'I am not what you supposed, but far different.'

Walt Whitman

Harry walks back to the castle at Darcy's side after practice, his broomstick held over his shoulder. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his cheeks are bright red, as well as the tip of his nose and ears. They hang back, walking slowly behind the gaggle of Gryffindors, being led by Emily who tells them a story with all the enthusiasm she can muster. The crowd chuckles as one, Fred and George elbow each other playfully at the back of the group, and Darcy smiles.

"I feel like I haven't really seen you in forever," she says to Harry, holding her arms around her to keep her warm. Oliver had called practice to a halt when the snow began to fall in earnest, and it's only worsened. It comes down in huge flakes from dark, puffy clouds, and the wind blows the snow into her eyes. Underdressed for such an occasion, Darcy shivers violently, her teeth chattering. "I'm sorry we haven't gotten the chance to talk lately, but my workload is insane. I feel like all I've been doing is homework."

"And you know how Quidditch season is," he adds, sounding almost disappointed, but this makes Darcy smile even more. Quidditch has always been a source of great joy for her brother, despite the anxiety it brings Darcy, especially after he'd lost all the bones in his arm last year. Though now that she thinks about it, she can't really blame Quidditch for that.

She elbows him lightly. "I know you love it," she jokes. "I do, too. Hopefully the weather is better for your first game."

"So does the whole team, and probably the whole school."

"Hey—what are you doing for Christmas?" Darcy asks, draping an around around Harry's shoulders as a gust of wind peppers her face with snow. "You aren't going to Ron's, are you?"

"If I were, you know you'd be invited," he smiles up at Darcy. "Ron's staying here with me. Hermione too, I think."

"All my friends are going home for the holidays," Darcy says, skipping ahead a few paces and walking backwards in front of her brother. Her friends typically do—Gemma has gone home for Christmas every year she's been in Hogwarts, claiming that her parents are mad about the holidays; Carla's parents always find somewhere warm to travel during Christmas, if only to get away from the cold. Only Emily had stayed with Darcy at Hogwarts every other year, and once, Darcy visited her home to ring in the New Year. "We'll have plenty of time to hang out. All four of us can do something together."

"That'd be great." Harry pauses, adjusting his broomstick. "Would you get us some food from the kitchens? We could eat Christmas dinner in the common room."

"Sure," Darcy laughs, ruffling Harry's dark hair with stiff and frozen fingers. "Anything you want."

Once back in the common room, Harry and Darcy both decide to sneak out of the common room under the Invisibility Cloak to escape the noise and crowd. Darcy suggests going up to the owlery, but regrets it almost the moment they reach the tall and open tower, where the wind is ruthless and burns the skin on their faces. Darcy coaxes Max down just as he's waking to hunt, but Hedwig is already gone, as well as a good many of the school owls and pet owls alike. They both feed Max some treats and coo over him. Max seems to enjoy the attention, nuzzling against Darcy's face and chest and neck, spreading his wings to tickle her cheeks, and nipping affectionately at her fingers.

"Isn't he the sweetest owl you've ever seen?" Darcy grins. Max nips at her earlobe, the cold making it pinch painfully. Darcy grabs him around the middle and pulls the owl off her.

"You're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, aren't you?" he asks her.

Darcy looks at him with a half smile, feeling sorry for him. "I was going to," she replies. "But—hey! I could stay at the castle and we could hang out. That could be fun. I bet the common room will be nearly empty, or we could go down to Hagrid's."

Harry shakes his head. "No, I—you should go. You've been waiting for this trip, and besides, it's the first one of the year."

"Which means there will be others," she shrugs. Hogsmeade had lost most of its appeal around Darcy fifth year or so, but it's still a few hours of fresh air and a welcome escape from the thick walls of Hogwarts. Nevermind it's the easiest way to smuggle alcohol into the castle, so Gemma's never missed a trip. "Besides, we have so much to catch up on. Like… oh—I went to Hagrid's today, actually. Saw that hippogriff of his." She urges Max off her forearm and out into the wintery air. He soars off, far away from the owlery.

