Darcy forces herself to get out of bed each day the following week, dressing herself in her nicest clothes and putting her robes over them, brushing her hair until it's completely free of knots or tangles, putting on a smile that seems to annoy Professor Snape to no end.
When she visits Lupin on Tuesday, the night following his transformation, it's to find that Gemma has already been to check on him. He's bandaged up in a few places—there's a small scratch on his forehead and one on his left cheek, and his wrist is wrapped up tight as if broken, and he refuses to tell her anything other than "I'm fine" when Darcy asks how he is.
When he falls back asleep, Darcy goes to leave, but not before seeing parchment scattered all over the small table, parchment that describes the effects of Gemma's little experiment. Underneath the date of his transformation, written in a heavy hand, is the word pain, underlined three times. Darcy's heart aches so badly for him and she tears her eyes away from it, moving to him and kissing his lips over and over until he wakes and laughs against her, his skin still blazing.
Potions lessons have become something of a haven for Darcy. No one dares to mutter under their breaths about Darcy and her involvement with Harry's newfound champion status, already well aware of Professor Snape's wrath. The students seem to collectively decide that Darcy isn't worth a detention, or several, so instead they keep their eyes trained on their cauldrons or parchment or books.
And even better, Carla is her normal self again. Though everything seems relatively forced, she smiles at Darcy, makes her giggle whenever she steals by Carla's cauldron. But Carla's own laughter isn't half so genuine, and Darcy has a feeling that she's only trying to make amends after all that had been said and done. Regardless, Darcy appreciates it.
However, Ron doesn't seem to come around half so easily. When Harry has dinner with Darcy on Wednesday evening, he admits to her in total confidence that, while he likes Hermione very much and while she's been very supportive during these strange times, she isn't Ron, and he rather feels something is missing without his best friend around. Darcy sympathizes, understanding very much how it feels to be without your best friend.
Darcy can only promise him that Ron will realize the truth soon enough, to which Harry replies, "What? When I'm dead? Maybe that will finally make him see sense?"
"That's not funny," Darcy retorts sharply, giving him a single look to silence him.
Harry looks down at his plate, sighing. "Sorry, Darcy."
Darcy thinks by the end of the week, Sirius should write back. After all, if he's come north again (not that she's entirely sure exactly whereabouts or how far north he's yet come at all) then he should have had plenty of time to write back to her by now. But Max does not return during breakfast, and Darcy makes Gemma stop by the owlery with her before going down to Hogsmeade, just to be sure that Max isn't asleep in the rafters after a tiring journey, having simply forgotten to deliver her a letter. Gemma obliges, complaining about the walk up the entire way ("Hogsmeade is far enough!"), but she refrains from saying I told you so when Max is nowhere to be found.
The walk down to Hogsmeade is long that night, long and desperately cold, and Gemma wraps her hands around Darcy's arm, talking animatedly the entire way. And then, just before they reach the last stretch towards the village, Gemma asks, "Lupin seemed very hesitant to tell me about this last week, and I'm under the impression he's still keeping a few things from me."
"Like what?"
"He mentioned that he had felt different over the weekend," Gemma continues. "But he couldn't tell me how, or he didn't want to. He actually blushed when I pressed him."
Darcy blushes, as well. "Oh, well, I mean . . . he was just tired, and . . . well, it made him short, I think. He just snapped a lot and . . ."
Gemma raises his eyebrows, looking Darcy full in the face, noticing the pink tint to her cheeks. "And what? He was just short with you?" She smiles knowingly. "I hope he didn't say anything too cruel to you."
"No, he didn't—I mean, I understood—but it . . . it wasn't just that," Darcy explains, looking directly in front of her, unable to meet Gemma's eyes. She sighs heavily, throwing her head back and groaning. "I couldn't walk Monday morning, Gemma. And I was too humiliated to ask Madam Pomfrey for something to soothe the ache."
