'She fascinates me because, radiantly young, she still embodies all the melancholy of autumn. She has learned to cherish with mournful tenderness a past she dares not remember.'

Renée Vivien

Darcy sleeps most of the day. When she wakes, the sun is just beginning to set, coloring the sky with a mixture of reds and pinks and oranges. She lays awake in her cot for a while—while the potion gives her dreamless sleep, it leaves her feeling groggy for a few hours after waking. Darcy stares at the bedside table, where Carla's placed a small bouquet of yellow flowers, a piece of parchment with something scribbled up near the top, and underneath the flowers are a copy of Emily's Potions notes.

While her sleep had been something wonderful, she feels empty without dreams of any kind—good or bad. While the dreams terrify her, she misses and longs for the feelings of love that come with them. Her mother's kisses, her whispered words, the arms that wrap themselves around her as she cries. But she knows that with love, comes pain—the pain of losing her mother in the matter of seconds, the physical pain that shoots up her legs and the aching in her lower back, the pain of losing everything and everyone all at once… all but Harry.

It isn't much later that the doors open seemingly by themselves. Madam Pomfrey comes bustling out of her office, looking panicked, only to find no visitors. She looks at Darcy, back at the doors, then goes to close them, warily making her way over to Darcy. Madam Pomfrey feels her forehead, checks her wrist for a pulse, grabs her chin and examines her eyes.

"Hm… your pupils are a little dilated," she tuts, deep creases in her forehead forming as she furrows her brow. "Are you feeling well? Did the potion work?"

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey," Darcy rasps, staring up into the matron's eyes. "I just needed sleep—I'm feeling fine, I promise."

Madam Pomfrey hums again and nods, standing up straight and taking another quick glance around the infirmary, which is still empty. "Very well. Take your time in gathering your things and head straight back to your dormitory for some more rest. If anyone asks why you're out so late, you send them directly to me, you hear?" She pauses, sitting down at the foot of Darcy's bed, and pats her hand gently. "It's nothing to feel ashamed of, Potter."

Darcy nods. "Thank you."

When Madam Pomfrey goes back to her office, Darcy slips her shoes back on and gathers her things off the table, but a whisper in her ear catches her off guard and she drops her flowers on the ground, open her mouth to shriek. A hand covers her mouth before she can issue any noise. When she looks over her shoulder, Emily's face—and only her face—is smiling at her. Darcy blinks, and Carla's face appears beside Emily's, cheek to cheek.

"Hey, Darcy," Emily whispers, letting go of Darcy's mouth. "Check out what Harry let me use."

"How'd you manage that?" Darcy hisses back.

"I told him I wanted to come visit you," she replies. "And I did. But let's get out of here first."

Emily and Carla cover themselves again with the Invisibility Cloak and Darcy leaves the hospital wing with them walking quietly behind her. Madam Pomfrey doesn't even bother to see Darcy out, making it easier for Emily and Carla to slip through the door unnoticed—the bottom of Carla's worn sneakers appear as the cloak flaps around them, but she doesn't seem to notice.

Once in the corridor, free from adult ears, Emily and Carla show their heads again, leaving the cloak wrapped around their torsos. "Sleep well?" Emily asks with a grin. "You missed an incredibly silent Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in which Professor Lupin gazed at your empty seat for the entirety of it, and we had the most exciting Potions lesson, in which Snape did nothing but sneer at me and then at your empty seat." She looks sideways at Darcy. "Did you get my notes? Because I'll need those back."

"He didn't take any points, did he?" Darcy grimaces. "Knowing Snape, he'd be ecstatic for any excuse to doc points from Gryffindor."

"Surprisingly, he didn't take any," Emily recalls. "Oh, wait—no, he did take five points after I spilled my ink all over his table, but he was standing over my shoulder with this… look—you have no idea how frightening that man can be—"

"We've been in Potions classes together since first year," Darcy chuckles. "Whatever frightening memories you have of him, I have, as well."

"Professor Lupin wrote the prompt for your essay on the parchment I left you," Carla adds. "He says you have until next Monday to write it. He also wanted me to tell you that he won't be in class tomorrow, so Emily should be able to answer any questions about the essay that you may have."

Darcy stops in the middle of the corridor, turning slowly towards Carla's head. "What do you mean he won't be in class tomorrow? Is he ill?"

