"You've cut your hair," Darcy croaks, still breathless with excitement, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Sirius's dark hair reaches just above his protruding collarbones, slightly longer than Gemma's and no longer the elbow-length tangle it had been in June. Darcy reaches up to touch his cleanly-shaven cheeks, as if she's never touched another face before.

"And your beard . . . it's gone!"

"You didn't think I'd keep my hair that long forever, did you?" Sirius asks with a smile on his face.

His smile doesn't seem so rotten anymore—his hygiene has definitely improved being out of Azkaban—and he looks much more like the handsome man in Darcy's photo album. Some life seems to have been restored to him while on the run, as well—his flinty eyes seem brighter, his smile is more natural and relaxed, and he no longer seems just a skeleton with waxy skin stretched too tight over his bones. While he still looks weary, slightly gaunt, and far too thin for Darcy's liking, Sirius looks happy, something he certainly hadn't been upon their last meeting.

"Let me look at you," he says, holding her out at arm's length. "Properly, that is."

Darcy nods and Sirius looks her up and down once, holding her face in his hands and brushing lazily at the tears that fall down her cheeks, much like he had that night in the Shrieking Shack. His palms are rough, callused and leathery like a dog's paws, but his touch is more comforting than she can say—comforting in a way she's never known, in a way she can't ever remember.

This is what a father's touch feels like, she tells herself, closing her eyes and nuzzling into one of Sirius's palms. This is how my father would have touched me . . . gentle, loving, as if I were made of glass.

"You look so much like Lily . . . you have her eyes . . . you're so beautiful," Sirius laughs incredulously and hoarsely. "And I see so much of James in you, as well." Speaking to no one in particular, Sirius rasps, "Isn't she the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?"

Lupin doesn't answer, but Darcy opens her eyes again to glance at him. He gives her a small, knowing smile, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. She blushes, turning her gaze back on Sirius.

Sirius touches her auburn hair, taking a step back from her to drink in the very sight of her. "Merlin . . . you're all grown up," he says again, shaking his head. "You're so tall . . . when did you get so bloody tall?"

Sirius, a few inches taller than Darcy, looks almost absurd. Dressed in clean clothes that Darcy suspects are Lupin's, the sleeves of his shirt are too long for his arms and the belt around his waist is pulled as tight as it can go. Maybe, had he not spent over a decade in Azkaban, Sirius might have filled out nicely. In the photograph she has of him during her parents' wedding day, his shoulders had seemed broader underneath the dress robes he had been wearing, and his neck had seemed thicker.

This is how it should have been, she thinks. This is how we were supposed to meet again.

"I can't believe you've grown up without me," he whispers, eyes roving her face. Sirius sighs deeply, contently. "The boys love you, don't they?"

Darcy scoffs, taking his hands in hers and leading him to the sofa so they're able to sit down. She doesn't know how much longer her legs will support her. "I don't understand," she says, unable to stop looking at him, like she's looking at a ghost. She squeezes his hands to make sure that it's all real, that she's not imagining this. "How are you . . . when did you . . . why didn't you answer my letter?"

"I'm sorry, Darcy," Sirius sighs, a grin still plastered to his face. It's odd to hear her name being said by him, but she relishes in it. Darcy doesn't really require an explanation, but he continues regardless—just hearing him apologize is enough. "I took a chance with your owl after I received your letter suggesting we meet here. Thankfully, he was able to find the place. That's why he has yet to return to you . . . Remus and I have been using him to communicate."

"Where have you left him?" Darcy asks desperately, looking around for some sign of her sweet owl. "Is he here?"

There's a loud pop! that makes both Darcy and Sirius jump near three feet off the sofa. They look at Lupin, apologetic, holding the now open bottle of wine that Darcy had brought with her. "Max is out hunting, I expect," Lupin answers, pouring wine into three separate glasses. "He'll be back by morning, and I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you again."

"I hope he's been kind to you. He hasn't been pecking at your fingers, has he?" Darcy frowns at Lupin, fighting the urge to laugh.

Lupin holds his right hand up, extending his fingers and wiggling them with a slight smile. Thankfully, there are no cuts that Darcy can see. "I've found that, if I let him eat some of whatever I'm eating, he'll keep away from my fingers." Darcy does laugh at that, wanting to kiss him all over, to thank him for all he's done, to make him understand how much this means to her. "Are you hungry?" he asks her, handing both she and Sirius full glasses.

