Darcy giggles as Lupin uncorks the bottle of wine he'd bought her for an early birthday present (which happens to be the same wine she'd bought for him in Hogsmeade). He fills a wine glass for her nearly to the top, and then does the same for himself. They both sit before the fire, the conversational hum of the television barely audible, tuned to the local news.

"Oh—! Grab my bag," Darcy says suddenly, sitting up and pointing to her bag, lying crumpled on the ground by his feet. "I've brought you another gift. It's really from Hermione, but paid for by me."

Lupin gives her a wary look before slowly reaching for her bag. "This can't be good, can it?"

Darcy laughs, rummaging inside her bag and retrieving the small, shiny, silver badge. She holds it out for him in her upturned palm, but it only makes him narrow his eyes. "It's all right. Hermione's decided to create a new organization on her plight to change the world. S.P.E.W."

"Spew?" Lupin asks, taking the badge and turning it over a few times in his hands.

"Well, maybe don't call it that to her face." Darcy smiles sweetly at him, taking the badge again and carefully pinning it to the front of his sweater. Lupin lowers his eyes, studying it for a moment longer. Admiring her handiwork, Darcy takes a look drink of wine. "I think her mission statement is to secure fair wages and working conditions for house-elves, or something like that. I may have a leaflet for you next time, if she uses our donations wisely."

The idea seems to make Lupin mildly uncomfortable. "I'm sure Hermione means very well, but does she have any idea what she's getting herself into?"

"Likely not," Darcy replies, taking another drink of wine, savoring it. "But I don't think a thirteen-year-old witch will upset the balance of anything with a few Sickels and some badges."

"We are talking about the same Hermione, aren't we? The same Hermione who upset the balance of time just in June with a Ministry issued Time Turner?"

"That was different," Darcy says seriously, giving him her hardest look to get her point across. "She's just trying to do a good thing, however misguided her judgement. Just . . ." She smiles, shrugging. "Wear the damn badge if you see her, and let her talk your ear off without interrupting her. Thank to me and my generosity, you're an official member. And who knows? Maybe, with some convincing, Hermione can start up a foundation for werewolves, as well."

Lupin laughs weakly, looking at her curiously from over the rim of his wine glass. He doesn't look well, but Darcy hadn't really expected him to, not with the full moon looming so near.

It seems he's had his hair cut, keeping it from falling into his eyes so often, but it's still shaggy and streaked with gray, covering a scar that Darcy knows is on his forehead, just above his right eyebrow. His beard, which is usually kept trimmed and well-groomed, is uneven and patchy again, still cropped short. But the shadows under his eyes, the heavy eyelids, the lack of color in his face (which she hopes will be restored after a few glasses of wine), make her feel slightly bad.

She feels an intruder in his home, feeling that a better decision would have been to just leave him alone and let him rest without her there to distract him. But Darcy thinks, if she were in his position, the anxiety of knowing what will happen in a few days time would nearly be impossible to deal with by herself. She would welcome Lupin to distract her, to ease her fears.

"You've been taking your potion, haven't you?" she asks him softly.

Lupin nods, scratching at the scruff on his face and dragging his fingers through his hair. "Yes. It's the last of it."

"Gemma will get you more," Darcy says. "I can brew some too, if you'd like. She'd be able to get some from the hospital, though."

"I hope you didn't come here just to fuss over me?" he teases, refilling his glass and topping Darcy's off. She blushes when she meets his eyes. "Not that I mind the fussing, but . . . I thought you would want to tell me about your first week back at Hogwarts. That's far more exciting, don't you think?"

Darcy frowns, but he gives her a warm and reassuring smile, his lips stretched tight across his face. She wants to kiss him now, to love him, to feel the scratch of his beard against her mouth, but she desperately wants him to be the one to kiss her first. Looking away to avoid temptation, Darcy stares into the fire, unsure of where to start. "It's been . . . good."

Lupin waits a moment to see if she'll continue, but she doesn't. "Are you going to elaborate, love? Or are you just going to leave it at that?"

"Sorry," Darcy replies sheepishly, busying herself with her wine. "It's just . . . so much has happened and I don't know where to start. I wish you could be there with me."

"Don't apologize, my love," Lupin says. "Has Severus been treating you fairly?"

