The sunlight burns bright on her closed eyelids, making her entire head throb painfully.
The clamor downstairs seems louder than usual. Madam Rosmerta and her employees are likely already setting up downstairs to open to the public for the day. The morning breeze flows through the window, setting goosebumps to her bare flesh. She's terribly sore, as well, in between her legs, and her mouth is impossibly dry. Against her back, the steady drumming of Lupin's heartbeat soothes her, his arm draped over her and one hand loosely cupping one of her breasts. His breath is warm against the nape of her neck, his lips just barely touching the exposed skin there.
Darcy smiles to herself. A dream she had once thought so far away, unattainable, is now her reality. A lifetime ago, she had looked down upon him in his own bed at Hogwarts, wishing desperately she could curl up in his arms and never leave. Even now she wants to stay here forever. Waking beside him is something out of one of her best dreams, a happiness she never thought herself deserving of, a happiness she never though she would have the privilege of achieving.
The singing birds infuriate Darcy and make her head pound more furiously as she attempts to piece together the previous night. They had run into Charlie, learned of the dragons being kept for the first take. She had been in a panic, but after bringing two bottles of wine up to the small room Lupin occupies, Darcy had loosened up considerably.
Lupin had made her laugh, a delightful sound that seemed so foreign to her, a laughter that was no longer forced or stiff. There had been shy smiles exchanged between them that, with more and more drinks in them, had turned into coy and flirtatious smiles, silent invitations to touch each other as if for the first time. They had been two people who craved affection in the moment, desperately in want of love and drunk on wine and sloppy kisses.
His fingers had grazed lightly against the sharp line of her jaw, always touching her face and always with the gentlest touch Darcy has ever known. "To remind myself it's all real," Lupin had told her, as if he had read her mind. He had placed a finger on her chin then, kissing her on the forehead, on the tip of her long nose, on her lips.
She remembers looking into his eyes afterwards, remembering the things she had read about him in those letters . . . not that she'd indulged him those things. Darcy has no intention of ever divulging the contents of those letters to him. But she'd had a feeling, sitting cross-legged before him and looking at him with a fierce intensity, that Lupin already knew what had been written and said about him. The sadness that gripped her heart at this knowledge made her reach out for his hand and lace their fingers together to squeeze gently.
They had drank and drank and drank, drank until the fire had begun to flicker out and the room began to grow cold again. Darcy remembers how bold the both of them had grown with so much wine in their blood. She had touched him over his clothes until Lupin requested she undress herself—a request she happily indulged him. He had called her kitten, something that set her loins ablaze, something that set her stomach to churning madly. She's certain that if Lupin had asked her to kill last night while calling her by that name, she wouldn't have been able to refuse him.
Darcy had stood in front of him, swaying on her feet, slowly undressing herself as he watched from the floor, drinking from his cup. Despite the fact that it wasn't the first time he'd seen her naked, Darcy had still blushed when his eyes traveled down her body, from her face to her legs and back up again. Perhaps she'd inherited her mother's hair, her mother's eyes, and a few other small quirks, but her body is her father's in truth, tall and lanky, gawky and awkward and long.
"You are so beautiful," Lupin had whispered to her, setting his cup down on the nearest table. He pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hands for her. "Come here." He had allowed Darcy to take his sweater off, had kissed her with such passion, had lifted her into his arms as if she were no more than a rag-doll and then eased her down onto the bed.
Darcy sighs happily at the memory, taking his hand from her breast and lowering it to the heat between her legs, aching for him again.
"Hey, some guy is downstairs looking or you. Red hair, freckles, muscles. Real fit."
Darcy jumps, releasing her light grip on Lupin's hand as he stirs behind her, pulling his hand away from Darcy's thighs and struggling to pull the blankets up to his chin. "Gemma, you can't just walk in here as you please!" he snarls. "Get out of here! Go!"
