I Remember, I Remember

by kmccartneyyyy

Darcy Potter returns to Hogwarts as an assistant for Professor Snape as the Triwizard Tournament is reinstated, finding herself facing an increasingly shaky relationship with her godfather, Dumbledore's ominous warnings, immense pressure to become more than her brother's keeper, backlash after a series of articles, and the fact that Harry's life is—yet again—in danger.

5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry about the delay! I appreciate everyone's feedback, and will have the next chapter out soon!

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Today, I am a Potter. Today, I am my mother's daughter.

Darcy takes a long look at herself in the mirror while the rest of the house still sleeps. Dawn light, pink and beautiful, seeps in through the tiny bathroom window near the ceiling. She finds it hard to believe that she can look at a picture of her mother and think Lily the most beautiful woman in the world, and all the while not feel beautiful herself, despite the striking resemblance to Lily. But up close, Darcy doesn't see the resemblance as much—they share the same red hair, the same vivid green eyes, the same milky skin. From afar, she is certainly Lily's daughter. But up close, Darcy's nose is wrong, her lips are wrong, her jawline is wrong, her body is wrong. These minor differences between she and her mother are painfully obvious today, and Darcy wishes her mother was there to comfort her, to tell her that she's beautiful anyway—she wishes Sirius was there to hold her and tell her she's the prettiest girl in the world. She wishes Lupin was there to kiss her—to prove that, even if she doesn't think she's beautiful, someone else does. She wishes James were here. She's sure her father could make her feel better, absolutely sure of it.

Darcy clips the purple necklace around her neck, admiring it. Today, it feels like a crown upon her head. A small comfort to her, remembering that Lupin had been the one to buy it. It's as if he's here now, holding her hand, fingertips ghosting across the small of her back. If things go south at the Ministry, she will still have Lupin to run to, to seek comfort from.

She knows what will happen when she arrives at the Ministry in a little while—knows that no matter how hard Mr. Weasley will try to hide her and keep away from the unwanted attention, it will come. It is inescapable as a Potter and overwhelming, and Darcy suddenly is thankful she hasn't gone into the Ministry for a career. How could she have forgotten who she is? How could she have lost sight of that? Going into the Ministry would have meant never having her own identity, never being able to just be Darcy, whoever that is. She's never wanted to be her parents' legacy, but that's all she would have been, had she chosen to follow her dreams of working at the Ministry. As soon as she sets foot inside the building, she knows people will flock to her, just as they always have. People have always shaken her hand, wrapped her in uncomfortable hugs—when Cornelius Fudge had become Minister, frequenting Hogwarts to visit Dumbledore, reporters had been just as excited at glimpsing Darcy as Fudge. Did she truly believe that, by going into the Ministry for a career, that would end?

Did I even want that? Or was it just Emily? I let her decide for me, even as children, what I wanted. But that's all Darcy can remember—other people making choices for her, starting with strangers she'd never met deciding that she'd be better off with her aunt and uncle instead of Sirius. What if I had been given the choice? Would I have chosen Sirius over Harry? Why wouldn't I have? Why would I have chosen to live with strangers instead of someone who wanted me?

Darcy feels sick to her stomach. Freedom is hard, she's learned. Choices are hard. Things are so much easier when other people make the decisions for her—Petunia had always decided what clothes Darcy had to wear, had structured her days to keep her busy, had chosen what Darcy would cook for meals; Emily had chosen where to go during summers, what they wanted to eat, what classes to continue taking at school, what Darcy wanted to be when they graduated. Emily had chosen Darcy's goals and ambitions for her and picked out boys she thought Darcy would like, and sometimes Darcy feels that Emily has chosen certain personality traits for her, or maybe that's just a symptom of being so close to someone for so long. She isn't sure how much of her personality is her own compared to how much of it has been carefully constructed by Emily.

Darcy has never been sure of many things. But standing in front of the mirror, examining every little detail of her face, she's sure of one thing in particular—she's glad she has decided to return to Hogwarts. She is thankful that she'll be with Harry, with Snape—someone who won't overwhelm her with infatuation and curiosity. Someone who won't care who her parents are.

The anxiety that comes with a big day full of surprises gnaws at her as she waits upon the front step for Mr. Weasley. Darcy tries to ease her anxiety with thoughts of spending the day away from Privet Drive, with Mr. Weasley, possibly being able to see Emily in the thick of it. He arrives early, just as the sun begins to rise in earnest, and is surprised to see her already ready and outside waiting for him.

