'The truth is that I am still lost in grief.'

Renée Vivien

With Harry not only upset with Hermione, but with Darcy as well ("For taking her side!" he'd shouted the day Darcy had kissed Lupin), he and Ron decide to stay well away from her for a little while. It's suddenly lonely at Hogwarts without them at her side, nor her friends, and the next few days she spends finalizing her research for Buckbeak's case, with plans to present everything to Hagrid before the end of Christmas break. It keeps her mind occupied, which she appreciates, as without anything to do, her thoughts wander to Lupin—the feel of his lips, the way he'd kissed her the second time, the way he'd turned around and left her standing there without so much as another word. As much as she wants to see him, to spend time with him instead of being by herself, she decides to give him space. She knows that if he needs or wants her around, Lupin will track her down. Plus, Darcy isn't sure that she's ready to look him in the eye again quite yet.

Darcy brings her research with her to breakfast the following morning, where everyone eats in silence. Many teachers and what students remain decide to skip it, but Hermione shows up, and for that Darcy is most grateful. She almost asks Hermione to join her at Hagrid's, but thinks it best if she went alone. So as everyone clears the Great Hall, Darcy makes her way for the front doors, a thick black cloak wrapped around her shoulders, protecting her from the worst of the cold. Her red and gold scarf is pulled up over her face to protect her skin from the bitter winter wind, and she stuffs the parchment inside her pocket to keep the snow off it. She's worked too hard on the case only to lose it all to snow and wet.

The walk down to Hagrid's hut is cold and lonely, and Darcy makes sure to pass close to the snow-covered greenhouses just to wave to Professor Sprout. The Herbology professor isn't in the greenhouses, however, and Darcy sighs. The prospect of her friends coming back so soon keeps her spirits high, and she knows they'll have enough conversation to last a lifetime, to keep her mind off other things. Usually, Christmas comes and goes quickly, as does the rest of the school year, but this year's winter break seems to drag, each day slower than the last, and Darcy finds herself craving structure and classes again, loud feasts, and even the smell of the Potions classroom, where flowery ingredients mingle with stale and smoky smells, somehow incredibly enticing. She's tired of sleeping and reading and wandering the halls by herself.

The wind begins to pick up as she reaches Hagrid's modest home, rustling what dead leaves remain on the trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It bites at Darcy's cheeks, promptly turning them red and making her nose run. She's thankful for the warmth that Hagrid's hut offers, and when he steps aside to let her pass through the door, Darcy sees a fire crackling in the massive hearth. Buckbeak is inside, too, but he looks weary—a weariness only a hippogriff could carry. His wings are folded tight to his body, his legs tucked underneath his massive and muscular body. Her appearance seems to have woken him from a nap, and as soon as Darcy inclines her head just slightly, keeping eye contact, Buckbeak bows as best he can from the ground and returns to his slumber. Beside Buckbeak, Fang catches sight of Darcy and wanders over to her, to lick her hand and slobber on her thighs. Hagrid takes her coat and hangs it for her.

For once, Hagrid has remembered Darcy doesn't care for tea. He whips together some hot cocoa for her and sets a big, steaming mug on the table before her. She sips at it, but it isn't very good and it's quite watery. Darcy drinks it anyway, letting it run down her throat without really tasting it. All the while, Hagrid talks distractedly of the weather and of Buckbeak, of classes and Christmas. As the conversation dwindles, Darcy withdraws the parchment from inside her coat and spreads it flat on the table, grinning up at Hagrid. He squints at it.

"What's tha'?" Hagrid asks warily.

Darcy beams. "Professor Lupin and I have been researching hippogriff cases and trying to find anything to help Buckbeak," she explains. "I just wanted to show you what we've found. Some things may just be nothing, but some things seem promising."

Before she can say another word, Hagrid has his arms around her, giving her a bone-crushing hug. Fang yelps as he accidentally trods on his faithful dog's paw, and Hagrid's eyes are wet with tears. "Here, Darcy, here…" He takes her empty cup and brings it to the small kitchenette. "Yer of age, and it'd be rude of me not to do somethin' special for ya. I have some mead—but only a little."

