'Because there's nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.'

Ivan Bunin

Despite Emily's polite attitude towards Darcy on Saturday, Darcy can't help but feel humiliated every time Emily looks at her. The sheer knowledge that Emily knows what she and Lupin did is enough to keep her on edge, yet Gemma and Carla make no snide comments, jokes, or anything that hints Emily had told them. The four of them eat breakfast in the courtyard, laughing as if nothing is amiss, talking freely and flipping through pages of their books, studying for their upcoming exams. When they ask what happened to Darcy's and Emily's faces, Emily replies, without looking up, "We were practicing our non-verbal spells."

Carla laughs out loud, but Gemma only smiles and shakes her head.

After lunch, many of the students go outside to enjoy the spring weather. The sky is cloudless, a bright sun shining on the green grounds, making the inside of the castle quite warm. Darcy decides to leave her friends when they suggest studying by the lake, and instead makes her way back up to Gryffindor Tower, hoping for some peace and quiet. Being around people has become overwhelming the past few days, and Darcy—even though she knows she's being ridiculous—feels as if everyone can read her mind, as if they all know she's done with her teacher. She knows that people aren't looking at her because they know what she did, they're likely look at her because of the scene she and Emily had made in the common room, but even so—there's an air of suspicion that Darcy finds unsettling; Darcy and Emily have never fought before, and it makes people curious, wondering what could have possibly happened between them. Though no one seems to brave enough to ask, except for one young, dark-haired Gryffindor, who is in the common room with Hermione and Ron when Darcy enters it, sighing loudly in relief.

The four of them are the only ones in the common room, and Darcy grabs her Transfiguration homework from her dormitory before seating herself beside Hermione before the table, Harry and Ron on the sofa across from them. She can feel Harry's eyes on her as she opens her book, and she can still feel his gaze three minutes later, when she finds the answer to her homework's first question. She scribbles it down on the parchment and then looks up at Harry.

"I know what you're thinking," Darcy says. "Go on—say it. Don't be shy."

Harry sits up immediately. "What were you and Emily fighting about? Where did you go that night? Is that why Emily was mad? I told her I didn't know where you were."

"I'm going to tell you one time, Harry, and one time only," she answers calmly. "It's none of your business."

"Were you with Professor Lupin?" Harry asks again, and this question catches Hermione and Ron's attention, as well.

Darcy glances to her left, at Hermione, who seems to have moved closer to her. Then she starts to flip through her book again and says, "I told you it's none of your business."

She buries her face in her book, hoping that she hasn't given anything away. Harry already knows too much, and she regrets telling him anything now. And if he had told his friends all Darcy had said, wouldn't Hermione know? Wouldn't Hermione be able to guess what had happened that made Emily so angry?

She wonders what Harry would say if she told him—he hadn't seemed very upset when Darcy told him about Lupin before, but this is different—this is more than hand-holding, more than a hug, more than a kiss. She imagines Harry would be disgusted with her, angry at her inability to restrain herself. But she hadn't intended to sleep with Lupin when she'd gone to see him—the thought hadn't crossed her mind as she left the Gryffindor common room that night. All she wanted was to be close to Lupin, to talk to him, to hear his gentle words of reassurance—and instead, she had found she couldn't be close enough to him, so she did the only reasonable thing any lonely, hormonal, desperately in love, teenage girl would do—she fucked him.

Part of her is privately very glad she hasn't had a Defense Against the Dark Arts class since that night. Yet seeing Lupin in the corridors, at mealtimes, in his apartments during lunch the previous day, things seemed normal. He had smiled at her, always his easy and cool smile, slightly smug at times. Lupin hadn't brought up what they'd done while they were alone together, hadn't made any passes at her, or tried to kiss her or touch her, and Darcy's quite glad for that, as well. Looking him in the face hadn't been as difficult as Darcy had expected it to be the first time. So comfortable with Lupin is Darcy that sleeping with him has barely affected their relationship at all, except now Darcy knows he cares for her in all the ways she had wanted him to.

