'To know what a person has done, and to know who a person is, are very different things.'

Hannah Kent

"Two at a time! Two at a time! Please! She needs rest!"

Darcy watches Madam Pomfrey struggle with her friends, who try to push their way through the doors to the infirmary, all talking over each other. Darcy wants nothing more than to have all of her friends crowd her bed, laughing and talking as if nothing is amiss. She wants her friends to fuss over her, feed her ego and make her feel better, keep her shoulder from throbbing. Darcy sits up a little straighter and smiles as Harry tries to push past the matron, but Madam Pomfrey is stronger than she looks and keeps them all at bay.

She hadn't slept for very long until Madam Pomfrey had woken her to change her bandages. She woke her two hours after that, too. Madam Pomfrey had attended to all of her needs—she fetched some food and drink from the kitchens in the dead of night when she heard Darcy's stomach rumble faintly (though Darcy took one bite of a biscuit and found she couldn't keep it down); she covered Darcy with spare blankets when Darcy had shivered; she washed the blood from Darcy's clothes. It was as if Darcy were a queen, and Madam Pomfrey was simply her servant, but a servant who looked at their queen with pity and sadness.

Madam Pomfrey had meant to change her bandages again when the doors suddenly opened, though by now Darcy realizes her friends have quieted, so she assumes Madam Pomfrey has the situation under control. Exasperated, the matron comes back with Carla and Gemma. Gemma smiles brightly at Darcy, sitting at the foot of Darcy's bed, but Carla looks worried and disturbed as her eyes find the large bandages wrapped around her shoulder.

"What happened to you?" Carla asks, taking Darcy's hand in her own and squeezing it gently.

Madam Pomfrey glances at Darcy as she hurries off to her office, leaving the girls alone to talk. Darcy waits until she hears the office door shut before she replies. "I went flying last night," she explains, her heart racing. She pulls her sweaty hand from Carla's grasp. She'd practiced the lie in her head the entire morning, and practiced it with Madam Pomfrey, as well. Madam Pomfrey had been shocked after learning what Darcy had discussed with Dumbledore, but didn't say a word against Lupin. But she knows Gemma and Carla are smart girls, and she's nervous to try the lie with them. "And, well—you know I don't fly well. Flew right into the Whomping Willow."

"Well that was stupid," Gemma chuckles, too accepting of Darcy's lie for her liking. "How's your shoulder feeling?"

"Sore," Darcy admits, shrugging slightly. "But otherwise all right. You know how Madam Pomfrey works her magic."

"We had no idea what was going on," Carla tells her, sharing a worried look with Gemma. "Emily was pounding on our common room door screaming for someone to let her in. They all made me go open the door since Emily is my friend, and she and Gemma just pulled me down here. She said that Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore told Harry, and Harry told Emily, naturally," Gemma interrupts, sparing Darcy the details and winking at her. "They're outside, scheming."

Madam Pomfrey doesn't let her friends linger for long, and after only five minutes, decides that it's time to switch off. Carla races from the hospital wing to allow others to come in, but Gemma lingers for a moment as Madam Pomfrey waits impatiently at the door for her.

"Can I see?" Gemma asks, looking at Darcy with a fierce gaze.

Darcy clenches her jaw. "No."

Gemma pats Darcy once on the leg and gets to her feet, following Carla from the infirmary. Darcy can't help but to grin as Ron and Hermione come running up to her bedside, kneeling. Hermione's brought flowers, small blue ones that look slightly wilted, but are otherwise beautiful. Ron hasn't brought her anything, but promises that he'll give her a chocolate frog of his when she comes back to the Gryffindor common room. Darcy thanks him, chuckling.

"So what happened?" Hermione finally asks, placing the flowers on the bedside table, right in the sunlight. "Dumbledore either didn't give Harry any details, or he didn't want to tell us."

"There's not much to tell," Darcy answers, reciting the lie she had worked so hard to remember. "I went flying last night—terrible mistake—and ended up flying into the Whomping Willow."

Ron's eyes grow wide and he smirks. "I remember that tree," he announces, looking Darcy over. They smile at each other fondly, briefly remembering their stint with the tree the previous year. Darcy had come away from that incident unscathed, but Ron surely suffered after the tree had broken his wand and Mr. Weasley's car had taken the brunt of the hard and heavy blows. "What did you do, Darcy? Stand there and let it attack you?"

