Darcy has a hard time remembering the last time she's done normal things. Emily had always thought Darcy a little strange for getting excited about going places—the theater, the library, the grocery, the lake—but Emily never understood. Years of being cooped up at Privet Drive without being able to go out and do things—primarily because of a lack of Muggle money and a suspicious uncle—leaves Darcy feelings restless. But now, here with Lupin, who is more than willing to do whatever Darcy pleases whenever she wants, it's exciting.
The first place Darcy takes him is the market she'd visited with Aunt Petunia. It's just as she remembers it—smelling of spices and flowers and perfume-like scents. It's not as busy as it had been on that Sunday she'd gone with Aunt Petunia, but a distracted Darcy is still jostled around by hurried shoppers, their arms full of bags, pulling along young children with wide eyes or otherwise struggling under the weight of all their shopping. All around, the building is full of colors and a nearby baker calls out to no one in particular as he displays fresh baguettes on his cart. Darcy sees the kindly butcher, where Aunt Petunia had bought some lamb, and a leathery-skinned man replenishing his corn display with large, tough hands.
Darcy buys all kinds of fresh food for dinner—she purchases meat from the butcher, bread from the baker, vegetables from the cheapest stand she can find. She buys a cookbook simply because the juicy steak on the cover looks so appealing. They peruse the antiques, looking at old clocks and tea sets, and Lupin buys Darcy some sunflowers after the young florist surprisingly remembers her. Darcy flushes a deep crimson as Lupin hands her the bouquet, but he hardly seems abashed, a smile on his face.
"No one's ever bought me flowers before," she confesses sheepishly, admiring the sunflowers. They're almost half as tall as she is, but very beautiful. "Thank you."
"No?" Lupin asks innocently, slightly swinging one of Darcy's bags of vegetables at his side. "You can't have known many decent men, then."
Darcy looks down at her feet, burning with embarrassment. "You know I haven't."
"Oliver Wood never bought you flowers?" Lupin teases, earning him a playful swat to the arm. They both laugh and Darcy loops her arm through his as they continue to peruse the market.
At one of the stalls, Darcy finds an old instant camera that the older gentleman selling it promises still works—he urges her to try it out to prove it, likely eager to earn some money.
Darcy can't resist; she holds the camera up to her face, looking at Lupin. She presses the button and it flashes brightly in his face. Immediately, a photograph emerges, and Lupin grabs it before she gets the chance, shaking it roughly and smiling down at it. After he looks at it, he shows her, and Darcy beams at the photograph of Lupin—hair mussed up, a toothy grin on his face, cheekbones slightly tinted pink. For a moment, the adult Lupin in the picture reminds her of the teenage Lupin in the other pictures she's seen, and Darcy snatches it from his hand, putting the camera down and digging in her pocket for some money. The man explains how to use and care for the camera, showing her what film to use, how to clean it, and Lupin watches on from behind, still smiling all the while.
Laden with trinkets and bags of food, Darcy decides to visit one last stall before leaving. It takes her a few minutes to find the right area, but once she does, Darcy runs to it. The woman recognizes her immediately from behind her gossip magazine, and her deep blue eyes flick from Darcy to Lupin and back again.
"You're back," the woman says, getting to her feet from a picnic chair behind a small table. "You're the one that liked that purple one, didn't you?"
"Yes," Darcy answers breathlessly, her heart racing for some reason. Her eyes follow the woman as she picks out the same necklace Darcy had been eyeing with Aunt Petunia. She suddenly feels almost rebellious—even though it's a stupid feeling—for returning to buy something Petunia had refused her. "I love it. Can I buy it? How much is it?"
The woman nods, but doesn't move back to the counter. "Was that your mum that was with you?" she asks bluntly, and Darcy blushes, not wanting to have this conversation in front of Lupin.
"No," Darcy says softly. "My aunt."
The woman looks Darcy up and down. "Not a very nice woman, is she?"
Darcy blushes harder. "No, not really."
"Take it," the woman sighs. "Go on—I can make another. Besides, you said it was lovely, and that's payment enough."