Darcy smiles. Alcohol is just the thing to loosen Hagrid's tongue, and it'll give her a boost of confidence, as well. "Professor!" she says in mock outrage. "Well, if you insist…"

"Yeah, yeah… don't go tellin' no one, got it?"

"Yes, sir," she agrees. Hagrid fills her cup halfway with the brown liquid, and he pours a hearty glass for himself, three times the size of Darcy's. "Thank you."

When Hagrid seats himself at the table again, Darcy turns the parchment around so he's able to read what's written on it. "Now, Professor Lupin was the one who found the pinnioning case, and I told him I'd bring it up, but I didn't think that would appeal to you."

"No!" Hagrid nods in agreement with Darcy. "Poor Buckbeak is not gettin' his wings clipped."

"I knew you wouldn't agree." She raises the cup to her lips again, and the mead burns her throat as she drinks. Darcy lowers it again and coughs. Hagrid chuckles at her. "But what do you think? Look it over and let me know if there's something that stands out. Though, honestly, I think I've gone through every possible book, so unless Hermione's found something we haven't…"

Hagrid reaches for the paper cautiously. He glances at his hippogriff in the corner of his hut. "Buckbeak would appreciate what yer doin' for him," Hagrid says. "Yeh never had to do this for me."

Darcy chuckles. "You're my friend, Hagrid, of course I did."

Hagrid nods towards Buckbeak, and Darcy turns around in her chair to see the hippogriff staring at her, stretching and flexing his wings. A magnificent sight, though Darcy would rather be watching it from afar. "I think he likes yeh," Hagrid jokes—at least, she thinks it's a joke. Darcy only laughs nervously, offering Hagrid a small smile as she turns back around, keeping an close eye on Buckbeak.

They drink in silence for a few minutes. When Hagrid refills his cup, Darcy asks if she can have another, as well, and Hagrid obliges reluctantly. He asks how her break is going, and Darcy answers as honestly as she can; Hagrid already knows about the Firebolt, knows Hermione's side of things, so he's more sympathetic towards Darcy, whom he knows only wants Harry safe. They talk and talk and Hagrid continues to refill his tankard, well after Darcy finishes her second one. The mead has her head buzzing, stronger than anything she can ever remember drinking, but she can still think straight and walk straight, and she knows it's important that she must keep her head. It is very important that she keeps her wits about her. Anymore of Hagrid's mead and she may be crawling back up to the castle, retching the entire way, left to curl up on the path until someone finds her in the morning.

And finally, when Hagrid quiets and he seems relatively drunk—what part of his cheeks are visible beneath his beard and mustache are flushed, and he sways in his chair every so often—Darcy clears her throat and sits up straighter in her chair, resting her hands on the table. Hagrid watches her with his dark eyes, suddenly looking very nervous as she stares him down. "Are yeh all righ'?" Hagrid asks, slurring his words slightly. "Somethin' yeh wanna talk abou'?"

"Yes," she answers quietly. Darcy's heart races, but she's not backing down. For days, she's practiced what she's going to say. Kissing Lupin had not only made her heart flutter and her cheeks red, but it had given her such confidence, the ability to do anything, and with that newfound confidence, she had made her decision, and she had decided she was going to get the truth.

Hagrid waits patiently, tapping his thick fingers on the table.

"Hagrid," she whispers, and Hagrid leans closer to hear her. "Why didn't you tell me that Sirius Black was my godfather?"

Hagrid's red face turns suddenly white and he grips his tankard so hard that she expects it to break. His fingers have stopped drumming on the table, and everything is still. He doesn't speak for a few long moments, and the silence hangs heavy over them. Then Hagrid frowns, and anger flashes across his face only for a split second before it disappears and the color starts to return to his cheeks. It frightens her, as she's never really seen Hagrid truly angry, but she doesn't show any fear or hesitancy to continue. "Who told yeh that?" he asks, accusing. "Was it Professor Lupin?"

"No, Hagrid," Darcy answers, as calmly as she can. "It wasn't Professor Lupin." She hesitates, hoping the silence will force Hagrid to admit to something, but he only waits for her to continue. "I was there. I was there that day, in the Three Broomsticks. I heard you. I heard all of you, the whole thing. I was there." She had come to the conclusion that she should keep Harry out of the story, worried that he'd get into trouble for being in Hogsmeade when he shouldn't have been.

