'But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'
W. B. Yeats
June arrives, and with it comes a sense of anticipation that blankets the seventh years. The knowledge that these will be the last exams ever taken inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry causes those already on edge to become more crazed, looking forward to being able to spend the rest of their time outside and celebrating the end of their final year. The warm weather, so welcome after such a bitter winter, teases the students, tempting them while they spend their time studying. Despite everything, Emily helps Darcy study, and Hermione tests them from their books in between studying for her own exams.
While Carla has not spoken to Darcy except in passing, it doesn't really discourage her, even when she watches Carla and Emily walk together down the corridors. She knows there will be plenty of time to talk after the exams, and if Carla still doesn't feel like speaking then, Darcy knows there will still be plenty of time when they both return to Hogwarts in the fall. Between Darcy's lack of sleep and determination to do well during exams, she is quite glad to be left alone. Harry spends most of his time right at her side near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, and Darcy's heart is slightly lighter whenever he's around.
When Darcy goes to Lupin's one night for dinner, however, the sight of Emily and Gemma walking out of his office makes her nervous. She stops midway across the classroom her heart sinking at the apologetic looks on her friends' faces, and they walk past her with weak smiles, not saying anything, but upon turning her gaze to Lupin and seeing him smiling at her from the threshold, Darcy ignores her friends. She doesn't want to think about what the three of them could have been talking about—she doesn't want anymore else to think of. Feeling light on her feet and weak at the sight of Lupin's smile, Darcy nearly floats across the classroom, and up into his office.
Three empty tea cups are still sitting on his desk, and the smell makes Darcy slightly nauseous. Lupin clears them with a flick of his wand and leads Darcy into his apartments, a hand on the small of her back, slightly lower than usual.
Lupin helps her study for Transfiguration after they eat, allowing her to transfigure several small items he finds in cupboards or in his trunk. He quizzes her as Darcy lays against his chest, looking through her pages and pages of notes, and Lupin rewards her with a soft kiss to her temple for each right answer. Darcy finds him strangely affectionate that night, kissing her face and holding her hand and draping an arm over her shoulders, holding her to him, but Darcy doesn't complain or ask why—although she's certain it has something to do with what he and Emily and Gemma had been talking about. She's almost afraid to ask and, as Lupin hasn't brought it up, is worried that she won't like the answer if she decides to be straightforward about it.
When she starts to pack up her books and notes, Lupin watches her carefully, clenching and unclenching his jaw. And then, as she gets to her feet to leave, he asks, "Is it true?"
Darcy pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. "Is what true?"
Lupin scratches at the beard on his face and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. "Your uncle hits you?"
And just like that, in the matter of a single second, anger surges through Darcy. To know that Gemma had not only told Emily, but Lupin as well, about the things Darcy had confided in her is not only humiliating, but infuriating. She tries not to picture Gemma dragging Emily along with her to Lupin's office, begging a private word with him. She tries not to picture Lupin being surprised that Darcy hadn't said something sooner. Darcy finds herself not wanting to talk about any of this at all—especially not now, knowing she'll have to return to Privet Drive very soon. Darcy scowls at Lupin, unsure of why she decides to lie when the answer to his question is written all over her face. "No," she snaps.
"Why are you lying to me?" Lupin says, furrowing his brow. His eyes flick down to her left hand and she knows all is lost—she knows exactly the conversation that was had without her—behind her back. Lupin rises from the sofa, reaching out for her left hand. "Let me see your hand, love."
Darcy knows it's such a stupid thing, to hold him back from seeing a single finger. Her left hand, which had once been rapped so hard with a cane that her ring finger had never quite healed properly, is shaking. Years ago, she had let it slip to Emily, and Darcy had thought it was forgotten by Emily, but Darcy still remembers it vividly. Vernon had been the one to use the cane, and the pain of it made Darcy cry out, her sobs echoing throughout the kitchen, and even Dudley had to look away as her hand swelled almost instantly, turning black and blue and purple. Suddenly feeling very shameful about it, Darcy curls her fingers into a fist, tucking it behind her back. "No," she says again. "It's nothing."
"Let me see your hand, my love," Lupin whispers gently, reaching out again. But still, Darcy keeps it well out of reach. He frowns deeper. "I showed you mine, now you show me yours."