"Like I've never seen Darcy naked before," Gemma scoffs, picking up a discarded glass on the coffee table and filling it with the leftover wine.
Hesitating, Darcy lifts her head up to look at Gemma, narrowing her eyes. "You've never seen me naked."
"Only partly true," Gemma continues with a shrug, swirling her wine. "Sixth year in the prefects bathroom. We were all drunk at the end of the year. You took off your bra to prove you had tits after Emily insisted you had none."
Darcy flushes. Not my finest moment. But then again, she had been seventeen, incredibly drunk, and extremely offended. "In my defense, I was still reeling after escaping the Chamber of Secrets relatively unhurt," she snaps. "Tell me, Gemma, how many basilisks have you killed?"
"None, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. Get up and get dressed." Gemma takes a sip of her drink and sets it back down, heading out the door and closing it behind her.
Lupin looks at Darcy with a plainly annoyed expression. "She can't just walk in here like that," he hisses, bitter. "This is why I'd much prefer you to come home to me. Gemma's always skulking about here somewhere, but at least I don't have to worry about someone stealing into my own home."
Darcy sighs and rolls out of bed, looking through her bag for some clean clothes. Lupin watches her wriggle into a pair of underwear.
"Did you know," he begins again, his eyes still fixed far lower than they should be, "I was rummaging around in my wardrobe just yesterday when I realized that I have a terribly large collection of your clothes."
She pulls a sweater over her head, combing her hair with her fingers and shrugging casually. "They're just my . . . emergency outfits," she says shyly, turning away from him to pull a pair of jeans up her legs. "That's all they are. Clothes, just in case."
"Your emergency outfits?" Lupin laughs heartily. Darcy turns back around, if only to catch a glimpse of his sweet smile. It makes her blush. "And what of the two pairs of shoes, the couple of books sitting on my nightstand, and the bottles of perfume that are still on my bathroom sink?"
"I must have just . . . forgotten them there," Darcy snaps, buttoning her jeans and snatching up her shoes. "I'll get them next time. Remind me."
"I don't mind," Lupin replies quickly. "I don't mind at all, I just—" He pauses, sitting up and inhaling deeply. Instead of finishing his thought, Lupin only smiles at her.
Darcy wraps her arms around herself, looking down at him from the foot of the bed. "Are you coming?"
His soft smile still hasn't faded. "I'll be down in a moment."
When Darcy makes her way down to the common room of the Three Broomsticks, Gemma and Charlie Weasley are already seated at a table, talking over steaming mugs of coffee. A few people have already found their way inside for a hot drink and hot meal, a break from the biting cold. Darcy seats herself at Gemma's side, Charlie across from them.
"Morning," Charlie murmurs, glancing around him. No one really seems to pay them much mind. Darcy leans in towards Charlie to hear what it is he needs to say. "Perhaps we could step outside? I've heard Rita Skeeter has been a frequent patron of this place lately. I would hate for her to be skulking about, listening for a headline."
Darcy and Gemma exchange a brief look, but Gemma nods and smiles. Turning back to Charlie, Darcy gets to her feet. "All right."
The grass is covered with frost outside, the cold instantly making the tip of her nose red. Charlie's face turns bright red, as well, and the two of them make their way down the High Street, turning onto a less busy one and slowing their pace.
"I spoke with Hagrid last night. It seemed to me that he already was in a mind of telling Harry about the dragons anyway," Charlie says, chuckling lightly and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Hagrid will . . . help Harry along tonight, and you won't have to worry about doing it yourself."
She looks at him, stunned. For a moment, she could kiss him. "Thank you," she replies, all that she's able to say.
"I still think you might be worrying too much," he insists, making Darcy frown. "You don't think the champions will be forced to fight a dragon to the death, do you?" He tilts his head back and laughs loudly. "They've brought experts in to make sure the dragons don't get too out of control. Don't worry about it."
