Darcy wakes early the next morning to a sharp tapping noise.

Eyes still closed, she reaches out for Lupin. Through her closed eyelids, she can still see the light of the morning sun shining bright on her face. When he doesn't stir, she grabs hold of his shoulder and gives him a slight shake. "Remus," she murmurs. "Remus."

He answers her with a muffled hum.

"There's a noise."

It takes him a moment to sit up fully. Darcy can feel him shifting on the other side of the bed as the tapping continues. He dresses quickly, his heavy and tired footsteps crossing the room. Just as she's drifting back to sleep, she hears the squeaking of the window opening and a flutter of wings.

"It's your damn owl," he says irritably. "Go. Go away. Max . . . go."

"No," Darcy says suddenly, rolling over to face Lupin, who's fighting with her owl. Max beats his fluffy wings against Lupin's face, who attempts to bat him away and push him back through the window. "Come here, Max."

Max changes course immediately, flying over to the bed and perching on Darcy's arm. His talons tighten around her arm, his eyes fixed on Lupin. She scratches the feathers on his chest, rubbing the spot underneath his beak. Max nuzzles his head against her cheek, making her smile. She hugs the owl to her, wishing he could curl up beside her and fall back asleep with her.

"He's not a dog, Darcy," Lupin sighs, standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed and staring down at her, sprawled across the bed, with Max hooting feebly as if to keep Lupin far away from him. "He can't sleep in the bed with us. He can go find a nice tree to sleep in like a normal owl."

"But look how sweet he is," Darcy protests, turning the owl around to Lupin his sweet face. Lupin runs his hands through his already disheveled hair, sighing in exasperation and smiling weakly at her. Darcy pulls the blanket up to her chin, hiding her bare chest from view. "Is Sirius still here?"

Lupin moves to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking his head out. Darcy calls for him when he leaves the room. He returns alone, but with a newspaper in his hands. "He's gone," Lupin tells her gently, slightly strained. He busies himself with the paper, seating himself at Darcy's feet.

He's gone. He left without saying good-bye. Darcy wonders if Sirius is talking to Buckbeak now, complaining about her, brooding over the fact that she'd slept with Lupin despite his wishes. He must have read the paper at least, if it had just been lying in the sitting room. Darcy chews the inside of her cheek, sighing.

When she sits up, Max flutters up in the air and perches himself on her left shoulder instead. The tips of his sharp talons pierce the raised scar tissue on her bare shoulder and she hisses, startling both Max and Lupin. "Not that should, you stupid!" she growls at her owl, and even she's taken aback at how quickly the owl obliges, moving to her right shoulder instead. She glances at Lupin, his eyes fixed upon her scars. "Remus?"

He clears his throat, shaking his head and looking back down at the newspaper in his hands. Frowning, Lupin shows her the front page. There are pictures of all four champions, but Harry's picture is the largest, taking up most of the cover. The article underneath is long and continues onto a second page.

Lupin reads it aloud to her and she cringes, noticing Lupin scrunch his nose during particularly disgusting parts. Not that any of it is really terrible or accusing, but it's wrong—it paints Harry in a light that is most unlike him, as a troubled child who cries himself to sleep at night, longing for his parents. There are quotes that Darcy knows would never be issued from Harry's mouth—she, who knows her brother best, is certain he would never tell Rita Skeeter anything of the sort. Rita even continues to quote other students who seem to all worship Harry, and even makes claims of a budding romance between he and Hermione.

When Lupin finally finishes, Darcy imagines the words must have left a bad taste in his mouth. He scans the inner page of the Daily Prophet, looking up over the top at her warily. "She wrote about you," he rasps, still groggy from his sudden wake-up call. "There's even a picture."

Darcy runs her long fingers down Max's chest again and sees his watchful eyes close. "Read it," she whispers, trying to sound confident.

Lupin clears his throat again, looking up into her face before continuing. "'Darcy Potter may have been beautiful once, but now, tragedy and suffering are written plain across her weathered and solemn face'—well, that's rude. I think you're quite beautiful."