"I have shown you mine," Darcy retorts, her right hand moving to her shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing the scars that are underneath her shirt. With her left hand, she makes to grab her bag, but with surprising speed, Lupin reaches out and closes his fingers around Darcy's wrist. "Let go."
"Show me."
Darcy doesn't move to show him, nor does she pull away from his grip. Lupin looks into her eyes once before opening her fist, and Darcy extends her fingers for him. He touches her ring finger gingerly. At the first knuckle, it's bent at an awkward angle very slightly, as if it had been broken but never treated. Darcy's heart pounds as she searches Lupin's face, waiting for a reaction, infuriated that Emily would have given Lupin such information—no matter how small—without at least consulting her first, infuriated that Gemma had dragged Emily along to Lupin's office to reveal secrets Darcy had never intended to tell him.
"You're not going back there," he tells her firmly, as if that settles the matter.
"Why?" Darcy hisses, heaving her bag over her shoulder. "Because I got hit with a cane once? Because you said so?" And then, unable to stop talking no matter how badly she wants to, she drops her bag to the ground and the books slap against each other inside it. She crosses her arms over her chest, rage overwhelming her. "Don't talk to my friends about me."
"Your friends are worried about you," he replies quite calmly.
Darcy laughs mirthlessly. "Go on, then—what else did Emily say? Has she told you every little thing that's happened to me over the past twelve years?"
Lupin sighs deeply. "How can I let you go back there knowing what they do to you? Why didn't you tell me it was so bad?" He runs a hand through his hair, and when his hand falls to his side again, his hair sticks up near the back. "If your parents knew how they were treating you—"
"They'll never know, because they're dead, aren't they?"
Darcy sees anger flash in Lupin's eyes for a split second before it's gone, but his face remains stony. "You don't have to remind me that they're dead, Darcy," he says, his voice almost a growl. "I lost just as much as you did that night."
"Oh?" Darcy shoots back, taking a step towards him, her bag still abandoned on the floor. "How would you have any idea what I lost that night? You never bothered to write, never bothered to check in on me or Harry—you disappeared and left your best friends' children to fend for themselves, knowing what happened. You lost your friends—I lost my family, my childhood—the only other person in this world who loved me, who would have given me a family."
"You know what I am, Darcy," Lupin answers, his tone harsher now, his voice a little louder. "What would I have done for you? What could I have done for either of you? I had nothing—no job, no money, no home—I couldn't have just taken you away—"
"Anywhere would have been better than Privet Drive!" Darcy shouts, resisting the urge to reach out and shake him, shake him until he understands. "Maybe Vernon hits me, maybe he says things that hurt me, maybe they all hate me, but that is nothing—nothing—compared to the loss of my entire childhood when I was forced to step up and be a mother to my baby brother! Do you have any idea what that's like?"
Lupin scoffs and crosses his arms, looking very defensive, angering Darcy even further. "I have an idea of what the loss of a childhood might be like," he sneers. "In case you've forgotten, I lost the opportunity for a real childhood at the same age you did." This time, Lupin takes a step forward. Darcy doesn't falter, but her heart rate starts to quicken. "Do you truly think I'd forgotten about you? You thought I had forgotten James and Lily's children survived? You think I didn't imagine how you must have been feeling? My heart ached for you and Harry, knowing that you would never know your parents."
Darcy feels tears prickle painfully in her eyes, and she tries to will herself not to cry. "You left us," she sniffles, reaching out to push him, but Lupin is quicker and he catches her hands before she touches his chest. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be five-years-old, having to care for a baby after everything that had happened? To raise a child because no one else wanted to? To not be cared about, to have no one to talk to? I cried myself to sleep for years, and you did nothing—"
"What do you want from me, Darcy?" he interrupts, lowering her hands and letting go of them. "You want me to be your father? You want me to make up for all those years I wasn't around? Make up for all those years James wasn't around? I told you—you didn't know who I was, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything for you. I wasn't named your godfather." But when Darcy is unable to answer, he presses on. "Tell me what you want me to be, and I'll be it for you."
