Chapter 7
Unforgettable.
That’s Sirius Black summed up in one astonishing but objective English word. She would know this, because words are their trade. Under the spell of music, Sirius crafts lyrics that hypnotize and bewitch, chants that not only demand recital but conjure rebellion from the depths of the quiet.
Sirius’ songs are extensions of himself: once heard, they will never be forgotten.
So how could Remus John Lupin, the love of his life, the moon to her star, the muse of their art, the breath in Sirius’ goddamn body…forget?
Remus forgot Sirius.
He forgot.
Sirius Black is unfuckingforgettable, but every day Remus looks him in the eye and sees nothing more than a stranger. Soulmates turned to acquaintances. Worse, coworkers.
It’s a blow more devastating than anything Sirius has been dealt in their life. Which is saying quite a lot, given not one but three of Sirius’ guardians died a tragic death.
Sirius flops his legs out, leaning into a wimpy middle hip stretch. The battered notebook in front of her is covered in scribbles and stickers, a million dog-eared pages puffing the cover up as if it just might explode. Or more realistically, fall apart.
James has gifted Sirius many new, pretty, fancy notebooks, but he can’t bear to part with this relic. She wrote some of their best singles in here: at this point, it’s a good luck charm.
The campers around Sirius have their own, less lived-in, notebooks open in their laps. They’re sitting in a circle, each squinting at an empty page as they bid their muses for inspiration. Sirius realizes, belatedly, that most of them don’t know what a muse even is.
“Ok, ok, let’s move on.” Sirius presses her chin into his hands, elbows digging into the ground. “Everyone’s writing process is different. Sometimes writers start with the hook, other times it’s a general melody. I usually figure out the first verse, sort of like a first sentence, and take off from there.”
The seven kids nod vigorously, then return to their notebooks. But still, no one writes anything.
“Don’t get caught up in the first word,” Sirius urges. “Write something wild or strange, just let loose!”
Cho, a camper from James’ cabin, jots something down, and the others follow suit. Sirius flips open their own notebook, finding a mildly blank page, and surrenders to his own masochistic imagination.
The moon.
That’s all his songs have been about lately.
That’s all her thoughts have been about lately.
Let’s be honest, the moon is all they’ve ever been about. Period.
It’s borderline obsessive, Sirius knows. She really shouldn’t be teaching songwriting in the smack-dab middle of Hogwarts, laid out across the slope that leads to Gryffindor. It’s rather uncomfortable sitting on woodchips, and the general rumble from the kitchens on the left, especially Evan’s giggling, spoils the zen. There are a million other places the class could’ve gathered as Mary pointed out to Sirius: one of the lawns, the Lodge, hell, even the campfire circle.
But here, in the middle of everyone’s way, the Nurse’s Station is on the right.
Remus is just a moonstone’s throw away.
And if Sirius can’t be remembered, he wishes to be fucking heard.
“Good!” Sirius speaks much louder than necessary. “Now take that word, theme, or phrase, and pick a part of the song structure: verse, chorus, or bridge. All it takes is one or two lines, and then you can start a song based on that vibe.”
As the kids write, some even humming to themselves, Sirius lets his pen glide, something grossly sappy, and nearly thespian, finding its way onto the page. Back in LA, Sirius had just wrapped up a project with Olvia Rodrigo. Writing with her brought out the dramatic teen he once was. Now, it seems, Sirius has moved onto the histrionic adult they are.
“Sirius?”
“Millie!” Sirius looks up. “How’s your muse treating you?”
“Not well. I’m stuck.”
“What do you have so far?”
“Uhm…” Millicent’s chin dips, her tanned cheeks blushing. Sirius knows quite a bit about the camper since she’s in Reg’s cabin. She’s one of the two scholarship kids: quiet but not shy, loves music, terrified of snakes, and is extremely blunt.
“Can you just tell us what you have?” Millie whispers. “I’m not gonna share mine, and I need to hear an example.”
Sirius can’t help but laugh a little at that. “Of course, Mills.”
Zap.
Sirius jolts.
Even as a pre-pubescent teen, it was always like this: as if the weight of Remus’ gaze literally electrified Sirius’ skin.
Zapppppppp.
Sirius settles into the zapzapzapzap, smiling, but not daring to turn and meet Remus’ gaze. She always does their best work when pretty people are paying attention.
