'As other girls prayed for handsomeness in a lover, or for wealth, or for power, or for poetry, she had prayed fervently: let him be kind.'

Anaïs Nin

To Darcy's surprise, Lupin does decide to stay at Hogwarts, even after he'd left her in the hospital wing without giving her a definite answer. Madam Pomfrey has insisted on her staying in bed until after lunch that day, but when Darcy walks into Defense Against the Dark Arts the following day with Emily, Lupin is just walking out of his office, combing his hair back with his fingers. When she sees him, she lets out an, "Oh!"

Emily looks at her. "What?"

"Oh—it's nothing, I just remembered something is all."

She half expects everything to return to normal, which is apparently not what Lupin has in mind.

For the next few weeks, Lupin continues to teach his classes with the same enthusiasm as before, but Darcy notices that as soon as their class is dismissed, his smile falls and his face looks weary and he doesn't look as well as he normally does. She also doesn't fail to notice that he avoids eye contact with her, ignoring her completely. Darcy takes care to watch him closely during every class, hoping that he'll at least glance in her direction, give her a reassuring smile—but it never comes. Lupin asks other students to be volunteers, he doesn't wander the classroom during lectures to share a smile with Darcy and Emily in the very back. Even in the Great Hall for meals, Lupin doesn't look at the Gryffindor table. He doesn't invite her to his office for their weekly dinners, he ignores her when she calls his name, and brushes past her when they happen to meet in the corridors. One day in class, she raises her hand to ask a question, to test his limits, and she does get the chance to ask, but he answers her curtly with his back facing her, writing on the blackboard.

To be so blatantly ignored by him is worse than if he had left the school altogether. At night, she sits by the fire in the common room, doing her homework or reading or just staring into the flames and thinking. Darcy finds herself silently cursing Lupin quite often, wishing that she had just asked him to leave. He would be gone, and she wouldn't have to concern herself with him and his petty stubbornness ever again. It infuriates her to know that Lupin is still at Hogwarts only because of her—because she told Dumbledore he shouldn't fire him, because she begged Lupin not to leave, begged like a sad and lonely little girl—and yet, despite Lupin knowing all of that, he now refuses to even look at her, to acknowledge her.

She tries to see it from his point of view. She tries to be fair, but she can't. Over the past few weeks, Darcy has made it perfectly clear that she isn't holding a grudge against him. She has kept his secret even from her closest friends—even from Harry. Darcy touches her shoulder absentmindedly, staring into the fire without really seeing it. She can feel the scars through the fabric of her shirt. Briefly, she wonders if Lupin would be acting the same way to someone else if the circumstances were different—but then she remembers that had that happened to someone else, Lupin would likely be outed and fired.

Basking in anger does nothing for Darcy. It only makes her angrier. Angrier at Lupin, angrier at Emily, angrier at Harry, angrier at everything. She doesn't want to think about her shoulder anymore, scarred forever because of her own stupidity and recklessness. She doesn't want to think about Lupin anymore. She doesn't want to think about what could have happened to her if Snape hadn't saved her life. If he had bitten me, at least he would talk me through it. At least he'd acknowledge me.

Darcy's thoughts always make their way to Snape last. The bane of her existence—more so than Lupin. She wishes that Dumbledore had asked her if he should fire Snape. She would have said yes a hundred times. Ever since snatching her away from Lupin, Snape is different, in a way that's not for the better. He still sneers when he looks at her, his mouth twisting into a cruel, thin-lipped, ugly smile full of knowing. Darcy loathes to think that Snape actually believes she should be throwing herself at his feet, clinging to his robes and crying for his forgiveness for all the years of bloody torture she's caused him. She ignores him mostly, making sure every assignment is completed on time, every potion is brewed to perfection, and she rarely speaks in Potions lessons save for when he calls on her—and she always makes sure to answer the questions correctly. It gives Snape little to complain about, and it makes her life easier, as well.

Word travels quickly throughout Hogwarts about Darcy's unlucky encounter with the Whomping Willow. Most of her friends make japes, especially Oliver Wood, who has seen her on a broomstick before and thinks that Darcy going for a midnight fly is the funniest thing in the world. He and Emily begin to pester Darcy for a look at her shoulder, as well, after Darcy had admitted that she had lasting scars. Each time they ask, Darcy politely refuses, telling them that she's too embarrassed of them. Oliver drops it after Darcy snaps at him one night in the common room, but Emily persists a few more times until Darcy shouts at her in Charms one day.