"Oh!" Darcy gasps, already pulling out money for the woman. "No—I couldn't possibly—I'm more than happy to pay for it—"
"Please, I insist—"
"I'll pay for it," says Lupin suddenly. Both Darcy and the woman look at him with very different expressions—Darcy is sure her feelings of gratitude manifest onto her face as a sort of dreamily smile to match her wide doe eyes, but the middle-aged woman is looking quite satisfied, as if this is the perfect solution. "Here—how much?"
Darcy leaves the market feeling incredibly light on her feet, the purple necklace hanging around her neck, clashing horribly with her outfit, but beautiful all the same.
That night, Darcy and Lupin find a complicated recipe in her new cookbook and attempt to work through it without magic. It's tricky, and they find they're missing several ingredients, and Lupin cuts his finger accidentally while chopping carrots. Darcy bandages it up for him, scolding him for watching her and not what he's cutting, but they laugh all the while, bumping into each other constantly and muttering apologies, hiding their flushed faces from each other. The finished dish looks nothing like the picture in the cookbook, but Darcy and Lupin eat it anyway, seated on the sofa watching the television, their legs tangled together, in a comfortable silence.
Darcy hopes that night, Lupin will finally crawl into bed with her, wrap his arms around her and fall asleep with her nuzzled against his chest. She had known, however, when they had said goodnight, that Lupin was waiting for her to ask, judging by his sly smile. But Darcy had only blushed madly, unable to ask such a simple question, unable to utter a single request, no matter how badly she wants it. It hits her, as she lays in Lupin's bed tonight, how strange it is to be here, in his own home, to be so close to him without a wall between them, without having to worry about consequences. Darcy can't help but to wonder why there seems to be an even bigger wall now—why hasn't he kissed her? Why hasn't he come to bed with her? But she can't blame him—she hasn't exactly made a move either, unless clinging to his hand for the better part of a day counts, and she doesn't think it does. But why hasn't she? Is that what Lupin is waiting for? A sign that she wants something to happen? Darcy thinks she's been perfectly clear—she's come to visit him, she's held his hand, they've flirted with each other shamelessly (at this thought, butterflies erupt in Darcy's stomach).
But Lupin has usually waited for some sign from Darcy. He had only kissed her in earnest after she had kissed him first, had only slept with her after she'd made it clear she wanted it—after she had initiated it. Now that she thinks about it, Lupin has always been slightly hesitant with her, and she knows that he has good reason. She can't imagine Sirius would take it well, the knowledge that one of his best and oldest friends is involved with his goddaughter, especially when he learns about the filthy things they've done, even if it was only two times.
But Darcy knows that when she wakes in the morning, Lupin will still be here, so she allows herself to drift off to sleep, knowing there will be another day to work up the courage to hint to him that she wants to be touched by him in less innocent ways.
The next day is just as exciting—even if it's not really. Darcy brings Lupin to a theater in London, near Emily's home (though she doesn't mention that to Lupin), where she and Emily used to see movies with the pocket change Emily's father would give them. Darcy falls asleep on his shoulder not fifteen minutes into it, her hands wrapped loosely around his bicep. He wakes her after the credits finish and the cramped theater lightens again and everyone has left, and he pulls her out by the hand, grinning at her.
It's a dark, gray, and dismal day in London—nothing new, but Darcy prefers the sunshine. It drizzles on and off as they walk the streets and window shop. Darcy shows him all of the places she and Emily would go as young kids—all the places Mr. Duncan took them for anything they wanted when he had the time. In turn, Lupin shows Darcy places he's familiar with, places his mother would take him as a child when he was in need of some cheering up and a good time. He shows her where one of his favorite restaurants used to be, until the owners of the building ran out of money and it was bulldozed to make room for an expensive fashion boutique. The mannequins in the windows are clad in clothes that Darcy doesn't think she's quite beautiful enough to pull off, clothes that are slightly revealing and so expensive looking she doesn't think she'd even want to eat in them.
Darcy loops her arm around Lupin's, and they slow their pace as it begins to sprinkle again. Darcy tucks her damp hair behind her ears. "Can I see you again?" she asks him after a few minutes' silence. "Before I go back to Hogwarts? A week doesn't seem long enough. I want more time with you."
"You know I would never turn down an opportunity to see you," Lupin answers, giving her a reassuring smile and giving his head a quick shake to keep his wet and graying hair out of his eyes. "You can come see me anytime you like."