Darcy knows Lupin will never be able to take the place of her father—they have done far too much, shared far too much, to ever have a healthy relationship like that of a father and daughter. And besides, Darcy thinks, Mr. Weasley has filled that gap for two summers now, has stepped up to offer her the comfort she never had, but always craved. And she remembers the day everything changed between them like it was yesterday—
She remembers preparing to stay at the Burrow for the first time, just after Fred, George, and Ron had rescued she and Harry from Privet Drive. She remembers being offered a camp bed in Ginny's room, remembers Ginny being quite bashful as Darcy climbed underneath a blanket, trembling violently, afraid of what might come. Please don't let them come tonight, she'd thought, as she had closed her eyes. All she wanted was for someone to be next to her—all she had wanted was to find Harry in that cramped household, to climb into bed with him. Please let my dreams be happy. But in the middle of the night, Darcy had woken screaming bloody murder, scaring Ginny so badly she'd started to cry—and Mr. Weasley had made it to the bedroom first. He'd walked into his daughter's bedroom to find Darcy in tears, her face red and soaking wet, and he'd scooped Darcy in his arms and held her to his chest while she sobbed out of fear and intense embarrassment, and Darcy had listened to his rapidly beating heart as the entire Weasley family plus Harry looked on in silence, white-faced. In the days that had followed that incident, Darcy had been attached to Mr. Weasley's hip, and he'd made her smile and laugh and never made her feel bad about having nightmares.
Darcy looks up from the floor, into Lupin's face again. She tries to imagine a life where she doesn't love Lupin as deeply as she does now—a life where she loves him as a father figure, as a family friend. To know that life could have been possible, but at the cost of the joy his kisses bring her, the warmth of his smile, the safety of his arms wrapped around her, the feel of his skin against her's when he's on top of her, inside of her…
"I just—" Darcy swallows hard, suddenly feeling very ashamed of the things she's said to Lupin. "I just want—" She blushes. "I just want whatever—this is—whatever we have right now."
Lupin, to Darcy's surprise, frowns. "You know I have nothing to offer you," he whispers. "You want a home, don't you? I'll never be able to give that to you—not one that you deserve. And do you want stability? A normal life? Darcy, you will never get that with me. You know what I am, and I could not ask you—ever—to take on the burden of caring for me." Suddenly, he looks distressed, and he starts to pace back and forth before the fireplace, while Darcy watches him. "I could never be what you deserve—I am far too old for you—your parents would never allow it—think of what your friends would say—I'll do nothing but ruin you, and make your life more difficult than it already is, and I—"
"I don't need all those things—a nice home, stability, whatever you think you can't offer me," Darcy says, her tone softer now. She picks up her bag off the ground and puts it over her shoulder again, feeling rather awkward. "I'm sorry for what I said—I don't blame you for—I know why you never—I'm sorry."
Lupin nods slowly. "Me too."
Darcy glances away, her cheeks burning. She wipes angrily at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "I don't want to fight," she breathes, suddenly feeling very exhausted.
"Darcy," Lupin sighs, and Darcy's eyes meet his again. He reaches out for her shoulders, balling his hands into fists before he touches her. Slowly, Lupin lowers his hands back to his sides. He looks into her eyes for a long time, seemingly battling some internal conflict. "In another life—" Lupin stops abruptly, clearing his throat, looking sheepish. "In another life—this wouldn't have been—we never would have—"
It seems to Darcy that what he's trying to say is physically paining him. She smiles in spite of herself, in spite of everything—Darcy almost finds it endearing how someone so confident when he's inside her can barely form a coherent sentence about his feelings. And at the same time, Darcy can't help but feel bad for him, so conflicted with his feelings that he can't think straight. All of the anger she'd felt towards Gemma and Emily, towards Lupin, suddenly evaporates as happiness floods her senses. How could she have said those things to him? How could she have treated him as if he could never understood her sufferings, when his patience and understanding and acceptance are some of the things she admires most about him?
"Yes?" she prompts him eagerly as Lupin's sentence trails away.
"What I'm trying to say is—" Lupin pauses again, watching Darcy with a very nervous look about him. "I'm—I'm glad we're together again—now. I'm happy the way things are, and—in a short while, when you're no longer my student, I—I'd like to continue seeing you, you know—have dinner and—and not just to get you away from your aunt and uncle, I mean—"
Darcy flashes him a toothy grin, feeling lightheaded and airy. "Yes?" she asks again, rather innocently.
