'We are learning to live again, and, / for many of us / it is for the first time.'

Emilie Autumn

"Ah, cheer up, Darcy! We should be celebrating!"

Emily smiles at her, giving her a glass full of an amber liquid. Darcy places her empty cup beside her on the window ledge, taking a long drink. The firewhiskey burns her gullet and warms her chest, but it's a welcome feeling, soothing the hole in her heart for a few seconds before disappearing again. Emily offers a cigarette to Darcy and lights it for her. Darcy takes a long pull as Emily sits on the window seat with her, their shoulders touching. Emily sets her half-empty glass down.

Darcy feels quite tired, which is strange to her, considering she'd slept from just after Lupin's departure to just before Gemma's party. She had only awoken—disheveled, her hair sticking up in the back, and bleary-eyed—when the other four girls in her dormitory had been changing, chattering loudly about celebrating. Darcy hadn't really wanted to go, but out of love for Gemma and the prospect of distracting her from thoughts of Sirius and Lupin, she had changed out of her bloodstained school uniform into something clean and comfortable. Emily had laid out a nice dress for Darcy that had briefly reminded her of something Petunia would have worn, but Darcy had put it on anyway, not wanting to spend time searching for another outfit.

Turning to glance at Emily, Darcy smiles weakly at her, taking another drink of firewhiskey and ashing her cigarette on the ground. Darcy looks down at their hands, taking one of Emily's in her own, lacing their fingers, needing to hold someone's hand, needing to feel comforted. Emily squeezes tight, and it does give Darcy some small comfort, for which she's very thankful. Darcy rests her cheek on Emily's shoulder, and Emily doesn't flinch or show any inclination to want to move away.

Darcy's eyes scan the abandoned classroom. A group of Ravenclaw students surround a boy juggling several wands. A Gryffindor girl talks in a shadowy corner with a Hufflepuff boy. Most of the students, of all Houses, are listening to Gemma tell a story, and they all laugh heartily with her, but none laugh so hard as Carla, red-faced with drink and hanging off Gemma's arm. Darcy envies them for a moment, able to laugh so hard, carefree and eager to be home with their families, to start careers and travel and enjoy not having to return to Hogwarts.

She takes another drink. Another drag. Puts her cigarette out in her empty cup. Darcy and Emily sit there for a little, holding hands, chain-smoking cigarettes, finishing their drinks. Once, Oliver Wood turns to look at Darcy from his chair. She smiles weakly at him, holding up her free hand in acknowledgment. To her surprise, Oliver gives her a small smile before turning back to Gemma.

And then, Gemma and Carla both meet Darcy's gaze at the same time. Carla's smile falters at the sight of Darcy, but Gemma keeps a wide grin on her face, glancing around at the laughing students and pulling Carla away from them. Some alcohol seems to have made Carla forget their argument (or maybe it's the prospect that Lupin is gone), and Darcy's just grateful it hasn't been brought up.

Gemma takes the cigarette from Darcy's lips, taking a long pull, marking the butt with red lipstick. Darcy doesn't protest, watching her the entire time. "Lame party," Gemma mutters, giving Darcy the cigarette back.

"Want to get out of here?" Carla asks, a sly smile creeping back onto her face. "I don't think anyone will notice."

Darcy can't put her gratitude into words. She nods silently and puts her cigarette out, getting to her feet immediately. Darcy leads them out of the classroom, recovering the Invisibility Cloak from behind a statue, and throwing it over the four of them. Their ankles show, and they walk uncomfortably close together, but no one speaks as Darcy's feet take her automatically to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. No one questions Darcy's decision to take them there, and they follow her inside. Carla closes the door behind them and Emily waves her wand, lighting the candles around the room, giving them just enough light.

Darcy throws the Invisibility Cloak aside onto an empty desk. Emily and Darcy sit at another desk near the front of the class, and Gemma and Carla pull up chairs to sit across from them. Still, no one speaks. Darcy knows they're waiting for her to say something, to explain, especially Emily, who hadn't even asked about Darcy's bloodstained clothing.

And that's exactly what Darcy does. She tells them about going to visit Hagrid and Buckbeak, the black dog dragging Ron into the Shrieking Shack, the reasoning behind Darcy's knowledge of the Shrieking Shack (to which Carla audibly gasps in horror). She tells them of Sirius Black, of everything Lupin had told them, of Peter Pettigrew sniffling at her feet like an actual, cowering rodent, pleading for mercy. She hesitates after telling them she wanted Lupin and Sirius to kill them, and the room seems somehow quieter than before, a pressing silence. Darcy presses on, finishing with Sirius escaping on Buckbeak, a weight lifted off her chest. Her cheeks are wet with tears; Carla's eyes are watery, as well. Emily holds her face in her hands, still processing Darcy's story. Gemma hasn't once looked away, and she's now peering curiously at Darcy, as if her story is impossible.