She almost smiles at the way he furrows his brow upon reading the words. "Keep going."

"Sorry," Lupin murmurs. "'Haunted by the idea of her baby brother possibly dying in the harrowing trials and tests that await him, Darcy admits to me in confidence that the nightmares keep her awake at night'—"

"I said no such thing to her!"

"—'When I ask her how she copes with the pressures of being the older sister of the famous Boy Who Lived, she smiles coyly at me, making her look much more beautiful, and tells me that she's recently—or not so recently—found solace in a man. I ask for all the juicy details and Darcy so willingly obliges'—"

"I didn't tell her anything, I swear it," Darcy says. "I never said anything about us."

"Darcy, I believe you. Do you want me to keep reading?"

The rest of the article is a complete lie and it eats at Darcy. It details, untruthfully, how Lupin and Darcy had first met at Hogwarts, how they had connected instantly due to their tragic pasts and began a passionate affair that lasted throughout the school year.

"'"Sometimes he just holds me while I cry for my parents," Darcy tells me, a tear rolling down one of her rosy cheeks.'" Lupin stops for a moment, looking at her again before continuing. He reads to her about how brave and selfless Darcy is for loving a man such as himself—a werewolf, a dangerous creature, a monster.

"You are none of those things," Darcy whispers, shooing Max off her shoulder and moving closer to Lupin. She wraps her arms around him, resting her forehead against his shoulder as he continues, occasionally kissing the exposed flesh.

The rest of the article recounts Darcy's relationship with her mentor, Professor Severus Snape, and her unlikely friendship with Ludo Bagman, also addressing the rumors that Darcy had been the one to enter Harry into the Triwizard Tournament. Rita Skeeter makes sure to leave the question and rumors open-ended, allowing readers to believe what they will.

When Lupin finishes, he lowers the newspaper to his lap and Darcy sees the photograph for the first time. It's a black-and-white one, and may very well be a Muggle photograph for how still Darcy is standing. Harry seems to have left the photograph completely, but Darcy continues to look into the camera, stony-faced and serious. She shifts her weight back and forth on her feet, her hair combed over to one side, falling into her face.

Darcy looks at Lupin again, releasing him and wetting her dry lips. "I'm sorry," she breathes, unsure of what to say that will make it better. "I'm so sorry."

"There's going to be an inquiry," Lupin says slowly, swallowing hard. "The Ministry will see that a werewolf took advantage of a young girl on Dumbledore's watch, and if they see your shoulder—if they find out that I've hurt you—while I was at Hogwarts—"

"No," Darcy blurts out. "Professor Dumbledore was there—he knows I didn't tell that foul woman anything. Mr. Bagman was there, as well. I'll tell them it's all lies—"

Darcy comes to a sudden realization, remembering Ludo's words to her as he had escorted her back to the dungeons. I should have given her what she wanted, Darcy thinks. Maybe she still would have lied, but the truth would be there, as well. In her anger and anxiety over the past night, she hadn't thought once about what an article might do to Lupin—only what it would do to her. I had the power to shape that article, and instead I gave the power to Rita Skeeter.

"We made a mistake," he tells her, bringing her forcibly back to reality, interrupting her train of thought. "We shouldn't have—we should have waited—I—I should have known better."

There's a swooping sensation in her stomach that makes her want to throw up. "What? Don't say that," she whispers pleadingly. "It was my fault."

"Did I ever say no? Did I ever push you off me? Did I do anything to stop you?"

In truth, he had. And Darcy has a feeling he knows it. Lupin had tried several times to push her away—maybe no physically, never while she was kissing him or on top of him. But he had made the effort, had expressed regret after touching her even innocently.

And yet, how many times had he also initiated things? How many times had he draped an arm around her shoulders? Or put a hand on the small of her back? Or twined their fingers together while they sat beside each other on the sofa? All of those small moments had made her heart stop, had made her blush. Darcy had known it was wrong, yet continued to pursue him, always aching for him, always wanting him a little bit closer.

