A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! I just want to thank you all for your feedback and praise. All your reviews mean the world to me. I wish I could reply to each of you individually, but alas . . . There are only three chapters left, and since I already have the following story finished, it won't be a long wait. Here's the new chapter courtesy of a very, very hungover me. Happy New Year!

'The body will always make more room / for grief.'

Kate Gaskin

Darcy's head hurts.

She'd been having the strangest dream—Lupin was in it, and Sirius Black was in it, and the man who had been responsible for her parents' death had snatched at her skirt and begged for mercy, she had knocked Snape out, something had knocked her out.

That's ridiculous, Darcy tells herself, the pounding in her head lessening as she wakes. Sirius Black is the reason my parents are dead. Peter Pettigrew is dead.

But more images are starting to come back to her, more memories, more feelings. A broken nose and a punch to the jaw (which begins to ache horribly again); Lupin wiping dried blood off her face in front of everyone; Snape binding Lupin with ropes, ready to give him to the dementors for no other reason than an schoolboy grudge; Sirius's arms around her, while she closed her eyes, listening to the beating of his heart; Scabbers suspended in midair, turning into a man; the full moon coming out from behind some clouds. With her eyes still closed, Darcy touches her forehead, wincing slightly. She still feels winded, her heart skipping a beat every so often, her chest on fire as if she's just swallowed a particularly large drink of firewhiskey. But that can't have been real—it had to have just been a dream, and when she opens her eyes, she'll be in her dormitory, and Emily will be sleeping in the bed beside her, snoring softly without a care in the world.

Darcy doesn't open her eyes. She isn't sure if she's more afraid of waking in the hospital wing knowing it was all real, or waking in her dormitory knowing it was all a dream. But she can't be in her dormitory, because there are voices—male voices—one of them a voice she's very familiar with, having heard it almost everyday for the past seven years. Darcy's eyes flutter open, and she finds herself staring up at the high window, the full moon's light filtering into the hospital wing, bathing her lower half in a white glow. She looks over to the bed next to her, where Harry is already awake, listening to the voices that are coming from the corridor outside, drifting through the open doors.

Forcing herself in a half-sitting position, Darcy looks around the dark hospital wing. Hermione is awake on Harry's other side, looking horrified. Across from Darcy's bed, she can see the red of Ron's hair, but he doesn't move, nor are there any signs of him being awake. Madam Pomfrey is bustling towards Darcy from her office, a large slab of chocolate in her hand, and a large, dark vial in her other hand. Darcy clutches her chest, the burning sensation causing her to moan softly. This catches Madam Pomfrey's attention, but Darcy ignores her. As she throws off her blankets, Darcy watches Harry do the same thing, and she slips off the bed, her legs very shaky underneath her. Harry grabs her arm as her knees buckle, steadying her.

"You okay?" Harry whispers.

"You two are going to kill me one day, do you know that?"

Madam Pomfrey grips Darcy's arm firmly, pushing her back down into bed. She cries out, her chest burning, watching the matron force Harry back into bed, as well. But Darcy pushes away the potion Madam Pomfrey tries to force down her throat, trying to get out of bed, trying to talk to Harry.

"What happened? How did we get here?" she asks Harry, turning her head to the side as Madam Pomfrey breaks off a piece of chocolate and puts it to Darcy's lips. "Last thing I remember . . . Professor Lupin . . ."

"He got away, Darcy," Harry replies quickly, trying to look at Darcy, peering around Madam Pomfrey's back. "Pettigrew took Lupin's wand—Ron got the brunt of his spell—you both collapsed and Pettigrew transformed and got away and Hermione and I went after Sirius—Darcy, there were hundreds of dementors and—I saw—something made them go away—a Patronus, but I don't know who—"

"What do you mean he got away?" Darcy hisses, dodging another attempt of Madam Pomfrey's to shove potion and chocolate down her throat. "Madam Pomfrey, please stop—Harry, where's Sirius?" Madam Pomfrey rubs chocolate to Darcy's lips again, and Darcy growls at her, animal-like.

"Sirius Black?" Madam Pomfrey asks, looking from Darcy to Harry, perplexed at their conversation. She lowers the block of chocolate from Darcy's mouth. "You don't need to worry about him anymore, Potter. He's upstairs—they dementors are going to perform the kiss at any moment . . ."

Darcy's face pales. "No! Madam Pomfrey, they can't!"

Harry jumps to his feet again, talking over Darcy. "What?"

Behind him, Darcy sees Hermione get to her feet, as well. But Darcy can't move all of a sudden, and her chest tightens, unable to catch her breath. A searing pain goes through her and Darcy moans again, wondering briefly if Ron's chest will tingle just as badly when he wakes up. "He's innocent," she croaks breathlessly, touching Madam Pomfrey's shoulder with her free hand. Madam Pomfrey only looks back at her with wide eyes. "Sirius is innocent, please—" But the room around her begins to swim at the thought of losing Sirius again—so shortly after they'd been reunited . . .