“I moon, I mope, I mourn. It’s not you, but fate I scorn,” Sirius reads from his notebook.
Millie frowns. “That’s really good.”
“Nah.” Sirius crosses the words out. “It’s too…much. But I’m getting closer.”
Another camper raises their hand. Cedric, Sirius remembers from class introductions.
“Can I take that if you aren’t gonna use it?”
There’s the soft trill of a laugh from within the Nurse’s Station, yet still, Sirius does not look. “Well, these are my words, and I’m a thousand percent sure that your words will be better than mine, Cedric. You’ve got gallons of art in your soul just waiting to break out and wow the world.”
“Gallons?” Cedric repeats.
Sirius nods solemnly. “Gallons.”
The class continues, words turning into lines, lines turning into poems. Some of the campers even start brainstorming melodies, spreading out amidst the slanted hill to sing their lyrics under their breath.
Not once does the zap on Sirius’ neck cease: not once does the lightning pouring through their veins dull. Unsurprisingly, all that energy is extremely conductive to his writing.
A couple of kids ask for suggestions on rhymes or how to make their choruses and bridges sound different. Sirius adores teaching songwriting to youngsters, cause she can ignore all the wretched theory and hideous confines of ‘what sells’, and tell the campers to trust their own instincts. Art, at least in the magic of camp, can be limitless.
It’s in the real world where the limits manifest.
Sirius is playing around with their final chorus when the door to the Nurse’s Station creaks open, Remus’ heavy footsteps thumping over the porch’s old wood.
Only then does Sirius look up. She’s far enough away that the two of them can’t hold a conversation, not without snagging the attention of the entire class, so they just watch each other. Stare, actually.
Being the desperate fool that Remus has made him, Sirius can’t help but look into those dark brown eyes and hope for a spark of recognition. But there’s nothing but a gleam of intrigue.
Yes, Remus is obviously intrigued by Sirius. No one could look at Sirius Black and not want him, if not sexually, then aesthetically. It’s a part of the human condition.
But Sirius doesn’t just want lust from her Moon.
They want everything.
Sirius pulls his eyes away from Remus and returns to their notebook, pretending to fiddle with the dots marking the drum rhythm. Pretending as if she isn’t freaking out that Remus Is Right There Watching.
Then Remus begins to walk down the stairs. And Sirius loses it…
At first, Sirius planned to woo Remus like she did all those years ago. The only problem? Sirius isn’t sure how they managed to get someone like Remus to love them: in fact, they questioned it every day they were together that last summer at Hogwarts.
Most people would be over their first crush, first love, first everything at 28. And sure, Sirius has loved others since, but not like she did Remus.
After all, who could compare to the moon?
Remus is walking on the wood chips now, heading straight for Sirius. And oh, please, oh pleaseeee…
Wooing Remus isn’t fucking working, however. Sirius has flirted and charmed and shared nearly every last one of her secrets, but Remus remains unmoved. He did not fall head over heels for Sirius by the end of their first day together. Nor the next. Nor the day after that.
All Sirius has accomplished is making Remus want. A thirst that could be easily satiated with a quick fuck or maybe even some hand action.
Sirius wants Remus to goddamn yearn. The way he did when they were two fifteen-year-olds hiding under the cover of the Wayward Woods. The way he clearly did for his husband, Tyler, before he passed. The way Sirius yearns for Remus, still, after all this time.
Just a few more steps now, and Remus will be at Sirius’ side. What will he do? Kiss Sirius? He should really kiss Sirius…
Peter has urged her, repeatedly, to lay off a little, and let Remus come to him instead. Declarations of love, in song or speech, apparently can be ‘overwhelming’, ‘intimidating’, if not ‘terrifying’ when they come from a stranger. Sirius flinches every time a Marauder reminds her: Remus is not Moony. Not really.
Because memories make a person, right? Every second of the Marauders’ five summers together, the letters passed during the school year, the friendships and the love, had been swept away.
Remus forgot.
But he’s still Sirius’ Moony. He could still be Sirius’ Moony. If they can’t have a past, Sirius will make goddamn sure they have a present.