"You made it damn near impossible for me to refuse you." He holds his head in his hands, and Darcy watches on helplessly. She covers her chest with her arms, looking away from him. "I felt things for you, Darcy, that I had not felt in years . . . if ever. I couldn't remember the last time I had been touched so gently and so lovingly. I forgot myself around you."

He had held her afterwards, after the first time, as if she belonged to him. He had kissed her everywhere his lips could reach, had showered her with compliments and affections while his fingertips had grazed the smooth skin of her stomach. Lupin had taken his time exploring her body, testing her limits to see how far he might go, always watching her face for a reaction as if waiting for her to stop him.

But Darcy never had. She hadn't once considered telling him to stop despite the absurdity of the situation, all boundaries and looming consequences forgotten. She hadn't stopped him when he continued to strip her, hadn't stopped him when he curled his fingers inside of her, hadn't stopped him when he kissed the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs.

It's my fault, she tells herself. It's my fault. I shouldn't have tried to damn hard to break him down. I shouldn't have tried so damn hard to have him.

"I'm sorry," she tells him again, moving away and sliding off the side of the bed. She searches the floor for her clothing, wanting to cry. "When Max returns, please send him to me at Hogwarts."

"You're not leaving, are you?"

Darcy tenses, standing up straight very slowly. His tone is no longer gentle, but firm and commanding, and it sends a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She blushes again, knowing it's not the time to be having such filthy thoughts, but Lupin's eyes are traveling down her body, from her face to her legs before they flick back up to her own eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says once more, the only thing she knows how to say right now. "I—I've forgotten who I am."

Lupin hesitates, looking away from her and down at the photograph of Darcy in the newspaper. "You have forgotten who I am. What I am."

"I've never forgotten," Darcy confesses sheepishly, reaching back down for her clothes. "I just chose to ignore it."

He stands, shaking his head. "You think if you just . . . close your eyes, it will go away?" he snarls, causing Darcy to begin dressing quicker. He points to the open paper on the bed. "That is all I will ever be to people like them. They will continue to mock you, berate you—they see it as a shameful thing to be with someone like me. It is frightening to them to see you with me." He sighs, rubbing his face. "You have very good reason to be afraid of me, love. I will never be good enough for you. I have never been and will never be anything more than . . . than a . . ."

Darcy continues to dress, feeling very sad and very sorry for him. "You insist on seeing yourself as some monster," she whispers, pulling her sweater over her head and fixing her hair. "Do you truly believe I have ever forgotten what you are? Or what you're capable of?"

Lupin's eyes flick to her shoulder, where the three long scars that mar the skin there will forever serve as a reminder to that night. Darcy approaches him, taking his hand in hers, and guides it to her face. He cradles her face in his rough hand, his thumb lightly brushing her lips. Her eyes flutter closed as his fingertips trail along the sharp line of her jaw and down her throat. When Darcy opens her eyes again, it's to find Lupin looking at her carefully, searching her face with a severe expression, likely waiting for her to flinch or pull away from him.

She almost protests when his hand falls to his side again. "I'm not afraid of you."

He scoffs, pulling aside the collar of her sweater to reveal the ends of the scars. "A mocking reminder of my worst fears come to life." He wrinkles his nose, the sight clearly disgusting him. "Every time I see them, they humiliate me, shame me, throw the truth in my face. I could have killed you. I could have bitten you and subjected you to this mockery." Lupin releases the collar of her shirt, hiding her shoulder again. His tone is bitter and angry. "Would you still have forgiven me so quickly if I had turned you? Would you still have begged me to stay at Hogwarts?"

Darcy shudders, not even wanting to imagine it. She suddenly feels ashamed of the scars, embarrassed by them. She thinks of all the times he's kissed them, all the times he's apologized at the mere sight of them, all the times his eyes have lingered on them whenever she was completely unclothed in front of him.