Darcy sees Madam Pomfrey look towards the doors of the hospital wing and Darcy turns around, her neck cracking. Cornelius Fudge walks in rather quickly, Snape on his heels. Fudge looks absolutely bewildered at the sight of Darcy fighting with Madam Pomfrey, but at the sight of the Minister of Magic, Darcy feels that all is not lost—there is still a chance Sirius could be saved from the fate that awaits him. Attempting to stand again, Madam Pomfrey shoves Darcy back into the bed, so Darcy props herself up on an elbow, looking imploringly at the Minister as Harry takes over, speaking very fast as Hermione races to his side. "Minister, Sirius Black is innocent, Peter Pettigrew faked his own death—"

"We saw it all happen," Hermione adds, sweating slightly, her face white. "Ron's rat, Scabbers—it was Peter Pettigrew this entire time—he's an Animagus—"

But Fudge looks as though he's expected this reaction out of them. There's a small smile on his face that infuriates Darcy, and she looks to Snape, who looks pleased and amused, and Snape looks right back at her. Hatred boils inside of her at the sight of Snape, and she knows it is too late—she knows Snape has already given his version of events, and nothing any of them say will change anything. Darcy's eyes flick back to Fudge. She has to try—she can't just lay back, defeated, knowing the dementors will soon steal Sirius's soul. "Please, Minister . . . we were all there—Professor Snape was knocked out when Scabbers turned into Peter—Professor Lupin was there, he can tell you—"

"Like I said, Minister," Snape interrupts smoothly, holding his hands behind his back. Darcy's chest heaves, anger surging through her. "I worry about Potter's mental and emotional state . . . it's clear Lupin has been grooming her from the start . . . I've been telling the Headmaster he's not to be trusted . . ."

Darcy struggles to find an answer for a moment, shocked at the absurd statement Snape has just given. If she had been angry a minute ago, it's nothing to the anger she feels now. "He has not been grooming me!" she shouts, her face red. Darcy and Snape exchange glances once more, and Darcy scowls at him before looking at Fudge again. "Please, Minister, come morning, we can all tell you exactly what happened—please, don't call the dementors until you've heard us out—"

"Miss Potter," Fudge says kindly, but Darcy shakes her head, not wanting to hear anything else come out of his mouth. Snape is still sneering at her, looking triumphant. "I would not ask you to recount the terrible events of this evening once more when Professor Snape has already given me his testimony. I know that you have had a difficult night, so why don't you just lie back and—"

Darcy buries her face in her hands, letting out a muffled, frustrated scream. Madam Pomfrey jumps, backing away from her. Harry and Hermione watch her; Hermione opens her mouth to speak, to shush Darcy, but Harry shakes his head. Darcy's heart pounds in her ears, the tightness in her chest nothing to the aching in her heart at the thought of Sirius not remembering her face, not remembering who she is, what they'd shared, even if she was just a little girl—"He's lying!"

There's a ringing silence, and Snape's amused face turns to one of rage and the color drains from his face. He moves swiftly to the foot of Darcy bed, curling his hands into fists and digging them into the mattress on either side of Darcy's legs. They stare at each other for a moment, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Their chests rise and fall dramatically, but Darcy doesn't falter. She will not allow Sirius to fall victim to the dementors because of Snape. "You dare?" Snape whispers, his voice a deadly hiss. "You dare call me a liar in front of the Minister of Magic?"

"Because it's true—you're lying! You were knocked out! You never got to see—"

"I heard and saw enough, Darcy!" Snape shouts in her face. Darcy clenches her jaw, and she can feel her head throbbing, fit to burst. "I saw the four of you in that room with a murderer and his accomplice, and had I not been so foolishly attacked—"

Darcy raises her voice, speaking over Snape. Sitting up straight in bed, she moves her face closer, eyes not leaving his. "You were prepared to give Professor Lupin to the dementors without a second thought—an innocent man—"

Snape and Darcy move even closer to each other, yet no one intervenes. "Innocent?" Snape snarls. He lowers his voice, so close to Darcy that she can feel his hot breath on her lips. "Do not pretend that he does not deserve it—I don't know what kind of fantasies he's planted in your head, but you are a fool if you actually believe anything he's said to—"

Darcy's voice grows shrill, but Snape does not move away. "I will not turn against Professor Lupin because you can't get over a trick they played on you in school over ten years ago—"

"That trick would have killed me, and they would have laughed about it—"

"But it didn't kill you because my father saved your life—"

"Your father got cold feet," Snape retorts, his face paler still. "And in case you've forgotten, I saved your—"

"And you'll hold that over my head for the rest of my life, won't you?" They move closer still, almost nose to nose, black eyes boring into Darcy's green ones. Snape is leaning far over the foot of the bed now, his hands making the mattress shake. "Professor Lupin wasn't even a part of it—he didn't know, and you still would have had the dementors kiss him—"

"You act like you were there—like you saw what happened! Lupin told you a few stories and now you know everything, is that it, Potter?"

"If you had listened to what they were saying, you'd know just as much as I did, but you wanted to bring them to the dementors without even hearing their side of the story!" Darcy can't contain her anger anymore, and it all pours out of her in a high-pitched shriek. "You are cruel—"

"I will not be spoken to like this!"

"Severus! Darcy!"

Both Darcy and Snape jump, having forgotten the other people standing around them. Darcy breathes raggedly and her palms hurt; she holds them up to her face and finds that her fingernails have cut into her skin. Snape straightens up, brushing the front of his robes and turning on his heel to face the sound of the voice. She flushes deep red at the sight of Dumbledore looking at Snape closely, having not seen or heard Dumbledore even enter the hospital wing. She suddenly wonders how long he's been standing there, how much he'd heard. Snape looks furious, black eyes still fixed upon Darcy. Dumbledore turns then to face Darcy, but speaking to the room at large. Darcy's heart is pounding painfully in her chest as Dumbledore says, "I would like to speak to these three alone." He motions with a hand towards Darcy, Harry, and Hermione. "I've been talking to Sirius Black—"

"And I'm sure he's given you the same cock-and-bull story that they're spitting out?" Snape asks coldly, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive—"

Dumbledore nods slowly, seemingly too calm for Darcy's liking. "That is, indeed, his story."

