcy opens her mouth to protest, she notices his lips purse and his nose scrunches, his eyes looking past her, to the right of her. His expression, one of mingled fear and curiosity, disturbs her and she turns around quickly. Darcy attempts to follow his line of sight, but it's quite clear to her what he's staring at. She can see it, just barely glimpse it, in the shadows of a bush. A large black shadow with eyes that glow in the lamplight.

She takes a single step forward, trying to get a better look at it. It has to be a dog... It has to be... but it's the size of a small bear—if she could just get a little bit closer... close enough to see what it is... But it makes a step, almost as if marking them as prey, baring its teeth and emitting a low growl...

Darcy gasps, fumbling for her wand, which is tucked in her back pocket, but before she can even attempt to attack whatever is in front of her, she's blinded by bright, white light. The figure of something much bigger than the shadow comes barreling near her and she steps back just in time. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, sweat forming on her forehead, but as she looks up at the magnificent, purple vehicle that almost ran her over, she laughs out loud.

Harry looks at her, his eyes wide and his face pale. He's bursting to ask about what Darcy saw, but he hesitates when he sees clearly what's in front of him. Both he and Darcy look up at the violently purple, triple-decker bus, headlights casting bright, white light throughout the street.

Darcy's amused, shaking her head as a lanky boy exits the bus in a purple uniform. He looks at Darcy and grins, bearing yellow teeth and laughing incredulously. "Back again, eh?" he says to Darcy, who's already stepping inside the bus, her trunk right behind her. "S'been awhile since I seen ya!"

"Last summer," Darcy replies flatly, her voice drifting out the open windows of the bus. "Same as always."

The boy called Stan peers down at Harry, looking suspicious. Darcy suddenly appears at his shoulder, giving Harry a sharp look to keep him quiet and saying, "This is my cousin, Stan. We're going to be spending the rest of our summer holiday at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ah!" Stan shouts, sounding disappointed. "I thought maybe you'd be going to meet that blonde friend of yours."

She raises her eyebrows at Harry before disappearing into the bus again. "Not this time, Stan."

While Stan struggles with Harry's overstuffed trunk, he follows Darcy towards the back. She turns back to look at her brother, taking his hand and pulling him along. Harry's eyes are wide with fascination, a slightly wary look about him. Inside the bus are several beds, comfortable looking, but very unsturdy looking, as well. Darcy sits down on a bed in the bed and Harry sits beside her, close enough to have a whispered conversation.

"What is this thing?" Harry hisses, looking around.

Darcy digs around in her pockets and pulls out twenty-two sickles. She doesn't answer, but watches Stan walk slowly towards them again, a lopsided smile glued to his face. "Hot chocolate this time?" Stan asks, clearing his throat.

Darcy smiles sweetly up at Stan, but talks to Harry. "Hot chocolate is normally extra, but Stan discounts it for frequent riders," she says, "doesn't he?"

"If once a year is what you call a 'frequent ride'," Stan jokes. His laugh is obnoxious, a high pitched giggle, and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Darcy throws him another brilliant smile and Stan submits quite quickly to her. "Yeah, all right, I'll get you your hot chocolate."

"And one for my cousin, too, please!" Darcy shouts after him. She turns to Harry again, smiling awkwardly. "This is the Knight Bus. You must have accidentally hailed it when you fell down."

"Where's it you're going, again?" Stan inquires as he brings them two steaming mugs. Darcy's mug is stuffed with marshmallows.

"The Leaky Cauldron, please."

As Stan slinks away from them yet again, Darcy continues. "It's quite convenient, but I must warn you—"

Before Darcy can finish her sentence, the Knight Bus takes off with a bang, the force of the acceleration moving the beds towards the back of the bus. Darcy lifts her legs to keep the bed frames from hitting her. Harry quickly imitates her, but spills his hot chocolate all down his front, burning his skin. He tries to find balance again, but ends up being thrown against the wall, his mug falling to the ground and smashing into several large pieces. Darcy sees him blush furiously when he realizes she's watching him.

"I tried to warn you, honest!" Darcy laughs. "But it's not that bad after the third time. You kind of get used to it."

"When have you ever had the time to ride this thing?" Harry yelps as his foot gets caught beneath two beds.

"Emily and I use it when I visit over the summer. Being underage presented itself with some difficulties," Darcy continues, bouncing on the bed as the Knight Bus rolls over some large bumps in the road. The bed creaks and groans underneath her, but Darcy composes herself once more. "The biggest one being a lack of transportation."

"Why didn't you just use broomsticks?"

"You know I wouldn't be caught dead on a broomstick. And Emily doesn't like flying."

"It's not that bad."

"Yeah, well unfortunately, dad failed to pass his broomstick riding genes to me," Darcy shrugs, taking a small sip of her drink, slurping at it and popping a large marshmallow into her mouth. "Anyway, Stan's been the conductor for a while, ever since he was real young."

"Didn't he go to Hogwarts?"

"Dunno," Darcy replies, a slight smirk on her face, leaning into her brother. "I've never seen him around, have you?"

Harry thinks hard and shakes his head. "I suppose not."

The Knight Bus continues to jump from place to place, knocking Harry all over the place, into windows and onto the ground. He eventually ends up falling on top of the chips of mug he'd dropped earlier, cutting up the palms of his hands. Darcy cleans his cuts for him and finishes her hot chocolate, somehow still sitting straight up on the bed, but her face is slightly tinted green. Her stomach rolls as they take a sharp turn, nearly tipping the bus onto its side.