"Shut up," Darcy retorts hotly, but she softens at the sight of his smile. Charlie continues to chuckle until it's silent again, and they turn down another side street. "How's your dad? Have you seen him lately?"
"Just yesterday I dropped in, actually," Charlie says, his voice suddenly very grave. He gives Darcy a sideways look. "He's worried about you, you know. He's been worried ever since the scene at the World Cup."
Darcy looks away bashfully. "He's read the article, hasn't he?"
"Yes," Charlie admits. "Mum started crying when she read it, and dad was . . . well, he mentioned that he'd met Remus before and he was certain that you weren't in any danger." He pauses for a moment, turning very slowly to face Darcy. "Mum wanted dad to talk to you about it, and that's when dad told her that you're not their daughter, and they have no say over what you decide to do."
There's a sharp pain in her chest, surely her own heart breaking. I am not their daughter, and Mr. Weasley is not my father. She wonders for a moment what Sirius thinks about the article. He'd left Lupin's quick enough the morning it was featured in the paper. That's when she remembers—I'm going to speak with him tonight!
Charlie rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Mum told me that . . . well, she was just having a laugh, really, but she told dad if you absolutely had to marry someone, she would be happy to have you marry me."
Darcy flushes, but Charlie only laughs at her reaction. "Oh—I'm not—" Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, and she wishes she was lying back in bed with Lupin, far away from this conversation. "Remus and I aren't getting married," she adds quickly, giving Charlie a weak and apologetic smile. "I'm not—I mean, you're very sweet, and—"
"I'm not asking you to marry me, Darcy, believe me," Charlie jokes. "You know how mum is. She's quite old-fashioned."
"Right," Darcy says shortly, anger suddenly rising in her. "She believes pretty young girls shouldn't marry werewolves, I'm sure."
"No! Of course she doesn't think that!" Charlie protests, not unkindly. He seems to have realized his mistake and attempts to backtrack, but it only makes Darcy feel worse. "You know mum isn't prejudiced, it's just . . . the entire situation is foreign to her . . . you know, Ginny isn't exactly old enough to date and—and she doesn't have another daughter to fawn over, and—"
"They said such horrible things, Charlie," Darcy blurts out in a low voice, her heart racing. "They said such awful things about him. I didn't think people could be so cruel . . . one woman said he should be put down like an animal!"
Charlie scrunches his nose. "Listen, Darcy, you do understand what you're getting yourself into, don't you? You understand . . . what he is?"
Darcy rages then, clenching her jaw. A few villagers pass them on the street, and she attempts to calm herself. "I know what he's capable of, if that's what you're getting at." When she's certain the street is clear of villagers, Darcy pulls the collar of her sweater aside to reveal the ends of the grotesque scars on her left shoulder. Charlie looks at them for a long time before forcing himself to look away. "What would your mother say if she knew I had these?"
"Dad wouldn't be happy, I'd imagine," he notes, watching her adjust her collar again.
"He's not my father."
"Do you trust this man, Darcy?"
"Of course I do." She says it without hesitation, without a single shred of doubt. Always remembering the ruin he'd left her shoulder that night, but he hadn't been himself . . . Lupin's touch now is a blessing, never harmful, never less than gentle and loving.
"Good enough." Charlie sighs heavily, pulling Darcy down yet another side street. "Anyway, dad isn't as concerned about whoever you're dating. He's more wary of your friendship with Ludo Bagman, if that's what you call it."
"Why?" Darcy asks quickly, suddenly curious. "What has he said? Is there something I should know about?"
"Dad says he's an opportunist," he continues, the wind ruffling his ginger hair. Up close and in a flattering light, Darcy can see the extraordinary amount of freckles spattered all over his face. She can't help but think he looks much like Ron, perhaps more so than anyone else in his family.
"I think he's funny," she replies.
