'I'm tired, can't think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.'

Franz Kafka

Before joining Lupin in his office, Darcy makes a quick trip back to Gryffindor Tower to drop off her bags and shed her cloak. It feels good inside the common room—warm and homey, comfortable. Emily seated by the fire, cross-legged on the ground before the long coffee table, painting her nails her favorite red color. At the sound of the portrait hole opening and closing, she looks over her shoulder to find Darcy standing quite still, laden with bags. Annoyed and blushing slightly already, Darcy makes her way over to Emily, who goes back to her nails, working hard to keep her right hand from trembling too badly.

"You must be angry with us," Emily begins coolly, only making Darcy angrier. "We were going to come have lunch with you and Lupin, but we, er—" Emily looks up, looking more than apologetic. "McGonagall caught us trying to smuggle some firewhisky out of the Hog's Head. She was furious with us. Four detentions for each of us and letters home to our parents. Carla's writing to her parents now before McGonagall gets the chance to. I'll be lucky if I escape a Howler—you know how mum is."

Darcy almost laughs out loud, her heart suddenly soaring, light as a feather. Her wrists begin to ache from the heavy bags, and Darcy takes a step towards the spiral stairs. "I was looking for you—Lupin let me off on my own before McGonagall caught me too."

Emily looks at Darcy seriously, as if the memory pains her. "She grabbed my ear," she whispers, horrified, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears to show Darcy her swollen earlobe. Indeed, it's still a bright red. Darcy rubs her own. "Pulled me almost the entire way up to the castle with her right hand, and Gemma with the other."

"And Carla?"

"Well…" Emily gives a small smile. "Professor McGonagall knew it was me and Gemma's idea."

At this, Darcy does laugh, finally making her way up to her dormitory. Once inside, she dumps her candy into the bottom drawer of her nightstand to replace what she's eaten (or what Emily has eaten), puts her socks and parchment away, and then gets down on her hands and knees to put her Zonkos products under her bed, in case McGonagall decides to pay their dormitory a quick visit. Shoving the bag underneath, it hits something hard, and Darcy grabs her wand from her pocket, mutters "Lumos" and illuminates the dark beneath her mattress. She moves the bag to the side and finds a thick, leather bound book in the way. Smiling to herself, Darcy grabs the photo album and flips through it, as if looking at it for the first time again. Struck with a sudden idea, she holds it tight, even as she removes her cloak and tosses it onto her bed unceremoniously.

Darcy jumps down the stairs two at a time back into the common room, where Emily is blowing on her freshly painted nails and holding them by the fire to let them dry. She doesn't fail to notice Darcy rushing past her towards the portrait hole, the photo album clutched tightly to her chest. "Where are you going?" Emily asks quickly as the portrait swings open to allow Darcy leave.

Freezing with one foot across the threshold, Darcy looks over her shoulder at Emily, suddenly nervous about admitting where she's going. "Well, I—I wanted to show Professor Lupin my photo album," she explains hesitantly, not sure why it makes her heart race. It's a perfectly reasonable explanation. "I thought he'd like to see it. I'll be back for dinner."

Emily narrows her eyes, glancing around the nearly empty common room. With most of the older students still enjoying their day in Hogsmeade, there are only a few first and second years hanging around and some sixth years who've clearly been to Hogsmeade enough that they don't mind skipping one weekend, but they ignore Darcy and Emily for the most part. But Emily stands, claps her hands once (careful not to mess up the nail polish) and shouts, "Everyone out!"

There's an awkward silence as the younger students look at Emily with wide eyes, but when she claps again, they all scramble—they run up the stairs to their dormitories, and the sixth years scowl and make their way out the portrait hole, shuffling Darcy back inside the common room, and it closes behind them. Emily waits until she hears the closing of dormitory doors before she takes a careful step towards Darcy. "What?" Darcy asks, standing her ground, hugging the book to her chest.

