The week before term ends, the entire castle undergoes a very drastic change.

Christmas decorations have flooded the corridors of Hogwarts. Tall trees line the Great Hall and sit pretty in every classroom (a small one in the dungeons, after Professor Snape had tired of her pleading), steel suits of armor sing Christmas carols to passing students and staff, sparkling icicles and garland are twisted around every railing, mistletoe hangs from the rafters and invite groups of girls to linger underneath, and teachers become a little more lenient and easy-going, falling back on reviewing previous topics instead of plunging forward with a new subject.

Darcy has always admired the castle near Christmas, but now she finds herself wishing all the decorations would just go away. With the Yule Ball now the primary subject of gossip within classes (even between the younger students unable to attend), Ludo Bagman seems to have taken it upon himself to pursue her even harder than before.

With Lupin staying in Hogsmeade for the upcoming full moon, Ludo has taken every opportunity to corner Darcy in the Three Broomsticks. Each and every time he asks her if she's considered his proposal, but she only mutters a hasty excuse before hurrying upstairs.

The fifth time Ludo traps Darcy in the common room, she runs upstairs and slams the door of Lupin's small room behind her, throwing her cloak onto the floor and throwing herself on the sofa beside Lupin. He looks at her for a long time, startled, and Darcy turns to face him with her arms folded across her chest. Slowly, he closes his book.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," she snaps. Each time Darcy had told Lupin about Ludo's checking-in on her, he would only grind his jaw and scowl unpleasantly.

His long index finger taps his scruffy chin. "I've been thinking, Darcy," he begins, almost reluctantly. He thinks for a long moment, choosing his words carefully, but looking as if they cause him great pain. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt for you to go to the Yule Ball with Ludo. It would be a good opportunity to see what he knows, about the tournament and about Voldemort in general. He's quite taken with you, and I'm certain it would be difficult for him to refuse you anything."

Darcy frowns, seeing the shame written across his face. "Gemma spoke with you, didn't she?"

Lupin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gemma spoke with me," he affirms. While Darcy considers him, he takes advantage of her silence. "I know you're getting restless, and you're eager to find out who put Harry's name forward. I trust that you know what you're doing, but we need to talk about it first."

So they do, on the second to last day of term, with a bottle of wine split between herself, Lupin, and Gemma. With Lupin seemingly much healthier than usual so close to the full moon, there's much less snapping between he and Gemma, something Darcy is thankful for. The potion she's concocted seems to do wonders for him, his emotions kept more in check, amiable and friendly despite his clear frustration with having to discuss the idea at all.

"What exactly are you looking to get out of Ludo?" Gemma asks her, topping off Darcy's glass. "What kind of information do you really think he knows?"

"Anything," Darcy answers sheepishly, looking from Lupin to Gemma and back again. "About the Dark Mark at the World Cup, or Harry's name being put into the Goblet of Fire, or about Karkaroff—"

"I've told you before," Gemma interrupts, lowering her wine glass from her lips. "Karkaroff didn't put Harry's name in, I'm sure of it. He's a coward—he gave names to the Ministry to avoid serving a sentence in Azkaban, and if You-Know-Who really is back, he would be the first to break. You-Know-Who would kill him."

"Ron keeps saying it was Karkaroff," Darcy protests, a weak and feeble argument, and she's sure Gemma knows it.

"Ron is a fourteen-year-old boy who, for the past month, thought that Harry put his own name in, or that you did."

"He was only jealous," Darcy frowns, looking back at Lupin to avoid Gemma's eyes. "Ron wanted to be in the tournament. You know how he competes with all those siblings at home."

"Regardless of who Karkaroff is, Ludo isn't likely to willingly give up confidential information of his own accord," Lupin puts in. They all take a moment to drink, thinking everything over. "You need to be subtle, Darcy, or else he'll realize what you're up to and you'll never get anything out of him again. He fell for it once, and I'm certain it can happen again."

"It's all just a game," Gemma tells her, shrugging. "And Ludo Bagman can play it quite well. Just be the Darcy Potter he thinks you are. You hang off his arm for a little bit and stand around looking beautiful, take a picture or two with him, dance with him, let him kiss you on the cheek. And when you've trapped him, go for it."

Lupin shifts in his seat and clears his throat. "Don't let him kiss you on the cheek."