Lupin groans and drags a hand down his face, a dull flush creeping up his face. He takes a deep breath, taking a moment to think about what he wants to say. Then, after a minute's silence, he continues. "What I mean to say is, if you're interested—and I understand if you're—well, I really care about you, and—please stop looking at me like that—you know what I'm trying to say."
Darcy can't even think of a simple answer. Lupin's words have scattered her brain, and they're all she can think about.
Lupin frowns when she doesn't answer, looking dejected. He straightens himself up to his full height, trying to regain his dignity. "I'm sorry if I presume too much—I know that I could never be what you deserve, but I—" Another deep breath. "I'll take care of you, Darcy."
Still unsure of what to say—or if she's even able to say the simplest words—Darcy only smiles at him. She stoops to pick up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and Lupin is still looking at her when she stands up. Darcy sighs happily, moving closer to Lupin. She stands on her tip toes and kisses him softly in the cheek.
When she pulls away, Lupin puts his fingers to the place on his cheek where her lips have just touched, and he smiles weakly. "Good luck with your exams, Darcy," he rasps as Darcy is halfway through the door to his office.
"Thanks." And Darcy closes the door behind her, a smile glued to her face and her heart racing all the way back to her common room.
"What are you so happy about?" Harry asks, looking suspiciously at Darcy over the top of his Divination book. Ron watched Darcy with side eyes, while Hermione has the decency to at least pretend she's reading her notes.
Darcy beams at Harry, but he narrows his eyes at her in return.
"I haven't seen you smile like that for weeks," Harry mutters. "Have you lost it? Are you mad?"
"Is it the N.E.W.T.s?" Hermione whispers.
"Oh, that'll be it," Ron nods. "You've cracked, haven't you?"
Hermione watches Darcy and Harry's faces for a moment, and then grabs Ron by the arm. "Come on," she tells him. "They obviously want to be left alone."
"You were the one telling us we had to study!" Ron protests, and he continues to mutter under his breath all the way to his dormitory.
Harry looks over the opposite side of the common room, where several other students are studying together, talking quietly with their heads together. None of them so much as spare Darcy or Harry a quick glance, and Harry looks back at his sister. "You haven't cracked, have you?"
"No," Darcy laughs softly, the smile fading from her face. "I'm happy, Harry."
"Are you?" Harry replies, sounding genuinely surprised. "All I've seen you do lately is snap on people and sneer—and would you please stop doing it? Because you remind me of Snape."
His comment goes unheard. Darcy's smiling into the crackling fire, her stomach full of what feels like fluttering monarch butterflies. "Yes," she murmurs, closing her eyes and sighing contently. "Yes, I am."
Her dreams that night are some of the best dreams she's ever had. While Emily snores lightly in the bed beside her, Darcy dreams of Lupin—but they aren't the obscene dreams she usually has of him, his head tucked between her legs, his fingers digging into her hips. These dreams are full of smiles and laughter, of his warm hand in hers, of soft kisses all over her face.
I'll take care of you, Darcy.
Isn't that all she's ever wanted? Someone to care for her after years of only having Emily? Emily, her best and oldest friend—not counting Harry, of course. But the dynamic between she and Emily is so different from Darcy and Lupin's. Since the beginning, Lupin has treated her an equal, as if she's an old friend, while Emily had always seemed to think she was slightly superior to Darcy, but she's sure Emily never acted that way intentionally. After seven years, you get to know someone very well, especially sharing a room with them for the better part of a year—and Darcy knows that's just how Emily is.
She wakes in the middle of the night, not because of a nightmare, but because her mouth is so dry. Darcy gets herself some water and lays back down, her mattress creaking underneath her.
I'll take care of you, Darcy.
Has Lupin ever had someone to care for him? All those years, she hopes he wasn't alone for all of them, but Lupin, upon their first meeting, never gave Darcy the impression he was well cared for. Now that he's at Hogwarts, Lupin seems radiant to Darcy despite the state of his robes, clothing, and most of his belongings. With a frown, Darcy wonders, who will take care of him?
As she closes her eyes again, the answer comes easily to her.
I will.