"Miss Potter! Isn't this a pleasant surprise!"
Darcy turns from the many post owls, her hair being whipped around and in her face. She puts on the biggest smile she can muster at the sight of him. "Mr. Bagman!" she says breathlessly. The wind continues to snap at her cloak, pulled tight around her body. "Could you please help me for a moment?"
Ludo Bagman hurries to her side, his blond hair slightly disheveled from the wind, his cheeks pink from the cold. Darcy pushes some letters against his chest for him to hold as she ties one at a time to separate post owls—one for Lupin, detailing the odd situation with Professor Snape and asking if he'd like to visit Hogsmeade for the weekend; one for Mr. Weasley, explaining her side of things compared to Rita Skeeter's smear article and begging him to disregard it; and one for Emily, asking if she would also like to come to Hogsmeade this weekend for lunch to catch up. Ludo waits very patiently for her to finish, watching the owls take off one by one.
"Thank you so much," she smiles. "The wind is very inconvenient today."
To Ludo Bagman, her presence in Hogsmeade on a Tuesday evening may be a simple coincidence, but Darcy had wanted herself to be seen. She had wandered outside the Three Broomstick for a while to ensure people saw her as they entered, whispering to each other. Darcy had hoped their whispers would carry all the way to Ludo Bagman, and sure enough, they had. He had come strolling down the High Street with purpose, grinning upon catching sight of her.
"I'm so glad you're here," she continues, tucking her dark red hair behind her ears. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Ludo brightens immediately at that prospect, shaking his head. "Buy me a drink?" he asks, and Darcy nods eagerly in return, wrapping her arms around his thick bicep. "You truly are a girl after my own heart, aren't you?" He sighs deeply. "Yes, yes, I'll certainly take you up on that offer, but if I may make a suggestion . . ." Ludo leads her away from the Three Broomsticks and lowers his voice. "Rita Skeeter has been lurking in that damn pub all day . . . perhaps we could make a stop at the Hog's Head instead?"
"Oh, of course, sir."
"Please, you can call me Ludo. Have you ever been before?"
Darcy laughs quietly, muffled by the wind. "If I tell you something, you must never repeat it."
"You have my word, darling."
"Believe it or not, it's quite easy for underage students to buy alcohol at the Hog's Head." Darcy slows her pace to keep in step with Ludo. "I may or may not have frequented the place when I was younger, many moons ago, of course."
Ludo laughs heartily. "I do like you, Darcy."
Five minutes later, seated at a tiny table in the very back of the dusty Hog's Head pub, undisturbed and with two large pewter tankards set in front of them with odd tasting beer, Darcy traces the lip of her cup distractedly, watching Ludo's eyes dart about the place.
"I'm sorry for being so short with you on Friday," she says carefully, his bright blue eyes snapping back to her face. "It was just a . . . very long week."
Ludo sighs heavily, attempting to flatten his hair. "I never should have delivered you to that woman, and I do apologize for it," he tells her. Darcy takes a long drink from her cup, taking a perverted sense of satisfaction from his apology. It makes her feel good to hear the words, to know that Ludo knows he's done wrong. "That article she wrote was . . . cruel and self-indulgent and a terrible, terrible breach of your privacy."
Darcy remembers the awful things people had written to her about Lupin. She takes a deep breath. "Surely you don't believe there's much truth to it?" she asks with a frown.
"Darcy, I'm not interested in petty gossip about young girls," he scoffs. "I know for a fact that you declined to share anything with Rita Skeeter. And even if it were true, it's no business of mine."
She feels a great rush of affection for Ludo in that moment. "If that's truly how you feel, you must be one of my only real friends here." Darcy had meant to cut straight to the chase, to ask about Harry and about how Ludo might be able to help in regards to the upcoming first task. But now there's something else nagging at her, something else she'd like to know. "Mr. Bagman, we are friends, aren't we?"
Ludo smiles genially, seemingly touched by his question. He drinks slowly from his cup and sets it back down before answering. "I'd like to consider us friends."
"Why?"
"Why?" His brow furrows and the smile fades slowly from his face. "I don't know what you mean."
"You've taken a liking to me."
"I certainly have."
"Why?"