After minutes of sitting in silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, Emily is the one to break the silence. She runs her hands through her hair. "I can't believe I didn't realize he was a werewolf. I mean—all the signs were right there."

Darcy, her heart swelling with love, begins to laugh. Emily, Gemma, and Carla begin to laugh with her, nervously at first. "Sirius Black is quite handsome isn't he?" Gemma asks casually, a smile finding its way back to her face. "I've seen old photographs of him before. Mum's very distantly related to some aunt of his—something like that."

Darcy furrows her brow. "You're related to Sirius?"

"Barely," Gemma answers. "All pureblood families are in some way. It's not like there are many of us left."

Darcy smiles at Gemma. Of all the things they could ask or say about what she's told them, Darcy is glad they're able to make her laugh, to distract her from the heartache the thought of last night gives her.

"I can't believe you yelled at Snape," Carla mutters, and Emily nods enthusiastically. "I've always wanted to do that. He'd probably kill me, though."

"I can't believe you knocked him out," Emily scoffs. "He really deserved it, didn't he?"

At this, Darcy's smile fades. She looks around at her friends, wondering what they would say if she were to ask the question she's bursting to ask. Frowning, she plunges on recklessly, curiosity getting the better of her. "Do you think Snape deserved it? What Sirius did to him?"

"Absolutely not." Carla is the first to speak. There's a faint crease between her eyebrows. "I'm not saying Professor Snape is undeserving of being knocked out and yelled at, but playing a joke on him like that—that's not a funny joke."

Darcy's stomach clenches, suddenly feeling ashamed of thinking otherwise. And then Gemma speaks. "Hold on," she says, holding up a hand to stop Carla from continuing. "You don't think Sirius just did that to be cruel, do you? Snape must have done something horrible—you don't know the whole story."

Carla doesn't approve of this. "He could have died—he could have been bitten—"

"But he didn't die and he wasn't bitten," Gemma replies.

Gemma's opinion gives Darcy a shred of hope. She doesn't want to feel sorry for Snape, after all that's happened. Emily rubs her face and thinks for a moment before giving her own opinion. "I agree with Gemma—without the whole story, it's hard to say, but it does seem very cruel. How do you think Lupin would have felt had he actually bitten or killed Snape?"

"Is this concern for our dear Professor Lupin I'm sensing?" Gemma teases, and Darcy smiles feebly again. "Emily Duncan, I'm surprised at you. Empathy is not one of your strengths."

"I'm not concerned for him," Emily says quickly, not backing down. "He's a grown man—he can take care of himself. I'm only trying to give my unbiased opinion—"

"Emily," Carla laughs. "Why don't you like him?"

"If I remember correctly, you didn't much approve of him sleeping with Darcy, either."

"You don't like him because they slept together?" Gemma snorts. "You act like he's been terrible to you when he has literally always been kind to you."

Darcy listens to her friends bicker, and she's surprised that Emily's words don't affect her. Carla continues, casting Darcy a sheepish look. "It took me by surprise," she admits. "And Darcy knows it was a stupid thing to do, don't you, Darcy?"

"I know," she says truthfully. "I know it was." But Darcy can't say she regrets it. Thinking about how he'd been so gentle with her the first time gives her butterflies still, and remembering the second time—the last time—when he'd touched her a little harder and let her leave love bites on him, makes Darcy weak in the knees. But she doesn't dwell on these thoughts. "Do you think Pettigrew deserved to die? Do you think we should have let Lupin and Sirius kill him?"

"Yes," Emily answers firmly. "He betrayed your parents, framed Sirius and got him locked away in Azkaban for years. They should have killed him."

Across the table, Gemma nods. "Death would have been a mercy," she whispers, combing her fingers through her hair. "What kind of coward lives twelve years as a rat? He sounds disgusting."

And then Carla sighs. "Maybe Gemma's right about death being a mercy," she says quietly. "He sounds like he wouldn't last a day in Azkaban. You should have given him to the dementors—he should have been made to suffer what Sirius had to suffer."

"What's done is done," Emily finishes. "You say Pettigrew escaped—what do you think he's going to do? Rejoin Voldemort? There's nothing he can do with him being dead."

Carla jumps at the name, but Emily gives her a scathing, impatient look. "You shouldn't say the name," Carla squeaks, averting Emily's gaze.

"If he's smart, he'll live out the rest of his life as a rat," Gemma sneers. "Now that Dumbledore knows the truth, doesn't seem like it'll be safe for him anywhere near here."

"And Sirius is on the run again?" Carla asks, looking pensive. "Do you think he'll try to find Pettigrew again? He definitely seems set on revenge."

