"What did Sirius say, when you spoke with him?" Darcy asks softly, staring up at the dark ceiling with one arm tucked behind her head. The moon is growing fuller, and the light spills through the window and onto Darcy's over-sized bed. "You never told me."
Both of Harry's hands are tucked behind his head as he watches the shadows shift on the ceiling. He had come knocking on Darcy's door around midnight, alone and hidden underneath the Invisibility Cloak. He'd apologized for not coming right away, explaining that the other Gryffindor students had been eager to celebrate his success with food, drink, and lots of laughs and smiles.
Darcy understood, of course, and she knows that Harry has spent too much time feeling isolated of late, and she's glad the other students are finally coming around and changing their minds about him. The only reason he had escaped from the common room was under the pretense of visiting the kitchens for more food, and no one had thought to question it.
"He asked if you were coming," Harry answers, and Darcy seems him frown in the white light of the moon. "And when I told him you weren't able to make it, he got sort of . . . weird. He started asking if I knew about you and Lupin, and I told him I did and that he'd spoken to me back in June, and that he asked me if it was all right for him to—God, he said it so weird—"
Darcy laughs quietly, blushing at the very thought.
"Anyway, I told Sirius that Lupin is good to you and I'm all right with it," Harry finishes, giving his sister a small smile. "Sirius didn't say much, but he said he cares about you, and . . . he was upset, I think."
It gives Darcy a perverted sense of satisfaction to know Sirius feels slightly guilty for what he had said and done the last time they had met. Of course Darcy wants to apologize to him, as well—she wants Sirius to know that she hadn't meant any of it, that she wants him to be here for her, that she wants him to love her completely and without any reservations.
And perhaps Sirius will never be completely at ease with the idea that his goddaughter is involved with one of his boyhood friends, but he must accept that Lupin is kind to her, and accept that Lupin loves and cares about her. Doesn't she deserve that much? Certainly Sirius will be able to recognize that attempting to separate them will only cause Darcy more hurt?
"Remus wants me to stay with him over Christmas break." She sighs heavily, wishing things could be easier. If only Lupin were still here at Hogwarts . . .
Darcy thinks that's how it should be. She had thought, before June, that she and Lupin would be able to take meals together and fall asleep beside each other every night in a room that they shared. She definitely didn't anticipate such an exciting end to the school year, however, and hadn't anticipated Professor Snape outing Lupin in a fit of anger . . . and she hadn't imagined that Lupin would leave altogether.
"I told him I can't," she adds quickly.
"What? Why not?" Harry sits up, causing the bed to shift beneath Darcy. "Could I come, too? Could I spend Christmas with the both of you?"
"Wh—really?" Darcy sits up, as well, pulling her knees to her chest. "You really would want to?"
Harry nods. "Why would you want to stay here for Christmas when you could spend it with Lupin?"
Darcy looks away, holding her knees to her still. "Well, it's just that . . . you and I have always spent Christmas together."
"You know there will be other Christmases, don't you?" Harry laughs, but it's weak and tired. "And besides, once I'm out of Hogwarts, we can spend Christmas wherever and with whoever we want for the rest of our lives. If Lupin wants you for Christmas, I'm not going to force you to stay here."
She smiles awkwardly, her lips pressed tight together. "This is difficult for me, Harry," she tells him. "Sometimes I think that . . . well, maybe I'm not ready to give Remus what he wants, but I don't want to be alone. It's just . . . overwhelming at times."
Harry doesn't answer, but watches her closely in the darkness. She doesn't really expect him to understand.
"I don't deserve him," she whispers. "I'll never be good enough for him, but no one has ever taken care of me the way he does."
Harry sighs, running fingers through dark and messy hair. "I'm sorry I—I couldn't do more for you all those years."
In spite of everything, Darcy smiles. Tears prickle painfully in her eyes, and she reaches out to touch Harry's face. She combs his hair out of his eyes, brushing her thumb feather-light over the raised scar on his forehead. "It should have been me," she breathes, lowering her hand. "I'm so proud of you, Harry, of all the things you've done."