This seems to infuriate Snape even more, to the point where Darcy's never seen him so outraged. "Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack—"

"—yes, he was—he was disguised as Scabbers, which you chose to ignore—" Darcy cuts in, but Snape ignores her.

"—nor was there any sign of him on the grounds—"

"—you were knocked out, of course you didn't see him!"

"Darcy," Dumbledore suddenly says, silencing her with a single look. "Enough." Darcy shuts her mouth with great difficult, and Snape grins as she flashes him a maddening look. "Poppy, Cornelius, Severus—I would like a word with Mr. and Miss Potter, as well as Miss Granger."

Madam Pomfrey, grumbling under her breath, shoves a piece of chocolate into Darcy's mouth before taking her leave, and Darcy struggles to chew and swallow it, her jaw still very swollen, very achy, and very tense. Cornelius Fudge says something about the dementors and checks his watch, exiting the room in a hurry, but Darcy barely hears him mumbling on his way out. She looks at Snape again, who hasn't moved from Dumbledore's side. Darcy watches him, trying to will him to leave with her eyes, but he doesn't budge.

"Surely you don't believe Black?" Snape whispers, his lips stretching thin across his lips. "Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at sixteen—you haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill me?"

Darcy thinks that, maybe, had she heard Snape ask that question in a shaky voice months ago, she'd have felt bad for him, but now—now all she can think is that he probably deserved it, that there had to have been a reason for Sirius to play such a trick on him. Dumbledore remains calm as ever, and Darcy leans forward, waiting to hear whatever is about to leave Dumbledore's lips, and the Headmaster's answer makes her feel slightly victorious. "My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus," he says quietly.

Snape, sensing defeat, points a finger in Darcy's direction, lip curling. "And what of her?" he demands, and Darcy rolls her eyes, breathing deeply. "Lupin almost killed her himself—"

"He never tried to murder me!" Darcy replies, before she can stop herself. "Like you care what happens to me—as long as my near-death experience can be used to benefit yourself—"

"Enough, Darcy," Dumbledore tells her, his voice raised. She's never heard Dumbledore yell at her before, never heard Dumbledore raise his voice in anger towards her, but as the echoing of his voice comes to a halt, Darcy leans back against her pillow, knowing there is nothing else to be done. Dumbledore gives her a lingering look before turning back to Severus, his face now stony. "I wish to speak to these three alone, Severus."

Snape seems to realize that there is nothing more he can say to change Dumbledore's mind, and he turns on his heel, giving Darcy a last look over his shoulder before leaving the hospital wing, closing the doors behind him. As soon as the door shut, Darcy, Harry, and Hermione all begin to speak at once, and Dumbledore gives them a moment to explain.

"Sirius is innocent, Professor—"

"We saw Pettigrew—he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf—"

"Professor Snape is a liar—he was knocked out when Professor Lupin and Sirius made Scabbers change—"

"Peter Pettigrew was pretending to be Ron's pet—"

And then Dumbledore holds up a hand and silence falls over them once more. Harry sits on his bed, watching Dumbledore intently, while Hermione seats herself at the foot of Darcy's bed, where Snape's hands had been only a few minutes before. "There will be no more interruptions," Dumbledore whispers, causing the three of them to lean into him. "With Pettigrew having escaped, there is no proof to support your story. There were witnesses that night who are certain of what they saw, and I gave evidence to the Ministry afterwards against Sirius, as well."

"Professor, you can't let the dementors get to Sirius," Darcy pleads, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, tears borne of heartbreak and frustration. "He's innocent—"

"Please do not interrupt me, Darcy," Dumbledore says gently. He reaches out and places a sturdy hand on her left shoulder, and his long fingers line up with the scars on her shoulder. Darcy squirms, shaking his hand off. "I believe you, Darcy, but there is nothing any of us can to say to change the Minister's mind. With Professor Snape having already given his version of events, it is very, very unlikely that anything the four of you have to say will be given a second thought."

Darcy stares at him, helpless. She opens her mouth to speak, but for the first time that night, she can't find words to say. She looks at Harry for support, feeling desperate, and then looks at Hermione, her face in her hands. Why isn't anyone saying anything?

"What we need," says Dumbledore, more quietly still, "is more time."

Dumbledore's words mean nothing to Darcy. But Hermione lowers her hands at once, eyes wide. "Oh!" she gasps, the corners of her lips twitching very slightly before the half-smile is wiped from her face.

"Listen to me," Dumbledore continues, speaking directly to Hermione. "Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower—you'll find Sirius in Professor Flitwick's office. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. Miss Granger, you know the laws—you must not be seen."

"But—Professor Dumbledore—" Darcy begins.

But Dumbledore ignores her completely, sweeping over to the double doors. "It is five minutes to midnight," he says cryptically, as Harry and Darcy exchange confused looks. "I'm going to lock you in now. Three turns should do it, Miss Granger."