"Yes," she replies eagerly, her stomach giving a roar of approval. She takes a deep drink of wine. Darcy watches Lupin cross back over to the kitchen, picking his wand up off the counter. "You cheater! Have I taught you nothing?"

"If you want to eat something edible for dinner tonight, then you'll let me use magic," Lupin teases.

Darcy looks back to Sirius. He's still smiling at her, looking at her as if he's never seen her before in his life. "I'll make dinner," she announces suddenly, getting to her feet and swirling the wine in her glass.

Darcy's hands tremble with excitement and nerves, which makes it difficult to chop vegetables and properly prepare the meal. Once, the knife slips and she cuts herself. Blood gushes from her finger with each pulse and Lupin has her hold it under clean water before tapping it with his wand. The small wound seals itself with a slight stinging pain before it's gone.

"Had you let me use magic," Lupin murmurs, admiring his work and holding up her index finger gingerly with his own fingers, "that wouldn't have happened."

Lupin helps Darcy after that, constantly examining the instructions in the cookbook they had bought together over the summer, critical of the directions and measurements and suggesting they add much more of everything to it. Darcy, the only Potions expert in the room, measures everything exactly, although lets Lupin do what he pleases, only stopping him when she thinks he's put more than enough salt into the bubbling sauce on the stove.

They insist Sirius sit down and relax, but he hovers over their shoulders, mostly in the way, occasionally stirring the sauce distractedly and watching Darcy work with a kind of fascination. He and Lupin talk most of the time, reliving the distant memories of their boyhood, laughing and telling Darcy stories about her parents that make her stomach knot in a good way.

Their stories remind Darcy that James and Lily were living, breathing people—people who loved their daughter and, in later life, loved their son. Darcy listens with a smile on her face, trying to imagine her mother at Harry's age, or her father—messy dark hair, glasses, and all.

All the while, Darcy feels as if she can feel Sirius's eyes burning a hole through her skin. She knows what he's watching for, and knows that his eyes have been flitting nervously between she and Lupin. She feels his stare during moments of small intimacies—when Lupin reaches across her in the cramped corner that is the kitchen, or places a hand on the small of her back to alert Darcy to his presence.

Darcy places her hand atop his to show him how to properly hold his fingers while chopping something, and Lupin casually and instinctively puts her hair into a ponytail as she's bending over a large pot, stirring the thickening sauce. She has to admit that Lupin is much bolder than her to make such a gesture in front of her godfather, but Sirius says nothing, despite watching their interactions very, very closely and very, very curiously.

But it excites her more than she can say, excites her in a way that she's never known. To be cooking dinner at Lupin's side, for a family she thought she would never have again . . . it makes her feel drunk with love. The knowledge that this is all real makes Darcy temporarily forget about everything—about Rita Skeeter, about Ludo Bagman, about the Triwizard Tournament, Emily, everything. She wishes every night could be just like this one, a busy and warm kitchen, the smell of delicious and savory food wafting throughout the house, a glass of wine in hand.

Surely Aunt Petunia would faint if she could see Darcy's life now. If she had any idea that she spends her weekends fucking one of James and Lily Potter's oldest and best friends (and a werewolf) and now serving dinner to her godfather, Sirius Black (a dangerous, escaped convict), surely she'd die of a heart attack.

The idea of Aunt Petunia's reaction to her life has always given Darcy a queer form of pleasure. To defy Aunt Petunia's wishes to this degree makes Darcy feel almost proud of herself. Aunt Petunia, who had always wanted Darcy to be a perfect little lady, who wanted Darcy to grow up to be just like her, who wanted Darcy to marry some rich boy and live out the rest of her years as a housewife, raising spoiled children like Dudley while her husband spends his days in his office probably fucking his secretary.

Spare me, she thinks, watching Lupin as he bustles around the kitchen searching for plates and silverware. She can't help but smile, admiring the way his hair falls in his eyes, the small smile he gives her when he notices her watching. Spare me a normal, perfect life. I want this one.

It strikes Darcy then that she can't remember ever being so content with her life. The hand that had been dealt her thirteen years ago was one she resented, one filled with pain and suffering and loss and which has continued in that same vein.

Sirius seats himself at one of the stools on the other side of the tiny kitchen island, leaning forward and draining the rest of his wine. Darcy smiles sweetly at him, refilling his glass and topping off Lupin's and her own.