He pauses, thinking for a moment. Ludo's face is unusually serious, something that doesn't suit him well. Darcy much prefers him smiling or laughing. "You're a likable girl, Darcy. A good girl."
Darcy drinks again, long and deep. The candle burning in the center of the table flickers, wax dripping onto the tabletop. "I'm worried about my brother," she says softly. "He's so nervous about the first task. He's only a boy, Mr. Bagman. He's only fourteen."
Ludo nos, lifting a hand to flag down the only server in the pub. Within moments, their cups are both filled to the brim again. He drinks, and when he sets his cup back down again, he's smiling. Darcy smiles back at him.
"It will be a wonderful surprise," he promises, but it only makes her feel worse. "You and everyone else are in for a real treat. It took us a long time to secure . . . well, to secure what we needed for the first task. You understand, of course, that it's top secret."
"I understand," Darcy replies, looking put out. "I had just hoped you might . . . give me a hint or something. Just to ease my fears."
He clears his throat, looking down at the table as if looking Darcy in the eyes means certain death. "I shouldn't, darling," he laughs nervously. "Everything will be fine. You shouldn't worry so much."
"A friend comforting another friend, Mr. Bagman," she insists gently, lowering her voice. "I have terrible nightmares when I sleep, you know. All this worrying about the first task is giving me such restless sleep."
"Now don't you do that with me!" Ludo retorts, his face darkening. His demeanor changes within seconds, however, as if he's realized what he's just said. He sighs heavily and rubs his temples, his tone becoming gentler. "Someone tried to play this same game with me years ago on a much larger scale, and I'll be the first to admit that I was a fool then. But do not think you can charm some top secret information out of me, Darcy. I am not such a fool now."
"What?" Darcy stammers, unsure of how to react to this ominous admission. "What do you mean 'on a much larger scale'?"
Ludo's eyes flash with impatience. "Never you mind." He sighs again and drains his cup, smacking his lips. "Perhaps you aren't half as naive as the Minister thinks you are."
"I'm sorry?" Darcy feels her heart begin to race. The conversation has taken a turn she hadn't anticipated. She's frankly baffled by this statement, uncertain of where this could possibly be going.
For a moment, Ludo reminds Darcy slightly of Mr. Weasley, eager to tell her more, but knowing he shouldn't. Darcy leans closer and Ludo mimics her. "Strictly between us," he whispers, his voice near drowned by the other patrons' low conversations. "A friend confiding in another friend."
"Of course."
"It's no secret that Fudge doesn't have the support he once did—not that he was always beloved by all, of course—with all that's transpired over the years. The ordeal with the Chamber of Secrets and the arrest of that gamekeeper of Dumbledore's didn't set well with many parents, and then Sirius Black escaping Azkaban . . . escaping from right under Fudge's nose . . . not to mention the events at the Quidditch World Cup . . . people are beginning to grow restless."
"Restless? How do you mean?"
"They expect the Ministry to do more in such trying times."
"Are they afraid?" Darcy asks, feeling her heart leap into her throat. She instinctively leans closer, her eyes wide.
"I would say wary. On edge, perhaps. After the appearance of the Dark Mark at the World Cup, well . . . you can see how that might strike people as odd, if not downright terrifying."
"You told me it was an isolated incident," Darcy recalls. "The night the other schools arrived."
"I told you that the Ministry considered it an isolated incident."
Darcy takes in these words for a moment. Ludo watching her think, waiting for her to understand his meaning. "So they want the Ministry to take precautions," she murmurs, "because they fear another incident? But I don't understand, Mr. Bagman. What does all of this have to do with me?"
"I've only heard rumors, nothing more," he says quickly, cupping both of his hands around his tankard. His face is close enough to hers that Darcy can smell the beer on his breath. "Rumors that Fudge was interested in seeking you out, to hopefully convince you to speak for the Ministry. You can see the appeal there—the older sister to the Boy Who Lived, young and beautiful and well-spoken. He seeks a voice to boost morale during these strange times. But Fudge thinks you naive, and therefore thinks it will be an easy task to convince you."
She doesn't expect these words to make her so angry, but they do. Darcy scowls. "I will not stand beside Fudge and bleat like a sheep," she hisses, sitting back in her chair. "I am not a thing to be used at the Minister's pleasure."