Darcy thinks for a minute. "Yes," she answers truthfully, but still feeling it's an inadequate response. "He hasn't been unbearably mean . . . to me, anyway. And he even stopped Draco from harassing me on Tuesday. Oh! And he's also an official member of S.P.E.W. I bought his badge for him."

"You are generous, aren't you?" Lupin grins slyly. "Was he pleased?"

"Not particularly," Darcy smiles back, sipping her wine. "But not much pleases Professor Snape, does it?"

Lupin watches her chuckle to herself, smiling all the while, his eyes never leaving her face. After a moment, the smile fades, and he fingers the rim of his wine glass, narrowing his eyes before speaking. "I've heard rumors," he says quietly, and his tone makes Darcy suddenly very nervous. "Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes," Darcy answers quickly, and at the mention of his name, everything comes tumbling out of her. "And he's mad! He turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret! A ferret! And he bounced him up and down while everyone was watching and I told him to stop, but he didn't! Professor Snape said he was a great Auror, but I don't care—I don't like him at all! And then he came down to Snape's classroom just to come talk to me and to ask if I remember what Voldemort looked like when mum and dad died—and I do not like that creepy eye of his! I feel like he's seeing me naked whenever he looks at me, and I don't want him to see me naked!"

Lupin widens his eyes, looking incredulously at Darcy. Infuriatingly, he laughs. And despite the warmth that spreads through her chest at the sound of his laughter, she can't help but feel slightly angry at him for not taking her so seriously.

"Mad-Eye fought with us in the last war," he explains. "He wasn't always as . . . interesting, for lack of a better word, but chasing after Dark Wizards for more than half your life will make a man paranoid and, well, colorful. He's a good man, Darcy, just a little out of place there at Hogwarts. You've only known him for a week."

Darcy shrugs. She wants to believe that Lupin is right, but her irrational fear of Mad-Eye Moody continues to give her doubts. "Sirius is coming north, did you know?"

Mid-drink, Lupin coughs, inhaling half of his wine and soaking his shirt with the rest of it. Darcy hurries to fix it, pointing her wand at the red stain growing on his chest when he finally manages to ask, "What?"

Darcy's wand siphons off the wine. "He's worried about Harry's scar hurting. He wrote back Thursday evening, saying that he's been hearing strange rumors, and he mentioned something about Dumbledore reading the signs and . . . that's why he brought Moody out of retirement." Darcy finishes off her glass of wine, squirming in her seat and clearing her throat as Lupin refills her cup. "Harry asked me to write him and tell him not to come. I know Harry also sent him a letter this morning, but I . . . I couldn't do it."

Lupin inches closer to her, under the pretext of getting more comfortable. His leg brushes against hers, and Darcy feels as if she's still a student, flustered at the simplest contact. She drinks more wine, attributing the giddy feeling to being slightly tipsy already. But the feeling is a good one, and it's such a relief to be drinking, to be able to push all of her thoughts and anxieties out of her head, even if it's just for a few hours.

Darcy doesn't really expect Lupin to reply, and is surprised when he asks her, "You want to see him again?"

She nods. "Of course I do . . . and I know what could happen to him if he comes here. If he gets caught, it'll be our fault for encouraging him."

"Listen, I know Sirius," Lupin tells her, brushing his fingertips across her cheek, pushing some hair out of her face. "And I know that no matter how many letters you send him, no matter how much you plead and beg for him to stay where he is, if he's determined to come north, then there is no stopping him."

"I would hate to see him caught. You know as well as I do what they'll do to him."

"I know it seems risky and reckless," Lupin assures her. "It is risky and reckless. Believe me, Darcy, I can't bear the idea of Sirius being subjected to whatever cruel punishments the Ministry has in mind, but Sirius is clever and knows what the consequences are. He's well aware of the fate he could meet if he's caught." He gives her a small smile, taking Darcy's hand gently in his and kissing her knuckles very lightly. "Besides, do you think he would ever miss an opportunity to see you?"

His gentle tone makes Darcy smile in spite of herself. Lupin lowers her hand from his mouth, letting go. "He thinks there's a war coming, doesn't he? That's what he's talking about when he mentions the signs? Evidence that Voldemort is growing stronger? And the Death Eaters rallying again . . . killing again?"

Lupin doesn't answer, only frowns slightly at her.

"I'm afraid that, if there is a war, we won't win," she confesses, a feeling she's been privately harboring for some time.

