'I am on fire with that soft sound / You make, in uttering my name.'

James Elroy Flecker

It turns out that Crookshanks either eating or not eating Scabbers is a bigger deal than Darcy could ever have imagined. Personally, she's always hated Scabbers—not that he's ever really done anything to her, but something about the bald tail and grubby hands gives her the creeps, and she doesn't like the way that Scabbers just looks at her sometimes, staring her down with those small, black eyes. Darcy is quite glad for Scabbers to be gone and out of sight, and is quite relieved that she won't have to see the rat ever again, but she's surprised that Ron seems to care so much. Privately she believes that, had Crookshanks not been the one to devour him, Ron wouldn't be so angry. While Hermione maintains that Crookshanks is innocent until proven guilty, Darcy had watched her lash out on Harry after presenting the evidence to her that it probably was her cat, and Darcy instead decides to remains indifferent.

The Great Hall is noisier than usual today, and Gryffindor table is especially rowdy. Darcy arrives just after the feast begins, as Emily hadn't woken her up. She sits down between Emily and Ron looking disheveled, tired, and hungry, filling her plate with small portions of almost everything. Ron tells her excitedly how well Harry had flown on his broomstick the previous evening, and Harry confirms this, making everyone antsy and ready for the Quidditch match. The excitement of the game makes Darcy impervious to anger or irritation (Hermione had tested her limits after Ron had spoken to her, quickly reminding Darcy of what Ron said about Crookshanks, but Darcy brushed her off quite easily), and after hearing about Harry on the Firebolt, she knows there's no way they can lose.

After breakfast, Darcy and Emily head back up to the common room to change into something warmer. With everyone else down in the Great Hall or spilling out onto the grounds to find good seating at the pitch, the common room and dormitory are empty save for them. Scabbers is still nowhere to be found, but Crookshanks follows Darcy into the dormitory, his tail brushing against her legs. The cat jumps onto Darcy's bed as she pulls different clothes from her trunk. She eyes Crookshanks warily, lifting her shirt over her head to find the cat still staring back at her.

"Did you eat Scabbers, Crookshanks?" Darcy asks quietly, getting Emily's attention. "Tell the truth. Did you eat him? I won't be mad."

She doesn't know what she expects, but Crookshanks doesn't answer. He only sits there, staring at Darcy, his thick and bushy ginger tail waving side to side slowly. Darcy hesitates, holding her sweater in her hands, and she reaches out to scratch the cat between the ears. Crookshanks purrs loudly, falling onto his back to open up his stomach for her. She gives his belly a few rubs before he paws at her and gets up, jumping back to the ground and leaving them in the dormitory.

"Do you often talk to cats?" Emily chuckles, turning around to face Darcy. When she pulls her shirt down over her face, her eyes grow wide. "Holy shit—Darcy!"

"What?" Darcy stares at Emily, dumbfounded.

But Emily's eyes are drawn slightly to the left of Darcy's face, and her heart sinks. She hadn't thought about them in so long—had forgotten that Emily hadn't yet seen them without the bandages. She had been so careful to change when no one was looking, or in the dark when it was impossible to see them at all. Darcy's hand flies to her shoulder and she tries to cover the long scars that mar her skin. Her face grows bright red as Emily moves towards her, reaching out to grab at the hand that covers the scars. Darcy backs into her bed nearly falling back onto it, and they struggle for a moment as Emily tries to force Darcy's hand off her shoulder.

"Let go—"

"Just let me see—"

"Emily, I don't want—"

"There's no one else here—"

"Please, don't—"

"One look—"

Emily overtakes her after Darcy tires of holding her off. She forces Darcy's hand away, looking down at the long, pink, raised bumps on her shoulder. Her chest heaving, Darcy allows Emily a short few seconds to stare down at them before pushing her off and away. They stare at each other for a few moments, both of them breathing heavily, and Emily watches Darcy pull her sweater on, and she sweeps out of the dormitory, feeling humiliated.