"Ron!" Hermione frowns. "She should be thankful she walked away from it alive. The Whomping Willow is not a merciful tree. You could have been seriously hurt. You shouldn't have been flying around it in the first place, nor should you have been flying at night." She purses her lips, leaning in closer to Darcy and lowering her voice. "You know you're not a very strong flier."

Darcy blushes as Ron tilts his head back and laughs. "That's why I was practicing," she shoots back, her ego bruised. "Have you come here to mock me or to fawn over my injuries and feign sympathy?"

"Sympathy isn't a word in Hermione's vocabulary," Ron mutters, and Hermione looks daggers at him. "Anyway, listen—if I bring you my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, can you give it a look? I'm not a hundred percent about it, and just need you to glance at it, maybe fix my spelling."

"Ron, how can you talk of me not having sympathy? Darcy's been seriously injured and you're more concerned about her correcting your homework."

"You said you weren't going to look over it, so I've decided to take my business elsewhere."

"Darcy doesn't want to correct your essays," she hisses, looking at Darcy and raising her eyebrows, expecting Darcy to agree with her. "It's a lot of correcting and a lot of work."

Darcy smiles as Ron and Hermione bicker about homework and procrastination and then Scabbers and Crookshanks, and when Madam Pomfrey grows weary of their snapping, she leads them out with a firm hand on one of each of their shoulders. When the door opens yet again, Madam Pomfrey does not lead anyone inside. She's left in the wake of Emily and Harry. Emily races to Darcy, grabbing her hand and stroking her hair. Harry sits cross-legged at her feet, adjusting the blanket draped over her.

"What's happened, Darcy?" Emily asks, dropping all pretense. "Dumbledore told Harry that you were injured and then he told me—of course—and I've been so worried about you—you never came to bed last night and I assumed you were just out with Carla or with Gemma—I convinced myself that you were all right, when I should have known better! Oh, Darcy, I should have realized you were in trouble—"

"It's nothing," Darcy replies, giving her friend's hand a gentle squeeze. She looks at her brother, hair tousled and green eyes staring at her shoulder. "I was out flying last night—"

"Oh, Darcy, you know you're terrible at flying!" Emily sighs dramatically.

"Thank you," Darcy snaps, her cheeks turning pink again, but Emily just shrugs. Darcy can't argue, however. "I crashed into the Whomping Willow."

"You must have the worst luck in the world," Harry teases, looking visibly relieved. "We assumed the worst. I thought I was going to come in here and look on your dead body from the way Dumbledore looked."

"Was he concerned?" Darcy asks casually.

"Not really," Harry shrugs, thinking hard. "I mean, of course he was concerned, but he just seemed so serious. I thought Sirius Black had gotten to you."

At the sound of his name, Darcy shudders. She feels foolish, but Emily and Harry are much too polite to pretend to have noticed. "I didn't mean to worry anyone," she laughs nervously, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and warm. "Madam Pomfrey says I'll be able to leave today. The bleeding has stopped, but she wants to change my bandages a few more times before I leave. You know how she is."

"Next time you want to go flying, just ask me," Harry says. "I'll fly with you. Whose broom were you using?"

"Just some old one I found in the shed."

"We could get you a better one if you're serious about flying."

"I think my flying days are over," Darcy answers, laughing. "But I appreciate it. What time is it anyway?"

"Six," Emily says, checking her watch and yawning.

"It was still dark when Dumbledore came to the common room," Harry adds. "Which was strange."

"He probably just didn't want you caught off guard," Darcy says. "I'm glad you guys came."

Emily and Harry look at each other before looking back to Darcy. Darcy frowns, deeply misliking the look they've shared. "We're worried about you, Darcy," Emily says, patting her friend's cheek. Darcy pulls her face away from Emily's soft hand, not in the mood for one of her motherly lectures. "You've been unlike yourself lately. What is it?"

"Nothing," Darcy scoffs. "What are you talking about?"

"For one, you went flying last night," Harry adds. Darcy has the feeling that Gemma was right—Emily and Harry were scheming together outside the hospital wing. "You never go flying, and you've never enjoyed it. What were you up to?"

"I just needed some fresh air, is all," Darcy sneers. "Forgive me for wanting to escape your clutches for one night."

