'I would endure ages of pain to hear one tone of your voice strike on my ear.'

Mary Shelley

"Oh, Darcy—! I tried to warn you, honest, but I didn't know where you were! I hope you didn't get into too much trouble—I had to walk all the way back here with a bottle of firewhiskey down my pants—it's very warm, by the way—and when Oliver came back without you, I thought—he said he didn't get a detention, but—you didn't—you didn't get in too much trouble, did you?"

Darcy stands before Emily with wide eyes, waiting for her to finish her drunken rant. The common room is empty save for Oliver Wood, who is seated on the sofa by the fireplace, looking at Darcy apologetically. His brown hair stands up in the back where Darcy's fingers had combed through it, and his cheeks are still flushed. "No," Darcy answers, smiling nervously at both Emily and Oliver. "I didn't get in trouble. None of you got detentions, did you?"

"No," Emily answers, looking relieved. "Lupin let us all go. He asked me where you were, but I didn't say anything—I mean, I told him I didn't know where you'd gone, only that you'd gone with Oliver and that you weren't alone, and he just told us all to go and rushed off to find you." She pats Darcy's arms, squeezes her hands, fixes her messy hair, sighing heavily all the while. "It was a stupid idea to have a party tonight—I know people have been talking about it and I should have known that a teacher had caught wind of what was happening—"

"It's all right," Darcy says, trying her best to sound reassuring, but she can hear herself slurring. Though trying to hide it from her friends, Darcy's quite shaken after the recent events, glancing past Emily's shoulder at Oliver every so often. He watches them with tight lips, and Darcy offers him a small smile, feeling her stomach turn at the thought of what they'd just done—at the thought of what Lupin had caught them doing. "We got lucky, I suppose. McGonagall would have expelled us on the spot. And she likely would have written to Mr. Weasley about finding me in a broom closet with a boy—no offense, Oliver."

Oliver smiles weakly, but Emily looks nervous. "You don't think Professor Lupin would tell McGonagall, do you? I mean—he wouldn't—would he? Not when we're so close to finishing our last year?"

At this, Oliver rises slowly from his seat. "You don't think—" he hesitates, his face draining of all color, looking about to throw up. He lowers his voice, as if speaking it too loudly will make it true. "You don't think McGonagall would ban me from Quidditch, do you?"

Emily and Oliver look at Darcy pleadingly. Darcy stammers, unsure of what to tell them. Would Lupin tell McGonagall? Would he go to Professor Sprout, as well? And Snape? Darcy has a hard time imagining Lupin telling Snape that several of his students were out drinking past curfew. "No," Darcy tells them, only half-confident in her answer. "I don't think he'll tell anyone."

"Maybe we should—" Emily considers her words, pausing as if the next word out of her mouth is painful. "Apologize?"

Darcy scrunches her nose, tilting her head slightly. "Apologize for what? For being caught? I'm sorry, Emily, but I don't think apologizing to him will get us very far."

"We should at least explain ourselves," Emily continues, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Darcy. She folds her arms across her chest, deep in thought. "Come on, Darcy, he likes you! More than he likes either of us—and if Oliver were to walk up to him right now, things would not look good for any of us—no offense, Oliver—"

"No, no—you're right," Oliver says sadly. He moves closer to the girls, and Darcy feels so sorry for him, she almost gathers him in her arms. "I'm finished. I'm going to have put in actual work now in Defense classes, and I really can't have anymore distractions with this match coming up—"

"Look, if Lupin does tell McGonagall, I'm finished, too," Emily says quickly, beginning to panic. "After what happened in Hogsmeade, she's not going to be happy with me. I cannot be expelled, do you understand me?" Emily grabs Darcy's arms and shakes her. "I cannot be expelled! We have to go talk to him—we have to beg him not to tell anyone—Darcy, you need to talk to him."

Darcy pauses, her eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not doing your dirty work! If you have something to say to Professor Lupin, then you can say it yourself. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be right beside you." Darcy answers, pushing Emily off of her. Then Darcy looks at Oliver again, groaning. "Maybe you should stay behind, though, no offense, Oliver—"

Oliver frowns, sighing and nodding.

"If Professor Lupin will listen to anyone, it's you," Emily persists. Oliver steps up to Emily's side, nodding his approval furiously. "You're our one hope right now, Darcy, and you're really not going to help us?"

"Fine! Fine, I'll help—I'll talk to him. He said we could talk tomorrow, so first thing after breakfast, all right? I promise. No one will be getting expelled. Hopefully."

