'I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, 'crazy'. But I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there.'

Charles Bukowski

Security is tightened once again.

While Darcy is quite glad to be rid of Sir Cadogan, who apparently will let anyone into Gryffindor Tower with the right password, she can't say she's thrilled about the trolls they decide to station by the Fat Lady's newly repaired painting. Though Darcy escapes having to be escorted from place to place like the last time Sirius Black broke in, she notices teachers watching her carefully, and wonders if they're doing the same thing to Harry, as well. All of these watchful eyes only make her more anxious, and even Madam Pomfrey decides to walk the corridors more often now, always running into Darcy as she rounds a corner or suddenly appearing outside of her classrooms when the bell signals the end of classes. The matron always looks at her with tight lips and watery eyes, as if Darcy is on her deathbed.

She had been afraid at first, of course—Ron had recounted the complete story more times that she wanted to hear it by now, and it only makes things worse for Darcy. Sitting awake in the common room that night had been torture, especially when Professor McGonagall had come back to tell them all Sirius Black had, yet again, escaped. Darcy, Emily, and Oliver had sat together on the sofa in silence. It was only then that Darcy had remembered the map Harry had shown her, and she wishes she hadn't been so foolish as to forget it at all. They could have used it to catch Sirius Black and Darcy wouldn't have to worry about another break-in again. Darcy imagines herself coming face to face with Sirius Black again after all these years, wondering what she would feel, wondering what Sirius would feel when forced to look her in the eyes, knowing what he's done. But she feels childish thinking that—if the dementors don't affect him as others claim, then looking upon her would make him feel nothing.

Privately, Darcy begins to miss her dreams of Lupin. To Emily's face, Darcy claims that her dreams are full of Sirius Black stabbing Ron, stabbing Harry, stabbing her, but she's lying. To some, they may not even be nightmares, but to Darcy, they're worse. The dreams of Sirius Black shame her, to know that she still feels a small amount of love for this murderer is something she'll never admit to anyone after this, and she hates even admitting it to herself. Darcy tries to convince herself that she doesn't love him, that she loves the idea of someone else loving her the way Sirius had, but what does she know? Hagrid had been right—she had only been five-years-old, afraid and traumatized, and she's only remembering how it felt to be so close to someone so familiar after everything. Her dreams make her angry—Hagrid being right makes her angry, but one thing makes her more angry than anything.

She wants to scream I told you so! to every person who'd promised her with confidence that Dumbledore would never allow Sirius Black to break in again, that Dumbledore would make sure Sirius Black was found. And yet, Sirius Black had gotten further this time than he had on Halloween—he had been about to kill Harry's best friend, and then possibly kill Harry himself. And then what? Would he have come into Darcy's dormitory to kill her and her best friend, as well? Darcy doesn't get the chance to say I told you so! however, feeling it best to let it go unsaid. Emily, Professor Lupin, and Gemma seem quite subdued around her in the following days, as if they know exactly what Darcy is trying to say to them when she shoots daggers at them. The most she receives from them up until Wednesday are apologetic glances, worried expressions, and forced smiles. Carla, however, happily tells Darcy that she had chastised Gemma for what she'd said previously, and scolded Emily for instilling such false hope, and Darcy finds herself throwing her arms around Carla, nearly choking her. As fearful as Carla is, Darcy can't help but to be thankful for her empathetic nature.

On Wednesday, during lunch, Darcy has to listen to Ron retell his version of events—with a little more embellishment, she notices—and she sits in silence as people from all Houses lean in over her to listen. Darcy doesn't even hear her name being called in the Great Hall, and when a large, oversized hand grabs the back of her robes to help her to her feet, Darcy almost trips over the bench, but Hagrid's body breaks her fall and catches her. Students around them break apart, making room for Hagrid, and he leads Darcy from the Great Hall, leaving her half-finished lunch still at the table. Darcy frowns after it, but follows Hagrid all the same.

She expects he'll take her down to his hut, but instead they linger in the entrance hall as a few late students stagger in the Great Hall for lunch. Hagrid waits until they're alone, and Darcy notices his black eyes are shiny, and she can't see for sure underneath all of his scraggly facial hair, but she thinks his cheeks may be wet. Darcy sighs. "Hagrid—"

"I'm sorry!" he cries, pulling her to him and crushing her in his arms. Hagrid only hugs her for a few seconds before dropping her, and Darcy blinks a few times, balancing herself. "I'm sorry, Darcy—I know yeh must be so scared!"