Hagrid exhales deeply, and he looks away from her face, down at his hands and seemingly ashamed and embarrassed. "I'm sorry yeh had to find out that way…" he mumbles. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. If I'd known yeh were there—"

"Tell me again how it happened," she pleads, trying to sound commanding. Instead, she only sounds like a little girl, her voice breaking. "Tell me what happened that night. All of it. I want to know."

"Yeh've already heard it, and I'm not keen on tellin' yeh again—"

"Tell me, Hagrid, please."

Hagrid looks uncertain, but nods and swallows loudly. He licks his lips, looking Darcy in the eyes again. She doesn't falter and sits still as he begins. "Dumbledore asked me to get yeh and yer brother that night, so I did," he begins, and Hagrid's voice is shaky and uneven. His eyes shine wet with more tears. "Yer house was in ruins… I found Harry easy enough, jus' sittin' on top of the rubble, whinin' but not cryin' too hard like a baby should. I went to go put him in the side cart so I could find yeh, but—but Sirius Black had beat me to yeh, and was clingin' to yeh like you were his own daughter. Said he pulled yeh from some rubble after he heard yeh shoutin' and cryin'."

Darcy nods, silently telling him to continue. She remembers—she can see vividly, even now in Hagrid's hut, Sirius's face looming over her. His handsome, friendly, familiar face, pale as a ghost, but loving and relieved. She can feel his arms around her small body, feel him pulling her from the crushing debris, holding her tight to him. His dark hair had tickled her face, brushing against her forehead. He was sweating through his shirt, she remembers, damp to the touch. He was afraid.

"He didn't want to give yeh over," Hagrid continues. "He was… upset… and askin' for Harry. Told me he didn't want to separate the two of yeh, that he was goin' to bring yeh home and take care of yeh. An' then I told him what Dumbledore said, that I was to bring the both of yeh to yer aunt and uncle's, and he knew I wasn't 'bout to hand Harry over against Dumbledore's wishes."

"And then what?"

The drink seems to have gotten to Hagrid. He stumbles over his words and tears run down his face, wetting his beard. "So he gave yeh to me after a few minutes o' arguing. I didn't know 'bout what really happened then, else I would'a taken yeh from him right away, but I—I let him say goodbye to yeh. Watched him kiss yer head, hug yeh. He said some things to yeh. And then I left with the both o' yeh."

Darcy feels a lump form in her throat at the thought. Her dream never lasted that far—she always woke before Hagrid tried to take her, always woke knowing the feel of Sirius's arms around her. "I screamed for him," she whispers. "I cried for him. I wanted him—I wanted to go with him. I didn't want to leave him. Do you remember that?"

Hagrid becomes visibly flustered. "How could yeh—how d'yeh know—yeh couldn't possibly… Darcy…"

"I remember, Hagrid. You said you had to pry me off Sirius's chest for me to go, and I—I've dreamed of him," she admits, her voice soft. "I loved him, and he loved me. And you took me away from him."

"He would have killed yeh, Darcy," Hagrid argues, shaking his great, shaggy head. "He would have murdered yeh, same as yer parents."

"How do you know that?" she asks, her voice becoming more shrill with each word. "How do you know that he would have killed me? Why would he have?"

"'Cause he's a murderer!" Hagrid shouts.

"He loved me!" Darcy snaps, slamming her palm on the table. Buckbeak's head snaps quickly to face them, and Fang shies away from where he's curled up at her feet. "And you took me away from him."

"You would've gone with him so yeh and Harry could live with a murderer?"

"I could have had a family," she replies, feeling the effects of the strong mead. "I could have grown up loved, cared for, cherished. And you took that away from me when you pried me off Sirius's chest, and then pissed on that dream when you left us on the Dursleys' doorstep."

"Don't speak to me tha' way! I was doin' what Dumbledore told me to do. Sirius Black is the reason yer parents are dead—he killed all those muggles, and Peter Pettigrew," Hagrid retorts. "Savage, brutal—so cold hearted not even the dementors affect him."