"Really? Anytime?"
Lupin chuckles. "Really. Anytime. Maybe except during nights where the moon is full. But immediately after the moon wanes, yes, you can see me again."
Darcy smiles up at him, and a sudden thought occurs to her, something she hasn't thought of while she's been distracted by Lupin's company. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, love. Is it filthy? Something you should ask me in private?"
"Stop it, you're making me blush." Darcy avoids the eyes of a stranger who passes them.
"That's the idea." He gives her a sideways look and smiles. "Go on, Darcy, ask away."
"Have you given any thought to Gemma's offer?" Darcy says, looking up at him, trying to watch for a reaction. He doesn't give much of one, only looks straight ahead, thoughtful, pensive.
"I hope she hasn't been bothering you on my account," he jokes. Darcy shakes her head slowly and shrugs her shoulders. "I've thought about it, yes. Briefly. Now, let me ask you something."
"Anything, even if it's filthy."
This makes Lupin laugh. "You trust Gemma? Completely?"
Darcy looks into Lupin's face, meeting his eyes before looking back at the street. "I trust Gemma with my life," Darcy replies honestly. "I know she would never hurt you if she could help it. She kept your secret all those months—she didn't even tell me. And she kept our secret after I—well, I mean—"
"How much did you tell her?" Lupin interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Darcy, but putting on a good natured smile. "Hopefully nothing embarrassing about me?"
"I told her enough," Darcy answers shortly. "Anyway, I think you should talk to Gemma more about it. It could be really good for you, if you end up finding something to alleviate everything."
"I greatly appreciate your advice, Darcy, and I do trust your judgement." Lupin heaves a great sigh. "But I can only promise I'll think about it some more for right now. Is that all right?"
"It's your decision in the end," Darcy says flatly, looking through a shop window at three more mannequins dressed in the latest fashion. Darcy looks down at her own outfit, something Aunt Petunia had given her years ago—it had needed darned and the color is slightly faded, but Darcy has always been partial to the blouse and skirt.
A particularly large and cold raindrop falls on the top of Darcy's long nose. She wipes it off quickly, but more begin to fall, and when she looks up to the gray sky, the drizzle has begun to turn into a downpour. The rain comes hard and fast, flattening Darcy's red hair and making it stick to her cheeks and forehead. Lupin pushes his soaked hair back, laughing and holding his hands over his head as if that will keep him dry. Darcy looks up at him, as he watches the Muggles sharing the street around them opening umbrellas, holding their raincoats over their head, and darting into nearby buildings, or else ignoring the rain completely, as if this is such a typical thing, not worth their attention in the slightest.
When Lupin's hair falls in his face again, he combs it back once more with his fingers to no avail. Darcy watches him endearingly, smiling crookedly at him, as the rain continues to soak her clothes and chill her bones. She moves closer to him, snaking an arm around his middle, making to continue down the street; Lupin wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him, unable to keep his smile at bay. He doesn't step with her, however; the two of them hesitate in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at each other through the rain. Retracting his arm from around her shoulders, Lupin slowly raises a hand to her face, trying to dry her cheeks with no success. Darcy nuzzles into his warm palm, closing her eyes at the feel of his skin against hers.
And without warning—without knowing it was going to happen now, of all places, in this weather—Lupin kisses her hard, one hand tangled in her hair, holding the nape of her neck to keep her from pulling away, his other hand brushing some of her hair off her cheek. Darcy nearly melts at his touch, kissing him back with a deep-seated hunger, relishing the taste of his lips on hers. Lupin kisses her for a long time in the center of several onlookers who try very hard to avoid looking at them, and then he finally pulls away, breathless and flushed and wet, looking into Darcy's face for some kind of reaction. She only smiles, swaying on her feet for a few seconds, her chest heaving and eyes flicking from Lupin's own eyes to his lips, desperate for more.
Lupin takes her hand in his, squeezing tight. They splash through already deep puddles that soak their shoes and feet, down a deserted alleyway between two crowded restaurants, and Lupin pulls her behind a foul-smelling dumpster. He kisses her again, this time hurriedly and eagerly, pressing her back unconsciously against the slimy brick wall as she threads her fingers through his hair, and Darcy barely has time to register how un-romantic it is when Lupin whispers in her ear. "Hold onto me."
Darcy does as she's told and feels herself almost immediately leave the alleyway, still clutching Lupin's hand. The sensation of traveling through time and space is nothing compared to the hammering of her heart, the churning in her stomach, her pulse pounding in her ears. Before she can make sure all of her body parts have arrived with her to Lupin's home, he's kissing her again and she completely forgets to even check. Without separating, they both stumble over the threshold, laughing and nervous and bumping teeth and giving each other sloppy and wet and excited kisses all over, everywhere they can reach.
As Darcy's lips travel down his jaw, Lupin smiles, closing his eyes as a low grown escapes his lips. "Why don't we change into something more dry?"
It's then that Darcy realizes how cold she is. Goosebumps run up and down her arms, and her hair is as soaked as if she's just stepped out of the bath. Lupin raises his eyebrows and Darcy nods weakly.
Lupin quickly grabs a traveling cloak, hanging on a nearby coat rack. He returns to Darcy, waiting at the door, soaking wet with her arms around herself. Her auburn hair looks dark, stuck to her damp and flushed face. She smiles weakly at him, and Lupin's face softens. Lupin drapes the traveling cloak around her shoulders, and Darcy holds it tightly around her. She wonders, for a brief moment, why he hasn't just dried them off with magic—but then she remembers how intimate it had been before, when Lupin had the chance to clean the wine off of her blouse, but chose to put her in his own clothes instead. Darcy certainly doesn't want to lose that intimacy now, and she reaches out for his hand. Lupin takes it, pulling her gently towards the back room.
Lupin doesn't seem to bother changing into something dry. He stands off to the side as Darcy digs around in her trunk, trying to find something comfortable. But even as she pulls out an outfit and gets back to her feet, slipping her shoes off, Darcy isn't quite sure she's ready to change yet. She clutches her clothes, and Lupin clears his throat.
With a pink tint to his cheeks, he suddenly seems an awkward teenager. "I can—I'll give you some space—I'll be just out here, if you need me . . . not that you'd need me . . . I'm sure you can dress yourself just fine."
"No," Darcy whispers, and Lupin freezes, looking her up and down. She lays the traveling cloak on the bed. "You can stay."
She's waited days for this—for a chance to love him, a chance to be with him, a chance to show him that she loves him. Darcy isn't sure what she'd expected out of this trip, but her dreams had been full of obscene images of him between her legs, propped above her, lips touching places that make her damp between the legs. And suddenly, Darcy finds herself craving his touch, his kisses, his love—Darcy has never before craved someone like this, so wholly and completely. Just his company, just doing things with him, the little moments—eating dinner together, sitting in a comfortable silence, window shopping—have been enough to lift her spirits. But now she can't seem to get close enough to him, and the simple intimacies aren't enough for her—instead of holding his hand or having breakfast together or sharing shy smiles, she wants him.
Lupin's eyes don't leave her as Darcy throws her clean clothes back into her open trunk and slowly unbuttons her blouse with trembling fingers, letting it fall to the ground and pool at her feet. She slides her skirt down to her ankles and stands up straighter again, letting Lupin take in the appearance of her standing almost completely naked in front of him. His eyes find the scars on her shoulder, but don't linger—eventually, Lupin's eyes move slowly down the rest of her body, and he rubs at the beard on his face, looking into her eyes again.
Telling herself to take it one step further, Darcy swallows, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, and she wriggles out of it. Her skin still damp and the cottage relatively cold without a fire going, goosebumps cover her stomach and chest, and Darcy suddenly wraps her arms around herself, covering her bare breasts, blushing and making Lupin smile a weak smile. Finally, he moves towards her, taking her wrists gently and lowering her hands from her chest.
"You are so beautiful, Darcy," he says, drinking in the sight of her once more.
Darcy looks up at him, drunk in love, and his fingertips whisper against her face before he kisses her deeply again. He drags his fingers lazily down her arms, settling his hands on her hips, squeezing. Lupin breaks the kiss far too soon.
"I keep thinking this is a dream," he whispers, giving the crook of her neck a tender kiss. "That I'll wake up and you'll be gone—that none of this will have been real."
She smiles at him, kissing his lips again, allowing Lupin to back her towards the bed. When the backs of her thighs meet the mattress, Lupin helps her onto it, propping himself above her. "Remus?" she rasps as he kisses down her throat, and Lupin chuckles against her skin.
"Yes, kitten?" he asks, looking up at her with a smile that takes her breath away.
Darcy hesitates, running her hands through his hair. "I love you."
He only continues to smile at her for a moment before returning to peppering her body with kisses, slowly, tantalizingly. Every time she feels the tip of his tongue barely brush against her skin, it makes her squirm with pleasure, but he digs his fingers into her hips, keeping her still. When he gingerly lowers her underwear, he exhales loudly, his hot breath only adding to the warmth between her legs.
Lupin places the softest kiss she's ever known on the inside of her thigh, nuzzling into the sensitive skin there. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't dream about this," he breathes, chuckling in a very nervous sort of way. "I've missed you, sweetheart."
It's better this time—not that it had been terrible the other two times they had done this. But without the lingering fear of consequences or repercussions, it's almost freeing. She remembers how quiet they had been, how every content sigh seemed loud enough to wake the entire castle, to alert someone to their wrongdoing. They had touched each other with a slight sense of urgency and hesitancy, wanting to get it over with quickly without making it seem too rushed. And even though Lupin had spent more time loving her body than Oliver Wood ever had, Darcy had thought it couldn't have been better—but she's wrong.
His kisses and touches seem to last for hours. He relishes her body, worships it, does things to her that Darcy didn't know possible, makes her feel things she never knew she could feel. Lupin could continue throughout the whole night, Darcy thinks, and he hasn't even taken his clothes off yet. Darcy feels as if it's their first time all over again, and those feelings of inadequacy creep up in the back of her mind again. Thoughts of how undeserving she is of him—of how young and inexperienced she is—but Lupin doesn't seem to care about any of those things.
Wanting to just be closer to him, Darcy tugs Lupin's shirt over his head and he crawls back up to her kiss her. She starts on his belt, her hands still shaking violently, just like they had the first time. She kisses his broad shoulders, tarnishing his neck and chest with love bites, making sure to leave no part of his upper body left untouched.
Almost an hour of nimble fingers and hot mouths and hungry kisses on every inch of skin, using each other's bodies in ways they hadn't been able to at Hogwarts, acting on their curiosities and impulses, testing each other hesitantly to see what feels good, what feels bad, what tickles and what makes them sigh—Darcy is sure that, after tonight, she'll be able to picture his body vividly in her dreams, exactly the way it really is. Never has she felt so close to someone, never has she wanted to be closer. Sweating slightly and very flushed, Lupin kisses Darcy hard on the mouth and she wraps an arm around his neck, holding him in place. He tastes of her, of nothing but her, and when he lowers himself into her, Darcy breaks the kiss to sigh loudly, and Lupin's lips leave a trail of kisses up and down her neck.
He growls things in her ear that make her blush furiously in the darkness, things she never thought him capable of even saying, things she could never picture coming out of his mouth. But when he kisses her on the mouth again, pounding in and out of her, Darcy is a woman in love—when their bodies press against each other and Lupin smiles at her, flicking his hair out of his eyes, leaning in to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, she is happy enough to die.
It's louder this time, the room full of groans and moans and laughter and the carnal slapping of flesh on flesh. The bed creaks beneath them, and Darcy isn't concerned with anything beyond the bedroom, anything beyond this bed, and she she doesn't know if fucking him clouds her mind or clears it, but it is bliss, sweet bliss such as she has never known.
Lupin reads to her by the light of a flickering lamp on the nightstand. Darcy, curled up next to him, her head on his chest and an arm draped across his middle, feels her eyelids grow heavier with each word he says outloud. One of Lupin's arms is wrapped around her, holding her in place at his side, his thumb caressing the soft skin on her arm.
Every so often, Darcy places a soft kiss to his chest, making him smile in the middle of the sentence he's reading. Darcy barely hears him, has barely listened to the last half a chapter he's been reading to her. Her mind is buzzing with things she had been wanting to talk to him about—but after seeing him again, those thoughts had completely flown from her mind. Darcy's been so engrossed by his company and companionship that it makes her feel utterly drunk—light-headed, giggly, and completely and utterly in love.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" she whispers, kissing his chest again. "Going back to Hogwarts?"
