'Just because you are soft doesn't mean you are not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the color gold.'

Victoria Erickson

For twenty minutes, the only sound in the office is the clinking for silverware against plates and the crackling of the fire. Darcy doesn't look up from her food, but can feel Lupin watching her eat frantically. She saws feverishly at her thick slice of roast beef, sticking a large chunk in her mouth and chewing it for a long while.

After another ten minutes of silence, Lupin clears his throat, sitting back in his seat and wiping his face with his napkin. Darcy puts her silverware down and looks up at him, faltering under his stare. She looks him in the eyes and pushes her plate slightly away from her, taking a long drink of water. Lupin looks away and runs a hand through his hair.

Darcy puts her glass down, fingering the rim of it. She gives him a once over, studying him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling and her lips pursing. Lupin looks at her again, clearly uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Finally, she sits up straighter and sniffles. "Are you going to kill me?" she asks.

Lupin opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He tilts his head to the side and gives her a blank stare. "What?" he laughs. "Is that what's been troubling your sleep? That's what you wanted to ask me? You think I want to kill you?" He continues to laugh until he realizes that Darcy isn't even smiling.

She nods, relaxing a little. "I just had to ask," she sighs. "My friend—she thought you might be out to hurt me. I didn't believe her, but she's always paranoid and she has a way of getting into your head."

"If I did want to kill you, I probably wouldn't have told you the truth about it when you asked." Lupin shrugs, the corners of his lips turning upwards again. "And I probably would have killed you already if I was going to. But I promise you, the thought has never once crossed my mind, nor will it ever."

Darcy exhales loudly. "That's very reassuring, sir."

"Please—" Lupin says, standing and walking to a trunk in the corner of the room. He fumbles with the latches for a moment and digs inside, pulling out a kettle and two small teacups. "No need for such formalities, Darcy." In his desk drawer are two teabags and he places one in each of the cups. "Maybe some tea will calm you down and help you realize I'm no killer."

"Thank you very much, but—I don't really care for tea."

"Oh? Well, I'm afraid it's all I have." Lupin uses his wand to put the extra teacup onto an empty shelf. He waves his wand again, pointing it at the kettle, then taps it hard and it begins to scream. Darcy watches him pour the boiling water into his teacup. "What do you prefer?"

"Hot cocoa," she replies with a small smile.

"With or without a shot of firewhisky?"

Darcy opens her mouth to answer, unsure of how to answer. When she sees his wide smile, she laughs. "In confidence, Professor, a shot of firewhisky might do me some good."

"Hot cocoa I can promise, but—you'll understand if I hold back on the firewhisky. Next time, Darcy, I'll be sure to have some hot cocoa on hand." Lupin waves his wand again and the kettle floats back to the shelf, coming to rest beside the teacup, still steaming slightly. "Now, I'm anxious to hear what's on your mind."

Darcy licks her lips and looks away from him, to the cup of steaming tea in front of him. She had practiced exactly what she was going to say on the way to his office, had stood outside his door perfecting it until she was prepared, and as soon as she entered, everything changed. Her stomach churns at the thought of describing her violent nightmare, the memory that changed her entire life.

"Could you tell me more about my mother?" she asks wistfully. "I remember so little of her."

He takes a long drink of his tea. "All right. What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she replies without hesitation. "She was beautiful, wasn't she? I have pictures of her when she was my around my age."

Lupin chuckles. "She was very pretty, and much more than that."

Darcy smiles sadly, wondering how much she dares to tell him. "Two years ago, Harry and I found this—this mirror in an empty classroom. The Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore called it. Do you know what it does?"

"Tell me."

She pauses. By the look on his face, Darcy feels as if he already knows about the Mirror of Erised, but she continues anyway. "Whoever looks into the mirror will see their heart's greatest desire," she whispers, remembering the nights she and Harry had spent curled up beside each other on the cold ground, staring into the mirror. "And I saw my parents, and Harry, and me. That was the first time I'd seen my mother and father since—" She hesitates, but Lupin gives her a small nod to continue. "I remember thinking that my mother was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And my father smiled at me—so like Harry.

"Dumbledore knew that we'd been sneaking out to look into the mirror. He sympathized, I think, but still he moved the mirror to keep us from wasting away in front of it." Darcy looks away from him, blushing. "I was so angry with him. I begged Professor Dumbledore to let me look just one more time, but he wouldn't."

Lupin listens intently, and when he's certain that she's finished talking, he asks, "Is this what's been on your mind?"