Carla stutters, unsure of how to answer, looking very much put on the spot. "I'm not sure, he didn't give a reason. I mean—he looked a bit ill today, but I think that's just how he looks, isn't it?" she scoffs and puts an invisible hand on Darcy's arm. "Look, I know I may have gotten a little ahead of myself the other day. You know how I get under all this stress and I was only looking out for you, but I think you're right, Darcy. I think he's being truthful and I don't think he would hurt you—Emily set me straight, like she always does, and I'm sorry for scaring you. I didn't mean to frighten you in the least." Carla smiles crookedly, and Darcy has a feeling that Carla isn't being completely truthful, but appreciates it nonetheless.

"It's all right," Darcy mutters, smiling weakly at Carla. "It's just… curious, is all. It's probably nothing. And where are we going? Not back to Gryffindor Tower?" She had been following Emily and Carla's floating heads, not really paying attention to their journey, but she knows they've passed the staircase that would lead them towards their common room, and Carla is far from her own common room. Darcy becomes increasingly suspicious. "Why did you really need the cloak?"

"To visit you, of course," Emily says sweetly, batting her long eyelashes and tossing her hair out of her face. "My dearest and most darling friend. And also because… we've a bit of a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Darcy asks, frowning. "Emily, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather just go back to the common room… catch up on some homework, maybe start this essay. I'm still kind of tired…"

"No! No, no, no! Don't be like that!" Emily whines. "Come on, we did all of this last minute and it would be such a shame if you didn't show up!"

"Do you know that I had to pay good money for this alcohol to get smuggled in," Carla sighs. "And my parents are not going to be happy when I write to them asking for more money this early in the school year. So if you don't drink any of it, just remember what it cost me to get it here for you."

"Are you guilt tripping me?" Darcy asks, incredulous, slightly annoyed, and slightly amused. "Carla, who are you?"

"A very broke young woman looking forward to having a drink," Carla answers. "Though, if I didn't have a free period first thing tomorrow morning, I wouldn't have agreed to all of this, trust me."

"We have Transfiguration first thing tomorrow," Darcy reminds Emily. "And if you think that Professor McGonagall won't smell alcohol on our breaths from three weeks ago, then you're a fool. She'll take one look at us and on Wednesday, I'll have another Howler at breakfast."

Emily laughs. "When did you get so dull, Darcy?"

Darcy considers it, looking at her friends' wide, pleading eyes and pouty lips. "Fine," she groans, running a hand through her hair and following them further still down the corridor. "Fine, but only for a few drinks and then I'm going to sleep, and you have to promise that I can take some inspiration from the introduction of Lupin's essay."

"Deal, but you can't copy."

"I told you I wouldn't. I said I'd take inspiration."

Two hours and six drinks later, Darcy sways on her feet, her stomach growling and her head pounding, her body begging her for rest. Coming here was a mistakes, she knows—she knows she'll wake tomorrow with a headache and she knows that McGonagall will not fail to take notice. Dunking her head in the colored tub, Darcy wrings out her hair and pulls on her dry clothes. Emily, Carla, and Gemma sit laughing in the tub, cheering to something incoherent every few minutes before sipping their drinks and cheering again.

Darcy makes her way back over to say goodbye and Gemma chuckles, flashing a grin at Darcy. "You be careful on those stairs, Darcy Potter," she calls. "Moving staircases don't take kindly to drunken students."

"I'll be fine," she replies. Out of the goodness of her heart, Darcy winks at Emily, letting her know that she'll be leaving the Invisibility Cloak for her friend. Understanding right away, Emily blows her friend a kiss.

Gemma offers Darcy some of her own perfume so she doesn't smell like alcohol, and Darcy accepts graciously, immediately regretting it when Gemma sprays far too much all over her body. While the scent isn't terrible, it's incredibly overwhelming and Darcy has to hold her nose as she stumbles out the door of the bathroom, out into the darkened corridor. Still, it's better than Emily's, and the she becomes used to the smell after a few minutes.

When Darcy does to go sleep that night, she's pleased that the drinks have caused her to have dreams she can't remember when she wakes. Emily is the one to wake her that morning, free of a hangover, already dressed and in the middle of brushing her teeth. The sun catches off her long, silver earrings and blind Darcy momentarily, who sighs heavily.

"This is the third time I've brushed my teeth this morning," she mutters to Darcy, mouth full of toothpaste. It dribbles down her chin, but Emily continues to scrub and brush furiously. "Can't get the taste of that brandy out of my mouth. It was terrible, wasn't it?"