"I couldn't have done them without you," he replies with a slight shrug. He rubs his scar with his index finger, irritating it. "I would never wish this upon you, Darcy. I know it wasn't easy on you, but if there is one thing I am happy to do for you, it's bearing this scar on my forehead instead of seeing it on yours."
Darcy wipes her eyes before the tears begin to fall in earnest. She pulls Harry to her briefly to kiss his forehead. "Go on," she tells him, chuckling. "Before your friends begin to wonder where you've run off to."
As November turns into December, the weather begins to worsen. It sleets most of the time and makes the dungeon classroom colder than ever, but even that doesn't dampen Darcy's spirits. She finds herself happier than she has been in a while.
Even when Professor Snape shows her a black-and-white photograph in the Daily Prophet of she and Lupin kissing after Harry had collected his golden egg (which, upon being opened, had shrieked so loudly that she thought she was going to lose her hearing), set above a small article, Darcy had waved it off.
Even when a dozen post owls had delivered her a dozen letters, she hadn't opened a single one. She had carried them all down to Professor Snape's frigid classroom, started a fire in the grate, and tossed them all into the flames without a second thought, watching them crumble and blacken and burn.
Yet, despite the article being released, students seem more interested in her, no doubt because of Harry's performance during the first task. It shows in classes—when they ask for help after Professor Snape refuses them, young students giggling with her about Lupin, older students reliving the first task with her. One first year Gryffindor calls her 'Professor Potter' in class one day, which some others gladly take up, but she urges them to call her by her name, because hearing 'Professor Potter' only makes her blush.
It does make her smile, however, and once, when the Gryffindor first years slip up again during class, Darcy turns to Professor Snape and teases, "They like me more than you."
Even Professor Snape seems more at ease with her presence than he has in a long while. They walk down to the classroom together after mealtimes, and he allows her to chatter away about anything and everything without interrupting her once (though she suspects it's because he hardly listens). Darcy finds herself quite enjoying these moments they share, for it's not often she can talk however much her heart desires without someone trying to talk over her.
Even Lupin notices her sudden change in personality, deciding to bring it up Friday night while Darcy is seated on the bathroom sink, a towel still wrapped around her and her hair soaking wet. He stands between her legs, allowing Darcy to drag a sharp razor up his neck, cutting away at the coarse hair he had let grow too long.
"It's good to see you not sulking for once," he mutters, trying not to move his lips too much. "As much as I enjoy being the one to comfort you, I do so enjoy your smile." Darcy rinses the razor off before holding it to his skin again. "Ouch!"
Darcy pulls her hands away quickly, clapping a hand over her mouth and looking up into his eyes. "I'm so sorry!"
"I'm only joking," Lupin laughs, pulling his hand away from his neck to show her there's no harm done. "Keep going, my love."
She gives him a cold look, but continues. "I wouldn't recommend teasing me when I have a razor so close to your throat."
"If I didn't trust you with a blade to my throat, I wouldn't have let you do it in the first place."
"You're just getting lazy," she jokes softly. "Next you'll be asking me to make your bed and cook you breakfast—oh! You already do."
"I only asked you to cook this morning so I could admire the sight of you wearing hardly anything whilst serving me breakfast," he confesses with an impish smile, but Darcy shushes him as the razor slides across his cheek, close to his lips.
"I was happy to do it. You need only ask, you know. You don't have to play the part of a wounded animal just for some breakfast," she answers sweetly, shaving the last bit of hair on his face. She rinses the razor in the sink and wipes his face off with a hand towel, kissing him. "You could use a haircut, too."
"Perhaps next time," he says, helping her down from the sink and letting Darcy kiss his cleanly shaven face over and over again. Lupin chuckles, her lips peppering his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his jaw, all with chaste kisses. "It's so nice to see you happy, love." He pushes her wet hair out of her face.
Darcy pulls slightly away from him, smiling weakly. She has to admit, since the first task, things have gotten much easier. A weight has been lifted off her shoulders and she can breathe again. But eventually, she knows, the second task will come, and if dragons were the first task, what will the second be? And she can't forget that she needs to figure out who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire in the first place.
