'The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love.'

Allen Ginsberg

Having gotten off with hardly a warning, Harry continues to sulk around about not getting a signature on his Hogsmeade form. He avoids Darcy for a few days, but she takes this opportunity to sleep in until noon, waking groggy yet well-rested, catch up on some recreational reading, finish her summer Transfiguration homework, and write letters to her friends, begging them to visit her sooner rather than later. She eats lunch in her room, looking out of the big bay window over Diagon Alley, listening to the rain rattle on the Muggle side and watching eccentric looking wizards and witches crowd the cobbled streets on the magical side.

During the seventh day, they both take a trip to Gringotts early in the morning, wanting to do their shopping before the rush of students and parents. Harry glares at Darcy when she takes a little more money out of their vault than he'd like her to, but she ignores him until they're back in the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley. When Harry tries to protest, Darcy only hisses, "There's plenty in there for me to take as much as I'd like. Besides, this is less than I took out last year." She waits in Madam Malkin's while Harry gets fitted for new robes, and then Harry follows her to the cauldron shop after she complains about her outdated one for five whole minutes. They then stop by the apothecary, and when Darcy leaves, her cauldron and arms are full with potions ingredients.

After dropping their things off at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry resigns to finishing his History of Magic essay outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Darcy leans her seat back on two legs, laughing as Harry tries to kick the legs out from under her. They only stop when Florean comes out to bring them ice cream, and he warns Darcy severely to be careful.

Darcy, with a small smile on her face, ties her red hair up in a ponytail, adjusting her sunglasses. "Those new robes look really good on you," she says, flipping through her book, trying to find her bookmarked page. The pages are so thin and fragile, and Darcy touched each one delicately. "Quit growing so fast."

Harry grunts in response, pulling a quill and bottle of ink from his bag and placing them upon the table. He unrolls his History of Magic essay, dipping his quill into ink and placing the fine tip to the parchment. "Hey—" he asks suddenly, looking up at Darcy and putting his quill down. "At least you'll be able to hang out with me during Hogsmeade trips."

Darcy lowers her book, cocking an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione probably got their permission slip signed," he shrugs, looking happier by the second. "But you and I will be able to hang out while they're gone."

"Oh," Darcy laughs sheepishly. Harry narrows his eyes at her as she squirms in her seat. Darcy clears her throat and smiles weakly at him. "Well, I—er, I actually have my permission slip signed."

"What?" Harry shouts incredulously, suddenly offended. Darcy's surprised he doesn't jump to his feet and flip the table. "Who signed yours? When?"

"Aunt Petunia did," she answers, "when I gave her the slip in my third year."

"And she just—signed it? Just like that?"

Darcy nods, blushing.

Harry scoffs, rolling up his parchment and stuffing it back into his bag, along with his ink bottle and quill. "Of course she did," he grumbles, accidentally tearing his parchment after handling it a bit too roughly. "Of course she'd do anything for you, wouldn't she?"

"Harry!" Darcy says.

"I couldn't even get the Minister of Magic to sign my paper, but you just walked right up to Petunia and asked for her signature?

"Harry, I—" Darcy stops mid sentence, frowning. "You asked the Minister of Magic to sign your Hogsmeade slip?"

"Yeah, I did!" Harry counters. "And he wouldn't sign it!"

"Get off my back, Harry!" Darcy hisses, snapping her book shut. "It's not my fault you didn't get your permission slip signed! If it matters so much to you, then I'll sign the damn thing! I'm as good as your guardian, aren't I?"

Darcy almost sees a lightbulb flash above Harry's head—can tell the idea interests him, but she knows that Harry is just as stubborn as she is, so she decides she'll let him ask her for a signature when he's done arguing and feeling angry.

The two, annoyed and irritated by each other, decide to split up for the rest of the night, only meeting again when they eat dinner in the Leaky Cauldron at the same table. Harry doesn't say anything to Darcy, but she'd noticed the outline of his Hogsmeade permission form in his back pocket the moment he entered the common hall. She doesn't bring it up, wondering if Harry will gather up the courage to ask her himself, but he doesn't, and the matter of Hogsmeade isn't brought up again during dinner.

It's not that he shouted at her that bothers her. She knows that Harry is a growing teenager, blossoming into a young adult, growing moodier and more bitter with each week that passes by. He's yelled at her before—has screamed at her, in fact, until he had been red in the face and crying. The first few times it had stung—it hurt her feelings and she'd cried herself to sleep. But that was when she was really young, maybe ten or eleven. She brushes it off most of the time now—Harry's anger never really gets to her anymore. After all, she had been thirteen once, too.

But Harry's comment about Petunia gets to Darcy. It eats at her, a huge weight pressing on her chest, because she knows it's true. Maybe Petunia wouldn't do anything for her, but she would do, and has done, more for Darcy than she's ever offered to do for Harry. Petunia had seen that she was dressed a little nicer than Harry (even if the clothes were ugly and old), had always given Darcy a bit more freedom around the house (granted that Vernon was at work). But she doesn't like knowing she's hurt Harry. It's always been that way.

