A/N:
Wow—thank you for all the feedback I've received! Since this story is already finished, I'll work a little harder to update faster. Feel free to message me with any questions, comments, criticisms, or if you'd just like to be friends!
'I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world.'
Virginia Woolf
Emily, Carla, and Gemma leave for Hogsmeade without Darcy, promising to meet up with her after she's finished with Mr. Weasley. Ginny nearly cries as Darcy leaves, but she promises that Mr. Weasley will come to see her shortly. Harry, as well, seems disappointed that Darcy is leaving him in the castle to go to Hogsmeade, but she kisses his head (as he mutters under his breath and wriggles from her grip) and departs Hogwarts by herself, feeling quite bad for her little brother. McGonagall hadn't found it very amusing when she saw the signature on Harry's permission form was Darcy's, and when Darcy had argued that she's as good as his guardian, McGonagall had given her a piercing look that warranted no more outbursts.
The walk down to Hogsmeade is peaceful, though; the breeze catches falling snow and swirls it around Darcy's head, melting in her red hair. With a scarf wrapped tight around her face, gloves on her hands, and a heavy cloak wrapped about her person, it's not particularly cold. The leaves have all fallen from the trees now, leaving them dead and brown and the bright snow settles on the thin branches, blanketing the Forbidden Forest in a sparkling sheen of white. The snow crunches beneath Darcy's boots as she follows the footprints of her fellow students down the road to Hogsmeade.
The Whomping Willow seems to shudder from cold. She walks on the edge of the road, trying to be as far away from the tree as possible. The tree seems so different in the snow than she remembers it to look with the red and orange glow of evening light glowing on its trunk, making it seem more alive. In the snow, it looks just as dead as any other tree, but Darcy knows the Whomping Willow is not like any other tree she's ever seen. She hopes that she will never have to approach it again, in a car or not.
Smoke billows from the chimney of Hagrid's hut as she passes, and Buckbeak is nowhere to be seen outside. She laughs to herself at the thought of Buckbeak curled up beside Fang like another dog, wings tucked into its body, trying not to take up all the space in the hut. On the other side of the road, the Quidditch pitch is overrun with players in green and silver robes tossing a Quaffle back and forth in the air and laughing loudly, their echoes carrying across the grounds. Oliver had wanted to hold Quidditch practice today, and the entire team had been very grateful when Darcy finally talked him out of it.
When she enters the Three Broomsticks, Mr. Weasley is already seated at a table in the middle of the large pub. She grins and takes her winter wear off, hanging her cloak over the back of the chair that Mr. Weasley pulls out for her. He pushes her back in towards the table as soon as she sits down, and returns to his own seat. Only moments later, Madam Rosmerta brings two large glasses of butterbeer and sets them on the table.
Darcy's heart starts to beat faster as she drinks her butterbeer, watching Mr. Weasley carefully over the rim of her glass. She wonders how much he knows—how much Dumbledore has told him—how much McGonagall has told him. She hopes that Snape hasn't said anything to him either. Mr. Weasley smiles at her from ear to ear. Darcy lowers her glass, gripping it tight, and she opens her mouth to speak at the same time that Mr. Weasley does.
"Please, Mr. Weasley, I know that he would never hurt me on purpose and he's had plenty of opportunities to do so, but he wouldn't, and I trust him—"
"I've gotten the okay from Amelia Bones and you are welcome to join my department as an intern—she's thinking of relocating Perkins within the next year or so, so you'd be able to be my assistant—"
They both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, confused and bewildered. Struggling for a moment with their speech, an awkward silence hangs over them. Then they speak again at the time.
"Wait, Darcy—what are you talking about?"
"An intern at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office?"
"Darcy," Mr. Weasley says again, more seriously. He leans in closer to her, concern etched across his face. "What are you talking about? Who hurt you? Why wasn't I told?"
