'I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones.'

Jamaal May

Darcy and Professor Lupin walk down to dinner together, their argument forgotten, but her nerves still jangling from the feeling of being held by him. Her stomach growls the entire way, and she clutches it, aching for some dinner. Halfway to the Great Hall, they're intercepted by Hermione and Emily, who to seem to have been waiting for them near the entrance hall. Hermione's eyes are puffy and swollen, and she sniffles, holding out a letter in her hands. Emily, looking solemn, puts a hand on Hermione's shoulder as she gives Darcy the damp piece of parchment. Darcy takes it slowly, giving Hermione a suspicious look.

"Is everything all right?" Lupin asks carefully, moving closer to Darcy to read over her shoulder. "Oh—"

Staring at the shaky handwriting and tear-stained parchment for a few seconds, Darcy looks up at Hermione, dumbstruck. "They can't execute Buckbeak," she insists, scoffing. "Not after everything we've done—Hagrid had a solid defense! We found all of those dates and trials!"

"You know what Lucius Malfoy is like," Hermione whispers, glancing quickly at Professor Lupin before looking back at Darcy. She lowers her voice. "The Committee will do anything he says—they're all in his pocket, according to Hagrid. There will still be an appeal, though, but…unless we can find something really good that we haven't already found, it won't matter."

"I'll help," Emily says suddenly, catching Darcy off guard. "I'll help this time. Between the four of us, we're bound to find something."

Darcy looks up at Professor Lupin, who smiles weakly at her. But no one else gets any time to speak, as Gemma and Carla run towards Darcy and Emily. They all smile awkwardly, and Professor Lupin nods to Hermione, motioning towards the Great Hall. "Come, Hermione," he says, following her towards the rest of the school, already seated at their House tables. "Let's leave the girls to talk. Your friends are likely wondering where you are, and the feast might get your mind off Buckbeak…"

As soon as Lupin and Hermione are out of earshot, Carla nearly bursts into tears. "Darcy, we're so sorry!" she cries, grabbing Darcy's hands and squeezing. Darcy can't help but to smile. "We were going to meet you—honest! Professor McGonagall sent a letter home to my parents and they're going to be furious—oh, I'm so sorry! I hope you didn't think we just abandoned you…"

Blushing slightly, Darcy pulls her hand away from Carla. She had thought that, though finds it hard to admit out loud with one of her best friends crying in front of her. Gemma looks equally apologetic, and Emily shifts uncomfortably at Carla's side. Part of Darcy feels so stupid that she had been so angry, so disappointed her friends hadn't come to see her, but she should have known—she should have known that something was wrong when her friends didn't show up at all. "It's all right," Darcy mutters, giving Carla a small shrug. "There'll be another Hogsmeade trip. We can all go then… if McGonagall feels it's safe enough to go without a teacher, anyway…"

"Just promise that, if you have to bring a teacher next time, you'll bring Hagrid," Emily pleads, not unkindly. "Though, with all this about Buckbeak, I'm not sure he'll be such great company."

The four of them walk towards the Great Hall, lingering at the threshold. "We want to make it up to you somehow," Gemma grins, a mischievous glimmer in her dark eyes. "After forcing you to be alone with Professor Lupin for the entire day—you must have had such a dreadful time—"

"Just tell her, Gemma," Carla interrupts, a smile spreading across her face, clinging to Gemma's arm. She looks more than excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"This Friday night, we're going to take over our old bathroom again," Gemma explains, containing her excitement a little better than Carla. "We'll invite a bunch of people—anyone you want."

"A party?" Darcy's heart swells, and despite Buckbeak, she smiles. Her friends nod eagerly. "Sounds great."

The prospect of a party pushes Buckbeak from Darcy's mind and lifts her spirits for the entire week, so that Friday night, Darcy and Emily sneak down to their preferred empty bathroom underneath the Invisibility Cloak, dropping it in a secluded shadowy spot behind a suit of armor just outside the door. Emily folds it neatly, and Darcy watches on, shaking her head ("Just drop it, you idiot!"). The corridor is completely quiet, and when Darcy knocks three times on the door, Carla opens it to greet them. There are already quite a few people inside—Oliver Wood, still sweating and flushed from Quidditch practice, as well as Darcy and Emily's other dorm mates—Julia, Darcy's favorite, dirty-blonde hair braided immaculately and thick-rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of her nose; Delilah, heavy-set and pink-cheeked and laughing heartily; and Sarah, her thick hair coming down to her chin, sipping from a makeshift glass. Darcy sees Carla's other Hufflepuff friends, Donna and Tina, who raise a glass to both Darcy and Emily as they soak in the elongated bath, where most of the girls sit, clad in their underwear. Gemma's invited two of her Slytherin friends—a couple, consisting of a girl with honey blonde hair and her boyfriend, a long necked and long nosed boy who seems far too sullen to be at a party.