"Or banned from Quidditch," Oliver adds quickly.

Darcy shoots him an exasperated look. "Or banned from Quidditch."

"And you have to apologize for Carla and Gemma, as well," Emily says again.

"Gemma can apologize herself," Darcy snaps. "She's a big girl. Next you'll be asking me to apologize on behalf of everyone at the party."

"Do you really want Gemma to apologize?" Emily snorts, but the fear is still on her face. "I know she's our friend, but she'd only make things worse." Emily stands up straight and inhales deeply, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. She looks at Darcy with red-rimmed eyes, then looks at Oliver. "I'm going to bed. I think I'm going to vomit."

Leaving Oliver and Darcy alone in the common room, Darcy hears the door to her dormitory close. She looks down at her feet, wrapping her arms around her. Oliver digs his hands deep into his pockets, clearing his throat and catching Darcy's attention. His encounter with Lupin seems to have sobered him up and there's a great deal of awkward sighing before he finally speaks to her. "I'm sorry about tonight," he mutters. "I hope Lupin didn't give you a hard time."

Darcy shrugs her shoulders and smiles weakly. "No," she replies, almost too quickly. "No, it was fine. I had a good time, even though the end of our time was—lacking." She wonders briefly is Lupin is watching the map again to see if everyone's returned to their common room, and her heart begins to race at the thought of Lupin studying her dot and Oliver's in the common room—waiting to see if anything is going to happen. Darcy senses it before it happens, however; Oliver leans in slowly, hesitating and looking into her eyes before kissing the corner of her mouth. When he pulls away, Darcy looks at the fire, forcing herself to smile. "Goodnight, Oliver."

At breakfast the next morning, Darcy doesn't fail to notice Gemma's absence from the Slytherin table, and Carla's from the Hufflepuff. This strikes her as odd, and she glances up at the teachers' table, hoping to get a hint as to what may have happened. Professor Sprout looks cheerful as ever, and Darcy thinks that, had Lupin told her about three Hufflepuffs out of bed past curfew and drinking in a bathroom, she probably wouldn't look so cheerful. And when Darcy looks at Professor Snape, sour as ever, she can't quite get a read on him. Most likely, she thinks, both of her friends are throwing up in a bathroom, or still sleeping. Professor Lupin keeps his eyes on his plate, loading it with food as Darcy sits down in between Emily and Harry.

All thoughts of talking with Professor Lupin are pushed the back of her mind, however, when a fluffy, gray owl comes flying through the open window with the rest of the mail owls, and Errol soars right over her, dropping a letter in her lap and catching a wing on Ron's face. Ron yelps across the table and Errol falls into his cereal, splashing it everywhere. "You bloody bird—" he mutters, swearing under his breath as Hermione helps mop up the mess.

Max comes in a few seconds later with the day's newspaper, and he at least has the decency to perch on her shoulder for a moment to nuzzle into her face. While she greatly appreciates the affectionate nature of her owl, she's unable to open the letter Errol had brought her, as Max makes sure no part of her face is left untouched by feathers. After squirming and spitting feathers out of her mouth, Emily tries to coerce Max off of Darcy with a juicy sausage speared on the end of her fork. It works incredibly, but only for a second—Max snatches the sausage off Emily's fork and flies off to the teachers' table, flying circles around Professor McGonagall's pointed hat before settling himself in between her and Professor Lupin.

Darcy and Emily eye Max warily, the letter still clasped tight in Darcy's hands. Just as she thinks all is well and she begins to open the envelope, there's a gasp from the teachers' table. Darcy looks up just in time to see Max pecking at Lupin's fingers like worms as he tries to grab his fork off the table. Lupin points his bleeding finger at Max; Darcy can't hear what he's saying, but he looks to be speaking firmly to Darcy's owl. The sight is slightly endearing, but she does feel quite guilty.

Emily holds her head in her hands, groaning. "Darcy, your stupid owl is going to get us into even more trouble," she murmurs. "Call him off already." Emily rubs her temples and sighs loudly, seemingly accepting her fate as she returns to her breakfast, defeated and irritable.

"Max!" Darcy hisses, her eyes wide. Max, who has returned to pecking Professor Lupin's fingers again, looks up at the sound of Darcy's voice. She glances around quickly and is relieved that not many people are paying attention to the scene. Those who are, however, are laughing. Darcy gives Max the most serious face she can muster, holds out her fingers just as Professor Lupin had, and whispers urgently, "Max, stop it! You get back here right now!"

