Saturday morning is crisp and chill, a thin layer of frost covering what dead grass pops out from between the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. The wind is gentle today, but all around the small village, it whips at the snow-covered trees and at the top of the mountain peaks, making the snow dance and twirl in the air. The birds sing their songs, villagers and visitors alike have already begun their daily routines, opening their shops and visiting the post office. A beautiful, cloudless day, the sky a bright blue, the sun blazing—the perfect day.

As soon as Darcy and Lupin step foot outside the Three Broomsticks, her breath clouds in front of her and she shivers, hearing the crunch of frost underfoot. Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, she gives her head a shake to get her hair out of her face. Lupin walks out behind her, attempting to flatten his shaggy hair, his eyes still afflicted with sleep, but a crooked smile on his face as Darcy takes his hand and squeezes, lacing their fingers together. His hand, much bigger than her own, envelopes her hand and warms her entire body. He lets her pull him down the High Street eagerly, her long legs moving quickly between shoppers.

Darcy decides to do more window shopping than real shopping, pointing out to Lupin things that she likes, things that she thinks he would like, things that she thinks anyone would like. She turns around and kisses him outside Scrivenshaft's, kisses him several times on the mouth, smiling each time against his lips. Lupin's cheeks turn faintly pink each time, but he doesn't resist in the slightest.

When they reach the fence bordering the village, overlooking the Shrieking Shack, he comes up behind her and wraps his arms around Darcy's shoulders, hugging her tight to his body. Lupin kisses the top of her head and then rests his chin atop her red hair. They look at the desolate building in silence for a long time, and when Lupin urges her to move on, Darcy spins in his hold and kisses him again, but not a quick kiss like the other ones she had been giving him on the High Street. This is a sweet kiss, a slow kiss, pulling away after a few seconds when Lupin lowers his hands back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to her before they go, and his eyes are heavy with guilt instead of sleep now.

Darcy's shoulder twinges for the first time in a long time, but she ignores it. "It's all right."

But it isn't that night in the Shrieking Shack that she's thinking of. It seems a lifetime ago she had been there for the first time—she had seemed so young then, with her shoulder torn to ribbons, Professor Snape carrying her out as she bled profusely all the way back to the castle. Darcy doesn't carry any resentment in her heart towards Lupin for it—not anymore.

She remembers the second time she'd been inside the Shrieking Shack, when she'd come face to face with Sirius for the first time in over ten years. The sight of her godfather, seeing the recognition in his eyes, the way he'd held her to his chest, all while Peter Pettigrew had writhed on the floor, begging for mercy, pleading at her feet like scum, like the rat he is. It had all been so overwhelming that night, to feel all those emotions all at once: fear and anger, pain, love, confusion, guilt . . . she had felt them all at once, in one night, over the span of a few hours, and it all seems like a dream now. Had that really been in June? It has been months now since Sirius had fled, and she can't help but wonder:

Where is he now?

Darcy wraps her arm around Lupin's waist as they make their way back up the High Street, the crowd growing thicker as the time slips by. She looks up at him, admiring the way the sun catches him just right, making his hair seem to shine gold, illuminating the gray streaked throughout.

He grows more handsome with each passing day, she thinks. Each time she sees him, his smile is a bit more easy, a bit more relaxed. He's starting to seem more like the charismatic professor she had met about a year ago, much more comfortable receiving her affection, and much more comfortable expressing it in return.

It makes her proud, happy even, when Lupin drapes his arm around her shoulders, swaying with her back towards the Three Broomsticks. The feeling is alien to her—a feeling she last associates with her reunion with Sirius, and before that . . . with Lupin, when he had given into her completely, taking her in his own bed. The memory still makes her blush.

Darcy had thought herself well prepared to be with him after having slept with Oliver all those times, but Lupin wasn't an eighteen-year-old boy, and it continues to be both an extremely embarrassing and comforting memory even now. He'd laughed against her lips to shush her, kissed her to stifle her soft moans. He had asked her on three separate occasions, 'are you all right, kitten?', and it had made her stomach roll with pleasure to hear him whisper it into her ear each and every time.