"Moony," Sirius begins, and Lupin hums in response, giving Darcy a handful of roughly chopped carrots. She thanks him with a smile and tosses them into a pot. Sirius waits for them to finish what they're doing, and doesn't seem to miss Lupin placing a hand on Darcy's hip, moving her out of the way to place a sheet pan with the raw roast into the oven. "I suppose I should be grateful, shouldn't I? You opened your home to my goddaughter, watched over Darcy and Harry while I wasn't able to."

Lupin and Darcy exchange a quick look and, for a moment, Darcy is afraid that Sirius is mocking her. She worries that he's only teasing, that he knows what exactly is going on and is about to put an end to it. But Sirius only smiles at them both, holding up his wine glass in a toast. Lupin's cheeks turn slightly pink and he clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

"To you," Darcy whispers, lifting her glass slowly to toast Lupin. "Remus Lupin."

Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Darcy inhales deeply, wrapping an arm around his middle and leaning into him. At her touch, Lupin deflates, his shoulders relaxing and his face softening. "It's been my pleasure," he replies, his eyes meeting Darcy's as she rests her head against his arm. "You and Harry are . . . so wonderful, and you've—you've brought me such joy and you've been a wonderful friend to me, Darcy. In fact, you—you've probably done more for me this past year or so that I could ever do for you. I could never repay your kindness."

I love you. I love you. I love you. "I don't think that's very true," Darcy jokes, raising her eyebrows at Sirius again, drinking the rest of her wine. "Now please tell me you've prepared for my visit with some hard liquor? I'm getting tired of wine."

Lupin laughs, looking at Sirius as Darcy walks away towards the liquor cabinet. "Your goddaughter, in truth," Lupin tells Sirius very seriously. "You wouldn't believe how much this girl can drink."

Darcy smiles proudly, removing a bottle of scotch from the back of the cabinet. Half-empty, she brandishes the bottle to show to Lupin and Sirius. "Have you been holding out on me?" she asks, already fetching clean glasses. "You've been saving the good stuff all for yourself, is that it?"

"Have you ever actually had scotch before?" Lupin says, allowing Darcy to pour three small glasses. He looks at her with a cocked eyebrow, and Darcy feels butterflies erupt in her stomach at the sight of him. "I'll be very impressed if Gemma was able to sneak a good bottle of scotch into Hogwarts."

"I mean . . . it's just like whiskey, isn't it?" Darcy sniffs at the liquid and shudders, looking to Sirius for back-up. Sirius only laughs hoarsely, clearly a sound he's not yet used to producing. "Whatever. Everyone knows it's the cheap stuff that gets you the drunkest."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this with my own ears!" Sirius interrupts, tracing the lip of his glass with his finger. There's a boyish grin stuck to his face, making him look years younger, just like the boy in the photograph. "My goddaughter! James and Lily's only daughter! A drunk!"

"I'm not a drunk!" Darcy retorts, giving Sirius's arm a playful smack across the counter. "I'd say . . . a casual drinker."

"Not even two weeks into the school year, I caught her walking back to Gryffindor Tower after curfew, drunk as can be. I could smell you down the corridor, you know," Lupin recalls, making Sirius laugh a barking laugh again.

Darcy appeals to Sirius, pouting and giving him wide eyes. "He gave me a detention, can you believe that?" she tells her godfather, shrugging her shoulders. "And, in my defense, it was my birthday."

"Moony! Please! You gave Darcy a detention on her birthday for being drunk?" Sirius asks, clutching his chest in mock disbelief. "How many times did we wander those corridors stinking of beer?"

"It was only the one detention," Lupin says, waving a flippant hand, but smiling all the same. "Afterwards, it was just a slap on the wrist."

She wonders briefly if Lupin dares tell Sirius he had been the enabler for the most part. It had been Lupin who invited Darcy into his apartments and supplied her with alcohol. Darcy blushes, remembering the one night they'd drank a little too much, murmured some drunken words, shed only half of their clothes, and fucked clumsily on the sofa.

Now that she thinks about it, she's also quite glad Lupin hasn't told Sirius he caught her fucking Oliver Wood in a broom closet. She catches Lupin's eye and notices his face is slightly red, as well. They share a shy smile at each other before turning back to Sirius.