"Darcy," Emily begins, as if struggling to hold back her anger. She twists her face into a smile—or more a grimace—and sighs heavily. "I am so happy that you and Professor Lupin met—truly, I am. Don't misunderstand me, please, I know that you want to spend time with him, but have you thought that, maybe—you've been spending too much time together?"

Darcy scoffs, but before she's able to reply, Emily continues.

"You've just spent the day with him in Hogsmeade—you have dinner once a week, sometimes more, plus your Patronus lessons every Thursday," she says, checking these things off on her fingers. "I don't like the idea of you being alone with him so often in his own—private apartments, and don't think I don't notice him staring at you all the time, and don't act like you don't privately enjoy it because I see the way that you look at him—"

"Emily—" Darcy cuts in, heat rising to her cheeks, but Emily keeps talking. "Emily, it's not—"

"He's taking advantage of you, Darcy," Emily continues, speaking to Darcy with a low voice, as if Darcy were on her deathbed. Emily rubs Darcy's arms in comfort, but Darcy shakes her off, frowning.

"No, he's not," Darcy retorts, hurt. "That's not true. How could you say that?" She takes a step back towards the portrait hole, wanting to run away, afraid to hear more from Emily's mouth.

Emily hesitates, perhaps knowing that she's said something she shouldn't have. "Come on, Darcy," she sighs. "Don't act like when he looks at you, he's not seeing your mum again. He's using you to feel close to his old friends again, and you seem more than happy to oblige him."

Darcy lowers the photo album from her chest. Emily's words sting, are a dagger to the heart, and though she can't believe that Lupin would do that—she can't believe it—Emily's total confidence in her statement gives Darcy pause. "No," Darcy says again, more firmly. But she remembers one of her first times alone with Lupin, when she'd asked him if he only saw her as Lily and James's daughter—Lupin hadn't really answered her question, she remembers, only tried to cheer her up. There is no doubt in her mind that perhaps at one time, Lupin had only seen her as Lily and James's daughter (how could he not?) but after all that's happened over the past few months—their meeting in the Shrieking Shack and all the time they'd spent together afterwards, after all that she'd told him, all she'd confided in him, all that they've done… "No, you're wrong. You don't know what he says to me when we're alone. He's my friend."

"No, Darcy, he's not," Emily says, very quietly. She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips as Darcy digests this. "He's your teacher."

Darcy doesn't know what to say. She watches Emily closely, wanting to run through the portrait hole, out of of the Gryffindor common room—she wants to run to Lupin, to hear his reassurances that Emily is wrong, that she doesn't understand, that she's only saying these things to hurt Darcy, to discourage her. Emily can't possibly believe that Lupin's only using Darcy—she has no idea of the closeness between them, cannot fathom the joy that Lupin's brought her these past few months. Emily hasn't seen Lupin interact with Harry during Patronus lessons—Darcy's seen the softness in Lupin's face when he looks at her brother, has seen the light in his eyes when in such close confines with herself and Harry, the cool smile that graces his face when Darcy blushes, the way he smiles when their eyes meet briefly during lessons or across the Great Hall during meals.

"Whatever feelings you have for him, Darcy," Emily starts again, rather uncomfortably, and Darcy holds onto the photo album tightly as if it will bring her some small comfort. "You know that he cannot return them."

"I know that," Darcy snaps, face reddening. She and Emily stare at each other for a few silent seconds. Unable to look Emily in the face for much longer, Darcy makes up her mind. "I'll be back before dinner."

Darcy rushes down the many flights of stairs, still reeling from her conversation with Emily. She tries to ignore it, tries to ignore that fact that she may or may not have admitted to Emily's face that she has feelings for Lupin that are beyond that of a student's normal feelings for their teacher. But Darcy also knows that Lupin is not just her teacher, something she's tried to tell herself for months now whenever thoughts of her kissing him resurface.