Darcy lies in bed for a long time that night. The train rattles the grimy windows, shaking the floorboards beneath her bed. The ceiling is dusty and hasn't been tended to in ages it seems. With all the lights out, it's hard to tell, but the bright moon casts light through the thin curtains that are covering the window. Darcy closes her eyes, knowing it's well past midnight, probably well past two in the morning, but she's used to this now.

She can actually pinpoint when the dreams started. The beginning of summer, the night after Vernon had tolerated her in the sitting room long enough for her to watch the entire news segment. It had been something about Sirius Black escaping, and Vernon had grumbled on about him, about his long and greasy hair, about his prominent cheekbones, about his sunken face. It hadn't really bothered Darcy to look at him—sure, he was frightening—but it wasn't like Sirius Black would be wandering Privet Drive. But the picture the news had shown had been only that—a picture. Seeing him screaming, laughing almost maniacally in the photo the Daily Prophet has of him is what truly frightens her.

That same night, Darcy had gone to sleep quickly, but woke late at night after a terrible dream. A very intense, real dream that gave her goosebumps and drenched her in cold sweats. She remembers it, even now, because it's the same dream she's been having for weeks. Not every night, but most of them. She remembers screaming—herself screaming—a high pitched scream unlike her own voice now, but she knows it's her. She doesn't know how. But she's trapped, helpless and stuck under something heavy that presses hard on her shoulders and hurts her legs. And just when she thinks all hope is lost, someone comes to her, and that's when things get stranger.

Whoever comes to her aid, whoever comes to keep her from screaming, she doesn't know who it is. He's faceless—or maybe it's a woman, but she's sure it's a man. But he doesn't scare her. Quite the opposite, actually. Whoever comes to rescue her is familiar and, in her dream, she's happy to see him. Whoever it is, she loves him.

And then she wakes. Every time, before she can see a face, she's awake. She always wakes afterwards in a cold sweat, always wakes feeling a bit shaken, but the feeling always subsided after a few minutes, once she's fully awake. And no matter how hard she thinks—and she's laid awake for hours at night thinking hard—she can't seem to place a face to the man.

The dreams don't particularly trouble her. They're strange and unusual and Darcy's had strange and unusual dreams before, but they don't interfere with her everyday life. They're not troubling dreams, not evil dreams, so Darcy ignores them for the most part, more curious than anything, hoping one day she'll see the man's face.

But as she lies awake that night in the Leaky Cauldron, she's afraid to go to sleep for once. Afraid that she'll wake in a cold sweat, confused and helpless.

Eventually, she goes to sleep, and the dream comes back that night. And this time, there are green flashes of light, a loud rumbling sound, and just as the man rescues Darcy, she tries hard to get a good look at his face—and she wakes in the darkness of her room, her heart beating rapidly.

This becomes routine for the next few days. She falls asleep a few days later determined to find out who saves her from whatever has happened. A sharp pain shoots up her legs in real life as she dreams it, and she lets out a scream—arms come to scoop her up—he's so close now that, if she just looks closely—

"Hey," someone says, waking her instantly. "Wake up."

Darcy, frightened and dazed, sits up straight, expecting Harry or a maid to be sitting on the edge of her bed. But it's not—it's only Emily and she's got a huge smile on her face. Darcy smiles right back, running a hand through her hair and casually wiping the sweat off her forehead. The sun shines through the window and Darcy throws the blankets off her legs.

"I made Tom tell me what room you were staying in," Emily explains, standing up off Darcy's bed. She digs around in Darcy's trunk, throwing some clothes at her. "Didn't take much."

"Yeah, well, I think he's used to the idea of us being inseparable," Darcy chuckles, throwing on the shirt and jeans Emily's thrown at her.

Emily watches Darcy get dressed with her arms over her chest. "You're a little sweaty—you sure you don't want to wash up first?" she asks with a cocked eyebrow. "Maybe brush your hair?"

Darcy shimmies to get into her jeans. "I'm starving," Darcy replies, hopping on one foot as she struggles to tie her shoe. "And I'd rather be full than clean right now."

"Having that dream again?"

Darcy grunts in reply. She's forgotten she had told Emily that. Emily had been the first person she wrote to after the dreams started happening consistently. "Not a big deal," she says, lazily making her bed. "They seem so real, though. I feel like…" No, that's ridiculous, Darcy thinks, shaking her head. It's only a dream.

Emily eyes her suspiciously as Darcy trails off, lost in thought, apparently thinking hard. She decides to change the subject. "Where's your shadow?"

"Sleeping," Darcy yawns. "Or sulking. He's pretty upset he didn't get his permission form signed."