Dinner is a most exciting affair taken on the sofas and armchairs in front of the fire, while Darcy talks throughout most of it. Both Sirius and Lupin laugh when Darcy sips at her scotch and coughs for a solid minute, almost gagging and vomiting, her eyes watering. Sirius compliments them on the food, leaving Darcy burning red in the face.

Sirius asks about the Triwizard Tournament and Darcy is more than happy to oblige him. She tells him exactly what happened, recounting as many details as she can remember. She tells her godfather about Igor Karkaroff and how Professor Snape had warned her about him. She tells him about Ludo Bagman and Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet photographer that she had encounter only earlier that day.

Hoping there is some way to silently communicate to Lupin that the entire world might find out about them being together within the next day or so, Darcy tries her hardest to give him a look that says all of that and more. She's sure he doesn't understand what she's trying to tell him, but Lupin nods as if he knows there's more to the story she hasn't voiced.

"And you truly didn't put Harry's name in?" Sirius finally asks after a long time.

Darcy only gives him a cold look.

"You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you?" Sirius jests, ruffling her hair. "I've sent a letter to Harry. It should reach him any day now. Don't worry. It's all handled."

"Handled?"

"Don't you worry."

"You clearly don't know Darcy." Lupin winks at her while Sirius isn't looking, giving her a warm smile to let her know it's not personal.

"You telling me not to worry is only making me worry more," Darcy mutters, stuffing a piece of meat into her mouth.

Lupin cleans up after them and retires to bed early, leaving Darcy and Sirius alone to talk privately. Darcy flips through a few channels available on the television, lounging on the sofa with the fire warming her, making her drowsy. Finally, she settles on a game show, turning the volume low.

"Where have you left Buckbeak?" Darcy asks suddenly, the image of Sirius riding off into the night on the back of a hippogriff ingrained in her memory forever.

"My secret hiding place," Sirius smiles wickedly. His eyelids seem heavy, as well, his cheeks flushed with color due to the drink and a full stomach. "He's been a wonderful traveling companion, truthfully, despite the difference in species between us. Speaking of beasts . . . how is Snape treating you?"

Darcy chuckles, shaking her head. "Don't be cruel, Sirius. He's been surprisingly tolerable and . . . kind in his own way, I think." When Sirius doesn't look entirely convinced, she continues. "I make sure to put him in his place when he forgets himself."

"That's my girl."

Darcy sighs, looking around the small, relatively empty cottage. "I wish Harry could be here," she whispers. "I wish every night could be just like this."

"One day," he promises her, "it will be."

Darcy doesn't know what to think about this empty promise, but decides to let it hang there. "I'm sorry we weren't able to clear your name," she says. "I wish there was more that we could have done."

"More?" Sirius scoffs, not unkindly. "Darcy, you saved my life—my soul. You and Harry and Hermione . . . I do not forget. You did more for me than I ever expected you to do."

Darcy smiles, looking away into the fire. "Can I get you another drink?"

"Cheers, love."

Adrenaline surges through her. Just sitting next to Sirius is overwhelming. She doesn't quite know how to act, how to feel, what to say. Besides their brief meeting in June—the last time they had seen each other—Darcy had only been a little girl. But she's no longer five-years-old, she's a grown woman.

Darcy replaces the strong scotch back in the cabinet, reaching around for something a bit milder. She suddenly wishes she had a cigarette, something to siphon her anxiety into.

"You're comfortable here," Sirius notes, looking right at her. The firelight casts his face in a rather flattering orange glow. "This is home to you, isn't it?"

Darcy gives him a wary look before pouring their glasses full with some whiskey. "Nowhere is really home to me without Harry." She thinks for a moment, bringing the glasses back over to the sofa. "Hogwarts is my real home."

She remembers better days at Hogwarts spent in the company of her three best friends—Carla, still at Hogwarts and currently on shaky terms with Darcy; Gemma, who frequents only to poke and prod Lupin and sometimes join them for dinner; and Emily, a mystery to Darcy now, a person she doesn't even know.

"It gets lonely sometimes, but at least Harry is there."

"Had you come with me like you wanted, you wouldn't think Hogwarts so lonely," Sirius replies, and Darcy thinks he sounds slightly bitter about it. "Hogwarts is a good place for you to be. You're safe there, and I don't feel I have to worry as much knowing that Dumbledore is there with you."

