The story breaks Monday morning.

Darcy arrives late to breakfast, having walked Gemma down to the hospital wing and a very grateful Madam Pomfrey. At the entrance to the Great Hall, Darcy can already feel the eyes of the students on her, their attention momentarily diverted from Harry. The Great Hall seems longer than ever, even longer than when she had stood in this exact spot at eleven-years-old, preparing to be paraded past all of the returning students to be Sorted.

She looks around at the students now; some have looked back down at their plates, and others whisper to each other, including Carla and her friends. Harry and Hermione watch Darcy warily from the Gryffindor table, and Darcy tries to keep her eyes fixed on the staff table, hoping to block out any murmuring. In spite of it all, she can't help but wonder how Harry must be feeling—after all, not only is the entire school staring and whispering about him, but he'll have to compete in the tournament alongside students who are much more prepared and learned.

Professor Snape is looking at her from the opposite end of the long, long hall. His eyebrows are raised, nodding curtly at the empty chair beside him. In his hands is the day's newspaper, and Darcy's heart begins to race, the all too familiar pounding drumbeat against her chest. When she doesn't move right away, Snape beckons her forward with his index finger and her feet begin to move of their own accord, carrying her past the House tables without stopping once.

Professor Karkaroff catches her eye halfway to the staff table, but Darcy looks away quickly, taking her seat beside Professor Snape and wishing with all her heart that Ludo Bagman could join them.

As soon as Darcy takes her seat, Professor Snape hands her a page from his newspaper. She takes it from him and he points out a small column in a corner of the page.

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT CHAMPIONS NAMED

Viktor Krum, Durmstrang Institute

Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry Potter, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Many surprises came the night of October the 31st within the halls of Britain's prestigious school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, when the names of champions were given by the ancient Goblet of Fire. With underage students being barred from entrance, it came as a great shock to everyone when Harry Potter's, 14, name was given forth by the Goblet of Fire.

Many point to his sister, Darcy Potter, 19, who graduated from Hogwarts in June and now holds the title of apprentice to the Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, has declined to comment at this time.

Darcy stares down at the article, feeling a sense of relief and anticlimax. This is nothing, she thinks. She had been expecting a front page article written by Rita Skeeter, attacking Darcy and Harry's credibility. But this article is nothing but the truth—people are pointing to her as the reason for Harry's unexpected entry, ever since his name shot from the red flames on Halloween.

She looks sideways at Professor Snape, lowering the paper and noticing something held tight in his hand. "What is that?" she asks, looking at the seal on the envelope. A scarlet blob of dried wax is unmolested, with a large and curly M pressed right in the middle of it.

"It came for you with the rest of the post," Professor Snape answers, giving her the letter.

She takes it hesitantly, flipping it over. On the front of the envelope, written in the neatest handwriting that she's ever seen, is her name. And then Darcy takes a closer look at the writing, noticing the way the y at the end of her name becomes part of the P in Potter. She knows that handwriting, and with a growing sense of equal parts excitement and dread, Darcy tears open the envelope and pulls out the folded parchment from within.

Meet me at the Three Broomsticks this Wednesday at 8pm.

Darcy reads it over again, feeling this is a very inadequate letter considering all that had happened at Emily's home. Nevertheless, she folds up the parchment and stuffs it into her pocket, eating breakfast distractedly and thinking hard. She tries to focus on the one good thing about the letter—it's one less letter that Darcy has to write out.

Of course Emily would know about Harry—news travels quickly at the Ministry of Magic, she's sure, and if Emily is still working a few days a week at the Daily Prophet, she may have access to information that could be of use to Darcy.

The first Potions class on Monday morning is a nightmare. Carla doesn't speak to her at all throughout the lesson, instead settling with giving her accusing stares every so often before tearing her eyes away to whisper with her classmates. The younger students in the other classes, however, are a bit more bold. They openly harass Darcy, calling her a cheat and a liar until Professor Snape silences the class with a single, dangerous, "Enough."

