Gemma's first attempt at a cure for lycanthropy symptoms is a massive disaster, as Darcy finds out Saturday morning.
When she enters Lupin's room in the Three Broomsticks that morning, she's instantly overwhelmed by the smell of stale vomit, and the sound of violent heaving comes from the tiny bathroom. Darcy drops her bag on the bed and hurries into the bathroom, cracking her hip on the corner of the loveseat as she goes. She swears under her breath, squeezing into the bathroom that's hardly big enough for the two of them.
Kneeling beside him, her back pressed hard against the claw-foot bathtub, Lupin heaves again, and Darcy can't help but close her eyes as he vomits into the toilet. She kisses his shoulder, resting her cheek against his back.
"Let me go get Gemma," she whispers, kissing his shoulder again, not at all looking forward to walking back up to the castle and then back down. Already, from the amount of walking she's been doing of late, her thighs and calves have been sore more often than not. Darcy presses her lips to his sweaty temple, making to stand. "I'll be back in a little bit, my love."
"No," Lupin rasps, grabbing her by the wrist tightly. Darcy freezes and he sits back against the closed door, panting, and not releasing her. His face is drained of all color, his brow sweaty, dark circles underneath his tired eyes. "I'll be fine, just . . . give me a moment."
Darcy touches his forehead, nearly burning her own flesh. His entire face is hotter than she thinks is safe, but he doesn't shake her off, nor does he complain. "Gemma told you to tell her if something like this happened," Darcy frowns. "If you won't let me go fetch her, at least let me take care of you until she comes."
Lupin smiles weakly, his eyes half-closed when he looks at her. He breathes in deeply and pushes himself to his feet, Darcy grabbing his arm and helping him up. He sways for a moment and stumbles, falling into the corner of the bathroom and struggling to regain his balance. "Sorry," he mumbles, gripping Darcy's shoulder to steady himself. "Dizzy."
Darcy coerces him to brush his teeth while she cleans the mess off the bathroom floor, working the bathtub. Lupin leans against her as it fills slowly, his face buried in her shoulder. When the bathtub is filled with lukewarm water, she helps him undress and helps him into it. It pains her to see him in such a state, especially knowing that it had been she that had convinced him to agree to Gemma's terms.
He's mostly dead weight, much heavier than Darcy expected, and he closes his eyes as soon as he settles in the water, his head lolling onto his shoulder, breathing slowly and deathly pale. The bathtub is much too small for him, and Lupin's knees break the surface of the still water, much of his chest showing, as well.
"Remus?" Darcy whispers, touching his cheek to see if he'll stir. She settles onto her knees, the hard ground painful beneath them. "Remus?"
"Hm?" He doesn't even open his eyes to look at her.
Darcy wonders if it would be smart to leave him in the bath by himself in such a state. "Maybe I should go and get Gemma after all . . ." she suggests quietly. "I could send one of the owls from the post office up to the castle. It would be quicker. I'm worried about you."
"I'm not worried," he croaks, and when Darcy opens her mouth to protest, he adds, "You're here."
Frowning and feeling guiltier than ever, Darcy feels tears prickle painfully in her eyes as she cups his cheek, brushing a wet thumb across his skin. He barely stirs at her touch, but exhales loudly, contently, when her fingers trace his cheekbones.
This is my fault, she thinks. It's her fault that he's sitting here suffering, that he's been reduced to no more than an experiment. It's her fault that things have only gotten worse, that he's become so ill. To be fair, she thought it would be different, that Gemma's experimental potions would make him better, would make his life easier if only for a few days. Never did she even consider the possibility that it would make his life harder, make his already incredibly difficult week even more difficult.
Nearly thirty years he's been doing this, the same nearly every time, and now Darcy imagines it must be slightly frightening to be affected so intensely, to not know what to expect. If she had only kept her mouth shut and not tried to convince him to accept Gemma's offer, if only she had let him make up his own mind, things might be different, easier for him. That's all Darcy wanted—all she wanted was for things to be easy, for something to help him through the tough and trying times.
Darcy quickly wipes her tears away before he can see them, but almost as if he's sensed her crying, Lupin's eyes flutter open barely a fraction of an inch. He looks at her through heavily-lidded eyes. "Why are you crying, darling?" he asks, giving her a small, forced smile. "I'm only ill, not dying."
With her hand still upon his burning cheek, Darcy leans into him, kissing him softly. He does respond to this, kissing her back—perhaps not as fiercely as he would normally kiss her—but kissing her all the same. It's sweet and wet and minty still from his toothpaste, and Darcy pulls away.