Darcy doesn't bring this up when she meets Professor Lupin near the Great Hall as he's heading back to his office. He seems to be in a good mood and the last thing she wants to do is spoil it. He asks her if she'd like to take a walk before the match, and Darcy agrees quickly to go, still flustered and embarrassed after having Emily best her. The look on Emily's face was nearly unreadable, but knowing that Emily is a smart girl makes her nervous. It only takes Lupin a few minutes to grab his cloak, and they both walk out of Hogwarts, shuffled along by the sea of students. They break free of the crowd almost at once, chuckling at the Gryffindors' combined enthusiasm.

The two of them walk the grounds, enjoying the fresh air, Darcy's arm looped around his. They walk on the opposite side of the grounds, quite close together, and far away from Hagrid's hut, around the edge of the lake. The giant squid raises a single tentacle from the depths and splashes Darcy as she nears the lake to find a flat stone to skip. Lupin laughs outloud and waves his wand, pointing it in her direction to dry her hair and long cloak. Regardless, it makes her laugh, as well, and she continues to skip stones across the lake.

"Did you like Quidditch when you were in school, sir?" Darcy asks over her shoulder, smiling at him.

"I did," he answers, nodding. "We all enjoyed watching your father play."

"Was he as good as Harry?"

Lupin ponders this for a moment. "Yet to be determined."

This makes Darcy laugh again. "I may ask Harry for a ride on his Firebolt," she says, and Lupin raises an eyebrow. "He said it's a really good broom."

"I thought you weren't a great flier."

Darcy looks over her shoulder again and gives him a sharp look, her cheeks turning pink. "I want to know who told you that," she snaps shrilly, but Lupin doesn't answer and only shrugs, giving her a smile. "Anyway—I didn't mean by myself. I'd ask Harry to fly it with me on it."

"Of course," Lupin says, inclining his head slightly. "Let me know when you'll be doing that—I may make a trip down to the pitch to watch."

"You just want to see how terrible I am, is that it, Professor?" Darcy skips another stone across the lake. On the fourth bounce, the giant squid lifts a tentacle again to wrap it around the stone and pull it under the surface.

"No, no, of course not," he teases. "I'll be there to cheer you on, of course."

She turns around to face him, and they smile at each other for a brief moment. With the sun shining down on him, she has to take a moment to compose herself, looking at him clearly, drinking in his appearance. Even underneath a thick cloak, she knows that he's put on some weight since coming to Hogwarts—she remembers on the train how he'd seemed slightly malnourished, weak, and frail. Now, he looks healthy and well fed, and his face has more color in it, more life. Even underneath his outerwear, Darcy knows his shoulders and chest are much broader than they had been, more muscular in the arms and neck. Her eyes sweep over his body, and she wishes he'd shed his cloak so she could have a better look—or better yet, she wishes she could just touch his shoulders, to hold onto them and feel the muscle. Lupin continues to smile at her while she stares, looking him up and down.

"Something on your mind?" he asks, too innocently, through his toothy grin.

You, she thinks, always you. But Darcy shakes her head and turns back around, bending down to pick up a few more stones from the shallows of the lake. She glances over her shoulder one last time to look at Lupin, and both of them blush furiously again as she catches Lupin's eyes wandering. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

They keep walking around the lake, Darcy's right arm wrapped around his bicep, and her left hand resting on his forearm. They're quiet, listening to the sounds of the birds chirping, signaling springtime finally coming, and the gentle splashing of the giant squid in the lake. She looks up at his face, but Lupin's eyes are fixed right ahead, and as they reach a patch of ground far from the castle, Darcy rests her cheek against his shoulder, barely able to reach it. She half expects him to flinch away, but Lupin doesn't do anything to move her off of him.

"We should go back," Lupin suggests suddenly. "The match should be starting soon. I would hate to make you miss an opportunity to watch Harry play."