Gemma herself is wandering about the bathroom making small talk with everyone, refilling peoples' cups with a bottle of wine in one hand and firewhiskey in the other, a cigarette between her lips, flattering her friends and making others laugh. She takes a long drag of it while filling Oliver's cup and nodding towards the door, towards Darcy, leaving him behind with a cloud of smoke circling his head.

"Thought you'd never come," Gemma murmurs, approaching Darcy and Emily. "What are we drinking tonight, ladies?"

"Whatever you've got," Emily answers, grabbing her wand from her belt and waving it at a few empty glasses across the bathroom. Two glasses fly through the air towards them, and Gemma pours wine into Emily's cup, firewhiskey into Darcy's.

Darcy takes the cigarette from Gemma's lips. "Shit'll kill you, you know," she says with a smile, taking the last drag off the cigarette before putting it out on the tiled floor.

Gemma only beams at her, watching Darcy exhale the smoke through her nose. "What better way to disappoint my parents than to kill myself with something Muggle-made?" she laughs. Gemma sets down the bottles of alcohol, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a soft pack of cigarettes. She takes two cigarettes out and tucks one behind Darcy's ear and then Emily's.

"Let's get in the water. Carla's there—come on," Emily whispers in Darcy's ear. It's hard to miss Carla, laughing with her friends in the bathtub, clutching a thin glass of champagne. Emily places a hand on Darcy's arm before leaving her with Gemma.

"I hope you know how truly sorry we are," Gemma tells Darcy again, for the hundredth time this week. "Emily thought you'd rather spend time with Lupin than us, but of course, I convinced her otherwise with my incredible diplomacy skills, and as soon as she agreed to go back and have lunch with you two, McGonagall found us." Both of them chuckle for a moment. "Did Emily tell you that McGonagall actually pulled on her ear?"

Darcy smiles broadly. "She's not the only one." Dramatically and loudly, Darcy explains what had happened after McGonagall found her wandering Hogsmeade alone, without Lupin. Gemma cackles at the thought. "Thought she was going to rip my ear off or blast Lupin to pieces right there in Hogsmeade." Darcy takes a sip of her firewhiskey, eyes scanning the crowd. "Professor Lupin thought it was funny—he got a good laugh out of it."

"Anyone with a sense of humor would have thought that was funny," Gemma replies with a snort. She suddenly turns to Darcy, grabbing the cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it up. Gemma takes a quick pull, and then passes it to Darcy. "Emily says you've been spending extra amounts of quality time with our dear Professor Lupin. Is this true, Darcy?"

Darcy chooses her words carefully, holding the cigarette to her lips. "He's kind to me," she says, her voice low. She gives Gemma a sideways look, expecting Gemma to be looking at her with raised eyebrows, with an incredulous and teasing expression, but Gemma only smiles innocently, waiting for Darcy to continue. "Gentle and understanding—he's so clever and witty—" Darcy takes another pull on the cigarette, staring off past Gemma, picturing his boyish grin, "he looks at me like I'm—"

"Oh, my god," Gemma interrupts, clutching Darcy's upper arm and squeezing hard before letting go again. "You're disgusting—you love Professor Lupin—"

"No," Darcy hisses, her face flushing a deep scarlet. She has to admit, however, that she's glad she slipped up in front of Gemma instead of Emily. Gemma doesn't press Darcy, but looks at her with a smile Darcy wishes she'd wipe off her face. "No, I don't—I know he's my teacher." He's unattainable, Darcy, you know that. It's foolish to hope for anything more with him. She gives her head a shake, draining the rest of her glass and nearly choking, but allowing Gemma to refill it to the brim.

"Right," Gemma replies, finishing their cigarette. "Why don't you forget whatever dirty thoughts you may have about our sweet Professor Lupin, and go talk to the boy your age over there who came for you and you only? He's only been pining for you for nearly seven years now." Gemma nods towards Oliver Wood, standing alone against the far wall of the bathroom, looking awkward and averting his eyes from the gaggle of girls only half-dressed in the bathtub.