But Darcy needs to talk about it. She needs to get it out, scream it to the world—she wants everyone to know how much she loves him, and in that sense, Darcy still feels relatively lonely. She had flirted with the idea of telling Harry at first, but something about talking about her sex life with her thirteen-year-old brother had seemed inappropriate and gross and highly uncomfortable, so Darcy decided she'd rather keep the secret to herself. She had thought then of talking to Emily—Emily had been so upset Darcy lied to her, she thought maybe telling her the complete truth would make her happy. But she can't bring herself to tell Emily, either, afraid of another scolding.

After studying for a few hours by the warm fire, Darcy decides to do a lap around the wing, hoping it'll wake her up. As she reaches the portrait of the Fat Lady again, Gemma's walking down the corridor towards her. With a huge smile and a wave, Gemma jogs up to meet her outside the entrance to the common room.

It's a sweet relief to catch Gemma alone. Gemma, who won't ask questions, who won't bring up anything about the cut above her eyebrow, who only smiles at her and runs a hand through her dark hair. "It's fucking hot outside," she says cheerfully.

"Not much better in front of the fire," Darcy replies.

"What are you doing, anyway, besides sneaking around the corridor?"

"Needed a minute to refresh my brain. I was bound to explode after doing that Charms homework."

Gemma chuckles.

It's then that Darcy wonders what Gemma would say if she were to tell her. Gemma and Darcy have grown quite close over the past year, and Darcy knows that Gemma has nothing against Lupin—as far as Darcy knows, the pair of them get on quite well. Gemma had teased Darcy before about being in love with Lupin—had teased Darcy about Lupin wanting to fuck her, even if Darcy hadn't really believed it. But as Darcy stares at Gemma, Gemma raises her eyebrows and laughs. Whatever Gemma were to say, it couldn't be as bad as what Emily thinks, right?

"What's up, Darcy? Where are you?" She waves a hand in front of Darcy's face.

"Do you think we could talk?"

"Sure." There's a slight pause, and Gemma leans forward. "Now?"

Darcy hesitates and tucks her hair back out of her face, behind her ears. "Well, I'm kind of having dinner with Professor Lupin tonight—and please don't tell Emily—"

"Understood," Gemma nods, flashing Darcy a brilliant smile. "Is this a conversation that will require alcohol?"

"Yes, and please—don't invite anyone else. Just us."

"You're making me nervous," Gemma says, but she looks excited nonetheless. "Meet me at nine-thirty outside my common room and bring the cloak. Now, let's go outside—get you some sun."

Legs draped over Lupin's lap, Darcy threads some string through the small needle hole, biting down hard on her lip in concentration. And finally, it goes through, and Darcy smiles up at Lupin triumphantly, pressing the needle through the thick fabric of Lupin's patched shirt. Her hands move deftly and quickly, and even though she hasn't done this in a long time, the skill comes back to her quite easily and naturally. Years of darning Dudley's old clothes and hemming Petunia's old ones, and Darcy is quite glad, at this moment, she hasn't forgotten how to do it. While the color of the string doesn't quite match the color of the shirt, her expert needlework makes up for it.

Lupin has a large book resting on her shins, a stack of homework balancing precariously beside him. Darcy is careful not to move her legs, not wanting to tip over the inkwell that sits upon the book. Lupin dips his quill in it, grading the homework almost lazily, every so often touching Darcy's knee or thigh distractedly. On the coffee table in front of the fire, what remains of their dinner is pushed towards the edge of the table; old clothing, essays and extra quills, miscellaneous books, and two half-full bottles of butterbeer cover the rest of the surface. Incredibly full and sleepy, Darcy forces herself to stay awake, slightly anxious about her meeting with Gemma in only a few hours.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Darcy hears Lupin sigh heavily and she looks up. He's rubbing his eyes, and he stoppers the inkwell suddenly, moving it, along with the book and homework, back to the table in front of him. Lupin places a hand on Darcy's thigh, keeping her legs in place over his lap, and leans back into the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her with a small smile. Darcy returns it. "I'm glad you came tonight," Lupin mutters, rubbing his eyes furiously with his knuckles.