"I'll leave you," she whispers, wanting to cry without anyone around to witness it. "Call for me if you need me. I'll just be in the other room."
"No, stay," he says, shifting in the water as she gets to her feet. The cool water seems to have done him some good, but Darcy still thinks he could use a week's worth of sleep—maybe even more than that. "Come here, Darcy."
With a few sweet, whispered words and a small smile when he purrs the words I love you, Darcy succumbs easily to his request and blushes madly. His eyes open a little wider as she undresses with trembling hands, feeling incredibly nervous. Lupin watches her lift her sweater over her head, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. She continues to undress shyly, avoiding his eyes as she slips out of her trousers, and Darcy can feel his eyes traveling up her legs all the way to her face.
"Close your eyes," she commands him softly, and Lupin laughs for the first time, just barely, but he does as she asks all the same. "Don't peek. Promise you won't peek."
"I promise."
Darcy smiles at him, his eyes closed again, his head resting on the edge of the bathtub. His elbows rest on the tub's edges, his arms wet and scarred, strong and warm. She sheds the rest of her clothes, letting them pool on the floor at her feet. Inhaling sharply, Darcy dips her foot into the bathtub.
The water is cool, cooler than room temperature, and she's forgotten. Darcy swears loudly, gasping as goosebumps cover every inch of her skin. Her muscles all tense up and Lupin shifts again, trying to make room for her. She forces herself to lay back against his chest, shivering, her head resting against his collarbone. She drapes her legs over the tub's edge and allows herself some time to adjust to the cool water, which does feel quite good after the stifling heat of the room, especially with the fire going.
Lupin wraps an arm around her neck loosely, keeping her in place, his fingers caressing the raised, pink scars on her left shoulder. He runs his free hand through her hair, and the water that trickles down the back of her neck is cold. Darcy closes her eyes when Lupin kisses her temple, resting his cheek atop her head.
"My wand, love," he says, and Darcy blinks for a moment, confused, but she reaches over to retrieve his wand, lying on a small corner table filled with fluffy towels. "Thank you."
And within seconds, the water is warm again, not hot, but warm enough that Darcy's comfortable.
She can feel his quickened heartbeat against her back, calming her, his fingers threading through her damp hair and brushing against her scars, near lulling her to sleep. His skin is still warm, sticky with sweat and water. "How are you feeling?" he whispers in her ear.
"I'm fine." She blushes furiously, glad that he's unable to see her face. Darcy can't remember ever feeling so close to anyone in her life—every day that she spends with him seems to introduce her to intimacy at a level she's never known or imagined could exist.
"The same answer you gave us the other night," he answers, his voice hardly there. Darcy shivers, and not due to cold this time. "It's just us now, kitten. Tell me the truth."
His words light a fire in her. Darcy wants to tell him everything, but she doesn't know where or how to begin, or what to say. Everything seems so jumbled up in her head. She stirs the still water with her fingers, tracing light patterns on the surface.
"When Harry and I were little . . . just little children, there was a creek we used to go to, just a block or two away. We'd swim there when it was hot, stripped down to our underwear, all dirty and screaming," she says, feeling the comforting scruff of his beard rub against her forehead. "We were only kids. We didn't know about magic back then, only strange coincidences. We didn't know anything about Voldemort . . . this was after I'd . . . well, I don't really know what I did to cope with everything. Aunt Petunia had convinced me that I was only dreaming, and I wanted to believe it, so I did."
Lupin listens to her ramble very carefully, his breath coming quietly. The only indication that he hasn't fallen asleep is the light kiss he gives her on the head again. Darcy inhales deeply, remembering the scene perfectly. The area of the creek they had swam in had been hidden by tall trees with thick trunks, almost enclosing them, even blocking out the sky sometimes. The water had always been cold, but refreshing on those hot summer days, and sometimes Darcy would let curious little fish nibble at her toes.
"Harry was never a strong swimmer," she continues. The water had, thankfully, never been too deep, and there was never a place where Darcy couldn't touch the bottom. It had come up to Harry's neck at the deepest part, and even then he'd be walking around on his tip-toes, a bright smile on his round face. "And one day, he went a little too far, and the current started to take him. He was only a little boy, and he went under a few times, screaming for me. I pulled him out from under the water and dragged him back to the bank."
In truth, she'd been terribly frightened, shaken to her core. Harry had only been four or five at the time, and when she had dragged him to land, he'd spluttered up water for a few moments and ended up coughing for days afterwards.
"We walked home that day and laughed about it. I was a hero to him for a day, and then it was forgotten," Darcy remembers, smiling slightly. She's quiet for a time before finishing her story, trying to feel Lupin's heartbeat to remind her that she's all right, she's okay, she's here with him, and that should be enough. "The creek frightened me afterwards. The creek, Vernon, Marge's stupid little dog . . . that's all I ever had to protect Harry from when we were kids."