Darcy shakes her head slowly. After another long silence, she exhales loudly and forces herself to speak. "I have nightmares," she says, glancing at Lupin to see if she can catch his reaction. She expects him to laugh, no matter how ridiculous, or maybe even scoff. But he doesn't do either of those things. He frowns slightly, but continues to listen. "I've had them for as long as I can remember. They come and go often, and I rarely remember what happens, but I usually wake up with this feeling of dread and sorrow and sadness, and—they're awful."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"They've been getting worse," she admits. "Over the summer, my dreams have been different. I dream that I'm trapped and screaming and—and I need help. Someone always comes to help me, but I can't see his face. All I know is that he's not… bad."

"You have this same dream every time?"

"Since the dementor on the train, sir."

"I see."

Darcy's hands begin to tremble as she recalls her nightmare. "I see her now. In my dreams, my mother is there, right in front of me, and she's talking to me and kissing me—" She touches her lips, her nose, her forehead. Darcy lowers her hand and looks into Lupin's eyes. "I watch her die, right in front of me. And there's nothing I can do to stop it. It's so—real."

For once, Lupin seems speechless. The color has drained from his face and Darcy immediately regrets telling him anything. She stands quickly and the chair underneath her scrapes against the floor. Tears well in her eyes—angry tears, embarrassed tears.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything—I'll see you during class—thank you for listening to me—"

"Darcy, sit down," Lupin snaps, standing up. Then, realizing he may have sounded too harsh, he adds, "Please."

She does as she's told, looking down into her lap. "I shouldn't have said anything," she says. "It was stupid, but Emily said I should talk to someone about it, but I wasn't sure who to talk to, and I never meant to upset you or—or—I know that she was your friend and I've brought it all up again—I can't imagine what you must think of me—"

Lupin lowers himself into his seat again. "What do you imagine I think of you?"

"Stupid, foolish. A coward," she laughs nervously. "Everyone thinks so."

He scoffs, causing Darcy to look at him again. He gives her a reassuring smile. "I don't think you're stupid, or foolish, or a coward. I think you're a person who has undergone a tremendous amount of suffering and misfortune in such a short time." Lupin taps his knuckles softly against the desk. "I'm truly sorry, Darcy. For everything. For your parents, and for the events that have—transpired—in the past few years here at Hogwarts. I know that it won't bring your parents back, nor will it right any wrongs or injustices that you've suffered, but—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, sir," she interrupts. "I understand. And thank you."

Lupin nods and drains the rest of his teacup.

Emboldened by Lupin's kind reaction to her awful tale, Darcy decides to continue. "There is one more thing," she says slowly. "If you don't mind."

Lupin shrugs and gestures for her to go on.

"It's about Sirius Black." The mention of Sirius Black gets Lupin's attention, drawing out a much different reaction that she expects. Lupin frowns and grows very still, his jaw clenched. "Professor, I—I know he's after Harry."

"Who told you that?"

"Mr. Weasley did," she answers. "He works for the Ministry. He's Harry's friend's dad, and I know he wouldn't lie to me."

"You're safe here, Darcy," Lupin says flatly. "You have nothing to fear. Sirius Black will not be able to get into this castle to hurt you or your brother."

His answer unsettles her. It sounds practiced, mechanical, as if that's what he's been taught and told to say. It doesn't make her feel any safer—it doesn't reassure her in the slightest. "Tell me the truth," she breathes.

Lupin sighs, thinking very carefully about what he wants to say. "Sirius Black escaped Azkaban when no one thought it possible, and he slipped past the dementors once before already. Hogwarts is under a great deal of protection, but there may be ways that Dumbledore isn't aware of, or the dementors—" Lupin stops short, mouth opening and closing awkwardly as he struggles to finish his thought. "No harm will come to either you or Harry. That I can promise you."

"No offense, Professor, but you're making a lot of promises."

He hesitates. "I promise no harm will come to you."

"You can't promise that," she replies in a hushed tone. "Dumbledore promised Harry and me that we'd be safe here, and it was nothing but an empty promise."

They look at each other for a long time. "You are far too bitter for someone your age."

Darcy doesn't miss a beat, nor does she deny it. "I've had a long, hard life."

Lupin walks her to the classroom door a little while later, bidding her a quick goodnight before retreating again. The halls are mostly empty now, but the silence is welcome. She walks with her head down, staring at her feet, as they automatically take her to the first staircase that'll lead her a floor closer to Gryffindor Tower. However, before she can get to the staircase, someone rounds a corner—heavy, quick footsteps—and slams into her.