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. "Let's not talk about this anymore," he pleads with her. "I don't want to upset you, Darcy, nor do I want you to be afraid while you're here. You're safe now. You needn't worry about a war while we're having such a wonderful time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"Can I ask you something?"

He flashes her a toothy grin. "Anything."

Darcy pauses, drinking in the sight of him looking so flushed. "It's about Emily."

"Oh?" Lupin's smile fades almost instantly. He exhales through his nose. "I read what she wrote in the Prophet. It was very touching. How is she?"

"I don't know, that's the thing," Darcy answers, feeling helpless. "She wrote to me after I wrote to her about the article she'd written, and she mentioned her dad isn't doing well."

"Her father is a Muggle, isn't he?" Lupin asks, and Darcy nods. "It's probably very hard on him, not able to understand as well as Emily does. He's probably never heard of a Death Eater in his life, and all of a sudden, his wife was killed by them."

"Do you think I should go and see them?"

"You know Emily better than I do. What do you think she would want?"

Darcy shifts, moving even closer to him. "Well, I would want to be with my friends, if it were me." But Darcy doesn't think it's a very satisfactory answer in the slightest. "Harry thinks I should give her space."

"I think you know her better than Harry, as well."

It's not a very direct answer, but it does make Darcy feel better about ignoring Harry's advice.

Darcy and Lupin finish the bottle of wine he'd bought her quickly enough, soon starting on the second bottle she had bought in Hogsmeade. She can feel the alcohol taking control—her forehead is damp with sweat, and the fire doesn't help at all. The room soon begins to spin, but she forces herself to focus on the television, trying to keep focused on one, solid, unmoving point.

Lupin's cheeks are flushed in earnest towards the end of the second bottle, his head in Darcy's lap as she slowly combs back his hair with her fingers. It's well into the night when he falls asleep, one leg draped over the arm of the sofa, the other hanging off, his foot planted firmly on the ground. Darcy continues to brush back his hair, trying to appreciate the present, trying to learn the exact feel of his hair, the exact color, trying to familiarize herself with the pout on his lips as he sleeps, the length of his eyelashes. She wonders if there will be a time in the near future when she won't have Lupin at her side . . . wonders if, in the near future, she won't be able to run her fingers through his hair, to have his head in her lap.

She takes one of his limp hands in her own. Lupin's palm is clammy, slick with sweat, likely not just from the fire and drink. He doesn't stir when she laces their fingers together, and Darcy hunches over, pressing her lips softly to his forehead.

"I love you," she breathes, but still he doesn't stir. Darcy smiles down at him, at the peaceful look across his face. She wonders what he dreams of, if he dreams of her, or if he—like Darcy—dreams of terrifying memories, of death and heartache, dreams full of fear.

Deciding quickly, Darcy leans down over him again, kissing him on the mouth. As soon as she pulls away, his eyes flutter open, and he gives her a tired smile. Lupin doesn't move his head from her lap.

"What have I ever done to deserve you?" he murmurs, closing his eyes again.

Darcy kisses him again, harder this time. When she breaks the kiss, she's breathless and the room starts to spin again, but not due to wine. She feels childish and foolish at the fact that he can make her so dizzy with love, that just a kiss can make her feel like that. "Come to bed," she whispers, kissing him all over his face.

He obliges, and they stumble from the sofa to the bedroom, already undressed when they reach the bed.

With every passing hour that Darcy is at Lupin's, her desire to stay grows stronger. Every smile, every laugh, every meal, every kiss—it is a lifestyle that she's craved for so long, being shown such affection and given so much attention like some neglected pup. She enjoys having a body to hold at night, enjoys receiving a kiss to the head each time Lupin walks past her as she sits on the sofa. She wonders how long it will be until she finally caves—until she finally gives it all up to be here with him, to spend the rest of her life being loved, the one thing she has always wanted.

Lupin tells her of his continuing job hunt, how the money in his vault has been dwindling, how he should probably learn some money management skills, and after Darcy offers to move some of her own money into his vault, Lupin insists he has enough left for a little while longer, giving her a dazzling smile. He talks to her for a while about Sirius, stories about her parents that make her smile, talking just to fill the silence sometimes.

It slightly unsettles Darcy sometimes how well that Lupin can understand her without having to hear her voice her problems—it seems that sometimes Lupin can tell from her expressions, or the way she carries herself, or how long she sleeps, what she's thinking. But Darcy is glad for it, and grateful.