If Darcy didn't hate him so much, she might thank him, and might even show him a little gratitude.

The general attitude of the students towards her puts Darcy in such a foul mood that evening that Darcy corners Carla after dinner, wanting nothing more than to shake sense into her. At the mere sight of Darcy's scowl, Carla's friends retreat quickly, leaving the two of them alone in the entrance hall.

To Carla's credit, she doesn't falter, keeping a cool and almost bored expression on her face. She shakes her head once, as if to get rid of an irksome fly, and a few ringlets shift to frame her dark face.

"What do you think I did it for?" Darcy asks her coldly, stepping close to Carla.

"I don't know why you did it, do I?" Carla snaps, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I just think it's pretty rich that you spent weeks telling me not to enter the tournament, and then you enter your kid brother. That's cheating."

"I didn't put Harry's name in and you know it," Darcy retorts, her voice low.

"Who else would have put his name in, Darcy?" Carla asks her heatedly. "You and Harry have had your little adventures . . . why can't that be enough for you?"

"An adventure, you'd call it, when Harry and I fought a basilisk together in the Chamber of Secrets? You think we choose for these things to happen to us? You thought we were just having fun during all of our adventures? If I had known you wanted glory, I would have sent you down into the Chamber of Secrets instead!"

"You couldn't let me have this one thing, could you?" Carla frowns, her voice becoming shriller. "You couldn't let Hufflepuff have this one thing!"

"You and Cedric Diggory and all of Hufflepuff—you're all welcome to this one thing!" Darcy counters. "But Harry never asked to be put in this situation and you're out of your damn mind if you think I put his name in!"

"Who else would it have been?" Carla asks again. "Who else inside Hogwarts would have put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Darcy hesitates, glancing over both shoulders. A few students shuffle away quickly when they meet her eyes. "Someone in this school did it," Darcy tells her, trying to calm herself. "Someone who wishes Harry harm—"

Carla scoffs, shaking her head slightly, her large eyes widened in disbelief. Darcy trails off, her chest heaving. "I don't believe this," Carla says quietly. "Darcy, no one in this school would have done that. Dumbledore would know."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain."

"I'm trying!" Darcy covers her face with her hands, biting her tongue to keep from screaming in frustration. She looks back up at Carla, likely looking crazed. "You think I would gamble Harry's life away by entering him into the Triwizard Tournament? You think, after everything I have sacrificed for Harry, I would run the risk of losing him?"

"I don't know, Darcy," Carla answers with barely a moment's hesitation. "You've done other things I never would have expected of you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Darcy hisses, feeling a blush creep up the back of her neck, like she knows what's coming. Carla pauses for a long time, and Darcy wishes she could become invisible, if only to hide her bright red cheeks. "Don't be shy, Carla. Go ahead and say it."

"You slept with your professor."

The entrance hall is, blessedly, empty. A few students still linger in the Great Hall eating a late dinner and chatting with friends from other Houses. The other students have already hurried up the marble staircase, rushed away from the scene Darcy is making.

"That's none of your business," she growls. "It wasn't hurting Harry. It wasn't hurting anyone."

"You know what Emily said about you?" Carla says, and her tone indicates she means to hurt Darcy. "After you told me that you slept with him, you know what she said? Emily said you like to push boundaries and test limits because you're Darcy Potter, and no one would ever do anything really terrible to poor, beautiful, naive Darcy Potter. So how does it feel to be held accountable for your actions now?"

"I didn't do it." I know the truth. "You know I didn't do it. I know you know I didn't do it."

Carla clenches her jaw, staring up into Darcy's face.

"There is something dangerous in this school," Darcy whispers, trying to make her see sense. "And we don't know who it is. Harry is in danger, and Gemma wants to have Emily and Tonks quietly investigate."

Carla blinks in surprise. "You're mad."