She wonders what her godfather would have to say about that. What would Sirius say if he knew what happened behind Lupin's bedroom door that night? It sends shivers down her spine and she curls her right hand into a fist.

He's not Vernon. Sirius would never hurt me.

But then again, she thinks, Sirius' disappointment and shame might even be worse than a swift slap from Vernon. Better to get it over with and give it a few days to heal than isolate some of the only true family she has left over a man.

"What are you thinking?" Lupin asks her, looking down at her with a smirk on his face. "You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing. My cheeks are cold."

"No, you're definitely blushing."

"I'm not!"

"You are," Lupin smiles. "But I've told you a hundred times, I think it's cute." And to Darcy's great surprise, he moves quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning in, kissing her hard. She laughs against him as he continues to pepper her face with more kisses—

Someone clears their throat and Lupin tears himself away from her instantly. His arms retract from her waist and they both look towards the sight of the noise to find Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway of the Three Broomsticks, smiling at them. Both Darcy and Lupin have the grace to blush.

"Professor," Darcy breathes, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Headmaster." Lupin inclines his head stiffly, his entire body tense.

"Please forgive my intrusion," Dumbledore says apologetically, clasping his hands together in front of his robes. "I did not mean to interrupt, but I thought I'd find you here on this beautiful day, Darcy. Remus, may I borrow her for a moment? I promise you that we will not take long, and I will return her to you safe and sound."

Lupin looks awkwardly at Darcy, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll . . . order us some food, yes?"

Darcy nods and Lupin smiles weakly at Dumbledore, squeezing past him and through the door. The bells jingle as the door swings open and closed, and Dumbledore waits until Lupin has completely disappeared inside before requesting that she walk with him. Darcy agrees, and she and Dumbledore stray slightly off the High Street, away from eavesdroppers and disturbances.

"I'm sorry about that . . . display, Professor Dumbledore," she murmurs, her face a bright red, eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. "I suppose it would be decent for us to try and be a bit more . . . discreet."

"Are you apologizing for the act itself, or apologizing because I happened to bear witness to it?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but she can't seem to find an appropriate response. When Darcy looks up sheepishly, she finds Dumbledore looking down at her, his genuine smile still glued to his face. Darcy clears her throat again. "The latter, I suppose. I promise, I won't force you to bear witness to that ever again, sir."

Dumbledore chuckles. "I have thought for a long time on what to say to you, in the hopes of getting my point across," he sighs, letting his hands dangle awkwardly at his sides, letting the wind take his long beard. "But I have come to conclusion that what I do have to say will be meaningless, and likely will not sway your opinion." He gives her a sideways look. "You know that the both of you have done grievous wrong, yes?"

"Yes, sir, I know. And I'm very sorry."

He hums, seemingly amused. "What a feeling! To be in love! Almost unreal, isn't it?" he asks lightly, but Darcy doesn't answer. She only shrugs her shoulders indifferently, feeling rather uncomfortable with the topic of their conversation. "I have been meaning to sit down with you lately, just to check-in, but you are quite the busy young woman, aren't you? Your schedule must rival mine, I daresay. I would hate to impose upon you while surrounded by friends, doing much better things than making conversation with the headmaster."

"Oh," is all she can think to say. Darcy glances up and him and smiles politely at him. "You should have told me, Professor Dumbledore. I would have taken some time to meet with you. You're welcome to visit at anytime."

"You are kind," he smiles, looking down at her again. "Professor Snape has informed me that lessons have been going well with you at his side."

"Did he really say that?" Darcy asks, genuinely surprised, but pleased with herself. "I mean, I don't really do much, sir. I help him grade some homework sometimes and I help where I can during classes, but . . . did he really say that, sir, or are you pulling my leg?"

Professor Dumbledore gives her a knowing look, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "Have you been kind to Professor Snape lately, Darcy?"

Darcy wants to say yes, but feels as if it's not quite the truth. And judging from Dumbledore's expression, he knows it, as well. "I may have said some things I shouldn't have," she confesses shamefully. "I'm so sorry, sir."

"Please don't concern yourself any further with it. I would not allow Professor Snape to send you away over a few choice words," Dumbledore chortles. When his laughter dies away, they walk in silence for a few minutes, their pace so slow that it's difficult for Darcy to keep.