"He'll get over it," Emily says. "In four years, he'll be able to go wherever the hell he wants, anyway. But I have to say—I'm kinda impressed by what he did to your aunt."

Darcy shoots her a dangerous look. "Don't tell Harry that." She suddenly relaxes, a broad smile crossing her face. "I was a little impressed, too."

"And he just got off with a warning?"

"I suppose so," Darcy shrugs, pulling on a light jacket. "I wasn't there when he talked to Fudge."

"Harry didn't tell you what he said?"

"Like I said," Darcy rolls her eyes, "he's sulking."

Darcy and Emily decide to have breakfast outside a cafe directly across from a gaggle of first years anxiously nearly drooling over the new Firebolt broomstick. After a few minutes, their entire table is covered with food—oatmeal, fruit, pastries—and they're enjoying breakfast at a table, cooling in the shade from a colorful umbrella, talking animatedly, as teenage girls usually do.

"What do you think about a new Defense professor?" Emily finally asks, mouth full of fruit.

"They've hired a new one?" Darcy asks quickly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

"Well, I mean—they kinda had to, right?" Emily laughs. "Can't say I'll be sorry that Professor Lockhart is gone. I kind of liked him. Handsome, wasn't he?"

"Mm," Darcy replies, filling her mouth with a large chunk of muffin. "Very. Bloody idiot, though."

"Have you talked to Carla or Gemma at all this summer?"

"We've sent a few letters," Darcy sighs. "I sent them both the same one I sent you. Thought Carla would've shown up already."

"She stayed a few nights at my place a few weeks ago," Emily says.

"How is she?"

"Well, she was still freaking about her O.W.L.'s, but she'll be okay." Emily laughs. "Her grades were fine. Not a single fail grade."

The two of them eat in a silence for a little bit before talking about everything they can think of —Sirius Black, Quidditch, N.E.W.T.'s—and then Darcy decides to ask Emily a question that's been planted in her brain ever since coming to Diagon Alley, ever since seeing Sirius Black's face printed on hundreds of flyers that are posted all over the small community. She hesitates, but knowing that Emily won't laugh, pushes on.

"Hey, I have a question for you," Darcy starts, and Emily urges her on. "It might sound stupid, but—"

"Just ask it, Darcy."

Darcy laughs sheepishly. "You don't think—you don't think Sirius Black escaped to come after Harry, do you?"

Emily scoffs. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head. "I just—he was in with Voldemort, you know? And I mean—it is a little weird that he happened to break out of Azkaban after Harry destroyed that diary. Right? Am I being paranoid?"

"I mean, yeah, the timing's a little weird," Emily shrugs. "But after all those years in Azkaban, I don't think he's going to do anything that might get him caught and thrown back in, you know? And besides, there's no way he'd go back to Hogwarts. Only a fool would."

"He's been in Azkaban for over a decade," Darcy says quietly as people pass by them. "Maybe it's turned him into a big enough fool to try something like that."

"How would he get into Hogwarts anyway? Dumbledore has that place locked down like Azkaban. Just without dementors."

Darcy shudders at the thought. "Have you ever seen one? A dementor?"

"No," Emily gives her an incredulous look. "And I hope I never do."

Darcy looks at Emily for a long time as she continues to eat, dipping her fork into everything, even Darcy's food. But she doesn't mind. "I'm worried about Harry, Emily."

"He's a big boy, he'll be all right."

"He just turned thirteen not too long ago."

"Darcy, quit worrying," she snorts. "He'll be fine. He's got you. That's always been enough, hasn't it?"

"All my years at Hogwarts and it's been smooth and quiet and slightly boring," Darcy raises her eyebrows to her hairline, "and then Harry comes along and the last two years, I almost died. Tell me you don't think something's gonna go down this year, too?"

Emily smiles sweetly, innocently. "Nothing's going to happen this year, okay? It's going to be great. And then we'll graduate and we can get you the hell away from that pathetic excuse for a home you have."

"Emily," Darcy breathes, smiling weakly. "I can't leave Harry there."

Emily sighs heavily, sweeping her blonde hair out of her face, putting down her fork. "You're going to have to leave him eventually," she says. "You're his sister, not his mother. Harry knows you won't be there forever. You've got your own life to live, Darcy. You can't put your dreams on hold for him."

"Harry's the only family I've got," Darcy frowns. "You don't know what that's like. All I've ever known is taking care of him."

"If you give up your goals and dreams just because of Harry, he's going to feel that guilt forever. You know that, right? You can't dump that on him." Emily touches Darcy's arm affectionately, chewing her cheek. "You've done plenty for him. You've done enough. It's time to live your life without being chained to Harry."

Darcy's quiet, toying with the bacon on her plate.

"I know you love him," Emily returns to eating, "but it's time to let him go."

Darcy smiles weakly at Emily, then looks back down at her plate. "If only it was that simple."