"I'm scared, Carla." Darcy waits for a couple of Slytherins to clear the entrance hall. "First there's a Death Eater attack, and now Harry's been chosen as a champion for a dangerous, possibly life-threatening tournament. You can't tell me there isn't a connection."

"The Prophet says the attack over the summer was an isolated incident," Carla protests, giving a shrug of her shoulders. "I know you, Darcy. I know you see shadows lurking in every corner. I know you're paranoid and anxious . . . are you truly sticking to this story?"

"I didn't do it. You have to believe me."

Carla looks down at her feet, fighting some deep internal conflict. After what seems like several long minutes, she lifts her head again. "I can't cheer for him."

Darcy opens and closes her mouth. "Sorry?"

"Harry. I can't root for him. I have a House obligation to support Cedric." She wets her lips and sighs heavily. "But I suppose a Hogwarts win is better than nothing at all."

Carla's words, although sweet to hear, do not have the calming effect Darcy had thought they would. "Did Emily really say that about me?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Carla nods. "Yes," she replies. "But you know she didn't mean it."

Darcy decides not to press the matter further now, knowing that Emily will be face to face with her on Wednesday to ask about it. With her pulse pounding in her ears and her hands trembling, Darcy feels there is nothing more to be said to Carla, and she turns, stalking back off towards her apartments.

But the attitude of the students doesn't change much as the days rolls by. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, especially, taunt Darcy and Harry in the corridors and in classes, and Hermione and Harry both take dinner with Darcy in private during the first few days of the week. They eat mostly in silence, picking at their food and barely eating. Wednesday night, Darcy eats a hurried dinner and leaves Harry and Hermione in her room for Hogsmeade.

The weather has gotten colder. The prospect of having both Lupin and Gemma in Hogsmeade by the end of the week has, so far, gotten her through the long days in the castle. She knows that, no matter what happens with Emily, she'll still be able to spend time with two people she loves most, two people who believe and support her and her brother. The idea makes Darcy's heart considerably light, and Darcy quickens her pace halfway down to Hogsmeade, wondering if there might be time for her to grab a drink with Ludo Bagman afterwards.

Emily is already at the Three Broomsticks when Darcy forces herself through the door, her cheeks red with cold and the tip of her nose stinging from the wind whipping at her face. She shrugs off her thick cloak, combing her hair with long fingers as she makes her way over to a corner table of the common room.

Emily looks down into a mug of something that's steaming, her thumb distractedly tracing the rim of it. Darcy takes her seat across from her, looking around at the company they share. The pub isn't as busy as Darcy thought it would be, and no one pays them very much attention, for which she's very grateful.

As soon as Darcy gets comfortable, Emily asks, "Did you do it?"

"No, I didn't."

Emily looks at her for a long time, considering her. Darcy doesn't falter. She shouldn't need to explain herself to Emily. I know the truth.

"Then this is really serious. Whoever put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire means him indirect harm. Do you have any ideas?"

Shaking her head slowly, Darcy sighs. "I don't know," she answers helplessly.

Emily puts her elbows upon the table, leaning forward. Darcy is suddenly struck with a sudden realization of how profession Emily is—besides her apology and question, there was no way of greeting, no friendly hug or bright smile. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Darcy hesitates, ordering herself a drink and waiting for Madam Rosmerta to return to her with it. Once left alone, Darcy gives Emily a detailed recollection, starting from when the first champion had been chosen and ending with Darcy returning to the castle after drinks with Ludo Bagman. Emily listens very carefully the entire time, nodding thoughtfully during some parts and narrowing her eyes at others and all the while tracing the rim of her mug. When Darcy finally finishes, Emily sits up straighter in her chair.

"Igor Karkaroff was a Death Eater, you know," Emily tells her. "The only reason he wasn't sent to Azkaban was because he gave names."