"Done with that?" Stan asks slyly, sneaking up on them and smiling at Darcy. "I can take it if you want."

"Thanks, Stan," Darcy says with a small smile. "How many more stops?"

"Just a few," he answers. "Why? You in a hurry?"

As Darcy is suddenly jerked sideways, she laughs mirthlessly. "Something like that." She notices the newspaper folded in his hand. "Do you mind if I borrow that?"

Stan hands it to her and she unfolds it, eyes scanning the stories for anything of interest. Harry studies the front page, the one that's facing him, and he tilts his head in confusion, forehead creasing. "Who is that man?" he asks suddenly, pointing at the page. "Who is this? I've seen him somewhere before."

Darcy cocks an eyebrow and closes the paper to see who Harry's pointing at. She looks at the moving photograph carefully, watching the man scream and fight the chains that are binding him. A thin, gaunt man with long and stringy black hair stares up at her. His teeth look to be off color, even though the picture is black and white. She knows who he is—Sirius Black. Darcy's seen him on the Muggle news several times over the summer, and the Daily Prophet has kept a photo of him on the front page for weeks, urging others to be aware.

"Sirius Black," Stan answers for her, overly dramatic and leaning in towards Harry. He raises his eyebrows to his hairline, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "Killed twelve Muggles and a wizard with one spell."

"One spell can do that?" Harry whispers, eyes growing large. "Just kill all those people?"

Stan grimaces. "He was a powerful wizard," he explains, "that was in real close with You-Know-Who."

Darcy takes a long look at Sirius's photograph. Finally, tiring of Stan's hovering presence, she shoves the paper back into his hands and he shuffles off towards the front of the bus. The bus suddenly leans to the right, balancing on two wheels, but after a moment, it lands on all fours again and carries on through the night. Darcy looks out the window, rain beginning to fall from the sky and splashing into the bus and onto her face. She quickly puts the window up as the bus stops suddenly, nearly throwing her forward.

"You saw the dog, didn't you?" Harry whispers, dangerously close to her ear. "Before the bus came?"

She jumps and turns to look at Harry, peering at him intensely. "Are you sure that's what it was?"

"That's what it had to be, right?" he asks again, his face looking anxious. "I mean—what else could it have been?"

Darcy shrugs, pushing the creeping paranoia to the back of her mind. Now that she really thinks on it, Darcy comes to the conclusion that it must just be a stray, wandering around. "Well, whatever it was, it can't have followed us all the way out here."

The Knight Bus came to a shuddering halt once more, with a loud bang! Darcy immediately stands up, her long legs carrying her off the bus much faster than Harry. She waits on the sidewalk for him to exit. As he gets down the stairs, Stan carries his trunk out for him, placing it next to Darcy's on the sidewalk.

The familiar smell of stale smoke and burnt soup lingers in the air outside the Leaky Cauldron. Darcy looks up at the place, smoke billowing from the high chimney, blocked by the pointed roof of the building. It's impossible to see in through the grubby and cracking windows.

"Not bad, huh?" Darcy asks with a smirk as the Knight Bus's doors shut and it rattles away from them, leaving them completely in the dark. She crosses her arms and looks up at the swinging sign. "I told you I had a plan."

"Yeah, well—"

"Harry! Miss Potter!"

Darcy and Harry jump, looking quickly towards the door of the Leaky Cauldron. It opens with such force that Darcy is sure whoever it behind it is trying to knock it off its hinges. But when she sees who it is that's greeting her, her smile is wiped off her face. Harry seems to share her misgivings. "Was this part of the plan, as well?" he mutters into her ear.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, stands before them, a broad grin across his face and arms wide open as if expecting hugs. Darcy remembers seeing him quite often during her fourth year at Hogwarts, the year Fudge had been elected Minister of Magic. Frequently, he had met with Dumbledore, who always offered his own advice to Fudge, and while Fudge had always been kind to her, his interest in her personal life had always made her slightly uncomfortable in his presence.

Darcy grabs up her trunk, looking at Harry again, who has gone white in the face. However, Fudge is not mad, nor does he seem even slightly irritated. Instead, he is cheerful and warm and inviting and he holds the door open for Darcy and Harry as they walk inside. Just inside the entrance, after the door shuts behind Fudge, he looks them over, rocking back and forth on his heels, appraising them.

"Harry, I'm afraid we've never formally met before," Fudge says brightly, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. I'm sure you've seen my picture in the papers."

"Oh, yes, sir," Harry mutters, shaking Fudge's hand weakly. Darcy is quite glad he's chosen not to reveal that he's actually seen Fudge in person before, albeit underneath an Invisibility Cloak.

Fudge withdraws his hand and looks at Darcy now, offering her a short bow and then grasping her hand with both of his. "And I do believe I've already had the pleasure of meeting you, Miss Potter," he smiles, lightly kissing her knuckles. "But that was some time ago. How have your studies been?"

"Wonderful, sir," she replies with a small grin, pulling her hand away. "I'm eager to start this year."

"Excellent," Fudge sighs happily, clapping his hands together. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Potter, but I have some business to discuss with your brother—er, alone, if you don't mind. Now, we've already had two rooms made up for you, so Tom will bring your luggage up for you… goodnight, Miss Potter… I daresay we'll see each other again soon enough…"