'This summer night deep down under the starts was all the things you would ever feel or see or hear in your life, drowning you at once.'
Ray Bradbury
Darcy doesn't remember running back to the hospital wing. She only remembers the feel of Harry's and Hermione's hands in her own, pulling her away from where she'd been standing, watching Sirius fly away from her—crying as he and Buckbeak had disappeared into the darkness; the sound of Harry's and Hermione's incoherent voices in her ears as the entire world spun around her; the tightening in her chest which surely is not just the effects of Pettigrew's spell, but the aching of her own breaking heart; the burning desire for Lupin to sweep her in his arms and take her away from all of this—from Hogwarts, from Snape, from Privet Drive; her longing to be anyone else in this world besides herself, besides a Potter.
Madam Pomfrey fusses over her, completely perplexed as to what Dumbledore could have said to make Darcy so upset. She forces chocolate into Darcy's mouth, but she lets it melt on her tongue after Darcy can't find the strength to chew it. She trickles a bitter tasting potion down Darcy's throat, which does absolutely nothing for her. Madam Pomfrey checks her eyes, feels the pounding pulse in her wrist and neck, wipes the sweat and dried blood off Darcy's face. Darcy doesn't hear the questions she asks, doesn't hear the answers Harry gives for her, and only when Harry reaches over towards her bed and takes her hand does Darcy react, looking over to her brother and squeezing his hand tight before letting go and letting her hand fall lazily over the side of her bed. After that, Madam Pomfrey encourages Darcy to get some rest, that the smaller cuts can wait until morning, that sleep will heal better than staying awake with her thoughts. The matron retreats, and Darcy is thankful.
Sirius is gone, she tells herself, over and over and over again. Sirius left me, just like he left me with Hagrid. My last chance at a real family—gone. Sirius promised it wouldn't be a twelve year long wait this time, but how long will it be? How long until Sirius will be able to hold her again? How long until Sirius will be able to kiss her forehead, smile at her, give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze? And what if she never sees Sirius again? What if something happens to him and Buckbeak on their way to wherever they're going? Is it outrageous to believe she could have had the closest thing to a real father with Sirius than she'll ever have again? The uncertainty of it all physically pains her, causes her stomach to churn, but through all of her hazy thoughts and tears, a voice brings her back to reality—a voice that causes her great anger and heartbreak and Darcy sits up straighter, forcing herself to turn towards the doors, contorting her face into one of disgust as the low, cold voice draws closer and closer to the hospital wing.
As exhausted as she is, she's glad to see Snape nearly kick the doors of the hospital wing open, screaming bloody murder. With all the emotions bubbling in her right now, Snape is a welcome sight, someone to siphon off all of her rage and horror and anguish and heartbreak. And as soon as she hears the word 'Potter', Darcy sits up and stares at him, glad that he walks directly over to her, but her heart sinks when she sees that he is not alone. Fudge walks in next, looking quite distressed and white-faced, and Dumbledore follows him, looking serene, his hands held in front of him. Heart beating particularly fast, Darcy waits for Snape to hurry over to her, wanting to hit him across his sallow, ugly face.
"What have you done, Potter?" Snape shouts, leaning over the foot of her bed once more, his eyes flashing. "What have you done?"
But seeing the rage in his face, seeing the disappointment and disbelief is the icing on the cake. Darcy leans back on her pillow again, watching him, and to everyone's surprise in the hospital wing, she begins to laugh. Her laughter echoes throughout the hospital wing, startling everyone who is still awake, seemingly loud enough to wake the entire castle. Snape's brow furrows for a moment, clearly not having expected this reaction, and he grabs the iron bed frame and shakes it once, making Darcy laugh harder as she rattles atop the bed. Everything she wants to yell in his face at that moment are things she doesn't want Dumbledore or Fudge or Madam Pomfrey to hear. She wants to yell in his face that they won, that it's over, and Snape failed to capture Sirius Black because of her, Harry, and Hermione—three kids. She wants to revel in the fact that there is no reason now for Snape to smile one of his cold and triumphant smiles, to rub Sirius's escape in his face.