He shrugs her off his arm as he starts off back towards the pitch, and Darcy hangs behind for a moment, watching him go. Her disappointment is likely etched over her face, because Lupin gives her a kind smile, coming back for her and putting a hand on the small of her back to keep her moving. As they round the side of the castle and come into view of the Whomping Willow and Hagrid's hut, Lupin lowers his hand back to his side, putting some distance between them. As they reach the pitch, Darcy is privately very glad that he decides to follow her up into the stands, and the two of them find Emily sitting between Hermione and Ron. Emily's looking down at the field through Hermione's binoculars.

Hermione jumps to her feet at the sight of Darcy and Professor Lupin, and she tangles herself around Darcy's arm, catching her off guard and she stumbles slightly getting into her seat. "I'm so glad you're here, Darcy—! Hello, Professor Lupin!"

Professor Lupin gives Hermione an acknowledging nod and a small smile, taking a seat beside Darcy.

"You all right, Hermione?" Darcy asks, taking a good look at her friend's face. Hermione looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and Darcy's worried that if she closes her eyes, she'll pass out. "You look… er—tired."

"I am," Hermione replies, not bothering to elaborate, but still clinging tightly to Darcy's arm.

"Where's the rest of your entourage?" Lupin asks Darcy and Emily.

Emily answers, still looking through the binoculars. "Gemma wouldn't be caught dead cheering for Gryffindor, and Carla will cheer for whatever team Gemma tells her to cheer for."

"It keeps things interesting between us," Darcy mutters in his ear. "Let me see those, Emily."

Emily passes the binoculars over Hermione, and Darcy shakes her off her arm, looking through them. As the Gryffindor team appears on the field far below them, every Gryffindor in their seats gets to their feet, roaring. The match hasn't even started, but Darcy feels as if they've already won, and her heart soars at the thought of watching Harry on the Firebolt. A wide grin is plastered to Harry's face as he surveys the crowd. When Madam Hooch's whistle blows, the team launches into the air, and Darcy hands the binoculars to Lupin.

Harry outflies nearly everyone on the Gryffindor team and the Ravenclaw team, and he soars over Darcy once, beaming down at her. The Gryffindor Chasers score goal after goal after goal, and Harry dodges Bludgers, dodges opposing players, and Lee Jordan is screaming with glee, but his commentary is barely heard over the whooping and shouting of the Gryffindor supporters. The binoculars are passed back and forth between the five of them, and while Lupin isn't quite as excited as the rest of them are, he can't help but to clap and cheer when another ten points are scored for Gryffindor.

Every so often, they catch each other looking in their direction, and they smile shyly, their cheeks turning pink. Darcy wishes she could take his hand and hold it for the remainder of the game, to lace her fingers with his, to squeeze his hand and feel his gentle and reassuring squeeze back.

Diving a few more times, circling the goalposts, and zipping back and forth across the field, Darcy keeps her eyes trained on Harry, who moves too quickly to be recognizable. "Look at him fly!" Ron shouts, his eyes wide, as he looks across Emily at Darcy, pointing up at her brother. "Look at the Firebolt go!"

Darcy barely hears him, but smiles all the same. And then, she sees it—a small, golden ball with wings flutters by her face, towards the opposite side of the field. As Darcy watches her brother follow it, her eyes are drawn to something at the bottom of the field, and she suddenly feels dizzy—three dementors are there, looking up at Harry—she tugs on Lupin's sleeve and points—"Professor Lupin! Look! Down there!" But as she looks closer, she realizes that the dementors don't seem to be affecting her, or anyone, for no one seems to even notice them.