"Buckbeak? Yeah, Hagrid probably has him in the house by now." Harry throws the rest of the owl treats in his hand on the floor, and the remaining owls swarm to them, pecking at the floor, hoping for a treat. "How're you feeling? I mean—how's your shoulder? It's not still hurting, is it?"

"My shoulder's fine," she says, as it throbs suddenly. She puts her hand to her left shoulder, but is unable to feel the scars beneath her cloak and sweater. Lowering her voice, she adds, "It could have been a lot worse."

"I was really worried about you," he admits. "I hate that tree. It could have broken your neck if you were really unlucky."

Darcy flashes Harry a dazzling smile. The previous year, Darcy had flown Ron's dad's car into the Whomping Willow—completely by accident, of course. The car had grown tired, had stopped running while they were nearing Hogwarts, and through the darkness they plunged towards the grounds, gaining speed. Darcy had screamed a piercing scream as the car landed in the branches of the Whomping Willow, and for a moment, she had thought they were safe. Just as she went to open the door and climb shakily down the branches with her brother and his friend, the tree had slammed its branches onto the car. Its branches were its fists, pounding the car's roof, shattering the windshield, and poking thin fingers through the windows. All three of them had been screaming, shouting for help, trying to escape the car after a series of near misses frightened them dreadfully.

After beaten beaten nearly to a pulp, the car had magically restarted, driving them away from the tree as they all shouted commands at the dashboard, smacking the steering wheel and making the horn blare. Mr. Weasley's car had ejected them all once safe on the ground and afterwards, they all stood just out of range of the Whomping Willow, trembling and shaky on their feet as the car left them outside the castle with their belongings, and with Ron's broken wand.

"What did Professor Lupin say? When he came to see you?" Harry asks her, the wind catching his sister's red hair to swirl it above her head.

Darcy pulls her hood up, and they both quickly agree to don the Invisibility Cloak once more to return to the warm common room. "He'd heard what happened, is all," she explains, throwing the cloak over the both of them. "He knew what the Whomping Willow was capable of and just wanted to make sure I was okay."

"Oh," Harry hums. "Emily thought for sure he was going to give you a detention for sneaking out."

The both of them laugh, but Darcy's heart isn't really in it.

When Darcy wakes the next morning, the snow is still falling. She puts on her warmest clothes, her thickest and toughest boots, and she and Emily meet up with Carla and Gemma at the front doors of the castle, talking excitedly about Hogsmeade. Darcy looks three times her size with all of her clothes on, and she feels it.

Carla's yellow and black scarf is wound tightly around her mouth and nose, her hat pulled down to her eyebrows (incidentally, the hat Emily had knitted her two years ago for Christmas). The only part of her face that is visible are her big, brown doe eyes, thick eyebrows, and a few black ringlets that frame her face.

Gemma's wrapped in an expensive looking cloak, her hood pulled up over her dark hair. Her scarf, as well, has her House colors—green and silver. While not dressed as warmly as any of her friends, Gemma is well protected from the snow and is eager to get going, checking her watch and tapping her foot impatiently as if she's been waiting for hours to leave.

Unfortunately, their trip to Hogsmeade isn't as fun as they'd thought it would be. Darcy can't stop thinking about Harry the entire time, wanting to go back to the castle to spend some time with him until her schoolwork and his Quidditch practices start to separate them again. The four of them complain of the cold and the crowds of people in each store, but the Three Broomsticks offers them refuge, even with many of the tables full with students and other patrons. As soon as Darcy walks through the door and starts to peel off her frozen gloves, Oliver Wood is calling her name, almost appearing from nowhere, waving her over to a table in the corner with two glasses of butterbeer already waiting.

Emily protests goodnaturedly, but Carla and Gemma push Darcy towards him, leaving her to fend for her own as the three of her friends sit at a seat with a clear view of Oliver. Sighing heavily, she puts on a big smile and sits down at the seat across from Oliver. He pushes the glass towards her. "For you," he says. "I knew you couldn't stay away."

"Yes, well… there weren't a lot of places to go…" They both take an awkward sip, looking at each other. Darcy lowers her glasses and smacks her lips. The butterbeer warms her bones and feeling returns to her thin fingers. "The team looks great, Oliver. You guys will definitely take home the Cup this year."