Harry and Hermione do nothing, say nothing, only look at Darcy with wide eyes. With tears in her eyes, Darcy's laughter subsides, leaving only silence in the hospital wing. And then Snape bends lower again, his lips trembling with anger. "You helped him escape!" he snaps. "What have you done?"
"Severus, please!" Madam Pomfrey interrupts, looking outraged, moving closer to put a hand against Snape's chest, attempting to push him away. "Darcy's distressed and exhausted! She's been in my care since she arrived here, and she must not be disturbed!"
"I locked them in myself ten minutes ago," Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling as he looks past Snape to Darcy. "As talented as these three are, ten minutes is a short amount of time to conduct a rescue mission. Poppy, have these children left their beds at all since I've left them?"
"Of course not!" Madam Pomfrey answers immediately. "I would have heard them!"
With one last, withering glare at Darcy, Snape silently admits defeat and turns quickly, retreating from the hospital wing, his footsteps heavy and Darcy hears him grumbling under his breath. As soon as he leaves, however, Darcy's exhaustion returns. Without someone to take her feelings out on, she feels overwhelmed with emotions. She settles back on her pillow and lets Madam Pomfrey drip some more potion down her throat, fussing with the scratches around her scars that had been left by Crookshanks in the Shrieking Shack. Darcy tries to eat her chocolate, chewing very slowly, but it doesn't make her feel any better. When Dumbledore and Fudge finally leave the hospital wing, Darcy feels very empty, and she tries to control the pounding of her heart. When Madam Pomfrey insists she rest now, promising no more intrusions, the matron hurries back into her office, leaving them in a suffocating quiet.
It isn't long before Ron begins to stir, however, and Darcy sits up when he puts a hand to his head, looking around. His eyes sweep over Darcy, Harry, and Hermione, and he groans loudly and dramatically. "What happened?" he asks, laying back on his pillow. "Last thing I remember—where's Sirius? And Lupin—?"
Darcy is very thankful when Harry asks Hermione to explain everything.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all fall asleep rather quickly, an hour after Hermione finishes telling Ron everything. Darcy lays awake, listening to their soft snores and breathing, trying to listen for the sounds of distant howling from the forest. While her body is exhausted from the night's events, her mind is much too full for her to ever fall asleep now. She replays the events in her mind's eye over and over again, relives the moment she had fallen into Sirius's chest for the first time in twelve years, Lupin's reassuring touches whenever things had become too much, watching Sirius fly away on Buckbeak after saying goodbye. He never looked back, she tells herself. But Darcy tries very hard to be honest with herself, and thinks that—had she been in Sirius's position—she wouldn't have looked back either, afraid that one last look would have made her change her mind about leaving. That's it, she thinks. He was afraid looking at me would make him want to take me with him. He's afraid looking at me would make him want to stay.
Darcy's anxiety peaks at the thought of Lupin, alone in the Forbidden Forest, probably hurt and tired and longing desperately for the full moon to finally wane. She wonders what he'll say when he finds out Sirius has gotten away, has gone back into hiding. Darcy isn't the only one who has lost someone, she realizes—Lupin's lost his friend, a friend he didn't even realize he still had until tonight. This thought makes her soften, and she wonders if Lupin will crawl back into his bed in the morning, craving company after all that had happened—possibly craving her company, her touch and her kisses. And all she wants is to provide that, to kiss every inch of his face with sweet kisses, to feel the flexing of his muscles beneath her fingers. Darcy closes her eyes, wishing her bed wasn't empty, wishing that someone was beside her, holding her, loving her. She feels lonely, a strange feeling considering that a few hours ago, she had thought she would have Sirius at her side for the rest of her life. Glancing over at Harry's bed, Darcy entertains the idea of crawling into bed with him, or even with Hermione, but she doesn't want to embarrass them simply because she needs a warm body beside her to sleep. And besides, she's eighteen now, no longer a student at Hogwarts—she'd only make a fool of herself for doing something so pathetic.