"No, clearly you're not." Ludo visibly relaxes, smiling again. He raises his cup to her in a toast. "You are well aware of who you are, aren't you, my darling? You understand the weight your words carry."
Darcy hesitates. "I'm learning. I'm learning slowly, but I'm learning."
"Better to learn slowly than to never learn at all. Fudge thinks years of being sheltered in some Muggle suburb has left you innocent and unaware. But thanks to Rita Skeeter, I think Fudge may be a bit more hesitant to bring the idea to table now."
"Why?"
"You're publicly involved with a werewolf. Don't think that won't hang over your head wherever you go, whatever you decide to do."
"A small price to pay for the happiness he brings me," Darcy says flatly, firmly, confidently. She sits up straighter in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "And to be spared having to speak on behalf of the Ministry. Fudge wouldn't listen to what I had to say about Sirius . . . he didn't give a damn that Hagrid didn't actually open the Chamber of Secrets. Why should I trust him at all?"
"It's not about trusting him. It's about the power you would wield," Ludo continues, a manic gleam in his blue eyes. Darcy thinks he looks slightly crazed, madder than she's ever seen him. "You could be the face of the Ministry, a far prettier face than Fudge's. Think of the things you could do . . . the things you could achieve. You could finally make something of yourself—and at only nineteen!"
Darcy shakes her head and scoffs. "Say I do just that," she says bitterly. "Say that I accept his offer to be the face of the Ministry, to reassure these people by allowing Fudge to speak through me. Where would that leave you, Mr. Bagman . . . my friend? What would you want from me?"
"W—want?" Ludo falters. "I wouldn't ask anything of you, my dear, my darling Darcy. We're friends."
"Everyone wants something from me. My money, my favor, my friendship." She pauses, watching Ludo's eyes widen and his nostrils flare. "What do you want from me, Mr. Bagman? Why have you taken a liking to me? So you can claim credit for my rise to power?"
Ludo doesn't have an answer for her. He opens and closes his mouth stupidly.
"I could have gone into the Ministry if I wanted to," Darcy says, stony-faced. "Not because of who I am, or rather who my brother is, but because I worked hard. Had I gone into the Ministry, I would have earned it. But I chose to stay here, at Hogwarts, because I love my little brother more than anything in the world. I loved Harry far more than I have ever loved myself. Do you know what that's like?"
"No," Ludo answers finally. "I suppose not."
They look at each other for a long time while the server refills their tankards. Darcy thanks him softly, waving him away. "Power, money, fame . . . those things mean nothing to me, and I have no desire for them." She inhales, takes a sip of beer, and shifts in her seat. "I've learned there are far more important things in this world, and if you think I would sacrifice my happiness for any of those things, then you don't know me at all."
Darcy stands, partly disgusted with herself and party with Ludo. His eyes follow her as she sweeps her hair out of her face, fastening her cloak back around her shoulders. She reaches into her pockets and tosses some coins onto the table.
When the door of the Hog's Head shuts behind her and Darcy is once again engulfed by bitter winds and she sees the stars clear in the sky, she laughs. If only Emily could have seen me, she thinks, making her way back towards Hogwarts as the cold wind snaps at her cloak, I no longer need her to stand up for me, to speak on my behalf.
Darcy starts up the sloping yard, the lights still blazing inside the castle's many windows, promising warmth and comfort. She whistles a song she'd heard once many years ago, and it carries across the grounds, a beautiful tune for a beautiful night.
Darcy sends Max off with another letter for Lupin, giving him an extremely and unnecessarily detailed account of her conversation with Ludo and also filled with some filthy things that had made her blush upon writing them, things she certainly wouldn't have the courage to say to his face. She tries to picture Lupin reading the letter, smiling at her words and laughing to himself, shaking his head as if to say—this girl is mine.
And so Darcy blows through the rest of the week, eagerly awaiting Friday while dreading the coming Tuesday. Things gets easier with the amount of pleasant surprises, and Darcy smiles easier during the rest of the week, laughing and joking much more quickly than before.