Dumbledore shuts the doors again, and Darcy turns slowly to Hermione, waiting for something to happen, some kind of magic she's never known, but Hermione only reaches inside of her shirt, fumbling for something. Darcy watches carefully as Hermione grabs hold of a long, gold chain, at the end of which looks to be a very minute hourglass. And at once, comprehension washes over Darcy and she laughs in spite of everything because Hermione has just pulled out of her shirt their last chance to save Sirius. "Hermione," Darcy breathes, her voice hoarse, incredulous as Hermione urges Darcy and Harry to their feet, and wraps the chain around their necks. "Where did you get this? I've never seen one before . . ."

Harry looks from Hermione to Darcy. "What is going on? Three turns for what? What law? Hermione—"

"Never a dull year with you around, Harry," Darcy laughs again as Hermione turns the hourglass three times, and the hospital wing begins to fade. Within seconds, the moonlight has vanished, replaced with a orange glow, and the walls continue to spin and the floor beneath Darcy's feet disappears and Darcy feels slightly nauseous, but she isn't sick from the motion—her stomach churns with excitement. Five minutes ago, there had been no hope—no last ditch effort to save her godfather. But now, as her feet hit solid ground again, Darcy sighs a sigh of relief, looking around wildly.

Instead of the hospital wing walls surrounding her, Darcy, Harry, and Hermione are standing in the empty entrance hall. Hermione unhooks the gold chain from around their necks and grabs both of their hands, pulling them quickly into a nearby broom closet. Darcy's heart is racing again—she's surprised she hasn't had a heart attack tonight—and she's itching to move, to escape the confinement of the broom closet, to see Sirius again.

"What just happened?" Harry pants as soon as Hermione closes the door. He holds his hands up in the air, his dark hair sticking up everywhere.

"We've gone back into time," Hermione explains slightly breathlessly. "Three hours back."

Darcy, her ear to the door, shushes them. "Someone's coming—" She feels another rush of excitement hearing her own voice coming from the entrance hall on the other side of the door. "I can hear us talking . . . I just got under the Invisibility Cloak . . . we're going to Hagrid's . . ."

"Wait," Harry says, giving a very nervous smile, as if Darcy and Hermione are playing a joke on him. "We're in here . . . but— we're . . . out there, too?"

Ear still to the door, Darcy listens to the four of them shuffle out of the entrance hall and down the front steps. She stands up straighter as the footsteps die away. "That was definitely us. Hermione, how did you get a Time-Turner?" she whispers. "Surely the Ministry wasn't just giving them away?"

"It's for my classes," Hermione answers sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders as if it's no big deal. "Professor McGonagall had to write to the Ministry and tell them I'm a model student—that I would never use it for anything other than school. I've been using it to be in two classes at once—I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Harry, but McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone!"

Darcy checks her watch. "Let's get a move on," she mutters, feeling Harry's disbelieving stare on the back of her neck. "We only have three hours. Why did we come back three hours?"

The three of them are quiet for a moment. Darcy keeps close to the door, listening for signs of movement outside in the entrance hall, thinking hard. Hermione sighs heavily, tapping her foot on the stone ground, and then Harry—of all people—gasps. "We're going to save Buckbeak!" he hisses.

"What?" Darcy asks, spinning around to face her brother. "Buckbeak—?" But then she and Harry share a single look, and Darcy understands. "'More than one innocent life will be saved'—of course! That's how we're going to get to Flitwick's window!"

"And then Sirius can escape on Buckbeak—" Harry grins, his excitement showing.

"That's all very well," Hermione interrupts. "But how are we going to manage that? It's almost sundown and there's going to be a lot of people down there! If only we had the Invisibility Cloak . . ."

"We have to try," Harry insists, and he looks to Darcy again. "Do you hear anything?"

"No," Darcy replies, ear to the door once more. "I think it's okay. Let's go."

The three of them race out of the broom closet, down the front steps of Hogwarts, and Hermione takes them a different way than usual towards Hagrid's cabin. Darcy can barely run, her legs trembling and head spinning from all that's happened. They tear through the vegetable patches, where Darcy trips on a root sticking out of the ground, but pushes herself to her feet almost at once, catching up to Harry and Hermione as they approach the greenhouses. Darcy peers inside, hoping that Professor Sprout isn't in one of them, watching, but they all seem deserted. She pushes forward, long legs carrying her to the front of the group, and they begin to slow down only when they reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Darcy throws herself behind a thick tree trunk, out of sight. She bends over, hands on her knees, completely winded and clutching at a stitch in her side. Her chest burns, and Darcy suddenly regrets pushing away the potion Madam Pomfrey has tried to force feed her, wondering if it would have made her better. Harry brushes back his hair, his forehead glistening with sweat; Hermione pants heavily, fanning herself with her hand.

"We have to get closer to Buckbeak . . ." Harry breathes, hardly able to speak.

"Yeah—give me a second, all right?" Darcy snaps, groaning as she stretches her legs, jogging in place. "It's been a long night for me, and I still don't think I've processed what happened in the Shrieking Shack." But she follows Hermione anyway, stalking between the trees until Buckbeak comes into view.

"He is kind of cute, isn't he?" Hermione whispers, kneeling down beside Darcy behind an oversized pumpkin a few feet away from the trees.