"You made it quite clear I was to come tonight," Darcy reminds him, looking back down into her lap, pulling tight on the thread and pushing it through the fabric again. "Not that I'd have refused had you actually asked."

"Tell me something," Lupin says, turning slightly in his seat to face her while still keeping her legs over him. Darcy hums in response, waiting for him to continue. He looks at her for a long time. "I was curious about your owl—Max, you said, yes?"

Darcy looks up slowly, stifling laughter. "What about Max? What have you done with him?"

"Nothing—it's nothing I've done, I hope," Lupin replies. "Does he listen well to you?"

"Yes, he listens well. He's a very good owl. Why? What's happened?"

Lupin, smiling sheepishly, extends his fingers and Darcy sees the small cuts all over his fingers. Darcy blushes, feeling terrible. "I was hoping—next time you see him—perhaps you could tell him to stop pecking at my fingers? It's like he can pick me out of a large crowd…have you been telling him lies about me?"

"No!" Darcy laughs, returning to her sewing once again. "I haven't been telling him lies about you. He's quite affectionate, really. Part of the reason I love him so much. But—yes, I will make sure Max is aware that he is not to peck at your fingers." She glances at Lupin's hands again, frowning. "Sorry."

"Much appreciated."

"You look so much better," she says, lowering the shirt in her hands to take a short break. Her wrists ache. "I worry about you."

"Love, how many times do I have you remind you? I'm used to it by now. I can handle myself after years of transformations." Lupin laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You worry too much."

"So I've been told."

"It's not a bad thing," Lupin adds quickly, patting her thigh reassuringly, brushing his thumb over top of her pants. Darcy feels her skin grow warm there, despite his thumb not actually touching her flesh. "In fact, I think it's rather endearing. But Darcy, you do not need to worry about me."

"As if that's going to make me less worried," she jokes half-heartedly. Darcy puts the shirt and sewing equipment on top of the pile of clothes on the table, and then reaches for his hand. Lupin laces their fingers together, squeezing her hand gently. Her weak smile fades quickly, and she finally builds up the courage to ask him, "Are we going to talk about what happened?"

Lupin doesn't falter, only keeps smiling. He pulls her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "What is there to talk about? I hope you haven't suddenly decided it was awful."

"No, of course not," Darcy chuckles, blushing slightly. "I just—I don't know—I don't want things to change, I mean—I like this."

"Nothing has to change, Darcy," he whispers, kissing her fingers again before letting go of her hand. "I like this, too."

Darcy smiles a small smile. "Can we read?"

"Pick a book."

Getting to her feet, Darcy approaches the mantle and picks the first book she can reach, not caring which book it is as long as she can hear Lupin reading it to her. She hands the novel to Lupin and sits down beside him again, and instead of laying her legs over his lap, Darcy settles herself close to him, wrapping her hands around his arm as he opens the book to the first page. Resting her head on his shoulder, Darcy closes her eyes as he begins the first chapter.

An overwhelming sense of peace overcomes Darcy at the sound of his voice, at her full stomach, at the feeling of his shoulder beneath her cheek. She can't remember the last time her heart has even been so full of love, can't remember the last time her head has been so clear. Darcy wishes she could fall asleep here, with him beside her, just as they'd done weeks ago. Darcy opens her eyes again, looking up into his face, and when Lupin notices she's staring up at him, he smiles and turns his head.

"Are you going to stare at me the entire time?" Lupin asks, laughing. "How am I supposed to read when I have such a beautiful girl inches away from me?"

Darcy flushes. "You think I'm beautiful?"

Lupin looks back at his book, eyes scanning the page to find where he left off. "Don't be ridiculous, Darcy, you know you're beautiful."

Darcy chews the inside of her cheek, grinning. Her eyes find his lips, and as he opens his mouth to keep reading, she blurts out, "Can I kiss you? Just once?"