"Would you rather she let him kiss her on the mouth? Or somewhere you really wouldn't like him to kiss?"

"Don't," Lupin hisses, and Darcy drains her glass as the two of them bicker about where Ludo Bagman should be allowed to touch her, and what lengths should be taken to extract any information out of him.

Gemma talks excitedly of what kind of dress she should wear, one that shows a little more skin that she's used to, but Lupin argues vehemently against that, claiming that Ludo Bagman doesn't deserve or require charming with Darcy's body.

"It's the best weapon she has without her wand," Gemma protests, an amused little smile playing at her lips. "And Darcy should put it to use. Men will tell pretty young girls anything when they're promised a kiss, or a touch over the clothes. They are weak, easily tempted, easily corrupted, and Ludo Bagman is no exception."

"Ludo might be tempted by money or fame, or more power," Lupin growls, giving Gemma a sideways look, "but he won't be tempted by sex, and certainly not with someone so young."

"You were," Gemma reminds him flatly, taking a long drink from her glass and watching him over the rim. "You were tempted by sex with a young girl, were you not?"

A muscle jumps in Lupin's jaw and his grip on his glass tightens. Darcy holds her head in her hands, irritated by the very sight of them both. "Careful, Gemma," he snarls, his tone low and dangerous. "I like you, but watch your tongue."

"I'm not going to have to fuck Ludo Bagman," Darcy interjects angrily, rubbing her temples. "So you can stop arguing about it."

Lupin and Gemma stop talking and look at each other, both of them having the grace to look slightly abashed. Lupin rubs his face and sighs again, clearly not enjoying the idea. "Just see to it that the man keeps his hands to himself."

Ignoring him completely, Gemma begins to take over the conversation once more. "Listen, Darcy, I've been doing this for years. This is what you do . . ."

Darcy is amazed at how long Lupin and Gemma speak of details. She hadn't thought it would be so complicated, so intricate, so detailed. How hard would it really be to coerce a few secrets from such a friendly man such as Ludo Bagman? He had already seemed eager to divulge some shallow secrets to Darcy before—little things, amused at her building excitement, hanging on his every word. But the last time she had tried to get something out of him, about the first task, Ludo had been angry with her, short and unsmiling.

They both go over everything they know about Ludo. Both Lupin and Gemma have about the same level of knowledge in regards to him, but neither of them can agree on the exact details.

Lupin expresses concern about Ludo accidentally letting it slip to someone else that Darcy had been pressing him for answers, while Gemma encourages her to stroke his ego and fuel his pride before asking questions. Lupin thinks Darcy would do better to play the part of an innocent girl desperate for answers about her brother, while Gemma thinks she should be the elegant, eloquent, professional woman Ludo sees her as. Lupin thinks honesty about her intentions might be better, should things go sour, so Ludo might blame her outspokenness on her naivety, but Gemma thinks she should just be so careful that things don't go sour in the first place.

And all the while, neither one of them ask her what she thinks, neither one of them seem interested to hear her opinion on anything.

The three of them go through two bottles of wine, during which Darcy rarely speaks. When all possible scenarios are covered, Gemma bids them both good-night and leaves them in peace. Darcy sits at the table for a long time afterwards, her head throbbing. Lupin rubs at the rough shadow on his face.

"I don't have to do this," Darcy tells him softly. "If it upsets you so much, I won't. I didn't—I didn't realize that it would all be so complicated."

Lupin smiles weakly at her. "I do not deserve you," he says, his voice beginning to slur. "There are thousands of men better suited for you that I am."

"But I love you."

"Tell me you're mine," he whispers. "Tell me I have nothing to be worried about."

Darcy smiles shyly. "I'm yours," she says firmly. "And you are mine."

When she finally stumbles into the common room of the Three Broomsticks later that evening, shortly after Lupin bends her over the table and marks her with love-bites, her thighs aching painfully from digging into the table's edge with each hard stroke, her head is still foggy and she's still slightly aroused. Her hair is a tangled mess, lips swollen from how hard he had kissed her, cheeks flushed and legs shaking.

Ludo catches sight of her immediately, pushing through the crowd to approach her.

"Darcy, I was wondering if you—"

"Yes," she says blankly, "I'll go to the Yule Ball with you."