Darcy hesitates, shrugging her shoulders and giving Mr. Weasley a nervous smile. "No one," she chuckles softly, catching herself before her hand jumps to her shoulder. "I just assumed that—it's nothing, please, don't listen to me. Tell me more of this internship." Darcy grabs her glass of butterbeer and drinks it slowly, hoping that Mr. Weasley will stop looking at her with such disappointment and wonder in his eyes. She frowns, giving him a wide-eyed look. When he doesn't look away, she frowns and lowers her voice. "Please don't make me say it, Mr. Weasley. I'd rather not speak of it."
"Are you all right?" he asks breathlessly.
"Yes," she whispers, smiling in relief. "I'm fine."
Mr. Weasley considers her, exhaling through his long nose with his lips pursed. Then he nods slightly, putting his hands on the table and lacing his fingers together. "Okay," he shrugs, knowing it's a lost cause to continue asking. He clears his throat and smiles at her. "Now, about this position—I would be happy to have you as my intern, and I know that it's not exactly what you want to do and it's unpaid, I know, but Amelia Bones is willing to bring you on our team right after you graduate, granted that you do well with your N.E.W.T.'s, but I assured Miss Bones that I'm completely confident you'll do well."
Darcy is speechless. "Mr. Weasley, this is an amazing opportunity, but I—I can't take a job right out of school. I need the summer—I need to be with Harry at least until he comes back to Hogwarts next year and then I can figure it out," she explains. "I'm sorry."
His smile falls as he looks on incredulously. "I thought you would like this," he admits. "You've wanted to go into the Ministry since the day that I met you. You told me last summer how much you would enjoy it, and I thought this would—excite you. What's changed?"
"I would love to work for you, Mr. Weasley, truly, it sounds like a dream," she says apologetically, feeling incredibly guilty and upset. "But I cannot abandon Harry over the summer, and my aunt and uncle would never allow me to live at their home while working for the Ministry of Magic and I just—the thought of having to leave Harry there by himself every summer that remains him… I just—I can't." The idea has upset her more than she's expected, and tears begin to well up in her eyes. "If I didn't have Harry to worry about, I would accept in a heartbeat, but… maybe you could ask Emily, I mean—I'm sure she would accept."
"I wanted you to be my intern, Darcy," Mr. Weasley replies, patting her hand. "Not Emily. I know that you have a lot on your shoulders, my dear, but this could be your way to rise in the Ministry. I know you could do great things, Darcy, and we will take care of Harry. You are not the only one who cares for his well being."
"We're a team," she protests. "I can't leave Harry. Not while he still lives at our aunt and uncle's." Darcy lowers her eyes to her butterbeer, her cheeks burning.
"Darcy, look at me," he asks, and she does. "You have done a fine job with that boy—more than fine. You've raised a wonderful young man. You've done your part, and now the time has come for you to move on. He knows that you cannot protect him forever."
"I have to try," Darcy says. "He's my brother. My family. The only family I have left."
"You are not the only person who wants to keep him safe," Mr. Weasley continues. "Molly and I—we'll watch over him when you're not able to. Dumbledore will keep an eye on him. And you, when you can."
She thinks of Harry, of the years she's spent at his side, caring for him since he was just a baby. She remembers the nights that she would read him stories as he fell asleep, doing the funny voices he'd loved so much. She sewed his oversized clothing when it would rip, she held him after the Dursleys were especially cruel to him. She knows that even if Harry were to deny it and deny it and deny it—he needs her. And she needs him, if not more. Harry was her first friend, her only friend for such a long time, and when they'd been younger, they had always planned on being together forever—Darcy had promised Harry she'd take him with her as soon as she could leave Privet Drive, and she doesn't intend on giving up on that promise.
But she remembers what Dumbledore had told her the previous summer. He'd caught wind of rumors that she was going to leave Privet Drive with Harry, and she'd rent a flat in the city with Emily, and Darcy and Harry would never have to think about Privet Drive again. She still, to this day, isn't sure how Dumbledore had found out about their plans, but he had called her to his office one day and sat her down and told her very seriously, "Harry must not leave Privet Drive until he comes of age." The way he said it had frightened her so badly that she took his words directly to heart. But one day—in four years—they could go wherever they wanted and live the lives they were always meant to live.