Gemma's lips form a perfect little 'o'. Then, she lets out a bark of laughter towards the darkening sky. "Gross," she chuckles. "Why didn't you just brew a potion yourself?"
"Because I would have had to ask Professor Snape for the ingredients, and you know he would have known what I was going to make and why."
"All right," Gemma says, and Darcy can hear her still smiling. "So everything was intensified about a hundred times. Now we know for next time to dial back on the ingredients."
"Or you could not shoot it directly into his bloodstream next time?" Darcy hisses at her.
"Yes, yes, yes, maybe that was a bad idea, but now we know," Gemma answers with a shrug and another wicked smile. "The worst is over now, and it must be nice to have at least gotten a few good fucks out of it."
Darcy brushes Gemma off her arm, blushing harder, giving her friend a few quick slaps on the arm. Gemma only laughs at this, stumbling away from Darcy and rubbing her arm. "Are you done?" Darcy asks sharply, smacking Gemma on the arm again. "Are you actually finished now?"
"Yes! I'm done, I'm done! I yield!" Gemma brushes herself off, flattening her cloak and falling back into step with Darcy.
Huffing impatiently, Darcy looks sideways at her friend. "Did Remus tell you anything about how his transformation went?"
"Yes, he did, and he begged me not to tell you anything, you know," Gemma replies, raising an eyebrow.
"That's not fair!" Darcy snaps. "You two aren't allowed to keep secrets from me!"
"It's not like he volunteered this information willingly or in confidence, Darcy. He only told me because I nearly forced it out of him, and he was quite glad to throw it in my face to let me know how much worse I've made the experience for him." Gemma grinds her jaw, looking ahead at the small village of Hogsmeade, the streets lit by the lights filtering from inside the many shops and homes. "He didn't want to tell you because he didn't want you to worry, but if I can be honest . . . it's rather daft of him to think I wouldn't tell you something like that, especially if he doesn't want me to tell specifically you."
"You wouldn't have told me if I hadn't asked," Darcy mutters bitterly, her stomach knotting with feelings of increasing guilt.
"I would have at least given him the chance to tell you himself," Gemma says. "Just like I gave you the chance to tell me that he was a werewolf first."
Darcy doesn't have an answer for that. She can't shake the guilt. "You should forgive him for what he might have said," she tells Gemma softly. "I'm sure he didn't really mean it. He's not himself right now."
"Just because he's a little sensitive around this time doesn't mean he automatically gets a free pass," Gemma replies, her tone slightly curt. "He was upset with me for holding him accountable for what he'd said to me. I put him in his place. He's not my teacher anymore, he's my patient, and he should treat me with a little respect."
Unsure if she's daring to ask too much, Darcy hesitates. But she isn't Gemma's patient, she's Gemma's friend—her best friend—and they've always been quite honest with each other before. Gemma keeps things hidden, yes, but she's always answered Darcy's questions truthfully. "What did he say to you?"
Gemma laughs mirthlessly, sending shivers down Darcy's spine. A horrible laughter, bitter and unlike Gemma's usual easy laughter. "He thought it appropriate to claim that someone like me would never pass up an opportunity to experiment on someone like him, that I was careless with him, catering to my own interests instead of his, or of other werewolves."
"He doesn't really mean it." Funny, Darcy thinks. How many times have I heard those words recently, and how many times have those words still hurt me? "What did you say to him?"
"I told him if that's how he felt, he could choose to back out at any time," she continues casually, slowing her pace as they near the entrance to Hogsmeade. "And I also reminded him that I had been kind enough to keep his secret while he was teaching at school—both of them. I told him that I'd been kind enough to secure him a steady source of income to last him months, and I've put forth my own money and a part of my soul into a project that I am extremely proud of. He can think what he wants of me, truly." Gemma's face hardens. "Do you think that other people don't say the same? Do you think others, who might know me as he does, would actually see me as who I really am instead of the daughter of some Death Eaters?"