"We'd better," Oliver replies, very seriously, leaning forward over the table. "This is the last chance I've got to win it, and I won't let anything stop us this year."

"The team has had some bad luck, but you're right—it won't happen this year," Darcy smiles, trying her best to sound reassuring. "You'll do fine, Oliver. The team has never looked better. Harry's flying really well."

"Emily's been trying to give me pointers. Me—can you believe that? If I needed her advice, I would have put her on the team."

Darcy laughs, looking over her shoulder at Emily. All three of her friends are watching her, but when she turns, they look away, giggling as Madam Rosmerta brings them their drinks. "Emily's mum loves Quidditch and Emily grew up around it," Darcy tells him. "She's loved the sport ever since learning what it was. She'd probably play it if she wasn't so afraid of flying."

Oliver blinks in surprise. "Emily's afraid of flying?"

"She's worse than I am. First year, she wouldn't even get on her broomstick," Darcy says, and they both laugh again.

Darcy finds it somewhat refreshing to spend time with Oliver Wood. He talks to her mostly about Quidditch, about the team, about Harry, about the tactics he's spent hours working on. Darcy lets him talk, knowing that Quidditch excites him, and it's really the only thing he's truly passionate about. He doesn't ask about her shoulder, about her nightmares, or about classes except to see when their Transfiguration homework was due. In fact, when talking about what he loves, it's quite endearing, even though he rambles and doesn't know when to move on to the next topic. He talks with his hands, waving them wildly in front of him, making Darcy smile and giggle.

Eventually, Oliver convinces her to accompany him to Spintwitches Sporting Goods and, in turn, he follows her to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Oliver carries her bags for her out of the shop and after stocking up on candy from Honeydukes and Oliver gets his fill of prank goods from Zonko's, it's been a few hours and Darcy's starting to get hungry. The two of them pass Darcy's friends in the street on their way back to the Three Broomsticks.

"We're going back to the castle," Carla says, her whole body shaking visibly. "I'm freezing. Are you coming?"

Oliver looks at Darcy expectantly, raising his eyebrows. Darcy considers him. "No, I'll stay a little longer. I'm going to get some food and then I'll be up."

"All right," Gemma smiles. "Don't be long."

Oliver buys her lunch at The Three Broomsticks—a platter of small, sample sized sandwiches that they share. They also share polite conversation, and Darcy can't help but to smile at him, at his cold, bright red cheeks and goofy grin. His hair is still damp from the snow, but the flakes that had fallen on his eyelashes have melted, making his eyes slightly wet. Soon, they eat all the sandwiches, drink two more glasses of butterbeer, and they've exhausted all conversation. It's quiet, and Oliver pays for their food before Darcy can offer to pay for her own half.

"You can go back up to the castle if you'd like," he says, leaning back in his seat, looking quite tired. "You don't have to stay here with me. I didn't expect you to stay with me for so long, anyway."

She shifts uncomfortably. Truthfully, she hadn't expected him to have waited for her, but she doesn't want to tell him that. "That's all right," Darcy answers. "Maybe a little while longer. It's nice to get my mind off things and get out of the castle for a little."

"Are you going to divulge to me what that means? Get your mind off things?" Oliver cocks an eyebrow. "What sorts of things could possibly be bothering you, Darcy Potter?"

She doesn't hesitate. "Stop trying to get me to reveal all my secrets. If I do that, I may not be so interesting to you anymore."

Oliver smiles, looking down into his lap sheepishly. "You'll always be interesting to me."

Darcy and Oliver wander the streets of Hogsmeade for a little while longer, window shopping, visiting the post office, and they eventually seat themselves on a bench under a large tree, picking their favorite candies out of Darcy's Honeydukes bag and eating them. Darcy's stomach is already stuffed, so she retires the rest of her candy after finishing a cherry lollipop, and Oliver follows her lead. The tree has given them some shelter from the snow that seems to fall endlessly, but as the day grows later and later, the cold becomes more biting.

It's then that Darcy notices Oliver's moved closer to her as they were eating. She looks at his face, snowflakes melting on his warm skin. Darcy's always thought Oliver relatively handsome. He's always been big, as far as Darcy can remember—broad in the shoulders with bulky arms that continue to grow more muscular with each passing day. His face is angular and sharp, with high cheekbones and dark stubble that grows on his cheeks and chin in patches, as befits a seventeen-year-old boy. The stubble is new—she can't recall seeing that last year.

