Darcy rests her head on Lupin's chest, sighing. She drags her index finger lazily over a scar that crosses his stomach. He allows her to, unflinching, just as he's let her touch them every time they go to bed together.

As much as she had smiled and laughed in bed with him just a few minutes ago, Darcy can't help but focus her thoughts again on their meeting with Gemma. She wants to talk about it, wants to hear how Lupin really feels about the whole thing, wants to ask more questions about Gemma's cryptic comments about her parents Dark Marks becoming darker. She needs to know what it all means . . . if this is one of the signs Sirius had been talking about in his letter. She wonders if she should tell Sirius, if she should tell Dumbledore. Hadn't he asked her specifically to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary?

With a guilty pang of her heart, Darcy is struck with a sudden sadness over Sirius. She had hoped he would write to her every chance he got, hoped he would be awaiting her letters eagerly. But she doesn't even know where he is, only that it takes a considerable amount of time for an owl to make the journey. There's so much she wants to tell him. She wants to hear his voice again, his laughter—she wants things to be the way they should be . . . she, Harry, and Sirius together, a proper family, and Lupin . . .

Where does Lupin fit into all of this? He's my family, too. And if she's being honest with herself, Darcy had been prepared to be his family the moment she met him, the moment he revealed to her that he'd known her parents, the moment she realized he'd been close to them. Darcy had thought, for a little while, that Lupin could fill the gap in her heart that had been left by the death of her parents, when she had been abandoned, taken from the arms of her real family and placed on the doorstep of people who didn't want her. But Darcy never realized it would go this far—she hadn't realized she would grow to love Lupin so much, and that he'd love her just the same in return. That realization had changed everything, leaving her feeling confused.

"Can we talk about it now?" she asks, tilting her head back to look at him.

Lupin looks down at her, considering her, his eyes traveling briefly down towards her exposed chest before pulling back up to her eyes. His hair is ruffled, his eyes tired, but there's a weak smile on his face. Seeing him so disheveled and flushed is endearing to her—it gives him a youthful appearance that he typically lacks so close to the full moon.

"How are you feeling?" Darcy asks again, hoping he'll stop scrutinizing her so closely soon.

"It will be fine," Lupin says gently. "I don't have to worry about becoming a fully-fledged monster for another six months, and I have a large bag of money that is begging to be put to use . . . say, dinner tomorrow night?"

She blushes. "You should save it instead. Put it in your vault."

"Hark who's talking," Lupin laughs, making Darcy smiles in earnest. "Your money management skills are no better. And I know you told Madam Rosmerta not to let me pay for anything, you cheeky girl." When Darcy only blushes harder, Lupin sighs happily, "It's cute when you blush."

"What Gemma said earlier . . . about the Dark Mark," she begins carefully, glad to change topics so rapidly. A crease appears between Lupin's eyebrows and she looks away bashfully, tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "What does it mean? Tell me the truth. I don't quite understand."

"You shouldn't worry about it too much, my love," Lupin whispers, wrapping both arms around her waist and pulling her closer. She peppers his chest with kisses and he laughs again. "I'll take care of it. I don't want you to get yourself all worked up about it."

Between kisses, her lips moving higher up his chest to nip at his collarbone, Darcy murmurs. "Tell me anyway." She's too content to be angry right now, too happy with his body pressed against her own. "Why are you so worried about what I worry about?"

"You do know how to convince a man, don't you?" he purrs, watching her kiss up his chest, closing his eyes as she presses her lips to his neck. When her lips touch just below his ear, he groans. "Who taught you such wicked things?"

She doesn't answer him, but lets her fingertips brush slowly over the skin just below his navel. Lupin grabs her thigh, attempting to swing it over his hip, but Darcy shakes her head, ceases kissing him, and Lupin's eyes snap open. "Tell me the truth of what this means, Remus Lupin. You shouldn't keep anything from me."

Impatience flashes momentarily in his eyes, but he sighs and then it's gone as quickly as it came. He scoops Darcy's hand from his stomach and laces their fingers together, kissing each of her slender fingers. "Fine, Gemma's information is . . . worrying."

Darcy pulls away from him immediately, ignoring his soft protests, and she props herself up onto an elbow. "It means Voldemort is getting stronger again, doesn't it? But how could that be possible?" She thinks harder about what Gemma had said, and then continues. "But why would Gemma's parents be afraid? Isn't that what they want? Don't they want to see a powerful Voldemort again?"