Charlie looks her over once, his eyes sweeping up and down her lazily. "I think so, too. Dad says he'll do anything for more fame, for more influence . . . including taking young girls under his wing in order to . . . groom them, I think those were dad's words." He gives a shrug, looking up at the bright sky. "I don't know that Ludo is an inherently bad man—in fact, I think he's amusing, as well. But the two of you are on opposite ends of the spectrum, and dad knows it. I guess he hears Ludo talk about you at the Ministry—he speaks highly of you. Just watch what you say to him, all right?"
"Why are you telling me all of this?"
"Dad would," Charlie says with a sly smile. "Wouldn't he?"
"Yeah," she says slowly. "Can we go now? I'm freezing."
Upon returning to the High Street (they had walked much further than Darcy thought), she finds it more crowded than it had been before. Students have finally begun to filter down from the castle, huddling in front of shop windows or else arm-in-arm with friends, laughing.
Charlie bids her good-bye outside the Three Broomsticks, promising to talk more on Tuesday. Darcy enters alone and is quite glad to find Gemma and Lupin seated in a booth against the wall, Hermione occupying a chair across from them, rifling through some papers and talking excitedly. There's a slight scowl on Gemma's face as Hermione rambles, however, and Darcy smiles, knowing the subject of conversation without having to hear a word.
Darcy reaches for the empty chair beside Hermione. "I'm here!" Harry's voice hisses at her from open space, causing her to stumble backwards in surprise, her heart racing.
Gemma laughs loudest of all, earning a dark look from Darcy. "A little warning next time would be nice," she snaps at them all, seating herself on Lupin's right side. "I almost had a heart attack. Hermione, are you frightening everyone away with S.P.E.W.?"
"Well, I thought . . . I mean, Professor Lupin is interested, aren't you?" Hermione looks at him imploringly, raising her eyebrows. Lupin shoots Darcy an accusing look.
Gemma pushes a cup of coffee across Lupin to Darcy. "You just missed Rita Skeeter," she confides. "Likely looking for one of those exciting Potter siblings."
"Did she see you?" Darcy asks, giving Lupin an apologetic smile.
"I don't think she even knew us," Gemma answers. "She didn't linger long."
Darcy and Harry bicker for a few minutes in whispers across the table about him taking off the Invisibility Cloak until he confesses to her about Hagrid and Mad-Eye's surprise visit to their table just a few minutes before she got back in. "He could see me with his eye underneath the cloak," Harry says. Darcy looks at the place where she thinks his eyes are, but it's still very odd.
"Was he drinking from his flask?" Darcy asks, wondering why he would even make the journey from Hogwarts only to drink his own stores. She had asked Professor Snape about the flask at dinner one night, and he had told her Mad-Eye Moody was paranoid and trusted no one. Darcy remembers wishing she could drink her way through classes.
"Yeah, he always does." Harry pauses. "And Hagrid said I should meet him at midnight tonight with the cloak."
"You don't know why, do you?" Hermione says, looking hopefully towards Darcy. "Has he said anything to you?"
Darcy can feel Lupin's eyes boring a hole into the side of her head, but she keeps focused on Hermione. She raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders. "No," she lies. "But what if you're late for Sirius? I need the cloak to get into Gryffindor Tower."
"I'm sure whatever Hagrid wants with me is important," Harry replies angrily, and Darcy wishes he would take off the stupid cloak so she could actually look into his face. She's sure that Harry wouldn't dare be so bold if she was able to look upon his face. "Besides, you already saw Sirius without me."
"That doesn't mean I have to be excluded," Darcy scoffs. "That's not fair! I would have brought you along if I could have, and I didn't even know he was going to be there."
"Hang on—you're meeting with Sirius? Here?" Lupin interrupts, looking from Darcy to Harry's chair and back again. "You didn't tell me this! Sirius is coming to Hogwarts?"
"We don't know what he's going to do," Darcy explains. "I must have forgotten to mention it . . . I don't know, he just said to be alone in the common room at one o'clock tonight."