Darcy stops walking, a curious expression on her face. She's reminded of Mrs. Duncan's funeral, of the hurt in Gemma's face and voice when speaking of her parents. Gemma continues walking a few paces, stopping suddenly upon realizing that Darcy isn't beside her. She whirls, her dark hair moving with her.
Darcy can't help but think that Gemma even more beautiful when she's angry. Her anger is subtle, but Darcy notices the gleam in her brown eyes, the way her eyebrows knit together, clenching her jaw to keep from visibly frowning. Seeing Gemma angry is so foreign to Darcy that it seems scary, a terrible anger and a terrible beauty.
"You know that Remus doesn't think you're like your parents," Darcy says quietly. "You know that. He trusts you."
"He only trusts me because you do," Gemma growls. She takes a moment to compose herself, to rearrange her face. "Can we go now? It's freezing out here."
The three of them take dinner together in the noisy common room, a warm and stuffy place. Gemma and Lupin make very forced and polite conversation without really looking at each other at all. The entire affair is awkward and stiff, and Darcy is privately glad Gemma leaves early, leaving the two of them alone. When Darcy and Lupin finish their dinners, also in silence, he suggests a walk before he leaves for home.
"You shouldn't have said those things to Gemma," is the first thing that leaves Darcy's mouth as soon as they step foot outside the warm and stifling building. "You know that she's only trying to help."
Lupin sighs heavily, wrapping an arm around Darcy and pulling her close, and that's the end of it. He leaves shortly afterwards, placing a swift kiss on her cheek and promising that she'll have a home to return to this weekend. It's a sad and sorry good-bye, but Darcy tries to remember that he's likely just in need of some more sleep, and she lets him go without another word of protest.
Maybe once he's settled back into a normal routine and in his own home again, things will be different, and he'll be the same man he was just a few days ago.
Darcy walks back to Hogwarts alone, frowning the entire way, exhausted. Lupin and Gemma have always gotten alone quite well, have always been comfortable with each other in ways Lupin isn't with Darcy's other friends. While the idea makes her skin crawl and gives her jealous feelings she tries to push to the back of her mind, another part of Darcy enjoys being able to have dinner or spend time with the both of them, a luxury she doesn't get with Emily or Carla, both of whom are still rather wary of Lupin and their relationship. Darcy scowls as she walks into the entrance hall, not wanting to think about it anymore.
When Max does not arrive the following morning at breakfast, Darcy steals away to the owlery at the end of lunch, moving quickly up to the tall tower and trying to give herself time to make it back down for the Potions lesson afterwards. At least, for the last class of the week, Darcy will be able to see Harry and Hermione. She's even glad to see Ron, but given the current situation, Darcy's been taking her brother's side and not speaking to Ron unless necessity absolutely demands it.
Max isn't in the owlery, and Darcy lets out a frustrated scream that seems to echo throughout the grounds. She curses Sirius for a few moments until her anger subsides, and then she sprints down to Professor Snape's classroom, knowing she'll likely be late. However, wen she does arrive to the dungeon classroom, she wishes she'd never come at all.
The students, Gryffindor and Slytherin, are still congregated outside the closed door, talking in low whispers. Draco Malfoy watches her approach hungrily, almost slightly nervous, puffing out his chest to show off the gleaming bade on his robes that say SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY. Darcy shakes her head, not very bothered by it, but out of the corner of her eye, the badge seems to transform, to change completely, until it's a sickly green color and the words now says POTTER STINKS.
But she doesn't have the time to dwell on it. Someone nudges her with an elbow and Darcy looks down to find Hermione crying into her hands. Darcy takes her by the shoulders, the classroom door finally opening to reveal Professor Snape watching carefully from the threshold, his black eyes fixed on Darcy. Darcy looks around, scanning the rest of the students for some sign of why Hermione might be crying.
One of Malfoy's friends' head is misshapen grotesquely, colored like wild fungus, and he stumbles backwards, running clumsily towards the hospital wing. When he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, Darcy takes Hermione's wrists gently, trying to pry them from her face while acutely aware of everyone else's staring.