"Won't be so cute with his head missing . . ." Darcy says, giving Hermione a very serious look. "How are we supposed to do this? You don't really expect one of us to just jump on his back and—"

But a startled shriek from inside Hagrid's cabin makes Darcy jump. "That's me," Hermione says, seeming jumpy. Her eyes dart from Buckbeak to Hagrid's cabin to the path winding up towards the castle. "I've just found Scabbers . . ."

Darcy checks her watch, drumming her fingers on the pumpkin impatiently. Her nerves are jangling now, and what had seemed so exciting and adventurous only a little while ago now seems dangerous, impossible, and absolutely ridiculous. As Darcy looks at Buckbeak, digging his beak into the dirt, trying to think of how to lead Buckbeak away without anyone seeing, Harry whispers in her ear. "What if we—what if we just go in there?" Harry suggests tentatively. "We could take Pettigrew now, before he can escape—"

But Hermione is the one to answer him. "No!" she murmurs, leaning forward the better to see Harry. "You heard Dumbledore—we mustn't be seen. We're breaking one of the most important wizarding laws—no one is supposed to meddle with time!"

"I did an essay last year on time traveling witches and wizards," Darcy says to Harry, her voice a bit softer than Hermione's sharp one. "Past wizards and witches often think there's some kind of Dark magic involved, because how are they supposed to know what's going on? In some cases, they've actually killed themselves—I'm sure I don't have to tell you why that's such a bad thing?"

"They're coming," Hermione sighs, pointing towards the men walking towards Hagrid's. "Which means we're about to come out."

And sure enough, Darcy watches the four of them exit Hagrid's cabin through the back door. They watch as the four of them plead with Hagrid, offering to stay, offering help. And then, the Invisibility Cloak covers the four of them, and Darcy follows their footprints as they flatten the grass with each step. Darcy feels a sense of foreboding suddenly, a sense of pity for her past self—her past self doesn't know what's coming, doesn't know that in a little bit, she'll be shaking and crying in the Shrieking Shack, finding out things that she never thought possible . . .

"Let them see Buckbeak," Darcy says, forcing herself to look back at Hagrid's cabin, noticing Harry inching around the pumpkin.

"We won't have time!" Harry protests, frowning at her.

"If they don't see that Buckbeak is out here, they'll think Hagrid set him free," Hermione adds, and Darcy nods in agreement.

And then a face appears in the window, and the three of them duck behind the pumpkin, holding their breaths. Darcy is the first to rise, peering over the top, and when she sees that Macnair is no longer looking longingly at Buckbeak, Darcy grabs Harry's shirt and swings him around the side of the pumpkin.

"You can do this, Harry," she whispers, as Harry creeps ever forward. Darcy tries to ignore the voices, checking her watch again, looking towards the castle to see if she can see herself, but the four of them are still invisible. "Hermione—come on."

Hermione looks at Darcy, shaking all over. When she speaks, her voice is several octaves higher than usual, even when she whispers. "How are you so calm right now?"

Darcy grabs Hermione's hand, pulling her back into the shadow of the trees, watching Harry untie Buckbeak's rope and begin to pull. "I'm telling you," Darcy says with a shaky laugh, "tomorrow morning it'll all hit me at once."

"Hurry, Harry!" Hermione breathes, and Harry looks over his shoulder at her, exasperated, tugging at Buckbeak's rope harder, trying to lead him to the forest. "Darcy, can I ask you something?"

"Is it something that can wait until morning?" Darcy asks quickly, shifting her weight from foot to foot as Harry drags Buckbeak nearer and nearer to them.

"Well, it's about Professor Lupin—come on, Harry!"

"Hermione!" Darcy hisses, giving her the same exasperated look Harry had just given her. "Is now really the time?"

"Okay, you're right—I'm sorry! I was only curious!" Hermione moans, leaping to Harry's aid as he draws closer, pulling at the rope. There's the sound of a door opening, and Hermione stops in her tracks. "Stop! Stop—they'll hear us!"

Everyone freezes, hidden by the trees, as the old Committee member steps out into Hagrid's garden, looking around wildly this way and that. "Wh—where is it? Where is the beast?" he wonders, his voice echoing in Darcy's head. She looks to Buckbeak—quiet, but desperate to get back to Hagrid.

"I just saw it," Macnair replies. "It was here—tied up."

And then Dumbledore's voice, sounding slightly amused. "How extraordinary . . ."

Darcy expects the men to all shuffle back inside Hagrid's house, but jumps when she hears the swish of Macnair's axe—but instead of cutting off a head, the axe lands in the fence, and Hagrid begins to howl again. Darcy's heart leaps with joy knowing that he's crying tears of joy, and not because Buckbeak has been killed . . .

After a minute's squabbling between the men about Buckbeak, they do retreat inside, and Harry urges Buckbeak slightly further into the forest. The three of them stand there for a moment, amazed and grinning at the sight of Buckbeak. "We'll have to wait now," Hermione sighs, allowing herself a few steps back to put some distance between herself and the hippogriff. "There's nothing we can do until Sirius is captured."

"I know a place we can sit. Follow me," Darcy says, and she leads the way through the thicket of trees, her eyes on the Whomping Willow. She catches a glimpse of herself, finally chasing after Ron, and she sees Sirius clamp down hard on his leg, dragging him to the base of the tree. She loses sight of herself for a moment, but Darcy slips between two thick trees and finds herself at the place where she and Lupin once sat, one of the first times they'd had a real conversation. Harry ties Buckbeak to a nearby tree, and Darcy scrambles up on the flat rock, watching the Whomping Willow flail it's branches, whacking Darcy across the face.