"I don't know," Darcy answers with a shrug. "I hope he doesn't. I don't think I could bear it to see Sirius chucked back in Azkaban. And I don't think Fudge is quite keen to clear his name."

Darcy frowns, suddenly feeling very exhausted. She wipes her face, which is still wet, and sighs. Then she remembers something—one last thing she's been meaning to tell her friends. It seems so unimportant, but with everything that's happened recently, Darcy wants to be able to share one piece of good news.

"Hey—I can cast a Patronus," she smiles, feeling quite proud. "Want to see?"

"Holy shit," Gemma jokes. "You actually learned something from those lessons?"

"Let's see it, Darcy!" Carla gasps, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"You better hope you can still do it after you've been drinking," Emily murmurs, smiling at Darcy.

Darcy stands up, moves back from the desk, and pulls out her wand. She takes a minute to steady herself, thinking of a happy memory. She thinks of the Shrieking Shack, how she had felt Sirius hold her instead of dreaming it. With a twist of her wrist, her heart full, Darcy says, "Expecto Patronum!"

At once, the doe bursts from the end of her wand, dazzling her friends' faces with a blue-white light. The doe dances around the classroom walls, leaping over desks, and finally trots back to Darcy, ready for a command. Her friends begin to talk all at once excitedly, complimenting the beautiful doe, but Darcy barely hears them. She reaches out a hand to touch the Patronus, but there's nothing to touch. Her hand falls through the light, but Darcy doesn't care. The Patronus bows its head, graceful and elegant and powerful.

Darcy's hand falls to her side. Her feelings of loneliness begin to subside again. Unable to stop looking at the Patronus, Darcy whispers, "Mum."

After breakfast Saturday morning (during which, Madam Pomfrey had walked right up to Darcy and chastised her for sneaking out of the hospital wing, but gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as well), Darcy and Harry walk out of the Great Hall together before other students begin to leave. Neither of them mention a destination, but both of them walk to the Owlery, where Max and Hedwig have just returned from a night of hunting. Max still has a dead mouse in his beak, and he drops it at Darcy's feet immediately upon entering.

"Urgh," Darcy groans, looking away from it. "Thanks, Max."

Max hoots, clearly pleased with himself, and flies up to Darcy's shoulder, sticking his face in his wing and quieting. She strokes his feathers for a moment.

Darcy turns to Harry then, and takes a deep breath. "One question at a time, then. Go easy on me."

"Are you okay?"

She pauses, surprised that that question is the first one Harry asks. "No," she breathes, feeling much better having told the truth. Darcy shrugs, scoffing. "But I'll be okay."

Harry considers her. "Look, there's something I haven't told you about last night," Harry says, kicking aside some tiny animal bones that crunch beneath his feet. "When I had my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney—something was weird—Professor Dumbledore thinks she made a real prediction."

"What happened?"

"I thought she was—having a fit, I guess. I don't know. But she wasn't herself, and she said . . ." Harry thinks for a minute, trying to recall her words. "Voldemort's servant will break free and rejoin his master, and Voldemort will rise again, greater and more terrible than before."

Darcy's blood turns icy cold. A chill runs down her spine at these words. The desire for Peter Pettigrew's death comes on quickly again, but she remembers Emily's words—what's done is done. But by insisting Pettigrew live, Darcy has to wonder—what could they have prevented had Lupin and Sirius just killed him? But who is to say Trelawney's prediction will turn out to be true?

"Where do you think he is now? Wormtail?" Harry asks, looking out through the window and over the grounds.

Darcy strokes Max again absentmindedly. He ruffles his feather, hooting very softly and nipping affectionately at her earlobe. "Who knows?" she answers, sighing and looking at Harry. "Whatever happens, Harry, happens. We'll deal with it when it does."

"You and me?" he whispers, not looking at his sister.

"You and me," Darcy repeats. "Always."

They're quiet for a little while, looking out towards the forest, watching a few owls return to the Owlery after the night out. Finally, Harry looks sideways at Darcy, smiling slightly. "Lupin asked me if it was okay, you know," he tells Darcy. "He wanted to make sure it was all right with me for him to continue seeing you over the summer."

"Oh." Darcy flushes a deep red. Her heart flutters at the thought of Lupin asking for Harry's permission to see her outside of school. She can't help but to smile, but she attempts to hide it from Harry.

"It's okay with me, Darcy," Harry replies quickly. "I told him it's okay."

Darcy smiles in earnest as Harry turns to look at her. She wraps an arm around his torso, pulling him to her, and Darcy rests her head on Harry's shoulder.

"Congratulations, by the way," he says, allowing Darcy to stand there, holding him, for a few minutes. "I don't think I've had the chance to tell you."