"Darcy . . . you look beautiful," he whispers with a grin, looking her up and down with a bewildered kind of expression. "I don't think I've ever seen you look so grown up before. You've brushed your hair, anyway."

Darcy laughs and her heart races, and she knows she will never be able to express to Mr. Weasley how wonderful it is to hear those words from his mouth. She touches her hair unconsciously, smoothing the stray hairs down. Mr. Weasley approaches, greets her with a hug and a swift kiss to her forehead and they set off down the street, looking for a secluded place to Disapparate, far from prying eyes and early rising neighbors.

"I'm glad you're coming today—big day at the Ministry, big day, what with preparations for the Quidditch World Cup and the . . . well, you'll find out soon enough, I think, and I'll tell you now, Darcy, you are in for a real treat once you get back to Hogwarts, you and Harry both." Mr. Weasley sighs happily, his eyes seeming far off for a moment, and they settle into an awkward silence once again. At once, he snaps out of it. "I hope the Muggles have been good to you and Harry this summer."

Darcy smiles sheepishly. "As good as they can be, I suppose," she shrugs, remembering vividly one of the sharp smacks to her face she'd received. She rubs her right cheek. "We're still alive, anyway."

"Here should be fine," Mr. Weasley suggests, not catching the bitterness in Darcy's answer, and he puts a hand on her elbow, leading her down a shady alleyway. The cool air makes goosebumps rise on her arms, and in the process of adjusting the neckline on her dress, accidentally reveals just an inch of scar on her shoulder. Mr. Weasley doesn't seem to notice as Darcy covers it once more, wishing she was in the safety of her own bed, feeling that today is going to go all wrong for reasons unknown to even herself. "Hold onto me, Darcy."

She obeys as the world around her begins to spin, and within seconds, Darcy's feet hit solid ground. Looking down at her feet first, Darcy notices the smooth, black wooden flooring upon which she stands—polished to look like a mirror, like completely still water. She can see her blurred and pale reflection in it, and looks up around her in amazement. Wizards and witches are just arriving at work, still moving in a sluggish manner, and the large Atrium is not yet full with bustling workers ready to start the day. All around her, they Apparate quite routinely and regularly and lazily, or else exit from large fireplaces where green fire roars to life as someone appears in the hearth casually, sometimes hidden behind the morning's newspaper. The employees wear robes of all different colors—navy blue, green, maroon, likely to signify their department or job—some with hats and some without. Mr. Weasley smiles at the utterly blank look on her face and ushers her along, one hand firm upon her smooth shoulder.

Further along, Darcy stops again at a large, golden statue. She looks up into the handsome wizard's face, reminded briefly of Sirius and his sharp-cut features, conventionally attractive almost to a fault; looking up dreamily at the wizard is an equally beautiful witch, long, stone hair blowing in a non-existent breeze. Darcy's eyes fall upon the centaur next—she recalls the only time she had ever seen one, when she, Ron, and Harry had ventured into the Forbidden Forest for a detention. Firenze, he was called, and Darcy had told her friends about the handsome centaur that allowed her to ride upon his back to safety (Emily hadn't believed her until Harry said something in passing about it the following day). She remembers how Firenze had sensed her fear and worry after they'd encountered Voldemort, had spoken soothing words to her that she hadn't really understood, like he was speaking in riddles, but his tone had calmed her regardless. Yet Firenze had never looked at her with such a sense of longing and admiration, as the statue-centaur looks at the statue-wizard and -witch. In addition to this odd sight, a house-elf stands at the feet of the witch, water spraying from his ears, a dreamy look on his face, as well. But the strangest thing of all is the goblin beside the house-elf, crudely sculpted to look angry and purposefully ugly. Darcy catches sight of a sign around the base about donations made to St Mungo's, and thinking happily of Gemma, Darcy throws two Galleons into the water without hesitation.

High above them are windows, where the sun shines bright through them against a clear blue sky. Darcy frowns. "Mr. Weasley . . . those windows . . . that isn't the correct weather, is it?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Mr. Weasley explains. "Remember, we're underground. It's magic."

Darcy blushes. "Oh. Right."

"I want to introduce you to someone very important, who's been working very hard on the World Cup," Mr. Weasley continues after Darcy throws her coins into the fountain. He checks his watch as they approach the security desk. "By which time, I should have a surprise for you."