"Is it the dementors?" Emily presses. "I understand that you don't like them, but they aren't going anywhere. And I know you've been having nightmares—is that it? Or is it Sirius Black? I know what you're afraid of, but Harry is safe here."

Darcy and Harry look at each other. "You can't believe that, truly," Darcy whispers, in complete disbelief, shaking her head.

"I do," Harry says firmly. "This is the safest place for us, Darcy. You don't have to worry about me anymore."

"I always worry about you."

The door opens again and all three of them jump, looking quickly to see who it is. Even Madam Pomfrey pokes her head out of her office. Darcy's heart sinks and she forgets to breathe for a moment as Lupin limps into the infirmary, heading towards Darcy with long strides, meaning to get to her quickly. Emily and Harry look at Darcy with their eyebrows raised to their hairlines; Darcy nods, and Emily gathers Harry off the bed, her arms around him.

"Come on, Harry," she whispers, getting to her feet. "Let's leave them."

Harry follows suit, kissing Darcy's head and allowing Emily to lead him to the doors. They both acknowledge Lupin with a small smile and a nod, but Lupin only looks at them, bewildered. Darcy's brother and Emily leave them, and Lupin draws closer, opening his mouth to speak, but Madam Pomfrey rushes him.

"No." She puts a hand on his chest and he takes a few clumsy steps backwards, stammering, but Madam Pomfrey speaks over him. "No, no, no, no, no. Darcy is my patient and she needs rest—she's had a long night and enough visitors for one day, so you can go right back to your office and you can see her during class—"

"Poppy, please—"

The matron prods his chest again with her index finger. "Out, Mr. Lupin! The last thing she needs is to be kept awake. She needs rest and relaxation and she needs—to be—alone."

Darcy clears her throat and she sees Lupin look over the top of the matron's head at her. "Madam Pomfrey, it's all right. He can come." She wrings her hands, cracking her knuckles, fidgeting in her bed. "I'm not really tired anyway."

Madam Pomfrey looks at Darcy over her shoulder, considering her. Her arm falls to her side and she walks back over to Darcy, sighing. Madam Pomfrey smiles weakly, smoothing the blankets over Darcy's legs and patting her hair. "You're due for a bandage change soon. I'll be in my office until then," she mutters. "If you should need anything, please shout for me."

Darcy nods, and when Madam Pomfrey shuts herself in her office, Lupin kneels at Darcy's side. She frowns, noticing the grimace on his face, and Darcy draws her legs up, offering him a space on the bed. "You can sit, if you like. I can't imagine you're feeling much better than I am."

Lupin hesitates, opening and closing his mouth, and then takes her up on the offer. He seats himself on the end of the bed, where Harry had been only moments ago. Darcy looks at his face; he won't look her in the eyes, but instead is looking off to the side. His shoulders are slumped, his face is white as a ghost, and his hair is disheveled, standing up in places where he's run his hands through it. The buttons on his shirt aren't buttoned correctly, as if he did them in the dark. Pathetic, she thinks, feeling sad for him.

"Don't mind Madam Pomfrey," Darcy says quietly, giving him a small smile, but he still won't meet her gaze. "She's been taking care of me for seven years, and I know I haven't been an easy patient at times. She just worries about me."

"She has every right to be worried about you," Lupin sighs, rubbing his palms on his pants. He's quiet for a long time, focused intently upon his shoes. "I don't even know what to say to you, Darcy. Sorry isn't enough. It will never be enough to make up for what I've done."

She frowns. "You could look at me, for a start," she replies.

Slowly, Lupin raises his eyes, but his gaze is so pitiful that Darcy almost wishes he'd look away again. His eyes flick to her shoulder, wrapped in bandages, and she can see his face lose what tiny bit of color was left. He closes his eyes, looking nauseous.

"I'm all right, truly," Darcy tries again, forcing herself to smile. "Professor Snape stopped the bleeding and sealed the cuts as soon as he brought me back to the castle, and Madam Pomfrey has been soaking gauze in a potion that she thinks will soothe the pain and keep the swelling down. She thinks it'll shrink the size of the scars, too. And Professor McGonagall has also given me a few detentions for sneaking out."

Lupin rubs his face, sighing deeply again. He glances at the potion and fresh gauze and bandages on the table. Watching Darcy closely, he moves a little nearer to her, edging down the side of the bed to see her shoulder better. Darcy tenses, keeping her eyes on his face. Lupin swallows loudly, reaching out for her shoulder. Darcy flinches before she can catch herself and he freezes, his long fingers still outstretched. He looks her in the eyes again, quiet for a minute.