"Thanks, Harry." Darcy lifts her head from his shoulder. "I'm glad I'm coming back next year."

Harry nods slowly, smiling at her. "We make a pretty good team."

"Yeah," Darcy laughs softly. "We do."

Darcy, Emily, Gemma, and Carla spend the rest of their days at Hogwarts basking in the sunshine. They swim in the lake often—Darcy on Emily's shoulders and Carla on Gemma's—fighting until one of them is knocked off into the water. Even the once humiliating scars on Darcy's shoulder don't stop her from tearing her shirt off to have fun in the cool lake. Once, when Gemma manages to kick Emily's leg out from under her and Darcy topples over into the water, one of the giant squid's tentacles wraps around Darcy's waist and carries her back to the surface, causing her to shriek with delight and a bit of fear and exhilaration.

No one brings up Sirius again after Darcy's drunken ranting on the subject the night of Gemma's party, and they only ever mention Lupin in passing. But for the most part, Darcy's friends keep her mind busy, and she smiles more the last week at Hogwarts than she has for a while, despite everything. She makes jokes with her friends again, tilts her head back when she laughs with them, as if howling at the moon.

The last day of term, Harry, Carla, Hermione, and Ron receive their exam results. With the surplus of seventh years and fifth years, O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results are delayed, and Emily curses McGonagall under her breath when she tells the Gryffindors their results will come out near the beginning of July. The conversation that ensues at breakfast over them lasts them nearly an hour. Carla joins them fifteen minutes in, complaining about her Transfiguration grade ("Professor McGonagall has it out for me ever since I started hanging out with you guys! How could she give me an E?"), squeezing herself in between Ron and Harry opposite Darcy, Emily, and Hermione. Gemma joins them a few minutes after, forcing herself between Darcy and Emily.

"Can't believe this'll be the last breakfast I'll ever have here," Gemma sighs dreamily, loading her already full plate with different foods the Slytherin table seemed to lack. "Fucking good."

Hermione scoffs, leaning forward to looks past Darcy at Gemma. Gemma smiles sweetly at Hermione, stuffing her mouth full of sausage. Still chewing, Gemma speaks directly to Hermione. "You know, Hermione," she says. "I was just like you when I was younger—"

"I'm not going to be like you," Hermione retorts, busying herself with her breakfast.

"Why not?" Gemma asks, still grinning and pointing her fork at Hermione. "It's great fun being me."

"I bet you weren't thinking how great your life is when you were throwing up in the third floor bathroom Saturday morning," Hermione answers casually. She takes a sip of pumpkin juice as everyone around them erupts into laughter. "I can't believe they ever made you a prefect."

Even Gemma laughs unabashedly at this comment. "We all thought Darcy was going to be Gryffindor prefect," she says as everyone settles down. "Even though Emily was the one who wanted it."

"Did you want to be a prefect?" Harry asks Darcy.

"Nah," Darcy says with a mouthful of toast, and Gemma raises her eyebrows. "I never would have heard the end of it from Gemma."

"Life is funny that way, isn't it?" Gemma teases.

Darcy chances a glance up from her plate, looking around the Great Hall. But something catches her eye and draws her attention. Snape is leaving the Great Hall and he looks her in the eyes as he sweeps up past the Gryffindor table. No one seems to really notice him, still talking about exams and their plans for the summer. Darcy continues to watch Snape until he's out of sight, and Emily brings her back to reality by giving her arm a slight squeeze.

"Did you hear me?" Emily asks, and Darcy shakes her head. "Quidditch World Cup this summer—mum can get us tickets."

"Yeah, sounds great," Darcy answers distractedly. Against her better judgement, Darcy gets to her feet, brushing some crumbs off her shirt. "Listen—I forgot to pack something—I'll meet you in the dormitory."

"I'll be up in a little," Emily says as Darcy leaves her friends without another word.

Darcy hurries from the Great Hall. Instead of proceeding up the marble staircase towards the Gryffindor common room, however, Darcy's feet take her a different way. She continues towards the dungeons, towards the dank dungeon classroom that is Snape's, where she's confident he has returned. With it being the last day of her last year—as a student—at Hogwarts, it has made her feel quite bold and reckless, though Darcy is sure part of it has something to do with the adrenaline that still courses through her after the ordeal with Sirius, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Buckbeak.

Darcy finds that she misses Lupin's presence much more than she ever expected she would. She regrets not kissing him hard before he had left, regrets not kissing him all over as they had laid in bed together the morning after everything had happened. But she holds onto the thought that, possibly very soon, she will see him again—and then she can wrap her arms around his neck and pepper his face with kisses, to show how grateful she is to have him in her life. Yet Darcy is quite bitter all the same, knowing that Lupin belongs at Hogwarts, teaching, and because of Snape, his life is ruined. Darcy's heart aches for Lupin, and it's a sign of how much she cares for him that she lets herself into Snape's classroom without even knocking, without any fear in her heart.