The smoking goblet in Snape's hands falls to the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces and the potion it was carrying is quickly absorbed by the floor. Darcy looks up into his face, flinching at the sneer he gives her.

"Darcy Potter," Snape says. "What could you possibly be doing roaming the corridors at this time of night?"

"I was with Professor Lupin, sir," she replies, wanting nothing more than to run up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. "I was just going back to my dormitory now."

"See to it that you hurry."

"Yes, sir."

Upon entering Gryffindor Tower, the common room is still packed with older students. Emily has claimed a seat by the fire, still working on knitting herself a new sweater. She looks up at the portrait hole opens and closes, and puts her needles down when Darcy approaches.

"You look… tired," Emily smiles, making room on the sofa for Darcy.

Darcy falls onto the sofa and closes her eyes, the roaring fire warming her legs and feet. "I am."

"Did you tell him?"

"Yes."

"And?"

With her eyes still closed, Darcy shifts to make herself more comfortable. "I expected him to—I don't know… recoil or something after I told him, but… he didn't." She smiles to herself. "He listened to me. He sympathized. He understood."

"I just want to remind you that it was my idea that you tell him," Emily laughs.

"I know," Darcy answers, opening one eye to glance at her friend. "I won't forget. You always have the best ideas. I should remember that after being your friend for all these years now."

There's a sudden silence and Darcy opens both her eyes. Emily is looking into the fire, her smile completely gone. "What's going to happen to us? After we graduate?" she asks quietly, looking at Darcy, wide-eyed.

Darcy doesn't know what to say. She can't imagine her life without Hogwarts, and doesn't want to. Darcy rests her head against Emily's shoulder and the both watch the flames flicker and listen to them hiss and crackle. "I don't know."

Her nightmares wake her that night—again.

She's grateful that she hadn't been moaning or talking in her sleep; when she wakes, everyone else is still sleeping. Darcy sits in bed for a long time, listening to the wind howl outside her window and holding her knees to her chest. After a few long minutes of silence, she climbs out of bed, the ground cold on her bare feet. She leaves the dormitory and walks down the spiral staircase to the empty common room, spreading out on the sofa by the hearth, where the remains of the large fire still smolder.

She had been excited when she went to bed earlier that night. She thought after telling Lupin, with that weight off her shoulders, her sleep would be peaceful and full of good dreams, or no dreams at all. She'd been ready for a good night's sleep for once, nightmares forgotten. But how wrong she was.

The nightmares had come back again and in full force, as well. The same dream as before, but she was ready for it this time—the sight of her mother dying before her. She was ready to watch her crumple to the ground, ready to look Voldemort in his red eyes, ready to hold her little brother and pepper his head with kisses. And the strangest part of it all—the stranger who comes to save her, the stranger that pulls her from debris. When she wakes, she can feel the pain in her legs, feel the weight of the rubble crushing her…

She isn't sure how many time she can watch her mother die. Her heart aches at the thought of having to relive that moment for… days? Weeks? Months? Or will it be years until she can scrub the image out of her mind again?

Darcy skips breakfast that morning and hides up in the owlery, feeding Max and letting him nuzzle into her. Even Hedwig flutters down to sit atop her shoulder, occasionally getting a few treats herself. When the two owls fly up to hidden, shadowy corners to sleep, Darcy heads back down to the castle.

Halfway to Gryffindor Tower, she looks out a frosted window to see smoke furling from the chimney of Hagrid's hut and her heart soars at the thought of sitting with him and talking, and having Fang rest his head in her lap. At the thought of a warm and cozy hut, Darcy holds her cloak around her as tight as possible and heads back out the front doors of Hogwarts, into the blustery autumn afternoon.

When Darcy reaches Hagrid's hut, she raises her hand to knock at the door, but lowers it at the sound of ugly sobbing coming from within. She can hear Fang whining quietly, but Hagrid's cries deter her. She knows that being a good friend would mean knocking anyway, joining Hagrid in his misery and comforting him, but she can't. The last thing she wants is more sorrow at the moment, so she backs away slowly, frowning and finally turning back towards the castle.

By the time she reaches the front doors of Hogwarts, her calves are burning from the several trips she's made today. She looks forward to lying on the sofa in Gryffindor Tower, opening a book, or maybe resting—no, she tells herself, resting means nightmares. But her thought process is interrupted when someone calls her name and she looks up.