Darcy and Emily exchange a quick glance from across the bathroom. Emily's already shed her clothes and slipped into the warm bath water beside Carla. Looking back at Gemma, who gives her an encouraging nod, Darcy makes her decision and, feeling bad for Oliver—standing quite alone—decides to walk over to him, drink in hand. Oliver sees her coming right away, standing up straight and putting on his best smile. Even here, in this bathroom, with his face still red from practice and his hair tousled and still a little damp with sweat, Darcy can't help but to notice how handsome he looks while disheveled. Darcy finishes the rest of her firewhiskey, and she waits until the burning in her throat subsides before doing anything. Gemma refills her glass once more before Darcy approaches his side.

She leans against the wall next to Oliver, who's looking curiously at her. "You weren't at practice tonight," he notes, a small smile appearing on his face as he looks her up and down quickly.

She isn't sure if it's the firewhiskey or if his smile is just that contagious, but Darcy smiles back at him all the same. They both take a drink, and Darcy's eyes examine his face closely. "You noticed," she teases. "I thought I'd take a night off. You should too, Oliver. Harry barely has time to finish his homework lately."

"Is it your sole purpose in life to chastise me about Quidditch practices?" Oliver asks, turning his body to face Darcy. Though his words are harsh, his tone is lighthearted. "Every practice makes us a better team and every practice will bring us closer to the Quidditch Cup. Don't tell me you don't want us to win the Cup?" He sounds almost desperate, as if not wanting to win the Quidditch Cup is something criminal and punishable by law.

"Of course I want to win the Cup—that would be wonderful," she laughs, shaking her head. "And you will, I have no doubt about that. You've got the best team I've ever seen."

"You're making me blush," Oliver jokes, waving a hand at her.

Darcy only smiles at him. "Come join the party, Oliver. It'll be fun."

Oliver follows Darcy over to the bath. In one fluid movement, she pulls her sweater over her head and kicks off her pants, sliding into the water beside Emily. Oliver follows suit, his entire face pink as the other girls giggle at the sight of him in just his underwear. He keeps his eyes fixed on Darcy as he joins her, and she wraps an arm around his thick bicep, squeezing gently to reassure him.

The girls, Oliver, and the Slytherin boy get drunker and drunker, and as more cigarettes are passed around and smoked, a stale stench fills the air, stinging their eyes. They talk of Quidditch, during which Oliver and Gemma get into a heated argument about the upcoming match—while Gemma only teases Oliver, Oliver gets the maniacal glint in his eyes that is all too familiar to Darcy, and she ends up having to calm him down after Gemma pushes him past his breaking point. Emily makes everyone laugh by recounting her Hogsmeade story—Emily acts the part of Professor McGonagall, tugging on Darcy's ear who is supposed to be playing the part of Emily. Emily tugs a little too sharply on Darcy's already sore earlobe, and when Darcy shrieks, everyone erupts with loud and obnoxious laughter. Carla takes her first pull of a cigarette that night and coughs so hard she spits up a little on her clothes. Instead of flushing with humiliation like Darcy expects, she bursts out into laughter, and everyone else follows her lead, laughing at everything and nothing.

Emily and Darcy don't speak much afterwards, but exchange knowing looks, clink their glasses together prior to taking any other shots, and occasionally nuzzle close together. To know that Emily holds no grudge about her spending time with Professor Lupin only makes Darcy love her friend more. And at that single thought, that single, fleeting thought, Professor Lupin invades her privacy and burrows his way into her mind. Darcy feels herself go warm at the thought of him, and she sinks lower into the water, her head buzzing with impossible thoughts and desires.

What she wouldn't give to touch him—just once—just one opportunity to run her hands over his shoulders, to touch his chest and leave kisses and love bites all over his skin. What she wouldn't give for him to touch her, just the once, just to know that it's as good as she imagines it would be—

"Are you all right, Darcy?"

Darcy looks to her right, to Oliver Wood. He's drunker than she's seen him in a while—eyes heavy and droopy, cheeks a bright red, sweating, his hair sticking up all over the place. If only his hair was slightly longer, a little more wavy—if only the patchy stubble on his face was darker and more evenly dispersed—if only his lips looked as soft—Darcy stares at him, breathing heavily and her chest heaving. To escape the crowded bathroom alone and unnoticed would be near impossible, and Darcy couldn't possibly tell anyone where she's going—she doesn't even know if Lupin would let her into his apartments smelling like whiskey and smoke. But he wouldn't just turn her away, would he?