Lupin does a double-take, looking for a long time at the three figures at the ground. Then he growls, "For the love of—" Lupin runs a hand through his hair, and he turns to Darcy. "Those aren't dementors—"

Emily seems to have spotted them, as well, and when Lupin puts a hand on Darcy's shoulder to lead her down to the field, she grabs Emily's hand—but they don't get far. Out of the corner of Darcy's eye, she sees something silvery-white shoot from Harry's wand at the dementors on the ground and within seconds, he holds up his hand, the Snitch's wings fluttering feebly as his fingers grasp it. While the capture of the Snitch excites everyone around her, Harry's Patronus is what catches her eye, and she and Lupin exchange a quick look before continuing down the stairs of the high seats very quickly. Emily trails behind them, still clutching Darcy's hand—Emily's palm is sweaty and slippery against Darcy's, and as the Gryffindor students start to rush to the field, she nearly loses Emily because of it, but she only holds Emily's hand tighter with her left hand, clutching Lupin's cloak with her right.

When the three of them reach Harry, Harry runs full force at his sister. Darcy wraps him in a tight hug, and Emily joins them, jumping up and down in celebration. With the three of them still tangled up in each other, Lupin leans forward so Harry can hear him, and Darcy feels his hand touch her elbow, making her smile even wider.

"That was quite some Patronus," Lupin says with a exasperated sigh, looking immensely proud.

Darcy lets go of her brother, taking a few steps back to stand beside Emily. Harry and Lupin talk for a moment, and he motions for them all to follow him to the outside of the pitch, where the dementors—'dementors'—are sitting. But they aren't dementors at all, Lupin had the right of it. In fact, upon seeing them, Darcy and Emily cackle from behind Harry and Lupin. With their hoods down, Darcy recognizes Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, their eyes nearly bulging from their skulls after the encounter with Harry's Patronus.

With Emily still at her side, her sweaty hand holding tight to Darcy's again, Harry turns around incredulously, still reeling from the incredible catch and the incredible discovery of who had been hiding underneath the hoods. He looks at his sister with the biggest smile she's seen him wear in months, and his joy becomes Darcy's joy, and his exuberance at not only winning the Quidditch match, but humiliating Malfoy in front of the entire school makes Darcy smile bigger than she has in a very long time.

Emily and Ron leave Darcy and Harry behind to talk excitedly of the Firebolt and it's superiority to all of the other school brooms and Nimbuses the others had been riding. Darcy can hardly speak from the excitement, but Harry understands exactly what she's trying to say, and they have a short conversation with nothing except exaggerated expressions and hand gestures. As the other Gryffindor Quidditch team members begin to circle him, Darcy takes a step back to let him enjoy it all, to let it really sink in, and they nearly carry him off the pitch and up towards the school. A few other students linger until teachers begin to usher them away, and Darcy moves with them, jumping when she realizes Professor Lupin hasn't left her side.

He clears his throat, and Darcy waits patiently for him to speak. He nods towards the castle and they walk more slowly, speaking in low voices. "You probably don't want to miss the celebrations," he begins, seeming quite awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, "but if you were interested in escaping the fervor for a little while, I may be able to scrounge up some butterbeers for the both of us—"

"Yes," Darcy says breathlessly, unable to stop smiling. Lupin just looks at her with his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, slightly taken aback by her quick answer. "I'd love that, actually."

"Really?" he asks, and Darcy nods.

They're able to sneak away from the gaggle of students in the entrance hall, and she follows Lupin back to his office and into his apartments. Darcy takes a seat on the sofa while he digs around for some drinks in the tiny kitchenette offered to him. On the coffee table in front of her is a large pile of clothes—two pairs of trousers, a patched jacket, a few shirts. Beside them, a sewing kit with an old, half-rusting needle and some mismatched thread that doesn't match at all the color of the fabric of his clothes. She suddenly feels a pang of guilt, feeling quite sorry for Professor Lupin. As he returns to her, he apologizes profusely for the mess and hurries to clean up after himself, but Darcy stops him by putting a hand on his arm.