Wednesday morning, while visiting Gemma in the hospital wing during breakfast, a second year boy enters with bright red cheeks, carrying a bouquet of white lilies, freshly picked and smelling wonderful. He gives them to Darcy before running from the hospital wing. There's only a small note, one that Darcy discards immediately after reading.
Come find me for a drink the next time you're in Hogsmeade - Ludo.
The flowers are extraordinary and make Darcy feel as if her mother is close by, as if Lily is lingering just out of sight. Gemma teases her about them—after all, the conversation between she and Ludo had been the first thing Darcy told her about that morning.
"Wait until he hears you're spoken for, Darcy," Gemma laughs, smelling the lilies. "He'll die of a broken heart, especially knowing that you've been claimed by a werewolf."
"If you have nothing nice to say, then don't say anything at all, Smythe. And who are these from?" Madam Pomfrey asks briskly, stopping in front of the nightstand Darcy has set the flowers upon. She looks back and forth from Darcy to Gemma, her eyebrows raised.
"Ludo Bagman," Darcy replies sheepishly. "You can keep them if you'd like. I think it's good manners to decline flowers from men you aren't involved with."
"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Madam Pomfrey smiles wistfully, taking the lilies from Darcy's hand and finding a spot for them on a sunny windowsill. "They'll certainly make the room a bit more lively."
Darcy smiles at the matron's back. "I'm glad I could help."
Thursday brings the return of two letters at breakfast. One is from Lupin, promising to arrive Friday to further speak about Professor Snape, Ludo Bagman, and the first task, also including a post-script that describes, in vivid detail, a number of things he'd like to do to her when he does arrive. Darcy's entire face flushes at this and she receives a bewildered and curious look from Snape before he returns to his breakfast.
With her heart racing and adrenaline surging through her, Darcy folds the letter up and puts it away quickly. The second letter is from Emily, who happily agrees to visit Hogsmeade on Saturday and letting her know that she has information she's eager to share. The knowledge that Emily is so excited to visit her lights a fire in Darcy.
That afternoon, as lunch comes to an end, Harry drops a bombshell. He, Darcy, and Hermione linger in the freezing courtyard alone, and he confesses that Sirius is somehow going to speak to them Saturday night at one o'clock in the morning. As anxious as Darcy is to see Sirius again and completely unsure as to how he'll manage it, Darcy can't deny that she would like to see his face again—in fact, she would love to see him again, to explain herself and apologize for blaming him for things beyond his control.
"You can use the cloak," Harry suggests with a smile, and Darcy nods in return. "We'll make sure the common room is clear around that time, and no one will be any the wiser."
Friday morning, Darcy realizes that Hagrid won't meet her eyes, nor will he speak to her for longer than he's forced to. Hermione promises Darcy she'll speak with Hagrid about it, promises that she'll tell him not to put such stock in silly rumors written by Rita Skeeter. Darcy hugs her for that, the small gesture making her feel warm all the way to her bones. It makes her impervious to the whispers and stares, thinking only of the end of the day, thinking only of the walk down to Hogsmeade and the feeling of Lupin's lips on her cheek, kissing her by way of greeting like he always does.
His room is a different one than usual this time. Madam Rosmerta had insisted that, if he wanted a room for the weekend, he'd have to reserve one at least a week in advance. Lupin had only laughed, made Madam Rosmerta sigh exasperatedly, and she had given him the smallest room at the end of the upstairs corridor. The single bay window overlooks the Forbidden Forest, golden and blood red in the setting sun. However, the room is not as spectacular as the gilded trees—it's dusty and smells slightly of mildew, and with the fire going, it's absolutely stifling.
Lupin wastes no time in making good on the promises he'd made in his letter, and clothes are soon quickly shed. Their skin sticks together and shines in the glow of the fire, and Darcy has to keep combing Lupin's soaking wet hair out of his face.
After Darcy's red hair begins to stick to her shoulders, neck, and back, Lupin finally extinguishes the fire, only to find that the room is freezing without it. He grows angry at this, frustrated, but Darcy can only laugh. She wraps an arm around his slick neck, starts another fire in the hearth, and throws open the large window.
"They'll hear us below," he murmurs, leaving wet kisses across her collarbones.
"Then be quiet," she whispers back, relishing the feel of the cold breeze on her back.