He's not just my teacher, she thinks, hurrying down the empty corridor to Lupin's classroom. He's my parents' best friend—she wrenches the door of the classroom open—old enough to be my father—Darcy makes her way across the classroom to the door of his office, and she opens that door, too—a werewolf, a werewolf that attacked me, that scarred me. The door to his apartments is open, a thick slab of stone wall typically hidden from students. She peers inside, sees Lupin straightening a pile of papers with his back to her, and she slips inside, shutting the door behind her. The sound of it makes Lupin stand up straight, and he turns to look at her, smiling weakly.

At the sight of him, Emily's words are driven from her mind. Darcy stands still for a moment, taking in the sight of him—he seems to have combed his shaggy, brown hair off to the side; for once, it doesn't fall into his face, and Darcy's first thought is that—if Harry's hair looked like that—she'd have insisted he need a haircut. The light from the candles, fire, and lamps illuminate his weary face with a rich orange glow, making the lines on his face and flecks of gray in his hair more visible. But he's handsome, she thinks. Handsome in a way seventh year boys aren't—handsome in a way she has never found Oliver Wood, cute as he is.

As she stands there, looking him up and down, she doesn't fail to notice Lupin's eyes, wandering from her face, down her body, but they stop on the book in her arms and he cocks an eyebrow. "What is that?" he asks curiously, eyes finding her face again.

"I wanted to show you something," she explains, and Darcy moves towards the sofa to sit down. Lupin watches after her, until Darcy looks over her shoulder at him, smiles and says, "Come here."

She doesn't have to tell him twice. Lupin stops fidgeting with his papers and walks empty-handed over to her, seating himself at her side. Darcy opens the photo album to the first page, to reveal to him that it's her photo album, and the two of them get comfortable, making sure they're both able to see the pictures. As she holds it out for Lupin to look at with her, Darcy feels him sitting closer than he usually does—closer than he ever has, she thinks. Darcy tucks her feet under her, shoulders pressed together and their arms touching in earnest—not a distracted touch or just brushing against each other's. She has the fleeting idea to rest her head on his shoulder, it's so close to her, it'd be so easy to do. Instead, she clears her throat, and they look at the photo album together.

Heart racing, Darcy explains, allowing Lupin to trace the edges of the pages and photographs with a gentle fingertip, as if it isn't real. "This is what Hagrid made for us after he asked for those photographs," she tells him, looking into his face and seeing his eyes scan the page slowly, lingering on each picture. Darcy smiles at him, flushing when he glances at her and catches her staring.

Lupin gives some of the photographs a solemn look, chuckles at others, points out which ones he'd provided to Hagrid, and tells Darcy the stories behind a few of them. All the while, their bodies relax, growing more comfortable with being so close to each other, and they instinctively and automatically lean into one another. Darcy finds it very hard to resist resting her cheek on his shoulder now, not when the opportunity is so perfect. When she turns the page again, Lupin shifts beside her to keep the book resting against his knee, and they're so close now that their shoulders overlap, and Lupin does nothing to move away from her. It makes her entire body shudder, heat flowing through her veins to warm her body.

She turns another page and Darcy notices the photograph of her parents on their wedding day standing out among the others. Darcy watches her mother and father share loving glances, watches her younger self hold tight to Sirius's leg as he smiles for the picture. Lupin looks at it for a long time, and Darcy can't help but to ask him, "Were you there that day?"

Lupin looks down at her, inches away from her face, and he smiles. "I took the picture."

"You did?"

He hums in return, eyes snapping back to it again.

Darcy runs her index finger over Sirius's face. "Look how much we loved each other," she sighs, unable to keep her weak smile at bay. It's strange to see Sirius at an age with her now. "I wish I could remember."

Lupin puts his hand on the book, the backs of his fingers brushing against hers. Darcy doesn't pull away and their fingers roll together again, neither of them quite committing to actually lacing their fingers together or making the move to actually hold hands.