Darcy checks her watch. 4:32. Is it so late already? She's wasted hours laying awake, thinking of everything and nothing, trembling, afraid of falling asleep and having nightmares she hasn't had in a long time. For a brief moment, she considers going back to Gryffindor Tower, sneaking out of the infirmary to slip into bed beside Emily, who wouldn't turn her away, nor would she be embarrassed. But Darcy doesn't feel much like explaining everything right now. She doesn't feel like talking at all about what has just happened, so when she sits up in bed and quietly gets to her feet, she knows exactly where she wants to be, and her feet begin to take her there automatically.
She holds her shoes in her hand, not wanting the echoing of her footsteps to alert anyone. Darcy creeps to the door and grabs hold of the doorknob, praying that it's unlocked—and it is. Darcy smiles weakly to herself, closing the door as quietly as possible behind her and moving quickly through the corridors and climbing the stairs, avoiding the ghosts when she sees the walls begin to shimmer with a pearly light. She finds her way to the classroom quickly, letting herself in and moving towards Lupin's office.
A smoking goblet of Wolfsbane sits on his desk, untouched. Beside it, the Marauder's Map lies open, the blueprint of Hogwarts visible. Darcy sees her own labeled dot on the map, sees her brother and friends in the hospital wing. Dumbledore is in his study, as is Snape, the both of them apparently sleeping. But besides that, all is quiet and normal and students are sleeping in their beds, completely unaware of what happened tonight, dreaming of the end of exams and the freedom that comes with the start of summer. Not a single person knows, nor cares, what happens to Darcy's godfather—not a single person knows nor cares that she has just lost someone she loves. Darcy sighs, pulling her wand out of the waistband of her skirt and touching it to the map—"Mischief managed." The lines and writing disappear, and Darcy picks it up, moving to the wall where the hidden door is set.
To her surprise, the door is opened, just a crack, as if Lupin had left in so much of a hurry, he'd forgotten to close it. Darcy walks inside, looking around. The fire in the hearth has long died out; there's an empty mug on the coffee table, a pair of robes hanging over the back of a chair where she and Lupin had played chess not too long ago. It's too quiet in here, and the silence presses heavy on Darcy's ears, making her feel as if she is drowning in it. An old copy of the Daily Prophet sits on the counter, opened to a page with an article about Sirius. Darcy closes it, keeping her eyes averted from the picture. She covers the newspaper with the blank map, turning away.
She sits on the sofa, staring into the empty fireplace, too tired to start a fire. She doesn't have the energy to lift her arms, to cast a spell, to think the incantation, to speak it outloud. Checking her watch again, Darcy rests her head on the back of the sofa, closing her eyes, but knowing there is no way she will fall asleep. She thinks of turning some music on, but can't find it in her to stand up. Sitting here, in Lupin's apartments, is worse than being in the hospital wing. At least in the hospital wing, she could look over at her brother, or Hermione, or even Ron. Here, there is no one, and Darcy curls up, holding her knees to her chest and crying, waiting for Lupin to return. She had come here to be comforted, to comfort him, only to find that the empty room saps her of what strength and happiness she'd had left.
Darcy waits hours. She had thought that Lupin would stumble in through the door at first light, but he doesn't. It isn't until halfway through breakfast does Darcy hear movement in his office—the soft and hastened opening and closing of a door, the frantic opening and closing of desk drawers as he probably looks feverishly for the Marauder's Map, and then heavy and slow footsteps. She's beyond exhausted by then, fighting sleep as it starts to creep up on her, very unwelcome and unwanted. And when she hears the door of his apartments swing open, Darcy finds her strength again and jumps to her feet, swaying on the spot for a moment on weak legs and shaky knees.