She has a good view of the High Street through the large window as he pounds into her from behind. Though the sun has now set in earnest, the village isn't going to sleep just yet—lights are still on inside the windows of shops and upper floors of homes. People are still out on the street in groups, wandering and laughing together, their voices floating up into the tiny room.
The breeze blows cold on her face, making the tip of her nose numb and her cheeks red. She keeps her ragged panting as quiet as she can, Lupin's face buried in his shoulder to muffle the soft groans, his chest heaving and his heart racing against her back, but there's no disguising the noises that slip through the cracks, the rhythmic creaking of the bed with each stroke, the violent and primal slapping of skin against skin. It excites Darcy to know that people on the street may hear them, the sounds of two people utterly in love.
Darcy closes her eyes, her core aching and feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed with love for him. His pace becomes irregular and she throws her head back, allowing him to tangle his fingers in her auburn hair and tugging sharply. She opens her mouth to cry out, and then she sees it, just beyond the outskirts of the forest—fire, flames licking at the dark night sky, high above the trees . . . and then it's gone.
"Remus—!" Darcy gasps, watching it disappear. The flames shoot up above the trees again. She looks frantically for a sign of a fire, for smoldering leaves or smoke, but Lupin pulls her hair again and cranes her head back so she isn't able to see as well. "There's something out there—"
"Don't worry about it," he pants, leaning down to kiss her sweaty forehead. "Don't—"
He thrusts into her sharply a few more times before sighing heavily and stilling, catching his breath. Lupin releases her hair and Darcy scrambles closer to the window, completely distracted as the flames shoot up into the sky again.
"There!" she hisses, pointing and looking back at Lupin. "Did you see it?"
Lupin kneels on the bed, completely still and looking as if he's seen a ghost. He tilts his head back, taking another step towards the window. "Yes," he says hoarsely.
"What is that?" Darcy asks, sitting up and catching her shirt as Lupin throws it to her.
"Get dressed. Quickly!"
Darcy hesitates, but does as she's told. Once they're fully dressed again and bundled up, Lupin takes Darcy's hand and pulls her down the stairs into the common room of the Three Broomsticks. He pulls her all the way down the High Street, moving quicker than she's ever seen him move, and just before they pass the last cottage on the street, someone calls her name.
She stops in her tracks, the voice vaguely familiar to her. Lupin stumbles, releasing her hand and turning around towards the source of the voice. Trying to catch her breath, Darcy spies a red-headed figure walking towards them with some haste, and she smiles wide.
"Charlie!"
They both move towards each other and Darcy throws her arms around his neck. Charlie's arms are thick as tree trunks around her waist, and he lifts her off the ground with ease. "It's so good to see you!" he laughs, lowering her to the ground and holding her out at arm's length to examine her. "How are you? How are you feeling? I know this must all be very difficult for you . . . and Harry, of course."
"I'm fine," Darcy answers, smiling weakly. "I'm much better than the last time you saw me, at least."
"You look great," Charlie says again. "You look—"
Lupin clears his throat from behind her and Charlie's eyes flick over her shoulder at him. He lowers his hands from Darcy's arms, his ears turning slightly red in the yellow lighting from the nearby shop windows. Darcy offers Lupin a small smile.
"Sorry," he mutters. "Er—Charlie, this is Remus Lupin. Remus, Charlie Weasley."
"Good to meet you, Remus." Charlie shakes Lupin's hand firmly. "Where are the two of you rushing off to?"
"We saw . . . well, I don't know, like, fire in the forest. Did you see it, as well?"
Charlie suddenly looks sheepish. He glances around and grabs Darcy's upper arm again, pushing her gently down the street to keep her moving. Lupin drapes his arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him, and Charlie takes the hint and releases her.
When the three of them reach the end of the High Street, Lupin asks, "What's out there?"
"I shouldn't be telling you this," Charlie sighs.
Darcy is able to get a much better look at Charlie now in the moonlight. There's a mean burn on his forehead, partially obscured by his bright red hair, but she can tell that it's relatively new. Her heart hammers inside her chest. "Charlie," she whispers slowly. "Is it dragons? That's why you're here right now, isn't it?"
Charlie hesitates, but finally nods and runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, it's dragons. Do you want to see?"