Lupin's fingers stop tracing her scars. He covers her shoulder with his large palm, holding her tight against his chest. Back then, when they were just children at the creek, Darcy hadn't truly been a hero. She hadn't done anything heroic other than walk over and grab her brother beneath the arms. He was so small as a boy and so skinny that he had barely weighed anything, and she had pulled him from under the water with such ease.
"And now I realize that was nothing," she sighs heavily. "Those things are nothing compared to the dangers now. I was never prepared for this . . . I don't think I ever knew true danger until a few years ago, when Harry came to school. I think that year was the first year I had ever really known true fear in a long time."
The ends of Darcy's red hair splay around her, floating on the surface of the bath water and sticking to Lupin's chest. Since Harry had come to Hogwarts, keeping him safe had not been as easy as pulling him from some shallow waters. She didn't have to be brave to pull him ashore, only strong enough to carry him.
But these past few years, Darcy has had to be brave. She's been so afraid of losing her little brother, her other half, the reason she's alive, has forced her to put herself between Harry and a three-headed dog, has forced her to put herself between Harry and a basilisk and a memory of a young Voldemort, and she'd even put herself between Harry and his friends and Sirius Black only the previous year, but that was when she thought Sirius was going to kill them.
Darcy has always done everything in her power to put herself between Harry and whatever danger was lurking close at hand, and now . . . with Harry being forced to complete in the Triwizard Tournament as a champion, she feels helpless. There is nothing she can do to shield him, to protect him, and no one is able to offer her any explanation, or offer her a guess as to who might have put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire. And the worst part about it is that people are blaming her.
I know the truth.
"You worry too much," he tells her softly. Lupin touches her chin, tilting her head back in order to get a good look at her face.
"I know. I'm sorry." Darcy tries to look away, but Lupin keeps her face still, brushing his thumb across her lips.
"Don't apologize for it," he replies. "Do you trust me?"
Darcy nods slowly. "Of course I do."
"Good," Lupin whispers, a genuine smile gracing his handsome face. "I won't let anything happen to Harry."
She looks up into his face for a long time, her eyebrows knitting together. They seem empty words, an empty promise, but Darcy wants so badly to believe him. He means it, means to help her protect Harry, and that means more to her than she can say. "Do you promise?"
"I promise."
Darcy pauses. "I never told you the other night, but I should have," she says, allowing his fingers to continue tracing the sharp angles of her face, the most gentle touch she's ever known. "I love you."
"I know," Lupin smiles. The dark shadows under his eyes are reminiscent of bruises, his skin still blanched. "I know you do, Darcy." He brushes some stray hairs out of her eyes, smiling down at her still. His weak smile fades slowly as his eyes rove over her face. "Sometimes I forget how young you are. Too young to be weighed down with all this sadness and fear. Too young to know the horrors you've witnessed."
She reaches up and traces a faint scar on his jawline, one that she knows is there, but is currently hidden by his coarse beard. They smile shyly at each other again, their cheeks pink. "Why are you so good to me?" she asks, attempting to wriggling in his hold, the better to look at him.
"Because I love you dearly." He continues to look down at her, smiling again, making her melt. He drags his knuckles lightly up and down her spine. "And because you're mine," he tells her, as if it's the simplest and surest thing in all the world.
Maybe, upon hearing them from another man's mouth, the words might repulse her. Maybe, if she were to hear another man say them to her, Darcy would fight it, would insist that she is no one's and she will never belong to someone.
But there's something sweet hearing the words uttered from Lupin's mouth, something that makes her thinks, maybe being completely and utterly his wouldn't be so bad. His smile widens as she struggles to comprehend the meaning of his words, to make sense of what being his might entail in the future, and it's his smile that makes her whisper back, "I'm yours."
Lupin falls asleep quickly, his skin warming again now that he's out of the cool water, his breathing slowing. On his neck is a fresh love bite, and underneath his shirt, Darcy knows there are more on his chest and stomach. She kisses his cheek lightly before getting up, but he doesn't even stir at her movement.
She had kissed him all over, the parts of him that hadn't been submerged in the water. When she had kissed his neck, he'd thrown his head back and laughed, laughed as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if he were a young man again, as if there was no one else in the world but the two of them. The sound of Lupin's laughter had been so rich and so wonderful, a song that she hadn't heard in what seemed like weeks.