Darcy only smiles at him as the security wizard takes her wand and registers it quickly ("Ten inches, unicorn hair core, beech wood?" "Yes, sir."), giving it back without grievance. She thanks him and puts her wand back into her pocket (a pocket that she'd sewn on Aunt Petunia's old dress simply to have a place to put her wand). Mr. Weasley continues to walk her through the Atrium, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, and they walk through a large, golden gate to a smaller room (equally as tall) full of lifts, bringing wizards and witches to their intended destination. The two of them squeeze into a half-full lift, Mr. Weasley standing just behind her shoulder.

"Few stops to make before we go to my office, so just be patient, Darcy, all right?"

At the sound of his words, several people in the lift turn to look furtively at Darcy, but it doesn't go unnoticed. Mr. Weasley seems to have realized his mistake, and Darcy's grateful that the lift empties within the first few floors. It continues to carry them up several floors, until a disembodied, female voice says, "Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office."

When Darcy exits the lift and enters the department's corridor, she has to smile. It's an unorganized and untidy, but large office of sorts—cubicles are all around, several of them, each with posters of Quidditch teams and famous players. Multi-colored papers litter the tops of desks and are stacked on overflowing waste bins and many of the workers are hurrying around and talking to each other excitedly, quills and parchment following after them. Mr. Weasley takes her elbow, pushing her into the thick of it, craning his neck for a look around.

"Morning, Arthur."

"Good to see you, Arthur."

"Working hard?"

"Arthur Weasley! And who is this delightful young woman you've brought with you? Is it safe to assume she's one of yours?"

The man shakes Mr. Weasley's hand vigorously, his eyes fixed upon Darcy. He takes in her red hair, her green eyes, and then releases Mr. Weasley's hand, taking a step back to take in Darcy's full appearance. Darcy looks him up down, and thinks that—maybe—many, many years ago, the man would have been rather good-looking. Broad shouldered and thick armed, his bright blue eyes rove Darcy's face for what seems like a long time. His smile fades only for a moment, and then it's back, his face looking flushed and his eyes finding Mr. Weasley's again.

"Oho!" the man exclaims, holding out an eager hand towards Darcy. "I knew you looked familiar—just knew that I'd seen you somewhere before—you're not one of Arthur's! You're Darcy, Darcy Potter, aren't you?"

Feeling the best thing to do in this case, with everyone's eyes now upon them, is turn up her charm, Darcy nods and puts on her best smile, shaking his hand. "I am," she admits shyly. "I'm Darcy Potter, yes."

This seems to delight the man, who's nearly bouncing on his heels. "Darcy Potter," he repeats, chuckling to himself. "Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Games and Sports, lead organizer—or one of them, I suppose—of the Quidditch World Cup, which I do hope you'll be attending, my dear—and one of the organizers of the—"

"I haven't told her yet, Ludo," Mr. Weasley interrupts with a small smile. He turns to Darcy. "Ludo was the one who got us such wonderful tickets for the World Cup."

Ludo waves an impatient hand, having eyes for no one but Darcy. "I've heard rumors, of course, that you'll be returning to Hogwarts this coming fall. Have I been hearing correct?"

"Oh," Darcy blushes, still smiling at him and holding her hands behind her back. "I hadn't realized things moved so quickly in the Ministry. Yes, I am returning to Hogwarts."

"You are in for a real treat, Darcy, once you return," Ludo says with raised eyebrows. "An absolute treat."

"So I've heard," Darcy replies, looking at Mr. Weasley.

"Go on, Arthur—I won't ruin the surprise if you'd rather tell her yourself!"

Mr. Weasley clears his throat, and Darcy looks at him expectantly. Holding his hands out in front of him and exhaling loudly, Mr. Weasley shrugs his shoulders. "This year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament," he says, but noticing Darcy's blank expression, he elaborates. "The Triwizard Tournament is—well, a contest of sorts, involving Hogwarts, and two other Wizarding schools. A champion will be selected from each school and they will then compete in the tournament."

"Three different tasks have been selected for the champion to compete in," Ludo continues. "Dangerous tasks, full of grueling challenges, forced to make the champions restless—but! The winner will win, not only win eternal glory for the rest of their life, but a fat sack of Galleons, as well. Now, people have died in the past, of course, but Barty and I have been—"

"People have died?" Darcy asks, rounding on Mr. Weasley. "What do you mean people have died?"