Lupin clears his throat, sitting up and propping his pillow against the headboard. Darcy mimics him, holding the sheet nearly to her chin, to block out any distractions that might keep Lupin from giving her such vital information. "What you have to understand, Darcy, is that many of Voldemort's most devoted servants are currently in Azkaban." He pauses, waiting to see if she's going to interrupt him, but Darcy keeps silent. "When Voldemort disappeared after failing to kill Harry, Death Eaters were rounded up and brought to trial to answer for their crimes. Many of them were found guilty, of course, and they were sent to Azkaban, but many of them feigned ignorance, claiming they had been put under the Imperius Curse to do Voldemort's bidding."

"And the Ministry just believed them?" Darcy asks, scrunching her nose.

"It's more complicated than that, my love," Lupin explains with a forced smile. "Some people, I assume, were put under the Imperius Curse, but it was near impossible for the Ministry to sort out those who were telling the truth and those who weren't." When Darcy continues to look skeptical, he continues quickly. "What would you have done? Condemn them all, even the innocent, to live out the rest of their lives among the dementors at Azkaban?"

Darcy ponders the question. Could she really condemn innocent people to that forsaken prison? Isn't that what had happened to Sirius? "They were cowards," she says suddenly. "The ones who lied."

Lupin grimaces. "You could say that," he agrees, nodding very slightly. "Many of Voldemort's supporters, his Death Eaters, fear his rise to power again because they fear him. Many of them were tricked into becoming his followers by being blackmailed and tortured, or threatened."

And Darcy suddenly remembers a sunny June afternoon, seated underneath the shade of a beech tree by the lake, Gemma sitting across from her. My parents didn't exactly sign up to be Death Eaters, Darcy. They were threatened and blackmailed, and once you're a Death Eater, you can't just decide to hang up your cloak and live out a peaceful life. And Darcy begins to understand. Gemma would have been a small child, maybe five or six when the trials had been going on, when Death Eaters were being rounded up. Her parents would have been afraid for their young daughter had they been sent away to Azkaban, yet they couldn't have just denounced Voldemort at the height of his reign. She tries to imagine herself in their position, tries to imagine what she would do if forced to choose between Azkaban or someone she loved.

Lupin lets her work everything out for a few moments before speaking again. "If Voldemort is growing stronger again, I don't doubt that many of his followers are becoming more afraid by the day. Some may even flee when the time comes," he says. "Do you think that Voldemort will be forgiving towards those who denied their involvement with him? Those who wanted nothing to do with him once he vanished? Those who did not try to seek him out afterwards?"

"Then they should fight against him this time instead of hiding or fleeing," Darcy insists quickly, taking Lupin by surprise. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "My mother had me and she still fought against Voldemort."

"Not everyone is your mother," Lupin says after a long and heavy pause. "Most of Voldemort's followers will return to him and beg his forgiveness . . . should he return at all. They will return out of fear for their families and their own lives."

"So that's what it all means?" Darcy whispers, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and giving it a slight squeeze. "Gemma's parents are afraid because they know he's getting stronger, and they don't want to return to him."

Lupin nods.

"Do you believe it? Do you believe what she said?"

"I trust that Gemma knows exactly what she's saying, and I trust that she believes it," Lupin says slowly, rubbing his jaw. "But who's to say the information she overheard was accurate? Who's to say she didn't misunderstand the conversation out of context? It's my understanding that Gemma's parents do not actively involve her in such things, nor do they inform her of such information."

Darcy's brow furrows. "How do you come to that conclusion? Has she spoken to you about these things?"

Lupin chuckles, but only for a moment before it trails off. "I do not believe for a second that, had Gemma known what was going to happen at the Quidditch World Cup, she would not have told somebody. I do not believe she would have gone at all had she known." He reaches out to tuck some of Darcy's hair behind her ear. "I would think that event would have been common knowledge among Death Eaters."

Darcy wonders if now is a good time to ask one more question. Lupin seems so vulnerable—his guard seems lowered and he's tired, and the openness and honesty of their conversation makes her think it'll be easier to solicit an honest answer from him. "Remus," she starts. "Do you think there's going to be a war?"