She's become comfortable here—comfortable in a way she certainly isn't at Privet Drive, and a way she isn't at Hogwarts. Being here, with Lupin, makes her feel incredibly vulnerable. She keeps her guard down here, not having anything to fear. And being so comfortable makes it easy for Darcy to slip back into feelings of sorrow and guilt, makes it easy for Darcy's mind to trick her into a sense of deepest inadequacy.

She becomes suddenly fearful of Sirius coming north, more so than she'd been before, afraid of losing some of the last of her family. And during those stretches of silence when Lupin is busy doing one thing and Darcy another, she feels drained for all she has, exhausted and weak and wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for years.

As Lupin messes about in the kitchen on Saturday night, Darcy turns away from the black-and-white movie feature on the television, peeking over the back of the sofa at him. Today he looks, not completely healthy, but well-rested, his hair tousled and sleeves rolled up to reveal the bite mark on his forearm. She wonders if, when he's alone at his home, he also falls back into these feelings of self-loathing. If, like her, his thoughts grab hold of him, forcing him to see the truth he doesn't want to face. She wonders if guilt over her parents death and Sirius' imprisonment still eat at him, if he feels he doesn't deserve Darcy in the slightest, like she does. She wonders if Lupin has a hard time getting out of bed some days, or can't bring himself to enjoy the little things.

"Are you going to ask me something, or just stare at me all night?" Lupin asks her distractedly, putting a few clean dishes away, his wand lying unused on the counter. He glances quickly at her, smiling upon seeing the blush creeping on her face.

"I'm not staring," she answers defiantly. "I'm . . . admiring you."

"Is there a difference?"

Darcy shrugs, her chin resting atop the sofa. "Let me look at you properly."

"You're checking me out, aren't you?" He laughs. "You're making me nervous, scrutinizing me the way you are."

"I told you, I'm admiring you." Darcy smiles again at the sound of his low laughter over the clinking of dishes. "Have I thanked you?"

"For what?"

She smiles. "For everything. For letting me stay here, for taking care of me, for cooking me food—"

"You don't have to thank me, Darcy," Lupin replies, not unkindly. "I'm not doing it as a favor to you." He puts away the remaining dishes and moves closer to her. Darcy sits up on her knees, and when Lupin runs his fingers through her hair, she rests her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes and listening to the steady drumming of his heart. "I do it because I care about you very much, love. Surely you know that."

"I don't deserve you," she murmurs.

Lupin laughs out loud. "You must be the first person I've ever heard say that to me."

Sunday is full of laughter and teasing, laying in bed with their foreheads pressed together and noses brushing and lips dangerously close. It's full of hand-holding and kisses on each other's cheeks, fingers carding through soft hair and the tender kisses up and down each other's bodies. Darcy forces herself to think of the present and only of the present, forces herself to appreciate what she has now, whatever this is between them that she doesn't ever want to end.

When was the last time she had been content? The last time she'd been truly happy, with no worries and no troubles? She can't even remember.

Yet when he touches her with the utmost gentility, when his fingertips cause the most sensitive parts of her to burn hot, it clouds her thoughts and the only thing she can think of is how good it feels, how much she loves him, how much she wants to stay. Darcy kisses him until her mouth is sore, touches him until she's sure there's no part of his skin she hasn't felt beneath her fingers. And when evening rolls around, it's only reluctantly that Darcy forces herself out of bed to pack what few things she's brought with her.

"I'll make sure you have a room at the Three Broomsticks for next weekend," Darcy says absently, throwing her clothes back into her bag. Lupin watches her from the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, moonlight spilling through the window onto his bare chest. "Gemma is coming on Saturday to meet with us, and I thought maybe we could sneak Harry down to Hogsmeade with the Invisibility Cloak to spend time with us."

Lupin cocks an eyebrow. "Feeling reckless, are we?"

She grins, looking over her should at him. He looks so handsome, casual and partially naked, an easy smile gracing his scruffy face. Darcy stands up straight and turns to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and blushing fiercely. "You know," she begins awkwardly, "I've never loved anyone the way that I love you."

Lupin smiles wider, but there's something sad about it. Darcy turns around quickly, her heart racing. "Darcy, come here," he says quietly, patting the bed. "I want to tell you something."