"Professor Dumbledore, may I ask you something? It's about Sirius." Darcy waits for his consent before continuing with her question. "Have you had any word from him? It's been weeks since Harry or I have heard anything, and I'm starting to get worried. Professor Snape doesn't help, of course."

Dumbledore gives her a sad look that makes Darcy frowns. "No," he says, and Darcy finds it such an inadequate answer, it angers her. "But I don't think you should start to worry just yet. If something did happen to Sirius, I think the entire country would know within the hour. I know you miss him very much, Darcy."

Darcy lets out a frustrated sigh. "I just . . . I thought things would be different now," she admits to him, running her fingers through her hair. "That night in the Shrieking Shack, I thought we were going to walk out of there and Sirius and Harry and I would be a proper family. I thought I would be going to live with him, and now . . . isn't there anything we can do?"

Considering her for a moment as they walk, Dumbledore seems to be choosing his words carefully. Part of Darcy thinks he knows more about Sirius than he lets on. "You know the kind of man Cornelius Fudge is," he begins, stroking his gray beard. "Perhaps not as well as I, but you caught a glimpse of his true self at the end of your last year. He refused to listen to you, refused to hear any other explanation of what happened all those years ago. There were eyewitnesses that night who swore that it was Sirius who blew up the street. I even testified against him, having believed Sirius to be your parents' Secret-Keeper. There is nothing we can do now until more evidence comes to light, or until Peter Pettigrew decides to show his face again."

Swallowing the lump in her throat and willing herself not to cry, Darcy asks, "May I be blunt, Professor?"

Dumbledore seems surprised, but certainly not offended. "Of course you may."

"Why did you tell Hagrid I had to go to the Dursleys? Why couldn't I have gone with Sirius? We loved each other, I know we did."

It takes a minute for him to answer, and he seems deep in thought. "I regret that your aunt and uncle have not treated you with the respect you deserve," Dumbledore says finally. "And I am truly sorry for it. But Sirius is reckless and always has been hot-headed and impulsive, even when he was just a boy. You were safer at your aunt and uncle's, and Harry was safer with you."

"They hate us. They would be happy if we never came back."

"Darcy, I feel I should have told you this a long time ago," he sighs, and they stop at the edge of the village. Darcy grips the fence, gazing down into the valley far below them. "Perhaps when you first came to Hogwarts as a girl. I am immensely proud of you, for your dedication to your brother, for picking up where your parents left off. You have done far more than I would ever have expected from you, and you have exceeded my expectations in every way."

"I had no choice," Darcy replies, blushing. "I had to care for him, or no one else would have."

Dumbledore shakes his head slightly. "Of course you had a choice!" he answers. "There is always a choice! And I am proud of the choice you have made. Not many would be able to so determinedly choose between what is right, and what is easy.

When Dumbledore walks Darcy back around to the Three Broomsticks, Lupin already has food set in front of him, a plate waiting for Darcy, still steaming. He looks nervous to see Dumbledore, standing at the sight of them entering. Eyes watery with tears, Darcy reaches out for his hands, and Lupin pulls her to him as Dumbledore bids them a warm good-bye.

"Maybe we could go back upstairs," she murmurs against him, nuzzling into his chest.

So Lupin pays for their meal and they eat in the room Gemma had so kindly reserved for him. Darcy tells him what Dumbledore had said, about what she had asked him, even telling Lupin what the Headmaster said in regards to seeing them together. Lupin blushes, and Darcy smiles at this, kissing the tip of his nose, resulting in making him look more boyish than ever.

Darcy brushes her own nose against his, remembering fondly the first time she had ever kissed him, soft and tender. She remembers her face burning, stumbling through the door, her knees weak from the feeling of his lips on hers. "Let him see us," she whispers, looking from his lips into his eyes. "Let the world see us. I'm happy."

"Truly?" he breathes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Truly."

She's barely finished saying the single word when Lupin captures her lips in a bruising kiss. His fingers whisper over her cheekbone, as gentle a touch as when she first felt his fingers upon her face all those months ago.