Emily, Carla, and Gemma continue to call it a date to this day, but Darcy hardly considers it that. Oliver had come to one of Gemma's bathroom get togethers at the beginning of their sixth year, drank more than he'd ever drank before, and ended up vomiting on Darcy's clothes. Too drunk to be angry, Darcy helped him clean her clothes after he had dunked them in the bath water, resulting in more people vomiting at the idea of sitting in vomit water. Darcy felt bad for Oliver, red-faced and embarrassed with no one offering to help him, and they had ended up stumbling to a different nearby bathroom, giggling the whole way. Oliver had run his hands up and down her body, giving her wet, sloppy, and drunken kisses, but all she can remember is how much tongue he'd used, how inexperienced he'd seemed, and how much he talked while he fucked her in an empty stall.

It was terrible, cramped, and dirty, and her foot had touched the toilet water once or twice. Oliver hadn't lasted very long and Darcy never finished, but she thanked him all the same. When Darcy had given her friends all the details the next night, Gemma laughed the loudest. "You should have at least told him to get you off," she'd said, and Emily had nodded in agreement. Darcy and Oliver ended up meeting a few more times after that, always in the same bathroom stall or a broom closet, and it always ended the same way—Oliver panting and cleaning the both of them up while Darcy had been left disappointed. She blames all the free periods she'd had, but she'd never admit to Oliver that she only slept with him because she was bored.

It's that night she thinks of when she examines his face closely now. She wonders if he's learned to kiss better, or learned to keep his mouth shut while he's inside of someone. Out of complete boredom and curiosity and the longing to be kissed, Darcy kisses him, and Oliver snakes his arms around her waist quickly, holding her to him and kissing her with ferocity Darcy hadn't expected. It turns out he hasn't gotten any better, and his kisses are just as wet as she remembers, and he forces his tongue into mouth at the first opportunity. Darcy struggles against him, trying to pull away, when she hears the sound that saves her.

"Ahem."

Darcy jumps back from Oliver, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her cheeks flush a deep red when she sees Professor Lupin standing before them, his face set. Regardless, she's thankful for the intrusion, no matter the embarrassment. "Sorry, Professor—" Oliver starts, but Lupin cuts him off.

"I'm terribly sorry for interrupting what I'm sure was a very loving moment," Lupin says coldly, hazel eyes flicking to Darcy's face. "May I borrow Darcy for a moment?"

Oliver stammers, in no position to refuse him. He looks from Darcy to Lupin and back again. "I—I—sure, I guess. I'll, er—I'll bring your bags back to the common room, Darcy."

"Thanks, Oliver."

"Come," Lupin says again, offering his arm to her. Darcy gets to her feet quickly, watching Lupin carefully. Part of her is ecstatic that he's actually in front of her, talking to her, but the other part of her is nervous. He looks so pathetic standing there with an outstretched arm, nothing like the werewolf Lupin she sees in her dreams. He doesn't even seem to be dressed for the occasion, in a heavy traveling cloak, but lacking gloves, a scarf, or a hat. Darcy takes his arm hesitantly, looking up at him with uncertainty. "Walk with me."

Darcy looks over her shoulder at Oliver, and he offers her a small smile before she walks away. Lupin does seem unsteady on his feet, and she remembers with a jolt that the full moon is coming up. He leans on her slightly, leading her away from the main street of Hogsmeade towards the outskirts of the village, where the Shrieking Shack is just visible through the blowing snow. He brings her to the fence that surrounds Hogsmeade and she lets go of his arm, making sure he's stable.

"Thank you for saving me, Professor," she says meekly and with a shy smile. "I was afraid I'd never be allowed to breathe again."

"Saving you?" Lupin scoffs. "Is that what I did?"

"Well, yeah—I mean…" Darcy blushes again, wishing he'd change the topic and wishing that she would shut up. "He's a terrible kisser."

At that, Lupin laughs out loud. "What is he—seventeen? Eighteen? All men are bad kissers at that age."

"You know this from experience, sir?"

