'Even before I was touched, I belonged to you; you had only to look at me.'

Louise Glück

"I was a prefect, you know?"

"You were a prefect?" Darcy smiles, her eyes too heavy to open. The soft pillow and Lupin's arm underneath her combined with the comforting weight of the blanket thrown over her along with Lupin's other arm makes her feel safe and tired and she considers for a brief moment never leaving his bed. "Were you a good one?"

"Was I a good one? No, probably not," Lupin murmurs sleepily, chuckling. He moves slightly so as to rest his cheek against Darcy's head. "I failed to control the few friends I had—which I'm sure is why Dumbledore gave me the badge in the first place. To keep them out of trouble. But—perhaps that's a story for another time."

"Gemma's a prefect."

"Gemma's likely a worse prefect than I was," Lupin teases. "I'd like to know whose decision it was to give that girl a badge."

"I think Dumbledore gave it to her to—control her other friends, as you say. It only made her more dangerous, but very useful. For instance, we now have access to the prefects' bathroom." Darcy smiles when Lupin laughs against her forehead. She moves closer, resting her cheek against his chest, sleepiness overwhelming her. "Tell me something else I don't know about you."

"You already know all my secrets," Lupin whispers lazily, running his fingers through her hair. "And besides, isn't my mysterious nature what keeps you coming back to me?"

"I find that hard to believe," Darcy hums, placing a soft kiss on his chest. "I suppose your mysterious nature is interesting, but if you must know, I only come back because I'm really desperate to pass Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh?"

"Well? Are you going to pass me now, Professor Lupin?"

"Cheeky," Lupin replies. Darcy opens her eyes for a moment, just to see him smile, and she's not disappointed. Lupin's toothy grin is visible in the darkness, and she can still picture it clearly when she closes her eyes again. "I suppose I should be grateful that it's my class you need so desperately to pass. I don't think I could bear the thought of watching you fall in love with Professor Snape."

"Is that what we're doing?"

"Did you or did you not tell me you love me?" Lupin asks, not unkindly. "And did you or did you not mean it?"

Darcy flushes, and she keeps her eyes shut, hoping Lupin isn't watching her face turn bright red. "I meant it," Darcy whispers, trying to sound as casual and confident as possible. "I do love you."

Lupin stops stroking her hair for a second, kissing her forehead. "Then I must be the luckiest man alive." The kiss he gives her then makes up for the fact that he doesn't say it back. Darcy isn't too bothered—already, he's shown her enough love that she isn't about to demand more of it if he's not ready to give it.

They lay there for a long time in silence; every so often, one of them runs fingers through the other's hair, or kisses exposed flesh. Lupin's long fingers trace the scars on her shoulder, his lips touching her jaw lightly. Darcy wonders if her friends are worried about her, wonders if they're waiting to question her about where she's been. She doesn't want to go back now—all Darcy wants is to go to sleep with him, to wake up in the morning beside him, to wake him with sweet kisses all over his face. She wants to wake with Lupin's arm draped around her, holding her close, pressed against his body, legs tangled together.

"Don't fall asleep, love."

"I'm just resting my eyes."

"Don't fall asleep."

"I'm not sleeping."

Darcy opens her eyes, only to find that Lupin's are still closed. With one of his arms still tucked underneath her head, Lupin traces lazy patterns on her back with his free hand. Some color has returned to his face again, but he still looks exhausted and in need of at least a few hours sleep. As much as she wants him to rest, to feel better, Darcy imagines they'd both sleep much better if they were to sleep next to each other. But she can't, and they both know that, and soon Darcy knows she'll have to dress and return to her own dormitory to sleep alone.

And she also knows that as soon as she steps foot into Lupin's office, as soon as she starts back towards Gryffindor Tower, things will be different. Here, now, lying in bed with him, Darcy can kiss him, can touch him, hold him—but it will all be over when she leaves. Darcy will be his student again, and both she and Lupin will have to deal with the guilt of defying Dumbledore's request that they not cross any boundaries. The only thing that gives her hope is the knowledge that she has only weeks left until she'll no longer be a student—a few weeks left until she'll be free to do whatever she wants, and if Lupin wants her after she graduates...