"It was fine," Darcy smiles, pulling off the blankets and remembering she hadn't even changed out of her clothes from the previous night. All at once, the scent of Gemma's perfume hits her again, mingling with the scent of alcohol, but no one else seems to notice. It's enough to make her stomach churn and she loses her appetite. Either it's the perfume, or the hangover, but Darcy thinks it may be a little of both. She stumbles around the dormitory, dressing clumsily and combing her hair with her fingers instead of an actual brush. Emily chastises her, but only for a few moments before she loses focus, her stomach growling.

At breakfast, Max delivers Darcy a copy of the Daily Prophet that features a snippet about the supposed whereabouts of Sirius Black. Darcy scowls. "A couple of muggles say they saw Sirius Black moving north," she says to her friends sitting around the table. "'Sirius Black continues to elude us, but if he continues north, he will be greeted warmly by the dementors currently guarding Hogwarts, who will be willing to give him a kiss on sight.' That Cornelius Fudge sure does have a way with words, doesn't he?"

"That's putting it lightly," Hermione retorts, looking up from her breakfast with her eyebrows raised.

"He's putting a lot of faith into these dementors," Emily adds, stroking her chin as if deep in thought. She untangles her hair from her earrings. "But I don't buy it. There's something off about them. I don't trust them after what happened on the train, and I certainly don't trust them mulling around the school."

"If the dementors don't catch Sirius, Fudge will lose everything," Darcy sighs, putting the paper down, trying not to imagine how many dementors are surrounding the castle at this very moment. "He's afraid, and he has nowhere else to turn."

"If he was competent, he'd have put security officers and Aurors here, not dementors," Emily hisses. "Or he would have at least called them back to Azkaban after the train incident. I'm surprised Dumbledore hasn't told Fudge to take them away."

"Dumbledore doesn't have the power to overrule the Minister of Magic," Darcy says.

"No," Emily agrees. "But he has the power to make the Minister see reason."

Darcy laughs darkly. "Fat chance."

Transfiguration is a slow start to the day, and while Professor McGonagall doesn't explicitly state that she smells alcohol on either of them or shows that she recognizes the telltale signs of waking up after a night of drinking, she does flash both Darcy and Emily more stern glares than normal. Even Gemma, who sits at the table in front of them, earns herself a lingering gaze or two when she looks over her shoulder to grin at Emily. After Darcy impresses McGonagall with a complicated spell, however, McGonagall leaves the two of them alone and replaces her glares with tight-lipped smiles.

It seems Carla had been right about Professor Lupin, as well, as he doesn't show up for class that day. Instead, Professor Sprout covers for him—the only teacher available at the time — and she allows them to quietly use the time to do their homework or talk amongst themselves while she does her own work at Lupin's desk.

When Gemma raises her hand and asks Professor Sprout where Professor Lupin is, the Herbology professor answers with a smile and. "I was asked to cover, and I did without question," she answers. "I didn't care to know the gory details. Professor Lupin will be back next class." But Darcy wonders if he's hiding in the hidden apartment, listening to his classes from behind the walls.

Starved, Darcy eats her fill at lunch and notices Professor Lupin's vacant seat at the high table with all the other professors. She does see Hagrid looking at her though, and offers a smile, waving happily down at him. Hagrid gives her a forced smile, or something that may have been a smile, but he turns away quickly, frowning at his plate. Darcy frowns and slumps her shoulders, knowing that she'll have to get down to Hagrid's soon and join in on his misery. That, or risk her friendship with Hagrid, and the idea of isolating herself doesn't sit well with her, especially with Sirius Black on the loose.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, as Darcy only has free periods. The autumn weather has begun to settle in, and the days become more blustery and chill, so Emily suggests they go to the library to study. Darcy takes her up on that and the two of them find a secluded corner in the dimly lit library, away from Madam Pince's sharp ears. They aren't the only students to have taken refuge in the library, either; many students huddle around large books, whispering and giggling to each other.

"Plans for Christmas this year?" Emily whispers after she's gotten out all of her books and blank parchment. Soon, the table is covered with their things completely, and the two of them are flipping through their textbooks, finding important passages and marking them for later. Emily's pages are covered with notes, smudged ink, and drawings in the margins. She reads every single added note before turning each page.