Bewildered, Darcy takes a step back from Hagrid. She's almost forgotten how angry she'd been at the end of their last conversation. Overwhelmed with guilt, she reaches out to pat one of his arms. "I'm fine," she says, frowning. "Hagrid, truly—"

"Darcy, yeh have to realize I was only tryin' to look out fer yeh," he continues, a bit softer. "I only wanted what was best for yeh, back when yeh were jus' a little girl and even now. I'm sorry I never told yeh 'bout Sirius Black, but don't yeh see why I didn't tell yeh? And I'm sorry I couldn't be there when yeh needed me, but if I knew that these things were happenin' I would've—"

"Hagrid, I know, and I'm—"

"Yeh did me an' Beaky a good thing by lookin' up all those dates, and what with Hermione's got, we might even have a decent case—"

"I'm glad, but—"

Hagrid hugs her again and Darcy falls into his warm overcoat, her rage subsiding with every passing second. Darcy hugs him back and the two of them finally pull apart, wiping away tears.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Hagrid," she offers, sniffling. "I should never have said those things to you."

"You were angry," Hagrid replies, slightly more understanding about it all than Darcy could have hoped. "I know that it was a lot of information to take in, but yeh—yeh took it better than I ever would have thought."

On Thursday morning, Professor McGonagall approaches the Gryffindor table, hoping for a private word with Darcy. Warily finishing her coffee, she stands and follows McGonagall from the Great Hall, her stomach still begging for more toast. Her stomach starts to churn as she thinks about all the possible things she could have done to get herself in trouble, and suddenly she doesn't have much of an appetite anymore. They stand in the entrance hall, just as Darcy and Hagrid had, and Darcy leans against the wall, but stands up straight after McGonagall looks her up and down critically. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Potter."

"Oh? Should I be nervous, Professor?" Darcy asks, only half-joking. Her anxiety intensifies and she crosses her arms across her chest, waiting with bated breath.

Professor McGonagall doesn't answer her question, but plows on instead with raised eyebrows. "I know that it is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, but given recent circumstances…"

Darcy groans, slumping her shoulders, earning her a sharp look from McGonagall. "Come on!" she mutters, running her hands through her hair. "Please, Professor—that's not fair—"

"You didn't let me finish," Professor McGonagall cuts her off sharply. "I am not telling you that you may not go—your aunt has signed your permission form, understanding there are risks—though, how much of that permission form your aunt actually read and comprehended… Potter, I can't, in good conscience, let you go alone. If you would like to visit the village this weekend, I ask only that a teacher accompany you."

Darcy sighs, looking to McGonagall with wide, pleading eyes. However, McGonagall is immune to her charm. "But Professor, I was going to go with my friends—"

"And your friends are still allowed to go, Potter," McGonagall shrugs, as if her request is entirely reasonable. "But a teacher will accompany you, and if you'd prefer to continue arguing about it, I will appoint a teacher for you and I will warn you—you will not like my appointment." As Darcy opens her mouth to argue again, McGonagall adds, "Or you could stay at the castle with your brother." The older witch sees Darcy's frustration written across her face and frowns, exhaling loudly through her nostrils. "I'm sure Hagrid would go with you if you asked him, or Professor Lupin. I'm not telling you to go with Professor Snape."

McGonagall's lips twitch as if trying to smile. Darcy considers this for a moment, but McGonagall says no more on the subject and instead pats Darcy on the shoulder.

"Go finish your breakfast, Potter." But as Darcy turns back towards the Great Hall, she hears McGonagall shout after her, "And let me know who you will be taking with you because I will be checking in with them!"

Darcy is far too embarrassed to bring this up to her friends. McGonagall is being ridiculous, forcing her to be in the company of a teacher, as if Sirius Black were to appear and try to kill her, she and her four friends couldn't disarm or stun or kill him themselves. Kill him? she thinks to herself, reminding herself to take it down a few notches. It's either kill or be killed, isn't it? Regardless, it's not something that makes Darcy happy, and she's still thinking about the entire situation when she arrives at the empty classroom with Harry that night at eight o'clock sharp for another Patronus lesson.

Today, Darcy doesn't bring any homework or notes to study—she instead sits on the old teacher's desk, swinging her legs over the side and watching Harry battle the boggart-dementor. After weeks of staring the boggart-dementor in the face and steadily filling herself with chocolate, it makes the entire thing easier to bear with each passing week. Harry, on the other hand, still struggles with the effects, but is able to produce a better Patronus after what he'd done at the Quidditch match, knowing he's capable. Lupin earns himself a dangerous look from Darcy after he and Harry joke about the small, barely there Patronus she'd attempted to conjure her first day back to Hogwarts. Her look wipes the smile off Lupin's face quickly, but Harry continues to chuckle, no longer afraid of Darcy's wrath after so many years at her side.