With his chest rising and falling slowly and steadily beneath her cheek, Darcy waits a moment until she's sure Lupin's actually fallen asleep. She looks up into his face, touches his cheek, brushing hair out of his eyes. She sighs, smiling weakly. Careful not to wake him, Darcy kisses his lips very softly, and slips out of his hold, sliding out of his bed and looking for her clothes on the ground. She feels around blindly in the darkness for her underwear, fumbles with the clasp to her bra only to find out she's put it on inside out. When she finds all of her clothes and slips her shoes back on her feet, Darcy lingers in the threshold, turning back to look at Lupin one more time—the moonlight shines through the window, bathing him in a white glow. Darcy would give anything to undress again, wriggle back into his arms, and fall asleep, but she turns around and heads back to his office, back through the classroom, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak on her way.

Outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Darcy checks her watch for the first time since she'd left Gryffindor Tower. 1:29. Darcy quickly starts up the many flights of stairs, thankfully not meeting anyone on the way. She wonders, if she were to come across someone, if they'd be able to smell out her guilt, or hear her racing heart. Everything that's just happened now hits her like a train, and she isn't sure which is worse—

I slept with my teacher, or I slept with my parents' best friend. And then, Darcy cracks a wide grin beneath the cloak at the thought of Lupin kissing her all over, smiling at her all the while, nipping at the more sensitive parts of her skin, his tongue flicking over the most sensitive parts. He had touched her in ways no one had ever touched her, made her feel things she didn't think she could ever feel.

All the way up to Gryffindor Tower, Darcy argues with herself—on one hand, it felt so good, but she knows that doesn't justify what they did. But, if given the chance, would she do it again? Yes—yes, yes, yes. If she could, she would turn around right now and run back to him, kissing him everywhere her lips could reach.

Darcy takes the Invisibility Cloak off just before reaching the Fat Lady, and gives the password. However, the Fat Lady doesn't let her in right away.

"Who do you think you are?" she hisses, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Who do you think you are, coming back to your common room whenever you like, past curfew—?"

"Can you please just open the door?" Darcy asks exasperatedly, wishing she'd keep her voice down.

The Fat Lady obliges, but not before giving Darcy a very stern look. Darcy only rolls her eyes and steps into the empty common room, the fire still blazing in the grate. She stretches, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out of the front of her sweater, draping it over her arm. For a moment, she considers falling asleep on the couch, if only to avoid entering the dormitory so late, if only to avoid waking Emily and being forced to answer questions that Darcy is sure will come. And as Darcy takes a step towards the squashy sofa, the heat of the fire reaching her, she stops abruptly at the sight of blonde hair—Emily is knitting furiously, still wide awake.

Emily doesn't pretend to hide her frustration, doesn't bother making small talk. "Where've you been, Darcy?" she whispers, not looking up from the yellow and black scarf. "It's nearly two in the morning."

"I just needed to go see Max," Darcy lies quickly, trying to sound casual. "I needed some fresh air."

"Max is in our dormitory, Darcy. He's been up there for hours, waiting for you to come back," Emily snaps, lowering her needles and looking over her shoulder at Darcy, looking her up and down. Turning back to her knitting, Emily adds, "You smell like sex."

Darcy's heart sinks into her stomach, but she tries not to let it show on her face. "No, I don't." Swallowing hard, Darcy makes for the spiral staircase, wanting nothing else but to lay down and go to sleep.

"What have you done?" Emily asks, her voice very serious, very grave.

With one foot on the first stair, Darcy turns to look at Emily again, frowning. "What do you mean, 'what have I done'? I haven't done anything." There's no way she could know. Not from just a single smell. There's no way.

"Where were you, Darcy?" Emily pleads, her face softening. "Please tell me you weren't with Professor Lupin. Please tell me it's not what it looks like."

"It's not what it looks like," Darcy answers immediately. She takes another step towards the dormitory. As she takes a third step, Darcy calls back to Emily, "Please stop watching me. I can feel you staring."

"Darcy, he's using you."

Freezing, Darcy inhales sharply. She turns around again, stepping back down onto the floor of the common room. Darcy and Emily stare at each other for a few moments; Emily's face is set, prepared to argue for as long as it takes for Darcy to agree. Darcy merely looks at Emily apologetically, far too tired to even consider what Emily has to say. "He's not using me," Darcy whispers, trying to contain her anger. "Would you stop saying that? You have no idea what he says to me in private—you have no idea what we talk about without others around."