"For the longest time, I didn't know who he was," Darcy admits, looking at Sirius Black again, the warmth of Lupin's fingers making her shiver. "Azkaban changed him so." She inhales sharply, the sight of Sirius Black making her want to cry. "He was so handsome here. And my father—Harry looks just like him, doesn't he?"

Lupin nods, chuckling softly. "Yes, he does."

"And my mother—she was so beautiful, so happy. Isn't she beautiful?"

Lupin doesn't answer and Darcy turns to look at him again, her breath hitching when she realizes he's looking at her already. His fingers brush lazily against hers still, and Darcy's stomach gives a pleasurable roll as she stares back down at the photo album. It seems to Darcy that every time she looks at the photograph, her younger self gets closer and closer to Sirius, leaving her parents to hold hands and give one-armed hugs and kisses on the cheek. Darcy glances at Lupin again; his jaw is clenched and he swallows hard. And before she can even try to rest her cheek against his shoulder, Darcy realizes that he's getting—if possible—closer, and Darcy leans in slowly, prepared for the feel of his lips against hers again. He looks up into her eyes, as if searching for permission before closing the distance between them, and Lupin's breath is hot on her mouth, and she wonders what his tongue would taste like, brushing against her own—

As soon as she closes her eyes, however, the fire begins to crackle loudly. Darcy's eyes snap open and find the flames have doubled in size, now an emerald green color. Lupin and Darcy both jump apart from each other, sitting up straight and leaning forward to peer into the flames. The photo album falls to the ground as Lupin gets to his feet when a voice echoes from the fire—"Lupin!" Snape's voice shouts, ringing in Darcy's head. "I want a word!"

Lupin scrambles over to the fireplace, looking back at Darcy as he puts a foot into the flames. "Stay here until I come back—" but the rest of his sentence goes unheard as the flames take him. Lupin spins quickly in the hearth, hunched over, and then he's gone.

Darcy watches the fire as it returns to normal again, having finished swallowing Lupin. The sound of Snape's voice so suddenly had frightened her, and for a split second she had thought Snape was going to appear out of the fire, clambering out into Lupin's apartments. It takes a second for her heartbeat to slow down, takes a second for her to catch her breath. Darcy stands, picking up the photo album and putting it back on the couch. She puts her trembling hands on her hips and begins to pace the length of Lupin's apartments, waiting for him to come back.

She goes over to the stacks of parchment, flicking through them. She finds one of Hermione's essays—three times as long as the others, only half of it marked by Lupin (cut unnecessary details, he's written at the top, making Darcy grin); Darcy's own homework is in another stack, ungraded and untouched. Several old quills sit by the stacks with an ink bottle almost out of ink. On the counters and shelves against the back wall, Lupin keeps snacks and food bought in Hogsmeade tucked away—chocolate and peanut brittle, toffee and bottles of butterbeer—and some food that Darcy imagines he's taken directly from the kitchens in the castle—tiny cakes and dinner rolls, a few crimson apples and a bunch of bananas, pumpkin juice in a large jug.

Remembering the first time she'd been inside his private apartments, Darcy recalls that he hadn't quite moved in. Now, however, Lupin seems to have grown into his space. His cloak is thrown over the back of the sofa where he'd been sitting only minutes ago, stacks of books fill the once empty shelves that line the wall by the fireplace, and through the narrow crack where the door of his sleeping area is barely open, she sees his trunk open with its contents spilling out. In the small cabinet where he'd gotten the mead out of, Darcy digs around to see what he's been keeping away from her. She finds two bottles of wine inside, one red and one white, another bottle of mead, and to her pleasant surprise, an enormous bottle of brandy. She shuts the cabinet door before getting any ideas, wondering if he shares his alcohol with anyone else, or drinks it alone. A wave of jealousy overcomes her at the thought of Lupin sharing a drink with another woman—smiling drunkenly, innocently flirting and flattering the way he does to her. Darcy stands up straight again, shaking her head and shaking off the feeling.