Darcy watches Mr. Weasley, wringing his hands together on the table. She wants so badly to accept his offer, but knows that the Dursleys would kick her out so fast her head would spin if they knew she was working at the Ministry of Magic. And they would find out, it would only be just a matter of time. Vernon would likely smack her across the face, a mean swat like she's used to—and that's if she's lucky.
"I'm sorry," she finishes, sighing heavily. "I'm so sorry, but I can't."
"Just think about it," Mr. Weasley insists. "You still have half a year before any decisions have to be made."
The two of them eat lunch together as more students begin to file inside the Three Broomsticks. The air grows thick with smoke towards the end of their meal, and finally Mr. Weasley bids her goodbye with a kiss on the top of her head and he starts up the main road towards Hogwarts to say hello to his daughter. When she watches him go, Darcy's heart aches with the knowledge that her father will never be able to visit her in Hogsmeade. James, that handsome young man that looks so much like Harry, will never see his daughter thriving at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley loves her enough to visit, she thinks, and maybe James will never get the chance to see her at her prime, but Lupin is here—and that's just as good, Darcy tells herself.
It isn't long after that that Darcy's friends push in through the door and Darcy joins them at a larger table in the corner of the pub. They all ask at once what she and Mr. Weasley talked about, but Darcy just shrugs innocently and keeps the conversation to herself. She knows that if Emily finds out Darcy was offered a job with Mr. Weasley, she'd be ecstatic and push Darcy even more to take it. And she doesn't want to have to explain her reasoning for declining Mr. Weasley's offer.
When the door opens, and the bell tinkles again, Darcy glances over that way and sees Hermione and Ron cross the threshold, wiping the snow off their feet on the mat on the floor. Hermione looks over towards her and Darcy waves a hand, offering them the last two empty seats at their table, and she smiles. As Hermione and Ron fully enter the Three Broomsticks, however, Darcy sees they're not alone and her heart sinks. Harry's trailing after them, looking around curiously and rushing to their table. Gemma pulls up another chair in between her and Darcy, and Harry sits it in, looking over both of her shoulders.
"What are you doing here?" she hisses, then she turns to Hermione without giving Harry time to answer. Her voice goes up an octave. "What is he doing here?"
Hermione gives Harry a stern look, but Harry shakes his head and puts a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I'll explain everything later. You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"What? No, of course not," Darcy scoffs, looking around nervously at her friends. "Just stay down, all right?"
The seven of them laugh and drink their drinks, cheering to the holidays and to their preferred Quidditch teams. Ron and Gemma get into it about Gryffindor winning the Cup, Emily and Carla put their heads together and talk quietly amongst themselves. Harry, Hermione, and Darcy talk about classes, about Hagrid, about Transfiguration class, and then the bell tinkles yet again, but this time, the people entering do not bring a smile to Darcy's face.
Hagrid enters first, ducking his head to make it through the doorway. He leads Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, who don't so much as glance in their direction, but head straight for a table across from Darcy's. Following them is Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, who glances about the pub with a fond smile. At the sight of them entering, everyone who can reach Harry forces him underneath the table, and Hermione moves the large Christmas tree beside them to block their table from view. Ron's, Emily's, and Carla's backs are still visible, but they keep their heads down and the teachers don't bother with them.
Madam Rosmerta makes her way to their table. Darcy looks through the branches of the Christmas tree, and sets down a glass in front of everyone. When they all have their drinks, Madam Rosmerta crosses her arms over her chest. "Finally here to apologize about the dementors you've put here?" she asks quietly.
Cornelius Fudge sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on the table. "Rosmerta… my dear… the dementors are necessary still," he replies, looking up at her from his seat. "I trust you've heard about what happened on Halloween?"