"I know what you're thinking," Mr. Weasley mutters. "And no one under the age of seventeen will be permitted to enter. One of the new rules, given the circumstances of the tournament many, many years ago."

"Now, Darcy, all of this is top secret, understand, my dear?" Ludo winks, taking Darcy's hands in his own. She doesn't quite pull her hands away, but with his grip, Darcy doesn't think he's keen on letting go. "We can't have these details leaking out before the tournament is officially announced! Not even to your brother, Darcy! Do you have time for a tour? Arthur, let me take this lovely young woman off your hands for a little while, just while I show her the inner workings of my department!" He puts a hand on the small of her back, and Darcy looks pleadingly at Mr. Weasley, who takes Darcy's wrist and pulls her away from Ludo.

"Sorry, Ludo, but we do have a busy day ahead of us," Mr. Weasley says, pulling Darcy behind him and smiling sweetly at Ludo. "I've only got her here for the day, and there's so much to see and many other people to meet, I'm afraid."

"Ah, that's all right," Ludo sighs, not seeming very disappointed. "I'm sure we'll see much, much more of each other this year, my dear! Come, let me say goodbye to you for the time being! It was such a pleasure to finally meet you! Working at the Ministry, you hear all sorts of things about the Potters, but of course, you are far more beautiful than they've described you."

Darcy gives an embarrassed laugh and steps to Mr. Weasley's side. Ludo takes her hand in his again and kisses her knuckles, making her flush a deep red. "Goodbye, Mr. Bagman," she says hastily, pulling her hand away from his lips. "Good luck with everything."

Mr. Weasley leads her rather quickly to the lifts again, looking quite flustered. "I'm so sorry about that, Darcy," he tells her with a small smile. "Ludo is, generally, quite friendly and—he's just over excited about everything. Don't think anything of it. You know, he hasn't been doing much in the past years, so having two things to work on at once has made him—"

"It's all right, Mr. Weasley," Darcy answers, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. "Truly. He's lovely, just a little . . . overbearing?"

"He was a Quidditch player himself back in the day. It's a good place in the Ministry for him to be, and I wanted to have him there when I told you about the Triwizard Tournament. He was right, however—it is strictly top secret and you shouldn't even know about it, really, but . . . since when have I ever kept anything top secret from you?" As people begin to enter the lift, shuffling Darcy and Mr. Weasley around, he checks his watch again. "Nearly time. I think you'll enjoy this next surprise much better."

After a few more people get on and off the lift, the female voice says again, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Offices, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Mr. Weasley and Darcy push their way to the golden grilles gently, and he leads her down the bare stretch of corridor until they emerge into a large, open room full of cubicles, just as the last department had been. However, instead of Quidditch posters decorating the walls, pictures full of Dark wizards, Sirius Black, Daily Prophet clippings, and pictures of family and friends. "Welcome to the Auror Headquarters, Darcy," Mr. Weasley grins, and Darcy smiles. She looks around the room, taking in the sights of Aurors chatting with friends, lazing at their desks with their feet up as they dictate a report to a quill that scribbles frantically, laughing and sending paper airplanes through the air that zoom past Darcy's head, talking in low voices at their desks over some official looking parchment. "Come along this way. I have something I want to show you."

Darcy obliges, following Mr. Weasley through the rows of cubicles—none of them seem to notice Darcy, a smile on her face as she looks around. She imagines herself sitting at one of these cubicles, a few years older than she is now, with photographs of her and her friends and family at her desk, the photographs that she has stuck on the wall in her bedroom. Mr. Weasley tugs at her arm again and Darcy turns, to see the backs of two young women huddled together, clearly gossiping and giggling. But the scene makes Darcy's heart stop momentarily, her smile growing wider. She recognizes one of these girls—recognizes the blonde hair and high-pitched laugh.

"Emily!"

Both women turn around, their smiles fading quickly and brows furrowing, but at the sight of Darcy, Emily grins again. "Darcy!" The two girls run towards each other and hug tightly. "What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming to the Ministry!"

Still clutching each other's hands, Darcy shakes her head in disbelief. "Well, you have Max still, I hope, and Hedwig's out delivering a letter—it was all very short notice, but Mr. Weasley's brought me here for the day! I didn't realize you'd be here, I thought . . . well, I'm so glad you're here!"