He seems to be battling some internal conflict right before her eyes, and Darcy knows that she could not have asked her question at a better time. "Yes," he rasps. "I do."

And something comes to Darcy then, sometime she had forgotten about, but not seems so important. "Harry told me, at the end of the school year, that he thought Professor Trelawney had made a proper prediction."

Lupin's glossy eyes seem to focus, and he sits up straighter. "But you never told me this!"

Darcy opens her mouth to speak, feeling apologetic, but she can't find the appropriate words to say. "I'm sorry, I—I forgot!"

"Go on, then," he urges. "What did she say?"

"That Voldemort's servant would return, and that was the same night that Peter got away. And she said that Voldemort would raise again, and he'd . . . he'd be . . ." Darcy thinks hard, trying to remember. It seems a lifetime ago. "He'd be greater and more terrible . . . something along those lines."

Darcy gives him a minute so the words can fully sink in. Saying them out loud is frightening after their conversation about Death Eaters. "Darcy, listen to me," he says, and his tone makes Darcy wary. She pulls her knees up to her chest, waiting for him to continue. "You must stay here, at Hogwarts, if a war does come. It is safe for you here, with Dumbledore as Headmaster, and I . . . as much as I dislike Severus, I don't think he'll let any harm come to you, not truly. You must stay with Harry and—"

"And what?" Darcy asks, her heart beginning to race. "And sit the war out? Hide behind Professor Snape? Absolutely not! When the war comes, I'm going to fight, with you and for you, for my parents and my friends, and Harry."

Lupin hesitates, looking as if he expected this answer. "You have no idea what it was like when Voldemort was in power last time," he replies, keeping his voice low. "You have no idea what war is like . . . magic you've never thought possible—"

"I know what it's like," Darcy snaps. "I know the cost of war quite well, same as you do."

"Suffering," he snarls, suddenly wolfish. "All that comes with war is suffering, and is it too much for me to ask to want to keep you away from all of that? You'd be hunted like an animal, Darcy. There would be a reward for whoever brought your body back to Voldemort—"

"Don't think I don't know what could happen," Darcy shoots back, her pulse pounding in her ears. "I would rather die fighting Voldemort than hide like a coward—"

Lupin interrupts her, startling her, his voice drowning out her own. "I can't lose you, Darcy." He looks away from her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. "I won't—I can't—"

"You won't lose me."

"You're too young—"

"The same age as you were when you fought! When Sirius and my parents fought! My parents died for me and Harry," she counters. "I am Lily Potter's daughter, and I will not hide away in a castle while Voldemort is out there somewhere. My mother and father would never have—"

"And I will not lose you the way I lost them!" Lupin shouts the words, causing Darcy to instinctively scramble away from him. He looks down at her with wide eyes and tears well in her own. "No, no, Darcy, I'm sorry . . . please . . ." He reaches out for her, taking one of her hands and tugging gently. "Come here."

Darcy moves slowly back towards him, wrapping the sheet around her tighter. Lupin's hand moves to her face, to cup her cheek and tangle his fingers in her hair. He leans in and rests his forehead against her own.

"I know you will not listen," he whispers, pulling away slightly to look her in the eyes. "But just for this one moment, promise me that you will not fight in this war."

Darcy frowns, and Lupin seems to already know what's coming. "I can't promise you that."

He looks exasperated, and gives her a small smile. "You're damn stubborn, Darcy, do you know that?"

"Professor Snape says I get it from my mother."

"Yes," Lupin laughs weakly. "He's right."

Darcy and Gemma dine alone in the common room of the Three Broomsticks that evening. She tries to keep the conversation away from anything Voldemort or Death Eater related, and she finds that conversation comes rather naturally. Darcy has a lot to tell Gemma about Hogwarts and Gemma has good stories about patients who frequent St Mungo's. They laugh often, giggling like thirteen-year-old girls, yet Darcy can't help but notice that Gemma's laughter almost seems forced, her smiles not as easy as they had been for years before. There's a definite sense of weariness to her, evident in the way she slouches and in the faint shadows under her eyes.

"Sorry I couldn't be here for your birthday, Darcy," Gemma says finally, after they push their plates away, stomachs full. "I wanted to come and surprise you, but things have been . . . well, I suppose this is the real world now, isn't it? We can't just sneak off to the bathroom anymore to drown in firewhisky whenever we want."