But now, in this moment, she's happy, and Darcy won't let any childish fears or doubts ruin that, as they so often do.
Lupin's fingers lightly trace the violent scars on her shoulder, his eyes fixed on her face. Darcy takes his wrist, moving his hand from her shoulder and kissing his fingertips. He smiles at her.
"I am happy," she whispers. "I love you." She combs his shaggy hair back out of his face, touching his smooth cheek. "Are you going to have your way with me now? Or must I beg?"
Lupin grins, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Well . . ." He tugs at the towel around her, letting it drop to the ground heavily. "If you insist . . ."
Perhaps the biggest surprise yet comes one night while Harry, Hermione, and Ron decide to have dinner with Darcy in her room. Hermione rages about Rita Skeeter, telling Darcy tearfully about Rita being present during their Care of Magical Creatures class and asking Hagrid for an interview. "And you know that she'll just put words in his mouth and twist everything that he does say! I mean, look at what she did to you and Harry! And she outed Professor Lupin and I just—I hate her!"
Darcy can't argue with that, thinking that Hermione is very much right, but she offers a feeble, "It'll be all right. Hagrid is an adult—he can handle himself."
Privately, Darcy thinks that an interview with Rita Skeeter may do some good to her broken friendship with Hagrid. Since the news had broken about Darcy and Lupin, Hagrid rarely seems to be in a "talking" mood, or a smiling one. In fact, Hagrid rarely looks her in the eyes, and she curses him silently for caring so much about who she's involved with.
Darcy also thinks that Rita Skeeter may very well, however, ruin an unsuspecting and trusting man such as Hagrid, and her heart goes out to him. She promises Hermione that she'll send a letter to Emily at the Daily Prophet, warning her about a possible smear article that must be stopped. She's certain Emily will not be able to do much about it, but it would be nice to try.
Harry keeps glances around anxiously, and every time that Darcy asks him what he's waiting for, Harry's eyes fix upon his plate again and he stifles a smile. "Nothing," he tells her, each and every time she asks.
But about fifteen minutes later, there's a loud crack! and Darcy screams, jumping to her feet and pulling her wand out of her back pocket. Ron wrestles her wand out of her hand, laughing. "Darcy, it's fine—it's fine—it's only—give me your wand—"
There's a house-elf standing directly in front of Darcy, eyes large and shiny and the size of tennis balls. He's smiling, his hands held behind his shabby and stained shift, and he rocks backwards and forwards on skinny feet. Darcy shakes her head, blinking, running a hand through her hair before snatching her wand back from Ron.
"Dobby, you can't just scare me like th—wait—" She does a double-take, her eyes running up and down the small elf. "Dobby? But what are you doing here?"
"Darcy Potter!" Dobby answers squeakily, bowing so low his nose almost touches the floor. She reaches out a hand for the elf, and Dobby clutches it with both of his small and slender hands. "Dobby is so happy to see you! Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby a job, Darcy Potter! He is paid and everything, and Harry Potter and his friends came to visit Dobby and Winky in the kitchens just the other day, and Dobby heard from Harry Potter that Darcy was here!"
"Winky?" Darcy asks, leading Dobby over to the sofa and helping him scramble up. "I'm sorry, I don't know who Winky is. Is she a friend of yours?"
"Winky was Mr. Crouch's house-elf," Hermione explains quickly. "She was at the Quidditch World Cup this summer. When the Dark Mark was cast, Winky was found with Harry's wand, and . . . Mr. Crouch gave her clothes." She wrings her hands in her lap, chewing on her lower lip. "I mean, it's wonderful that she's here now, with a paid job, but Mr. Crouch didn't want people to think that Winky—"
"He thinks a house-elf cast the Dark Mark?" Darcy frowns, looking quickly at Dobby. There's a very sad look upon his face. "Well, I'm really pleased to see you, Dobby, but . . . please don't scare me like that anymore."