Lupin narrows his eyes at her. "You need to be careful," he tells them all. "With Moody teaching Defense and Ministry workers coming and going from the castle, it will be difficult for Sirius to make appearances here whenever he pleases."
"He was able to break into Hogwarts while dementors surrounded the castle." Darcy looks to Gemma for support, but she receives none. "I highly doubt that Sirius would just walk in through the front doors."
Harry's chair creaks. "What if he just . . . Apparated right into the common room? I mean, no one would—"
Darcy, Hermione, Lupin, and Gemma all speak at the same time. "You can't Apparate into Hogwarts."
Carla joins them a short time later, her dark hair braided expertly. She tells them that her hair is the reason she's so late, and pulls up a chair between Gemma and the empty chair that belongs to Harry. After everyone begins to discuss what they're going to eat and after Hermione and Gemma have a quick spat about house-elves and S.P.E.W., the conversation comes to a lull.
Carla laughs awkward, her eyes fixed upon Lupin. "This is weird," she says bluntly, making Lupin's mouth twitch.
"Is it?" Gemma asks, looking around the room with a bored expression, one arm draped on the back of Carla's chair.
"Can I call you by your name now?" Carla asks Lupin.
He shrugs and nods. "Please."
Darcy drinks her warm butterbeer happily, savoring it, glad that Hagrid has at least taken steps to let Harry know what he'll be facing. She doesn't want Harry to be late for Sirius, but she desperately wants to be there. Surely, at that hour, no one would be in the common room? Surely no one would bat an eye about Darcy being there? After all, Gryffindor had been her House, and people might just assume she was there to see Harry.
Halfway through their lunch, the bells tinkle above the doorway and Darcy glances up instinctively, grinning upon catching sight of honey blonde hair. With a warm smile, Emily walks over to their table and almost sits on Harry, squeezing into the booth beside Darcy. Emily makes small talk with everyone, and once Carla asks how everything is going with her work, Emily launches into a long spiel about . . . everything.
Darcy learns much—for instance, Emily claims she'd tried to stop the Daily Prophet from publishing both articles about Darcy and Harry, but the lead editor had waved her aside unless she could produce a better story. Emily had tried and, according to her, Barnabas Cuffe hadn't been very pleased.
Emily has even brought copies of her own manuscripts with her, and even just glimpsing the titles makes Darcy laugh. The first one reads Modern Journalism: The Decline in Quality and the Harmful Message to Young Girls. That was the one she had offered up in exchange for Darcy's article, while the other is aptly titled Exploitation and Toxicity: How Rita Skeeter Rose to Fame. That had been Emily's front page suggestion.
"This is fantastic," Gemma snickers, flipping through the stained and worn pages of the first article with Carla peering over her shoulder. "I'm serious! I'll have to see if my parents will fund the independent publishing of this. Fantastic! Here's my favorite part—" She clears her throat dramatically—"'The decision to write about such insignificant things such as what a woman is wearing or who she is dating promotes the dangerous idea that women's actions, words, and accomplishments are not as important as a pretty face or pretty clothes.'"
Emily smiles proudly as Hermione snatches the papers from Gemma's hands. Darcy and Lupin pore over the other article about Rita Skeeter, in which Emily names several people who claim to have been victimized and harassed by the journalist, detailing the cruel lengths she's taken to get a story.
"'Here again, Rita Skeeter proves that she cares nothing for the well-being of her subjects, nor who suffers in the process as long as her exploitation of the people brings her more fame and more money and more traffic for the Daily Prophet.'," Darcy reads aloud.
"You wrote these in one night?" Hermione asks, trading articles with Darcy.
"Yeah, a night that involved a lot of coffee," Emily answers with delight. "When I gave them to Barnabas Cuffe, he said I would be fired if I ever pulled shit like this again, Beth's daughter or no. Then he went ahead with Rita's articles."