"Darcy, I'm so sorry I didn't reply to your letter." Emily sighs happily, looking her friend over and smoothing Darcy's hair down. It's a very welcome and familiar touch and she finds herself leaning into Emily's palm. "I've been trying to get some time off of work, but it's just been so busy lately and they're putting me through the ringer—"

"I understand," Darcy says quickly, smiling at Emily to indicate she's being honest. "I'm so happy for you—is this what you've been doing? Training to become an Auror? You haven't told me any of that!"

"I wanted to," Emily explains. "But I wanted to tell you in person—I couldn't just write this on a piece of parchment, I mean—this is my dream and it just seems so silly to see it in writing! I was going to tell you when I saw you again, I promise!"

"Emily, this is wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you so much!" Emily replies, and she lowers her hands from Darcy to look over her shoulder at Mr. Weasley. "Mr. Weasley, could I give Darcy a tour? I swear I'll get her back to you on time!"

Darcy turns to see Mr. Weasley with a smile, nodding at them. "Go on," he chuckles. "I'll be in my office. Don't be too long and no lingering. Bring her straight back when you're done." When Mr. Weasley waves and turns to leave, Darcy faces Emily again.

"I am so glad to see you," Emily says again, looping her arm around Darcy's. "Anyway—sorry—this is Tonks. She's been helping me prepare for my training. I've been shadowing her—she'll be a fully fledged Auror next year, and—get this!—she was friends with Carla's sister! Tonks, this is Darcy Potter."

Darcy now looks at the other young woman standing slightly behind Emily, and she smiles kindly at her, holding out a hand to shake Tonks's. At once, Darcy recognizes her—a few years older than both she and Emily, Tonks is the same age as Carla's sister, Elena, and they'd both been in Hufflepuff. It's hard not to remember someone with bright pink hair, and Darcy immediately takes to her, knowing that Aunt Petunia wouldn't be very happy with her choice of hair color. When she smiles, it makes her cheeks slightly pink with the effort of mustering the biggest smile she can. "It's wonderful to meet you," Darcy says.

"Likewise," Tonks smiles. "Emily thinks very highly of you—talks about you all the time. Any friend of Emily's is a friend of mine."

"Forgive my asking, I'm only curious," Darcy continues, releasing Tonks's hand and catching the slight pink tint on Emily's cheeks. "You're a Metamorphmagus, aren't you? I remember you at school."

"Yes," Tonks answers proudly, laughing. "I am. Dead useful as an Auror, too. Do you want to see my party trick?"

"It's great," Emily assures her.

"Sure," Darcy says with a chuckle.

Tonks screws up her pretty face, eyes crossed in concentration, and before Darcy's very eyes, her small pixie nose is suddenly a pig's snout, doing nothing to enhance her beauty. But Tonks laughs, and Darcy can't help but laugh with her.

"All right, that's a pretty good party trick," Darcy jokes, and Tonks adjusts her nose back to normal when a few Aurors poke their heads around the walls of their cubicles.

Emily clutches tighter onto Darcy's arm. "Excuse us, Tonks, but I should give her the tour quickly before anyone notices that I've gone—not that many people do notice me at all here," she teases and Tonks snickers. Emily leads her away, walking slowly, and keeps pace with Darcy's long strides. She shows Darcy the cubicle she and Tonks share and Darcy can't help but think it's very like Emily's bedroom—there are a few pictures of her with her mother and father, along with a picture that had been taken only weeks ago in front of Hogwarts, with Emily, Darcy, Carla, and Gemma smiling, their arms thrown around each other.

There are a few other offices on the floor that Emily and Darcy pop their heads into, and they talk aimlessly of how their summers have been going among other things.

"So, tell me about training," Darcy says. "Your N.E.W.T.'s came back all right, then?"

"I did quite well, though I got an E in Potions—it made them rather wary, seeing as Potions is quite necessary to be an Auror—poisons and antidotes and what have you, but I proved that I know my stuff and they were happy to take me! That, and when Moody heard that Professor Snape was teaching us, he vouched for me. Not a Snape fan. He's another Auror. Wait until you meet him." Emily smiles at a Ministry worker that walks past them. To Darcy's surprise, he smiles back. "What have you been doing this summer? Your letter was so . . . worrying, and I didn't know what to think."