Within the next few weeks, the students are informed of the delegation set to arrive the day before Halloween. Their excitement is evident, and Darcy hears much talk of those who seek the glory and riches of winning the Triwizard Tournament, wondering what their guests will be like. But while the students are eager to reach the end of the week, the teachers all seem on edge, threatening detentions and growing frustrated with students who can't keep up with their work. The castle is even deep-cleaned, every spot of dirt scrubbed from every corner and crevice and once, Filch even scolds Darcy for tracking dirt in the entrance hall.

"Do it again, and it'll be detention! Mayhaps even a hanging from the toes!"

"I'm not even a student anymore!" Darcy shouts after him, as Filch grumbles away, searching for a mop. She turns to Carla, who's at her side. "Can he even do that?"

"Give you a detention, or hang you by the toes?" Carla asks, an eyebrow raised. "I'd be more worried about being quartered by hippogriffs or something."

"You think he'd actually do that?"

"As if Professor Snape would allow Filch to torture his most prized and treasured assistant," Carla chuckles, but nothing about it is humorous to Darcy. "Tell me, Darcy, is it professors in general that take to you, or is it just men who knew your parents?"

Darcy stops walking suddenly, and Carla takes a few steps before realizing Darcy has stopped. The words sound as if they should have come from Gemma's mouth—a joke, but a blunt and edgy joke, like Gemma's known for. But to hear the words come from Carla's mouth is hurtful, especially upon seeing the mocking smile on her face.

"That's not funny, Carla," she snaps. "Why would you say that?"

Carla laughs nervously, opening and closing her mouth, attempting to find words to fix the damage she's done. "It was just a joke." Regardless, she slips away, disappearing into the throng of students that emerge from the Great Hall.

Friday morning at breakfast, something finally happens that makes Darcy nearly jump three feet out of her chair. Hedwig soars in with the other post owls, dropping a letter at Harry's feet, and instead of perching by Harry to pester him for a treat, Hedwig continues to soar straight over to Darcy with a second letter, before dashing back off to her brother.

Max is already clutching her shoulder, having brought Darcy the day's paper, and she feeds him bits of sausage much to Professor Snape's disgust, and Professor McGonagall's. From the opposite side of Dumbledore, McGonagall reprimands her severely ("There will be none of that once our guests arrive, Potter!"). With trembling fingers, Darcy tears open the letter and pulls it out, tilting the parchment so Snape is unable to read over her shoulder.

Darcy,

I'm hiding out in the country again. Harry's last letter has me worried, the one he sent before he tried to convince me not to come back. I'm sure you're excelling at Hogwarts. I would expect nothing less from James and Lily's daughter, my own goddaughter.

Keep an eye on Harry, and send me any information he's keen on keeping from your dear old godfather. Hopefully we'll be able to talk properly soon. Call on Remus if you're in need of anything, and see to it that he keeps his hands off you.

All of my love,

Sirius

Darcy scrunches her nose. Too late, she thinks, blushing. If only Sirius knew that his hands had already touched every inch of her skin . . . what would he say then? Darcy would hate to tell him of their involvement via owl post, but she's beginning to see no other choice. She can't see how they'll be able to speak properly without drawing Sirius into the open. It's too risky to send his exact location with an owl—there's always a chance the Ministry could intercept their letter, and they'd likely send all the Aurors at their disposal to kill him or capture him, whichever they see fit. Sirius could send her a different location, a random one, but it would need to be a place that Darcy could get to, a place that she would be able to Apparate to, an empty field, or an abandoned house . . .

She lowers the letter from her face. Why hadn't she thought of it before? A place where no one could find him . . . where Aurors weren't watching for him, waiting for him. It would be risky bringing Sirius so close to the city, but it would be far enough away that Darcy couldn't see how anyone would even know he's there.

Pushing her chair away from the table and startling Max, Darcy makes for the doors that lead to the entrance hall. "Come on, Max! You can rest later!" Max hoots and follows, spreading his wings wide and flying out the open doors. As Darcy passes the Gryffindor table, she clicks her tongue at Hedwig, whose beak is currently buried in Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice. "Hedwig, come!" She doesn't answer any of Harry's sputtered questions on her way out.