As soon as Dobby disappears from Darcy's room, Hermione subjects her to a long and heated conversation about S.P.E.W., and Darcy promises half-heartedly that she'll pass the message along to Lupin the next time she sees him.
The following Thursday, after classes, Professor Snape informs Darcy that he has an announcement to make to his House and she'll have to go to dinner alone. When she asks what the announcement is, he gives her an incredulous look, as if she should already know, but he indulges her anyway.
"It was the Headmaster's ingenious decision to hold a Yule Ball this year, sourcing Triwizard tradition as reason for this folly," Professor Snape tells her, his lip curled as if he thinks the idea is anything but lovely.
"A ball?" Darcy repeats, breathless. It seems to absurd, a ball. She pictures large gowns that are too tight to breathe in, extravagant masks, something out of Gemma's world. And yet, it sounds all too romantic, and it sounds like a perfect opportunity to sneak Lupin up to her rooms afterwards. "A ball!"
"It's good that one of us is excited about it," he mutters, leaving her to ponder the possibilities by herself.
Darcy immediately relays this information to Gemma a few minutes later as they pace around the hospital wing, cleaning up before making the trek to Hogsmeade for dinner at the Three Broomsticks. Before they're able to leave, however, Professor Dumbledore appears in the infirmary, begging a private word with Darcy, promising to be quick and to the point.
There's a smile on his face, so Darcy doesn't worry too much, but she still feels that she has an idea of what is coming. Madam Pomfrey retreats into her office and Gemma promises to wait by the front doors, leaving Darcy with the Headmaster alone.
He gestures for Darcy to sit, so she takes a seat on the edge of the nearest bed. Professor Dumbledore sits at the foot. "Did you enjoy the first task?" he asks politely, his eyes twinkling as if he knows the answer already, holding his hands in his lap.
"I think I enjoyed it much more after it was over, sir," Darcy confesses, and the two of them share a quiet laugh. The thought of Harry racing around on his Firebolt while avoiding a dragon's fire still makes adrenaline surge through her veins.
"He was spectacular," Professor Dumbledore nods, smiling all the while. "He is truly your father's son."
Darcy agrees, despite remembering so little of her own father. "Professor Dumbledore, I owe you an apology. I'm sorry—I should never have said those things to you the night Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire."
"Thank you, Darcy," he says with a slight nod. "Your apology is much appreciated, but I fear that it is quite unnecessary, as well. I understand how you must have been feeling . . . angry, upset, frightened."
An awkward silence hangs over them for a moment. Professor Dumbledore never looks away from her, smiling, until Darcy forces her eyes everywhere but at his face. She rubs the back of her neck and clears her throat.
"I have some news that I think you will enjoy," Professor Dumbledore begins again, but Darcy speaks quickly and excitedly, cutting him off.
"Is it the Yule Ball? Professor Snape just told me." She blushes furiously, sorry for interrupting him, but Professor Dumbledore doesn't seem annoyed with her. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . er—sorry." She blushes harder.
"Very exciting," Dumbledore supplies, making her smile again. "I understand." He leans forward slightly, giving her a curious look. "I must ask you once again, as I always do. Have you been kind to Professor Snape, Darcy?"
"Yes, sir." She thinks it's the truth.
"Good," is all Professor Dumbledore says to that, not even asking if Snape has been kind to her. Though, she imagines that he has no reason to think anything bad, for someone would have gone running to him, she's sure. His face becomes more serious and he inhales deeply, considering her. "I detest that I must ask this of you, because I know that it is unfair to—"
Darcy understands right away, without having to hear the rest of his sentence. Her face falls and her heart sinks and she tucks some hair behind her ears. "Remus can't come, is that it?" She can't say it's an unreasonable request, especially after what had appeared in the Daily Prophet, and considering the terms on which he'd left the previous summer. The thought of Lupin spending another Christmas alone breaks her heart. "What if I decide I don't want to go to the Yule Ball?"
"There is no rule in place saying you must attend," Professor Dumbledore replies. "It is entirely up to you whether or not you stay at the castle for Christmas. If you do choose to attend, I see no reason as to why Miss Smythe may not accompany you."