"You didn't bite me, so it doesn't matter now," she answers carefully. "Please don't think I hold it against you. Please don't think that I'm angry or frightened or—or that I blame you."

Lupin is quiet for a long time, thinking hard. And finally, he sighs heavily again. "I want to show you something, something I've never shown anyone."

"All right." Darcy smiles weakly. "What is it?"

"I want to take you somewhere."

Her heart feels much lighter. "All right."

Two hours later, after a long shower and a quick breakfast, the two of them Disapparate from the front step of the cottage, finding solid footing against just outside a village. Darcy gasps as cold rain soaks her hair, chilling her bones. Lupin hurriedly conjures an umbrella big enough for the both of them to take cover under, but his hair is already pressed flat to his forehead, rainwater dripping down his face. He laughs softly upon seeing how wet she's gotten, as well, placing a hand on the small of Darcy's back to guide her towards the village.

They seem to be on the coast of some body of water—she isn't sure if it's the ocean or a river, the water slightly restless where several boats are docked, unfurled sails blowing about in the biting breeze. The buildings here are larger than the small, hatched-roof cottages in Hogsmeade, but the entire village seems to be about the same size as Hogsmeade.

As they approach, making their way through a flooded field to reach the nearest road, Darcy takes in her surroundings, brushing back her wet hair and trying to ignore the tingling in her toes. A waist-high, ancient-looking, crumbling stone wall surrounds the town, looking just as old as the buildings, completely collapsing in some areas that haven't been well-tended to.

The air smells saltier the closer they get to the village. It seems to carry on the wind, the smell of salt and fish and sometimes freshly baked bread. When they reach the village via the road and turn down a cobblestone street, Darcy can't help herself—she looks around in awe and wonder, never having seen anything like it.

The streets are relatively empty with the rain coming down so hard, but the few people who do walk the streets smile at Darcy and Lupin, murmuring a good-morning before passing them.

Lupin doesn't speak as he continues to lead her through the labyrinth that is the mystery village. Darcy continues to admire the crowded buildings, feeling as if she's momentarily stepped back in time. The brick is discolored on most buildings, and Tudor-style cottages are placed here and there among the streets and hills. Through a wide alley, Darcy spots two men outside the back of a restaurant, arguing about the fish that's being sold. Lupin has to take Darcy's hand to keep her moving.

"It's beautiful here," she tells him as Lupin pulls her down another side street, his eyes scanning the doors of the houses. "What are we doing here? Where are we?"

"It's just, er . . . it's down this street, I think," he murmurs, more to himself than to Darcy.

The rain continues to fall harder, making it difficult for Darcy to hear what he says to himself. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back, pulling her down yet another side-street teeming with small businesses. There's a small tea shop here, a flashing OPEN sign above the door, and a bookstore across the street beside a small grocery with produce on display in the window.

Past the shops and more shuttered homes, they take a left, where more tudor cottages are scattered atop a grassy hill. There are six of them in all, all of them about the size of the Dursleys tight home at Privet Drive, but with far more land to it. Smoke rises from three of the brick chimneys like gray fingers reaching for the sky, fading away into the dark clouds.

Lupin pulls her towards one of the cottages that looks completely dark inside and, upon closer inspection, appears to be in shambles and uninhabited. They stop just outside the front door, standing in a shallow puddle. The windows have been boarded up, the rusty iron gate that borders the front yard is clocked and padlocked. Ivy crawls up the sides of the home, the yard completely overgrown and spotted with late-blooming wildflowers. Even in shambles, the house and property is quite beautiful, if not mysterious or slightly haunted-looking.

Lupin moves forward and Darcy follows him, if only to keep dry under his umbrella. He grabs onto the fence, rattling it as he looks to his left and right.

"What is this place?" Darcy asks him, looping her arm around his. As the words leave her mouth, she feels she already knows the answer.

"This is where it happened," he says, and though his voice is soft and quiet, Darcy can hear him perfectly clear. "This is where I was bitten."

