'Don't be afraid to suffer; return that heaviness to the earth's own weight; heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.'

Rainer Maria Rilke

Emily is still awake when Darcy sneaks into the dormitory. The other girls are fast asleep, as usual, snoring lightly and breathing heavily. Someone rolls over, their mattress creaking beneath them. Darcy crawls under the blankets of her bed without undressing and sighs loudly, relishing the feel of her soft mattress. She closes her eyes, preparing herself for sleep, but Emily doesn't let her.

"Where were you?" she hisses. "You said to just give you a few minutes. I didn't expect you to be gone all night."

"Okay, mum," Darcy scoffs, her eyes still closed. "Can't I just sulk and not be questioned for it for once?"

"You're always sulking."

"Fair point."

"You were with him again, weren't you?" Emily whispers. "Professor Lupin?"

Darcy's eyes open quickly and she glances around the dormitory, but no one stirs. She sits up, suddenly paranoid, but then she relaxes and looks at Emily. I shouldn't be afraid of someone hearing, she thinks. We were only talking. "No," she lies, but Darcy isn't sure why she does. It's not like Emily doesn't already know, and if she hadn't, Darcy's pitiful lie gives it away. "No, I wasn't. I was with Harry. Go on and ask him." But she knows that if Emily does ask him—and Darcy knows she will—there is still a gap of a few hours from when Darcy and Emily parted ways until she was with Harry.

"You act like you're all alone here," Emily replies, rolling over in her bed so her back faces Darcy. "You have friends, you know. Yet you're more than willing to push us aside for him."

"Emily," Darcy says, laughing softly. "That's—that is not true. I haven't pushed anyone aside for him. We've been best friends for seven years. I wouldn't just push you away that easily."

But Emily doesn't answer. Darcy slides back down under her covers and slips into dreams. While it's a relief for her to not dream of her parents and Voldemort, her dreams about Lupin are sometimes equally disturbing. The Lupin in her dreams is a werewolf, frightening and aggressive, tearing at her flesh and biting her everywhere that he can reach. Her shoulder twinges often, waking her briefly a few times. After waking for a third time close to dawn, she thinks of the Lupin that she knows—the Lupin that listens to her, that understands her, that comforts her when she's hurting. And when she falls asleep again, it's not Lupin the werewolf tearing at her skin, but Lupin the man—her friend—and she can feel the scratch of coarse hair against her face, against her neck—

That dream, while not terrifying, is just as unsettling as the others, Darcy decides, and she finds it hard to look him in the eyes when they pass each other on their way to breakfast the next morning, despite the kind smile he gives her.

When Max soars into the Great Hall at breakfast, Darcy's heart soars. Tied around one leg is a letter from Mr. Weasley, and she unties it quickly. Max hops onto Darcy's shoulder, nuzzling against her. She strokes his feathers, tickles him under his beak, and lets him have some of her breakfast that she's already finished with. When he finishes with that, Max tries to go for Emily's food, but she takes her plate away.

"No!" she snaps, pointing a stern finger at him. Max watches her with wide eyes, and they stare at each other for a long moment until Emily gives in and pushes her plate towards the owl, letting him eat the rest of her sausages. "You stupid, spoiled bird." He seems to understand what she's saying and pecks at her fingers before returning to her leftovers. Emily growls, but pets him all the same.

Darcy reads the letter to herself.

Darcy,

I know things are hard, but it's your last year and you'll have all the freedom you long for. Trust your professors, and trust Professor Dumbledore's judgement on things such as these. He only wants what's best for you and Harry, and he wants to keep you safe, even if it may not seem like it at times. You have nothing to fear with Dumbledore keeping a close eye on you.

You know you are always welcome at our home, and I know you won't like what I'm going to tell you, but I think it best for you to stay with Harry at Hogwarts this year for Christmas. I may be able to make a quick trip to Hogsmeade over break, so keep an eye out for my owl. The Ministry has need of every capable witch and wizard right now with Sirius Black still on the loose, but I'll see what I can do. I'll correspond with Dumbledore in the meantime about it.

Please stay safe and don't do anything rash.

With love,

Mr. Weasley

She had hoped the letter would lift her spirits, but Mr. Weasley's letter offers little comfort. She crumples it in her hand as Emily opens the paper. Darcy continues to stroke Max and he rests against her chest. "Anything interesting?" she asks Emily absentmindedly.