Half of her expects Lupin to be back quickly, to shoot back through the fireplace as if nothing had happened. But he doesn't arrive, and the minutes grow longer and longer. Darcy grows increasingly anxious, wondering if she shouldn't go back to her common room, or at least go try to find Professor Lupin. He had asked her to stay here until he returned—Darcy checks her watch and realizes it's been twenty minutes already. But why does she need to wait? Does he only want her to stay so he can enjoy her company a while longer, or does he want her to stay to discuss what Snape wanted? How much longer will it take him? And what could have possibly angered Snape so badly that he felt it necessary to summon Lupin by Floo powder in the middle of the day? And had he been able to see her in his chambers, sitting so close, about to kiss Lupin? Surely not, as Darcy hadn't seen Snape, and though she knows little of the workings of Floo powder, she doesn't think it works that way. Surely there'd have been a sneer, a dry laugh, an angry growl, a triumphant howl if Snape had seen her?

Still pacing, Darcy checks her watch again. Twenty-five minutes. What is he doing?

Thirty minutes. Darcy stops pacing, pausing. She picks up her photo album off the sofa, glances into the fire, and then makes up her mind. If Lupin wants to explain everything later, he knows where to find her. It's not as if they won't see each other again, but he shouldn't keep her waiting if he wants her to stick around. Darcy makes her way towards the door, preparing to head back to the common room, but as she pulls the door open, Lupin's already making his way inside. His sudden entrance surprises her, but she closes the door after him all the same. That's when she sees what's in his hand, and her heart sinks.

"Where did you get that?" she asks too quickly, giving herself away.

Lupin turns around, holding up the blank piece of folded parchment Darcy recognizes as the Marauder's Map. He moves closer to her, looking from the map to Darcy. "You've known that Harry's had this, yet you didn't say anything?" Lupin snaps.

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She can't understand why he's so angry about it—after all, she'd never seen the map do or say anything malicious, and Harry had never complained about it. Unsure of how to respond, Darcy smiles, laughing incredulously. "It's just a joke. It's funny," she tells Lupin, deciding suddenly to lie. "Ron probably got it for him from Zonko's."

"That was their story, as well," Lupin replies, in a tone she's never heard before. Darcy can't tell if he's more concerned or amused, but the fact that she and Ron and Harry had unknowingly used the same lie makes the corners of her mouth twitch. "There's only one place Harry could have gotten this—I know Mr. Filch confiscated this map years ago, and I can assure you that Ron did not buy this at a joke shop."

Darcy narrows her eyes, frowning. "How do you know what it is?"

"Nevermind how I know what it is," Lupin replies. He takes a step closer to her. "Did you ever think for one second what could have happened had this been left laying around? Did you ever think for a second what could have happened had Sirius Black picked this up?"

Now that Lupin says something, Darcy has to admit she hadn't thought of that at all—not that she'd admit it out loud. The map is harmless, she tells herself. Harry wouldn't have let anyone else touch the map. I wouldn't have let anyone else touch the map. "It was safe with us—with Harry," she insists. "Sirius Black wouldn't have gotten hold of it."

"You can't know that," Lupin says shortly. "I will tell you the same thing I just told your brother. Your parents gave their lives to save you, and by not telling anyone about this—" He waves the Marauder's Map in her face, and Darcy's face darkens. "I thought you were smarter than this. I'd have thought you, of all people, would have recognized the danger this could have put you and your brother in. A poor way to repay your parents after all they did for you."