Darcy obeys without hesitation, making her way to the bed and sitting on top of the blankets. Lupin grabs her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"I'm not as young as I once was," Lupin sighs, bringing her hand to his face, unfolding her fingers so she's cupping his cheek. Darcy moves closer as he nuzzles into her palm, his hand falling into his lap. "I want to be very clear with you about my intentions before you find out in a less preferable way that . . . perhaps this isn't what you want."

Darcy lowers her hand, her brow furrowed. "Is this not . . . have I done something wrong? I'm sorry, I—"

"Please, don't apologize, my love, you've done nothing wrong." He smiles weakly at her, sitting up in the semi-darkness and throwing shadows across the floor. "I don't have much, you know that. I never have, and I never will because of what I am. But you, Darcy . . . you could have everything."

"But I don't want everything," Darcy whispers back. "I only want you."

Lupin chuckles. "Come here." Darcy swings a leg over him, sitting in his lap and kissing him on the mouth. He touches her face, looking up into her eyes, sighing heavily again. "You are so young, and you've not been given the chance to really live yet. What happens when you're set free, given the opportunity to do anything, and you decide that freedom quite suits you?"

Frowning, Darcy wraps her arms loosely around Lupin's shoulders. "What are you saying?"

"Are you absolutely positive this is what you want? Because I want this for as long as I have left to me. But if you don't, I won't stop you from leaving."

Darcy hesitates. She thought it would come easy to her, the reassurances and promise of of course this will be forever. She had thought it before, wanted him for the rest of her life, never wanting him to leave her side, but she's always been a romantic, and she's always desired a family, but she had never expected her life to go this way. All those months ago—almost a year ago now—she and Lupin had walked the grounds together and she had confided in him her biggest dream, of having a family and children who would always be loved by their parents. But when she'd told him that then, Darcy hadn't been talking about a family or a life with him.

It strikes her just now how old he really is—over a decade her senior, likely ready to settle and have children of his own—does he even want children? Darcy had been so distracted by the idea of not being alone anymore that she hadn't really given a whole lot of thought about their future. All she had given thought to was her own future, a future that involved protecting Harry, being by his side throughout whatever was to come. How could she ever have a regular life with Lupin while Harry was in danger?

"Darcy?" Lupin rasps. There's a crease between his eyebrows, and he tucks some of her hair behind her ears, clenching his jaw. "What is it? What are you thinking?"

With her arms still draped over her shoulders, Darcy kisses his forehead, and he leans into her, his forehead against her collarbone. Darcy tangles her fingers in the back of his hair, holding him to her. "I'm not . . ." She shifts uncomfortably in his lap. "Remus, I'm not ready for . . . I mean, I'm happy with what we have right now."

He looks up at her for a long time and kisses the exposed skin just above the collar of her shirt. Goosebumps rise on her flesh and Darcy purses her lips.

"I'm sorry if it's not enough for you," she murmurs, resting her chin atop his head. "This is all very new to me . . . and real. It's always been Harry and me for all of our lives, and I've never felt comfortable being someone's, but I want to be yours." She pauses. "I want you to be mine."

"Darcy," Lupin smiles, kissing her neck, nipping her skin lightly. "Never apologize for that. What we have now is more than I ever could have asked for, and if you're not ready for something more serious, that's all right. We have years left, my love." He pulls away from her and leans against the headboard of the bed, eyes roving over her face. "I know this is different than anything you've ever done, and I know that you have a lot on your plate, and I'm willing to take things slow, but I need you to tell me what you want."

But his words don't reassure her. Darcy feels guilty for her inability to fully commit, her inability to give him what he wants. She appreciates the love he has for her, and it warms her bones. Darcy takes a moment to think and then climbs off him, closing her bag and swinging it over her shoulder. "I should be getting back," she says.

"I'll miss you terribly."

"I'll see you next weekend?"

"Or any day during the week."

"Can I write to you if I start to feel lonely at Hogwarts?"

"Always."

Darcy nods, and Lupin stands up from his spot on the bed, pulling a shirt on over his head and walking with her to the front door. "Remus, I'm s—"

"Don't say it." His tone is firm, but he smiles at her all the same. "Give my regards to Harry and company."

Lupin gives her a kiss on the cheek, but when Darcy Disapparates from the front step, she regrets not kissing him properly before leaving.