"When I'm ready to show you, I will!"

After that, Emily stops asking, and Professor Flitwick gives them both a withering stare before continuing his lesson.

Hermione, surprisingly enough, begins to interrogate her almost nightly, as well, as if waiting for Darcy to confess something, but Darcy isn't quite sure what Hermione is searching for. Darcy is certain that Hermione can't know the truth behind her injuries, but even so, Hermione doesn't seem to believe Darcy's lie. Hermione doesn't laugh at Darcy's misfortune, nor does she accuse her of anything, so Darcy lets her ask her innocent questions and she maintains her lie.

The incident and all of her friends' questions have put her on edge, so Darcy busies herself with her schoolwork, and even looks over Ron's essays when she has the time. Emily had offered to do it, but Ron admitted privately to Darcy that he had found her bullish and overly critical, so Darcy had taken it upon herself to do it simply out of pity, knowing very well that Emily is both of those things. She's grateful that Ron has taken her lie at face value and enjoys listening to him babble about how terrible Divination is, but how wonderful it is to have it with Harry.

As the school year progresses, their workload grows and grows and grows, and Gemma's love of drinking is even overshadowed by the amount of work she has. Carla drowns under stress, always bleary eyed and sleep deprived, barely having time to talk to her between classes. Emily helps keep Darcy afloat by quizzing her at random times, reminding her of homework that needs to be done or an essay that's coming due. She wishes that Gemma would organize something, just to take her mind off things, as drinking alone isn't half so fun as drinking with friends in a bathroom.

All the while, Darcy's nightmares still plague her, keeping her awake and leaving her utterly exhausted in the mornings. She tries to move in them now, tries to speak to her mother or Harry or Voldemort, but she can't control anything. And when the faceless man comes to pull her to his chest, she tries to look up, to see his face, but there's nothing there, and before she can focus on him, her dreams change. Sirius Black is part of her nightmares now, lank and dirty and lunging at her with both hands outstretched, his long fingers wrapping around her neck, strangling her until her eyes pop and she claws at his hands until they're nothing but red ribbons. She dreams about Lupin the werewolf, his snarling face inches from hers as her shoulder bleeds out on the dusty floor and burns like fire. She dreams about his long, sharp teeth sinking into her chest, and when he brings his head up again, there's a chunk of her flesh in his mouth. Whenever she wakes, drenched in sweat, her hand automatically goes to her chest first, and she's relieved every single time to rediscover that her chest is untouched and still smooth.

McGonagall approaches her one day at breakfast, begging a word. They walk the corridors until they are sure no students were listening. "How are you feeling, Potter?" she asks, her voice full of sympathy.

"I'm fine," Darcy answers, wondering why it had taken so long for McGonagall to approach her. Surely it's because she thinks Darcy fragile now, as it seems that McGonagall is stepping on eggshells even now. "Really, Professor, I'm all right. How many detentions, then?"

"Five," McGonagall answers. "You'll meet me in my office next Monday night after dinner."

Darcy nods, and as they make their way back to the Great Hall to finish breakfast, she hesitates at the top of the marble staircase. Lupin is making his way up, and halfway to the top, he stops, looking at Darcy. "Professor Lupin," Darcy starts, "I—" But he only nods curtly at both Darcy and McGonagall and moves quickly past them. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," McGonagall says, putting a hand on Darcy's shoulder and leading her down the marble staircase. "You need to give him time to come to terms with everything. Leave him be, Potter."

"Yes, Professor."

"You did a good thing. Not everyone would have—reacted the way you did."

The first week Darcy spends with McGonagall herself, grading papers and rewriting old manuscripts and working on her Transfiguration homework in silence. Every so often, McGonagall looks up at Darcy with narrowed eyes, expecting her to protest, but Darcy doesn't say a word until it's time to leave. She doesn't mind the silence and appreciates the break from her friends—and she doesn't want McGonagall chastising her again. The mere fact that McGonagall knows the truth is enough to make Darcy uncomfortable around her, but after the day Darcy had gotten served her detentions, they never speak of it. She's grateful for that much, at least.