"Let me see, Hermione," she whispers, but Hermione refuses to move her hands away. "I can't help you if you won't show—oh . . ."
The Slytherins all laugh when Hermione lowers her trembling hands. Hermione's front teeth seem to grow at a pace much too face, well past her chin already. Darcy takes her wand out and points it at Hermione's teeth, hesitating, and putting it back in her pocket.
"Maybe we should have Madam Pomfrey sort you out . . ."
Professor Snape is still watching Darcy, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Everyone inside, now," he hisses, and the students shuffle past him obediently, muttering to themselves. Snape slams the door shut behind him, not before receiving a withering glare from Darcy.
As Darcy walks Hermione down to the hospital wing, it's very quiet between them, and then Hermione asks one thing, nearly incoherent given the length of her front teeth, which continue to grow well past her collarbones. "Is Gemma here?"
Darcy almost laughs. "No, not today."
"Oh," Hermione cries, trying to hide her teeth with her hands again. "Don't tell her I asked."
Madam Pomfrey fixes Hermione's teeth easily as Darcy watches on. She narrows her eyes when Hermione tells Madam Pomfrey to finally stop shrinking her teeth, and Darcy can tell that they're different, but she isn't about to chastise Hermione for it. Hermione catches Darcy's eye and blushes fiercely before explaining what happened.
"Malfoy called me a Mudblood, trying to give me one of those stupid badges, and . . . I told him not to do it, but he did it and so did Malfoy and their spells ricocheted and one hit Goyle—" She points to the lumpy figure in a bed across from them, and Madam Pomfrey hurries over to his side. "And one of them hit me, and please, Darcy, you'll tell me all about today's lesson, won't you? You won't make me go back, will you?"
Darcy hesitates, finally smiling and nodding weakly. "No, I won't make you."
The two of them stay in the hospital wing talking quietly, and Darcy is glad for the distraction. Hermione tells Darcy to ignore the badges, which she didn't need to say. The badges are the least of Darcy's concerns, and when she leaves about halfway through the double Potions lesson, heading back towards the dungeons, someone calls her name and Darcy is overcome with a feeling of dread, despite turning to find herself face to face with a flushed Ludo Bagman, who's looking quite handsome today.
Ludo has combed his blond hair over to the side, parting it very severely and making sure that no stray hairs fall across his face. He's dressed in very clean black robes, wrinkle-free, and he grabs Darcy by the arms, looking her over critically.
"Mr. Bagman," Darcy says, clearing her throat and suddenly feeling very self-conscious, watching his eyes rove over her hair and face and pulling back the lapels of her robes to inspect her outfit underneath. Ludo doesn't even seem to hear her. "Mr. Bagman, please!"
"I suppose it doesn't really matter what you're wearing, does it? Not when you're the beautiful Darcy Potter! You are, truly, a very pretty girl . . . no one will give a fuss about your outfit . . .I'm only being critical, I'm sorry, dear girl, I'm sorry . . ." Ludo talks more to himself than to Darcy. "The champions are all having their wands weighed right now, and they'll be wanting pictures for the Daily Prophet, of course, and I know you won't like this, but . . ."
"But what, Mr. Bagman?" Darcy asks slowly, letting Ludo adjust the front of her robes again, brushing off some dirt and dust from her shoulders. "What won't I like?"
Ludo looks at Darcy apologetically, lowering his hands to his sides. "Rita Skeeter would like to interview you, my dear," he offers quietly, and Darcy shakes her head.
"No," she says simply. "No—I'm not a champion, nor am I a judge. I don't have to be there."
Darcy stars walking again, but Ludo blocks her way, grabbing her arms again and digging his fingertips into her flesh. "It will be worse for you if you don't go," Ludo promises, guiding her gently towards the marble staircase, away from the corridor leading to Professor Snape's classroom. "Just have a picture taken with your brother, answer a few question, and we'll send you right off to dinner. Don't worry, Darcy, I'll be there the whole time, and didn't I take care of you before?"