"I don't know," Darcy admits, holding her head in her hands. "Harry hasn't mentioned anything about going to Ron's, and I've thought of writing Mr. Weasley, but—I don't know."

"You could always come home with me," Emily shrugs, flipping through a few more pages. "Though dad's family is joining us for Christmas this year, and mum's weird siblings are, as well. They've always wanted to meet you, but I don't blame you if you wouldn't want to meet them. They're witches and wizards too. Mum told me to warn you about them if you decide to come."

"I thought maybe I could stay here for Christmas," Darcy says, twirling her quill with her fingers, craving the comforts only her bed can provide. "Wouldn't be so bad, I bet. Harry will be here. And it'll be quiet and I'll be able to catch up on my sleep."

"Are you sure?" Emily frowns. "I could stay with you. We could roam the castle at night like we used to when we were young and full of energy."

"No," Darcy replies right away, chuckling softly. "You should go home to your family. I'll be fine. Maybe I'll spend some time with Hagrid."

Emily accepts her answer, but at the mention of Hagrid, her eyebrows furrow. "Hagrid misses you," she whispers. "He's having a really hard time after the hippogriff incident."

"I know," Darcy sighs. "I've been meaning to see him, but I just—I can't. Maybe after things have settled down." She puts her quill down and rubs her face. "What do you think will happen to the hippogriff? Did he say?"

"Nothing's official," Emily answers. "But I think we all know what it may come to. If it were anyone else beside that Malfoy kid, Hagrid may have caught a break."

Darcy chews the inside of her lip, leaning her chair back on two legs.

"The hippogriff will die," Emily continues bluntly. "You know that, Darcy."

"I can't really avoid him for much longer, can I?"

"Hagrid knows you're going through a lot right now. You know he'll do anything he can not to add to the list."

Their friends come and go throughout the afternoon. Harry, Ron, and Hermione join them after their last classes of the day end, and Darcy educates them all on the proper way to brew Shrinking Solutions. Too polite to stop her, Harry lets Darcy finish her lesson before leaving the library with his friends. Only twenty minutes after the door closes after them, Gemma and Carla walk arm-in-arm into the library, seating themselves across from Darcy and Emily.

"Binns gave me a detention today," Gemma growls. "Can you believe that? Binns, who doesn't even know my name after I've been in his class for seven years gave me a detention today."

"What for?" Darcy asks.

"I was sleeping," Gemma answers casually. "But everyone sleeps in that class. I just happened to be the first person he saw when he looked up. If I'm lucky, he'll forget all about it. So don't bring it up."

Darcy and Emily decide to skip dinner to finish their homework, still full from their big lunch. They're only there for a little bit by themselves when Darcy yawns and closes her books, cleaning up her area. Darcy's eyes grow heavy quickly, and she stands, rolling up her essay and tucking all her belongings back into her bag. Emily bids her goodnight. "I'll see you in a bit."

As she leaves the library, Darcy takes a look outside the windows. The sun is going down in earnest now, and the sky is growing darker. The days at Hogwarts have been getting shorter and shorter, and already Darcy mourns for the long, summer days that could be spent by the lake or under the shade of a beech tree. She longs for the freedom summer grants her—endless walks around the grounds, beautiful gardens to hide in, trees to climb up. Winter, on the other hand, doesn't bring such appealing things. Winter, to Darcy, means freezing cold corridors, bitter winds that burn her sensitive skin, and a cold hike to the greenhouses for Herbology. Even now, the corridors seem to be getting colder, and the fire in Gryffindor Tower burns day and night.

As she passes the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she jumps as she hears a door slam shut behind her. Darcy spins on her heel to find Professor Lupin leaving the classroom with a cloak wrapped around his shoulders. She catches a glimpse of him and nearly recoils—he looks like death; his face has next to no color in it and his hair is a mess, as if he's slept all day. His eyes are glazed over and she notices his fingers trembling as he holds onto his cloak tightly.

"Professor Lupin," she says kindly. "Are you all right? It was a dull lesson without you in class."

Expecting him to stop and chat for a moment, Darcy's completely bewildered as he barrels past her, his shoulder bumping against her own. Darcy stumbles. He doesn't look back at her, nor does he apologize for bumping into her, he just keeps on going. She stands and watches him for a moment, bewildered, and watches him move quicker than she's seem him move before, walking with a purpose. Lupin heads towards the Great Hall, back towards the entrance of Hogwarts, and she thinks hard for a moment.

As strange as it is, Darcy doesn't want to believe that it's anything out of the ordinary. It could be he's just ill—after all, the hospital wing is the same way down the corridor. But fear and doubt creep up behind her, feeding her frightening thoughts. She thinks of Carla, and the worries she'd voiced to Darcy not so long ago. Carla's half-hearted warning that left Darcy scoffing and rolling her eyes. She wonders now where Lupin is really going, why he couldn't even stop to speak with her—was he leaving the castle? Leaving the grounds? Meeting with someone? Whatever he was planning, he couldn't even be bothered to give her some sign of reassurance, or even one of his easy smiles.

Darcy makes up her mind and takes a single, long step after him, but someone grabs her shoulder with a crushing grip before she can take another. "Going somewhere?"

She tenses and wriggles out of Snape's grip, spinning around to face him. "No, sir," she says, glancing over her shoulder, but Lupin is completely gone from view now. "Just, er—back to my common room."

Snape purses his lips. "Go, then. And quickly, Darcy. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

He gives her a push in the right direction, surprisingly gentle. Darcy turns into another empty corridor, leaving Snape behind, and makes her way up the first flight, looking out the window. The sky is a beautiful medley of colors, but her eyes aren't drawn towards the sky. Darcy tilts her head, recognizing the shadow moving across the grounds. She watches Lupin run through the evening light, looking over his shoulders only once to make sure no one is watching. The direction he's going, she's not quite sure where he'll end up, but her heart begins to race.

She can't deny anymore that this isn't suspicious. And maybe it's not what she thinks, but Darcy can't help but to imagine the worst case scenario, and the thought of the worst case scenario makes her think of Carla's warning, of her own suspicion towards Lupin.

Is it possible he's meeting with Sirius Black? Not likely, Darcy reassures herself, but what else could he be doing? Running from something—someone? Or running to something or someone? She feels her wand in her back pocket and slides it out, looking over the banister of the stairs to check on Snape. Fortunately, he's gone back towards the dungeons. Darcy quietly moves down the stairs once more and heads towards the front doors, desperately wishing she had the Invisibility Cloak.

When she reaches the front doors, Darcy takes one last look over her shoulder and sees no one. Even the ghosts are absent from the entrance hall, not even a mouse around to watch her leave the school. Surprised to find the doors open, she pulls hard and opens it just enough for her to slide through. When it shuts behind her, it's louder than she had hoped, but she breaks into a run and follows Lupin's trail.

With her long legs and graceful strides, she catches up to him in no time and runs to the side of him, running behind trees and bushes as the sun continues to set. The sky is a fiery red now, and in a few minutes, the sun will be completely hidden and the moon will be up, the sky a pitch black, littered with bright stars.

The wind begins to pick up as the sun sets, chilling her to the bone. She isn't dressed for this weather, and her cheeks sting with the cold, her nose and ears numb as her auburn hair is caught by the breeze. The branches of trees—long and skinny and flexible—cast shadows that look like fingers reaching out to grab her, to steal her in the night. The creaking of the trees mingle with the howling of the wind, the whispering of the leaves, the soft thud of her footsteps, as she chases after Lupin, sweat forming on her forehead. The sounds of the night cause goosebumps to rise on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck stands up. It's then that she realizes whatever she finds will not be good—there isn't anything good that can come of this, but she persists for reasons unknown even to herself.

Darcy weaves in and out of the thin tree trunks, keeping her eyes on Lupin's back, watching him stumble towards the violent tree that gives her pause. For a split second, she almost screams his name, afraid that one of the tree's branches will come down on him, crushing him, killing him. After all, it had been that tree that had almost crushed and killed her last year, along with Harry and Ron and that damned Ford Anglia. But right as the heavy branches begin to sway, faster and faster and harder and harder, and right as Darcy opens her mouth to call him back, Professor Lupin waves his wand. Darcy watches as he takes control of a smaller branch and uses it it to prod something at the base of the tree.

All of a sudden, the branches stop moving and the Whomping Willow is nothing more than an ordinary tree. Darcy expects Lupin to continue on his way past it, but instead he approaches the trunk and smoothly, as if he's done this a thousand times, he slips into a small hole near the spot he prodded with the branch, and in the blink of an eye, he's gone. Lupin doesn't make a sound, nor does he look over his shoulder to make sure he's alone.

This makes Darcy hesitate. Not that she's very familiar with the way the tree works, but she finds it odd that Lupin knows how to get near it. She waits, considering this, hidden behind the peeling tree trunk, her fingers growing sticky with sap. She isn't sure what to think, but the sky is getting darker, and soon, Darcy knows the only light in the sky will be the moon. Darcy looks back at the castle, sees the lights on in Gryffindor Tower, and thinks of racing back inside and jumping in bed. Emily's likely waiting for her, and Harry's probably in there. Then she looks again at the Whomping Willow, docile and still. She tries to imagine what could possibly be in that hole at the base of the tree—is it possible that Professor Lupin is meeting Sirius Black down there? That would explain the general air of suspicion, the way he'd ignored her, shoved past her without one of his cool smiles. She remembers Carla's words of caution, the doubts that she had that now stick in the back of Darcy's mind.

But she's so close, and to come all this way, only to turn around be left wondering… If she turns now, she'll never know what's at the base of the Whomping Willow.

Afraid she's going to change her own mind, Darcy leaps out from the shadows, towards the Whomping Willow. It seems to sense her, and as soon as she puts a single foot within range, the branches creak. Darcy pulls her wand out and mimics Professor Lupin, stepping just out of the tree's way and pointing her wand at a fallen branch. Just like Lupin, she forces the branch to prod at the base of the tree, but she isn't sure exactly where. She forces it against the tree several times, and on the fourth try, the branch hits the spot that makes the tree freeze.

Hesitant, due to her previous experience with the tree, she glances at the branches before sprinting to the trunk. The hole she finds easily, and being skinnier and smaller in stature than Lupin, she fits a little better. Darcy wriggles in feet first and almost screams as she begins to slide down and down and down, the ground rough and hard on her back and making her tailbone hurt something terrible.

Finally, she makes it to the bottom and she lands hard on the earthen ground, her forehead bouncing off a root. Darcy stands, the ceiling a few inches taller than her. Her forehead throbs where the root broke skin, and when she touches it, her fingers come back slightly bloody. The bright red blood shines on her fingers, mingling with the sap, and she can feel it dripping down her eyebrow.

As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Darcy notes her surroundings. She's in a roughly carved tunnel, and when she turns around, she sees that she's fallen at least ten feet—more than that. While a grown man like Lupin may have to duck or at least hunch over while walking through, the tunnel is wide enough for two people to walk side by side comfortably.

"Lumos," Darcy whispers. The tip of her wand gives light to the tunnel, but she regrets it. With the tunnel lit up in bluish light, she feels uneasy, wary of the end of the tunnel, afraid of what she'll find—or who she'll find. But she's come too far to turn around now, so with her heart pounding, she carries on, wand held out in front of her. Every part of her wants to turn around and go back to the castle, every fiber of her being is screaming in protest. Yet she continues. She reaches out to her side with her left hand, letting her fingers brush against the hard rock of the wall. Her footsteps are muffled, shoes sinking into the mud and soft earth.

As soon as she gets down to the end of the path, however, a mangled scream echoes throughout the tunnel and rings in her ears. Darcy's heart stops. "Professor Lupin," she breathes. Her legs carry her through the rest of the tunnel, and as the path begins to steepen, her calves ache as she climbs, but still she doesn't stop. All she can think about is trouble—something is terribly wrong, and Professor Lupin's animalistic groans and cries make her heart leap in her throat. She moves faster, scrambling upwards. "Shit—shit—shit—I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming."

Eventually, the sloping path leads to what seems like a trapdoor. She pushes through it as the screams continue, turning into a low groaning—someone in an intense amount of pain. The sounds grow closer, and she realizes that there's only one voice, not two like she thought there would be.

Pulling herself up through the trapdoor with a grunt, the floors turn to wood, covered with a thin layer of dust except for the recent footprints that lead up a half-destroyed staircase. As she follows them, she takes in her surroundings, trying to figure out where the tunnel has led her, but the few windows are boarded up so she can't see her exact location. The ceiling is tall, and not being in the small tunnel immediately makes her feel relieved. Heart pumping, Darcy continues the climb, following the prints up the stairs, taking care to be as quiet as possible. The footprints then lead to a closed door at the end of the hallway, and as she puts her hand on the doorknob, she licks her lips, listening for a sign of what could be found inside. But for the moment, all sounds of pain have stopped, and there's a shuffling noise coming from inside, heavy footfalls and the creaking of the floorboards under their feet.