"You're afraid of me." He lowers his hand, defeated.

"No," she says quickly, unsure if it's the truth or not. "You just—you frightened me last night. I know you won't hurt me now."

Lupin doesn't look like he believes her, but he doesn't argue. "May I?" he asks, gesturing towards her shoulder.

It takes her a moment to agree, if only to be polite. Lupin seems to sense her hesitancy and frowns again.

"Are you sure?" Lupin asks again. "If it—if you're not comfortable with—"

"Go ahead."

Lupin nods slightly, and with the gentlest touch that Darcy's ever known, Lupin fingers the edges of her bandage, finding the starting point and slowly unraveling it, his face set as if carved from stone. He looks towards Madam Pomfrey's office door before continuing. Darcy doesn't doubt that Madam Pomfrey would throw a fit if she came upon Lupin doing her job. Finally, he reaches the layer of gauze covering her scars and Lupin sets down the old bandage on the table beside him, using two hands to peel the gauze off her shoulder. His hands are trembling, and Darcy feels another pang of sadness for him.

Lupin barely lifts the gauze, takes a quick look underneath, and covers her shoulders again, closing his eyes. He takes a moment to compose himself, controlling his breathing. Straightening up, Lupin lifts the gauze once more, revealing the scars that have marred her smooth skin. They don't look as angry as they had at first when Snape first sealed her wounds. Her scars are softer now, a light pink that contrasts with her milky skin.

Darcy watches his face as he examines the scars, sees the look of disgust and revulsion cross his face before it turns to a look of complete, absolute shame. "Darcy—" he whispers, forcing himself to look away from her shoulder. "I'm sorry…I'm so, so—" He covers his face with his hands.

"Professor, I—" Darcy pauses, reaching out for him, but thinking better of it. "It's all right."

Lupin lowers his hands, his eyes red, and he stares at her incredulously. "What?" he asks, his chest heaving. "No, no—it's not all right. I—" He pauses, looking at her with such a pained expression that it makes Darcy want to cry. "I hurt you, and that is not—it's not all right." Lupin takes the gauze off her shoulder completely, letting her shoulder out in the open.

The cool air is welcome. Darcy realizes how tight the bandages had been, how suffocating they had felt. Though it aches, Darcy rolls her shoulder, raises her arm slightly, stretching it. When she raises her arm too high, she winces, lowering her arm at once. The longer she goes without the soaked gauze, however, the more her shoulder stings. She looks at it; the skin is intact and there's no bleeding, but it's as if she can feel the scars themselves throbbing violently.

"I'm sorry, I don't—I don't know what to say," he says, . "Nothing I say will ever make this right, and I know that." Lupin gets to his feet, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. "Ask me anything, Darcy. Ask of me anything, and if I can do it for you, I will." He begins to pace, back and forth in front of Darcy's bed. "Do you want me to resign? I will—if that's what you want, I will." His eyes stay glued to the floor for the most part, but every so often they look to her shoulder.

At the moment, there is only one thing that she wants. "Can you ask Madam Pomfrey to wrap my shoulder?" she asks with a half smile. "If I shout for her, she might come out of her office throwing hexes everywhere."

"Oh—! Of course," he answers quickly, as if he's forgotten all about it. "I could—I mean, if you—it's the least I can do for you…"

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but isn't sure how to answer. The urge to be kind and polite beats out the urge to refuse him. She nods slightly and Lupin nods back. He fumbles around on the bedside table, grabbing the gauze and dunking it in a nearby bowl of potion. He wrings it out, letting it drip over the bowl for a minute before turning back to Darcy. Lupin sits back down beside her and holds it and inch above her shoulder before pressing it to the scars.

She hisses, withdrawing, but Lupin wraps his fingers around her upper arm to keep her still. "I'm sorry," he tells her sincerely. "Please stay still, and it'll be over that much sooner."

He grabs the bandages, his hands still shaking. Darcy looks at his face as he wraps her shoulder, focusing on his work. His face is so close to hers that she blushes, not having realized that this process would be so intimate. His fingertips brush the skin on her arm and shoulder, warm to the touch. Having not slept all night, his eyes are heavy and glossed over. There are bags under his eyes, and he hasn't shaved in a few days. She notes the premature lines on his face and the way his light hair is flecked with gray, making him appear older than he is. But Darcy knows that when he smiles, he'll seem a young man again, effortlessly cool.