"I could fix them for you, sir," she says gently, and Lupin's cheeks flush a deep red that she's never seen on him before. Darcy's eyes go wide with embarrassment. "I didn't mean—it's just—I mean—I didn't know that you could sew—"

"I'm a wizard," he replies coolly, hesitating, his hands hovering over the pile of clothes. "I don't actually know how to sew, but—magic only goes so far, and if truth be told, household spells have never been my forte—"

Darcy gives him an encouraging smile. "I used to sew Harry's clothes when he was younger," she explains. "Not with magic, but—you know—the normal way. I'm pretty good at it—you can ask him."

Lupin shakes his head, gathering his clothes in his arms and moving towards the small, back room. "I couldn't ask you to do that, Darcy," he says.

"But you wouldn't be asking," Darcy answers, shrugging her shoulders. "Professor, you've done so much for me. Let me do something for you. I promise, I won't make you look like a fool. I could ask Aunt Petunia if she'd be willing to send my sewing kit. I mean, she probably won't even read my letter, but Emily might have some stuff I could use."

But Lupin doesn't seem convinced as he returns from the back room and places a bottle of butterbeer in front of her. Seating himself on the sofa, he doesn't answer her, opening his bottle in silence and barely taking a sip. He won't look at her either, and Lupin's eyes are fixed on the hearth where, for once, there's no fire burning. All that's left are the ashes of old logs, small pieces of parchment that haven't burned completely. Darcy sighs, watching his jaw clench and unclench, watching his lips turn into a frown.

"If I may, sir, what were you doing before you came back to Hogwarts?" Darcy asks, unsure if she's gone too far with her question. She decides not to fill the silence. If he doesn't want to answer, I shouldn't force him to.

Lupin glances at her only for a second before turning away again. She isn't sure if he's ever going to answer her, but after a long and uncomfortable silence, he does. Darcy isn't sure if it's the flickering lights in the sconces playing tricks on her eyes, but she thinks she sees anger flash across his face for just a heartbeat. "I don't want your pity," he snaps, harsher than expected. "What does it matter what I did before coming back?"

Darcy remembers one of their first real conversations, when she'd said almost the same thing. "I'm sorry, I suppose it doesn't, sir," she whispers, wrapping her cloak tighter around her still. She suddenly grows very warm and has every desire to take it off, but she thinks better of it. "I didn't mean to—I only wanted to help you, and—you know so much about me, I just thought… I'm sorry."

Lupin runs his hands through his hair, exhaling loudly. "Your friends are probably wondering where you are."

"Professor," she scoffs, shaking her head slightly. "You are my friend."

She moves to get up, leaving her unopened butterbeer on the table. Surprisingly, Lupin stands with her; Darcy leads the way back to his door and he follows her, a few paces behind. Before she opens the door, she turns to Lupin and hesitates, wanting to say something, but not knowing what could possibly make him feel better. The Quidditch match has lifted her spirits, yet she can't think of a single word of comfort, so Darcy touches his chest and looks up at him, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to move her hand from his chest. He doesn't, so she stands on her tiptoes, her heart pounding as she presses her lips to his cheek softly. Darcy pauses as she pulls away from him, almost leaning back in to kiss his lips, but thinking better of it. Still, he doesn't speak, and Darcy leaves him in his apartments without another word.

The Gryffindor common room is packed with students, talking loudly and making toasts and reliving the best moments of the Quidditch game. Fred and George Weasley appear as soon as she takes three steps through the portrait hole, offering her a bottle of butterbeer and some Chocolate Frogs. Darcy smiles at them in thanks, stuffing a few of the Chocolate Frogs into her pockets for later. She soon get sucked into the excitement again, talking to everyone she passes, all of their eyes alight. She's soon being passed cups of firewhisky, taking shots with the Gryffindor team (while Harry's back is turned, of course), and Darcy finally finds her way to the sofa, sitting down and yelping when she sees Hermione hidden in the dark corner, pouring over a large textbook. It's only then does Darcy wonder what Hermione had done after the match—she had disappeared when Harry caught the Snitch, and hadn't been there to congratulate Harry.

"Take a break, Hermione," Darcy urges, leaning back on the sofa and closing her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest, getting comfortable. "You deserve it."