She looks up at the house again, trying to imagine him as a four-year-old boy. The only images that come to her are of him bleeding out on the floor of his own home, his smooth forearm savaged by another werewolf, his breathing coming fast and shallow. She imagines his parents finding their young son in such a condition, terrified and screaming and sobbing.

The thought makes her sick to her stomach. Lupin shakes her off his arm, pulling his wand out and tapping the padlock lazily. The lock springs open and the gate creaks loudly as he pulls it open. Looking over his shoulder and around at the other houses, Lupin continues up the walkway, leaving Darcy in the rain.

"What are you doing?" she calls out, the rain soaking her hair and clothes all over again. He doesn't answer her, so she runs after him and enters the house through the front door once he loosens the warped boards with his wand again.

She closes the door behind them and looks around once inside, shivering and holding her arms around her. Lupin breaks down the umbrella and shakes the water off, spilling droplets on the moldy and dated carpeting at their feet. He props it up in a corner of the room as Darcy wipes the tip of her nose, stopping the rain from dripping onto her feet.

The house is empty for the most part. There's a small fireplace in the spacious sitting room, along with an end table with broken legs. Darcy peeks in the hearth and realizes that there's likely not been a fire in there for years. There is no other furniture, no paintings or pictures on the walls, no houseplants, and in the kitchen there are no dishes or cooking equipment and all of the drawers are empty. Lupin continues to wander around alone, watching her look through the house, pushing his fingers through his hair all the while.

When he starts up the stairs, Darcy follows him. Three bedrooms are found on the second floor, one of them even bigger than Aunt Petunia and Vernon's bedroom. Darcy has to light her wand, looking through the cracked and boarded windows, noticing thick cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling.

She follows Lupin into a second bedroom, slightly smaller than the first, and then they enter the third bedroom, which takes her by surprise. There is more furniture left behind in here—a wardrobe marred by deep scratches, a broken bed frame, a smashed lamp covered with a thick layer of dust. Even the walls are scratched, the wallpaper peeling in places. Maybe once, Darcy thinks, the wallpaper might have been blue, but now it's faded and, in the dark, it looks only gray and moldy.

"My mother loved this house," he tells her from the threshold. "Even years after we packed up and left, she always spoke of returning someday. I . . . regret that she could not stay. If it hadn't been for me . . ." Lupin walks over to the single window, also boarded up. "I had a view of the sea from here. Once a month, my parents would lock me in this room and I would sit and watch the sea until the inevitable."

Darcy looks around the room again. It seems heavy in here, the atmosphere almost physically painful.

"He came in through the window," Lupin continues, pointing towards it. "And he bit me in my own bed. That was his intention, to turn me, and not to kill me. I did not know that until many years later, after I spent years feeling sorry for the werewolf that did it."

She listens carefully, her heart racing.

"My father insulted werewolves." Lupin laughs humorlessly, frowning. "This was his punishment . . . to have his son turned into one of the monsters he so feared and despised."

"That's horrible." It seems such an inadequate response, but Lupin doesn't seem to mind. He looks at Darcy and smiles only for a moment before it fades again.

"I haven't been here in years," he confesses. "The last time I set foot in this house was the day we left it. Admittedly, I did come back the night that . . . the night that your parents died. I wanted to return to where it all started, and I thought . . . I thought with you here this time, returning would be less painful. And I was right." Lupin holds a hand out for her. "Come here, my love."

She obliges him, walking quickly across the room and allowing him to take her hand in his. "I'm sorry," she sighs. "I'm sorry for what Rita Skeeter said about you. I'm sorry for everything."

"It's nothing I haven't heard before," he replies. He brings her hand up to his mouth, placing gentle kisses on her fingers. "I often wish that things were different, that I could be closer to what you deserve, but . . . if things were different, you might not be mine, and what a sorry life it would be without a friend like you, darling."