"Nothing," Emily replies. "Not a single thing about Sirius Black. But there is someone looking for an owl." She peers at Max from around the edge of the paper. Max looks back at her and Darcy wraps an arm around him protectively, but he squirms out of her grip and flies off through the window. "It was only a joke."

It's then that Darcy remembers what Harry had said the previous night, and she turns to face Emily. "Did you see a dog at the Quidditch match?"

"A dog?" Emily looks bewildered. "I didn't see much of anything, but I think I would have noticed a dog. Why? What kind of dog?"

"It's nothing," Darcy says. "Just wondering."

When Darcy leaves the Great Hall for the hospital wing, she stops at the threshold of the tall doors, turning back to look at the teachers' table. She hesitates, waiting for one of them to come running to her, to insist escorting her somewhere, but no one so much as looks at her. Quickly, she slips out of the Great Hall and makes her way down the corridor, Mr. Weasley's letter still clutched in her hand. She stuffs it in her pocket, and goes to open the doors of the hospital wing, but someone else opens them first and Darcy finds herself face to face with Oliver Wood, looking sullen.

The handprint on his cheek has bruised badly, leaving him with a slight black eye and the clear outline of four fingers on his skin. Darcy feels a chill run down her spine at the sight of it. How could she have done that—marked him with a bruise after all the times she'd when Vernon had hit her? Though she knows Oliver Wood, and she knows that the handprint is nothing to him compared to their recent defeat against Hufflepuff. "Hi, Darcy," he says, with little enthusiasm.

Darcy nods, raising her eyebrows and trying to move past him. Oliver's body blocks her from entering, and she crosses her arms, waiting for him to move.

"I just—" he sighs deeply, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to—I thought we had a good time and I just—" He mutters something under his breath that Darcy can't understand, but she understands enough. She can see that it's near painful for him to apologize to her, and she stops him.

"It's all right," she says. "You caught me at a bad time, and I—I shouldn't have hit you. I should never have done that, and I am so, so sorry." Oliver looks pathetic standing before her, and she can't help but feel sorry for him. "If it's any consolation, I did have a good time in Hogsmeade with you."

Oliver scoffs, brushing off his shoulders, trying to seek as casual as possible. But Darcy has known him for seven years, and it makes her smile. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better," he shrugs. "You went with Lupin quick enough."

Darcy flushes a deep red. "No, it's not—I mean, I couldn't really refuse, could I?"

He laughs softly. "Friends?"

"Yeah," she smiles. "Friends."

"If you want to go to Hogsmeade again sometime..." he starts, clearing his throat nervously and kicking at the ground. "It was nice to just be with you."

"Oliver, I truly admire your determination," she jokes. "But I don't—I don't like you like that. I mean, you're great—! You're a fantastic Keeper and a great friend, and I'm sorry for maybe giving you the wrong impression, but—well—do you understand what I'm saying?"

Oliver grins, nodding. "Yes," he says. "And just so you know, I know Harry's not to blame for the match."

"That's sweet of you." She takes another look at the bruise on Oliver's face and it disgusts her—she hates herself for it. "I am really sorry about hitting you. That's not—it's not me."

When Darcy enters the hospital wing, Harry is already surrounded by the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, as well as Ron and Hermione. She spends some time with him quietly, listening to everyone attempt to cheer him, but to no avail. Eventually, Darcy bids him good-bye and leaves, promising to come back again when he's alone. Harry takes no offense, and Darcy encourages the Quidditch team to leave him to rest for a little while. They follow her out of the hospital wing, but Ron and Hermione stay at his side, clearly grateful for the peace and quiet.

"It's Flobberworm Mucus, not—" Darcy squints at the tiny writing. "What does that even say?" She looks at Ron over his parchment as she scribbles on it with her quill. He groans, stretching out in front of the fire. "And this should be seven times counterclockwise, not three times clockwise."

Ron sits up and watches Darcy warily as she scratches more of his writing out. "No," he protests, watching on anxiously. "I'm pretty sure Snape said three times—"

"I'm sure he didn't," Darcy interrupts, grinning.

"He did."

"Ron," she says again, laughing at him. "I'm absolutely, one hundred percent positive it's seven times counterclockwise." She keeps reading down his essay, brushing the feather of her quill against her face. "I don't even know what icaming is—"

"Let me see that." Ron snatches the parchment out of Darcy's hands and scoffs. "It says lacewing."

"Does it?" Darcy takes his essay back and reads it over a few more times before the letters become clearer to her. "Huh, it does. Well, that's not right, either."

Ron gives her a sweet smile, one he reserves just for moments like this. Darcy shakes her head, knowing what's coming. "You sure you won't just write it for me? You're the smartest girl I know and you're better at Potions than any of us."

Thinking of Professor Lupin, Darcy shakes her head again, chuckling. "I'm sure I won't write your essay, and flattery won't get you anywhere, Ron." Darcy places his essay on the table and puts her quill beside it. "If I do your work for you, how will you ever learn anything?"

Ron frowns. "You're just like Hermione—"

"Maybe you could ask her to help you with your homework next time if you're not happy with the way I'm doing it." She shows him his essay, marked up with extra notes and some things scratched out. "Look, I've done most of the work for you, just rewrite it exactly like this. You did a pretty good job."

"All right, all right…" Ron grumbles, and he begins to make the corrections.

"If you're feeling up to it, my Defense homework could use looking over, as well…" Harry smiles at his sister pleasantly, resting his head on her shoulder while holding the questionnaire out in front of her. Darcy grabs it, and Emily laughs from her other side.

"You're a sucker, Darcy," she says, not looking up from her book.

She reads it over quickly. "I was wondering why the Hinkypunk was in his classroom," Darcy mutters. "These all look right to me. Here, maybe change this answer…" Instead of having Harry do it, she does it herself, grabbing her quill off the table, dipping it in ink, and adding to his short answer. She hands it back.

"If I don't get full marks, then I'll know who to blame."

It isn't long until Ron tires of his Potions essay and retires to his dormitory. Emily soon follows with a quick goodnight to Darcy, leaving her and Harry alone by the fire. A few people still linger in the common room—Fred and George Weasley are playing a game of Exploding Snap, and Neville Longbottom watches on eagerly. Julia, one of Darcy's dormitory mates, sits reading in the opposite corner. Darcy stretches her legs out, resting them on the coffee table, and Harry splays out on the empty half of the couch that he's claimed.

"So," Harry starts, and Darcy hums in response. "I've got some good news."

Darcy looks at him, arching an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Professor Lupin said he'd teach me how to defend myself against dementors," Harry says, almost sounding excited. "When next term begins, he said."

"He's going to teach you how to produce a Patronus?" Darcy asks, smiling. "That's great, Harry! But… well—you could have asked me, you know. I would have taught you. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it—"

"Professor Lupin said you couldn't produce a Patronus."

She flushes a deep red, frowning. "That's not true!" she snaps. "I produced—something."

"I'm just telling you what he said," Harry shrugs, smiling wickedly. "Maybe he could teach both of us."

Darcy scoffs and splutters. "I don't need lessons in producing a Patronus when I already can—"

"Cannot," Harry reminds her. "He said you couldn't produce a Patronus."

She scowls. "Fine," she says. "Fine, I'll come with you during your first lesson, but only to prove to you and Professor Lupin that I can and will produce a Patronus."

Harry looks away into the fire, but Darcy can see the small smile that still plays on his lips. "Looking forward to it."

Humiliated, Darcy doesn't say good-night before going up the steps to her dormitory. In the dark, where no one can see her reddened face, she changes into her pajamas and covers herself with her blankets in bed. Despite Harry embarrassing her—and Professor Lupin—she does think the lessons could benefit Harry and herself, and it gives her an excuse to throw at Emily the next time she wants to bring up the time she spends with Lupin.

But I don't need an excuse, she reminds herself. Why should I?

"Why did you tell Harry I couldn't produce a Patronus?" Darcy snaps the next morning after Defense Against the Dark Arts. She at least waits until the classroom has emptied save for Emily to save him from whatever degree of embarrassment he might feel. However, when she speaks, she's the one that blushes.

Lupin looks at her with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. He doesn't answer, but starts to laugh, causing Emily to laugh at Darcy, as well.

Darcy rounds on Emily. "You can't produce a Patronus, either!" she hisses. "Mine was better than yours!"

Emily stops laughing, scrunching her nose, immediately looking sour. Lupin shrugs his shoulders and claps his hands together, moving back towards the large desk at the front of his classroom. "He asked and I told him the truth," Lupin answers. "I didn't realize you'd rather I lie for you. If that was the plan, you should have told me beforehand that I should lie. That's not to say I don't believe you could produce a Patronus—with the proper teaching, of course…"

"I will have proper teaching," Darcy smiles sweetly. "You'll be my teacher."

"Oh?" Lupin asks with a smile. "Will I?"

"Darcy!" Emily hisses in her ear. Darcy turns to face her and it seems that Emily is bursting to say something, but she notices Professor Lupin watching her, so she clears her throat. "You should at least ask him instead of just insisting…"

"Oh—no, no, it's quite all right," he says, waving a hand at Emily in dismissal. "I'd be glad to teach you, Darcy. Will anyone else be joining us that I should be aware of beforehand?" He looks to Emily in particular. "Miss Duncan?"

Emily hesitates, then shakes her head. "No, thank you, sir," she replies shortly. "Darcy, come on, I'm starving." She tugs at Darcy's sleeve, and Darcy stumbles backwards slightly. "Goodbye, Professor."

"I'll see you next week in class, Emily," Lupin nods. "Darcy, I'll see you tonight."

Darcy smiles at him as he retreats back to his office, waving at her and laughing again. When Emily drags Darcy out of the classroom, she huffs loudly, brushing her long hair out of her face and clearing her throat again, this time much louder. "You're having dinner with him tonight? Again?" she asks.

"Yeah, is there a problem with that?"

Emily hums, fidgeting beside Darcy as they walk towards the Great Hall.

Darcy stops and rolls her eyes, chortling. "Go on," she says, bracing herself. "Say what you need to say."

Her friend looks towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, making sure the door is still shut. Other students bustle around them, but pay them no mind. The Weasley twins pass, clapping Darcy on both shoulders, and when they're out of earshot, Emily crosses her arms over her chest and stiffens. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately and I don't know if I like it—"

"Well, you don't have to like it—"

"I'm not done," Emily barks. Darcy rolls her eyes again and waits patiently for Emily to finish, knowing she should have known better than to interrupt. "I think it's pretty inappropriate to be having dinner with a teacher on a regular basis and I do not like the way that he smiles at you—"

"The same way he smiles at you?"

"All right, fine, I don't like the way that you smile at him, or the way you smile at each other, like—like—I don't know—don't make me say it, please—"

"Emily." Darcy puts her hands on Emily's shoulders and looks her in the eyes. "If you are so concerned about it, why don't you have dinner with us tonight? You'll see that there isn't anything to worry about."

Emily purses her lips. Then she sighs, defeated. "No," she answers. "No, it's fine. Have your dinner and talk about whatever it is you two talk about and—Darcy, just please promise me that nothing inappropriate is going on between you two—"

"I promise. You know me, Emily. I wouldn't do that."

"I do know you," Emily sighs again. "And that's the problem. You're a romantic."

Darcy blushes, lowering her hands. "I'm not a romantic."

But even as they walk to the Great Hall for lunch, Darcy feels guilty. She knows what Emily thinks, and Darcy is truthful about that part a least—but as she thinks more about it, she realizes that maybe Emily does have cause for concern. While Darcy and Lupin haven't really done anything to warrant expulsion or termination (except maybe for stumbling upon him while transformed and the fact that he had scarred her shoulder permanently, but that's another matter altogether), their relationship is more than that of a regular student-teacher relationship. She knows that they do spend quite a bit of time together, but weekly dinners is nothing, and she's willing to prove that to Emily, but she's also been afraid to tell Emily about the night of the Quidditch match.

She wonders briefly what Emily would say if Darcy admitted that Lupin had held her—hugged her, comforted her—if only for a quick moment, if she admitted that Lupin had brought her into his private chambers to console her. The fact that she's afraid to tell Emily says something, but Darcy doesn't want it to end. She's found a friend in Lupin, a very good friend, with connections to her parents, who could have been a part of her life had things been different. Doesn't Emily see why Darcy enjoys him so much?

Is that inappropriate? Darcy wonders. Is that what Emily is afraid of?

As she eats her lunch, fingers clasp her shoulder gently for an instant. She turns, suspecting it to be Fred or George again, but as she turns around, she sees Lupin sweeping up the aisle towards the long teachers table. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at her before taking his seat.

Darcy sighs. Shit.