Darcy doesn't want to start an argument, so she ignores his comments completely. "Professor Dumbledore said he brought Remus to Hogwarts for me," she confesses, taking a sip of her drink. She isn't sure if it's the alcohol or not, but she feels bad for the harsh words she had thrown in Dumbledore's face on Halloween. "A kindness I did not deserve from him."

They sit together through a long and awkward silence. Darcy finds herself glancing towards the closed bedroom door, wishing Lupin would come back out to alleviate the tension. Sirius had laughed easier around his old friend, smiled more, joked more.

Remus.

Darcy knows she has to tell Sirius. Who knows the next time they'll see each other again? If she doesn't tell him now, he'll likely find out through the Daily Prophet. It could be months until they're able to discuss that newfound information.

On one hand, Darcy wants to part from him this weekend on good terms, wanting to be able to remember this night fondly. On the other hand, he may have months to brood on the fact that his own goddaughter hadn't admitted to a relationship with his friend, and Darcy imagines Sirius would see that as a massive betrayal on his part.

She wonders if Lupin is listening to their conversation, laying awake in bed and waiting for her, or if he's truly asleep on the other side of the door. "Sirius," she begins slowly and softly. "You wouldn't ever hurt me, would you?"

Sirius's eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. "No," he breathes, as if it's the most ridiculous question in the world. "I would never hurt you."

Her breath hitches for a moment and her heart begins to race. She wipes her clammy palms on her trousers and clears her throat loudly. "I have to tell you something."

"All right," Sirius says, looking slightly concerned. "Go ahead. You can tell me anything."

Darcy hesitates, looking right into his eyes. They've softened somewhat since June, and Darcy is glad for it. She imagines she would have a harder time telling him the truth if his eyes were still mad, still cold, still crazed. "I want to tell you before it's in the Daily Prophet. Ludo Bagman thinks it will be."

"What is it?"

Darcy's chest rises and falls heavily with each breath and she's blushing again. Why do I always have to blush? "Sirius," she starts again, unsure of how to proceed from here. She tucks her feet beneath her, running a hand through her hair. "Remus and I, we're . . ." What are we? "We're . . . well, he's my—we're sort of—well, I suppose we're sort of seeing each other, if you wanted to call it that."

Sirius blinks, quiet for a few moments. "I'm sorry," he scoffs. "What?"

Darcy continues to smile awkwardly.

"When?" Sirius growls, jumping to his feet and startling Darcy. His face hardens and there's an angry glint in his eyes. "Since when? Was it June?"

She doesn't answer for a moment. Darcy isn't sure how she had expected Sirius to react, but she hadn't expected him to be so angry. "I—" she pauses again, unsure if she should tell him the truth or not. "Since the summer, after I left Hogwarts."

"Has he touched you, Darcy?" he demands of her. Sirius glares down at her as she struggles for an answer, opening and closing her mouth like a fish desperate for water. "I said, has he touched you?"

They look at each other for a long time, and Darcy nods. "Yes."

Sirius's nostrils flare and he reaches into his waistband, retrieving a wand that certainly can't be his. She's distracted for a moment, wondering how difficult it might be for Sirius to get his own wand back. And then he moves swiftly towards the bedroom door, bringing Darcy out of her reverie and forcing her to follow. She grabs Sirius's hand, tears welling in her eyes again.

"I knew it," Sirius snarls. "I knew something funny was going on, but I trusted you—I trusted Remus—"

"Please don't hurt him!" Darcy cries, pulling him away from the door. "Please don't! It's not what you think! Sirius, please—"

"Then what it is? What is it really?"

Unable to keep herself from sobbing, Darcy hopes it appeals to Sirius's more paternal side—if he has one. "He's been so kind to me—he's been good to me—he loves me, I know it—he has never touched me without my consent, please—" She tugs his hand again, making him stumble backwards. "We take care of each other, Sirius—please don't hurt him—"

"I won't hurt him." Sirius tears his hand away from her and opens the door so forcefully that it bounces off the wall and nearly closes again. Darcy stands in the sitting room, covering her face as a flash of light briefly illuminates the bedroom and Lupin lets out a strangled yell. She runs into the room as Lupin is dropped from the air and crumples on his bed, groaning as he hits the mattress.

"Stop it!" Darcy shrieks, running to Lupin's side and clutching at his arm. "Leave him alone, Sirius!"

"You're sleeping with my goddaughter?" Sirius shouts, pacing back and forth with his wand held out. "After all that James and Lily did for you? After everything that happened, you're sleeping with their daughter?"