Hermione and Harry leave a little while later, and he takes the Invisibility Cloak with him. Hermione is hesitant for Darcy to come to the Gryffindor common room so brazenly, but Darcy insists it will be fine so long as the room is clear. Carla and Emily quickly move into the now-empty seats across from Darcy, Lupin, and Gemma.
"Now that the children have left us," Emily continues, looking quite pleased with herself, "you'll be happy to know that I've been doing a little digging. First of all, Tonks said you can trust Mad-Eye—"
"Fat chance," Darcy counters, rolling her eyes.
Emily continues as if there had been no interruption. "And I found some interesting history on our friend Ludo Bagman."
Darcy and Lupin exchange a quick glance as worry grips her heart. He looks almost sheepish. "What kind of interesting history?"
"Apparently, Ludo was tried for giving a Death Eater inside information, like Ministry secrets—"
"And he was acquitted," Lupin says, cutting her off. Emily fixes him with a sharp look, and Lupin realizes too late that he should have let her finish. However, he takes her silence as an opportunity to continue. "I do not believe Ludo Bagman was doing so maliciously. He was only being played like the fool he is and intended the information as nothing more than gossip, I'm sure."
"And you knew this?" Darcy asks Lupin, frowning. "Why didn't you tell me this?"
Lupin grits his teeth. "Why? What have you been telling him?"
"Nothing," Darcy answers, crossing her arms over her chest. She remembers something Ludo had told her very recently: someone played this same game with me years ago, on a much larger scale, and I'll be the first to admit I was a fool then . . .
"You know why he was acquitted so easily," Emily snaps at him. "He was a famous Quidditch player, handsome, and extremely likable."
"Emily, please don't tell me you actually believe Ludo Bagman is a Death Eater," Carla sighs, running her fingertips down one of her plaits, sounding uninterested.
"He was passing information," Emily growls, her cheeks slightly pink.
Gemma only laughs at her. "Em, Ludo Bagman isn't a Death Eater, and he never has been. I would know," she says, waving a flippant hand. "I've been around Death Eaters since I was born, and I'm certain I would have noticed Ludo at one of my parents' galas or at a fundraiser if he was one. Ludo was an idiot who talked too much and it got him in trouble. I'm sure he won't make the same mistake again."
Emily huffs, brushing her hair out of her face and straightening in her chair. Darcy can't help but think Emily had expected her information to be taken with much more interest. "Fine, if you don't want to hear about Ludo Bagman, then perhaps we should move onto Bartemius Crouch. Have you spoken with him, Darcy?"
"Very briefly," she answers.
"Everyone knows about Barty Crouch," Gemma puts in, smiling at Emily in a way that must burn her up inside. "And if you're here to try and convince us that he put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire, or that he's trying to hurt Darcy—"
"Why am I even here?" Emily asks shrilly, reminded Darcy of Hermione. "If you know about Crouch already, then maybe I should let you tell them."
"I don't know about Barty Crouch," Darcy announces.
"Nor I," Carla adds.
Gemma leans forward to look past Lupin at Darcy. "Thought you might know, Darcy," she says seriously. "He sentenced scores of Death Eaters after the war, and if you ask me, he went about it all the wrong way."
"How do you mean?" Darcy asks breathlessly.
"Barty Crouch hates Death Eaters and Dark magic and anyone associated with them, but during the aftermath of the war, Crouch used Death Eater-like tactics that turned many of his fervent supporters against him," Lupin explains coolly. "He permitted the use of Unforgivable Curses in order to extract information or to capture and subdue wanted fugitives. Some called him merciless."
"Crouch was the one who tried to prosecute Ludo Bagman for his role in passing information," Emily adds. "He was the one who sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial. He even sent his own son to Azkaban."
Darcy and Carla meet each other's eyes as they let this information sink in. She suddenly feels an unfamiliar sense of hatred boil up in her at the thought of Barty Crouch, at the thought of him condemning an innocent man to Azkaban without caring whether or not he was actually guilty. To know that one of the men responsible for sending Sirius to Azkaban has spoken to her, has looked at her with contempt, enrages her. Lupin seems to understand, however, and placing a calming hand on her arm.