Darcy smiles weakly and stands on her tiptoes, peppering his face with soft kisses, her hands on his face to hold him still. Her lips taste the salt of tears when she kisses his cheeks, tears she hadn't even noticed him crying, and when she finally kisses his lips again, he's smiling.

"Would you take me to see my parents' home?" she asks quietly, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking up into his face. "I haven't been to Godric's Hollow since the night they died. If I return, I want it to be with you."

Lupin wets his lips, clearly hesitant. "I would love to be the one to take you back," he answers slowly. "But I don't know that I'm the right person for you to return with. If you must go back, why not with Harry? Or Sirius?"

Darcy brushes the hair out of his eyes. Returning to Godric's Hollow with Harry would be ideal, but she can't imagine he would understand the crushing weight that visit would cause her. He had only been a baby then. But to return with Sirius, the man that rescued her from the rubble, the man that almost refused to give her up . . .

Yet she can't help but think that having Lupin at her side would indeed make it easier. A hand to hold when she needed one, someone to wipe her tears, someone to kiss her over and over until she forgets.

"Do you think often of returning?" Lupin catches her wrist as she tries to pull away, lowering her hand from his face and twining their fingers together.

"No," she answers truthfully. "Never. I'm afraid. Afraid of what I'll remember, afraid of what I'll feel."

Lupin sighs. "Let's get out of here."

Keeping her hand firmly in his own, Lupin pulls her from the bedroom and down the stairs again. Darcy puts her free hand on the banister, pulling it away with dust on her palm. She wipes it on the front of her shirt, making her way to the sitting room again. There, Lupin releases Darcy's hand and turns to face her. She stops abruptly, feeling his eyes wash over her shamelessly.

"I've never brought anyone here before," he says, making Darcy blush and look away sheepishly towards the empty fireplace. "I've flirted with the idea of bringing you here for a long time, but I've never gathered the courage until now. After all, I know so much about your childhood and . . . I suppose it's only right for you to see where it all began for me."

Darcy tucks her hair behind her ears, looking down at her feet.

The world is so cruel, she thinks to herself, to rob a young boy of his life because of something his father said.

Tears begin to well in her eyes and she tries to wipe them away quickly before he sees them, but Lupin doesn't miss anything. He smiles toothily at her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Why are you crying?" he chuckles.

"I don't know," Darcy laughs, the sight of his smile igniting a fire in her. But her smile fades and she forces herself to look away from him. "I'm just . . . sad for you." Her words fall flat. Darcy thinks she sounds stupid, childish, and regrets speaking at all. But imagining the fear he must have felt, to imagine the horror of it all frightens her.

"I didn't bring you here to garner pity or sympathy," he says, not unkindly. "I apologize. That wasn't my intention."

"Don't be sorry."

His jaw clenches tight. "Darcy, that article of Rita Skeeter's . . ." The thought seems to pain him. "Everyone will know what we've done."

"I don't regret it," she answers firmly. "I'm not ashamed of what we've done, and I know the man you—"

But he surprises her, cutting her off with a bruising kiss that knocks the wind out of her. Darcy melts into him, feeling selfish and slightly anxious. On Monday, when she walks into the Great Hall, people will know that she'd slept with her professor. The other teachers will be disgusted and ashamed, Dumbledore will be chastised, Lupin may be chastised a little more harshly than the headmaster.

What could they really do to him? Besides destroy the last remaining bit of his already wavering self-confidence. A monster, Rita Skeeter had called him. A monster, a creature, a dangerous half-breed, not to be trusted.

But I love him, she thinks, and I don't know how I ever lived without him.

He kisses her doubts and fears away easily. As soon as his lips touch her jaw, her mind goes blank and Darcy can't even remember what she'd been thinking about. Her heart thumps violently in her chest, blood pumping in her ears. When Lupin pulls away from her, it's only to have his eyes rove over her face, half-shadowed in the dark room.

They look at each other for what seems like a long time. The knowledge of where they are and what happened to Lupin here so long ago, when he was only an innocent boy, makes Darcy hesitant and more than a little wary. "Maybe we should just go home," she whispers against his lips.