Lupin rubs the back of his head, flattening his hair and slowing his breathing. He slips off the bed, still trying to catch his breath. "I suppose I deserved that, didn't I?" he grumbles.

"Go, Darcy," Sirius says in a low voice. "Go. Remus and I need to have a little chat now."

"Are you all right?" Darcy asks Lupin quietly, brushing off his shoulders.

"I'm fine," Lupin says, flashing her a smile that makes her weak in the knees.

"Go wait for me in the living room, Darcy," Sirius snaps. "We'll talk about the adults are done here."

Darcy almost obeys—almost. At the last minute, she turns to look at Sirius, full of rage. "I'm a part of this too, you know!" she says quickly, feeling much a child in the midst of their argument, if that's what it is. "Whatever you have to say to Remus, you can say to me, as well! And vice versa." Giving Lupin a sideways look, she adds hastily, "Right?"

The corners of Lupin's mouth twitch, but he forces himself not to smile, not now. "Right."

Sirius considers her, but finally agrees. "How did it start? What could have possibly possessed either of you to think this is . . . appropriate?"

Both Darcy and Lupin look at each other, but Lupin is the one to answer. "Darcy was a good friend to me while we were at Hogwarts," he sighs. "A better friend to me than I deserved, especially after what happened. Come on, Padfoot, you don't want to hear about this, do you?"

Well done. Darcy raises her eyebrows, impressed. The use of Sirius's childhood nickname seems to calm him enough to the point of putting his wand away. "Tell me," he says anyway. "Tell me when it started."

Lupin grinds his teeth, glancing briefly at Darcy. "April," he says softly.

April. She had told Lupin she loved him in April, on a chilly spring night after the full moon had waned. That night she had known, for a certainty, there was no turning back—not that she wanted to. She had never before known the comfort a pair of arms could provide her, never known the joy a single kiss could bring her.

However, April had not been the answer Darcy gave Sirius just minutes ago.

"April?" Sirius repeats, his eyes wide. He casts Darcy a sharp look. "You told me you weren't a student when it started!"

Lupin turns to face her bodily, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. "Why did you lie?"

"I panicked!" Darcy hisses, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "He was making me very nervous!"

"You're going back to Hogwarts," Sirius says loudly, drowning out Darcy's voice. "You're going back to Hogwarts right now."

Darcy stands very still, looking incredulously at Sirius. How bold of him to think that he can tell her what she can and cannot do. It could be the drink, she thinks, or all of her anxiety turning into anger and pouring out of her.

"I don't have to go anywhere," she states flatly. "Who do you think you are?"

"Your godfather," Sirius snaps. "Your parents trusted me to care for you—"

"You're not my father!"

The disgust, hurt, and contempt in his face makes Darcy's anger peak. Even Mr. Weasley, who had been disappointed and disgusted by the situation, had been respectful towards Lupin. Mr. Weasley, not her godfather or her real father, had truly wanted what was best for her, and upon meeting Lupin and talking to him, seems to have softened. But Sirius does not seem at all inclined to accept that this is what is best for Darcy.

"You have no right to come back after years and assume to have control over my life!" She frightens herself for a moment when she hears her own voice's venomous tone, reminding herself forcibly of Snape.

"I wasn't given the choice to come back any sooner!"

"You gave me up!" Darcy spits. "You gave me up to Hagrid. You could have been my family, but you gave me to the Dursleys."

Sirius's face is bloodless, seemingly sunken again and hard to read. "I didn't have a choice, Darcy," he croaks. "I didn't have a goddamn choice—I had to give you to Hagrid."

"You always have a choice," she continues. "But giving me to Hagrid, you forced me to start making hard decisions at five-years-old! I chose to care for Harry, I chose to love him, to stop his crying, to feed him. And you know who cared for me? You think the Dursleys cared about me?"

Sirius hesitates, shaking his head as Darcy's own words echo in her head.

"I am the only one who knows what is best for me. I am the only one who has ever known what is best for me. You have no right to assume otherwise." Darcy wipes the angry tears from her cheeks that she hadn't realized had started to fall. "You don't know what it was like for me! And you stand here and claim that you're my godfather, but what have you ever done for me?" She looks up fondly at Lupin. "Remus has been here for me, listened to me and held me and wiped my tears. He cared for me, loved me—don't I deserve that?"