Darcy thinks of the photographs. She thinks of Sirius during her parents wedding, of the way he looked at her with such tenderness, of the way he looked at her parents with bright eyes and a warm smile. She remembers the pictures Lupin had shown her, the love in Sirius's eyes when looking at his friends, the smile on his face when he looked up at Darcy from the photograph. He didn't seem evil at all in the pictures, didn't seem to be a murderer, or as cold and brutal as Hagrid claims. "I remember it all, Hagrid," she tells him, running a hand through her hair. "For a long time, I didn't know it was him. But I dream of him, almost every night. Sirius rescues me, and when he holds me, I am safe. I am loved, and I love him. It used to be a nightmare, something I dreaded, but now—I await my dreams, hoping that I can feel loved again. Do you understand how that feels?"

"You were five years old," Hagrid reminds her. "You were afraid after all tha' happened. Trauma does things to—"

"I know what I felt," she hisses. "Don't pretend that it's just a dream, just like everyone else I've told. I know it's not. I know I'm remembering that night, not just dreaming of it." She slumps in her chair, suddenly exhausted. "I could have had a family."

"Yeh could have been dead." Hagrid clears his throat, becoming more confident now that Darcy isn't in control anymore. "It's my job to take care of yeh and it always has been, and I'm tellin' yeh, if I'd let Sirius Black—"

Darcy snorts. "It's your job to take care of me?" She doesn't want to hurt Hagrid's feelings, but anger floods her, and she can't control it anymore. It pulses out of her in an overwhelming wave. "Where were you, then, when Vernon locked me in my bedroom for days on end because he didn't want to look at me? Where were you when I burnt dinner one night and couldn't eat for three days? Where were you when I needed you? Needed someone? No one has ever taken care of me—I've always taken care of myself."

Hagrid digests her words. "Go back to the castle, Darcy," he says, his tone too serious for her. "Go back to yer dormitory, not to the owlery, not to Professor Lupin's office, just yer dormitory."

Darcy narrows her eyes, his professional tone making her uneasy. "What does it matter to you where I go?" she wonders aloud. "I can go where I please. You're not in charge of me."

"I don't like the way he looks at yeh, Darcy," Hagrid says boldly, as if he were her own father. That angers her ever more and she balls her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood. "I don't like how he thinks he can hold yer hand as he pleases, and don't think I don't see him touchin' yer shoulder and all the time yeh spend with him…"

Bile rises in the back of Darcy's throat, and an anger she's never felt with Hagrid consumes her. "You told Dumbledore about me and Professor Lupin. You're the one who said we were holding hands."

Hagrid gets a wide eyed look on his face, as if he's said too much. He composes himself, quickly rearranging his feature so it seems he meant to reveal it. "Of course I did," he mutters. "Was out feeding the thestrals some fresh meat and I saw the two of yeh."

"Hagrid, you had no right," she snaps, distraught. "You're supposed to be my friend!"

"I'm yer Professor now, too!" he protests. "And it's my job to keep an eye out for tha' sort o' stuff. What were yeh thinkin'?"

"You could have gotten me expelled," Darcy growls. "You could have gotten Professor Lupin fired."

"Yeh shouldn't have done that, then!"

"How many years have I been coming to your home?" she asks, her hands trembling. She wipes her palms on her pants, wiping the blood away. "How many times have I had dinner with you, had tea with you—which, for the last time, I don't like! How many times have you comforted me, Hagrid? Hugged me because you are my friend?" Darcy covers her face with her hands, wanting to scream. How could she have been so foolish? "That's all it is, Hagrid, I swear to you—we're friends, me and Professor Lupin—he knew my parents and—and we like to talk about them, that's all."

Hagrid doesn't seem very convinced. Darcy gets to her feet quickly, catching Buckbeak and Fang's attention yet again. She hesitates as she puts her cloak back on, fastening it around her shoulders and brushing some dust off the front. "Good luck with Buckbeak's trial, Hagrid," she says over her shoulder. Darcy opens the door, letting in the cold. "Professor Lupin worked hard to help you, and so did I."