They're quiet for a moment, and Darcy sees the three of them slip down the base of the trunk, into the tunnel that leads to the Shrieking Shack. Darcy pulls her knees to her chest as the sky around them darkens. Her mind is racing, so many thoughts floating around that she can't think straight—she doesn't want to think right now, as it makes her head throb, but how can she not dwell on what happened? For months, Darcy had let guilt nearly eat her alive at the very thought of loving Sirius—those dreams, while leaving her feeling whole again, had also left her feeling unclean, but now . . . knowing what she knows, knowing that she doesn't have to feel guilty about dreaming of him after all . . .

Darcy pictures a life with Sirius—not the life she could have had growing up, but a life she still could have. A life where she celebrates holidays with Sirius and Harry, a life where Sirius hugs her when she returns home after a few days, a life where he smiles at her, where she never has to be sneered at by the Dursleys or hit or shouted at. But Darcy squirms uncomfortably as she sees Lupin sprinting down to the Whomping Willow—where does he fit into all of this? She had told him she would be his family, and she had meant it. But Darcy has a feeling Sirius wouldn't look upon their relationship—or whatever it is they have—too favorably. Sirius had a little awkward when pointing out the closeness between them, but wouldn't Sirius beglad she'd found someone who cared about her? Surely when she tells him about her life at Privet Drive—surely when she tells him everything that happened to her since being pried from his chest—Sirius will be outraged, and when he realizes how little she's been loved, he'll be glad that his friend—that her father's friend—has shown her love she's never known?

Her chest hurts again, and the absurdity of the moment hits her. What if they don't reach Sirius in time? What if something goes horribly wrong and the dementors get to him? Dumbledore surely won't give them another chance . . . If they fail now to save him from his terrible fate, Darcy will never see him again . . . Tensing, Darcy tries to focus—they must not fail, for the mere memory of her and Sirius crashing together, holding each other, is something she wants to recreate many more times. The mere memory of his arms around her had made her feel whole again, just like waking from one of her dreams. She can't believe she ever called those dreams nightmares . . .

She looks over at Harry, who watches the Whomping Willow closely. He narrows his eyes suddenly and Darcy looks back at the grounds. Snape is running down, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak, about to jump down the tunnel and attempt to condemn both Sirius and Lupin to an undeserving fate. Hatred such as Darcy has never known flows through her at the sight of Snape, and her breathing becomes more ragged. To be kissed by the dementors is, to Darcy, a fate worse than death, yet Snape was so ready to call the dementors on both Lupin and Sirius, unflinching and proud of it.

Darcy begins to process everything that had been said, and she thinks hard about what Lupin had said about the trick—Sirius surely had known Snape would die if he went through with it—surely Sirius knew that what he was doing was stupid . . . they were only kids, younger than Darcy is now, but even so . . . Darcy can't imagine herself ever doing something so horrible to someone, can't imagine putting someone's life at risk, no matter what her feelings towards them—but for a brief moment, all she wants is Snape to hurt. Surely he deserved what Sirius did to him . . . Darcy can't think of a reason why Lupin wouldn't tell her anything now, not after everything that has transpired, and she makes a mental note to ask him in the morning why Sirius felt Snape deserved to meet a grown werewolf.

"Darcy?"

Jumping slightly, her heart stopping for an entire second, Darcy turns to face Harry and Hermione. Hermione looks at her apologetically, her being the one who had called her name. Buckbeak paws at the ground, his hooves thudding slightly against the hard earth. "What?" Darcy replies, but she's sure she already knows what's coming.

"Why—why didn't you tell anyone about Professor Lupin?" Hermione asks. "After he did what he did, why did you ask him to stay?"

Darcy locks eyes with Harry, and then shrugs. "I didn't want him to go away," she whispers, looking at the Whomping Willow again. "I thought—I thought my parents would be disappointed if I told Dumbledore to sack their best friend, and I—he's the closest thing I've had to family besides Harry in so long . . ." Her right hand finds her shoulder, fingering the scars over her blouse, stained with dried blood. The night she'd come across Lupin in the Shrieking Shack seems a lifetime ago.

"What happened that night?" Harry says, filling the awkward silence. "The whole story?"

"I told you the whole story," she snaps, but Darcy softens, frowning. "I had run into Snape earlier that week and the potion had spilled . . . so when full moon came, I followed Professor Lupin into the Whomping Willow. I didn't even entertain the idea he might be a werewolf—I thought he was meeting Sirius Black and I—I don't know what I thought I would do if I saw them. When I got to the Shrieking Shack, he had already transformed, and he scratched me . . . before he could bite me, Snape had shown up . . . he had seen me crossing the grounds and came after me. He tried to help me out, but I fainted, and Snape carried me back to his office. He sealed my scars . . ." Her heart begins to hammer again—she doesn't want to think about Snape.

"Is there—I mean, Darcy—" Hermione clears her throat, her cheeks pink. "Is there something, you know . . . going on between you and Professor Lupin?"

Darcy blinks. Hadn't Harry told her? But when Darcy looks at her brother, he's looking at the ground, avoiding her eyes. Looking back to Hermione, Darcy struggles with her internal conflict. What harm is there in telling Hermione now? After all, she's technically no longer a student . . . "Yes," Darcy breathes, her mouth suddenly very dry. Her answer seems so inadequate, and Darcy feels the need to explain herself, to tell Hermione that they care about each other, that she loves Lupin, but she can't think of anything to say. "Harry, tell me again what happened when I passed out."