Lupin looks up at her, slightly surprised, closing the door slowly behind him. There are several scratches and cuts on his neck where Sirius had clamped down on his muzzle, and two long cuts down his right cheek that look to have already been cared for. His hair, lank and disheveled, is still damp with sweat, there are dark shadows under his eyes that contrast with his ghostly white, almost sickly looking skin. Around his wrists, there are still light bruises where Snape's cords had bound him, and the side of his face is slightly yellowed, as well, where they'd gagged him. His clothes have been replaced, however, but Lupin isn't wearing anything she's ever seen him in. A clean, white shirt hangs off his frame, several sizes too big for him and the top few buttons undone, and his pants seem quite large, as well. For a moment, the sight of him in such clothes reminds Darcy of Harry in Dudley's old clothes—swimming in them.
"Darcy," he rasps, as if his voice hasn't been used in years. Lupin sounds incredulous, but he doesn't move towards her. It seems to Darcy that there are several questions Lupin wants to ask at the same time, but he settles with, "What are you doing here?"
Darcy frowns, her heart aching. "I couldn't sleep. I had to see you."
"I've just sent Gemma after you," he says quietly, nodding towards the door as if she's right behind him. He pauses for a moment, his shoulders hunched. "Dumbledore told me what you, Harry, and Hermione did. That was . . . very brave of you three."
Darcy doesn't know how to answer. She gives a small shrug, still taking in his bedraggled appearance.
"I've resigned," he continues, voice still quite hoarse. "Just now. Dumbledore's sent for a carriage."
His words knock the wind out of Darcy and she swallows hard, shaking her head. "But—" she starts, unsure of how to continue. She's sure another shocking admission will kill her. "How long do we have?"
Lupin clenches his jaw, exhaling deeply. "A few hours." He runs a hand through his hair, but it only falls right back into his eyes. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Darcy lies, and from the way Lupin looks at her, he knows it. "You?"
"I'll manage." He reaches out to touch her cheek with the tips of his index and middle fingers. "Your cheek . . ."
"It's nothing." And forgetting the soreness in her entire body momentarily, Darcy wraps her arms around his neck, careful not to press on any of his fresh cuts. Lupin falls into her without saying a word, without warning, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, unintentionally digging his fingertips into her skin. Darcy runs her fingers through the back of his hair, closing her eyes and nuzzling against his warm neck. He smells of blood and sweat and there's a slight clean linen scent there, as well. Darcy's tears continue to fall onto his skin and she is so very grateful to see him that more tears fall from her eyes.
Lupin releases her, his hands finding hers, taking them gently. Looking into her eyes, he leads her towards the back room. Darcy's brow furrows, but as he reaches the foot of the bed, Lupin lets go of her hands. He climbs onto the bed, collapsing onto it, sighing as his face hits the pillow. Darcy watches for a moment as he closes his eyes, and then climbs in beside him, not bothering to get underneath the blankets. At the feel of her beside him, Lupin moves closer, nuzzling his face into her chest, just below her collarbone, and draping an arm around her. Darcy holds him to her tightly, fingers combing through his hair. With her free hand, she drags her fingers lightly up and down his back. She wants to lay like this for hours, for days, forever—to forget the world around them and never have to worry or suffer ever again.
"Do you have to go?" she breathes after a long time, her voice shaky, her tears starting to slow.
"Yes," he whispers back, his breath tickling her skin over her shirt. Lupin pushes her blouse up slightly, brushing his thumb over the revealed skin. His touch makes her skin burn hot, just as it has since she met him. "Dumbledore's done enough for me the past year, and I'm afraid I've overstayed my welcome."
They both shift slightly, moving closer to each other, as close as they can get. They tangle their legs together, Darcy's arm underneath Lupin's head, brushing his hair out of his face. She rests her chin atop his head, wanting to kiss him, wanting to kiss every inch of him she can reach. Just his being beside her has made her feel so comfortable and so calm and she needs to express it somehow, and his kisses are so sweet that Darcy can't think of a better way to display her gratitude than to shower him with those same sweet kisses. She tries not to think of tomorrow, of the following days that Lupin will no longer be here to keep her company. She tries not to think about Lupin leaving her, not returning next year with her, leaving her to sleep alone and not being here to hold her hand.