Fear overwhelms her, but she remembers that Professor Lupin is inside, in pain, in agony, and she can't leave without at least knowing he's all right.

There's no preparing herself for what she finds inside. She half-expects to meet Sirius Black in the flesh, with a dead or dying Professor Lupin by his side. Or perhaps the strangled groans had come from Sirius Black, and when she opens the door, maybe it will be Professor Lupin who reigns triumphant, having defeated the escapee. However, what she doesn't expect, is to find a fully grown werewolf inside, panting heavily, with Professor Lupin's clothes torn and shredded on the ground around it.

At first, the werewolf doesn't notice her, or perhaps it doesn't care that's she's there. Darcy is paralyzed with fear, knowing full well she can't outrun a werewolf. Her breath catches in her throat and the room around her begins to swim. She knows that it will smell her, surely, or hear her heart beating frantically. As she takes a slow step backwards, back into the hallway to run away, the werewolf turns and sees her, and before she can think of what to do next, it lunges.

Darcy side steps, but the werewolf barrels into her clumsily with such force that it knocks the wind out of her. She cries out, catching her breath again. Darcy tumbles backwards into the hallway, crashing into a wall and the werewolf growls, raising a clawed hand and bringing it down hard before she has the time to move away. Its claws tear through her sweater, leaving deep gashes on her left shoulder, and the strips of fabric fall to the floor at her feet. Darcy screams—for fear and pain—and tries to move away, but she's unsteady on her feet and the werewolf's jaw opens wide, snapping once in her face before it gets ready to lunge again. She tries to find her wand, which doesn't seem to be in her hand any longer. It's nowhere to be seen and her shoulder throbs with each passing moment, clouding her thoughts and making it hard to concentrate.

Darcy grips her shoulder with her right hand, trying to stop the bleeding, but the blood oozes down her shoulder, covering her hand until it's soaked and stained red. She falls to the ground, unable to stand any longer, and holds out her other hand towards the werewolf as it makes a move towards her. "Professor Lupin," she cries quietly, struggling to maintain consciousness. "It's me, please—it's Darcy—" Darcy closes her eyes, but the bite never comes. She hears a loud crash and a pathetic whimper, and when she opens her eyes, the werewolf is back in the room where she found it, growling from the corner of the room, low to the floor.

A strong hand grabs the back of Darcy's sweater and pulls her to her feet, holding her steady for the moment. "What were you thinking?"

Unbelieving, Darcy looks over her bleeding shoulder, trying to avoid looking at the ruin that was her skin. Snape isn't looking at her, but at the werewolf. He flicks his wand again, sending a shower of blue light towards the creature, and the werewolf curls in the corner and watches them, whimpering all the while. Snape closes the door with his foot and drags Darcy quickly back towards the stairs, but she has a hard time keeping up with his long strides.

And then, Darcy starts to cry. Fat tears roll down her cheeks as her shoulder bleeds out. Snape tries to help her down the stairs, but Darcy's lost control of her limbs. Snape grabs Darcy firmly under the arms and steadies her, nudging her near the first step. A wave of nausea washes over her and she falls and tumbles down the staircase, sobbing all the while, trying to explain herself. Snape rushes down to the bottom, where Darcy lays limp, unable to get up. Her face is a bit more bloodied and a bruise has already begun to form under her left eye. However, she continues to grasp her shoulder, her voice hoarse from crying.

"Help me," she begs. "Please, help me—"

Snape helps get her through the trapdoor, dropping her down. Darcy lands on her hands and knees and cries out. When she tries to stand again to move through the tunnel, her legs collapse underneath her. She falls face first into the dirt, swallowing too much of it for her liking. Snape reaches back down for her, pulling her up by her left arm, but it's no use—she can't stand and everything is fading before her... the tunnel is growing smaller... darkness is swallowing her whole... she closes her eyes as she falls again, but this time, Snape is ready for it and he catches her.

"I can't…please…I can't walk…" is all she can manage.

Snape purses his lips and looks at her with a blank expression for half a second before lifting her with ease into his arms. "You stupid—" Snape continues to talk, hurling insults at her, but she doesn't hear a word he says. As soon as Darcy's feet leave the ground, she closes her eyes, and the world goes dark.