Darcy spends her time mostly watching Lupin, watching the way he interacts with Harry, watching the way he interacts with the boggart, and watching the way he glances over his shoulder every so often at Darcy to smile. When he does let the boggart loose from the ancient and rattling trunk, Lupin leans against the desk with his arms crossed, right next to Darcy, and Darcy can't bring herself to take her eyes off him. All she wants to do is wrap her arms around his neck, hold him to her as he teaches Harry the finer points of casting a Patronus. For a brief moment, she wonders what would happen if she were to try casting one tonight, her happy memory being Lupin kissing her in the threshold of his apartments door. But after thinking on it for a moment, she decides it's probably not happy enough—her feelings at the time had been so confused, and she'd been so flustered and dizzy and she'd felt quite drunk afterwards. The memory gives her such joy now, however, and maybe—maybe it could work…

As Harry prepares himself for another encounter with the boggart, Darcy leans in closer to Professor Lupin, talking low so Harry can't hear her. "I'd like to try tonight. Not against the boggart, but just a Patronus," she whispers, suddenly regretting it.

Lupin tears his eyes away from the boggart, turning to face to look at her, surprised to see her face so close to his. Darcy glances past him at Harry, finishing his chocolate and wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Lupin's eyes flick to her lips and back. "As you wish," he replies distractedly. Lupin checks his watch, smiling weakly at her and then walking back over to Harry and the trunk.

At five minutes past nine that night, with Harry heading back to the common room, Darcy readies herself, staring at the empty classroom before her with her hand held tightly in her hand. Lupin waits patiently, standing a little off to the side, looking at her intensely. Darcy cycles through every happy memory she can muster, even the ones that had brought her little joy—but a little joy is still joy, and she knows that they're all worth a shot. She tries to keep Sirius Black in the back of her mind, not wanting to think at all about the happiness he'd brought her so many years ago, not after the recent events in Gryffindor Tower. "I've got one," she announces, and Lupin only nods, rubbing his beard, taking a single step backwards as Darcy holds out her wand.

She remembers the first time she'd stayed at Emily's house. She remembers Emily letting Darcy go through her closet, choosing any clothes that she liked. She remembers Emily's father letting them watch an adult movie on the television the first night she'd arrived. Emily's mother had brought them home some food and they ate out of styrofoam boxes with plastic utensils. Emily had convinced Darcy to take a few sips from a box of her mother's wine before they went to bed, and Darcy remembers how she and Emily had shared her large bed, cuddled up next to each other all night. She remembers how warm she had been under all the blankets, how comfortable she'd been in real pajamas, how loved she'd felt by Emily and her parents.

Darcy swallows the lump in her throat and clears her throat, "Expecto Patronum!" Something does come from the tip of her wand, something similar to what had happened on her first day of her last year. It angers Darcy that the memory wasn't enough, and she flushes a deep scarlet color, unable to look Lupin in the face. "Hang on, I have a better one—let me try again—"

She thinks hard and a memory comes to the forefront of her mind. The memory of Harry being Sorted into Gryffindor, walking over to her table with pride in his eyes, happy at the prospect of being in the same House as his sister. Her heart had soared as Harry had seated himself beside her, and she had clapped and cheered with the rest of Gryffindor House. Darcy holds her wand steady again, bracing herself, and she cries, "Expecto Patronum!" But nothing more comes from her wand than before. She lowers her wand, turning towards Lupin, who suddenly looks as if he's been caught with his pants down.

"It's good," he says, nodding quickly. "You're doing fine."

"I'm doing terrible." Darcy grabs a handful of hair and nearly tears it out of her scalp in frustration. "Harry's thirteen, and he's already way better than me. Why can't I do it?"

"He's been practicing for weeks," Lupin answers gently. "For someone who has only tried once before—months ago—you're doing very well."

"Let me try again," she pleads, trying to think of a happier memory, a happier thought. "I can do it."

"If you want to try, I won't stop you." Lupin hesitates, making to move towards her, but changing his mind at the last minute. "Unless you'd like to try again next week. Don't think you'll conjure a perfect Patronus after your second time trying."