"I can't," Hermione hisses, making Darcy open one of her eyes to give Hermione an accusatory stare. At the sight of Darcy, her face softens.

"Can I help with anything?"

"Not unless you're able to read these last four hundred pages for me by tomorrow morning."

Darcy gives her an apologetic smile and turns in her seat to find Harry in the crowd of Gryffindors. His wide smile still hasn't left his face, and Darcy knows as long as Harry's smiling, nothing will be able to ruin her good mood. Halfway through the celebrations, still resting on the sofa, Darcy almost decides to steal the Invisibility Cloak from Harry's dormitory, wanting nothing more than to sneak away from the festivities and down to Lupin's office. She wants him to know that she hadn't meant to embarrass him or shame him, and that all she had wanted was to help him with something and have a conversation. She hopes he knows that, or it'll continue to eat at her. As the night wears on, she begins to seriously consider it—just going down for a quick visit, just a few minutes. She could kiss him again—a real kiss this time, just to remind herself what it feels like to be kissed with such ferocity, a hunger that no one has ever kissed her with—but she knows that's just the alcohol talking, and the other part of her that speaks with Emily's voice knows that sneaking off just to kiss Professor Lupin is likely one of her stupider ideas. Plus, she's been drinking, and Lupin would smell the alcohol on her breath quicker than anything, especially with her mouth so close.

Eventually, Emily suggests they open Darcy's bottle of wine that Gemma had gotten her for Christmas. Darcy can't say no to that, so they make their way up the spiral staircase to their empty dormitory, and Darcy opens the bottle with a loud POP! Lacking glasses, Darcy and Emily take turns taking large swigs from the bottle in silence, wiping their lips on the back of their hands after each sip, occasionally giggling at an old joke. With each drink, the urge to go back to Lupin's office grows stronger, until Darcy itches to feel his lips on her flesh, until the idea of kissing him is too much for her to handle. Briefly, she remembers that Oliver Wood is downstairs in the common room, likely drunk, and probably would be completely ready if Darcy were to throw herself at him, but she also know she'd probably have a horrible time with Oliver and tomorrow morning, she knows she'd feel nothing but disgust. And Darcy feels even more disgusted with herself for even considering sleeping with Oliver Wood only because Lupin is off limits.

But is he? she wonders. Thinking hard, Darcy wonders how far she could take it, how far she could go before Lupin asks her to stop. It's not a very clean thought, she has to admit, but even after their conversation about Dumbledore, and Lupin's 'momentary lapse of judgement', it seems to her like nothing has changed. If anything, Lupin has been showing her more affection lately than ever, she thinks, with small touches and weak smiles, paired with a sense of intimacy and comfort that hadn't been so strongly present beforehand. The way that Lupin touches her—guiding her along with a steady hand on the small of her back, or brushing his fingertips against her skin, or touching her shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze—is different now than it had been. He touches her as if he has every right to touch her, as if her body is his to touch. She's never stopped him, never flinched at his touch or shrugged him off. She's always relished his touches, and Darcy can't help but to feel excited at the thought that Lupin feels comfortable enough to touch her so gently without having to worry about her brushing him off.

She thinks again of Oliver Wood and how he had touched her so many times before. He had always been so entitled, in a way that had said her body was his. But she'd never wanted to be Oliver's—not then, not now, and not ever. His touches had always been greedy, self-serving. His touches were fingers wrapped around her throat, thumbs digging into her hips a little too hard, a hand sliding up her thigh to the heat between her legs—touches that she'd never relished, never looked forward to. But Darcy can't blame him entirely, of course—she'd always been too polite to tell Oliver where to put his hands, how to kiss her, how to touch her, how to fuck her. But Darcy feels that, with Lupin, she'd be comfortable enough to tell him exactly how to touch her, and she feels that Lupin would listen and just do it without her having to ask again.