"Oh, that—it's so stupid," Darcy explains with a slight chuckle. "I was just overthinking—something Petunia told me, but it's nothing. It's nothing—things have been fine. Harry's fine. I'm fine."

"No one who's really fine needs to say so about a hundred times," Emily jokes again as they weave through a few Aurors poring over a map of Britain. "Though I don't see any bruises on you, which is always a good thing."

"Yeah," Darcy says. "I mean, I did—it was a while and I had some when I—well—" Darcy clears her throat, suddenly very hot. "I mean—I was—I went to—they got better after—I was at—Remus'."

Emily stops, narrowing her eyes at Darcy. Darcy can tell she's battling an internal conflict, whether or not it's worth it right now to say something rude about their relationship. Emily inhales deeply. "How was it? Did you have fun?"

Darcy looks at Emily sheepishly. "It was good. He took very good care of me. I had a good time, and I think he did, too."

"Hm." Emily reaches for a change of subject and her face quickly lights up again. "Mum's here—we could go see her if you'd like? She's working on this big piece about the Quidditch World Cup—you know how she's crazy about Quidditch—and she's been taking interviews from some people involved. Come on, we'll go find her—she'll be so excited to see you again!"

Emily pulls Darcy towards the lifts again. "Maybe we should stay up here," Darcy suggests, glancing around for a sign of Mr. Weasley.

"C'mon, Darcy," Emily groans, rolling her eyes. "You're always up for a little adventure, I thought! We'll be back in a little bit. No one will even notice we've gone."

Darcy knows that Emily doesn't realize her wanting to stay close to Mr. Weasley is not so much a desire to stay out of trouble, but a desire to stay away from Ministry workers who may take a little too much interest in her. After her encounter with Ludo Bagman, things are only bound to get worse, especially with the Ministry now jam-packed with witches and wizards. Emily and Darcy squeeze into the full lift, riding it back down the same floor Darcy and Mr. Weasley had just been. The two of them walk in silence down the familiar corridor, and when they reach the office, Emily hums, looking around.

"She must be here somewhere . . . "

But Darcy notices that the office is much busier and much fuller than it had been when she'd been down here, and not all of the people seem to be Ministry workers, lacking robes, and instead dressed in outrageously colored pantsuits and dresses. Many of them have quills floating around their heads and are deep in conversation with many workers, and it's then that Darcy spots Ludo Bagman on the opposite side of the office, talking to a woman with tightly curled blonde hair, but the look on Ludo's face is completely different than the one he'd looked at Darcy with. In fact, he seems annoyed and irritated by the woman, ready to be rid of her, and when he looks over to scan the room again, his eyes settle on Darcy, widening.

"Emily," Darcy whispers. "Who is that woman with Ludo Bagman?"

"You know Ludo Bagman?" Emily asks absently, turning to follow Darcy's line of vision. "Oh no . . . that's Rita Skeeter. My mother goes on and on about her—she's a reporter for the Daily Prophet, but not a particularly kind one like my mother is. Maybe we should get you out of here, quickly."

But Ludo is still staring at her, and he leaves Rita Skeeter mid-sentence, approaching Darcy and Emily quickly. Rita follows him with her eyes, and Ludo is still grumbling when he claps a hand on Darcy's shoulder and attempts to lead her away from the crowd. Emily follows, clutching Darcy's wrist. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" Ludo asks Darcy with a half-hearted smile. "Something you find attractive about the department? It's all about who you know, Darcy, and I could get you—"

"Is this the Darcy Potter?"

The three of them spin around, and Ludo's face darkens again at the sight of Rita Skeeter. Her hair barely bounces with each step that she takes, almost frozen into place, and the jeweled glasses perched on the tip of her nose glint in the bright overhead lights. When she smiles innocently at Darcy, Darcy notices a small red smear of lipstick on her front tooth and a golden one near the back. Neither Darcy, Emily, or Ludo answer, but they all scrunch their nose at Rita.

"My, my, my," Rita sighs, shaking her head with a smile. "Aren't you something! I do remember seeing a picture of you years ago, but you're quite the young woman now, aren't you? Eighteen and fresh out of Hogwarts . . . what have you been up to?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Darcy says, attempting to keep her tone as level as possible. She takes a step back, trodding on Ludo's toes and muttering a quiet apology, blushing. "I'm not interested in giving an interview."