Darcy turns away from him again, facing the empty classroom. She licks her lips, thinking of the time she's spent with Lupin these past few months. She thinks of Lupin reading her poetry, her feet tucked underneath him, the fire crackling merrily; kissing him for the first time, only to be surprised when he had stopped her from leaving and kissed her harder, deeper than she could have ever possibly imagined; the dinner consisting of her favorite foods, the music playing softly in the background and the mead he'd kept pouring into her glass. Darcy recalls her pounding heart when she'd felt his lips on her's, recalls the comfort he'd offered during times of need, and with a clammy hand she raises her wand yet again, flicking her wrist and shouting, "Expecto Patronum!" And yet again, vapor trails from the tip of her wand, nothing strong enough to defend herself against a dementor. Her heart falls at the realization those memories aren't enough. "No, no—I can do better—"

Lupin only nods again.

Darcy takes a minute to think before settling on a memory this time. Avoiding eye contact with Lupin sheepishly, she closes her eyes and lets the memory wash over her. Awake, she can't feel the pain like she can in her dreams—awake, she doesn't feel the crushing weight of debris on her legs, doesn't feel the shooting pain up her back as it weighs on her. But she knows too well the feeling of the hands that pull her from the ruins of her home, and she's overwhelmed with love when she sees Sirius Black in her mind's eye, handsome and frightened and relieved at the sight of her alive. His face brings her joy, brings her more happiness than Sirius Black has any right to—to imagine a life with him, in a home where she would never have to be hungry—a home where she'd always feel welcomed—eyes still closed, Darcy holds her wand out, calmer this time. "Expecto Patronum!"

She hears Lupin's small, incredulous laugh from beside her, and Darcy opens her eyes to see blue-white light spilling from her wand, looking like a formless ghost. It dances in front of her, not a corporeal Patronus, but something beautiful and serene—something more than she'd produced the past few times and on her first day back to school—something that could defend herself from a dementor. But the serenity of the memory wears off quickly at the sight of her spell, and disgust and anger creep into her veins at the thought that the memory of Sirius Black could produce a half-decent Patronus when memories of her friends, of her brother, of Lupin, could not.

Without thinking, completely forgetting that she is not alone, Darcy snaps her wrist, throwing hexes at the empty jars in one corner of the classroom. I could have had a family. A desk rises in the air and slams against the wall with a loud crash worthy of Peeves's appreciation. I could have been loved. Some chairs fly back towards the broken desk. The only person that I had left who loved me—the thick blackboard cracks as she hurls a flash of red light at it—a murderer—another hex makes the stone wall crumble where the spell hits it—a traitor. She screams with each hex, destroying the desk she'd been sitting on earlier, red in the face and tears welling in her eyes. And as she winds up to cast another spell at another bare span of wall, a hand gently grasps her shoulder and Darcy falters. She looks around at the classroom, feeling very hot, and she drops her wand at her feet.

"Darcy," Lupin breathes in her ear, sending chi. He bends down to pick up her wand and he holds it out for her to take. Darcy looks up at him apologetically. "Maybe we should call it a night."

"Thank you." She takes her wand back, slipping it in her back pocket. "I'm so sorry, Professor, I—"

Lupin shakes his head, and she trails off. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize to me," he smiles. After a few minutes of silence, Lupin's smile fades, making Darcy nervous. He looks at her for a long time, reaching up with his hand as if to touch her face, but thinking better of it at the last minute. "How have you been?" Lupin's cheeks turn suddenly pink, as if he realizes it's the wrong question. "No, I meant—when I heard what had happened, I was so worried—I—I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Darcy wipes at her tears angrily. She finally feels comfortable enough to ask the question that's been bothering her all week, since that night, and plunges into it. "Why did he run?" she sighs. "He was so close to Harry—and he didn't do anything. It's like he didn't even try."

Lupin shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. "I don't know why he ran."

Her lips tighten. "You told me he wouldn't be able to get into Hogwarts again," she whispers, adjusting the front of his robes without thinking. Darcy straightens them, brushing off some dust, and then pulls her hands away quickly, apologizing under her breath when Lupin lifts his eyes to meet hers. "You promised me I was safe, and he almost killed my brother and his best friend."

"I'm sorry," Lupin replies, looking guilty. He runs a hand through his graying hair, mussing it up. "I am so sorry, Darcy."

"Did he ever love me?" she asks, rubbing at her eyes again. Darcy takes care to choose her words carefully. "I love him so much in my dreams, and I need to know that it was real."