Darcy stares at him, dumbstruck, as he throws the map onto the table with the piles of homework. Anger suddenly surges through her, and Emily words reverberate ten fold inside of her mind. The fact that Lupin has brought up her parents' sacrifice makes her blood boil. "You don't have to remind me what my parents did for me, sir," she hisses, surprised at the anger in her tone. Lupin looks at her for a moment, standing still, as if he hasn't expected her anger, either. "It's just a stupid map—"

"A map that would lead Sirius Black directly to you and Harry if it happened into his hands," Lupin says. He gives a frustrated sigh, moving towards Darcy. "If anything happened to you or Harry—I couldn't—the least I can do for your parents, after all they did for me, is protect you—"

"Professor, I don't need you to protect me," Darcy interrupts, holding the photo album tight to her, inching towards the door. She can't shake Emily's words, and Darcy suddenly realizes the harsh truth her friend had been speaking. "That's all I am to you, aren't I? I've always been Lily and James's daughter to you. A thing for you to protect out of obligation." She takes another step backwards, but Lupin matches her with a step forwards. "I thought we were friends, but Emily is right, you've just been using me to feel close to my parents again—"

Lupin doesn't falter, cutting her off. "Is that what you think?" His face suddenly softens, his eyes flicking from her face to the photo album, back up to her face again. Lupin drags a hand down his face. "That's not true, and you know that."

Darcy looks past Lupin at the map still sitting on the table. A blush creeps up her neck, making her cheeks flush painfully. "Are you going to give that back now?" she asks, and Lupin seems taken aback that she's had the audacity to ask for it. His brow furrows in surprise. "It belongs to Harry and me."

"No, you can't have it back," Lupin tells her firmly. "It will be safe here, and it will stay here."

"It will be safe with Harry and me," Darcy says again, straightening up to make herself as tall as possible. Lupin still stands about a head taller than her, and her display of boldness clearly doesn't change his mind.

Lupin looks at her with a mild expression. "You can't have it back, Darcy," he repeats. "I would have thought, especially after what happened to Ron, that you'd be a bit more cautious lately. Do you want Sirius Black to find you?"

A shiver of fear goes through her, but only for a split second. "No." But Darcy hesitates, and knows that Lupin has noticed her uncertainty. Could she deny a chance to face Sirius? To look into his face, to see if she can see a shred of the man he used to be, to ask him why he'd betrayed her parents—why he betrayed her. But to think of Sirius coming so close to Harry, so close to murdering the last of her true family—her fear at the idea of Harry being murdered by someone she once loved overpowers her anger, and Darcy swallows the lump in her throat. "No, I don't."

"Then the map will stay with me." He casts the map a sideways glance, as if to make sure it's still resting on the table, then looks back at Darcy. He lets the silence hang over them for a little while, and when Lupin realizes that Darcy isn't going to argue again, he continues. "I have never once forgotten who you are, Darcy. When I saw you and Harry on that train, I felt things that I've not felt in years—to see you both standing in front of me, it was like looking at James and Lily one last time. You being their daughter is what brought us together—yes, I first took an interest in you because you were James and Lily's daughter, but—it has been a long time since I've known a friend like you, and I often find myself wondering… if things were different… if I wasn't—if you weren't—" He shakes his head suddenly, looking disgusted with himself, and he shortens the large gap between them, taking two steps nearer.

Darcy looks up at him, her head swimming. Slowly, Lupin reaches up, taking the photo album from her hands and placing it on the table behind him, holding the map down. If things were different… She furrows her brow as he wanders back over to her. Darcy reaches out and absentmindedly brushes ash off the front of his sweater. If I wasn't his student, she thinks, biting her lip. If I wasn't a Potter.

Lupin lifts his hands to touch her face gently. Darcy's breathing quickens, and she looks up into his face, her eyes fixed on his lips. Suddenly, she feels foolish—how could she ever believe Emily? How could she ever think that someone who touches her so softly, so tenderly, could ever take advantage of her? And if he is only using me, she thinks, let him. Let him use me—let me feel loved for just a few more months.

He presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, and affection for Lupin surges through her. When he pulls away from her, Darcy falls into him, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart with her arms wrapped around his middle. He stands there with his arms at his sides, but after a few moments he snakes his arms around her. Darcy closes her eyes, nuzzling into him. If he is using me, let him use me for the rest of my life.