"So you were with him?" Emily scoffs. "Tell me, Darcy, what does he say to you in private at one o'clock in the morning?"

Darcy clears her throat, blushing furiously, and as soon as she feels her cheeks begin to burn, she knows that all is lost. "No," she says weakly, knowing that there is no use in lying anymore.

Emily raises her eyebrows, knitting so fast and so violently, that Darcy is sure she'll rip the scarf. "No," she repeats in a dangerous voice. "Didn't do much talking tonight, did you?"

"Emily—" Darcy scowls, trying so hard to contain her anger—just make it upstairs—just ignore her—"What is it to you who I fuck, Emily? You're not my mother."

Emily throws her scarf and needles and yarn onto the table in front of her, getting to her feet. She looks deadly, colder than Darcy's ever seen her before. Her presence is suddenly very commanding, as if even the crackling fire has yielded to her. "Seven years we've been friends, Darcy," she hisses. "Seven years I have cared for you, tried to keep you from getting hurt—"

"I never needed your protection!" Darcy retorts, his voice rising two octaves and her face pink. "I never asked for your help! I love you, Emily, and I know that you only want the best for me, but I need you to stop treating me like a child. I can make my own decisions—"

"You're throwing your entire life away for a quick fuck—"

Darcy grinds her jaw, rage coursing through her. She tries to reason with herself, truly—Emily doesn't understand, she doesn't know what it's really like. All she wants to do is shake Emily, shake sense into her. "Stop."

Emily shuts her mouth tight, raising her eyebrows to her hairline.

Darcy's head is starting to throb, and all of the joy that she'd felt only a half hour ago is completely drained from her. She suddenly feels sad, and even her anger towards Emily subsides for a minute. But she will not allow Emily's words to hurt her—she will not allow Emily's words to burrow in her brain, consume her thoughts. Lupin had kissed her all over, had been so gentle and delicate with his touches, had fallen asleep holding her as if she was his. Darcy shakes her head, looking at Emily with a soft expression. "I love him," she whispers, shrugging her shoulders, unsure of what else to say. "So, go on—which teacher are you going to run to? McGonagall or Dumbledore?"

Emily looks back at Darcy, stone-faced. "That's a child's answer," she finally says. "You have no regard for the consequences of your actions—no regard for the fact that you could not only ruin your life, but his, as well!"

But Darcy, not failing to notice Emily's lack of an answer to her question, decides to press her bluff, feeling much more confident suddenly about Emily's loyalty. "You want what's best for me—you won't tell a teacher."

Emily's face turns, if possible, even colder. Her eyes flash with anger, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "I'll tell Mr. Weasley," she answers. "You won't listen to me, but maybe you'll listen to—"

"Emily!"

"What am I supposed to do, Darcy? Ignore the fact that you fucked your te—"

And before Darcy even realizes her wand is in her hand, pointed at Emily, a blue flash of light sends Emily stumbling over the coffee table. She catches herself quickly and picks her wand up off the ground; Darcy produces a Shield Charm just in time to prevent Emily's oncoming spell from hitting her. Darcy flicks her wand again, but Emily ducks behind the sofa and the sofa absorbs Darcy's spell. Darcy breathes heavily for a moment, taking a step towards Emily—

"Expelliarmus!" Emily shouts, popping up to her feet again, but Darcy blocks it again just in time, and the spell ricochets off the Shield Charm and hits one of the bookshelves instead; the books begin to fall from the highest shelves, collapsing on the ground with a loud clatter.

With Emily momentarily distracted, Darcy gives her wrist another quick flick, but Emily does the same thing at the same time—both of their Disarming Spells fire and meet in the middle, and both of their wands fly out of their hands, falling out of reach. Emily dives for her wand, which is much closer, and Darcy dives for Emily, grabbing her just before she wraps her fingers around her wand.

"Get off!" Emily shrieks, elbowing Darcy hard in the nose.