"Darcy," Lupin starts, breathing in deeply and pausing, "whatever Sirius Black was before—he's not that young boy anymore. Whatever you're remembering, that was a long time ago."

Breathless, Darcy looks up at him, feeling a surge of affection for him. "You believe me?" she asks, moving a step closer. "You believe they're not just dreams?"

Lupin nods slowly. "You've given me no reason not to believe you," he says, allowing her to take another step towards him. "Your aunt and uncle did not love you the way you should have been loved. Is it so strange for you to constantly remember a time where you felt such love? No, I don't think so."

Darcy's close to him now, close enough to smell him—stale smoke from sitting in front of a roaring fire, faint traces of hot tea, woodsy and subtle. She fumbles with the front of his robes again, but Lupin reaches up to take her hands, lowering them. Lupin's thumbs brush across her knuckles on both of her hands before letting go. Feeling starved for affection, Darcy stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, but Lupin turns his head and Darcy pulls away, humiliated.

He swallows loudly, his face falling. "I can't." Lupin takes a step backwards. "I can't give you what you want, Darcy."

Cheeks burning, Darcy presses him. "What is it that you think I want?"

Lupin doesn't answer for a long time, only looks at her with sad eyes. "You don't want me." They stand there awkwardly for a few moments, clearing their throats and shuffling their feet. "You've been so good to me—far better to me than I deserve," he says again, struggling to find the right words. Lupin lowers his voice, barely more than a whisper. "Why?"

She feels the tears slip down her cheeks, shamed and bright red. All she wants is to run out the door, run far away from Lupin and from memories of Sirius and Hogwarts. Darcy wipes her cheeks, wishing he would wipe them for her.

Lupin doesn't press her for an answer. "Has anyone ever really loved you, Darcy? Has anyone ever told you how much they care about you?"

Truthfully, she'd heard those things several times over her years—all from the lips of her friends, however, from Emily and Carla and sometimes, when she was in a good mood, from Gemma. But none of them love her in the way Darcy craves to be loved. Who could ever love me like that? A blush creeps up the back of her neck, making her skin tingle as it reaches her cheeks. She can't admit to Lupin that no one's ever loved her—so convinced is she that she doesn't deserve that love, that to love her would be a burden for whatever brave man would be willing to have her. It's more than embarrassing—it's something she hates that Lupin knows, something she's ashamed of.

Her silence gives Lupin the answer he's looking for. "One day," he tells her slowly, "someone will love you with all that they have, and you will wonder what you've done to deserve it. Make sure that person never lets you forget how much you are loved."

Darcy frowns, looking away from him. She looks around the classroom, now destroyed and darkening as the candles around the walls burn down. His words hurt her—make her aware of the degree of loneliness that she feels even when surrounded by her fawning friends and her brother, and Darcy wishes she could fall asleep right now, if only to feel Sirius's arms around her. Unable to stop her crying, she asks him, "Will you walk me back to the common room?"

"Yes, of course." But he doesn't move. Darcy looks up at him with watery eyes, watching him face some inner conflict as his jaw clenches and unclenches. "Darcy?"

She hums in response quietly, waiting for him to continue.

He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it, taking a deep breath and moving forward. "I'm going to regret this," he sighs. Lupin's slightly trembling hands find Darcy's face, and he leans into her, hesitating and looking into her eyes before pressing his lips to hers. It's not the same as the last time—he doesn't kiss her with the same passion, the same hunger. His kiss is soft and gentle this time, his mouth lingering on hers for a few long seconds before he pulls away.

Lupin collects himself, straightening up and combing his hair back with his fingers, trying to appear as casual as possible. "It's getting late," he mutters. "We should be getting back before someone realizes you're missing."

Not entirely sure why she decides to ask him this now, after what has been said and done, Darcy does it anyway. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

He raises an eyebrow, frowning.

"Professor McGonagall won't let me go without a teacher, because of what happened," she explains quickly. It suddenly occurs to her that she hasn't yet told her friends about McGonagall's request—she'd been so angry afterwards, she couldn't talk for a few hours after she'd calmed down. Not that it's an entirely unreasonable request. Darcy admires McGonagall for thinking of her safety, but she isn't sure what her friends will say when Professor Lupin accompanies them down to Hogsmeade tomorrow.

Lupin looks her up and down briefly, making Darcy feel extremely vulnerable. "Will it make you happy?"

Darcy nods slowly.

"Very well," he says. "I'll go with you." Lupin nods towards the door, placing a hand on the small of her back. "Let's get out of here."