Professor Lupin is hurrying towards her from the Great Hall, where lunch has just ended, though he's walking slower than usual. He looks just as exhausted as she is, his face pale and eyes drowsy. Darcy thinks about going back to Gryffindor Tower anyway, and just pretending she hadn't heard him, but he reaches her before she has time to decide what she wants to do. She forces herself to smile at him, but his smile seems more natural. Despite the tired look on his face, his smile gives him the appearance of a man ten years younger.

"Where have you been, Darcy?" he asks with a chuckle. "Your friends were worried sick about you when you didn't show up to breakfast or lunch."

Darcy shrugs and sighs. "That's very like them," she says with a soft laugh. "If you see them, please don't tell them you've seen me, sir."

Lupin raises his eyebrows. "Understood. They plan on going down to Hagrid's soon to look for you, so you may want to run the other way before they find you here."

"Thank you, Professor, I will."

"I was planning on going for a walk myself," he continues. "Far from Hagrid's hut. If it interests you—I could use a companion."

Darcy smiles awkwardly, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to accept. "Er—thank you, sir, but I—"

Lupin laughs heartily, nodding his head. "I can take a hint, Darcy," he says. "Now, go on—best get away from this door before someone finds you."

She watches him go, watches him limp away towards the first floor corridor, presumably back to his office. Darcy hesitates, clenching and unclenching her fists, then decides to run after him. Darcy's long legs carry her quickly to Lupin's side and he seems surprised to find her at his side, matching his stride. "Professor, I've changed my mind," she says. "Fresh air sounds wonderful."

"Let me get my cloak and we'll go. Come—" he gestures for her to keep following. "I'll just be a moment."

The two of them enter his classroom and make their way slowly to his office. Darcy looks around the classroom for a moment, reflecting on all the ways its been decorated in her years at Hogwarts. Lupin hasn't done anything fancy or decorative with the classroom, but instead has filled it with the skeletons of creatures, filled bookshelves with dusty, leather-bound books, and—perhaps Darcy's favorite piece of his—his gramophone, which sits in the corner of the classroom, begging to be put to use. She runs her fingers over it lightly as she passes it.

"Last year," Darcy reminisces, as she follows Lupin up the stairs to his office. "Lockhart covered all the walls in the classroom with pictures of himself. And not just regular pictures, but huge portraits. I don't think there was an inch of wall visible between them all."

Lupin laughs. "Oh?"

"Do you know how uncomfortable it was having a hundred Gilderoy Lockhart's staring at you for an entire double lesson?" she insists, beginning to laugh. "No matter how handsome he was, it was hard to stomach."

"Why is it that the only thing I ever hear about Gilderoy Lockhart is how handsome he was?"

"Because that's the only redeeming quality he had." Darcy takes one last long look around the classroom before entering the office. "He was also arrogant, obnoxious—not to mention he was a fraud. He tried to wipe my memory, you know. I'd say you have him beat, and you haven't even been here for three months yet."

Lupin's back is turned to her, but he looks over his shoulder and grins. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Darcy." He pushes against the wall and it opens, to Darcy's surprise, revealing a back room. Lupin walks through the wall and Darcy creeps closer, curious. He doesn't stop her crossing the threshold, so she continues, wide-eyed.

Inside the wall is what seems to be Lupin's apartment. It's small, but cozy, with an old and worn sofa in front of a small fireplace, several books stacked on the table in between. Under Darcy's feet is a large, circular, roughspun rug of brown and gray and green. On the opposite wall there's a good amount of counter space, complete with a sink, a silver kettle, and a small basket filled with tea bags. There's just enough light in the room to read, with several sconces holding burning candles and other candles floating at the ceiling like they so often do in the Great Hall. In the back of the room, Darcy spies another door, presumably to his sleeping area, but Lupin doesn't open it. He only grabs a heavy, black traveling cloak off a coat rack and both of them exit the area, back into his office.

"You thought I slept in my office?" he teases.

"I hadn't really thought about it. I think there's probably some rule in place that discourages students from seeing their teachers living quarters," she admits. "But the secret door is pretty cool."

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Your secret is safe with me, Professor."

Lupin leads Darcy around the lake, towards the edge of the grounds and towards the trees that will give them shelter from the bright sun. She pulls him behind the thick trunk of a tree upon seeing Emily, Gemma, and Carla ambling down to Hagrid's, and they both laugh as they hurry away from Darcy's friends. They comment on the beautiful, crisp, mountain weather, admire the lake together, and Lupin tells her a funny story about a second year in one of his classes. Halfway around the lake, Lupin's pace slows, and when Darcy looks at him, it's clear something is wrong.