And suddenly, Lupin's warm palm is pressing gently on the nape of her neck. "Darcy," he murmurs into her ear. She falls into him, crying quietly against his chest as he holds her with one arm, sighing heavily.

"She's a child," she hears Sirius whisper. "James and Lily's daughter."

When Lupin speaks, his chest vibrates against her cheek, despite his voice being soft. "I know who she is, and I have never forgotten."

Darcy looks up in time to see Sirius take a wary step forward. She tenses, standing up to her full height. He takes another careful step, and Darcy allows him another. "I know your parents would be proud of you," he says sadly.

"Would they?" Darcy doesn't know where her anger is coming from now, where all the bitterness is coming from. All she knows is that she wishes Sirius hadn't given her up. She wishes he would have taken her away, raising her as his own daughter, to show her how a child should be loved. "I should have died in that crib. They really would have been proud of that, wouldn't they? The ultimate sacrifice. Instead, I lived and I suffered and I hurt, and I am nothing—"

"Darcy," Lupin whispers again, his hand splayed across the small of her back. "Don't."

"I—" She means to keep going, but upon looking into Lupin's face and seeing the hurt, she stops. "I think . . . I need to be alone for a little while."

Lupin's hand falls back to his side. "As you wish."

Darcy looks at the both of them, chewing her lip and feeling very small. She hurries from the bedroom and slips out the front door of the cottage, wandering the field lit by the stars and moon. The curtains of the large window are drawn, but she can see the glow of the fire through them and the flashing of the television.

How could she have said those things to Sirius? They had come out of her easily enough, all of the bitter feelings she's always kept buried. The longing for another life, away from the Dursleys and with a family that loves her, the wish to be someone else completely. And the disturbing thought that haunts her sometimes: It would have been better if I died that night. Then none of this would have ever happened to me. I wouldn't have had to make those hard choices.

But she had made those choices, and now she will live with them always. She had chosen family—she had chosen to care for her baby brother instead of abandoning and neglecting him. She had chosen to raise Harry and to make sure he grew up knowing someone loved him. Family, the most important things in the world, has always been the most important thing to Darcy, and Sirius couldn't make that same choice.

Coward, she thinks. A better man than you would have taken us away.

That's cruel, another voice says. Just because it's not the choice you would have made . . .

But she has to admit, it feels good to have gotten everything off her chest. It feels good to have stood up to him, to have defended her relationship with Lupin, to have put Sirius in place. It felt good to have someone listen to her with their full attention. She had been intimidating and powerful in that moment, and Darcy can only remember a handful of times she had ever displayed such strength and ferocity.

The first time she had truly stood her ground at Privet Drive, she had been thirteen, or near enough. Dudley had blamed Harry for breaking one of his video games for his computer, even though Harry had nothing to do with it.

Vernon had gone to retrieve the cane and Darcy had panicked, shouting the truth at Vernon, that it was really Dudley and that Dudley was a stupid, lying boy. She'd shouted about Dudley until she was red in the face and Dudley's pig eyes were as wide as saucers, but Vernon had become angry, angrier than she had ever seen him.

He had beat her for that, for all she said about his son. Darcy had a black eye after he'd smacked her hard across the face, and her knuckles had swelled and bruised so badly that she could barely bend them for weeks afterwards. Aunt Petunia had confined her to her bedroom until she healed, afraid of neighbors glimpsing the damage done.

And then the second time had been back in June, when Professor Snape had burst into the hospital wing, and they'd argued loudly, spitting at each other while inches away from each other's faces. It had felt good then, good to yell at him—it had felt too good.

And just on Halloween, Darcy had unfairly chastised Dumbledore, had thrown insults and accusations into the headmaster's face as if she were his equal, as if she had any right to be so rude to him. It had given her a rush and made her heart race.

And even now, Darcy can't help feeling guilty. Sirius didn't deserve such a lashing out. He'd spent over a decade in Azkaban, alone with his worst memories and thoughts, forced to suffer more than Darcy has ever had to. But she wasn't about to let Sirius take away the main source of her comfort and happiness during this trying time.

It's a long time before Lupin comes outside and spots her in the middle of the field. He approaches quietly from behind, his feet crunching against the dead weeds and all. "Come inside, Darcy. It's getting cold. I'll make you some hot cocoa."