Lupin holds up his hand to examine his bleeding fingers and Darcy gives him an apologetic look. Sorry, she mouths to him. Lupin gives her a small smile, pressing his napkin to the small cuts on his fingers to staunch the bleeding. Max takes one last look at Lupin and flutters back to Darcy, landing directly on top of her breakfast plate. She allows him to nuzzle once more into her chest, and as she opens the envelope to read the letter, she murmurs to her owl, "You leave Professor Lupin alone, you hear me?" But Max shows no signs that he has heard her, only nips the tip of her nose affectionately before taking off through the window again.

Darcy pulls out the piece of parchment within, watching Max until he's out of sight. Emily reads the letter over her shoulder, as does Harry.

Darcy—

I wanted to follow up on our last conversation. I hope you've given my offer some thought, and I eagerly await your answer. If you could send your reply back with your own owl, I'd greatly appreciate it—I'm not sure how many journeys Errol has left in him.

I hope you are well, and if you should need anything, please let me know. Tell my children I love them.

Mr. Weasley

"What are you going to tell him?" Harry asks in her ear.

She looks at her brother, pursing her lips. "I'll have to think about it," she admits, folding the letter back up and tucking it in her pocket. "I've kind of—er, haven't really thought about it lately, actually—"

"Darcy—" Emily hisses, making her jump. "Darcy, he's leaving—go now—"

And sure enough, Professor Lupin is sweeping by them as they speak. He doesn't look over his shoulder at Darcy, and she frowns. Taking a long look at Emily, Darcy gives a resigned sigh and gets to her feet, ruffling Harry's hair before she starts to make her way through the Great Hall. Students are starting to finish and leave, and Darcy pushes through them, trying to catch up to Lupin, who just crosses the threshold. In a few long strides, Darcy catches up to him and cries, "Professor Lupin!"

Lupin turns around in the middle of the corridor, holding his hands behind his back, waiting for Darcy to approach. "Darcy. Rough morning?"

His tone is not as light as it usually is, so she ignores his question. She looks around at the students now bustling around them, ignoring their presence. From behind the open doors of the Great Hall, she sees Emily's face peering around them. "There's something I should tell you," she says quietly. Darcy is uncomfortably aware of the many students pressing closer to them. "Could we go somewhere more private?"

Considering her, Lupin looks Darcy up and down and then nods. "Come," he utters. Lupin moves towards the staircase, beckoning for Darcy to follow, and when she falls in step with him again, Lupin quickens his pace. They reach the third floor easily enough, ahead of the sleepy students, and when they turn down another corridor, Darcy feels Lupin's fingertips graze the small of her back. A chill run down her spine as it so often does as these small touches. What's more, her stomach does a pleasurable flip, making her yearn for another of his sweet kisses. He opens the door of his classroom and holds it open for Darcy, and he follows her into his office. Lupin shuts the door behind them both, moving to his desk and picking up a thick book from a stack. "Is this private enough?" Lupin asks her, glancing towards the wall where the hidden door is.

"Oh—" Darcy chuckles awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. "This is—it's not like that. This is fine."

Lupin takes the book over to a bookshelf against the wall, and he slides it in between two old and dusty books. Without looking at her, he continues to put the books from his desk back on the shelf, very slowly. "Let me guess," he says, his tone not at all the friendly and cheerful tone it usually is, but Darcy thinks he sounds very, very slightly amused. "You're here to attempt to charm your way out of punishment, yes?"

Darcy blushes, scowling at the back of him for being able to read her so damn well without even looking at her. "Well—"

"Darcy, as charming as I find you, I've been telling you all year that flattery will get you nowhere," he interrupts. "I meant it, you know."

"It wasn't my idea," Darcy replies quickly. Lupin still doesn't look at her, but she continues anyway. "Emily and Oliver are afraid you've told McGonagall. Emily thinks she's going to be expelled and Oliver thinks that he'll be banned from Quidditch—and I'd rather not be expelled, either."

"I haven't told Professor McGonagall."