"You'll . . . ?" Ludo blinks at her in surprise. "I only wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for a drink, but what a wonderful surprise!" He claps a hand on her shoulder, as if to steer her towards the bar, and she doesn't fail to notice that he flinches slightly upon feeling the scars under the thin fabric of her blouse. They look at each other for a very long time, but neither of them have the courage to acknowledge it. Ludo lowers his voice, putting a warm smile on his face. "Come join me, Darcy."

"I should be getting back to the castle," Darcy replies, throwing her cloak over her shoulders and fastening it again. "Maybe tomorrow. I'll be down to see Remus again."

"Right, yes, of course." Ludo rocks nervously back and forth on his feet for a moment, cheeks rosy pink, clearing his throat. "It's almost full moon, I've noticed—"

"Don't worry about him, Mr. Bagman," Darcy tells him with a small smile. "He's not dangerous."

My dearest, most favorite goddaughter, Darcy:

I'm sorry to have missed you in the fire. I had hoped you would be there, but I know that was asking a lot. I have much to say to you and I'm eager to speak with you again.

The Saturday before term begins again, come to Remus's.

Harry told me all about the dragon, but I wouldn't mind hearing it from your point of view, as well. I want to hear everything, and I mean it. I know it must be very tempting to relax, now that he's faced the dragon, but there are still two more tasks. Make sure Harry doesn't get complacent. He'll need your help.

Send word to me at the first sign of something out of the ordinary.

All of my love,

Your dearest, most favorite godfather, Sirius

"C'mon, Darce! Why can't you go with me? You'd be a better date than who Harry asked for me."

"That's not very nice. And I've told you already, Ron," Darcy replies curtly, looking up from the letter she's been rereading for the past ten minutes. "I can't go with you. I'm already going with someone else."

"Who is it?" Ron asks skeptically, arching a bright red eyebrow at her. "You told us Lupin wasn't allowed to come."

"Don't mind Ron," Hermione snaps from beside Darcy, inching away from Ron to place herself shoulder to shoulder with Darcy. "Ron finds it hard to believe that girls like us can find dates to a dance, isn't that right? You know that he even asked Fleur Delacour?"

"Did you really?" Darcy laughs, and then she turns to look at Hermione, her neck snapping and her eyes narrowing. "Hold on, what is that supposed to mean? Girls like us?"

"Who are you going with, Darcy?" Harry asks again, his voice curious.

The room quiets, and Darcy looks back down at her letter. "Ludo Bagman," she answers stiffly. "He's been very persistent lately. It was all his idea. Who are you going with, Hermione?"

Hermione gives Darcy a lingering look, her cheeks turning pink. Ron seems eager to hear her answer, as well, but Hermione shakes her head. "They'll only make fun of me, I know they would."

Darcy smiles at her, terribly curious, wondering if she'll get a real answer out of Hermione after the boys have gone.

Harry scoffs very loudly. Darcy folds her letter back up, throwing it on the coffee table and stretching her legs out to prop her feet upon the table, as well. "Why are you going with Ludo Bagman?" he says.

"Why does it matter so much to you who I go with?" Darcy counters, not unkindly.

Harry, seated on his floor with his back to the fire, pulls his knees up to his chest. Hesitating, he shrugs. "Is Lupin all right with that?" His tone is slightly harsh and a little accusing, but he looks apologetic enough.

"Yes," Darcy replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's all right with it. We already discussed it." She squirms uncomfortably on the sofa, trying to look casual.

Truthfully, Darcy doesn't believe Lupin is completely all right with the idea, but he's accepted it and trusts her nonetheless. Since the day Darcy had agreed to Ludo's request, neither she nor Lupin have spoken much about it at all.

If she's being honest, Darcy thinks Gemma had been right in recording Lupin's recent behavior. The evening following their planning session with Gemma, it was near painful walking all the way back to the castle, yet every step had still managed to fill her with a burning desire to turn around and return to him.

The third evening, Darcy's lips had been so sore from kissing him, and the soft skin around her mouth had been bright red from rubbing against the hair on his face.

The fourth evening, she found it hard to sit for very long.

The fifth evening, Darcy had admitted very nervously that she needed a break, hating herself for even saying it. But Lupin had smiled at her and apologized sincerely, littering every inch of her with soft and sweet kisses, giving her the lightest touches she's ever known.