"Home?" he repeats, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"I mean . . . your home," she adds hastily, blushing. "Not my home—I mean, I only meant—"

But he kisses her again, smiling against her lips. Darcy's stomach flutters madly. His fingers tangle in the back of her still damp hair, and then he pulls away once more. She frowns up at him, prepared to chase his lips until he says, "You know that if you want to leave, I won't stop you." She feels a lurching in her stomach instead of the fluttering of butterflies. "Just know that I would miss you terribly."

Darcy can't help herself—she laughs. "You thought by bringing me here, you would frighten me away?"

He doesn't have anything to say in return. He only gives her that pathetic look with his fingers still carding through her dark red hair.

"I'm not leaving," she tells him. "I'm not leaving because of some old house, or because of whatever Rita Skeeter printed in some stupid newspaper." Darcy wraps her arms around herself. "Can we go home now?"

Lupin laughs weakly, incredulously, in complete and utter disbelief before kissing her. "Home."

"Shut up. You did not desecrate his parents' home like that."

"We didn't . . . not truly." Darcy's eyes are wide with the memory of the previous night, still fresh in her head. The fire had been so warm against her bare skin, yet his touch had still raised goosebumps all over her. The hammering of the rain on the roof had muffled her cries and his laughter. She smiles blankly, unable to think of much else. "Gemma, he didn't even take his clothes off." She pauses again, scoffing before giving Gemma the most serious look in the world. "I think I'm in love."

"What?"

"He did thinks I never knew were possible," Darcy breathes, out of breath and her heart racing in her chest and damp between the legs again. She remembers being seated at a table in the corner of the tea shop they had passed earlier that same day, the cocky smile on his face when they'd lock eyes, the same goofy smile he gives her after every time they sleep together. "And I found out a lot about myself, as well. We went to lunch afterwards and he was so . . . normal, while I was questioning everything I've ever known. It is possible for one thing to slightly disgust and arouse you at the same time?"

"I think a good fuck should always leave you a bit disgusted with yourself," Gemma admits, shrugging her shoulders as if this is common knowledge.

Darcy sighs heavily as Madam Pomfrey finishes cleaning up at the other end of the hospital wing. She doesn't pay the other girls much attention, but they both wait until she goes into her office before continuing in lower voices. "It doesn't matter though, how much I love him," Darcy says. "Sirius hates us now."

"You're not surprised that he acted that way, are you?" Gemma asks. "The man just got out of Azkaban to find out his best friend is fucking his goddaughter. I'm sure that came as a real shock."

Narrowing her eyes, Darcy sits up straighter on the cot. "Why does it sound like you're defending Sirius?" she hisses at her friend. "You didn't see him that night. I thought he was actually going to throttle Remus. I mean, how can he think he can just pretend to be my father after he willingly gave me up as a little girl?"

"I think you're being a bit unfair," Gemma counters, her voice sharp as a whip. "I'm sure he's not trying to be your father. I'm sure he's just trying to make up for all those years he was away. He knows you haven't had anyone to look after you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

When Darcy fails to answer, Gemma smirks haughtily.

"I see," she says. "You wanted him to be your father until you found out what he truly thinks about your relationship."

"No!" But Darcy flushes a deep red and she knows all is lost.

"Look, I think it could have been a lot worse." Gemma smiles at her. "If I were in your situation and my parents found out I was fucking a werewolf, I wouldn't even be here to be having this conversation. I wouldn't even be disowned—my parents would either die of shock or heartbreak or they'd live long enough to kill me and then die of broken hearts."

"You think I was being too harsh with him?"

"Yes, I do," Gemma answers sharply. "What would you have done in his position? Directly disobey Dumbledore's orders? Hagrid was told to bring both you and Harry to Privet Drive and Sirius knew that. You can't be angry with him for things out of his control, things that happened fourteen years ago." She scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You sure hold a mean grudge, Darcy, do you know that? Sirius loves you, so just let him, would you?"