She takes the marble stairs three at a time, racing up to her cozy apartment with both owls following her. Once inside, she tears her bedroom apart, looking for a single blank piece of parchment. She finds one in the drawer of her nightstand, along with ink and a quill.

Tearing the parchment in half, she hastily scribbles her first letter, explaining her stroke of brilliance and would he please, please allow Sirius to come visit, if only for a few hours, just for them to talk. She gives this letter to Hedwig, urging her to fly at top speed to Lupin's. Tired and irritable (though Darcy thinks Hedwig has always been slightly touchy), the snowy owl nips at her fingers before taking off.

Her second letter, in which she again explains her stroke of brilliance, begs Sirius to consider making a stop in Yorkshire, throwing in lots of things to guilt trip him into agreeing, and then sweetens the pot by finishing the letter with:

From your lonely goddaughter, with all of my love.

"To Sirius, Max. Find him," she whispers to her owl. Max also nips at her fingers, much more gentle and affectionate than Hedwig had been. She scratches him under the beak and then sends him off through her window.

Darcy is anxious all throughout classes that day. Professor Snape tells her several times to stop bouncing her leg, but she can't help it. It always starts right back up afterwards. She chews her nails, bites on her lower lip, rolls her shoulders. How could Lupin not have thought of this before? How could Sirius not have considered it? The prospect of seeing him again, and possibly soon . . . to be in a home that she feels comfortable in, with the man that she loves, and her godfather.

Lessons end early on Friday. Professor Snape urges her to change out of her potion-stained robes lest someone have his head for his assistant dressing so poorly, and Darcy doesn't protest. She changes quickly and into something much nicer before rejoining Snape in the entrance hall as he escorts some Slytherin students around. It takes some time, but with both Darcy and Snape snapping at all of them to form up, Slytherin House is quiet before all the others. Darcy holds her position at the back of the student columns at Snape's side, scanning the grounds for a sign of some form of transport.

Darcy pulls her cloak around her as tight as possible, the dusk weather much colder than she had expected. "How are they getting here?" she whispers to Professor Snape. "I don't know anything about these . . . er . . ."

"Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," he reminds her flatly. "Just watch, you'll see."

Professor Snape's eyes are fixed upon the lake, and Darcy keeps her eyes trained on the water, as well. But when someone shouts, "Oh, look! Up there!", Darcy blinks, looking wildly around for a sign of anything. She finds that sign in the sky, in the shape of a massive pumpkin, five times the size of one of Hagrid's, or somewhere around that. It grows bigger as it comes closer and closer, and Snape murmurs in her ear, "That will be Beauxbatons."

The Beauxbatons delegates arrive in a carriage, pulled by horses that look big enough for Hagrid to ride comfortably, horses the size of which she's never seen. A beautiful powder blue color, the carriage comes hard towards the grounds to land, not even seeming to slow down. Darcy's heart leaps in her throat and she clutches Professor Snape's sleeve as the carriage and horses touch down with a resounding crash!, making the earth rumble beneath Darcy's feet. She watches carefully, unsure of what kind of people to expect, but she doesn't expect this.

First out of the carriage comes a woman—taller than she has any right to be, stocky and big and built like Hagrid. She looks stern in a very Professor McGonagall way, her lips pursed as she surveys her surroundings, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun, her curved nose making her look like some enormous bird. She sweeps over to Professor Dumbledore, gathering her black robes in the front like a gown and seemingly floating across the grass. Behind her, about a dozen students exit the carriage, shivering in their thin robes, some with haughty looks, while others are curious and slightly nervous at the sight of the looming castle.

"Madame Maxime is the Headmistress," Professor Snape explains quietly, his eyes following her all the way to Dumbledore. Darcy hardly hears him, still startled at the sheer size of the woman.

Upon finishing her conversation with Dumbledore at the head of the Hogwarts students, Madame Maxime beckons her small group of students to follow, and they obey quickly and without question or hesitation. They make their way up the courtyard steps and cross over into the entrance hall with the utmost grace, and Darcy watches after them, noticing how good-looking every single one of the students are. As soon as they're gone, disappeared into the Great Hall, Darcy brings her attention back to the grounds, searching the sky once more.