Darcy smiles a sad smile, wishing she could relive her last year at Hogwarts, knowing everything that she knows now.

"We might, however, be seeing each other much more often in the near future." Gemma's dark eyes seem to twinkle.

"Oh?" she asks, lowering her fork.

"My classes finished at the end of August, and after every graduating class, they choose one graduate to have the opportunity to train on the field. Normally they send some people off to help the mediwitches and wizards at professional Quidditch games. But this year isn't like every other year, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Darcy asks again, eagerly.

"It's the Triwizard Tournament this year, of course!" Gemma grins. "They're sending some extra help to the castle to aid Madam Pomfrey during the tasks, just in case, so I'll be working alongside Madam Pomfrey twice a week for the year."

Darcy smiles wide, her spirits lifting. "That's amazing! Carla will be so thrilled!"

Gemma shrugs modestly, but there's still a wicked smile on her face. "I knew you'd like that."

Nodding, Darcy looks down at her lap, blushing suddenly. She looks up at Gemma again, her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "Can I ask you something?" Darcy says, clearing her throat nervously. "And please don't laugh if it sounds stupid."

"What is it?"

"I just, er . . ." Darcy looks away again, and Gemma leans in closer. "You and Remus, I . . . I only mean, you looked very comfortable, er—touching him, and—"

Gemma bursts out laughing, making Darcy flush a deep scarlet. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Darcy, but I couldn't help myself," she sighs. "You're being ridiculous. It's my job to poke and prod. If I didn't look comfortable, it would have meant I wasn't doing my job properly. And I would never go after him. You know that I would never break the girl code."

"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm being ridiculous," Darcy mutters. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't apologize," Gemma says, waving a flippant hand at Darcy. "I should be the one apologizing. If it makes you feel any better, you should be rather thankful that it's me and not one of the other girls I took classes with. I'm telling you, if you hadn't made a move on him, one of them would have."

Darcy chuckles softly. "I love him, Gemma."

"I know you do." Gemma lifts her glass of wine and urges Darcy to do the same, cheering each other. "To you, Darcy. Happy belated birthday."

"Remus?"

He hums in response, his eyes still closed.

Darcy smiles weakly at him, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. She leans in and kisses him softly, still amazed that she's able to do that whenever she wants now. "Do you think I'm the most beautiful girl you've ever met?"

"Of course I do, kitten. Now go to sleep."

"I can't sleep." She kisses him again, and he's a bit more receptive this time. "When did you know that you loved me?"

Lupin's eyes flutter open. He flashes her a tired smile, closing his eyes again once he catches sight of her. His fingers card lazily through her hair. "When I came back that morning," he whispers. "The morning after everything . . . I had expected silence from you, anger . . . I didn't expect to find you waiting for me to return, unafraid. I was certain then. Any other woman—any other sane woman—would have run the other way, but you came back."

"I'm not like other sane women," Darcy smiles, grateful he can't see her blushing.

"No, you're not." He chuckles, sighing happily. "There were times before that . . . I had thought . . ." Lupin pauses, continuing to run his fingers through her dark red hair. "Skipping rocks across the lake, carefree. Falling asleep at my side, something I never thought possible after what I had done to you." The corners of her lips quirk upwards. "The first time you said my name. Do you remember that?"

Darcy laughs softly. "I remember that."

"It rolled off your tongue so well," he continues. "Like my name was meant to be said by you."

"I dreamt about you for months, you know."

"All good dreams, I hope?"

It's not entirely the truth, but Darcy can only think of the good dreams—the obscene dreams that had made her blush, that had made her warm and damp between the legs. "Always good dreams," she tells him.

"Oh?" Lupin grins, kissing her jaw and moving closer to her, immediately propping himself above her on an elbow. "And tell me, sweetheart . . . what exactly was I doing in these dreams of yours?"

Darcy laughs loudly as he kisses her neck, nipping at her skin. "Wicked things . . . sinful things," she answers. She rakes her fingers through his hair like she'd dreamed of doing for so long, grabbing a fistful. "Night after night I dreamed of you."

Lupin drags his lips down her throat, placing a kiss at the base of it, looking up for a moment to smile at her. "Where did I touch you in your dreams, love?" he murmurs against her cheek.