He closes the book this time, keeping his thumb tucked between the pages to mark his spot. Turning to her again, Lupin eyes flick to her lips and back up to her eyes. "What makes you think I would ever answer that with anything other than 'yes'?" he teases. "Though, I thought you wanted me to read to you—I can't see how we'll just very far into this book—"

"I can kiss other places than your mouth," Darcy breathes, reaching up to place a single kiss on his neck. She sees Lupin's smile widen as he continues to read outloud. All she wants to do is kiss him again and again, kiss him until she's left him feeling so incredibly loved that he'll never feel lonely again. But she knows that after what has happened, they should probably be careful about overstepping boundaries. Only a few weeks left and I can kiss him as much as I want—as long as he wants me to. And he will.

As time slips by too quickly for Darcy's liking, she starts to prepare herself for her conversation with Gemma. She knows the best thing to do is just to be honest with her. Gemma would never tell a teacher, would she? Gemma, one of Darcy's closest friends, would not get Darcy or Lupin in trouble, would she? She's glad there will be alcohol—Darcy isn't sure that she'd be able to have that conversation without it to loosen her tongue.

The next time Darcy checks her watch, it's nearly time to go down to the Slytherin common room. Darcy murmurs an apology into Lupin's skin as she gives the crook of his neck a final kiss, and he walks her to the door, his hand on the small of her back as he ushers her into his office. He stands in the threshold as she leaves, leaning against the doorframe and watching her cross the classroom. Darcy looks over her shoulder at him as she slips through the door, and she has to return after he's stopped watching so she can get the Invisibility Cloak.

Gemma's exiting the common room stealthily when Darcy reaches the cool corridor. She jumps at the sight of Darcy's head, appearing to be floating in midair, and they both laugh quietly as Darcy throws the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them. Gemma leads the way, taking Darcy up the prefects bathroom and uttering the password. They both peek inside first, making sure it's empty, and then Gemma tears the cloak off and closes the door behind her with her foot.

"All right," Gemma says, clearing her throat and pulling two slim bottles of wine out of the front of her pants, and a flask out from her bra. Darcy can't believe she didn't realize Gemma had bottles down her pants, but shakes the thought off and stashes the cloak near the door. "Are you about to tell me why you and Emily were actually fighting? And don't give me that same shit excuse Emily did." As she turns on the bath water, Gemma looks back at Darcy's face, looking very seriously at the cut above her eyebrow. "Looks like her rings got you good."

Darcy doesn't answer, but Gemma doesn't press her. As the tub continues to fill with water and multi-colored bubbles, Gemma begins to undress, stripping down to nothing but her bra and underwear. Darcy suddenly feels very self-conscious, not wanting to show off the scars on her shoulder when talking about how good Lupin has been to her. But then she remembers what Lupin's body had looked like, even in the darkness—she remembers the deep scars that have probably been present for nearly two decades, remembers the way she'd loved them anyway, because they are his. This thought encourages Darcy, and she starts to strip down, as well, leaving her shirt for last. To her relief, Gemma only looks at her shoulder for a quick moment and doesn't ask questions as Darcy gets down into the bath, seated across from Gemma.

"Well—what are we drinking, my love?" Gemma sighs happily, showing off her selection of alcohol. "I have a lovely red I confiscated off a fifth year, a sweet wine that I confiscated off a sixth year, and a flask of the Hog's Head's best firewhiskey. Oh—and—" Gemma picks up her wand from the side of the tub and points it at her pile of clothing. Something wriggles from the back pocket of her discarded jeans, and a pack of cigarettes zooms through the air towards her; Gemma catches the pack in her hand and offers one to Darcy before taking one herself, lighting them both with her wand.

"Sweet wine," Darcy grunts in response, taking a long drag off her cigarette. As she looks down at the smoke rising in the hair and swirling around her head, Darcy wonders briefly what Aunt Petunia would say if she could see Darcy now—fucking her teacher (though, if she knows Petunia, Darcy imagines Petunia would be more horrified about Lupin being friends with her mother and father), drinking in a bathroom in nothing but her underwear, smoking cigarettes. Before she can dwell on the thought, it disappears as Gemma opens the bottle of wine.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Gemma chuckles, summoning two cups from thin air with her wand and pouring each of them to the very top. Darcy takes her glass, careful not to slosh any over the side and into the water. "How was dinner with Lupin?"