She stares down at her feet, hating herself for letting this upset her so.
Professor Dumbledore looks very sad for her, and it hurts Darcy even more. "Did you read the letters, Darcy?"
Hesitating, Darcy sighs. "Yes," she admits. "They were . . . horrifying, and disgusting."
He purses his lips. "It is better for someone like Remus to lay low. Bringing him to the Yule Ball would not be good for him," he tells her gently. "I have forbidden Rita Skeeter from coming onto the grounds again, but Rita Skeeter has been known for finding loopholes. I have also written a strongly worded letter to Barnabas Cuffe, the editor of the Daily Prophet, requesting that he let Miss Duncan take over the covering of the Triwizard Tournament, who would be most welcome at Hogwarts to do her research."
Darcy smiles again, looking up at him. "You'd do that, sir?"
He gets to his feet, holding out a hand to help Darcy up. "We will talk again soon. I will not keep you from Miss Smythe any longer," Professor Dumbledore says, opening the door of the hospital wing for her. "Have a good night, Darcy."
When Darcy finally tells Gemma about the Yule Ball, seated in a warm corner of the Three Broomsticks, she nearly shrieks. She clutches Darcy's arm across the table, a wide grin on her thin face. "How fun, Darcy!" she exclaims, sighing happily. "And Dumbledore said I could come? That's sweet of him, but I can't, Darcy. I'll help you find something to wear, though . . . I bet you'll look absolutely lovely. I've never seen you all dressed up before! You'll have to show me, or take a picture. I'll lend you some jewelry, if you'd like—or I could show you a few dresses you can try on. I'll bring them by next week. Is Lupin going?"
Darcy squirms uncomfortably as Madam Rosmerta places two cups of hot butterbeer in front of them. "That's what Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about," she says. "He'd rather Remus not come."
"Oh," Gemma frowns. "Are you going to be with him over Christmas, then? My parents make a big deal about Christmas, or else I'd ask if you wanted to do something. They're holding a fundraiser for St Mungo's."
"I don't know," she admits, her shoulders slumping. "He asked me to stay with him, but I'd really like to go—"
"Why don't you just go to the Yule Ball with Snape?"
Darcy blushes, her eyes widening. "Why would I go with Professor Snape?"
Gemma shrugs, as if her suggestion was perfectly sane. "Because you're his apprentice, aren't you?"
"I can't go with—"
"Darcy!"
Both Darcy and Gemma jump, looking up to find Ludo Bagman walking quickly towards them. Gemma puts on a wide smile, while Darcy's is rather forced. "Mr. Bagman," she breathes, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for Ludo take, kissing her fingers and bowing his head as if she were a princess. It makes her feel powerful, and it makes her smile. "It's so good to see you again."
"Tell me you received the flowers," he says quickly, releasing her hand.
"I did. They were absolutely lovely. Thank you so much."
Ludo smiles warmly at her, glancing at Gemma and giving her an acknowledging nod. "May I join you, darling? Just for one drink—I've much to do, details to finalize for the Yule Ball—I'm certain you've heard?"
"I only just found out today," Darcy replies, resuming her seat and gesturing to an empty one in between she and Gemma. "Please, sit."
Ludo sits down without needing to be asked twice. He holds a hand out for Gemma, giving hers a polite squeeze. "Quidditch World Cup, I believe—I'm so terribly sorry, my dear, what was the name?"
"Gemma."
"Of course, how silly of me, a lovely name, truly—my apologies, Gemma. I see so many different faces every day, especially in my line of work."
Gemma only continues to smile fondly at him, and Darcy chuckles. She's sure Gemma sees many more faces per day than Ludo Bagman, but nothing is said about it.
"Darcy, I have to say—my god! Can your brother really fly!" Ludo squeaks, shaking his head with his eyes wide. "He could be the next Viktor Krum, he could! And only fourteen . . . it was truly an amazing show he put on. And to be the quickest champion to get the egg! Gemma, my dear, did you watch it?"
"I did," Gemma answers. "Harry has always been a natural on a broomstick, much to his sister's dismay."