She gives him an incredulous look. Darcy thinks this is a bit of an overstatement, for Ludo Bagman hadn't really done much to help her escape Rita Skeeter's clutches when they'd last come face to face at the Ministry of Magic. "No," Darcy replies hesitantly. "Maybe I should . . . Professor Snape is waiting for me, I'm sure."
Ludo sighs. "Rita Skeeter will write about you regardless if you want to come with me or not," he insists. "You can either let her write all lies, or answer a few of her lighter questions and give her some truth to work with. Dumbledore is there, you know. Do you really think Dumbledore would allow her to harass you?"
"Dumbledore's there?" Darcy asks quickly. "Why didn't you just say that?" She thinks of Harry, cornered by that horrible woman, unsure of what to expect. "All right, I'll go, but just for a little bit."
When they enter the abandoned classroom (one of which Darcy had thrown up in during sixth year), the Daily Prophet photographer is finishing up individual photographs. At their entrance, Harry immediately sidles up to her left side, Ludo still on her right, a reassuring hand pressed against her back, nearly forcing her forward.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, his voice low. "How's Hermione?"
"Better than us," Darcy replies with a forced smile. "She's perfectly fine."
Dumbledore nods at her in acknowledgment, looking very aloof as he stands at the wall, watching the wand weighing going on. Cedric Diggory gives her a small smile, both Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour glance at her and turn away. Madame Maxime scrunches her nose and turns away at the sight of Darcy. Barty Crouch is there, too, but he doesn't spare her a moment's glance, looking bored and dour as usual. Karkaroff takes a few long strides and crosses the room, approaching Darcy with a smile that doesn't seem very genuine at all.
"Miss Potter," he begins, his voice gruff. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty the last time we spoke . . . the confusion made us all very concerned, of course, very fretful."
Darcy smiles weakly in return, nodding very slightly, looking to Ludo Bagman for help with one of her hands on Harry's shoulder. "I've changed my mind," she whispers to Ludo. "May I please go?"
"It'll be fine, Darcy," Ludo murmurs in her ear. "Just give a big smile now."
"Stop keeping this beauty all to yourself, Ludo . . ." Rita Skeeter approaches, grinning wide. "Come here, Darcy, and you, little one!"
Rita grabs their shoulders, clamping down hard and digging her painted talons into Darcy's skin. She pulls Darcy and Harry forward as the photographer finishes with Viktor Krum's individual portrait, and then he turns on the two siblings standing awkwardly with Rita between them.
"Zat girl iz no champion!" Madame Maxime interrupts, and for once, Darcy is grateful to hear her booming voice. "She should not be rewarded for 'er trickery, Dumbly-Dorr! I demand to know why she iz 'ere!"
"I thought that we had all agreed that Darcy did not put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire?" Professor Dumbledore says, giving Darcy a slight nod of encouragement.
Madame Maxime mutters under her breath, and Rita raises one of her pencil-thin eyebrows nearly all the way to her receding hairline. "Did you, Darcy?" Rita hisses as she moves out of the picture. The camera flashes, the light startling Darcy.
"No, I didn't," Darcy answers firmly. She wraps a protective arm around Harry as the photographer takes another photo. "May I go now?"
"Just a few quick questions for you—"
"I was under the impression, Ms. Skeeter, after our long and tiring argument, that we had agreed on a photograph," Professor Dumbledore interrupts loudly. "Nothing more."
Rita purses her lips, turning her back on the headmaster. "I just know there's a story here somewhere," she smiles, revealing her white teeth (and a gold one near the back), with lipstick smeared all over her front tooth. "Maybe not a Prophet story, but I'm sure Witch Weekly would certainly pay to have their hands on an interview with Darcy Potter . . . you might even make the front page, darling!"
Darcy laughs nervously, giving Harry a sideways look. "I'm not all that interesting."