"Not even a little quote? Something to appease the masses?" Rita clears her throat, smiling her oily smile. "How do you feel about no longer being a student?"

"Er—I should get back," Darcy answers hastily, speaking more to Ludo than to Rita, hoping he'll give her some good excuse to run off. "Mr. Weasley is probably waiting for me—"

"No, no! Please!" Rita grabs Darcy's wrist, her long, green fingernails clamping tight onto her. "Freshly graduated, returning as an assistant to Hogwarts, and—if the rumors are correct—preparing to settle down with a certain someone?"

Darcy falters, her mouth suddenly very dry. "I'm sorry?"

Rita takes a step closer, digging around in her handbag for something. The three of them watch as she withdraws an acid green quill and a piece of parchment. She sucks the end of the quill for a moment and puts the tip to the parchment, where they both float in midair, preparing to write. "Witch Weekly loves a good forbidden romance story," Rita replies, looking at Darcy expectantly. "And what better romance is there to write about than that of Darcy Potter and Remus Lupin—old friend of your parents', previously your professor, and—perhaps the most interesting part, a recently outed—"

"That's enough," Emily snaps, quieting Rita immediately. "Darcy doesn't want to give an interview about her possible romance, so drop it, would you?"

"And you are?" Rita asks, looking Emily up and down.

"Emily Duncan."

"Duncan . . . like Beth's daughter?" Rita gives a high-pitched laugh, snorting dramatically. "Sure, Beth's a mediocre journalist at best . . ."

"My mother is an extraordinary journalist. At least she doesn't depend on smear articles to get published."

"What are you going to do about it?" Rita sneers. "If an eighteen-year-old girl can force me out of the Ministry of Magic when all I'm searching for is a little information, then I've chosen the wrong career. All I'm asking is—"

"Now, see here! This is my department that you're in!" Ludo says suddenly, making Darcy jump, and she feels a sudden rush of affection for him. He places a protective hand upon her shoulder again. She supposes he would be more intimidating if he was taller than Darcy. "Darcy is a swell girl, a sweet girl, and I won't have you treating her like—"

"What's going on here?"

Darcy, Emily, and Ludo turn quickly to see Mr. Weasley hustling towards them. He grabs Darcy's scarred shoulder roughly to pull her back to him, and Darcy knows that his fingers have felt them beneath her dress by the way his fingers align with them and tighten. Her heart starts to hammer in her chest and other people are now becoming drawn to the scene—more reporters are listening, and the occasional camera flashes. The buzz of conversation has quieted. Mr. Weasley pulls her to him, looking Rita Skeeter up and down.

"They told me you were here," Mr. Weasley says quietly to Rita Skeeter. "Leave this poor girl alone."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Rita replies, still sneering, eyes fixed upon Darcy's face. "It's a reporter's dream to interview Darcy Potter—you probably remember everything, don't you? Tell me, Darcy—has Arthur Weasley become something of a father figure to you? Are the rumors true that you and Remus Lupin were spotted in Diagon Alley together holding hands? This blossoming romance of yours—what a scandal!—did it start before or after he was sacked from—"

"He wasn't sacked," Darcy says, albeit quietly from Mr. Weasley's side, blushing furiously. "He resigned, and he doesn't deserve this."

"But you don't deny—"

"Leave her alone," Emily growls.

"Come on, Darcy, Emily—goodbye Ludo," Mr. Weasley says again, dragging Darcy away from the scene. Rita watches them go, her quill writing quickly of its own accord. He leads her wordlessly to the lifts again, Emily trailing behind them, looking very flushed and flustered.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry—I didn't know that Rita Skeeter would be there," she says apologetically, squeezing through the grilles before they shut. Emily elbows a heavier witch aside to make room for her. "I only wanted to bring Darcy to see my mother—I had no idea—"

"Emily, you of all people should have known—"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted—!"

"Darcy," Mr. Weasley says as they reach the second level again, his voice so soft that it frightens Darcy. Everyone else in the lift busies themselves by flipping through the newspaper or examining their fingernails, but Darcy knows they're all listening. "I would like to speak to you in my office—alone. Say goodbye to Emily."

Emily gives Darcy a sad look and speeds off the lift, back towards Auror Headquarters. Mr. Weasley leads Darcy through the office, a hand still upon her shoulder. Darcy spies Emily resuming her place at Tonks' side, their heads together again, and Darcy feels a jealous pang in her heart for a brief moment before looking away and rounding a corner towards Mr. Weasley's office. That was supposed to be us, Darcy thinks, sighing heavily.