The second week of detentions (in which she decided she'd rather serve two instead of one, to keep them from dragging out), Darcy spends with Professor Flitwick. These detentions are her favorite, as Flitwick (who gives her a wary look from time to time as if it were her face that was mauled) doesn't give her any busy work and insteads lets her do her own homework. When she finishes all of that, Flitwick raises no objections when she takes out a book to read, and he does the same. The two of them read in silence until nine o'clock both nights.

The third week, Professor McGonagall approaches her at dinner and tells her that she doesn't have to serve any more detentions, as there is no point in doing them without something to do. Darcy thanks her, looking up at Professor Lupin. Lupin avoids her stare, just as he always does, and Darcy sighs, defeated. She thinks for a moment of going up to the long table, making him look at her and talk to her and remember that she's the reason he's still here, but Darcy doesn't want to make a scene, so she retreats to her common room and is struck with a sudden idea.

Hagrid. Hagrid won't ignore me.

Darcy bundles up as the sky begins to darken slightly. She wraps a scarf around her mouth and heads back down towards the front doors of Hogwarts. Halfway to the great oak doors, however, she decides to make a detour. Darcy hesitates outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wondering if she should knock or just enter. Against her better judgement, she decides to enter, walking quickly to Lupin's office and knocking three times in quick succession.

"Come in," comes Lupin's voice, warm and welcoming. It's been weeks since she's heard him speak to her like that, and she realizes that she's missed it terribly.

She walks in, shutting the door gently behind her, wondering if this is a huge mistake. She should have just gone to Hagrid's without coming here. She should have just waited until Professor Lupin was ready to speak to her, until he'd come to terms with everything like McGonagall told her. Her heart starts to beat faster and she chews the inside of her cheek. Lupin is putting some books away on a bookshelf, but freezes when he sees her enter out of the corner of his eye. He continues putting the books away, albeit slower, turning slightly so she's completely hidden from his vision.

"Professor, I—"

He sighs heavily as he fits the last book in between two others, a little more aggressively than Darcy thinks necessary. She takes a step forward.

"Professor, why won't you look at me?"

And finally, Lupin shuffles around and faces her, his eyes looking into hers, wide and sad. She hadn't expected him to succumb so easily, and now that he's looking at her for the first time in weeks, Darcy isn't sure how to proceed. She hadn't worked out what she was going to say on the way here, so she's at a loss for words. All he does is look at her with those tired eyes of his, his face whiter than usual and his old scars darker against his skin. His shoulders are slumped, his hair messy and falling in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his lips shut tight. Forcibly reminded of her nightmare, Darcy takes a small step backwards.

"Right," she says awkwardly, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Well, now that that's—well, I'm going to Hagrid's."

"No," he says, surprising Darcy. "You shouldn't be out after dark. Headmaster's rules. Go back to your common room."

"No. I'm going to see Hagrid."

"No."

At that stupid, simple word, Darcy bristles. "You haven't spoken to me in weeks unless forced to," she snarls, but Lupin doesn't look away from her. "Why did you stay, if you were just going to ignore me? Do you know who does that? Do you know who ignores me when they get angry or embarrassed or ashamed?" She doesn't give him time to reply. "Harry does. And Harry is a thirteen-year-old boy."

"Careful, Darcy," Lupin retorts coldly. "You shouldn't speak to your teacher like that."

"What are you going to do? Give me a detention?" she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "Force yourself to be in the same room as me for a few hours?"

Lupin frowns, scrunching his nose. "Hogsmeade is coming up. I can see to it that you don't go."

Darcy mentally kicks herself for having gone so far. "Sir, please—"

"Then go back to your common room, Darcy."

She considers it. She knows she can return to her common room and disappear underneath the Invisibility Cloak to make the trip to Hagrid's. Darcy wonders if Lupin would check with Emily to see if she'd been in bed, but Emily would lie for her, right? Or would Emily worry and fuss after what happened the last time Darcy hadn't been in bed? The last thing in the world that she wants is Emily and Lupin teaming up against her.