"Why did he send his own son?" Carla asks, bringing Darcy back to reality. "What did he do?"
There's a heavy silence that falls over them. Gemma looks at Emily with a piercing gaze that lets Darcy know she's already well aware of why his son was sent away. Lupin sighs when Emily opens her mouth to speak.
"There were rumors," Emily whispers, making Darcy and Carla lean forward to hear better. "Rumors that Barty Crouch Jr. was involved in the torture of—"
"Emily," Lupin murmurs, as if meaning to stop her.
Emily looks at him for a long moment, but doesn't stop. "The torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. The Cruciatus Curse drove them both to insanity."
Darcy is speechless. All she knows is that she's horrified, that this information has affected her in a way she didn't think possible. She thinks of all the times Neville had mentioned being raised by his grandmother—why had no one even bothered to ask why? She looks at Carla, who looks slightly nauseous. Gemma is stony-faced, but unsurprised by the confession.
Finally, Darcy looks up at Lupin. "It is true?" She hopes he denies it. "Neville's parents . . . ?"
Lupin shifts very uncomfortable in his seat and nods very shortly.
"All of these things I found in the Ministry's archives, in old copies of the Prophet," Emily frowns. "I don't have access to top secret information or court documents yet, nor does Tonks. I'm sorry I don't have anything of real substance for you, and I know it's not exactly what you wanted, but I can't find any evidence so far of foul play, despite what it may seem like."
"The evidence is Harry's name coming out of a bewitched Goblet of Fire," Darcy retorts. "Why isn't anyone taking us at our word? Doesn't anyone care to find out who did it?"
"What about Bertha Jorkins?" Lupin asks Emily suddenly. "What has the Ministry been doing about her disappearance?"
"Bertha Jorkins," Darcy repeats quietly. Her name had been mentioned in a few copies of the Daily Prophet, and the only time she had spoken to anyone about her was at breakfast one morning with Professor Snape, who had seemed annoyed by her question and begrudgingly suggested that fool woman likely got lost on holiday. "She got lost in Albania, didn't she?"
"Yes," Lupin replies. "And you know that was the last place that Voldemort was rumored to be?"
Carla flinches at the sound of the name, and a chill runs down Darcy's spine. Professor Snape certainly hadn't told her that. "Albania?" Carla says.
"Hang on!" Gemma swats his arm as if he's being ridiculous. "You honestly believe You-Know-Who found her?" She scoffs, shaking her head. "What are the chances that Bertha Jorkins and You-Know-Who were in the same place in Albania at the same time? I heard she was an idiot. I bet she got lost and just can't find her way back . . . or maybe she doesn't want to come back."
Lupin shrugs, leaning back in the booth and looking down at Darcy with a small smile on his face when she rests her cheek upon his shoulder. "An unwitting idiot seems a prime target for a trap, Gemma," Lupin tells her, looking back to Emily. "Isn't the Ministry attempting to find her?"
"Not really." Emily frowns, exhaling through her nose. "Half of the Ministry is urging Fudge to do more, to intervene, while the other half is content with what they're doing now—which is nothing." As if it's painful for her to side with Lupin, Emily continues with a slight crease between her eyebrows. "It does concern me, though. I mean, I hadn't thought of it until very recently, but Bertha Jorkins would have had knowledge of the World Cup, right? And the Death Eaters seemed to have planned their appearance . . . is it mad to believe she might have given up information? Willingly or not?"
"No, I think that's perfectly reasonable." Lupin puts a hand on Darcy's thigh, which she hadn't realized had been bouncing until feeling the warmth of his palm. "I've been thinking the same thing, and so has Sirius."
Darcy wants to ask him why he hasn't told her any of this, why he's kept it all to himself. But she isn't about to confront him about it here, in front of all of her friends. Emily would likely be at his throat upon learning he's been keeping secrets, so she steers the conversation into a different direction.