Snape is seated at his desk, poring over a large and heavy looking book, but he stands at the sight of her in the threshold. Darcy takes a step forward and closes the door, her heart hammering now, her fear returning. She knows this is a terrible idea—that Lupin would be exasperated and Dumbledore would likely kill her—but she needs to say what she's been holding back. She needs to get it all off her chest now so it doesn't bother her the entire summer. She doesn't want to be weighed down with regret while at Privet Drive.

A few months ago, Darcy wouldn't have dared consider walking alone to Snape's classroom. But she remembers what Lupin had told her, about Snape being fond of her mother, and she can't help but to wonder . . . if Harry had spoken to Snape the way she had in the hospital wing, it's unlikely he would have left there alive. But Snape had allowed her to yell, had allowed her to say things she's always thought about him. Snape had given her an extraordinary amount of license compared to others, and that small fact is what keeps her going, despite every part of her wanting to turn right around back to the Great Hall.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses at her. He watches Darcy walk nearer, stepping up to the front of his office and placing her trembling hands on his desk. "What more could you possibly have to say to me?"

Darcy doesn't even know where to begin. There are so many things she wants to say to him—seven years worth of things. "How could you do that?" is all she can think to say at the moment.

"You are ungrateful, Darcy," Snape says, scrunching his hooked nose. Darcy frowns as he becomes uglier with each sneer and scowl. "Ungrateful, assuming, and arrogant—how dare you come here after what you accused me of in front of Minister of Magic? How dare you step foot in my classroom after everything that has happened?"

And all the rage and frustration that Darcy had been keeping at bay the past week boils in her again. Who cares what I say now? she thinks. What can Snape do to her now? He can't take points from her, or give her a detention, or expel her. He could tell Dumbledore he doesn't want me to come back, she tells herself. But it would be worth it. It was absolutely be worth it to say what I want to say.

"Why did you do that?" Darcy asks Snape, her tone harsh. She moves closer to him, and they keep their eyes fixed on each other's. "Do you have any idea what I've lost because of you? Your decision to lie about what happened caused me to lose the last of my family—"

"Don't pretend you care for him now," Snape says loudly, talking over her. "He's been rotting in a cell in Azkaban—as he should be—and you didn't give a damn about him then."

"That was before I knew the whole story!" Darcy yells, inhaling deeply and trying to calm herself. She clears her throat, licking her dry lips. "I know you were fond of my mother, and I don't think she would be too happy if she knew what you—"

"Who told you that?"

Darcy frowns, his tone making her realize she may have crossed a line. But she presses on, needing to humiliate him—needing him to feel the way she feels—needing him to hurt. "Professor Lupin told me that—"

"Lupin told you? Of course," Snape sneers. "You have done a lot of foolish things in the seven years that I've known you, but one of the most foolish things you've done is place your trust in him. He tells you some sweet things, gives you some sweet kisses, and in return, you believe anything he whispers in your ear, is that it, Potter?" He exhales through his nose, looking to be enjoying this too much. "You've fallen in love with him, is that it? And you think he's fallen in love with you? You think whatever feelings he has for you are genuine? You are soft, easily manipulated, quick to trust—you are the perfect target for someone looking to plant false stories in someone's ear. All he had to do was show you a little kindness, hm? How sickening."

Darcy blushes. Snape smiles triumphantly again, enraging her. Suddenly, she doesn't want to look into Snape's eyes anymore, but she doesn't want to look away and make him think he's won. "Professor Lupin has been kinder to me this past year than you've been to me in seven years," says Darcy dangerously. "You had no right to out him the way you did—"

"It is because I am curious what you have to say that I'm allowing you to stand here and talk to me the way you are," Snape cuts her off again. "But you stand here and talk about things you do not understand—you stand here and dare to criticize me—"

"Don't you realize what you've done to him?" she asks, her voice shrill. "You don't care what happens to anyone unless you can twist it to benefit yourself—"

"It was because of me that you weren't convicted by the Minister of Magic, or at least forced to testify," Snape snarls. "I convinced him you had been Confunded, elsewise you would have been in severe trouble, given your company in the Shrieking Shack and the fact that you attacked me when I had come to save your skin—again."

"So I should be grateful, sir? You put hands on me, shouted at me," she whispers, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. "You proved that you don't give a damn about me when you lied about Sirius's innocence. You know he's innocent. I saw Peter Pettigrew with my own eyes—disgusting, pathetic, snivelling at my feet and clutching my skirt begging for mercy. Do you truly think I would lie about something like that?"