There's a crunching noise, Darcy cries out, tasting the blood running from her nose to her mouth. "Stop!" she shouts, one hand holding her bleeding nose, and the other trying to keep Emily from reaching the wand. It rolls farther and farther from reach, and as Emily squirms, Darcy fist catches her in the mouth on accident. Furious, and now sporting a split lip, Emily punches Darcy back, the couple of rings on her fingers breaking skin just above Darcy's right eyebrow. "Emily, quit it! I'm sorry—stop moving!"

"You tried to hex me!" Emily snarls. "You made me bleed!"

"You gave me a bloody nose!"

"My lip is bleeding!" Emily growls, elbowing Darcy in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. "Now get off of—"

"What is the meaning of this?"

Darcy and Emily freeze, looking around. Too busy fighting, neither of them had realized the noise had attracted an audience of tired and dazed onlookers, most of them older students. And in the portrait hole, white-faced and tight lipped and panting, is Professor McGonagall, her eyes on Darcy's gushing nose. Darcy quickly sits up, wiping her nose on the sweater Emily had knitted for her years ago, soaking the sleeve with blood. Emily snatches her wand off the floor, drawing McGonagall's gaze.

"I am—I am—" McGonagall struggles to find words, shaking slightly. "Muggle fighting—two-thirty in the morning—all of you, bed!" She glances menacingly at the crowd of students huddled by the stairs, and they instantly retreat back up to their dormitories. She waits for all the doors to shut before continuing. "You two better have a very good explanation for this—"

Darcy wipes her nose again, looking at Emily. Emily looks back at her. And despite everything, Darcy feels a rush of gratitude and affection towards her friend. She knows that Emily isn't going to tell McGonagall anything.

"You have nothing to say for yourselves?" McGonagall snaps, becoming increasingly more shrill. "Seven years you have been friends and now, in the wee hours of the night, one of you has a severe nosebleed and the other has a split lip! Lying on the ground, wrestling like animals! This must be the most disgusted I have ever—fifty points from Gryffindor—I want you both down in the hospital wing immediately and I will be seeing you both tomorrow morning to discuss this further. Do not think I will stop at taking points—unbelievable, dishonorable—now, go."

Emily barrels past McGonagall, but Darcy first stoops to grab her wand hidden beneath a table. McGonagall steps out of the portrait hole after Emily, giving Darcy enough time to grab the Invisibility Cloak where it had fallen after Darcy pulled her wand out. She hides it safely behind a shelf and follows Emily and McGonagall out the portrait hole. McGonagall walks them both down in silence, her nostrils flaring. She opens the door a little too loudly, waking Madam Pomfrey immediately.

"Potter? Duncan? Professor McGonagall?"

Despite being awoken so late and abruptly, Madam Pomfrey seems quite alert as she bustles out to meet them. Darcy scans the infirmary, but no one is there except for the four of them, now standing in a circle. "Fighting, Poppy," McGonagall explains curtly, before turning to Darcy and Emily. Darcy pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the bleeding, but it still flows, and she's starting to feel lightheaded. "You two will not be late for class tomorrow morning, and you'll stay after so we can handle your punishment. And so help me—if I ever catch you fighting again—with wands or without—I will be talking to Professor Dumbledore."

Madam Pomfrey hurries Darcy and Emily into separate beds, right next to each other. She tries to get the girls to talk, to tell the truth about why they had been fighting, but both Darcy and Emily stay silent, thoroughly annoying Madam Pomfrey. However, she does get Darcy's nose to stop bleeding right away with a small amount of potion, and also gives her a Blood-Replenishing Potion, just to make sure. After looking both Darcy and Emily over once more, to check for any serious injuries, Madam Pomfrey hurries back over to her office, leaving them alone in the darkness.

Darcy glances over at Emily, feeling quite sorry for trying to hex her. Emily leans back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, touching her swollen lip every so often. "What's happening to us?" Darcy asks softly. "I don't want to fight, Emily—not again. I'm tired."

Emily's eyes find Darcy's face. "What you did was really fucking stupid, you know that, right?"

Darcy flushes deep red. Of course she knows how stupid sleeping with Lupin was—but she had wanted it for so long, it would have killed Darcy if she'd changed her mind. Darcy turns away from Emily, looking down into her lap, pulling the blankets up to her chest and trying to ignore the pounding in her temple.

"You lied to me, Darcy," Emily whispers. "You told me I had nothing to worry about—that you would never act on your feelings. You lied to me."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Darcy says. "But what was I supposed to do? Look at how you reacted—that's exactly why I lied."