"Ludo told me that Fudge wanted me to turn my attention towards the Ministry."
Emily cuts her off with a barking laugh. "We've all heard the rumors. Fudge wants you to be the poster-girl of the Ministry in order to win him back all the favor he's lost, but the plan has backfired spectacularly. I don't think he expected Darcy Potter to fall in love with a werewolf." She and Lupin look at each other again. Emily traces the lip of her cup, smiling innocently at him.
"Merlin's beard." Gemma looks at Darcy with wide eyes. "Fudge wants you to speak for the Ministry? Darcy, don't you have any idea what that could mean for you?"
"What did you say?" Carla wonders, narrowing her eyes. "When Ludo told you, how did you answer?"
"I told him I wasn't interested," Darcy answers, looking up at Lupin. "All he was interested in was the power I could wield, the glory or whatever else he said."
"But he's right, Darcy," Gemma says eagerly, pushing Lupin back against the cushioned booth to get a better look at Darcy. Her face is flushed, her dark eyes seemingly much brighter. "You befriend the right people, charm the right men, play the part of the little lady Fudge wants you to be . . . you were born for this."
"What has Fudge ever done for Darcy that she should do this for him?" Carla argues, catching Gemma's attention. Darcy thinks she catches a flash of anger in her face, but Gemma allows Carla to continue. "It would be one thing if he ever took the time to get to know you—"
Lupin shuts Carla down quickly. "And if he had gotten to know Darcy, he would have realized she would never agree."
Darcy smiles at him with a surge of affection. She remembers a night about a year ago, a night spent in front of a fireplace, talking of poetry and Aunt Petunia, bitter and angry and resentful. Darcy imagines herself at Fudge's side for a moment, the proper lady Aunt Petunia always wanted her to be.
"Darcy, you've always wanted to go into the Ministry," Emily says, reaching out to touch Darcy's hand. Without thinking, Darcy pulls her hand away, regretting it immediately when she sees the hurt in her friend's face. "Why have you changed your mind? You could make a difference in the world, just like we always planned."
Darcy's face darkens and she wishes she wasn't so angry, but she can't help it. "I don't owe the Ministry anything," she hisses, quieting the entire table. She can feel everyone watching her, but Darcy only has eyes for Emily. "They have decided my worth based on nothing but my last name and who I choose to love. They have allowed Rita Skeeter to make a mockery of me, they refused to listen to the truth about Sirius, they refuse to investigate my brother's bad luck." She scoffs. "I could give you a hundred reasons why I detest the Ministry and what they stand for."
Emily continues to look at her, curious and almost impressed. Her eyes are wide, seemingly not having expected this reaction. "Who are you?" she asks mildly.
"I'm Darcy Potter, and I don't need to be the Ministry's pet to make a difference."
She looks around the table. Emily doesn't seem angry, but proud. Carla's eyebrows are raised in genuine surprise, and there's a smirk playing at Gemma's lips. Lupin is smiling at her, an easy smile, the cool smile that made it so easy to fall in love with him.
She thinks of Gemma, making a name for herself with her unique research, making a different in Lupin's life and, hopefully, among other werewolves. She thinks of Hermione and S.P.E.W. She thinks of Sirius, on the run because of Fudge's unwillingness to listen to reason. She thinks of Harry, being forced to compete in a tournament he should never have been entered into in the first place. And she thinks of Lupin, discriminated against and persecuted wherever he goes, hated because of a stigma borne from ignorance and fear-mongering, outed publicly because of an article written about her.
"I belong here, at Hogwarts," she tells her friends. "And I understand the weight that my last name carries. If no one is going to take action, then I will."
Emily lifts her cup to toast Darcy, and everyone else follows suit. "All you need to do is say the word and I'm here," she says, touching her cup to Darcy's. "We're all with you, until the end."