Lupin glances at Darcy, marking his page and closing the book, placing it on the nightstand beside Darcy's new camera. "You won't know if it's the right thing until you try it," he answers. "I can't help but notice you've spent a lot of time feeling doubtful about this. Having second thoughts?"
Darcy pauses, her cheeks turning pink, but unable to hide the small smile on her face. "You're going to kill me."
"What have you done?" But Lupin only has to take one good look at her face before he understands. He lets out a loud sigh, chuckling for a moment, and then stopping himself. Rubbing his eyes, he mutters, "What did you say to Severus, Darcy? Didn't I tell you to leave him alone? I did say that, didn't I? I haven't just imagined it?"
"You should have known I wasn't going to just ignore what he did to you."
Darcy recounts the conversation she'd had with Snape at the end of the school year, as much as she can remember, telling Lupin the complete truth. He sighs a lot during her retelling, sitting up straighter and pulling his arm back from Darcy's shoulders to rub furiously at his temples and mess up his already shaggy hair. Darcy sits up, as well, holding the blanket to her chest and frowning.
Lupin takes a moment to think about his answer, looking to be choosing his words very carefully. "You don't believe Severus, do you?" he asks softly, and Darcy almost laughs at the fact that this is the first thing he's chosen to address. "You don't think—Darcy, you can't truly believe that I would do that to you."
"I know," Darcy replies quickly. "I know you wouldn't. I know you've been honest with me, and I know what happened that night with Sirius. I know you were telling the truth."
Lupin nods, kissing her forehead before continuing. "You shouldn't have said those things, Darcy," he continues. "You should have known better—you should have kept your mouth shut. You know he'll tell Dumbledore everything you said?"
"So what?" Darcy asks, having expected this reaction from him. "He's the reason Sirius couldn't get his name cleared. He's the reason the entire school knows you're a werewolf. Doesn't that bother you? Why didn't you say something to him?"
"Why does it bother you so much, Darcy?" Lupin says, giving Darcy a very curious look, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you so angry?"
Darcy looks at him, bewildered. "Because it's not fair," she retorts, her voice rising several octaves. "It's not fair that you were forced out of Hogwarts because of something you can't help—because Snape was feeling particularly cruel that morning. It's not fair that you can't get the ingredients you need for your potion without having to resort to being a science experiment—it's not fair that people who've never met you, who've never spoken to you, who don't know how kind and gentle you are, will still think you're a—a . . . monster."
Lupin opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. After a heavy silence, he rasps, "One look at your shoulder, and they'll know that's all I really am."
"No," Darcy breathes. "I know who you truly are, and you are no monster, Remus."
He looks at her for a long time, his expression unreadable, but soft. Lupin reaches for her hand, taking it in his and lifting it to his mouth; he kisses her knuckles lightly and lowers their hands without letting go. "Stay," he whispers, and Darcy raises an eyebrow. "Stay with me, please, just until you go back to Hogwarts."
Darcy's heart races in her chest—surely he can hear it. All she wants to do is hug him, kiss him, fuck him, scream yes, yes, yes. And yet, despite the joy his words bring her, Darcy shakes her head slowly, speaking so softly that it comes out as a squeak. "Remus, I—" Darcy hesitates. "I can't. Harry needs me."
She isn't sure that's entirely true, but she wants to believe it. What kind of sister would she be if she left Harry alone for a man? What would Harry think of her if she up and left him to be with Lupin, someone who had only recently come back into her life?
"I want to," she says, tears welling up in her eyes. "I want to, so badly, but—"
Lupin cuts her off with a kiss on her swollen lips. He runs his fingers through her hair, pulling away just barely, so that their lips still brush when he whispers, "Then stay." He continues his argument by kissing her neck, and Darcy closes her eyes, willing herself not to give in—what she wouldn't give to have this every night, to fall asleep with him beside her, to wake up to his kisses, to his touch, to his smile.
"I can't," she says again, hating herself for it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
"Don't be sorry," Lupin murmurs into her neck, kissing her skin over and over again. "Just tell me you love me, kitten."
"I love you," Darcy mutters, tilting her head back as his lips graze her throat, and opening her legs as his fingers graze the inside of her thigh. "I love you, I love you, I love you . . ."