Lupin does a good enough job wrapping the bandage tight enough, but also allowing her skin breathing room, which Madam Pomfrey forgets about doing sometimes. When he finishes, he admires his handiwork before inhaling deeply.

"I'm resigning," Lupin admits. "That's what I was going to do as soon as I came back to the castle, but Dumbledore had left a note in my office."

"He won't accept your resignation, you know."

"Wh—how could you possibly know that?" he falters. "I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. Surely he'll fire me the moment I set foot in his office. I hurt you, Darcy, I could have…I could have…"

"Professor Dumbledore's already been to see me," Darcy explains. "And he's already explained to me the severity of the situation. I don't want anything to happen to you, sir, and I told the Headmaster I—I don't want you to go. He said if that's what I wanted, then he won't make you go."

Lupin narrows his eyes, almost about to laugh, as if what she's said is the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Darcy, that's very—sweet of you, but I must resign," he says solemnly, but Darcy smiles weakly, sensing his gratitude. "I could have killed you—I could have bitten you…you got lucky, but what if it happens again? And what if next time, that person isn't so lucky? I can't take that risk. I can't…"

"Please don't go, Professor Lupin," she pleads quietly, her cheeks pink. "You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had, and I haven't told anyone about what you are, and I won't."

Lupin eyebrows knit together. "Why would you do that?" he asks. "I don't deserve that kindness, not after what I've done to you."

"You say you were friends with my parents," she answers. "Out of respect for my parents and for you, I won't ever tell anyone what you are. I would hate to see you treated like—like—"

"A monster?"

She hates the word, the very idea that someone could look Lupin in the face and think him a monster is baffling. "Don't go." Darcy gives him a genuine smile, a very small one, but he doesn't smile back. "I'd miss our weekly dinners."

"How can you smile right now?" he wonders, seeming genuinely curious. "How can you find even a shred of humor in this entire situation?"

Darcy's smile falls and her face feels warm again. She wants to throw the blankets off her, or step out into the cool autumn air. "I made Professor Snape drop the Wolfsbane that night," she breathes. Her admission makes her feel guilty, but she doesn't want to blame herself. She knows that Lupin shares part of the blame, and it feels good to have someone else willing to accept the blame, but when she looks at Lupin and sees the sorrow he shows her, Darcy finds it hard to blame him at all. "I was the reason you didn't have your potion that night. When I turned a corner, I ran into him and he dropped it, and I'm sorry."

He's sorry he hurt you. He would never do it again. You know that.

"Darcy, none of this is your fault. You cannot blame yourself. All of this—it was me—my fault..."

"If I hadn't been out, Professor Snape wouldn't have dropped the potion. If I hadn't followed you out of the castle, you wouldn't have hurt me."

Lupin narrows his eyes, stroking the stubble on his face. He considers this. "Why did you follow me? What did you think you'd catch me doing?"

The words come easy to her. She trusts him, much more than she's ever trusted Snape, and more than she trusts Dumbledore. They spill out of her without warning. "I thought you were going to meet up with Sirius Black and I had to make sure that wasn't the case. With every Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, well…there's always been a catch and you just seemed too good to be true and I was afraid—"

"There is a catch. I'm a werewolf—dangerous to you and those around me. I can't stay here. You know people will talk once they see what I've done to you."

"Professor, I promise I won't tell anyone. But please don't go," she begs, sounding half a child. Tears well up in Darcy's eyes, pricking painfully. "You can't leave, not now. In another life, I would have grown up with you at my side—you would have spent holidays at our home, spoken to me as a friend, given me life advice—whatever family friends do. I am glad to know you now, and I am glad you're here."

It's clear she catches Lupin off guard. He stares at her with a blank expression. He thinks for a moment, licking his lips. "Professor Dumbledore can't stop me from walking out that door. He can decline my resignation, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm not going to stay here after what I've done. He can ask me to stay all he'd like but—"

"And does what I want count for nothing?" Darcy interrupts, making him look more ashamed than she's ever seen him. "You don't have to stay because Professor Dumbledore wants you to. Stay because I want you to."