"Fine," Darcy answers automatically. Gemma nods, sipping at her wine and flicking the ash off her cigarette on the floor of the bathroom. "It was fine."

They carry casual conversation for a little while as they drink their first glasses of wine, talking about classes, venting about McGonagall and the insane amount of work she's been setting to the seventh years. Gemma talks for a few minutes of her upcoming training and position at St. Mungo's, and her excitement transfers directly to Darcy, whose cheeks feel slightly flushed due to the wine. Once Gemma runs out of things to say, Darcy exhales through her nose, reaching out one hand for a new cigarette and extending her other in order for Gemma to refill her glass.

With a cigarette between her lips and a glass of wine in her hand, Darcy starts to feel more nervous than she's felt all night. Her stomach churns, her heart hammers inside her chest, but Gemma only smiles at her, waiting for Darcy to begin. However, Darcy only opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.

"What is this about, Darcy?" Gemma asks gently. "You know that you shouldn't be nervous about talking to me. What's going on?"

"Well—" Darcy stammers, unsure if she really wants to tell Gemma or not, but she's so close—she knows it would feel so good to get it off her chest. "I mean—it's about Professor Lupin—"

Gemma nods, sitting up straight, leaning in slightly towards Darcy and taking the last drag of her cigarette. "Go ahead, Darcy." Her eyebrows are raised a little bit, and Darcy finds her mouth is suddenly too dry to speak.

Draining her glass and then nearly gagging at the taste of all the wine, Darcy calms herself. "I—Professor Lupin—" she holds her face in her hands, dragging her fingers through her hair. "Oh, Gemma—Professor Lupin—"

"Darcy, just say it."

"I slept with Professor Lupin. Thursday night." Darcy says it very fast, feeling her face burn bright with shame as she does so.

Darcy watches Gemma's face carefully. Gemma looks at Darcy with a very confused expression on her face for a moment, furrowing her brow, pursing her lips. She seems as if she's struggling to comprehend what Darcy's just confessed to, and Darcy prepares herself for the worst—and then, Gemma laughs out loud, leaning back in the tub and continuing to laugh and laugh. Darcy isn't sure whether or not to laugh with her. "Holy shit, Darcy—I thought you were going to tell me that he's a werewolf," Gemma cackles, finally calming herself down.

"No, I—" Darcy stops dead, looking up into Gemma's smiling face. "How do you know he's a werewolf?"

Gemma laughs again. "You were my partner third year in Defense for our werewolf unit, remember?" she asks, and Darcy nods. "Anyway, he's always ill at the full moon. I mean, it's not like it's difficult to figure it out, right?" Gemma glances at Darcy's shoulder again, not asking for clarification, but smiling knowingly.

Darcy covers the scars on her shoulder with her hand, distracted by Gemma's sudden reveal. "And you aren't—afraid of him?"

Gemma pauses, looking into Darcy's eyes thoughtfully, as if trying to choose the right words carefully. "When I first figured it out, I was—hesitant, I suppose," she explains. "Truthfully, I know very little about werewolves, despite what we've learned in class. But what little experience I have with them is enough to make anyone hesitant, I think."

"You know another werewolf?" Darcy asks quickly, intrigued. The conversation she'd planned to have with Gemma slips her mind. She's suddenly reminded of how little she knows about Gemma's personal and home life.

"Yes, I know another werewolf." Gemma's face turns uncharacteristically grave, and she lowers her voice. "You know that my parents are well known for their galas, fundraisers, get-togethers, what have you?" Truthfully, Darcy hadn't known this, but she nods anyway. "During summers, they have guests quite frequently, but they would never let me attend. I had to make do with spying from the top of the staircases for years, but when I was sixteen, my parents finally agreed that I was old enough to attend." Gemma smiles weakly. "I was so excited—I picked out the prettiest dress, and mother did my hair just the way I liked it. When the night of the gala came, I observed all the courtesies—I mingled and charmed our guests, offered them food and beverages. One of our guests, however, was a werewolf."

Darcy cocks an eyebrow suspiciously. "How did you know so quickly?"

Gemma looks uncomfortable, and she shifts in the water, lighting another cigarette and drinking deeply from her glass. "Are you familiar with Fenrir Greyback, Darcy?"

She shakes her head, trying to recall if she's ever heard that name or not. But Darcy can't place a face to the name. "No, I don't think so."

Gemma laughs darkly. "If you knew of Fenrir Greyback, you would never forget him," Gemma whispers. Darcy leans in closer to her friend. "Fenrir Greyback is a savage beast. There is little human left in him, I think. I had never seen a werewolf before, only pictures in our textbooks, but Fenrir Greyback is like a man trapped in limbo between his human form and wolf form. Ugly, vapid, incredibly violent, and crude—the sight of him gave me nightmares for week."

"But how is that possible? Professor Lupin looks completely normal."

Gemma licks her lips, swallowing hard. "Fenrir Greyback is vile—he's evil. I'd be surprised if there's any humanity at all left in him," she continues. "He is the worst kind of werewolf—he purposefully positions himself close to children during the full moon in order to easily seek them out and bite them. His goal in life is to bite and turn as many children—as many people—as possible. And I've heard rumors that he's not only waiting until the full moon anymore, but that he's actually eating his victims now—he's developed a taste for human flesh, full moon or not."

Darcy feels a sickness wash over her that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

"I remember him clearly at the gala," Gemma rasps, and Darcy looks back at her, horrified. "My parents were furious that he'd shown his face at our home, but they allowed him to stay, afraid that he'd retaliate and bite me if they forced him to leave. He approached me, but still, my parents were too afraid to intervene, and I was terrified." Gemma takes another deep breath. "Fenrir Greyback was and is a vile and perverted creature—I remember he asked if he could have a taste of my pretty flesh, and afterwards, I locked myself in my bedroom and cried all night. I dreamt of his face for weeks, I was so afraid of him."

Darcy can't look away from Gemma, can't unsee the horror in her friend's face. She remembers the fear she had felt in the Shrieking Shack when she had encountered Lupin, how she'd closed her eyes and waited for the bite to come, to change her, to ruin her—but it never did come. She wonders if that's how Gemma had felt around Fenrir Greyback. "That's awful, Gemma," Darcy whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Gemma shakes her head, slowly regaining her usual demeanor. "I don't feel that fear around Professor Lupin," Gemma says. Darcy winces, ashamed of herself for once being afraid of him. "Does he seem the kind of man to purposefully bite children? To eat flesh? To hurt people?"

Darcy answers immediately. "No."

"No," Gemma repeats, nodding in agreement with Darcy. "He doesn't seem that kind of man to me, either. He has been good to you, Darcy, and to Harry, and even to me." She opens the flask of firewhiskey, taking a long drink from it and offering it to Darcy. "He did that to your shoulder, and you aren't afraid of him?"

"No," Darcy answers confidently. "I know he would never hurt me if he could help it."

"If you're not afraid of him, why should I be?"

Darcy isn't sure how to answer.

"Was he gentle with you?"

"Yes, of course," Darcy replies, breathless at the very thought of that night. She drinks from the flask, the firewhiskey burning her throat.

"Did he force you to do anything you didn't want to do?"

"No—it was my idea—"

Gemma gives Darcy a weak smile, her eyes bloodshot. "Well, shit—go you, Darcy." She runs a hand through her hair. "Is that why you and Emily were fighting?"

Darcy nods slowly.

"Look, Darcy—" Gemma hesitates, looking deeply uncomfortable again. "What two consenting adults do in the bedroom is—really none of my business, but—it would be wise for both of you to remember that he is still your teacher for a few more weeks."

"I know."

"And Carla should know," Gemma adds. "She'll be upset if she finds out both Emily and I know, but not her."

"I know." Darcy squirms, not really wanting to share this information with someone else.

Gemma sighs contentedly, looking at Darcy expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Gemma laughs. "Go on, Darcy—I want to know everything."

Darcy blushes, her head swimming. "I don't really know where to start…"

"The beginning, Darcy," Gemma insists. "Start from the beginning, and please—don't spare me any of the juicy details."