"What have I done to you?" she asks quietly. "What have I done to deserve this, sir? I enjoyed spending time with you, and I—I don't hate or—or—"

Lupin looks away from her, busying himself by tidying his desk, straightening his quills and adjusting a stack of blank parchment. "You haven't done anything," he replies stiffly. "It's what I've done. Please, Darcy, go back to your common room, and don't think about sneaking off to Hagrid's. It's dangerous out there at night. You should know that now."

Darcy heeds Lupin's warning and decides to wait until Saturday to go to Hagrid's before Gryffindor's Quidditch practice. She goes alone, and when Hagrid opens the door, he flashes Darcy an enormous smile underneath his wiry, black beard. He ushers her inside, takes her coat like a gentleman, and pulls one of his smaller seats to the table he's sitting at. Darcy clambers into the chair, the fire in Hagrid's hearth warming her bones. The cold, autumn wind pounds against the hut and makes the small windows rattle.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to visit sooner, Hagrid," she says sadly, patting his large hand. "I've been so busy, and I know that things have been hard for you. How are classes going?" Fang the boarhound shuffles closer to her, putting his chin on her thigh and drooling all over her pants. Darcy scratches at his head and under his chin and ears.

"Terrible," he replies, and Darcy frowns. "Poor Buckbeak…" He nods towards the back window, and Darcy turns. She hadn't seen the hippogriff before, but she sees him now, tethered in the pumpkin patch behind Hagrid's hut. "I keep him inside durin' the nights 'cause it gets so cold now, but I want him to enjoy the fresh air until it snows."

Darcy looks at Hagrid with an incredulous look. "You keep him inside your house at night?" She glances around, unsure of where a hippogriff would even fit in his home. She pictures the hippogriff spreading its wings and leaving absolutely no room for Hagrid to live. "Has anyone said anything about what'll happen to him?"

"Not yet," Hagrid admits, staring out towards the pumpkin patch wistfully. "But I know somethin'll come o' this. No doubt Lucius Malfoy is plottin' somethin'."

"I'm sorry, Hagrid. I know it wasn't your fault. Harry, Ron, and Hermione told me everything. I thought a hippogriff was a wonderful start to classes."

"Thanks, Darcy," Hagrid smiles weakly. "Yer sweet to me. Would'ya like ter see him?"

Darcy falters, but doesn't want to upset him even more. "Oh—sure, I'd love that."

Hagrid leads her outside, Fang at Darcy's heels. When she sees the hippogriff, she's surprised by its beauty. Buckbeak's feathers are sleek and a beautiful gray-blue, its eyes beady and black, watching her carefully. When it stands, it spreads its wings, pawing the ground with all four legs. Darcy sees the talons, the long and sharp claws on its feet, and she backs away, nearly tripping over Fang. The boarhound whines as Darcy clutches her shoulder unconsciously, staring at the talons.

"It's all righ'," Hagrid reassures her putting a massive hand on her back. "He's not as mean as everyone makes him out ter be."

"It's not that, Hagrid," she says meekly. "I just—he's lovely, truly beautiful, but… a bit scary, don't you think?"

"Harry rode him, did he say?"

"He did. It's very impressive."

"I won' make yeh ride him," Hagrid chuckles, patting her back and slapping her a little too hard. Darcy stumbles forward and the sudden movement frightens the hippogriff. Buckbeak charges forward and Darcy scrambles backwards, but the chain around Buckbeak's neck stops him from reaching her. Realizing that Buckbeak has frightened Darcy, Hagrid hurries her back inside the hut as she rubs her aching shoulder.

He pours her a cup of tea and she looks down at it. She's never liked tea, and that's a fact that Hagrid's always forgotten about her. She drinks it politely anyway, cringing at the taste. They both sit together in the smoky hut in silence for a little bit, a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company. Finally, Darcy puts her tea down and starts to scratch at Fang's head again. Her thighs are soaked from his drool, but she doesn't mind.

"Hagrid," she begins. "What do you think of Professor Lupin?"

Hagrid smiles widely. "I remember when he was just a boy," he explains. "I took him across the lake durin' his firs' year, and I remember him. Shakin' like a leaf, he was, white-faced and frightened. I never knew him like I know you, Darcy, an' yer brother and Ron and Hermione, but he was always polite to me—smart, his teachers said, and a great wizard. I'm glad Professor Dumbledore brought him back to teach. How've his classes been?"