She swallows the lump in her throat, running a hand through her hair. It's impossible. Whatever you think you have, it will never be what you want. You will never be able to have him. "Oliver," she whispers, and he leans in closer to her. "Want to go somewhere?"

"Yeah—yeah, sure."

Alcohol coursing through her, taking her over, Darcy grabs Oliver's hand and the two of them sneak out of the bathtub, dressing themselves quickly. Only Emily, Carla, and Gemma seem to notice them leave the bathroom, and Darcy's glad to see all three of them smiling, winking at Darcy as she closes the door behind them. Alone in the empty corridor, Oliver pulls her down the dark corridor, stopping at the first door he sees. Darcy stumbles along behind him, opening the door and peering inside an empty broom closet.

Darcy and Oliver look at each other for a moment, then he very awkwardly and very clumsily lifts her, carrying her into the dark broom closet and closing the door with his foot. Darcy smiles, wrapping her legs around his waist. Privately, she's quite glad he's led her into a broom closet instead of a classroom, as the total darkness makes it easier to kiss him; though his kisses are still sloppy, wet, and hurried, it's much easier to pretend it isn't Oliver Wood she's kissing when she can't see him. However, without any light source, it makes for a very uncomfortable time, and Darcy wonders if they would have had a better time in a toilet stall, even with water touching her foot every so often.

Oliver pushes Darcy back against the wall too hard, and the back of her head smacks against the stone wall, causing her to cry out in pain. When Oliver leans in to kiss her again, their teeth clack and they both inhale sharply, before Oliver tries again a little slower this time. He tries to pull her sweater back over her head, but it sticks to her wet body, and he gives it a sharp tug over her head, pulling a handful of her hair with it. Holding his hands up to apologize, Darcy slips down the wall, the stone scratching her back. He twists and turns with her legs wrapped around his waist, and it makes her so dizzy that bile rises in the back of her throat, but she suppresses the urge to vomit all over him. She distracts herself by reaching down for Oliver's belt, unbuckling it quickly and slipping it off his waist, letting it clatter to the floor.

"Sorry—oh—"

"It's fine—just pull them down—"

"Shit—"

"Oliver—hurry up—"

"What did I just touch?" Oliver's voice is shrill and he pulls his hand away from where it had been on her shoulder. Darcy freezes, tensing for a moment, remembering the scars on her shoulder. For just a second, for less than a second, her heart sinks at the fact that Oliver had drawn away from them so quickly.

"It's nothing," she replies gently, knowing that Professor Lupin would likely never draw away from her with such disgust. "I just—have some scars there—it's nothing—"

Yet Oliver makes sure to keep his hand far away from them for the rest of the time, neglecting them to leave wet kisses on her breasts, on her collarbones. With his forearms underneath her knees, keeping her against the wall, Oliver lets his pants slide to his knees. As he forces himself inside of her the first time, Darcy inhales sharply, her nails digging into his shoulder blades.

For the tenth time since she's been in the broom closet with Oliver, Darcy blesses the darkness. The feel of his rough stubble on her skin makes her shiver, he growls in her ear incoherently, slurring his words together, though she's sure she hears 'Quidditch' and 'Cup' incredibly enough. She lets Oliver touch her wherever he wants, and she closes her eyes, thankful no one can see her blushing as he thrusts in and out of her up against a disgusting and slimy wall, the only sounds the slapping of their skin and soft sighs and groans. Darcy's hands squeeze his broad shoulders, and she glides a hand across his smooth chest—he's too burly, too muscular, too firm to be Professor Lupin.

I shouldn't think that, she tells herself, but she can't help it—the drunken, unbidden thoughts come anyway, filling her mind, making the entire experience better. She rests her head against the wall, panting as Oliver kisses the crook of her neck, her eyes shut tight.

"You chose the one teacher who wants to fuck you," Gemma had told her just last week at breakfast. She'd only been joking, of course—or had she? It's not so ridiculous that someone would want her, right? Darcy tries to imagine Professor Lupin lying her back on his bed, climbing overtop of her and kissing her so hard that she's not like to ever forget his kisses—no, it can't happen, she reminds herself for the hundredth time. It will never happen—I'll just have to fantasize about it while Oliver Wood is inside of me—Professor Lupin would never disrespect Dumbledore in such a way. As Oliver's strokes become less consistent, hips bucking hard to slam against her, Darcy feels the familiar sensation building in her, and a moan escapes her lips without warning—

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The knocks on the broom closet door startles them both so badly, they jump together. Darcy digs her fingernails into Oliver's shoulders as he almost drops her to the floor. Oliver stands still for a moment, waiting inside of her, and Darcy holds her breath. Had they been too loud? She doesn't think so, but everything happened so quickly that she isn't really sure what had happened at all—all she knows is that her clothes are strewn on the floor in the darkness and she wriggles her hips against him, having been so close to release that she almost wants to ignore the knocking. After a moment of silence, Oliver continues slowly to Darcy's disbelief, clearly as irritated by the interruption as she is.