Darcy sighs, running a hand through her hair, not as surprised as she might have been had Professor Snape not given her such a cryptic warning about him upon their first meeting. "I don't know," she says slowly. "It seems the most obvious answer, but . . . he was furious when Harry's name came out. Harry said Karkaroff was of a mind to leave with his champion because of it."

"Yeah," Emily agrees quietly, speaking more to herself than to Darcy. "I don't think Karkaroff would do it, either, not with Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody around to keep an eye on him." She strokes her pointed chin, biting her bottom lip. "What if it happened before the Goblet of Fire was taken from the chest? It could have been previously tampered with."

"Then it could have been anyone." This thought overwhelms her—there are plenty of people out there who would like to see Harry dead, but which one would have put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire? "Peter Pettigrew," she says almost automatically.

Emily shakes her head, looking apologetic. "There's been no sign of him anywhere," she says, almost too understanding. "No one has been looking, though, that's the problem. Why should the Minister send Aurors looking for someone who should be dead? I've tried to find some information on him, but I don't have access to all the records that the Aurors do."

"Isn't anyone looking into this?" Darcy asks, scoffing. "Is no one interested in this? I mean . . . do you . . . ?" She trails off as a server returns to refill their drinks for them. Darcy thanks him politely, smiling across the table at Emily. She ignores him completely. "Do you think it could be connected to what happened at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yes, I do. It seems too much of a coincidence," Emily whispers. "But no one wants to believe they're connected. It's a perfect opportunity to discredit both you and Harry at once. I don't think Fudge wants to admit the Death Eaters are on the rise again. It frightens people."

Darcy digests this. She can feel rage beginning to boil within her, anger at Fudge for not caring, for not willing to help Harry and Darcy, for ignoring the connection between the two events. "Gemma had an idea the other night," Darcy continues, taking a long drink of wine. "She wanted me to talk to you about, well . . . possible doing some investigating of your own, with Tonks, only to see if you can find something to show the Aurors to prove that something is terribly wrong. Remus thinks that if it sparks a real investigation, it would be worth it."

For the first time, Emily cracks a tired smile. It makes Darcy smile, as well, but just as quickly as it appears, Emily's smile fades. "Darcy . . ." Emily starts, frowning and sighing heavily. "Dad should never have said those things to you."

"Oh." Darcy isn't quite sure what to say. She already knows that Emily doesn't blame her for her mother's death, but to know that Mr. Duncan is likely whispering in Emily's ear about Darcy makes her uncomfortable. "It's all right."

"It's not," Emily insists. They're quiet for a moment, looking at each other. "All right, I'll do it. And I'll speak with Tonks about it."

Conversation comes much easier to them afterwards. Darcy tells Emily about her classes and what happened with Carla after dinner on Monday, and she's so grateful to be with Emily that Darcy doesn't even bring up with Carla had confessed about Emily. After Darcy finishes that story, Emily snorts.

"You know that she doesn't truly believe that, right? She's only jealous, Darcy."

Darcy's quite tired of hearing that line. She sighs again, sorry that she's brought it up. "Gemma and Remus will be here tomorrow. You should take some time off work to come and have dinner with us."

"I can't," Emily answers. "I've got a shift at the Prophet tomorrow night."

"All right."

Silence falls over them again and Emily looks down in her cup, stirring the liquid within with a silver spoon. "Still going strong, then?"

Darcy finishes her wine before answering. "Yes, but maybe we could talk about something else."

"I've got to go, actually," Emily tells her, checking her watch. She holds up a hand and summons a server over to them. She reaches into her pocket and pays for her drinks, as well as Darcy's. "Dad's likely waiting for me." She gets to her feet and grabs her coat from off the back of her chair, slipping it on.

"You're leaving?" Darcy asks, startled, standing up with Emily. "Already?"

"Sorry, Darcy, but I'm a busy girl now. I'll write to you the next time I'm able to visit and I'll keep you updated if I find anything." For the first time that night, Emily hugs Darcy tightly to her. She pulls away, holding Darcy at arm's length and looking her over critically and with a small smile. "I'll be here for the first task."