"Great," she replies truthfully. "He's a wonderful teacher."

"Yer brother said the same thing. Why yeh askin'?"

Darcy puts on her sweetest smile and looks at Hagrid. "No reason," she says.

"He was friends with yer parents," Hagrid continues. "Don't know if he's told yeh."

"Yeah, he has." Darcy has a sudden thought. "Hagrid, tell me about the night that my parents died."

His face pales. "Now, why would yeh wanna know 'bout that?" Hagrid replies, a little louder. Darcy shrinks away from him, her face turning red. "I've told yeh 'bout it before, and I don't like thinkin' 'bout it."

She gets to her feet and Fang follows her, sniffing at her shoes and bumping his head against the backs of her thighs. Darcy looks out the window, watching Buckbeak dig into the earth, and then she moves in front of the hearth, holding her hands out in front of the fire. "I've been having terrible nightmares," she whispers. Darcy looks around the hut and becomes slightly dizzy, needing some fresh air. Hagrid watches her intensely. "And in my dreams, it's always the night that my parents die. And after Voldemort kills my mum, someone picks me up from the ruins of our home and holds me, but—" She gazes at Hagrid for a moment. "It's not you. He's smaller than you. I never see his face. I don't know who he is."

Hagrid doesn't answer for a long time. He just watches her, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. His face is still pale, from what's visible underneath all of his hair. Darcy purses her lips and lowers her hands to her sides.

"Hagrid, who is it?" she asks quietly. "Who holds me after mum dies? Is it Professor Lupin?" She leans in closer to her friend, expecting an answer, but Hagrid seems to struggle with his words.

"No," Hagrid answers, and Darcy sighs. "Yer mistaken, Darcy," he adds, clearing his throat. "No one was there but me an' the the crowd. Yeh must jus' be rememberin' a—a Muggle pickin' yeh up. Or maybe it is me. It's jus' a dream."

Darcy, disappointed, slumps her shoulders, staring into the fire. "Yeah… it's just a dream…"

Emily, Ron, and Hermione are already at the Quidditch pitch by the time Darcy gets there. The Gryffindor Quidditch team are already flying around, warming up by tossing a Quaffle back and forth. In the stands, a few Gryffindors sat watching, but the seats around Darcy's friends are empty. Emily watches them fly, squinting as the sun beats down on her, and when Darcy approaches, Emily doesn't look away. "Where've you been?" she asks. "It's been a pretty good practice."

"I was with Hagrid," Darcy answers, sitting between Emily and Ron. "Why didn't anyone tell me how scary that hippogriff was?"

"Thank you," Ron snorts. "He keeps it inside his house, did you know that?"

"He mentioned it. Hagrid is too sweet for his own good."

Oliver Wood, Keeper for the Quidditch team, flies over their heads. Darcy's hair falls over her eyes and she fixes it as he swoops back down in front of them all. Behind him, his team lands on the ground, gathering the rest of their equipment and adjusting their robes. Oliver hovers in front of Darcy, stretching out on his broomstick, and Darcy smiles shyly at him.

"Glad you could make it, Darcy," he says with a wide grin. The wind has tousled his hair and flushed his face a light pink.

"I came for Harry, not for you," she teases.

"Hogsmeade trip tomorrow," he reminds her. "Want to come with me?"

Darcy laughs. "I'm going with my friends."

"Ah," he groans, smiling all the same. "We're friends, aren't we? Meet me at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow if you want to grab a drink."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask."

He flies away, shouting at his team as they mount their brooms. Emily looks at Darcy with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "I'm so proud of you, Darcy," she says, squeezing her arm. "Seven years now and you've never once said yes. You are resilient, aren't you? And he's quite persistent…"

"I did say yes one time," Darcy replies. "Don't you remember?"

"You went out with Oliver Wood? What happened?" Hermione interjects, brimming with curiosity. "It can't have been terrible if he still asks you, right?"

Darcy glances down at Hermione, remembering with mixed feelings the times that she'd spent with Oliver. In truth, all of those times had ended quite badly, but Oliver thought it had been wonderful. She shares a knowing look with Emily, who looks back towards the field with a small smirk on her face. Darcy finds Harry in the crowd of players. "I'll tell you when you're older."