Darcy purses her lips, wishing he'd stop putting the books away. He does it so incredibly slowly, she notices, as if he's prolonging it, as if he's trying very hard indeed to avoid looking at her. She doesn't really blame him—after what he'd caught her doing, Darcy can see how he might feel slightly uncomfortable. Regardless, she continues still. "Please, Professor, I will take full responsibility—please—Emily has worked so hard these past seven years and she can't be expelled—they'll never let her into the Ministry—and despite what you may think about Oliver, he's a phenomenal Keeper and we don't have another one to play in the match—Gryffindor will have to forfeit—" Darcy breaks off, frustrated about having to talk to his back. "It was my fault—and Oliver was only there because of me and it was my idea—"

"Your idea?" Lupin repeats, turning around to face her for the first time. He places his hands on his desk, taking a deep breath before looking into her eyes. She expects Lupin to shout at her, but Darcy is surprised at his level tone. "What were you thinking, Darcy? Wandering the castle after curfew? All of these extra security measures have been placed on the castle to protect Harry and you, and you both continually choose to disregard these rules, with no thought of your own safety, nor the safety of your friends. Had Sirius Black been in the castle last night, Oliver Wood alone wouldn't have been able to protect you—"

Darcy scoffs. Oliver Wood—protect her? The idea is ridiculous, she thinks. "I don't need Oliver Wood's protection, nor the protection of those disgusting trolls outside my common room," she cuts in, feeling anger rising inside of her. "Sirius Black wasn't in the castle last night. Don't act like you never snuck out when you were at school—don't act like you never got drunk after a long week of classes—don't act like you never snogged in a broom closet—"

"Careful, Darcy," Lupin warns her, quieting her immediately. He stands up straight, not taking his eyes off her. "There was a lot more going on in that broom closet than—" Lupin stops, clenches his jaw and thinks for a moment, then continues. "What I did or did not do while I was at school doesn't matter. I want to know what was going through your head when you decided that roaming dark corridors after curfew—drunk, I might add—might be a good idea."

You, she thinks, I was thinking of you. But does she dare tell him that now? If Lupin were to know what was really going through her mind, would that be enough to get her off whatever punishment Lupin had in mind for her and her friends? Or would it only be an embarrassing admission of her stupid schoolgirl crush on him—would it make it difficult for her to look Lupin in the eyes ever again? She wishes she could tell him how each time their hands brush, she gets butterflies in her stomach. She wants to tell him that his smile makes her melt, that she could look at him all day if he'd let her, that she wants to kiss his face until there is no spot untouched by her lips.

Darcy stares at him, lips pressed together tight so nothing shameful comes tumbling out of her mouth. Lupin had certainly seemed angry—disgruntled, perhaps is a better word—when he'd caught she and Oliver going at it, and he had seemed to be wanting to say something, but he never did—was he jealous? Jealous of catching her with Oliver Wood? Or just angry and ashamed that he'd caught his best friend's daughter in the middle of something so scandalous? Why shouldn't he be jealous? she asks herself. He kissed me, he holds my hand, flirts so innocently and sweetly sometimes. But Darcy knows that he must know—it can't happen. Surely Lupin knows and understands that.

But Darcy can't tell him the truth of how she feels or what she was thinking with Oliver, and her face burns red. "I don't know, Professor," she rasps, looking down at her feet. "I'm sorry."

Lupin is quiet for a moment, and he leans in over his desk, incredulous. "You don't know what you were thinking?" He rubs his face. "Tell me the truth, Darcy. You know you may always speak freely around me."

"I'd been drinking," she explains, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know what I was thinking."

She gets the sense that Lupin senses her dishonesty, but he doesn't press her. "If I ever catch you or your friends after curfew again, I will have no choice but to tell your Heads of Houses, understood? Consider it a favor to you—in return for keeping my secret, I'll keep this one. Fair?" he asks her softly. Darcy nods, looking up into his face again. "And do not ever let me find you in a broom closet with Oliver Wood again."

"Yes, sir."

A very awkward silence follows, and Darcy wishes she hadn't called him 'sir'. Lupin runs a hand down his face, combing his hair out of his face. "Now, if that's all—?"

"I'm sorry about Max," she says suddenly, seeing the cuts on his hands. "He's usually a very good owl. I don't know why he did that."

Lupin holds up his hand, giving a small chuckle. "It's nothing," he answers, offering Darcy a small smile. "Don't worry."

Clearing her throat, Darcy remembers something and, since she's already there in front of him… "There is one more thing, Professor," she adds, seating herself in the chair opposite him. Reaching in her pocket, Darcy pulls out Mr. Weasley's letter and smooths it out on his desk. "Mr. Weasley wrote me about the job."

He smiles down at the letter, then at Darcy. "I was wondering when you'd bring that up." Lupin's eyes scan the parchment quickly. "Thoughts?"

Darcy thinks carefully, her heart lighter now that the scolding is over and done with. "I think I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore."