'I do not remember many things, and for all those things I do not remember, I am grateful, because the things I do remember hurt me enough.'

Viet Thanh Nguyen

Darcy promises Gemma before they leave the bathroom that she'll tell Carla in time, and Gemma takes that half-lie at face value. But Darcy doesn't think it's especially wise to tell many people. Of course, Carla is her friend, but Darcy can't figure out how exactly Carla would react. While Emily's reaction had been anger and betrayal, and Gemma's had—predictably—been shock and amusement, Darcy is mostly afraid that Carla would take Emily's side. Carla had always, in previous years, been a great secret keeper in regards to her friends, had always been able to be convinced to break certain rules when it came to her friends, and had always looked up to Gemma—which gives Darcy a small shred of hope. Yet the days begin to slip by, and between classes, studying, homework, and dinner with Lupin about twice a week, Darcy isn't able to find time to spend alone with Carla, and Darcy finds herself privately hoping the school year will end before she has to confess to her last friend.

Darcy's dreams have become something to look forward to, as well—dreams of Lupin that are obscene and humiliating, dreams that wake her in the middle of the night, warm between her legs. She has no intention of sleeping with Lupin again as his student, but finds it so incredibly easy to slip a hand underneath her blankets, underneath her underwear, and pretend that it's not her hand, but Lupin's, now that she knows his touch. These dreams leave her feeling desperate to be touched during her dinners with Lupin, and whenever he brushes his fingers casually against her inner thigh, or when his eyes travel up and down her body, sometimes it's all she can do not to jump him on the spot.

But there are other dreams, as well—these are less embarrassing, less racy. The dreams involving Sirius Black are some of Darcy's favorites. She dreams she's a little girl again, running into his arms as he throws her high in the air, a goofy smile on his face. She dreams of the night of her parents' death, of Sirius rushing to her in the rubble as she screams and screams and screams, burying her tear-stained face in his chest as Sirius holds her tight in his arms. And though she continues to repeat the truth to herself—he's a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer—she still feels so loved and so happy when she wakes from these dreams, and Darcy takes to revisiting the picture of her parents' wedding afterwards, where photograph-Darcy is usually curled up against Sirius's chest.

She wonders where Sirius Black is now, if he's still near Hogwarts, or if he's gone far away. She wonders if she'll ever be able to look him in the eyes, wonders if she'll ever be able to see any part of the man he'd once been. She wonders if she'll ever be able to ask him the question she so desperately needs to know the answer to—was it ever real?

"What do you mean she has to tell Carla?" Emily whispers, after making sure Snape is on the other side of the classroom. She rounds on Darcy, her mouth tightening. "You just told Gemma?"

"Yeah, after I knew she wasn't going to punch me—"

"That is not how that happened—you punched me first—"

"On accident!" Darcy hisses, and the three of them straighten up at Snape sweeps past them without a second glance. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, Emily, but only if you promise not to get angry with me."

Emily's face turns pink. "Well, I don't know that I'll be able to stay calm if I have to hear you talk about his c—"

"Stop," Gemma says exasperatedly, stirring her cauldron with a bored expression. Then, she grins. "Though, Darcy, maybe you should tell Emily everything. Your story did not disappoint in the slightest."

"This is your fault, you know that?" Emily snaps at Gemma.

"My fault?" Gemma laughs, lowering her voice. "How could you possibly come to that conclusion? I wasn't the one that slept with him!"

"You were talking about kissing him, and you—you encouraged her—"

"I didn't encourage her to do anything—I was only saying—"

"Still want to kiss him now? You don't know where his mouth has been."

Gemma smiles, shaking her head. "I know exactly where his mouth has been," she replies, looking at Darcy with her eyebrows raised. "Darcy told me everything. I told her not to spare me any juicy details, and Emily—I'm telling you, it's like one of those stupid romance books you like."

"They aren't stupid."

"They are a little bit."

Darcy blushes furiously, holding her face in her hands. "Can we stop talking about this here?" she pleads. "The last thing in this entire world that I want right now is Snape overhearing this."

Emily and Gemma look at each other, and to Darcy's immense relief, chuckle before returning to their potions. Darcy stirs her quickly, adding the last few ingredients to make her potion become a light shade of pink. Gemma is still a few steps behind, her potion still colorless, but Emily matches Darcy stir for stir, her potion the exact same color. Soon enough, Snape is asking the class to collect a small sample of their potion for him to test, and when Darcy brings her filled vial up to Snape's desk, he looks at her with his eyes narrowed for a moment. Darcy moves to turn away, but Snape calls her back.

"I want a word, Miss Potter."

Darcy tries to hide her disappointment as Gemma bids her goodbye, but she's thankful that Emily promises to wait just outside the classroom. Snape collects the rest of the class' samples, making sure the names written on the outside are legible, and giving everyone a slight sneer as they file out of the classroom. When the classroom is finally empty, Snape gets to his feet and places his hands on the desktop, leaning forward towards Darcy.

"Have I done something, sir?" Darcy asks, his expressionless face making her uneasy.

He looks at her for a long time, eyes roving her face. "If you are still determined to come back next year, I expect better from you," he replies, and Darcy raises an eyebrow. She's always done fairly well in Potions—the one class that has always come naturally to her—and Snape has never given her a failing grade. "Your exams are approaching very quickly, and if you want to remain as my—assistant, is the term the Headmaster is using, I believe—then you'll need to perform well. Your last essay wasn't at all up to N.E.W.T. standards."

Darcy blinks at him, trying to keep herself from smiling. Snape has never joked with her before, but surely he must be now. "I'm sorry, sir, but I thought I did well—you gave me an O on my last essay."

"It certainly would not have earned an O on your exam." Snape scrunches his nose, and his next questions tumbles from him as if he's been dying to ask. "What are you up to, Miss Potter? Coming back to Hogwarts instead of going off into the Ministry like Duncan?"

Shrugging slightly, Darcy answers, "I don't know, sir. I just wanted to come back. I like it here." She isn't sure whether Snape expects the truth from her—Darcy doesn't think he quite deserves it, either. Though, she is surprised that Dumbledore hadn't told him more of the reasoning behind it. Maybe, she thinks, Dumbledore wants Darcy to be the one to share such information instead of spilling her secrets while she isn't around. With a rush of gratitude towards Dumbledore she's never felt before, Darcy stands up a little straighter. "May I go, Professor?"

"No," he replies quickly, leaning closer to her over the desk. Darcy takes a step backwards, and when Snape's eyes flick to her shoulder for the quickest second she's ever known, her heart starts to race. "It seems the Headmaster is not the only one in this school to place trust in those who do not deserve it."

Anger surges through Darcy. "I don't blame Professor Lupin for what happened. Professor Dumbledore was right to keep him here—he's the best Defense teacher we've ever had," she says forcefully. "Everyone thinks so."

"Yes," Snape hisses, and Darcy is surprised that he agrees with her, but then, "You have been spending quite a lot of time with him, haven't you, Miss Potter?"

Darcy's lips part slightly, but she isn't sure what to say, so she closes them again. The look that Snape gives her makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and goosebumps rise on her arms. She looks away quickly from his dark eyes and clears her throat. "May I go now, Professor?" Darcy asks again, this time a bit more defiantly.

Snape studies her face for another minute. "Go."

Darcy relays this encounter to Lupin that evening during dinner. He listens carefully, stroking the scruff on his face (that he tends to keep more often ever since Darcy had told him how much she liked it), looking pensive. When Darcy finishes telling him what Snape had said, she expects Lupin to be surprised, considering Lupin has seen the way Snape interacts with other students—especially Harry. But Lupin's reaction, or lack thereof, makes Darcy nervous.

"What?" she asks, rather defensively. She crosses her arms over her chest, sitting up straight.

Lupin clasps his hands together in his lap and looks into the fire, looking to be choosing his words carefully. "Has Professor Snape—always taken an interest in you?"

"No," Darcy scoffs, and then after thinking about it for a moment, shrugs her shoulders. "Well, I mean—I suppose so, but not in a particularly good way—but everyone knows he hated my dad at school." And then Darcy moves closer to Lupin, struck by a sudden thought. "What was Snape like at school?"

Lupin doesn't seem convinced when he looks back at Darcy. He looks very uncomfortable for a split second, unsure of himself.

"Is it true that my dad saved his life?"

Lupin's time becomes short and cold. "How do you know about that?"

"Professor Dumbledore told Harry and me," Darcy says, trying hard to recall the conversation. "He said that's why Snape hated my dad so much—all because dad saved his life."

There's a long silence, and Lupin runs his fingers through his hair, dragging his hands down his face, and looking back into the fire again. "Yes," Lupin answers finally. "It's true."

"What happened?" Darcy whispers eagerly, moving closer still. "Tell me, please." She coils her arms around Lupin's bicep, kissing his shoulder lightly.

"Maybe another time—" Lupin shifts beside her and Darcy lets go of his arm.

Darcy frowns. "All right. I'm sorry." She pauses, reaching up to brush hair out of his face, and Lupin catches her hand. Darcy tries to pull away, assuming he doesn't want to be touched, but Lupin only rests her hand against his cheek, letting go of her. Darcy brushes her thumb over his cheek. "You need a haircut."

"I know," he murmurs. Lupin turns to face her, looking very serious.

Darcy lowers her hand from his face. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I was only curious. Professor Dumbledore never explained the circumstances."

"No—no, Darcy, I don't blame you for being curious." Lupin sighs. "Professor Snape had a certain—fondness for your mother. I was only curious if he shares that same fondness for you—"

"No—no, no, no—Snape is not fond of me—" Darcy stammers, shaking her head and laughing. "No, certainly n—" But she trails off, trying to think. Darcy has seen the way Snape treats his other students, has heard the things Harry, Hermione, and Ron have said to her about the way Snape has treated them. Snape has always been harsh towards Emily, too, Darcy recalls. But towards herself, Darcy has to admit that Snape seems to have—for lack of a better word—a soft spot for her. He's always given her good grades, especially compared with Emily, even when their essays are almost the same. And Darcy remembers Snape going after her when he realized she'd snuck out after Lupin—Snape had saved her life, carried her back to the castle from the base of the Whomping Willow, had brought her directly to his classroom—and yet despite her being out of bounds and in serious trouble, Snape hadn't paraded it about, hadn't pushed for her expulsion like he would have done if it had been Harry instead—or would he? Darcy isn't sure if she's looking too far into things, or if the signs were there all along and she just hadn't realized.

"Darcy?" Lupin asks, but Darcy barely hears him. "Darcy? Sweetheart? Where are you?"

The word makes butterflies erupt in her stomach, bringing her out of her reverie, and Darcy turns to look at him again. This time, Lupin is smiling at her. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

Darcy furrows her brow. "Professor Snape only likes me—well, I guess he likes me—because of my mum?" She thinks of the hatred Snape shows towards Harry and she scowls—if she looked more like her father, Snape would hate her too, wouldn't he?

Lupin quickly takes her hands from her lap, giving them a squeeze before lacing their fingers together. "What does it matter, Darcy?" he asks, talking fast, bringing her hand to his lips to place soft kisses on her fingers. "What does it matter whether he likes you because of your mother or not?"

"I don't want people taking an interest in me because of my parents—Lily Potter's daughter. I'm more than that," Darcy snaps, pulling her hands away from Lupin's. "What happened when I was a child is—I don't need people to just feel sorry for me—I'm not my mother—I just—" She breaks off, her heart racing.

Lupin is watching her with his eyebrows raised. Then, very calmly, he says, "If I hadn't known your parents—if I hadn't known you to be James and Lily's daughter—then I would never have gotten to know you as well as I have."

Darcy smiles weakly, but her smile fades. "Who am I? I have never been given the opportunity to find out—I've always been whatever someone needs me to be," Darcy continues, her voice quiet. "Harry needed a mother, so I became that. When he needed a sister, I was that. Petunia wanted me to be a normal girl, so I did things that normal girls do. Emily wanted me to have dreams of going into the Ministry, so I took the proper classes and worked hard towards a dream that was never mine to begin with. And now, I'm going to be coming back to Hogwarts because I don't even know who I am without Harry. I mean—what am I to you? What do you even see in me? Why do you even bother with me?" Tears well in her eyes, and Darcy wipes at her cheeks as the first tears begin to fall.

"You are my dearest friend, Darcy," Lupin answers without much hesitation. "I have laughed more with you these past months than I have in years. You look at me without fear, and your suffering does not define you, but it has given you such an empathetic nature that surprises even me sometimes. The odds have all been stacked against you—your life has been full of tragedy and suffering, and yet you've become stronger because of it. To know that you've lived so long without being properly loved—and yet you still have so much love to give—Darcy, I—" Lupin struggles for a moment with his words, and finally continues after a pregnant pause in which he seems to be fighting some internal conflict. "Come here, Darcy."

Darcy allows Lupin to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him. Darcy leans into him, to rest her head against his chest and Lupin holds her tighter. He settles his cheek against the top of her head. The gesture is the most comforting thing Darcy has ever known, and she wants to stay like this forever.

"I should have been there for you," he whispers into her hair. "I'm so, so sorry—you're right, I should have written to you, I should have—I should have been there…"

"You're here now," Darcy murmurs back, sniffling.

"I shouldn't have let them take you to your aunt and uncle's house," Lupin sighs. "I should never have let them take you or Harry. I'm sorry, Darcy—I'm sorry I didn't do anything to help you."

But Darcy, as much as she resents growing up at Privet Drive, is quite glad Lupin hadn't done anything. She knows everything would be different, and imagines never knowing such love from someone—she imagines never knowing Lupin's gentle touch, the tenderness of his kisses, the warmth of his smile. Years of abuse and neglect at the Dursleys have left her craving love, and Darcy can't imagine ever loving someone else so deeply. And, being held in his arms, Darcy can't help but to think, the wait was worth it to have him come back into my life again. Over a decade of loveless years at the Dursleys, only to finally find someone who cares for her in ways she's never imagined anyone could…

Lupin shifts underneath her, allowing Darcy to lean more comfortably against him. With her head against his chest, Lupin runs his fingers through her hair slowly, and she closes her eyes as the beating of his heart and his touch begins to lull her to sleep. "I dream of him still," she whispers. Darcy slides her hand stealthily up his shirt, resting her palm on his scarred chest to feel the steady and comforting drumbeat of his heart. "I dream of him all the time—saving me, holding me—loving me."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Darcy can feel Lupin's heartbeat start to quicken beneath his chest, and he stops combing her hair with his fingers. "Darcy," Lupin says in a strained voice, "he's a—"

"I know what he is," Darcy hisses, perhaps too harshly. She groans into his chest. "Oh—I'm sorry—it might be stupid, but can I tell you something?"

Lupin hums his consent, his heart still beating very fast. His nervousness makes Darcy's heart begin to race, as well, and when she thinks of Sirius Black holding her, Darcy feels her heart may burst. "The picture of my parents on their wedding day—whenever I've looked at it recently, Sirius is holding me—just like in my dreams—and I'm asleep in his arms… do you—is that real? Do you remember that day?"

"I remember," Lupin rasps. Darcy looks up into his face, touching her hand over his shirt. "I hope this doesn't upset you, but—you spent most of the day at his side, given that your parents were quite busy. Sirius was always quite taken with you, and you with him."

In spite of herself, and in spite of the surge of anger that fills her (thoughts of Hagrid prying her from Sirius's chest, thoughts of possibly being able to have had a real family), Darcy smiles. Then, she remembers: he's a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer.

"I know you miss your family," Lupin rasps. "I know you miss them, but you and Harry have survived this long together. Your parents would be so proud of you, Darcy—I mean it. If they could see how you've taken care of your brother…"

Then, unable to hold back years worth of tears that are building in her eyes, Darcy begins to sob into his chest. "Please don't leave—please don't leave me—I don't want to be alone anymore—"

Lupin kisses the top of her head, his fingertips digging into her arms. "I won't," he breathes. "I won't leave you, Darcy. Not now—not again."

In an attempt to make her feel better, Lupin digs inside his liquor cabinet and produces a bottle of firewhiskey. He looks at it for a long time, biting down on his lip as if unsure he should really open it, but he does—albeit reluctantly. The prospect of drinking, of hopefully filling the gaping hole in her heart at the moment, is so appealing to Darcy that when Lupin pours her a glass, she drinks the entire thing in one large gulp. But it burns her throat so, so badly that she gags and coughs and sputters for a few minutes. Darcy holds her glass out for Lupin to fill again, and he hesitates before doing so, watching her drink the contents of her glass quickly.

Within twenty minutes, Darcy is drunk; her cheeks are flushed and she's sweating slightly, and the room around her starts to spin, but she doesn't move from her seat on the sofa. Lupin refuses to refill her glass after she holds it out for her fourth refill, and Darcy can't blame him. She doesn't think her body can handle another sip, anyway. But the firewhiskey does nothing to stop the aching in her heart, and Darcy can't help but feel disappointed.

Lupin drinks at his firewhiskey not as deeply, but quick enough that he's soon slightly tipsy, as well. He continues to refill his glass without caring how much he's drinking, and when Darcy tries again, holding out her cup, Lupin fills it still more reluctantly, muttering something that sounds like, "—shouldn't be doing this—" and Darcy swears that she hears him say the word "cute", but when she drinks the firewhiskey, the thought is forced from her mind.

Darcy watches Lupin carefully, and he watches her right back. When he finishes his glass, he sets it on the table, not bothering to refill it this time. Darcy does the same thing, but soon finds herself wishing Lupin would pour more for her. At the same time, she wishes Lupin would kiss her now—he looks so incredibly handsome, his eyes heavy, cheeks red, hair tousled.

At the sight of him looking so disheveled, Darcy wonders something she hasn't really thought about often. If her parents were still alive, what would they have to say about this? What would her mother say if she found out how much time Darcy and Lupin had been spending together, alone, in such close confines—drinking together? What would her father say if he found out his daughter and one of his best friends had slept together? Darcy can't imagine they'd be pleased—and she's sure that Lupin knows it, as well.

I should leave, she thinks suddenly. But the room still swims around her, and Darcy doesn't think she'll be able to make it back to Gryffindor Tower. And she doesn't want to leave—she wants to stay with him, fall asleep next to him, kiss him again and again and again...

"Do you miss your family?" Darcy asks, very gently, hoping for a conversation to get her mind off the trouble they would both be in if someone were to catch them.

Lupin considers her for a moment, looking her up and down again, and making himself more comfortable. "Yes, sometimes," he answers. He reaches out for her hand, settled in her lap. Lupin takes it in his own, pulling her closer to him. "I always made them worry so much—I made their lives so difficult and I know how hard it must have been for them." Darcy moves closer and Lupin kisses her fingers. "I've been without them for so long, there are some days that I find myself missing how it feels to be part of a family."

Darcy feels her heart ache for him. She wonders if, between when her parents' died and Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban, and now, anyone has cared for him. She tries not to picture Lupin alone for so long, grieving the loss of his friends, his family, with no one to hold him or comfort him. Darcy studies his face for a long time. "I could be your family," Darcy whispers. "We'd never have to be alone again."

Inhaling sharply, Lupin opens his mouth to speak, but isn't able to say anything. There's a peculiar look on his face, his eyebrows knitted together, as if he hasn't quite heard her right. And then, Lupin closes the space between them, his lips crashing against hers. Darcy kisses him back hungrily, wrapping her arms around his neck. Lupin only deepens the kiss, snaking his arms around her, and less than ten minutes later, they're lying on their sides on the sofa, half-dressed, their chests pressed up against each other's. Darcy's leg is draped over his hip, Lupin's face buried in her shoulder as he fucks her clumsily, drunkenly, nipping gently at the exposed skin of her shoulder and the sensitive skin on her neck.

Darcy combs her fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful of it and kissing the top of his head. They're both sweating, hot breaths against each other's skin, the fire in the hearth causing Darcy's back to burn. Lupin pushes the damp red hair out of her face, kissing up and down her jaw, and Darcy sighs his name into his ear when she finishes.

"We shouldn't have done that," Lupin mutters afterwards, as he holds Darcy in place despite his doubts. He rests his forehead against her own, breathing heavily and making no move to get dressed. "I shouldn't have—oh, Darcy—"

"I didn't hear you complaining," Darcy slurs back, trying to stop him before he apologizes, and smiling as his lips touch her cheek.

She closes her eyes, relishing the warmth and comfort that Lupin's arms bring her. With Oliver, there had never been this closeness—with Oliver, she had always dressed immediately afterwards. There had been no sense of intimacy, no soft kisses, no holding her in his arms. Once, Darcy had never known something like this was possible, and she loves Lupin that much more for being able to show her a love and kindness that doesn't need to be said for her to understand. Maybe it's the firewhisky, or maybe it's the rush that sleeping with him again has given her, but Darcy's thoughts seem suddenly scrambled.

"Say my name," he murmurs.

Darcy looks up into his face, smiling weakly at this sight of his tired face, his eyes closed. Then, she kisses his chest. "Remus," she whispers.

"Again."

"Remus—" Another kiss to his chest. "Remus—Remus—Remus—" Punctuating each word with a kiss, Darcy stretches her neck out to kiss his lips finally, muttering against them, "Remus."

"Darcy," he suddenly says very seriously. When Darcy chances a glance at him, she finds his eyes are open again. "I don't like the idea of you going back to your aunt and uncle's."

"It won't be for that long," she answers quietly, kissing his chest again. "Harry will be there, and I won't be staying there the whole time. This won't be my first summer at Privet Drive."

"I'm only saying—" he stammers, his cheeks turning pink. Darcy smiles at him, admiring him while so flustered. Raising an eyebrow and prompting him to continue. "If they aren't treating you well, I'd like you to let me know—and Harry, as well—and if you were to need a place to—with the salary Dumbledore's paying me, I could manage to fix a few things—"

"Visit you over the summer?" Darcy asks, her heart skipping. "Could I?"

"Well—only if you wanted to, of course, and I'd understand why you wouldn't—"

Darcy pushes herself up slightly to look down into his face. Her smile stretches wider. "No—I'd love to."

"Truly?"

"Yes," Darcy says, breathless. She kisses him hard again on the mouth. "Yes, yes, yes—"

Lupin grins, wrapping his arms around Darcy's middle and kissing her face all over as her laughter rings out around them.