BAM. BAM. BAM. "Dressed and out, you two!"

"Oh—" Darcy drops to the ground, scrambling for her clothes on her hands and knees, but everything hits her at once—the alcohol, the sound of the voice on the other side of the door, knowing what she's been caught doing after curfew. Fighting the vomit rising against in her throat, Darcy feels around for any article of clothing, her heart hammering. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"Now!"

Not now, she pleads with herself, not now, not with this aching in my core, not when I was so close— Darcy pulls her pants on, struggling to get them up her damp legs—not after what I'd just imagined—Darcy finds her sweater and forces herself into it— not now, not now, not now—

Oliver is the one to wrench the door open. Darcy can't look up, can't meet the eyes of Professor Lupin. She prepares herself for him to explode, for his face to twist into something resembling rage, but it never comes. Lupin only sighs exasperatedly and steps out of the way so they have room to leave. "Go," he says in a very dangerous tone. "Both of you, back to Gryffindor Tower. I've already sent everyone else back to their dormitories, so do not think of returning to the bathroom."

"Are—are you going to give us a detention?" Oliver asks, extremely red-faced now, still panting. He looks down at Darcy, who slowly rises from her kneeling position on the ground, fixing her hair.

"That depends on how quickly you make it back to your dormitory, Oliver," Lupin replies, and his words seem to have the effect he'd hoped for.

Oliver wastes no time; he speeds past Lupin without muttering good-bye to Darcy. As he rounds the corner, Darcy finally forces herself to look up into Lupin's face and is met with an unreadable expression. She clears her throat, flattens her sweater, tries to ignore everything she'd just pictured—"I suppose I'll be heading back to my dormitory now," she says quietly, trying to slip past Lupin. "Excuse me—"

Lupin grabs her upper arm to stop her. Her chest heaves beneath her sweater, and all she wants is to pull him into the broom closet with her, kissing him until he takes her right there. She sways on the spot for a moment, and Lupin notices quickly. "You've been drinking."

She nods, knowing it would be stupid to lie now, knowing that he already knows the answer. "Yes."

He pauses, releasing her arm and letting his hand fall back to his side. "Go. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Talk about what?" Darcy asks, smiling nervously and incredulously. "You're not going to seriously punish me and not Oliver, are you?"

Lupin crosses his arms across his chest and licks his lips, considering her. "I am not going to punish you," he tells her finally. "But I would like to remind you that I now have a map in my possession that shows me where every person is in this castle at all times. It would be foolish to continue like this."

Darcy blushes furiously, having forgotten that Lupin had the map. She hadn't even thought for a moment that he'd know how to work it. "You were spying on me," she whispers, a pleasurable chill running down her spine. For a moment, she's glad she's drunk, as it's made her much bolder than she could have hoped for. "You were watching me on the map."

"I wasn't spying on you," Lupin answers, perhaps too quickly. "Half the school has heard about your plans to throw a party."

"We were just having a bit of fun," she tells him meekly.

"A bit of fun?" Lupin scoffs. "Several of your friends are already in severe enough trouble with Professor McGonagall because of alcohol related reasons, and I thought you'd have known better than to encourage something like this which could possibly result in someone being suspended or expelled so close to the end of their time here at Hogwarts. And so help me, Darcy—if I ever find you in a broom closet with that boy again—" Lupin breaks off suddenly, looking everywhere but at Darcy.

"You'll what?" Darcy asks, hoping he'll finish his statement. She smiles at him as his cheeks turn slightly pink. "What will you do?"

"Go back to your dormitory, Darcy."

"What will you do?" she says again, taking a step towards him.

Lupin takes a step backwards, shaking his head. "Darcy," he replies, firmly this time. "Go back to your dormitory and we can talk tomorrow."

They look at each other for a long time. "I could use an escort," she whispers, raising her eyebrows at him, wishing he'd push her back into the closet now.

"Seven years you've been here," Lupin answers, turning to leave her standing there. "I think you can find your way back easy enough."