"I'll have you know, darling," Ludo says to Darcy. "I did offer Harry help, just as you asked, but . . . he wasn't interested in the slightest. Brushed me right off, he did."
Darcy laughs. Harry had told her about Ludo's willingness to help, but Darcy hadn't told her brother that it had been her who approached Ludo in the first place. "Thank you anyway, Mr. Bagman."
"Amazing . . . truly amazing . . . listen, Darcy, I wanted to ask you about this Yule Ball," he continues, moving slightly closer to her. She knows that whatever is going to come out of his mouth will not be good, but Darcy nods politely, waiting for whatever it is that he feels he needs to ask her. "I know that I'm likely not your first choice, but I thought the two of us might go together—Darcy Potter, and on her arm, former Quidditch star, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Triwizard Tournament judge, Ludovic Bagman!"
Darcy and Gemma meet eyes for a split second, and Gemma's eyebrows are raised to her hairline, waiting for Darcy's answer. "Er—that's very sweet of you, Mr. Bagman." She clears her throat, taking a long drink of her butterbeer, but Ludo doesn't look away from her, nor does he stop smiling. "It's just—well, I'm with Remus, and—"
"A sorry thing that Remus can't come—"
"How did you know that Remus can't come?" Darcy asks him sharply.
Ludo waves her off. "Never mind that now, Darcy," he scoffs, but Darcy narrows her eyes. "If you'd like some good press instead of the disgusting articles that have been circulating about you, then agreeing to be my date may help you. Just for the one night, and then you're free to go."
"Thank you, really, but I—I haven't decided whether or not I'm going, and—"
"I understand," Ludo says seriously, putting a gentle hand on Darcy's arm. He gets to his feet heavily, smiling once more at Gemma. "Think on my offer, darling, and get back to me when you have your answer. Good-night, ladies."
As soon as Ludo is out of earshot, Gemma leans in over the table. "But you must say yes!" she urges. "Think of the power you would have over him. Get a few drinks in him, dance with him for a little, let him kiss your hand once or twice, maybe let him feel you up for a second . . . I bet you'd be able to get anything out of him."
Darcy hesitates, considering it. Gemma's right—at least, Darcy thinks so. Ludo Bagman is, for a certainty, a complete and blubbering fool at times, and he may well be willing to give Darcy a hint about the second task, or perhaps some other private information—information on the other judges, information about who might have put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire.
"I'll think about it," is all she can promise.
It isn't until Saturday, when Lupin arrives in Hogsmeade to have his monthly examination by Gemma, that the Yule Ball is at the forefront of her mind again. It seems that Lupin shares the same line of thinking as Professor Dumbledore, though he does sound slightly bitter about it. The idea of Darcy looking so beautiful appeals to him, however, and he and Gemma tease her about it for a few minutes until her face flames.
"I'm sure Carla would go with you," Lupin shrugs, allowing Gemma to roll his sleeve up for her to feel around for his pulse. It makes Darcy feel guilty, not offering to spend Christmas with him, but he had told her it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and if it was terribly boring, he'd leave the light on for her. "You've plenty of options. Harry or Hermione—"
"She can't go with a fourteen-year-old," Gemma cuts in, pressing her fingers into Lupin's wrist. "Besides, she doesn't need to look for a date. Ludo Bagman has already asked her to go with him."
Lupin looks quickly at Darcy, and Gemma cackles.
"I didn't expect your heart rate to spike so much," she jokes, releasing his wrist. "Are you that jealous? Of Ludo Bagman?"
"No, I'm not jealous," Lupin snaps. "But he can't just—just—go and ask my girl to be his date to a ball. He knows you're mine—"
Gemma bends over a blank piece of parchment on the table, picking up a quill and dipping the tip dramatically in ink before writing quickly. "Especially . . . possessive . . . and jealous . . ."
"Do not write that!" Lupin hisses at Gemma, color flooding his cheeks. He gives Darcy a very accusing stare, and she raises an eyebrow. "You're not actually going to say yes, are you?"