Snape says nothing, but breathes very heavily. Darcy expects more—she expects Snape to scream in her face, to spit at her, to strike her across the face, or blast her backwards with a spell. Her face starts to turn red as tears well in her eyes, and she wants nothing more than for someone to hold her—Lupin or Sirius or Emily or someone.

"I hate you," Darcy breathes, looking directly into his black eyes. She doesn't mean to say it, she had only meant to think it, and Darcy tenses, her face growing redder. For a split second—she almost thinks she imagines it—Darcy swears she sees something soften in Snape's hard, cold expression. Emboldened, she adds, "You've ruined everything, and I hate you."

"I want you to listen carefully to me, Darcy," says Snape coldly, leaning closer to her. "I have done you a service by allowing you to speak to me the way you are. I don't think there is anything left to discuss at this point if you still want to return to Hogwarts in a few months. Now, it would be very wise of you to turn around and walk out that door, Darcy," Snape says in a voice so soft, she's not sure he says it at all. His tone is venomous and silky, giving Darcy goosebumps. "And it would also be very wise to go before I must repeat myself. Get out."

She swallows loudly and turns, walking quickly towards the door, embarrassed and ashamed. As she pulls the door wide open to let herself out, she looks over her shoulder once more, just to see if Snape is still watching—he is, and he watches her until Darcy shuts the door closed behind her. But even as she walks down the corridor, Darcy feels better—happier—knowing that Snape knows how she feels. To put the blame on someone makes her feel a hundred times better than she could have believed, and there's a spring in her step as she returns to her friends.

The very last day of Darcy's seven year adventure at Hogwarts is a warm, summer Saturday. There isn't a cloud in the bright blue sky, and the sun beats down on her. The lake is completely still, but the giant squid raises a tentacle every so often, as if to check and see if it's alone or not. In front of the stairs to Hogwarts, with the castle providing a very good backdrop, Carla insists on getting a few pictures of Darcy, Emily, and Gemma together on their last day. The three of them talk excitedly, as girls do, smiling wide for the camera; Gemma, her dark hair pulled out of her face, gives the camera the biggest smile Darcy has ever seen, revealing a mouthful of straight, white teeth; Emily, a close-mouthed smile, the sun making her honey blonde hair shine bright, illuminating her head like a halo; and Darcy, one of her eyebrows slightly raised, a half-smile playing on her lips, red hair parted off to the side and blowing in the slight breeze.

The three of them take several pictures with several of their friends—Darcy and Emily take one together; Carla joins Darcy, Emily, and Gemma for another; Harry, Hermione, and Ron sit on the steps around Darcy. But Darcy's favorite photograph is one of just her and Harry. Her smile in this picture is much more defined, much more genuine, a toothy grin that Harry mimics. Each of them have an arm wrapped around the other, holding on tight to each other. Carla gives her the photograph right away, and Darcy places it carefully into her pocket, meaning to hang it on her bedroom wall as soon as she gets back to Privet Drive.

As per custom for all seventh years, Hagrid makes sure to have the boats ready to go when it's time to board the Hogwarts Express back to London. Darcy, Emily, and Gemma climb into a rickety boat, not having ridden one since first year, and find they've grown far to much to share one comfortably. However, they squeeze shoulder to shoulder as the boat begins to carry them across the lake, further away from Hogwarts. They watch the castle grow smaller in silence, smiling up at it, their boat swaying from side to side along with all the others.

And before long, Darcy is squeezed into a compartment on the train with Harry, Emily, Carla, Hermione, and Ron, and even Gemma sits down between Darcy and Harry.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing prefect things?" Carla asks with a smile. "Patrolling the corridors, bullying first years into giving you their contraband . . ."

"Fuck it—I'm not a prefect anymore, right?"

Darcy sits back in her seat, smiling all the while, as her friends and her brothers friends fill the silence for her. Ron and Gemma start to argue about Quidditch once more; Emily explains what the Quidditch World Cup is like to Harry; Carla tells Hermione all about her Christmas trip to Barcelona back in December. Darcy remains quiet, catching bits of this conversation and that conversation, occasionally nodding her head and smiling. She feels stupid, really, thinking Sirius was the last of her family; all these people crammed into the compartment—all these people she loves so much—how could Darcy ever have felt she was part of a broken family? And to know that Lupin is home, possibly thinking of when Darcy will come to visit, makes her smile even wider.

There's a tapping at the window that makes them all look around, confused, because at first glance, there doesn't seem to be an owl there. Max is in his cage, hooting with Hedwig on a shelf above Darcy's head, not tapping anything. And then, as Ron pulls down the window, Harry grabs at an owl, unfastening two letters from its leg. The owl is tiny, hopping from lap to lap in the compartment, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

"One's for you," Harry says, passing a letter to Darcy, and her heart skips a beat.