"But there's still so much I have to tell you!"

Emily moves quickly, moving through the throng of customers and leaving Darcy standing alone and confused.

"Would you stop squirming? You're being such a baby."

"I'm not being a baby."

"You really are—stop it!" Gemma wrestles with Lupin's arm for a moment, and Darcy watches them from atop the bed. In Gemma's hand is a long needle, filled with a yellowish liquid. "You are a grown man, and if you don't—stop it!—sit still, I'm going to stick it in your arse—stop!—and have Darcy hold you down!"

"Don't you dare," Lupin growls, tearing his arm from Gemma's hand.

Gemma stares at him incredulously, frustrated and flushed. She looks to Darcy, still lying on the bed, too exhausted to intervene. In fact, it's been almost entertaining watching and listening to Lupin and Gemma squabble and argue for the past half hour. Already tense due to the upcoming full moon, Lupin hasn't stopped snapping at Gemma since her arrival, but Darcy doesn't feel very up to telling him that he was the one who started it.

"Darcy," Gemma hisses, her forehead shining with sweat. "Would you tell him that he's being a baby?"

Darcy sighs, rubbing her eyes. "Just let her stick you with it already, would you? Get it over with."

"Nowhere in the waiver did I see anything about you injected unknown and untested potions into my veins."

"I gave you the ingredient list when I got here," Gemma counters, her frustration growing more evident with each second that Lupin refuses to give her his arm.

"That meant nothing to me," Lupin argues. "I was going to have Darcy look it over, just to make sure."

Growling under her breath, Gemma pulls up her sleeve to reveal a small prick on her skin. "Look, you moron—I've tested it on myself already. If this was going to kill you, it would have killed me long ago."

"You're not a werewolf," Lupin scoffs.

Gemma sighs, composing herself with extreme difficulty. She holds up the needle and looks at him with narrowed eyes. "I am going to count to five," she says slowly. "If this needle is not in your arm by five, I'm going to Stun you and stick it in your arse for good measure. Now, roll up your goddamn sleeve, Remus Lupin."

Lupin grits his teeth, rolling his eyes and glancing at Darcy. She nods at him reassuringly, watching as he pushes his sleeve up again and extends his arm. Gemma huffs impatiently, wrapping a cord around his arm and feeling for a vein. With deft hands, she slides the needle into his arm and pushes the potion into him. When she removes it, she throws a piece of cloth at his face to staunch the small, bleeding puncture wound.

"Like I said," Gemma says, Vanishing the used needle with a swift flick of her wand. "Keep taking the Wolfsbane, but I would recommend going to the Shrieking Shack during the full moon, just in case. Are you feeling all right so far?"

"Besides the massive bruising to my ego . . ." Lupin mutters, rubbing his arm, "yes, I'm fine."

"It might swell a little bit. Mine did for a day or two before it went down again. I didn't have any side effects that I'm aware of, but I did give myself a smaller dose. Just record everything and I'll look it over after the week is out."

Lupin nods shortly, checking his arm for any immediate swelling. His skin has turned pink due to the pinch the needle had given him.

"You're one of the worst damn patients I've ever had."

"Look, I don't want to tell you how to do your job—"

"Then don't," Gemma says quickly, giving him an icy look.

Lupin's voice is just as cold. "All I'm saying is that your bedside manner could use some working on."

She ignores him. "You all right, Darcy?" Gemma asks, glancing over her shoulder towards the bed as she packs up her things. Her tone is much gentler now, any frustration completely gone from her voice. "Awfully quiet over there."

Emily's abrupt departure and overall strange attitude had been the first thing Darcy told the both of them when she arrived in Hogsmeade after classes. That, combined with the open mocking and taunting and the flares of angry students still going strong, Darcy doesn't feel much like talking at all.