"I beg to differ. You're quite modest, aren't you?" Rita shrieks with delight, reaching into her large handbag for a quill. It's acid green, and when she sucks the end, she gives Darcy a curious stare. "A tragic hero, aren't you? Dutifully protecting your sweet brother, just like your parents would have wanted! And, of course, a budding romance that the world would be so interested in reading about . . . a secret affair . . . there's nothing more exciting!"
Darcy blushes, looking away. She can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her, and she's never felt such affection for Dumbledore until that moment. "Ludo, if you would be so gracious as to escort Miss Potter back to Professor Snape's classroom," he says, as calm as can be, but with a tone that suggests Rita Skeeter will get no more from Darcy. "I'm sure Miss Potter can show you the way, and I'm certain that Professor Snape is sorely missing his right hand."
Rita watches as Darcy gives Harry an apologetic look and grabs at Ludo's arm, allowing him to lead her quickly from the room. They slow their pace as they make their way down the first flight of stairs, an awkward and heavy silence pressing on them.
"I'm so sorry, Darcy," Ludo sighs dramatically, "but it's like I said . . . if you hadn't shown up, she would have said something very nasty about you in some throwaway article, I'm sure."
"She would have done it regardless," Darcy frowns, squeezing Ludo's forearm absently. "I hate her. No matter what I would have said to her, she would have twisted my words. I've read what she's written, and it's cruel . . . a smear campaign."
"By not giving her what she wants, you're only going to make it worse for yourself."
Darcy stops, releasing his arm. "But you're the one who told me that it doesn't matter what she writes . . . only I know the truth . . . you said so, Mr. Bagman!" She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm not going to give Rita Skeeter what she wants just so she can publish a nonsensical article regardless!"
Ludo grinds his teeth, choosing his words very carefully. "And when the story breaks tomorrow, and it's revealed to Britain—in Rita Skeeter's words, not yours—that you are in a relationship with a very recently outed werewolf who happened to be your former teacher—and yes, I have seen the two of you skulking about in Hogsmeade enough to know the truth—what will happen then?"
Darcy stammers for a moment. "I'm not ashamed."
"No, no . . . I know you're not," Ludo replies, exasperated, putting a hand on the small of her back and giving her another gentle push to keep her moving. "But you had the chance to break the news on your own terms, in your own words. Now, you've given Rita Skeeter the chance to do it on her terms."
"And what would you have had me do?" Darcy asks him sharply, stopping again in the corridor. "You would have had me do a sit-down interview with her right there? Tell all my secrets to Rita Skeeter for her to use against me?"
Ludo inhales deeply, looking her over. He chews his bottom lip, and Darcy suddenly doesn't think him handsome at all. "You aren't in school anymore . . . you're no longer a student," he says. "What you say and what you do matters now, and if you continue to stand off to the side and hide behind great wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape . . . you have real power now, Darcy, the power to bolster your reputation or destroy it completely. Just because you are still within the walls of Hogwarts doesn't mean the world outside doesn't continue to turn."
Darcy looks at him for a long time before taking a step backwards towards the dungeons. Almost as if seeing him for the first time, Darcy notices the lines on his face, his slightly crooked nose that looks as if it's been broken a few times, the constant grinding of his teeth. "Excuse me, Mr. Bagman," she says slowly. "But I know the way from here."
She leaves him standing there, watching after her, and as she rounds a corner and puts Ludo Bagman out of sight, Darcy runs the rest of the way down to Professor Snape's classroom. There are only a few minutes left of class, and she's greeted with a scowl the moment she steps through the door. The students are already stoppering their potions, bringing them up to the front of the class for later grading. Ron hands his potion directly to Darcy and she thanks him, twisting the vial in her hands nervously as he walks out alone.
"I'm terribly sorry if my classes have gotten in the way of more important things," he snaps at her when the classroom has emptied. "You just couldn't resist an opportunity to have your picture taken, could you?"