"It's like I said," Harry says again, slowly. "As soon as you and Ron were knocked out, Pettigrew transformed and got away . . . Hermione and I went after Sirius and . . . hundreds of dementors were there. Sirius was hurt, badly bleeding, and he passed out—then Hermione did. I tried to cast a Patronus, but I couldn't. And—I saw—I saw what's under a dementor's hood."

Darcy shakes her head, her stomach twisting into knots again.

"It was going to kiss me," Harry rasps, sliding off the smooth, flat rock and beginning to pace restlessly. "And then—that's when I saw it. The Patronus—it drove all the dementors away."

"Hundreds of dementors?" Darcy inquires, raising her eyebrows and looking to Hermione. "Well, who was it? Who casted it? Was it Snape? Dumbledore?"

Harry thinks for a minute. "I think it—" He stops abruptly, turning away from Darcy. "I don't know."

Darcy gets to her feet, as well. "Who do you think it was, Harry?"

Harry shrugs, trying to seem casual but stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I think it was dad."

More silence. Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but isn't sure how to answer. "Dad's dead, Harry."

"Yeah. I know. It's just—it looked like him. I told you, I don't know."

Darcy doesn't answer this time. She doesn't want Harry to think she thinks he's crazy, but . . . it's impossible, isn't it? Darcy looks back towards the grounds, watches the full moon appear from behind some clouds. The glow of the moonlight bathes the grounds in shimmering white light, and Darcy sits in silence, her brain still reeling. Had her father truly been the one to cast such a powerful Patronus? Had her father been the one to save Harry from the same fate Sirius was condemned to? The thought of Harry, Sirius, and Hermione being kissed by dementors make her sick, and Darcy holds her arms around herself, wishing it was morning—wishing everything was over, wishing she and Lupin could be seated by a warm fire, talking about everything he hadn't told her until tonight.

The three of them don't talk for at least an hour. Darcy continually checks her watch, but time seems to move slower than usual. And finally, Hermione gasps—"Here we come!"

Darcy watches the strange group of people climb up through the hole, watches Lupin turn quickly to reach down for Darcy's hand. She watches herself hug Harry and Hermione to her, her heart speeding up all the while. She glances up at the sky, sees the clouds shift to reveal the full moon, completely forgotten during the events in the Shrieking Shack. There's a bright flash of light and Darcy feels her chest tingle again as Pettigrew takes advantage of the confusion—Ron, his body blocking most of Darcy's, does take the brunt of the spell, and she sees them both collapse next to each other.

"Darcy—Hermione—we have to—"

Hermione, eyes still following the scene near the Whomping Willow, winces as she hears Lupin howling. "We can't, Harry—there's nothing we can do—"

"No—I don't mean—"

And as Sirius clashes with Lupin, Darcy understands. Her shoulder twinges painfully, her chest burns, her stomach flutters, and Darcy finds Lupin among the crowd, seeing him moving closer and closer to the forest. She takes several steps back towards Buckbeak, stumbling over her feet in the process. "We have to go," she mutters, and Harry nods frantically. "We have to go—we have to—help me, Harry! Let's get on the other side of the lake, quickly!"

The deep howling follows them halfway towards the opposite shore. Darcy leads them again, sprinting as fast as she can, not keen on coming face to face with a werewolf for a third time. The branches and brambles catch on Darcy's shirt and skirt, and she isn't going nearly as fast as she wishes, her thick skirt restricting a lot of her movement. She feels a thin branch cut the side of her cheek and it stings only for a moment before it's forgotten—rather a small cut than to have matching scars on her right shoulder . . . She can hear Buckbeak cantering behind her, and Hermione's light footsteps and heavy breathing from over her shoulder. Harry continues to urge Buckbeak faster, and when they reach the opposite shore, Darcy dives behind a large bush, looking around for any sign of Lupin.

All is quiet, and still. Darcy wishes for a chill, night breeze to cool her. Her clothes are suddenly very tight, and Darcy pulls her tie off quickly, throwing it on the ground, laying back on the grass and closing her eyes. But yelping reaches her ears—yelping that isn't a werewolf. She sits up, scrambling to her knees and kneeling shoulder to shoulder between Harry and Hermione, watching the scene unfold on the other side of the lake.

Terror floods her as the dementors swoop down from all directions. Harry hadn't been lying—at least a hundred of them surround the figures of Harry, Sirius, and Hermione. There's a weak blue-white light as Harry attempts to cast a Patronus, but it hardly does anything. It vanishes again and again and again and Darcy can't look away—

"Dad's coming," Harry says weakly in Darcy's ear. She looks around for a sign of someone else watching from the shadows. "He's coming, Darcy—he was right here."

Darcy's jaw clenches, still swollen. "Harry, listen to me . . ." she whispers, shaking her head and gripping Harry's upper arm very tightly. "Dad isn't coming. Dad's dead, Harry—dad isn't coming . . ."

And before Harry can give answer, he leaps from behind the bush, wand out. Darcy and Hermione hiss his name, and Hermione grabs hold of Darcy's hand, keeping her from chasing after him. But Harry has already bellowed, "Expecto Patronum!" and the light that emits from his spell nearly blinds them. Darcy shields her eyes with her hand for a moment, but curiosity gets the better of her, and she looks through her fingers.