The entire thing reminds her of the Chamber of Secrets being opened all over again—people had shunned both she and Harry because of it, and now Darcy can't help but feel it's going to be the same way in a few more days. The other Houses have already begun to ignore Harry completely, and even a few sole Gryffindors, Ron included, have become wary of him.

Regardless, it's a feeling that Darcy's doesn't wish to experience again. But that's something she'd prefer to express while lying in bed with Lupin's arms around her to comfort her as she cries.

"I'm fine," she lies hoarsely.

Gemma shuts her trunk loudly, and Darcy is thankful she doesn't press her for a different answer. She offers Darcy a smile and then turns to Lupin once more. "I'll be with Madam Pomfrey on Saturday, and then I'll be back Tuesday morning to check-in with you after the full moon." She glances down at her watch. "Then Thursday I'm with Madam Pomfrey again. I'll be back for your log around dinner, so make sure it's finished by then. If you feel anything is wrong, either write to St Mungo's—they'll know where to find me—or let Madam Pomfrey know. I've let her know what we've done here tonight."

Lupin nods, his eyes fixed upon Darcy. "Thank you, Gemma."

Gemma smiles weakly. "Good luck." She walks over to Darcy and bends down, kissing her hard on the cheek as if she were Darcy's own mother. The gesture surprises Darcy, but she's too tired to look surprised at all. "I'll see you both on Saturday. Keep an eye on him for me, Darcy."

Gemma closes the door with a snap! after glowering at Lupin. As soon as her footsteps recede, Darcy looks at him. "You were being a bit of a baby," she tells him. Lupin scowls, but rearranges his expression quickly. "Come here."

Lupin does as she asks him and Darcy sits up, taking his arm in her hands and lifting his sleeve. She runs her fingertips over the tiny puncture in his forearm, where the area is already swelling slightly. Darcy kisses it, brushing her lips over the violent scar a few inches below it, a severe and frightening reminder of what he is. He flinches when her lips touch the scar, and Darcy lifts her head quickly.

They both speak at the same time, in soft whispers. "Sorry."

Darcy only shakes her head, lowering his sleeve again.

"Is this what's become of me?" Lupin asks quietly, laughing weakly. "An experiment."

"You don't have to continue with it, you know," Darcy answers, pulling her knees to her chest and feeling guilty. "Gemma said you have the option to quit anytime."

"She means well," Lupin sighs. "And perhaps she's doing it for fame or money, but it's a good thing she's doing. And . . . it's possible that something good might come of this."

Darcy's shoulder twinges, and the feeling is so unexpected that she instinctively raises her hand to it. She catches herself quickly, but not before Lupin notices. His weak smile fades.

"What are you doing here, Darcy?" he asks, not unkindly, but his words don't sit well with Darcy.

"What do you mean?" Darcy says. Wanting nothing more than to curl up beneath her blankets and sleep for days, Darcy moves hurriedly away from him. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, no, I—" Lupin hesitates, choosing his words with extreme care. "How can you look at me and not see me for what I truly am?"

Darcy gets to her feet, shrugging her shoulders. She looks him over, admires him. He had come to comfort her when she needed him most—since she'd met him on the Hogwarts Express again, he had always been there when she needed him. Should she not do the same for him? Could she really leave him in this state? Vulnerable and exhausted and pathetic?

With Lupin still seated upon the edge of the bed, Darcy walks over to him. His head comes to the top of her breasts, and Lupin looks up at her. Unsure of what to say, what words will make him feel better, Darcy wraps her arms around him. Lupin nuzzles his face against her chest, sitting very still.

"You are my dearest friend, my love," he murmurs, his voice muffled against her sweater.

Darcy feels overwhelmed with love for him now, love that she isn't sure how to put into words. She holds him tighter. "And you are mine."

It's only when she crawls back into her own bed later that night does Darcy remember she hadn't even told Lupin how much she loves him. She almost gets right back out of bed to march down the long pathway to Hogsmeade again, but sleep takes her before she's able to move.