"The lake this time," Professor Snape says, poking her arm to catch her attention.

Darcy looks again at the still water of the lake. But it's not still anymore—the surface begins to bubble, giving Darcy the impression of a boiling potion in her cauldron, and waves ripple from the center, crashing against the banks of the lake. The water begins to swirl in the center, until something emerges from a whirlpool, the water rushing against the land now. The something continues to grow, reaching towards the sky—a long pole lengthening from the depths of the lake.

"It's a ship!" Darcy gasps, flashing Professor Snape an amused smile.

The ship is just like the horses, bigger than Darcy's ever seen or imagined, but now that she thinks on it, Darcy isn't sure she's ever really seen a proper ship before at all. It's not very clean, but instead looks as though it's had a thousand adventures before, almost ghostly in the moonlight, like a pirate ship might look. The students disembark by way of a thick plank thrown down from the side of the ship, and Darcy frowns. All of these students remind her of Oliver Wood in a way, broad in the shoulders and bulky for seventeen- and eighteen-year-old witches and wizards. Though, they're all wrapped in thick fur coats with heavy hats upon their heads, likely exaggerated their build.

"Dumbledore!"

Darcy can hear Durmstrang's Headmaster across the grounds, and she looks him over while she can. It's growing dark and it's difficult to see clearly, but there's no mistaking the silvery hair of his, the thick, dark brows, the very natural sneer on his face. Her eyes can the crowd of students as they approach, and she does a double-take, seeing someone familiar . . .

"Is that Viktor Krum?" she asks Professor Snape, but he doesn't have a certain answer for her. His dark eyes are fixed on the other Headmaster.

Darcy decides she'll have to write Gemma straightaway to inform her that Viktor Krum is here. More than likely, Gemma will be eager to return for her next meeting with Madam Pomfrey, more than eager for a glimpse of the Quidditch player she'd taken a liking to over the summer.

The Durmstrang Headmaster leads Viktor Krum towards the castle with his hand on his shoulder, the other students trailing behind. They pass very close to Darcy, and when the Headmaster gives her a polite little nod of acknowledgement, making to climb the steps up to the entrance hall, he freezes, turning around and releasing his grip on Krum's shoulder.

His eyes flick from Darcy to Professor Snape and back again. His lips twist into a horrifying smile, revealing yellowed and rotting teeth. Darcy blinks at him in surprise.

"Severus," he murmurs, grinning at Snape. "This must be Miss Darcy Potter? I had heard rumors that you had taken her on as your apprentice. I did not know that position existed until now." The Headmaster takes Darcy's hand in his, meeting some resistance, but bringing her hand to his chapped lips to kiss her knuckles and lifting his gray eyes to meet her own. "You are even more beautiful than they say."

"That's quite enough, Karkaroff," Professor Snape hisses suddenly. Karkaroff seems caught off guard by the cutting edge in Snape's words, loosening his grip on Darcy's hand. She pulls her hand away from Karkaroff, taking a step back to stand at Snape's side. "Darcy, this is Igor Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang."

"It's very nice to meet you, Headmaster," Darcy says, giving him a forced smile and curtseying.

"Keeping her close, are you, Severus?" Karkaroff asks with a dry chuckle. He claps his heavy hand on Krum's shoulder again, who had watched the entire scene play out. "It's quite understandable. We all have our favorites . . ." He leads the rest of his students into Hogwarts, and Darcy turns to Professor Snape, hoping for an explanation as to why Karkaroff unsettles her so.

Professor Snape looks around the heads of his students. He grabs Darcy's upper arm, gently pushing her towards the steps and inside the castle. "Be careful around Igor Karkaroff, Darcy," he whispers to her, making sure no one else is listening. "His past is tinged with Dark Magic. Be careful about what you tell him, and be certain to stay close to me when he's skulking about, do you understand?"

Darcy shudders as a chill runs down her spine. Professor Snape's warning makes her nervous, but she's feeling rather confident as they enter the Great Hall together, side by side, as equals. "You don't have to tell me twice."