Her cheeks are bright pink with cold, the tip of her nose numb. The wind only makes it worse, whipping her hair around and making her ears sting. "I thought it would be different," she tells him, turning around to face him. "I thought—I thought with him in my life again—"

"It has been years since you've seen each other," Lupin says, reaching out for her hands. "Sirius remembers you as a little girl. He remembers doting on you and protecting you. That's all he knows what to do with you. You can't blame him for being . . . overly cautious."

Darcy wraps her arms around his middle, resting her cheek against his chest.

"Come," he insists, unwrapping her arms from him and holding her hands, pulling her gently towards the house. "I think I've smoothed things over. No one is going to make you return to Hogwarts tonight, especially me."

"Was I wrong to say those things to Sirius?" Darcy asks him, looking away from his eyes.

Lupin shifts uncomfortably. "You once said those things to me, remember?" he says, his tone gentle and kind. Darcy looks back up at him, burning with humiliation. He moves closer to her, smoothing her hair back out of her face. "There is nothing Sirius could have done. If you're going to be angry, then be angry with me. I had to opportunity to help and I didn't. Sirius was locked up in Azkaban . . . what would you have expected from him?"

"I don't know," Darcy confesses. "But . . . I know it's not his fault, and yet . . . when I look at him, I see what could have been. I don't know why I get so angry . . . I can't help it and I'm so sorry—"

He lets her ramble and cry and apologize until they reach the front door. He hesitates with his hand upon the doorknob. "Darcy," he interrupts with a small smile. "Shut up and come inside."

Darcy blinks. "Excuse me?"

"I said," Lupin chuckles, turning to face her and kissing her hard for a few moments. When he pulls away, his face hovers inches before hers, his breath still hot on his lips, one hand tangled in the back of her hair. "Shut up. You don't have to apologize to me and you know that."

Darcy kisses him again, grabbing at his hair and running her free hand up his chest. She opens her mouth wide to deepen the kiss, despite the bitter wind that has begun to pick up—

"Hey!"

The light that floods the front step nearly blinds Darcy. The two of them break apart quickly, lowering their hands to their sides and flushing. Sirius grabs Darcy's upper arm roughly, pulling her inside, and she decides the best thing to do is to entertain him. She even agrees to his request that she sleep on the sofa instead of with Lupin, and Sirius tells Darcy that he'll be staying the night to be sure of it.

Darcy waits for Sirius to fall asleep on the chair, curled up as a dog in order to be more comfortable, and she sneaks into Lupin's bedroom, slipping under the blankets and curling up beside him.

"It's kind of exciting, isn't it?" she whispers in his ear. He hums in response, his eyes still closed and his back pressed against her chest. "Don't you miss the secrecy of it all? The sneaking around? The possibility of getting caught?"

Lupin yawns. "Sneaking around is hard work."

She presses a kiss behind his ear. "But wasn't it worth it?"

The idea of her godfather lurking just on the opposite side of the door makes her heart race and adrenaline surge through her. To deliberately defy his wishes, to knowingly do exactly what he's afraid of—it makes Darcy feels reckless. She kisses his shoulder, the top of his spine.

"Sirius won't like it," he whispers, his voice sleepy, yet still allowing her to pepper his skin with soft kisses. "Are you trying to have me killed, woman? He probably has his ear pressed to the door right now."

"No," Darcy giggles, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "If he was awake, he'd have already burst in to drag me out by the hair."

Lupin rolls over to face her, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, the force of it pushing her backwards slightly. At the feel of him smiling against her, Darcy laughs, throwing her head back to open up her neck to him. It's only then, with his lips leaving sweet kisses down her throat, that Darcy remembers.

"I have to tell you something, as well," she sighs as Lupin kisses the divet between her collarbones. He lifts his head, propping himself above her.

"What?"

"Ludo Bagman thinks Rita Skeeter is going to write about us."

Lupin narrows his eyes. "Are you ashamed?"

"No," she answers without hesitation, kissing him hard. "Never."

He's quiet for a moment. "I told you I'd ruin you."

"Ruin me?" Darcy laughs. He touches her cheek and Darcy puts her hand atop his. It breaks her heart that he would ever think that. She knows what she's gotten herself into, has never for a moment forgotten what he is. "If anything, it saves me from telling everyone individually that I love you."

Lupin doesn't look very convinced.

"There are more important things for me to worry about than how the world reacts to who I love," she whispers, smiling.

"You must be mad," he breathes.

Darcy shakes her head, laughing against his lips. "Shut up."