Madam Rosmerta taps her foot on the floor. "There've been rumors… nasty rumors… you hear all sorts of things in this place. I only hoped they weren't true." She clears her throat and stands up straighter. "He must be far away from here by now, so I'm sure the dementors can go now—"
"I agree," McGonagall adds. "After what happened at the Quidditch match, and on the train with Potter… Minister, with all due respect, those dementors have given us more trouble than we anticipated, it seems—"
"You'd rather be unprotected against Black?" Fudge asks again. Darcy can see his face, and he raises his eyebrows as if proving a point. "You know what he's capable of. Thirteen people he killed, and he's probably ready to kill more now that he's free again. And that's not even the worst of it!"
"The worst?" Madam Rosmerta says, sounding frightened. "Nothing he's done could be worse than that, could it?" She looks around the table, as if hoping someone will agree with her.
Cornelius Fudge looks like he's waited all of his life to tell this story. Darcy's palms are sweating, and she notices that everyone at the table is quiet, their eyes focused on the table that the Minister is sitting at. Even Harry, hidden beneath the table, is still. Darcy exhales suddenly, having been holding her breath. Fudge leans in, drawing everyone's attention around his table, and he cocks an eyebrow. "You all remember Sirius Black when he was in school, don't you?"
"Of course," everyone says, in mutters and mumbles.
"And…" Fudge continues dramatically. "You remember who his best friend was?"
Madam Rosmerta laughs. "Yes, yes! That James Potter," she recalls. "Of course I remember. You never saw one without the other, did you?"
That's the first shock Darcy receives. She looks down at Harry, who's already looking up at her. Her chest tightens and her stomach churns, but she continues to listen all the same, as well as her friends around her. She isn't sure where this story is going, but she knows she wants to hear the ending—she thinks, anyway. She knows it may be better to get up and walk out right now and never have to hear what happened between her father and his old best friend, Sirius Black. It may be better to remain ignorant. Yet—how could she not have known this? How could her father's friendship with Sirius Black have been kept from her? As much as she wants to run, Darcy's legs are frozen and won't take her anywhere.
"The best of friends…" Fudge smiles darkly. "Best man at James and Lily's wedding, did you know? And they named Sirius Black godfather to both Darcy and Harry, but they have no idea—can you imagine what they'd think if they knew?"
"You don't think Darcy knows, do you?" McGonagall asks again, and Darcy feels a surge of affection at the anxious and fond tone she adopts. "She might remember…"
Darcy's mouth drops slightly. Her heart beats faster and faster and faster with the learning of this new knowledge. She stares at the table, listening hard, wondering all the while—why am I still here?
"Now, you know that You-Know-Who was after the Potters', and one of Dumbledore's spies found out and urged them to go into hiding, which is no small feat—hiding from You-Know-Who." Fudge talks animatedly with his hands now and Darcy's sitting on the edge of her seat. Her right leg bounces up and down uncontrollably. "Dumbledore helped them hide using the Fidelius Charm."
"Ah," Flitwick nods. "A complex spell. They would have needed a Secret Keeper… and the Secret Keeper must have been… ?"
"Sirius Black?" Madam Rosmerta whispers.
"I remember," Professor McGonagall states sadly. "Dumbledore offered to be their Secret Keeper, but they trusted Black with their lives and nothing Dumbledore said would change their minds."
"Dumbledore suspected Black to be a traitor?" Madam Rosmerta asks, bending over, the better to hear Fudge's story. "That's why he offered?"
"There were dark rumors," Fudge confirms. "Dumbledore knew that somebody close to the Potters' was passing information to You-Know-Who."
"But Sirius Black was kept Secret Keeper," Madam Rosmerta says again, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," Fudge finishes. "And not even a week later… Sirius Black seemed to tire of being a double-agent and the rest is history…"
"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid shouts, and everyone turns to look at him, surprised. He lowers his voice and rubs his damp, misty eyes, muttering. "He was there—Sirius Black was there the night James an' Lily died an' I got Harry up outta the ruins o' their house, lookin' for Darcy… an' there he was, white an' shakin' and holdin' Darcy in his arms. And I comforted him!"
"Hagrid, shh!" Professor McGonagall urges, placing a comforting hand on his large back.