Darcy is quiet for a moment, her cheeks still burning, picking at some fuzz on her skirt. The empty hospital wing suddenly feels small and suffocating. The words she had thrown in Sirius's face shame her now. "Did you read the article?"

"Of course I did," Gemma replies. "I read it. I already told Professor Dumbledore it was a load of bullshit."

"You what?" Darcy had never imagined she could ever feel so humiliated. "Why would you do that? What did you tell him? What did he say?"

"I told him that it wasn't true," she repeats. "I told him that anything that may have happened, happened at the end of the year, and anything that may have happened was completely consensual."

"And what did he say?"

Gemma clears her throat, sitting up straight on her cot and putting on her best Dumbledore voice. "'I appreciate your concern for your friends, Miss Smythe, but you should not trouble yourself. We will make sure the article and situation are handled appropriately between the parties involved.'" She shrugs her shoulders. "Madam Pomfrey said the article was disgusted and a sorry attempt at discrediting you. She even hated the one about Harry. She's refusing to read the Prophet now as long as Rita Skeeter is contributing to it."

"That's kind of her," Darcy replies with a small smile. She glances towards the closed office door.

"Listen, Darcy," Gemma says, patting Darcy's knee. "People have been telling lies about me all of my life, all because of the family I was born into. Even you believed them at first, remember? But I know who I am, and I know that people who don't care to know me are stupid enough to believe those lies. Anyway, the article Rita wrote is only gossip. I know you've always been wary of the spotlight, but it could have been a lot worse."

"Worse than the entire school knowing you're involved with your former professor who also happens to be a werewolf?"

"You should be proud!" Gemma tells her, leaning in slightly and smiling again—always smiling. "Any man who does such filthy things to you in his childhood home, where he was bitten, and then asks for nothing in return is a man that you should be proud to have."

Darcy forces herself to smile. "I am proud. I just feel like sometimes I'm not enough for him."

Gemma chuckles. "Lupin probably hadn't been touched for years until you came along, and now things are confusing for him because he's found he likes being touched," she says. When Gemma sees the skepticism showing plain on Darcy's face, she plunges on recklessly. "I've never met a man who hates himself more than Lupin does. I promise you, you are not the problem. And you are not obligated to fix him, Darcy."

Darcy chews on her bottom lip, wanting only to be warm and snug in her bed.

"Darcy," Gemma begins again. "Look at me right now."

Startled, Darcy lifts her eyes to meet Gemma's dark ones. "What?"

"I know you," she continues, holding a stern finger up at Darcy's face. "Tell me right now that you know you are not obligated to fix him. I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you're aware of this."

"I know I'm not obligated to do anything," Darcy answers quickly, crossing her arms over her chest. "But that doesn't mean I won't try."

"You're hopeless, you stupid romantic," Gemma laughs. Checking her watch, she suddenly stands and stretches obnoxiously. "I have to go. My shift at St Mungo's is starting in a little while."

"When will you be back?"

"Wednesday and Thursday. Want to have a sleepover? I'll bring the good wine." Gemma raises her eyebrows.

Darcy walks Gemma out the doors of the hospital wing, the darkness of the corridors unnerving. "I'd like that."

Gemma grins. "Harry said next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend. Let's get everyone together and have lunch. I'll ever force Emily to join us."

"Sounds great."

They part at the door of the entrance hall. Darcy watches Gemma walk down the path towards Hogsmeade, hands deep in her pockets, whistling to herself as if she hasn't a care in the world. What I wouldn't give to be Gemma right now, Darcy thinks, frowning. To be undeniably beautiful, to have a family (even though Gemma's mother and father are Death Eaters), to have a successful career, to be walking down to Hogsmeade carefree, to not have to worry about Rita Skeeter printing stupid articles that could destroy her reputation.

Darcy watches Gemma until she's swallowed by the darkness, until her whistling grows so faint that Darcy isn't sure if she's really hearing it at all.