"Go for his bishop," Darcy whispers into Hermione's ear. "He always uses his bishop."

"No, go for his rook," Gemma urges Hermione in her other ear, pointing at the chessboard. "It's the safer choice."

"Hermione, do you really trust Gemma's judgement over mine?"

"You've never been good at chess," Gemma laughs, slapping Hermione's arm playfully. "Hermione, when have I ever led you astray?"

"Hermione, remember all the things I've ever done for you? A good way to repay me for those things would be to get his bishop."

Hermione looks from Darcy to Gemma to Lupin, who's seated across the table and waiting patiently for Hermione to take her turn, the corners of his mouth upturned in a smug little smile. Harry watches the match from Lupin's side, still bitter from his shameful defeat at Lupin's own hand. Hermione reaches out tentatively for her knight, looking hard into Lupin's face for a reaction. He only smiles at her, and she tears her eyes away from him only when Gemma slaps at Hermione's hand.

"Don't use your knight!" Gemma hisses.

"She can use her knight!" Darcy retorts.

Hermione slams her palms upon the wooden table, and when she speaks, her voice is shrill and tense. "You're both making me extremely nervous!"

Without hesitation, Hermione reaches out and grabs her queen, moving it forward a few spaces to steal away one of Lupin's isolated knights. Lupin chuckles, pushing his bishop across the board. "Checkmate," he says, leaning back in his seat, flushed from drink and success. "You should have listened to Darcy. I am rather partial to my bishops."

"Honestly, Hermione," Darcy sighs, scowling at Lupin and making him laugh. "You think I don't know the way his mind words?"

Hermione frowns, cleaning up the pieces. "You were both talking very fast and saying completely different things!"

Darcy puts her hands on Hermione's shoulders and gives them a slight squeeze, getting to her feet. Her room is littered with plates that still have food on them, empty bottles of butterbeer and wine and a half-empty bottle of firewhisky. Exploding Snap cards still lay out, unused, on the coffee table, and clothes have been shed and thrown over the backs of furniture—Harry's sweater is tossed over the sofa, and Lupin's heavy traveling cloak is folded neatly on her bed. Gemma's own expensive cloak rests on the sofa.

A few recently taken Muggle photographs are scattered across counter-tops and tables. Many of them are of Darcy and Gemma, their teeth bared in obnoxious smiles, one picture Hermione had taken of Darcy lying in Gemma's arms on the sofa during their Exploding Snap game. Darcy has already added another photograph to her collection upon the mantle, however—a photograph courtesy of Gemma. Darcy looks at it now, a candid photo of Darcy laughing at something Lupin had said, and him smiling down at her with the sweetest smile she's ever seen.

The Triwizard Tournament is temporarily forgotten for the evening, as the five of them continue to laugh, and Lupin tells them all a scandalous story about he and Sirius from when they were merely boys. Gemma, drunken than anymore, leans into Lupin after her finishes and tells him very seriously, "I know that Sirius and I are very, very, very distantly related by marriage or something, but does that make it weird if I were to come onto him?"

"Yes!" Darcy says suddenly, before Lupin can answer. "You can't just . . . my godfather is off-limits!"

"Hark who's talking," Gemma replies with her eyebrows raised.

"No," Darcy snaps, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "No, no, no! I know your idea of romance and I can't even bear to picture—"

Gemma roars with laughter, cutting Darcy off. "And I know your disgusting idea of romance," she teases. "Holding hands by the fireside, reading poetry in each other's arms, doing it by candlelight—"

Darcy flushes painfully and Harry quickly averts his sister's eyes. Lupin and Hermione's cheeks turn pink and Ron's ears turn bright red. Gemma laughs at them all, getting to her feet and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, looking at Darcy and nodding towards her bedroom. Darcy runs her fingers through Lupin's hair as she gets up and follows, ruffling Harry's when she passes him.

"Darcy . . ." Harry mutters to Darcy's back, trying to flatten his hair. She glances over her shoulder and sees Lupin's left his mussed up hair alone, smiling after her.

Darcy turns back to Gemma, following her into the bedroom and closing the door behind her. Gemma already has an unlit cigarette between her lips, prying open the window above Darcy's bed, which likely hasn't been opened in years.

The cool November air hits Darcy full in the face and she wraps herself in Lupin's discarded cloak, joining Gemma at the window. Gemma offers her a cigarette, and Darcy is struck with a sudden feeling of nostalgia and a longing to be back in seventh year again.

Darcy grabs her wand from underneath her pillow, using it to light her cigarette and taking a long drag. It's harsh after not smoking one for so long, but it's comforting all the same. It reminds her of better days spent in an elongated bathtub, gossiping about boys and drinking wine out of mismatched glasses. She and Gemma stick their heads out the window to keep the smoke from lingering in the bedroom.

"I'm with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow," Gemma says, much more soft-spoken than she'd just been in front of everyone else. "Dumbledore said I could sleep here if you'd have me."

"Of course," Darcy says, smiling. "I don't think we've ever had a proper sleep-over before, have we?"

Gemma laughs. "No. I don't think we have." She narrows her eyes at Darcy, stifling a smile that threatens her face. "Are you serious about Sirius?"

"Yes," Darcy answers breathlessly. "You can't flirt with my godfather. Promise me."

"All right. I promise . . . that I'll try not to flirt with him."

Darcy studies Gemma's profile for a moment as they continue to smoke in silence. She's always thought Gemma a rather beautiful girl, even with a cigarette hanging between her lips, but ever since Mrs. Duncan had been murdered, there's a weariness to her that makes Gemma look much older and solemn. Her eyes are heavy, more pronounced while intoxicated, and she stares off into the distant grounds, fixed upon the Forbidden Forest, seemingly lost in thought.

"I shouted at Professor Dumbledore last night," Darcy says suddenly, pushing her hair out of her face. "I said such cruel things to him, Gemma."

"He doesn't seem to be holding it against you, whatever you might have said," Gemma tells her, giving Darcy a thin-lipped smile. "He'd mentioned to Lupin and me that you were very upset last night. He was so grateful that we were able to make it to see you."

"I'm glad you did come, both of you," Darcy replies. "Truly."

"Harry's been quiet tonight, hasn't he?" Gemma notes, taking a long pull off her cigarette.

"I can only imagine why."

"Come on, Darcy," Gemma continues, flicking her cigarette out the window. "You know we'll all make sure Harry is all right. You thought you were the only one I came to see? You think Lupin didn't come to check-in with Harry, as well? He loves him as you do, you know."

Darcy stares at Gemma, so full of love she could burst. My family, she thinks. But the thought makes her sad, too. Emily should be here with them—Emily had been a part of her family since they were eleven-years-old. Carla should be here, too—Carla had grown up with them, had been at their sides for years. Sirius should be here—Sirius and the love she thought she had forgotten, her true family.

"You're my best friend, Gemma," Darcy tells her. "Why are you even friends with me in the first place?"

Gemma smiles fondly at Darcy, shrugging. "What better way to rebel against my parents than to befriend Darcy Potter?" She wraps an arm around Darcy's shoulders and pulls her close. "And you've quite grown on me."

The rest of the evening is a blur. Darcy spends most of it at Lupin's side, listening to the conversations around her. Hermione asks Gemma once if she'd like to join S.P.E.W., and after hearing Hermione out with a grimace, all that Gemma says is, "You better cut that shit out, Hermione." If Hermione is angry with her, it does not last very long, but she doesn't deign to ask again.

The hours slip by—eight o'clock, nine o'clock—and when the clock strikes ten, Lupin decides it's about time for him to go back home. Darcy follows him into the bedroom to retrieve his traveling cloak, and when he wraps it around himself, Darcy kisses him hard. Lupin stumbles with the force of her kiss, but doesn't pull away.

"I can see you, you know!" Harry shouts from the parlor room.

Darcy breaks apart from Lupin looking up into the handsome face shrouded in darkness. She holds him in his place by the front of his robes, and she sees Lupin cast an awkward glance towards the partially opened bedroom door, where Harry is looking at them very severely. Darcy smiles weakly to reassure him, brushing off the front of Lupin's cloak.

"I'll walk you down," she whispers, standing on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"I'd like that very much."

The two of them slip out of the portrait hole quickly as Gemma begins to snap at the children ("All right, kids, time to start cleaning up the horrible mess we've made."). With the corridors free of other watchful eyes or distractions or students, Darcy grabs hold of his hand, holding onto it with both of her own. They walk slowly, struggling to keep their strides short as their legs carry them quickly through the corridors. Their footsteps echo throughout the cavernous cathedral ceilings, and Darcy rests her head against Lupin's upper arm, appreciating even this small amount of alone time.

"It's just like old times, isn't it?" she laughs quietly, looking around her at all the disinterested portraits. "I miss it."

"Do you?" Lupin asks incredulously, raising a single eyebrow and looking down at her quizzically. "As wonderful as some of those days truly were, I think I much prefer things the way they are now."

Darcy laughs again, her smile slowly fading. "I'm glad that Professor Dumbledore let you come visit, but I wish you could stay here with me."

"You're not the only one," Lupin replies, and his voice carries throughout the lonely corridor. "Dumbledore seemed to suspect it was only a matter of time before I arrived. I think he expected you to write me after last night."

"Did he tell you what I said?" Darcy asks, her heart racing again. The wine and firewhisky has made her head buzz. "Did he tell you anything?"

Lupin offers her a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck and fussing with his hair. "He said you were most unlike yourself last night," he answers carefully. "You were distraught and surely you didn't truly mean what you'd said."

"Is it true about Professor Dumbledore offering you the job here?" Darcy blurts out, hardly giving him time to finish his statement. "Is it true Dumbledore went to you and asked you to keep an eye on me?"

He chuckles, seemingly having expected her to ask. "Dumbledore came to me over the summer and told me about what had happened here the previous year that had left a student of his in a horrible state of unease and caution. It was plain that he was worried, and he even said so to my face, and he thought that I might be able to help." Lupin squeezes her hand and then releases it, placing his palm to the small of her back as they make their way down a flight of moving stairs. "I thought he was mad to suggest I would be able to bring comfort to a student that I didn't know, a student that didn't know me. But when he told me the truth of it, that the student he was talking about was you, Darcy, I . . . I thought if I went to you at Hogwarts and comforted you, then it might make up for all the years I was away, all the years that I had left you and Harry to fend for yourselves."

Darcy smiles, blushing furiously. She wraps an arm around his waist, pulling her to him tight. "You must be very pleased that you accomplished your goal so easily."

Lupin looks away, clearly flustered, blushing.

"You came to Hogwarts for me," she teases him, making him smile again. She nuzzles into his cloak as they reach another flight of stairs.

"Is that so surprising?"

"No . . . I suppose not. But it is good to know."

Darcy and Lupin linger on the steps just outside Hogwarts that lead to the courtyard, looking at each other, unsure of what to say or what to do. Holding both of his hands loosely in her own, she asks again, "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you down to Hogsmeade? I don't mind."

"I'll manage. Besides, you have other company awaiting your return."

Darcy frowns, speaking in a low voice. "It's your company I really want right now."

"You'll get my company in a few days time." Lupin smiles sweetly at her, raising a hand to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind her ear. "How are you feeling?"

"A little drunk, maybe." Darcy looks up into his face again and sighs heavily. "I'm frightened. Everything happened so quickly, and . . . part of me thinks this shouldn't have even come as a surprise."

"Don't be afraid," Lupin whispers, his fingertips brushing across her cheek. "I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you or Harry."

He hesitates, looking into her eyes for a split second before leaning into her. His nose barely brushes hers, and Darcy closes her eyes to feel his lips press against her own, but someone clears their throat and they jump away from each other quickly, before Darcy has time to open her mouth for him. Lupin turns to the doors of Hogwarts and Darcy laughs nervously at the sight of Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Potter," McGonagall says crisply, lips pursed as she watches the scene unfold in front of her. "It's getting rather late, and I would feel much more at ease if I knew that you were safe in your own chambers instead of wandering about the grounds at night. You understand, of course, given recent circumstances."

Darcy exhales deeply, running a hand through her hair. "I'll be in in a moment, Professor."

"Now would be preferable, Potter."

Exasperated, Darcy looks back at Lupin. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "The price of being Darcy Potter, I suppose."

"Potter!"

"I'm coming, Professor!" Darcy says in a voice of forced calm, some anger leaking through. It's hard to keep her frustration at bay. Looking up at Lupin one more time, she whispers, "I love you."

Lupin smiles, taking her hand in his again and kissing her fingers. Professor McGonagall clears her throat. "Tell me everything that happens," he tells Darcy. "Don't leave a single thing out. I want to know all of it."

"Remus, please—"

"And let me know when the first task is. I'll make sure to be here for it."

"This is quite enough, you two—"

"And I promise, when I next see you again, I'll kiss you proper." He glances over at McGonagall, who is still waiting very impatiently for them to finish. "Good-bye, Darcy."

Without warning, Lupin kisses her cheek swiftly and holds up a hand in acknowledgement to Professor McGonagall as he starts down the path to Hogsmeade. Darcy touches the place on her cheek with light fingers where his kiss has made her skin burn hot. She watches him go, smiling absently, wishing for nothing more than to be able to go with him, to kiss him a thousand times, to show him how much she loves him and how much it means to her that he's come to comfort she and Harry.

And then, thin—but strong—fingers pinch her earlobe and she cries out as McGonagall pulls her into the entrance hall, the tall doors of Hogwarts closing with a crash behind them.

When Professor McGonagall lets go of her earlobe, Darcy scowls at her, rubbing the hurt away (or attempting to). Her earlobe feels swollen near twice its normal size, stinging painfully. "Professor, I'm not a student anymore!" she protests, grumbling under her breath and quieting at McGonagall's sharp look. "What did you do that for? We were only saying good-bye! I would only have been a few more minutes."

"You may not be a student anymore," Professor McGonagall says, giving Darcy a gentle push towards the marble staircase. "But that does not mean you have the right to parade around this school with a boy."

"A boy?" Darcy laughs, earning herself another glare. "Professor, it's only Remus."

"Then allow me to rephrase myself," the older witch continues, clearing her throat again and climbing the stairs with Darcy. "You are nineteen-years-old, just recently out of school, and to be wandering the school after dark with a man twice your age seems very irresponsible after what has just happened to your brother."

Darcy can't help but laugh. "He wouldn't let anything happen to me," she says quietly, looking down at her feet and smiling to herself as they walk up the stairs and through the corridors together. "I love him, Professor, and he loves me."

McGonagall says nothing, but purses her lips tighter together.

"He is good to me," Darcy continues, lifting her eyes to look Professor McGonagall in the face. "Better to me than anyone I have ever known. Don't think I don't know what it looks like to you and everyone else in this school. Don't think I don't know that you all must think he's taking advantage of me, and that I'm some stupid little girl who's never been loved before." She thinks of Lupin's tenderness and gentility and willingness to listen . . . never condescending, never superior.

Professor McGonagall relents, putting a gentle hand on Darcy's shoulder. She smiles weakly, slowing her pace, and Darcy slows to match it. "He was always a very polite boy, even at Hogwarts," she recalls quietly. "An infuriating troublemaker at times, of course . . . one who knew how to test my limits and push my buttons, but a sweet boy. One of my favorites."

Her words and sentiments make Darcy smile. They arrive outside the portrait that leads to Darcy's hidden rooms and she slips inside before Professor McGonagall can say anything else. Harry and Hermione are still inside, putting their sweaters back on and gathering their things.

"Be careful," Darcy warns the both of them. "McGonagall is skulking around out there." Harry only gives her a sly grin, pulling from his sweater pocket the Invisibility Cloak. As he drapes it over himself and Hermione, Darcy opens the door, looks around for any lurkers, and whispers, "I'll see you both tomorrow."

Closing the door one last time, Darcy sighs with her back against it, watching Gemma cross the room with five now-empty plates stacked in one hand. She places them on the counter, looking at Darcy warily. "Are you all right?"

Darcy breathes in deeply, feeling her eyes burn with tears. Now that her room is nearly empty, the crushing realization hits her—Harry is a champion, and if he dies during the tournament, she will have failed him and their parents and herself. She rubs her eyes, forcing herself not to cry—she must not cry—she has to stop being such a baby.

"No," she whimpers.

Gemma claps her hands together, wiping her palms on her thighs. "Do you want to go to bed?"

The idea pleases Darcy, and when the two of them are changed and warm beneath the blankets with the window thrown wide open, and them puffing on cigarettes, Darcy tells Gemma about how it had all played out that night—how Darcy had almost expected it to happen when the goblet's flames had turned red once all three champions were chosen, how everyone immediately accused her of putting Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire. Darcy tells Gemma about how Professor Snape had waited with her in Dumbledore's office and believed her, and then explains about going down to Hogsmeade with Ludo Bagman and his half-hearted promise to help Harry through the tasks, and his ominous warning in regards to Rita Skeeter.

Gemma listens carefully all the while, the gears in her brain working fast, her eyes glossed over as she stares at Darcy, thinking hard.

"All right," Gemma says finally, after a long silence. "So Dumbledore believes you, and Snape, Ludo Bagman, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Mad-Eye . . . oh, and me. That seems like a pretty solid team, if you ask me."

"Do you think Emily will believe me?" Darcy asks, suddenly fearful. She hadn't written to Emily yet, but Darcy makes a mental note to do so tomorrow.

"I'm sure she will. She knows you wouldn't dare put Harry knowingly in danger," Gemma hums. "No matter what, she'll come to your defense."

Will she? Darcy asks herself. She didn't come to my defense after what her father said to me. She didn't come to apologize afterwards. And now Gemma expects me to write to her like nothing even happened. True, Emily had leapt to her defense many times before against reporters and older students and sometimes even their own friends.

"Hey," Darcy whispers through the darkness. Gemma hums again, waiting for her to continue. "I'm going to see Sirius again soon."

"How?"

"I think he's going to come to Remus' for a little bit, just a few hours. No one will find him there, and Dumbledore thinks it's a good idea."

Gemma, who's in the middle of getting comfortable in bed, stops and turns to face Darcy with a small smile. "Does Sirius know about you and Lupin?"

"Well, I . . ." Darcy says meekly, clearing her throat and blushing. "I mean . . . I wanted to tell him in person."

Gemma laughs, closing her eyes and sighing. "Merlin . . . what I wouldn't give to hear that conversation . . ."