Darcy shivers as she takes another sip of wine. How could she think that? She frowns, feeling ashamed for thinking such thoughts about a teacher. But Lupin is so much more than her teacher, and they both know it. He is her friend, one of her dear friends, someone she enjoys spending time with, someone that she wants at her side always. Darcy knows Emily would go mad if she knew how she really feels about Lupin, but Darcy needs to tell someone, needs to discuss her troubling feelings with someone who will listen and understand and tell her exactly what she wants to hear. She doesn't want the truth anymore, she wants someone who will push for her to go further, who will encourage her to kiss him when need be, someone who will be on her side despite everything. And the fact that Darcy can't think of a single person who would be on her side in this speaks volumes about the situation.

With Emily at her side, however, Darcy knows it's no use trying to escape, so she stops thinking about it. It's probably for the best, she knows, and she isn't quite sure she's ready to push any boundaries. Darcy tries to tell herself it's all just the alcohol, but even sober, Lupin still invades the privacy of her dreams, kissing her all over until her core throbs each time his lips touch her skin.

When, finally, they retire to bed, it's only because Professor McGonagall yells at the whole of her House. Darcy and Emily listen from their dormitory door, quickly hiding the empty bottle of wine just in case McGonagall decides to do a dormitory check. They change into pajamas before anyone can join them and dive into bed, pulling their blankets up, and smiling drunkenly at each other before closing their eyes.

Darcy wakes every so often, unable to recall her dreams each time her eyes open a sliver in the darkness. The mixture of wine, butterbeer, and firewhisky makes her sick to her stomach, but she tries to just close her eyes and ignore the spinning sensation.

The fourth time Darcy wakes, she doesn't even bother to open her eyes, even when she hears the dormitory door open a crack. Something with fur nuzzles against her hand that dangles lazily off the bed. Groaning, Darcy mumbles into her pillow, "Get up in bed or get out, Crookshanks." And, slightly disappointed that Crookshanks doesn't jump up in bed with her, she hears the sound of the dormitory door close. But something about the encounter with Hermione's cat makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. For one thing, Crookshanks's face had seemed too big as he rubbed against her hand. He seemed to have stood much too tall for a cat, and Darcy doesn't think she'd heard any purring—Crookshanks always purrs when she pets him. Attributing her sudden fear to the alcohol and terrible night's sleep, Darcy falls back asleep quickly enough.

The fifth time she wakes, it's because someone is screaming from somewhere down below. The screaming sobers her up almost instantly, and she leaps from her bed, pulling her wand out from under her pillow, stumbling around while looking for her slippers. Darcy races for the door, Emily getting dressed with surprising speed and following her. What's worse than being woken by a scream, however, is being woken by a familiar scream. She barrels down the stairs, sweating, with Emily on her heels.

Sure enough, Ron Weasley is already in the common room, accompanied by Harry. People begin to filter down the steps, not in as much of a hurry as Darcy is. She touches Ron's shoulders and realizes he's trembling violently. His face is a shock of pasty white with no color left, and his eyes are wide, round as saucers. "What happened?" she demands of him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. "Why are you screaming?"

Ron's chest is heaving, and he pants, "Sirius Black—in my room—above me—a knife—he tried to—kill me—"

And just like that, with those simple words, Darcy's heart falls into her stomach and she lets go of Ron's shoulders, taking a step back from him and shaking her head. For a moment, she doesn't know what to think, how to feel—scared, of course, and the sight of Ron and his fear makes her more frightened. She can feel Emily's hands clamp on her upper arms, keeping Darcy calm for the time being. Up on the stairs, hiding behind a few fifth years, Darcy sees Hermione and suddenly remembers something. "Where's Crookshanks?" she asks Hermione.

Hermione looks at her, bewildered, but answers all the same. "He's in my bed," she replies slowly. "He's been there all night—but why?"

Emily whispers in Darcy's ear. "We have to go get McGonagall."

But McGonagall is already there, and good thing, too—Darcy can't move, frozen with fear.