"Professor Lupin? Are you feeling well? Perhaps we should go back to the castle, maybe take you to Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah, she'll only chastise me. She's been telling me to get some rest since I've arrived," he sighs.

"She means well. Here, Professor, let me help you." Darcy looks up into his face, watching him as she hooks her arm around his, steadying him. He doesn't shake her off, nor does he show any wariness. "And if she tells you to rest, it's probably in your best interest."

"Thank you, Darcy. Just a little further, and there should be a clearing where we can sit."

They walk together, side by side, arm in arm, in silence. She's very aware—uncomfortably aware—of the warmth spreading up the arm that's touching his, and every so often their shoulders bump. But he's right—a few paces into the thicket of trees is a clearing, with a flat rock wide enough to seat four people side by side. Darcy helps Lupin up onto the rock and she's too tempted by the thick branch above the rock not to climb it.

Darcy scurries up the trunk of the tree, making her way to the end of the branch and hanging by her legs. When she turns her head to the right, Lupin is eye-level with her.

"Please be careful," he begs, smiling weakly. "No one would ever forgive me if I let you fall onto your head."

The blood rushes to her head, making her temples pound angrily. Darcy brings herself to sitting position and swings her dangling legs. The birds sing all around them, the wind whispering with their song. When they begin to quiet, Darcy frowns.

"Tell me, Darcy," Lupin begins again. "Seventh year goes by quicker than you realize. What are your plans?"

Darcy flushes, climbing down from the tree and sitting beside him. "My plans are stupid," she mumbles. "Emily says so. But she's different—she hasn't even graduated yet and she's already so focused on her career, it's all she can think about. How she'll be an independent woman who only needs to—"

"Darcy," he interrupts with a small smile. "I didn't ask about Emily's future. I asked about yours."

"I'd like to go into the Ministry. Magical Law Enforcement in particular, but Emily and I have always fantasized about being Aurors."

Lupin stares blankly at her, seeming lost. "I don't see what's so stupid about that," he shrugs. "That sounds like an admirable and achievable goal."

Darcy grins at him. The words tumble from her mouth before she can give them a second thought. Slowly, her smile fades and she becomes much more solemn. "I want a family. I want to get married and have children. Children who will never have to know what it's like to be without their parents." She picks at her fingernails, trying to look anywhere but at Lupin's face.

"I don't see anything wrong with that. In fact, I can see how it would appeal to you in a way it wouldn't to Emily."

"Emily says that makes me soft—she says I have to be strong and bold and brave to work at the Ministry, but just because I am soft doesn't mean I can't be any of those other things, right?"

"You're a Gryffindor," Lupin reminds her. "If you weren't those things—strong, bold, brave—then you wouldn't be in Gryffindor." She flashes him another shy smile and he continues. "Your mother… she was kind and gentle, like you are, Darcy. But she was also fierce when she needed to be—to stand up for her friends, protect what she loved. Just because she was gentle did not mean she could not be fierce."

Darcy purses her lips. "Do you only see me as Lily and James's daughter?" she asks quietly, sliding down from the tree branch to the rock.

Lupin inhales deeply and offers an apologetic smile. "I imagine it must get tiring having people feigning interest over you."

"It's not just that," Darcy says. "Sometimes I feel like everyone wants something from me. They always talk about how I smile and laugh like my father, how I'm beautiful like my mother—that's all I am to them. They just want to know what happened that night, and I don't have an answer for them. Even here, at Hogwarts, I've always been Darcy Potter, sister to The Boy Who Lived, the other Potter sibling. To my professors, I've been Lily and James's daughter, their legacy. But no one knows—no one cares that I've suffered. No one remembers that I hurt—that I feel."

They look at each other and Darcy feels a sudden shame rising in her. Her face turns pink, burns with the shame, and the corners of Lupin's lips turn slightly upwards. "You should never have to feel that way around me," he tells her, sounding slightly pained.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," she says hastily, jumping off the rock and turning her back on him. "I—forgot myself. I'm sorry. You probably don't want to listen to me feeling sorry for myself."

Lupin is quiet for a long time. Finally, when the silence has been long enough, Darcy turns back to face him and he says, "Why don't we go back to the castle? I've just recently come into a supply of hot cocoa and I could use some help grading some essays."