Darcy takes his free hand in hers, guiding it down to the aching heat between her legs. He doesn't protest, smiling slyly all the while.

"Did I ever tell you that I loved you in your dreams?"

"No," she sighs, his fingers making her flesh sear with each light touch. She gasps as he shoves two fingers inside of her roughly, her chest heaving. "You never did."

"Then perhaps I should tell you now," Lupin says, kissing her lips. "I love you."

"I love you," she repeats softly, feeling lightheaded with love, unsure of what else to say.

He laughs to himself. "Yes," he says. "I love you."

Sunday is spent curled up in front of the fire, Lupin reading aloud to her, their backs against the modest loveseat in the room. Darcy had to run back up to the castle in order to retrieve the poetry book he'd marked up for her, and she's quite glad she did. Hearing him purr her favorite poem into her ear makes her feel something, a feeling she's never felt before, a feeling she can't quite place, but a feeling that she can only describe as bliss. Yet something stirs within her, a pang in her heart that makes her ache—the feeling of having missed out.

Darcy wonders what life would be like if Lupin had come back for her and Harry—if he'd been a part of their lives since the beginning. She wonders how many days they would have spent together, Darcy and Harry curled up by a fire as Lupin read to them, cared for them, made sure that they weren't so alone in the cruel world they'd been born into.

Lupin notices Darcy's far off stare, her unfocused eyes gazing into the dancing flames, and he closes the book on his thumb. "What's wrong?"

These words are uttered from him quite often, more so than Darcy wishes. She wishes that she could just appreciate what they have now, wishing she could just appreciate the present. She scolds herself silently. "Nothing," she whispers, adjusting her head on his chest to look up at him. "Kiss me before I start talking and don't stop."

He sighs, brushing his thumb over her lips. "A tempting offer," he replies. "But if there's something bothering you, I'd like to hear what it is."

"I wish I could have known you longer," she confesses quietly, turning her gaze back towards the fire. Darcy sniffles, rubbing her eyes, trying to stop the tears before they even come. "I wish I could have met you again before you came to Hogwarts."

Lupin is quiet for a moment, and the arm around her shoulders tightens, holding her close, pressing her to him. "Things would have been much different between us," he says. "And I don't doubt that you and Harry both would have brought me much joy, but . . ." He hesitates, looking down at Darcy and resting his cheek atop her head. "At the cost of this . . . is that selfish?"

Darcy doesn't answer for a long time. She listens to the crackling of the fire, the murmur of conversation coming from the floor below. She knows how Lupin feels, because she's thought about it so many times before. She's wondered what a life with Lupin around would have been like, but at the cost of his love, his touches that make her toes curl, his kisses that make her dizzy.

Perhaps it is selfish to want him so much, to need him, and oftentimes she's wondered if—had Lupin not known her parents—they would still love each other. After all, Darcy had latched onto him after their first real conversation, during a detention she'd been serving in his office. She'd latched onto the one thing left of her family, even if he wasn't quite that. But had it not been for her parents, they never would have shared that common ground. Darcy would likely never have been able to be so open and honest about her feelings with him, and she likely would have just been one of the many teenage girls at Hogwarts who had a sad schoolgirl crush on her professor.

"I'm sorry," he tells her finally. "I'm sorry that I did nothing. I'm sorry that I turned a blind eye to you and Harry."

"You don't have to apologize to me. I know why you never came to us."

Lupin puts the book on the ground at his side, his free hand taking hers. "I struggled for a long time with my feelings for you," he admits, getting her attention again. "And sometimes I still feel that I've wronged you, that I've wronged your parents and Sirius, and Harry . . ." He inhales deeply, and Darcy feels his heart beat faster against his chest.

Darcy shifts, settling herself in Lupin's lap. He doesn't protest, and closes his eyes when she leans in to kiss him. Darcy only leaves him with a soft kiss, pulling away, wanting nothing more than to kiss him harder, deeper, but she only brushes the tip of her nose against his. "Does it still feel wrong?" she asks him innocently.

"No," he smiles. "But I may need another one just to make sure."

"I'll just have to kiss you all the time, I think. To remind you."

"I won't stop you."

They both laugh, and Darcy rests her cheek against his shoulder, looping her arms underneath his and closing her eyes.