"Darcy?" Lupin whispers again, and there seems to be a kind of pain in his tone that makes Darcy sad again.
"Yes?"
There's a pregnant pause, and Lupin opens and closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against her shirt. He turns his head slightly to keep his voice from being muffled. "I'm sorry."
Darcy feels a lump form in her throat. She's thankful he cannot see her tears flowing freely again. "It's okay."
"A better man than me would have told you everything long before last night," he says, his voice hoarse. "You deserved to know, and I was too afraid to tell you. And yet, despite everything, you came back to me."
"Of course I came back," she tells him, nuzzling her cheek against his feverish forehead. "I love you."
"Did I frighten you?"
"No," Darcy says right away. "No, I'm not afraid of you." She frowns, wiping her wet face on the pillow. "Please don't go," she cries. "Please don't leave me. I can't lose you, too—please—"
"I'm leaving Hogwarts, not you," Lupin answers, lifting his head to look at her. "If you ever need me, Darcy, all you need to do is let me know, and I'll be there."
But he doesn't understand—he doesn't understand her need to have him close by, so whenever she needs him, he's there. What's stopping him from leaving and never coming back? Darcy wonders. Who says he isn't lying? Lupin wriggles out of her arms, moving quickly to wrap her in his own. He closes his eyes, resting his cheek against her forehead. "He's gone," she cries against his chest, back jumping with sobs. "He's gone . . . we barely even got to say goodbye—he just left me—"
Lupin holds her tighter, and for a long time they lay there, tangled up in each other, as Darcy tells him about Hermione's Time-Turner, about flying on Buckbeak, rescuing Sirius from the dementors. She tells him about Harry's Patronus, to which he smiles weakly, eyes still closed, and Darcy starts to cry again, wanting to kiss his lips hard and feel his smile against her own. Lupin traces circles on her upper arm, sighing contently every so often. Darcy allows the steady rhythm of his heart underneath her to keep her grounded, his warmth blanketing her with a sense of safety she's never known. Lupin listens to her speak, not asking questions or interrupting, just listening and smiling and stroking her hair or running his fingertips over her arm and back.
And finally, when she finishes, Lupin cups her face with the hand that isn't underneath her head, holding her to his chest. "Darcy, your parents would be so proud of you."
Darcy would give anything to see them again—to hear that phrase come from her own parents' mouths. They're gone—mum's dead, dad's dead, Sirius is gone. She slips an arm under Lupin's, grasping his shoulder and feeling the pain in her chest again that is her own heart breaking.
"I'm proud of you." For the first time that morning, Lupin presses his lips to the top of her head. When he pulls away, he is quiet for a moment, then he puts a finger under her chin, lifting her head so she can look at him. "Darcy, I love you."
Darcy's heart starts to race, looking into the face of this man she loves so much, this man who has just told her he loves her. His eyes are tired, those soft hazel eyes with the flecks of gold shining due to the sunlight streaming in through the window. She gives him a small smile—a small, but genuine smile—and the smile he gives her in return seems to soothe her aching heart more than any of the potions Madam Pomfrey had given her. He wipes her eyes, kisses her tear stained cheeks. "Please don't leave me," she breathes, as Lupin kisses her the way she had meant to kiss him when she'd first come here, lips touching everywhere on her face. "Don't ever leave me."
He looks at her for a long time, tangling his fingers in her auburn hair. Lupin's lips brush against hers just barely, the tips of their noses bump, and they close their eyes. His breath is hot on her mouth, but so welcome . . . so wanted . . . his calloused thumb brushes across her cheekbone, wiping away the last of her tears. Before he closes the gap and kisses her softly, he whispers, "Never."