"You know I wouldn't tell Mr. Weasley," Emily sighs. "You know I wouldn't do that to you. I don't want anything to happen to you. But please—for me—just… think about it. Just try to see it from my point of view—I mean, you have to admit that the idea of him sleeping with his friends' daughter is a little—weird."

"I know what it must look like," Darcy confesses softly. "I know that it must seem strange to you, but—please, trust me—I know he cares about me."

Emily is quiet for a moment. "I'm going to sleep. My mouth hurts."

Darcy closes her own eyes, and then opens them immediately. "Do you think if we pretend we've made up, McGonagall will forget giving us detentions?"

"Darcy, that has got to be the stupidest idea you've ever had," Emily replies, and Darcy shrugs. "You know she's giving us detentions no matter what, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she'll probably write to my parents and Mr. Weasley."

"Yeah."

A heavy silence falls over them, and Darcy wishes Emily would speak, if only to fill it. As soon as she closes her eyes, images of Lupin flood her mind—images of him above her, his easy smile, his tousled hair, looking a young man again. She inhales deeply, smiling to herself, feeling warm between her legs, and still slightly sore.

"I'm sorry," Emily breathes, and her voice brings Darcy back to reality. "You do so much, Darcy—you've been so good to Harry all these years, you've done anything Hermione and Ron have asked you—and you've done so much for me and for Carla and for Gemma, and—it's my job to care for you in return, and how do I know that he won't hurt you? How do I know he's not using you?"

"He takes care of me, Emily," Darcy answers, feeling butterflies erupting in her stomach. "It's not your job, and it shouldn't be. You shouldn't have to worry about me."

"Of course I worry about you."

"You don't have to anymore," Darcy insists quietly. She pauses, looking at Emily in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to see the silhouette of her friend. "I don't want to be lonely anymore."

"You've got us, your friends."

Darcy shakes her head slowly. "It's different. I like the way he makes me feel."

"You always were a romantic, Darcy," Emily says, laughing more to herself than anything. And then, Emily's bed creaks and Darcy watches as she stands up and makes her way over to Darcy's bed. Darcy moves over to the edge of the bed and Emily climbs in beside her. In less than three minutes, both of them are fast asleep.

"Detention everyday next week for both of us—ouch—"

"Sorry, sweetheart, but if I told you it was going to hurt, you wouldn't have let me do it."

Lupin tips the small vial upside down and the last few drops of the potion drip onto the damp cloth. Lupin puts the empty vial down and presses the cloth to the cut over Darcy's eyebrow again. It stings, but Darcy doesn't pull away. "It's just a small cut—Madam Pomfrey already did all of this, you know—"

"Let me feel useful, all right?" Lupin pulls the cloth away and brushes his finger over top of the cut. "Besides, I'm quite good at this kind of stuff after years of tending my own wounds." He puts the cloth on the table, beside the remnants of their half-finished lunches, picking up some tiny bandages and ripping them in half again with his teeth. "What were you fighting about, anyway?"

"Stupid stuff."

"That's it? No explanation? Just stupid stuff?" He places the bandages over her eyebrow, leaning back to admire his own handiwork.

"Please don't make me explain right now."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Lupin doesn't seem upset by her unwillingness to share, and Darcy feels extremely grateful. "When have I ever made you do anything you didn't want to?"

"You've never made me do anything I didn't want to." Darcy frowns. "Do I look ridiculous?"

"A little." Lupin smiles at her. "You look fine."

Darcy sighs, touching her now bandaged cut. She checks her watch and quickly grabs her bag off the ground. "I should go—I'll be late for Charms."

Lupin watches her walk to the door, and when she has one foot in his office, he calls out, "Darcy," and she stops, turning to look at him, still seated on the sofa. "Dinner tomorrow night."

Raising an eyebrow, Darcy smiles. "Are you asking if I'd like dinner tomorrow, or are you telling me I'd like dinner?"

He considers her, a smirk playing at his lips. "I'm telling you. Dinner tomorrow night."

"All right," she beams at him, "Dinner tomorrow night."

Lupin's eyes flick up and down Darcy's body. Then, he gives her a toothy grin. "I look forward to it."