He'd taken her there, in the tiny bathtub, with her back pressed against his chest, his ragged breathing echoing tenfold in her ear. His fingers had left red marks on her hips where he'd held her in place as he drove in and over of her. When Darcy had cried out for him, he shushed her, laughing in her ear.
"Quiet, kitten," Lupin had whispered. "You don't want anyone to hear us, do you?"
It made her smile to hear him address her like that, the soft and husky purr he adopted while inside of her. It was so hard to keep quiet, but Darcy had obliged, tilting her head back to look at him, to admire him as he ground his teeth, his chest heaving against her back. "I love you," she had whispered to him, earning her a smile in return.
It had seemed to go on forever, until Darcy's body was exhausted and limp with pleasure, until her core ached in all the best ways, until she was sleepy from the intensity of it all. She had no idea that her words would be his undoing, the simple and whispered phrase: I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours. To realize how much control she had over him had excited her in ways she's never known, and Darcy isn't like to forget that fact for the rest of her life.
Darcy douses the fire with water that streams from the tip of her wand. All it does is smoke her out, and she coughs and sputters as her face is engulfed by it. Still, it makes the room slightly cooler, and it can only be better for Lupin than the sweltering heat of the fire making the small, cramped room feel like a sauna.
When Gemma finally arrives to check-in with Lupin, it's nearing dinnertime. He only stirs when Gemma closes the door rather noisily behind her. Upon hearing of all the side effects that Lupin's been experiencing, she takes on an apologetic tone, apologizing in earnest over and over, offering no other advice than "make sure you drink and stay hydrated" and "just keep a cool cloth on your face to ease the fever" and "it'll pass in a few days". She doesn't linger long afterwards.
"I have a dinner with my family, and I'm already running late. I'm sorry I can't stay for a while." She gives Lupin a stern look. "Write to the hospital if it worsens. I'll get the message, don't worry. Don't send any owls to my home."
Lupin nods and lays back on the pillow, closing his eyes. Darcy walks Gemma to the door and sees her out, bidding her a quick and hurried good-bye. She spends the rest of the night at Lupin's side in bed, reading from a book she'd brought with her, his face nuzzled into her side. When he begins to snore softly halfway through a chapter, Darcy sneaks away from him, grabbing some of the work she's brought with her.
By the empty fireplace, Darcy looks through some of the ungraded fourth year homework, checking correct answers with a key that Professor Snape had given her, and correcting wrong answers. The remains of the fire still smolder, giving off some heat, not that it does Darcy any good. The cool water of the bath had chilled her bones after she'd gotten out of it. Even now, with her clothes warm and her hair dry, goosebumps are still visible on her skin.
It's easy to become distracted with her work. The sounds of muffled diners and customers downstairs in the common room catches her attention first, and then the shifting of Lupin on the bed. Darcy turns around on the sofa to look at him, spread out across the entire bed, his back rising and falling slowly. Putting her work down, she slips in bed with him, kissing his cheek and letting him wrap his arms around her before falling asleep again. It isn't long after that until Darcy falls asleep, too.
Sunday shows Darcy a side of Lupin she's never seen before. He's short with her, pushing her hand away when she tries to cool his flesh with a damp washcloth, shouts at her when she suggests writing to Gemma via St Mungo's. Lupin's eyes are cold and glazed over, his jaw always tense, hardly able to walk without needing to lean on Darcy.
Yet several times that day he takes her from behind, pounding into her at a severe pace with strength that surprises her. He doesn't speak to her while he does this, hardly kisses her, and he always leaves her completely exhausted, her thighs sore and shaking uncontrollably, both desperate for more and slightly overwhelmed.
Even his kisses are greedy and hungry and bruising, his touch rough, groping her with the grace of a thirteen-year-old boy. Darcy doesn't mind, truly, and doesn't say a word against it. Privately, it makes butterflies flutter in her stomach at the thought of feeling she is his to use, but as the sun begins to set, Darcy doesn't think she can take much more. It's tiring work, and she wants to sleep in her own bed and recover.
When she tells Lupin she's going to head back to the castle as dinner starts in the Great Hall, it's slightly alarming how quickly his face changes. Suddenly he's pathetic again, sickly and dreading the upcoming transformation. There is no more coldness in his eyes, and his entire face softens.
"No," Lupin pleads quietly, reaching out for her hands and pulling Darcy to him. "Please stay . . . oh, Darcy, my love—" He wraps his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," Darcy replies with a chuckle, pulling away from him and kissing him on the mouth. Lupin doesn't respond with the ferocity he'd shown earlier, and it makes her smile with relief.
He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up in frustration. "I'm sorry," he says again, sighing. "This is a . . . trying time for me right now."
"I know," Darcy answers, touching his cheek. She kisses him again softly, sighing when she pulls away again. "Are you sure you want to continue going through with this?"
"I'll be fine," he confirms. "Are you sure you won't stay a little longer? I know I haven't been as good to you today as I'd like. Let me make it up to you before you go."
Darcy laughs weakly, nervous. "I don't know that I can—"
"Trust me."
She does, and the rest of the night is spent on the loveseat with Lupin's arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. He praises her constantly, sighing his love for her in her ear, a completely different man than he'd been only a little while ago.
Darcy spends much of the evening with a pink tint to her cheeks, letting his fingertips bring warmth to her skin as he traces patterns on her arms. She remembers the feeling of his palm when she'd met him on the Hogwarts Express, how he'd smiled that easy smile at her and shook her hand so slowly, the way the warmth from his touch had shot up her arm and infected her very heart and soul.
To be here, with him, makes Darcy never want to leave. She's always had difficulty turning away from him, leaving him to go back to what seems like another life, where it's hard to get out of bed some days and there's so much pain and there is always hurting and her bones ache with deep-seated exhaustion, where the memories of past horrors haunt her almost constantly, especially when she's alone in bed. It's harder to leave him now, knowing she'll be going back to Hogwarts, where the students throw her dangerous and accusing looks, where even the teachers seem wary of her.
All of them expect Professor Snape, that is, who has been his usual self. The fact that he hasn't changed his attitude towards her is somewhat comforting, despite the anger and dislike behind some of his words towards her.
When Darcy does finally pry herself from Lupin's arms, apologizing for having to leave him and kissing his face all over, and makes her way back to her private room, she sits in front of the fire for a long time. Without Lupin to distract her from the near future, it's hard not to dwell on the possibilities.
What will happen to Harry? What will the tasks be and how will he overcome them? What attention will this mishap draw towards the two of them? And the question that's been on the forefront of her mind recently . . . where is Sirius and what is he doing? Is he even thinking of her? Does he even remember that they're supposed to be a family?
She searches through all of her things for the photo album, but it's nowhere to be found, and Darcy is forced to accept that it's likely tucked away in Gryffindor Tower, in Harry's trunk or in his nightstand drawer. When she accepts this, she lays in bed and cries, crying for her parents, for her mother to tell her how to be loved without feeling so undeserving of it, crying for her father to hold her in his arms and show her how she should be loved.
But no arms encircle her as she tries to sleep. Her parents are never coming back. They will never speak to her again, never hold her, never smile at her. They will never see how far she's come, they will never see what their deaths have done to their daughters.
How could they have known? she asks herself. How could they have known they would be subjecting their only daughter to a lifetime of sacrifice and neglect and loneliness? Darcy sniffles, burying her face into her pillow. And what would they say if they could see what has happened to her?
Darcy, after laying awake for a while and thinking, comes to the conclusion that she doesn't want to dream. She knows that her dreams will leave her feeling frightened and alone, and she walks barefoot down to the hospital wing. Thankfully, it's empty, and as she closes the doors behind her, Madam Pomfrey comes hurrying out of her office, throwing robes on over her nightclothes.
"Potter," she whispers soothingly, leading Darcy to a bed. "I should have known. In need of a good night's sleep?"
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. Please."
Madam Pomfrey bustles around for the familiar purple potion, pouring some into a vial and putting a stopper in it, placing it in Darcy's hands. Darcy hesitates, holding the potion to her chest. "Anything else, Potter?"
Darcy looks at the matron for a long time, wetting her chapped lips. "You wrote to Gemma after Harry was named a champion," she whispers, tilting her head slightly to the side. "That was . . . very thoughtful and kind of you." She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. "Thank you."
There's a heavy silence that hangs over them. Then, Madam Pomfrey sits down on the bed beside Darcy, inhaling sharply. "You've had a very eventful couple of years here at Hogwarts, haven't you?"
Darcy can't help but laugh. "I suppose you could say that."
"There are things that medicine, potions, and magic cannot fix," Madam Pomfrey says softly. "But there are other ways to heal." She gets to her feet again. "You know what, let me just supply you with a few doses, just in case you find you need them again . . . wait right here, Potter, and I'll get them for you."
But Darcy doesn't drink any of the potion when she gets back. She thinks of her friends as she closes her eyes. She thinks of Gemma and Lupin surprising her with a visit, thinks of Harry and Hermione having dinner with her, Lupin falling asleep in bed and curled up at her side with his fingers loosely twined with her own.
By that time, her eyes are heavy with sleep, and she slips into dreams quickly, dreaming of the people that she loves. And by morning, she doesn't remember her dreams at all.