Harry's Patronus—real and corporeal—gallops across the surface of the lake, ghostly white and eerily beautiful, bigger than the doe Darcy's has taken the shape of. It charges the dementors, lightening the entire lake, making the water seem like a dark mirror underneath its feet. The dementors retreat at the sight of it, and the air becomes warmer now, and more sounds are beginning to return—the singing of a songbird, the chirping of insects, the crunching of leaves as small, curious animals jump around in bushes and in trees. When the Patronus successfully dispels the dementors, it moves quickly and gracefully back to Harry, and Darcy can see the animal it is now—a stag, large antlers pearly white, a body big enough for Darcy to climb on.

Darcy stands up straight, staring at the Patronus now circling Harry. Harry looks back at her and smiles. "It wasn't dad," he tells her in a croaky voice. "It was me." Harry reaches out a hand to touch the stag, but his hand falls through it. "Prongs."

"Dad," she breathes. And Darcy remembers the doe Patronus dancing around the Great Hall, the same shape but lacking antlers. Looking at Harry then, Darcy suddenly realizes the striking resemblance between him and their father, realizes that their parents live on through them—through their Patronuses, through their actions, through their words and looks. Darcy's heart is suddenly very full and even as the Patronus fades, the warmth that fills Darcy doesn't vanish with it.

Across the lake, Hermione points out Snape, two stretchers floating at his side. Darcy's hair falls off the side, the ends of it brushing against the grass. Beside her is Ron, occupying the other stretcher. Snape conjures up three more, binding Sirius with ropes, and he turns away quickly, heading back towards the castle.

Darcy stares at her watch, watching the minutes tick past. One minute, three minutes, five minutes . . . and just past ten minutes, Hermione alerts her to a figure making their way down the lawn. Darcy begins to tremble again, lingering doubts forcing their way into her mind. "He's coming to get the dementors," Hermione says, and she seems just as nervous. "We have to go now—this is our chance."

They all move quickly, Harry helping Hermione onto Buckbeak's back. Harry sits in front, Hermione's arms wrapped in a death grip around his waist. Darcy sits behind her, shaking horribly now, holding onto Hermione with all her strength. "I hate flying," she whimpers, closing her eyes and burying her face into Hermione's shoulder. "Whatever happens, don't let me loo—" But as Buckbeak pushes hard off the ground, Darcy screams, looking down anyway as the forest floor shrinks below her. She digs her knees into Buckbeak's rump, squeezing Hermione tighter. "Oh—Emily will never believe this—!"

Despite the wind rushing in Darcy's ears, Buckbeak seems to be flying almost silently through the air, Harry leading him higher and higher, past darkened windows, counting to himself, and Darcy lurches forward as Buckbeak slows, stopping in midair. Opening her eyes, Darcy looks into the window they've stopped outside and her heart jumps into her throat. Harry raps on the window, holding onto Buckbeak with his knees, and Sirius looks up at them, hesitating for just a second before attempting to open the locked window.

Hermione's hand brushes Darcy's leg, reaching for her wand, and quickly she shouts, "Alohomora!" The window opens immediately, and Sirius starts climbing out of it, stuttering and staring at the three of them.

Darcy stretches out her hand, helping Sirius onto Buckbeak behind her. "Let's go, Buckbeak!" Harry yells. Sirius wraps his arms around Darcy's waist, laughing in her ear, as they soar up towards the high tower, aiming for a space to land.

"How is this possible?" Sirius asks loudly, and Darcy looks over her shoulder at him, admiring the broad smile on his face and feeling close to tears. She smiles back at him, and they both start laughing as Buckbeak circles once around the West Tower, finally touching down.

Darcy, Harry, and Hermione slide off Buckbeak, but Sirius stays put. Darcy realizes he's not behind her, turns on her heels, and grabs at his hand as he moves forward on Buckbeak's back. "No—Sirius," she cries, eyes welling with tears. Darcy tries to pull him off the hippogriff, but he just smiles sadly at her. In a split second, Darcy makes her decision, trying to climb back on Buckbeak, but Harry and Hermione grab her before she can jump on. "Let me go with you—"

Sirius sighs heavily, quickly jumping off the hippogriff's back and approaching Darcy. He touches her shoulders, squeezing them slightly before taking her hands in his. She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I have to go—"

"No—"

"Darcy, we've waited twelve years to see each other again," he murmurs, hands cupping her wet cheeks. "This time, it won't be nearly so long."

"Sirius, don't leave me, please—"

"Darcy," he whispers, quieting her. His thumbs brush away her tears and Sirius leans in to kiss her forehead. But Darcy continues to shake her head, her head pounding, unable to think of something proper to say. "I have to go . . . we'll see each other again, I promise you."

Sirius looks quickly at Harry and Hermione, giving Harry a lingering look. He lowers his hands from Darcy's face, taking her hands in his and squeezing again before letting go. She watches, frozen to the spot, as Sirius jumps back on Buckbeak, and the hippogriff sets off, the wind from his wings unfolding blowing Darcy's hair back. Sirius nods at her as they both take off, and as Sirius flies away into the night, Darcy hopes he'll look back at her one more time—one more time so she can see his face, so she can see his smile, the brightness of his eyes.

Please look back, she prays, her chest burning worse than ever. Darcy falls to her knees, holding her chest. Please look back.

But he doesn't. And just like that, he's gone.