Emily reads over Darcy's shoulder, but she doesn't mind.

Darcy—

I'm sorry we didn't get a chance at a proper good-bye. I wish we could have had more time, especially when we've been apart for twelve years. You remind me so much of your mother, and I know that she and James would be so proud of you.

Congratulations on finishing your seventh year. I wish I could present you with an acceptable gift face to face, but I've had some gold moved to your vault, so buy yourself something from me.

Keep me updated on everything. I want to hear every little thing after being gone for so long. If you need anything, let me or Remus know, and we'll take care of it. And Darcy—so help me, if you do need Remus for something, do not give me any reason to be nervous about the two of you being alone together—

Emily snorts and Darcy smiles slyly.

Buckbeak and I are safe in hiding at the moment. I'll let you know next time I'm in the area. For now, take care of Harry and lay low for a little while. Seeing you again has given me such joy that surely no dementor will ever be able to take from me. Soon, you, Harry, and I will be able to be a family again.

All of my love,

Sirius

Darcy smiles down at the letter. She folds it up and tucks it in her pocket with the photograph of her and Harry, the familiar sensation of overwhelming love present, as if waking from one of her dreams.

After promising to meet up during the Quidditch World Cup, Darcy parts ways with her friends after many tearful hugs and kisses on their cheeks. More people approach Darcy before Vernon nearly drags her from the station—Darcy and Emily's other dormmates all hug each other tightly; Oliver Wood gives Darcy a swift kiss on the cheek (Aunt Petunia watches on in horror).

However, at the sight of the Weasley family, Darcy can't hide her excitement. She runs at Mr. Weasley, who wraps his arms around her and squeezes, nearly lifting her into the air as Percy watches on pompously, waving at his friends instead of sharing an emotional smile. Even Mrs. Weasley gives Darcy a hug around the neck and several wet kisses on her face, but Darcy doesn't mind the attention, especially with the Dursleys watching.

Before she goes, Mr. Weasley puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. Darcy turns, beaming at him. "Shall I get an extra ticket for you for the World Cup? I've already gotten an extra one for Harry, but I wasn't sure . . ."

"No, thank you," she says. "I'm going with Emily—I'll see you there, Mr. Weasley."

Darcy makes to leave again, but Mr. Weasley doesn't release her shoulder. "Darcy," he sighs happily. "I am proud of you. You've turned into a fine young woman." His eyes flick to the Dursleys, who are waiting rather impatiently for her. "I'll have Ron send a letter about staying with us this summer, shall I?"

"I'd like that a lot."

Darcy says goodbye to all the Weasleys again, even hugging Percy, who stiffens as soon as she wraps her arms around him. Mr. Weasley kisses her forehead before giving her a gentle push towards the Dursleys, and before she knows it, Vernon's car is leaving the station, rolling down the highway, and pulling into the driveway—a silent car ride, not that Darcy had expected congratulations from Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley. Darcy doesn't really care—she's more anxious to give Petunia the letter Dumbledore had given her the day Lupin resigned.

She gets her chance that evening, as Petunia sits outside in the back garden, reading as the sun goes down. Vernon and Dudley are quite distracted by the television program they've turned on, and Petunia lowers her book at the sight of Darcy, looking her up and down.

"Aunt Petunia," Darcy says softly. "I was told to give something to you."

"What?" Petunia snaps.

Darcy holds out the letter, still sealed. It would have been so easy to read it and reseal it without Petunia being any the wiser, but she had thought it better not to know its contents. Darcy doesn't doubt the letter is about her, and thinks ignorance is bliss. "It's for you," she whispers as Petunia takes the letter from her with shaking hands. "I was told to give it directly to you."

Petunia opens it, casting a suspicious glance at Darcy. She stands there awkwardly as Petunia's eyes scan the parchment, her lips tightening in a very Professor McGonagall-type way. Then, she says, glancing over her shoulder at her husband first, "Do you have a place to stay this summer?"

"Er—" Darcy supposes she could stay with Emily, Lupin, or even at the Burrow for a while, but the question catches her off guard. "Yes—I mean, I guess so . . . Aunt Petunia, what does the letter say?"

Petunia doesn't answer for a long time. She lowers the parchment and folds it back up, staring off into the distance. "Your godfather—is it true?" she asks, sounding horrified. "He's innocent?"

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but then closes it, struggling to find speech. "I—yes, he's innocent," she answers slowly. "Did you know him?"