Darcy pauses, opening and closing her mouth stupidly, looking to Gemma for help that she knows will not come. "Well, I thought . . . maybe to amuse him," she answers, and Lupin looks away quickly, scowling. "To see if there's any information he'll give me—"
"Fine," Lupin continues, ignoring her completely. "I suppose Ludo Bagman is a much more suitable date for Darcy Potter than a werewolf, isn't he?"
The room is quiet for a moment, and Gemma breaks the suffocating silence, shuffling around and cleaning up her things, accidentally spilling an inkwell in the process. "I'll just . . . leave you two, then." She rushes out without so much as a good-bye, slamming the door shut behind her.
"It's not like that," Darcy murmurs, getting to her feet from the loveseat and wrapping her arms around herself. She's suddenly ashamed of even considering Ludo Bagman at all.
"Right," Lupin growls. "You'd rather spend Christmas at Ludo Bagman's side instead of mine, is that it?"
"Remus," Darcy frowns, willing herself not to cry. "It's not like that. If it upsets you so much, then I'll—I'll be with you for Christmas. I want to—I wish you could come so badly for the ball—"
"I asked you to come home for Christmas," he reminds her in a low, harsh voice. "And you told me you couldn't. Please, don't come home now just because you feel sorry for me now."
"Stop saying that."
"Stop saying what?"
"Home," she answers breathlessly, rubbing her teary eyes. "Hogwarts is my home, and it has been since I was eleven."
Lupin doesn't answer for a long time, and Darcy has to look away from his face. He frowns, his expression pained and hurt, and Darcy covers her face to hide the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Why are you crying?" he finally asks her, his tone slightly more gentle than it had been mere minutes ago.
"You think that after coming into my life just over a year ago, I'd give up everything I have?" Darcy lowers her hands from her face, forcing herself to look back into his own. "I have a brother who needs me, and who I need. I have friends who love me, and who I love. Hogwarts, the place that has been my home for eight years now—you think that it's so easy for me to just forget all those years they were here for me that you weren't?"
"I never asked you to give up anything for me," Lupin counters. "Anything that you have given up, you have done so willingly—"
"Because I love you," Darcy interrupts, wiping her cheeks and wishing he would do it himself. "And I don't blame you, but please understand that I had built a life before you came back to me, and it's hard to turn away from that life—from the life that has brought me some of the happiest moments I can remember."
But it sounds so childish and wrong—all he asked of her was to spend Christmas with him, and that's not such a terrible request, is it? Spending more time with him would surely be a blessing—an escape from all that's been happening recently.
"I'm not ready to—to build a completely new life just yet."
"I'm not asking you to . . . marry me," he says, sighing heavily, his cheeks still pink. Darcy knows he's frustrated, she can see it in the way he grinds his jaw. "I just want you to myself for more than two days a week. Darcy, I miss you when I fall asleep by myself, and I miss you when I wake up to an empty bed. I ache for you, love, and two days a week is two more days that I ever thought I would have, but . . ." He trails off and leaves Darcy to finish his thought for him.
"It's not enough for you."
Lupin pauses, shifting uncomfortably. "I want you to be happy, more than anything. But I also want to be able to love you whenever I want, to touch you whenever I want, to talk to you whenever I want, and not have to worry about sneaking into the castle just to see you."
"What would you have me do?" Darcy asks, unsure if she wants to hear his answer. "If you want me to stay with you over Christmas, then I will."
"I don't want you to be with me because I've guilt-tripped you into it," Lupin frowns, taking a few steps forward. He puts his hands on her shoulders, kissing her head and pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm not asking you to leave Hogwarts to come live with me for the rest of your life. I'm just—just think about what I've said, all right? Please?"
"All right."
Lupin smiles at her, his hands moving to cup her cheeks in his palms, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "At least take a picture for me before you go to the ball," he whispers, making Darcy smile up at him.
"For you, of course."
"Clothed or unclothed, it makes not matter. Or both, if you're feeling particularly generous." He kisses her, a sweet kiss on the lips. "After all, it would make for a fine Christmas gift."