Darcy ignores this cruel jest, gathering her things from the small table at the front of the classroom that Professor Snape has allowed her to use as her desk. "Did you give Draco a detention for what he did to Hermione?"
Professor Snape's silence is answer enough.
This is Darcy's breaking point. Snape's failure to hold his own student accountable, his failure to pursue some form of justice for Hermione . . . it makes the rage boil over. It all comes pouring out of her, as it is wont to do around Professor Snape. Her pulse pounds in her ears, and she clenches her fists. "I hate you," she whispers, tears in her eyes, not really meaning it.
Professor Snape looks at her if she's slapped him. "I have not forgotten," he snarls at her. "And I do not need to be reminded."
Darcy doesn't bother staying at Hogwarts for dinner. When she leaves Professor Snape's classroom, she makes her way to her rooms, throwing some clothes into her bag along with her camera and a bottle of wine. With most students and teachers already eating in the Great Hall, it's too easy to sneak out the front doors unnoticed. Darcy partially regrets not being able to speak with Harry before she leaves, but she can't imagine he'll be too upset, and they'll see each other again on Monday.
She Disapparates just outside the Hogwarts gates, and clearly her mind is elsewhere. Upon balancing herself in the field that surrounds Lupin's cottage, there's a sudden and sharp pain on her right index finger. Looking down, Darcy discovers that half her fingernail is missing. The tip of her finger throbs painfully.
It could have been my entire finger, she thinks bitterly, tapping it with her wand and allowing the nail to regrow with a slight twinge. Or my hand, or my arm. It could have been worse.
When she knocks on the door, it takes Lupin a moment to answer. There's some shuffling from inside the house before Lupin finally throws open the front door, looking windswept and flushed. He slips outside with her, shutting the door closed behind him, standing chest to chest with Darcy.
"What are you doing?" she asks with a groan. "Can't we go inside? I've had a very long day, and I've brought some wine for us that I'd really like to open."
"Listen, my love—" Lupin kisses her hard on the mouth, pulling away far too soon and glancing towards the window next to the door. The curtains are pulled shut. He takes Darcy's hands in his, smiling at her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't expect you until much later . . . after dinner, at least. I have a visitor."
Darcy lowers her hands, opening and closing her mouth stupidly. "Oh," she finally says, her stomach churning. "I see . . . I can just . . . I'll come back tomorrow, or—" She looks up into his face, blushing. "Is it Gemma?"
Lupin goes to answer before digesting what she's just said. He furrows his brow and then laughs out loud. "Gemma," he repeats, his laughter dying off, but his smile remaining. "If you're so concerned about my visitor, perhaps you should take a look for yourself? Just to ease your fears."
Feeling childish and mocked, Darcy takes a step back. "No, I'd rather not—"
"Come here, Darcy," Lupin chuckles, taking her hand and opening the front door again. "Here, let me take your bag." He takes it from her despite the slight resistance she puts up, leading her inside. Darcy follows, feeling very small in his wake. He lowers Darcy's bag in the corner of the small kitchen area and stands back up, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly. "I bet you feel foolish now, don't you?"
Darcy reluctantly follows his line of vision to see who's sitting in the armchair next to the small television. For a moment, a very, very brief moment, Darcy almost thinks the visitor to be Gemma, judging by the dark hair. But then the visitor rises to his feet, and Darcy has to admit that she does feel quite the fool.
"You're not Gemma," Darcy whispers, completely breathless and unable to think.
"No," Sirius answers, raising an amused eyebrow and looking to Lupin for an explanation. "I'm not."
Her legs fail her momentarily, and it's Sirius that crosses the room, his arms open wide. When he wraps them around Darcy, there is no one else in the world but them. Sirius hugs her for a long time, laughing as she speaks incoherently and in sobs, unable to form a complete sentence or think a complete thought.
She nuzzles against his chest, crying into him, crying because she doesn't know how else to express how happy she is to see him.