Petunia sighs, closing her book and standing. She looks in the living room once more, sees that Vernon and Dudley are still preoccupied. "Come here," she snaps to Darcy, and Darcy follows her into the house and up the stairs onto the second floor landing. Petunia makes Darcy wait outside of her bedroom, but after a few minutes, Petunia emerges clutching something in her hand. "In your bedroom."

What used to be the guest room, plain and uninviting, is now Darcy's bedroom—Petunia has convinced Vernon years ago that Darcy and Harry could no longer share a room, as it was 'unnatural', and at that word, Vernon moved Darcy into the spare room right away. Now, the walls are covered in red and gold rosettes and a Gryffindor scarf hangs from the curtain rod above the single window. A few photographs are stuck to the wall with tape or framed on a shelf—photographs of Darcy and Emily mostly, moving pictures taken over summers at the Duncan's house. One is of a very tired looking eleven-year-old girl that is Darcy, smiling at the camera with bags under her eyes, looking to be years older than eleven.

Petunia locks the door behind her and she and Darcy sit on the twin bed together. Darcy's quite nervous now, as Petunia's behavior is very out of the ordinary. More than ever, she wants to know what Dumbledore has written in the letter, curious as to why Sirius had been mentioned. And then Petunia holds out the thing in her hands, and Darcy looks into her aunt's white and tight face before taking the photograph sitting in her palm.

It's a Muggle photograph, worn from age, full of smiling people. Darcy sees herself first, no older than three years old, and she's sitting comfortably in someone's lap—someone that is not her mother or her father. Lounging against Sirius' chest, Darcy looks at the camera with a tired expression, clearly worn out from a hard day of playing. Sirius is smiling at the camera, dark hair framing his face, his smile the most wonderful smile Darcy's ever seen. And there, on Sirius's left side is her father, and Darcy feels butterflies erupt in her stomach. Her father is handsome, about Darcy's age now, looking very much like Harry. On the end of the sofa, beside Darcy's father, is her mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. Darcy smiles, eyes moving to the other side of the photograph, where her stomach does a backflip. Sitting on Sirius's other side is Lupin, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, a broad smile on his peaky looking face. Forgetting Petunia is with her, Darcy touches Lupin's face with her index finger, smiling at him. And then her eyes fall upon the last boy, sitting next to Lupin. It is, unmistakably, Peter Pettigrew, and Darcy is surprised that he doesn't seem so rat-like in the picture. He's actually smiling, watery-eyed and slightly flushed in the face, and Darcy frowns.

"Where did you get this?" Darcy asks rather harshly. "Why haven't you shown me?"

"It's the last photograph your mother ever sent me," Petunia replies. "Those boys were at our home constantly during the summers when you were here."

Darcy looks at Petunia for a long time, feeling almost betrayed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Petunia purses her lips. "Listen to me, Darcy," she whispers, as if someone is listening. "If you are to return each summer with your brother, I want you to stay away from Vernon as much as possible, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Petunia seems satisfied by this answer, and gets to her feet. She leaves Darcy's room without another word. Darcy watches her go, watches her close the door behind her, and then looks down at the photograph in her hand. After a minute, Darcy tears the photograph near in half, keeping everyone in the picture except for Pettigrew. She grabs her wand from under her pillow and points it at the photograph, pinning it to the wall just above her bed. Beside it, she pins the picture of herself and Harry, taken just earlier that morning. She admires her work, her eyes lingering on the toddler-Darcy and teenage-Sirius.

Struck with a sudden idea, Darcy pulls out a quill, ink pot, and parchment, sitting at her desk and looking out the window. She taps the feather of her quill to her chin for a moment, watching the quiet street of Privet Drive, thinking hard. Then, she puts her quill to her parchment and begins to write.

Sirius—

You said you wanted to know everything, so here's everything.

Darcy begins to write furiously, starting from when she'd been brought to Privet Drive. She stays up well into the night, telling Sirius everything—raising Harry, finding out she was a witch, getting Sorted into Gryffindor almost immediately when the Sorting Hat touched her head. She writes about Emily, Carla, and Gemma—writes about the Sorcerer's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets. Darcy even writes a little about Lupin, about how they'd had dinner almost weekly, talking about everything and nothing.

And then, when Darcy's watch reads 3:48, she decides it's time to wrap up her letter.

I used to cry because I didn't have a real family, she writes, but what a childish and foolish thing to think. Petunia gave me a photograph today. You're holding me in it. Dad is in it, mum, and Remus. Darcy looks at the picture one last time. I have waited a long time to be loved the way you and Remus love me. Thank you—the both of you.

With love,

Your favorite goddaughter,

Darcy Potter

A/N: Thank you all for reading! I'll get the first chapter of the next story up in the next few days here. I appreciate all of your feedback and criticism! You can follow me on Tumblr at rcgulus-bllack if you want to be friends!