"Darcy?"

"What?" Darcy blushes fiercely, not having realized she was so distracted by the memory. She looks around to find everyone looking at her with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing," Hermione says, getting to her feet and smiling. "The sun is going down, Darcy. You should get down to the village before it gets full dark."

Harry and Ron follow her awkwardly to the door, but Darcy calls Hermione back. She closes the door in the boys' faces, smiling all the while. "Hermione, who are you really going to the ball with?" she whispers, knowing very well that Harry and Ron are probably listening at the door.

Hermione blushes, taking a few steps closer to Darcy. It takes her a moment to get the words out. "Viktor Krum," she answers softly, her eyes bright.

Darcy blinks at her, her face blank. "Holy shit," she mutters as Hermione lets herself out. "I have to tell Gemma."

"No fucking way."

"It's true, I'm telling you."

"I have never been more proud of her than I am right now," Gemma laughs, sighing very contently. "Did you tell her to knock off that spew shit?"

"No, I didn't. Let her do what she wants so long as it makes her happy." Darcy looks at herself for a long time in the full length mirror before her, the dress held in her hands. Gemma had the good grace to find a dress that would cover the scars on her shoulder, but Darcy feels gawky and awkward, and a dress won't be able to hide that.

"I've grown quite fond of her, truthfully."

"She asked for you the one day, did I tell you? I had to take her down to the hospital wing and she asked me if you were there." She hates the dress, reluctant even to put it on. It reminds her of Aunt Petunia, of the nights she and Vernon would go out, always clad in something expensive.

"She's a sweet girl," Gemma replies. "Are you all right in there? Are you tangled up? What's taking so long?"

Darcy gives some vague excuse, putting the dress on and struggling with it for a few moments. It's a beautiful thing, truly, a pale gold color with an asymmetric and plunging neckline, the fabric covering her scarred shoulder while leaving her untouched one bar. In it, she almost looks like a real woman, her body not hidden beneath sweaters and robes and cloaks, the gown tight against her hips before fanning out around her, smooth and shimmering.

"It's . . . revealing," Darcy says, not wanting to look at her body for longer than she absolutely has to. Not that she has tits to really show off, but for a ball held at a school, it may be a little much. "Can we just go get some food now?"

"No, you have to let me see it first."

She forces herself to look in the mirror again. Darcy stares at her face for a few seconds, looking herself over for a long time before coming to a startling realization.

I look like dad.

"Darcy, let me see."

"Fine. Who's out there?"

"No one, my love, it's just us. Would you please come out here?" Gemma groans. "I'm starving."

Darcy grits her teeth, running a hand through her hair. "Promise me that you won't laugh."

"Why would I laugh?"

Slowly, Darcy pulls the curtain open, revealing herself to Gemma. Gemma gets to her feet, a wide and dazzling grin on her face. "Is it horrible?" Darcy frowns.

"No, no!" Gemma continues to smile, her eyes traveling up and down Darcy's body, studying her critically. Darcy blushes, trying to cover her cleavage. "Stop covering them! It's not like your tits are hanging out for everyone to see!"

"It feels like it."

"You look beautiful, Darcy, really."

"Thank you."

"Buy that one, and then we should get out of here. We've done all the Christmas shopping I can stomach for today."

They take a late lunch at a busy cafe where Gemma and her parents had frequented when she was a little girl. The restaurant had switched hands between then and now, and is now run by an old wizard and his young, Muggle wife. When Gemma's parents had found out a Muggle was working there, they hadn't really be eager to take her back.

At a small, round table, surrounded by their shopping, they show off the Christmas gifts they'd bought for friends and family. Gemma shows her an expensive gold watch she bought for her father, and a necklace with a turquoise stone embedded in it for her mother. For Emily, a set of oil paints, and for Carla, an empty leather photo album twice the size of Darcy's, for when she graduates and travels round the world. Gemma had even bought Harry a few new t-shirts for him to take home to Privet Drive.

Darcy had decided not to spend quite so much money as Gemma, trying to budget the money she had earned in the past few months from working at Hogwarts, not wanting to give Harry an excuse to be cross with her for digging into their fortune.