"I told him tha' Dumbledore wanted me to take both Harry an' Darcy to their aunt an' uncle's. Black wouldn't give me Darcy, though—he jus' held onto her, askin' me to give him Harry, promisin' he'd keep 'em safe. But when he realized I wouldn't give him Harry, he handed over Darcy sayin' that he wouldn't separate them 'cause he knew they'd hate him for it… Poor Darcy cried the whole time—she wouldn't let go of him… I had to pry her off Black's chest and even then she was sobbin' and cryin' for him..." Hagrid sniffles. "He gave me his motorbike to take them there… but the whole ride to their aunt and uncle's house I was jus' thinkin'... what if I'd have left without Darcy? What if I'd have given him Harry, too?" Hagrid shakes his shaggy head and bangs a fist on the table. "He would'a killed them!"
The adults are silent for a moment, grieving. Darcy feels about to vomit and her knuckles are bleeding where she's bitten down on them. Tears fall freely down her cheeks and she shuts her eyes tight. He's lying. He's lying. He's lying. Hagrid is lying. Darcy is too afraid to look at her friends, too afraid of the horror in their eyes. He doesn't remember. That's not how it happened. He's lying.
"Peter Pettigrew caught up with him before we could," Fudge sighs into his hands. "Pettigrew never stood a chance against Black. Black killed him, along with twelve Muggles… I remember the scene… I was there… all of the bodies just lying there… Black was laughing and in front of him, just a few fragments of all that remained of Pettigrew… a single finger…" There's another long silence, and Darcy thinks it's finally over, but Fudge speaks again. "I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. He seemed… normal… asked if he could have my newspaper and I gave it to him…"
It's clear that none of them want to talk about Sirius Black anymore. Professor McGonagall stands. "Let's get you back to the castle, Minister," she rasps, and Darcy sees that her cheeks are tearstained. "Dumbledore will be waiting for you."
They all file out of the Three Broomstick quietly, and Madam Rosmerta returns to the bar. Darcy slowly looks at Harry, whose eyes are filled with tears. She doesn't know what to say to him, just sits there with wet cheeks and wet eyes, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words to say to him. Around the table, everyone is staring at her, their eyes flicking to Harry and back to her.
She holds her head in her hands and cries. Gemma wraps her arms around Darcy as she sobs at the table, still hidden behind the Christmas tree. The realization had hit her all at once and she doesn't need to be asleep to relive her nightmare—the same dream she's been having since summer… since seeing Sirius Black on the news… She knows now that it's not a faceless man in her dreams—it's not Hagrid, it's not Lupin, it's not anyone that she would have thought. It's Sirius Black. Sirius Black rescues her from the rubble and she goes with him gladly, a familiar face, a friendly face, one she'd come to love. The thought that maybe once she had loved Sirius makes her sick to her stomach and she nearly falls out of her chair, stumbling outside of the pub and vomiting.
Her friends follow her, help steady her. Emily holds her hair back as Darcy vomits up everything in her stomach, crying all the while. Gemma and Carla sink to their knees beside her. Carla's face is wet and shiny, as well, and she holds Darcy's hand as tight as she can. Both of their hands are trembling.
How could no one have told her? Her first thought is to be angry at Hagrid. She had known him for seven years now, and never told her once how it all happened that night. He had kept it from her for seven years now, kept it from her for no reason. But she doesn't blame Hagrid, no matter how angry she is. Hagrid would never have wanted her to be hurt, to be haunted by the knowledge that Sirius Black almost took her away from her brother… but there is another who would have known… another who would have known that Sirius Black was her and Harry's godfather… who would have known that the Potters' trusted Sirius Black with their lives…
Darcy stands up, wiping her mouth with clean snow and kicking some on top of the pile of sick she's left behind. She walks up the High Street without saying a word, moving quickly, leaving her friends behind her, dumbfounded.
"Where are you going?" Emily shouts, catching up to her. Gemma and Carla follow. "Darcy, let's get you back to the common room, and we can talk about this—"
"No," she snaps. "I'm not going back to the common room."
"Darcy…" Gemma says, and she and Carla exchange worried glances. "What are you about to do?"