Lupin gives her an exasperated and amused smile. "I was your age once," he laughs. "It seems like a lifetime ago, but…" He looks her up and down before turning to look at the Shrieking Shack. She stands beside him, waiting for something. She knows there has to be some reason he's brought her out here—some reason that he tracked her down in Hogsmeade just to talk to her. "When you went through the Whomping Willow," he says again after a long pause. Darcy pulls her cloak around her tighter, goosebumps rising on her skin that have nothing to do with the cold. "That tunnel you passed through brought you into the Shrieking Shack."

"They say it's haunted," she blurts out, but she feels a right fool the minute the words leave her mouth. Darcy mentally kicks herself.

Lupin looks at her as if she's crazy. "No, it's not," he chuckles. "It's not haunted. It was built for me, when I came to Hogwarts, as a place for me to transform during the full moon."

Darcy licks her lips, tilting her head slightly and she feels a pang of sadness for him. "You were bitten before you came to Hogwarts?"

He nods, pausing and brushing the snow from his hair. In the sunlight, Darcy can see the gray that streaks through his shaggy, brown hair. Even the coarse hair that's grown on his face is peppered with gray. "A story for another time, perhaps, not while we're standing in the cold," he sighs. Lupin looks at her, his eyes flicking to her left shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, thank you, sir."

"I mean—your shoulder. How's your shoulder?"

"My shoulder is fine." Lupin doesn't seem convinced, however. "Truly, Professor. I wouldn't lie to you."

He doesn't argue any further. "I spoke with Harry today," Lupin continues, looking back towards the Shrieking Shack. "He cares about you a great deal."

"I would hope so after I've spent my life caring for him," she jokes feebly. "He means a lot to me, as well, sir."

Lupin nods, flashing her an genuine smile, but something about him just seems sad. Each time he smiles at her, no matter what expression is hidden behind it, Darcy can't help but to smile back. His joy—even his false and forced joy—is contagious. "Harry didn't know," he mutters, seemingly more to himself than to her. "He had no idea—he said nothing that made me think he knew. Professor Snape brought my potion when he was in my office and Harry had no idea."

"I promised I wouldn't tell anyone," she says with a slight shrug. "Not even Harry. I told you I wouldn't do that."

"Then it seems I'm at your mercy."

Darcy pauses. "You don't have to feel like—" Darcy laughs nervously, but Lupin doesn't seem amused. Her face falls and she plunges on, struggling to find proper words. "Professor, I'm not going to hold this against you. I hope you don't think that's the kind of person that I am. I would never—you think I would have outed you?"

"If you're really your mother's daughter, then I know that's not the kind of person you are." Lupin holds out his arm again and this time, Darcy takes it eagerly. Her heart soars at the fact that he's just talking to her, being so open with her—as open as he can be with her. They walk away from the Shrieking Shack, taking care to avoid the High Street, but staying close to the soft murmur of excited students' voices. "I owe you an apology, Darcy. Well, I owe you several apologies, actually."

Darcy looks up at him again, watching. He doesn't look at her, but keeps his eyes ahead of him, ashamed.

"I know I've been cold towards you," he continues. "But you have to understand—this kind of thing was exactly what I was afraid of, yet Dumbledore assured me that it wouldn't happen." He pauses, sniffling and rubbing at his short beard. "I was going to resign. That day we spoke in the hospital wing, I went back to my office and I hid in my chambers and I packed all of my belongings—all of them. I was going to leave right away."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't," he replies quietly. "I should have, but I didn't."

"Why?"

He looks down at Darcy and tilts his head slightly. "Because you asked me to stay." He inhales deeply, nodding towards the path back to Hogwarts. The sky is beginning to darken now, colored red and pink.

"Professor, I—"

"Let's talk no more of this now, Darcy," he interrupts kindly, smiling at her to make it known he's not angry. "Shall we go back to the castle?"

Darcy briefly wonders about Oliver Wood, sitting alone on a bench, carrying all of her shopping up the Gryffindor Tower. She wonders if she should go back to him, if he's still waiting or if he's left already. But she looks up at Lupin's face, and he's smiling at her—always smiling that cool, easy smile of him. She nods, smiling back. "Yes," she says. "I'd like that."