For Harry she bought clothes, something she's regularly done for him, and decided that a few Galleons towards S.P.E.W. would be a nice gift for Hermione. After hearing Ron complain about his mother's itchy jumpers, Darcy bought him two new ones, and tickets to a musical for Emily and her father. Upon realizing how terribly calibrated Carla's scales were in Potions one day, Darcy had bought a new set for her, and for Gemma, a tall bottle of firewhisky.

Lupin had been the hardest to shop for. She had ended up asking Gemma to help her look for a new watch, and since then, Darcy has found out Gemma is a very, very talented gift-giver, excellent at shopping for others. It had taken Gemma only fifteen minutes to point out a watch, and Darcy never doubted for a second that Lupin would enjoy it very much.

Sirius had been difficult, as well, what with his being on the run. Instead of buying him something to drag around with him, Darcy had settled on something smaller. She had gone through all the photographs in her possession, finding them all over her room, on the mantle above the fireplace and in her trunk and wardrobe and on her nightstand. She had kept all the picture of she and Lupin in a different pile—candid ones of them at their most vulnerable, hair falling into their eyes and towels wrapped around them and brushing their teeth, sleeping and laughing and smiling.

Darcy had set aside all the picture of she and Harry, of which there were only three or four. One she wanted to keep, and it wasn't even one she had taken herself. It was the photograph of she and her brother outside Hogwarts on her last day as an official student, a magical one.

Of the three others, Darcy picked out a photograph of them during the night Harry had completed the first task. Both of them are smiling, cheeks pressed together. Afterwards, Harry had commented on how much the picture reminded him of their parents. Darcy hopes Sirius thinks the same thing about it when he receives it.

"I wish you could come to the ball, Gemma," Darcy sighs, picking at her lunch.

"Me too," Gemma confesses boldly through a mouthful of food. "I wish you could be at my place for Christmas. I'd show you my parents' wine cellar."

"I would love that." Darcy puts her fork down, looking out the nearby window. Snow coats the walkways and the road, but with the amount of foot traffic in the heart of London, it has already turned brown and muddy. "Do your parents know that you're friends with me?"

"I mean . . . they must. I know they've seen pictures of us together, and I'll sometimes mention you in passing, very rarely." Gemma shrugs. "They never say anything about it, and they know that I'm smart enough not to bring you to the house or to a party."

Darcy hums, sipping at her coffee. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Gemma glances around. There aren't many people inside, and not one of them seems to notice that they're there. She looks back down at her plate, stabbing her salad moodily. "Go on."

"What will your parents do?" she asks quietly. "If Voldemort comes back, will they return to him?"

Gemma hesitates, chewing her food and looking thoughtfully at Darcy. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and thinks hard before answering. "Why do you use the name?"

"Why don't you?" Darcy retorts, almost defensively. "I'm not afraid of the name. That's all it is, is a name."

"It's not just a name, Darcy," Gemma says, unusually calm. Darcy is reminded of all those months ago, when Gemma had told her about Fenrir Greyback in the bathtub, chain-smoking cigarettes and drinking in silence. "You, of all people, should understand that."

"Because he murdered my parents, I should be frightened of using his name?"

"Do you want to know something?" Gemma asks, ignoring Darcy completely. She lowers her voice further. "If You-Know-Who has returned, or is getting stronger, do you understand what that means for me? Things will be expected of me, and I'll be pressured into marrying a nice pure-blood boy who will eventually become a Death Eater." She looks as if this is the very last thing she ever wants to do. "Do you think You-Know-Who would look kindly on me being friendly with Darcy Potter and her werewolf beau? You think he would be pleased that we're having this conversation?"

Darcy doesn't know what to say. The entire situation makes her anxious and nauseous, but she isn't certain why.

"I'm frightened everyday," Gemma whispers, but she smiles. "I'm frightened that, if You-Know-Who comes back, he'll kill me."

"No one is asking you to do this," Darcy says gently. "You don't have—you shouldn't feel like—"

"I'm not doing this because anyone is asking me to," Gemma scoffs. "I know I don't have to do this. But the alternative . . . a life of fear, terror, hatred, a husband that I don't and could never love . . ."

Darcy smiles tremulously.

"We're not so different, you and me."

"No," Darcy replies, leaning back in her chair. "I suppose not."

"As for my parents," Gemma finishes, much less serious now. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see, when it comes down to it, whose side they're really on."