Mr. Weasley opens the door to his office, and Darcy is first surprised at how small it is. It's a little larger than a broom closet with two desks crammed inside, a few filing cabinets pressed against the walls. Someone is already inside the office, and as Mr. Weasley sits down behind his own desk, he murmurs, "Perkins—could you give us a minute? We won't be long."

As Perkins stands, confused, and leaves the office, Mr. Weasley motions for her to sit at the now empty desk. His ears are red, much like Ron's get during moments of embarrassment, and Darcy feels biles rise in her throat, much like it does before receiving a good smack from Vernon.

It takes a few minutes for Mr. Weasley to gather his thoughts. Then, he clears his throat. "I want to apologize to you first," he says. "I should have known better than to let you wander the Ministry with so much happening, and I should have known that would happen. I'm sorry."

"Mr. Weasley, it's—"

He holds his hand up to indicate she be quiet. Darcy shuts her mouth and Mr. Weasley takes his glasses off, rubbing his temples furiously. Tears well up in Darcy's eyes and she purses her lips, waiting for him to shout. "I don't even know what to say to you, Darcy," he sighs. "Is it true? You're involved with—you and him—your professor?"

She remains silent, and Mr. Weasley takes the silence to be her answer, correctly.

"If you were my daughter, you would never leave my house again, do you understand that?"

Darcy nods ever so slightly.

"As it happens, you are not my daughter, so I cannot enforce such punishment, but just know that I would—I absolutely would, no questions asked." Mr. Weasley puts his glasses back on and stares at Darcy with a piercing gaze. "However, the fact that you are not my daughter does not mean I cannot give you my honest advice, and I need you to heed my words, Darcy, do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

The look he gives her breaks her into a million pieces, and Darcy starts to cry in earnest, tears slipping down her cheeks. "What were you thinking, Darcy? Of all the things you have done, this has to be the stupidest," he continues, his voice still dangerously calm. "You could have been expelled from Hogwarts, lost all of the opportunities that were offered to you—your reputation, your dignity—what were you thinking?"

Darcy feels the best thing to say is what he wants to hear. "I wasn't thinking, sir."

"No, you weren't," Mr. Weasley agrees. "No, you certainly were not. I should not have to tell you how inappropriate whatever you think you have going on is. You are eighteen-years-old, hardly an adult, and there is no reason for him to attempt to pursue something with you, graduated or not. He is old enough to be your father—there are plenty of older women in this world that he is more than welcome to, and I'd like very much to know what his intentions are with an eighteen-year-old girl barely out of school."

Looking away, Darcy wipes her tears.

"He is not to touch you ever again," Mr. Weasley hisses, his face growing redder by the moment, making him look like a ripe tomato. "He is not to look at you, touch you, think about touching you, think about you at all, or so help me, Darcy, I will handle this situation myself if I have to. And the same goes for you. If I hear that you've so much as glanced in his direction, you will see a side of me that I have no desire to show you. Is that understood?"

Darcy pauses, knowing very well that despite Mr. Weasley's words, she cannot throw away what she and Lupin have. "Yes, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley gets to his feet, and the bile in Darcy's throat burns. She flinches away, moving her chair back and pressing herself against the wall. Mr. Weasley stops dead in his tracks, furrowing his brow. His voice is suddenly soft and soothing. "What are you—oh, Darcy, I would never hit you—" He sits back down in his chair and Darcy watches him warily. His eyes scan Darcy's face, looking at the tears in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "Are you hungry?"

Darcy shrugs her shoulders and Mr. Weasley gets to his feet again.

"Let's go get some lunch," he says, holding out a hand for Darcy. She takes it and walks around the desk, approaching Mr. Weasley. "My treat."

She looks him over, love for Mr. Weasley nearly making her heart burst. Mr. Weasley, who upon finding out about she and Lupin, had not raised a single hand to her, had barely shouted or raised his voice, makes Darcy love him more and, at the same time, breaks her heart. She wonders what life would be like if Mr. Weasley had been her father and she almost starts crying again. Overwhelmed with affection, Darcy hugs Mr. Weasley tight around the middle. He tenses for a second, and then hugs her back, kissing the top of her head.