"The first task is dragons?" Darcy hisses, breathing very fast and hard. "Dragons!" She spins on her heel to face Lupin, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, hysterical. "Dragons!"
Charlie attempts to shush her, smiling in spite of himself. "They're only dragons," he interrupts, succeeding in quieting her. "And with us here keeping a close eye on them—"
"Are you mad?" Darcy shrieks, shoving Charlie hard in the chest. He barely moves, sturdy and steady on his feet. "The Ministry has allowed dragons to be a part of the Triwizard Tournament? This is insane—Charlie, Harry needs to know—"
"If anyone finds out I've told you—"
"He's a boy, Charlie!" Darcy cries, fear gripping her heart with an icy fist. She punches him in the shoulder, and then again and again and again, until Charlie cries out and Lupin wraps his arms around her middle, pulling her away. Darcy squirms in his hold, wiping angry tears from her eyes. "He's only a boy! He should never have been involved in this in the first place!"
"What do you want me to do about it, Darcy?" Charlie replies, not unkindly, rubbing his shoulder. "Tell them to cancel the tournament?"
"Let go of me, Remus!"
"Stop it, Darcy! Stop!" Lupin says in her ear, fighting to keep his grip around her. "Just leave him."
Darcy ignores him, pointing a threatening finger at Charlie. "Does your father know about this?" she asks coldly. "Does he?"
"Yes, of course he knows about it—"
"Oh!" Darcy growls, squirming in Lupin's arms still. "Charlie Weasley, you—!"
"All right, listen," Charlie tells her, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll—I'll try and help—I'll talk to Hagrid—"
Red in the face, Darcy shakes Lupin off her, fixing her hair and brushing it back out of her face. She takes a few angry steps closer to Charlie, almost nose to nose with him, jabbing his chest with her index finger. "If anything happens to Harry—"
"He'll be fine, I swear it."
Clenching her jaw, Darcy turns back to Lupin. He looks down at her crossly, his eyebrows raised. Before leaving, she punches Charlie's arm one more time.
"Ouch! That hurts, you know!"
"Shut up," Darcy snarls, trying to calm herself. Huffing, she shoots Lupin a sharp look. "Are you going to offer to buy me a drink?"
"If that's what it will take to calm you down."
She nods, letting Lupin's arm settle back around her shoulders. He kisses the top of her head, bidding Charlie good-bye and setting off for the Three Broomsticks again as Charlie makes for the forest. "Dragons," she grumbles. "Can you believe that?"
"Perhaps I could help clear your head," he purrs softly in her ear. "Come back upstairs . . . come back to bed with me."
"Not before I've had a drink . . . or ten." Darcy enters the pub and slides into a seat at the bar. "You know what?" she asks as Lupin sits beside her, flagging down Madam Rosmerta. "Don't bring me back upstairs until I'm completely incoherent. I want no memory of this night when I wake up in the morning."
Lupin only smiles at her.
When Darcy finally has her first drink in hand, she watches him drain his small cup from over the rim of her own. She grins, her nerves still jangling. "You were so jealous back there."
"Me?" Lupin scoffs, clearing his throat. "No, not jealous."
Darcy glances around the common room, noticing the eyes fixating on their backs. It makes her uneasy, remembering all that had been said about them in the Prophet. She turns back around in her seat, looking down into her cup. "Everyone is looking at us."
"Likely admiring your bravery or being able to show your face in public with me." His tone is incredibly bitter, but there's still a small smile on his face.
Darcy looks at him for a long time, admires the sharp angle of his jaw, the way he grinds his teeth. His beard has grown in, flecked with gray, just like his shaggy hair. "Remus?"
He hums, looking sideways at her as Madam Rosmerta refills his glass.
Looking around the room once more, Darcy turns back towards him and leans forward to kiss him softly upon the lips, cradling his cheek in her palm. When she pulls away, she watches a faint blush appear on his cheekbones.
"What was that for?" he asks her, giving her a toothy smile.
"Maybe we could take the bottle upstairs instead?"
Lupin hastily waves the barmaid back down again, already sliding off his chair and reaching deep into his pocket, hurriedly pulling out money. But when he speaks again, his voice is slow, cool, and confident. "I think I'd like that very much."