And now Remus is talking to Cedric, and oh can he be any more perfect? The way he kneels down and smiles, complimenting the ‘rock ballad’ Cedric wrote…
The problem is, Remus won’t talk to Sirius. He barely mentions what he does as an ER nurse, and practically never acknowledges Tyler, despite how obvious his death pains him. But, thanks to Peter, Sirius isn’t pushing. She wants to know everything, but she’s waiting for Remus to want that too.
Dorcas is doing the same with Marlene. The solidarity helps, but it doesn’t blunt the blade.
So Sirius pines in solitude, taking Remus’ hungry stares greedily, and waiting for him to want more. Sirius is not a patient person: but he’s waited this long for his moon, what was a few more weeks?
And maybe, just maybe, Peter is right. The space Sirius has begrudgingly put between them forces Remus to make the moves. Forces Remus to decide when and where they flirt.
Because when the two of them do speak, it’s pure coquetry.
“Hey,” Remus greets, finally at Sirius’ side.
Sirius snaps their head up, feigning surprise. “Come to write some songs, Dr. Moony?”
Remus, for once, does not comment on the nickname. “Let’s hear it then.”
“What?”
“Your song.”
Sirius’ stomach flutters. “It’s no more than a poem right now, and a sloppy one at best.”
Remus hums. “I expect you mean that, as you’re not afraid to boast of your strengths in other regards.”
“When I say I’m a reincarnation of Bowie, I do mean it.”
“Right.” Remus’ face twists and Sirius knows that he’s biting back a smile. Every inch of Remus’ body, though aged with time and grief, is as familiar as ever.
“I promise to serenade you once it’s finished.”
Remus bites his lip. “Serenade, huh?”
“‘Course. I’ll even stand outside your window with a rose.”
Before Remus can respond, Gilderoy and his gaggle of campers trudge up through Gryffindor, bean bag balls flying over their heads in lazy swoops.
“Great, the jugglers,” Sirius grumbles.
“Remus!” Gilderoy exclaims. He flings his head to the right, blond hair swishing like a knock-off Justin Bieber. His faded camp shirt is rolled up as if he’s trying to show off muscle, only there’s no fucking muscle.
Sirius doesn’t miss Remus’ low sigh before he turns around and mumbles hello to the camp’s least favorite counselor.
“I’m just finishing up with my juggling class here.” Gilderoy’s voice is a cross between a sore throat and a whisper.
“I see that.” Remus clearly wants to run away. There’s tension in the heart of his shoulder blades, and he keeps running his hand through his curls as if hiding his face. Or maybe it’s Gilderoy’s face he doesn’t want to see.
“I reached my record today.” Gilderoy rubs his chapped lips together. “Five balls.”
“That’s a lot of balls,” Remus deadpans.
Gilderoy’s left eye twitches while his lips pucker. Is he…smizing?
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Sirius is a second away from barking, literally barking, at Gilderoy. Every year, Sirius and Lily campaign to replace Gilderoy, and every year, Dumbledore rehires him.
“Hey!” Gilderoy looks at the campers behind him. “Why don’t we show Remus some of our tricks?”
Sirius can’t help but summon Regulus then, tone dry and deadly: “Gilderoy I’m in the middle of a songwriting session, I’d ask you not to disturb the serenity my students need to summon such sacred verse. Go find another place for your circus acts.”
“Yeah,” Millie pipes up behind Sirius. “I’m on the verge of something spectacular.”
Sirius grins.
“I’ve got to go anyway.” Remus ducks, already moving towards the Nurse’s Station. “Need to reorganize the—uhm, bandaids.”
This time it’s Sirius who bites back a smile.
Gilderoy’s face falls as Remus rushes into the old house, the screen door clunking shut behind him. For a moment, a millisecond, she pities Gilderoy: Sirius understands the torment of Remus’ rejection more than anyone.
Then Gilderoy opens his big fucking mouth, and all Sirius can feel is white-hot rage.
“That nurse is something, huh? Do you know if he’s single or—”
“Dr. Moony is fantastic, yes.” Sirius crosses their arms. “Now I’m going to return to my students, since we still have five minutes left of class. You should do the same.”
Sirius didn’t intend to sound like Dragonfly, but his inner Lily comes out whenever dumbasses are around.
Gilderoy shrugs. “See you later, Prongs.”
“That’s not even the right nickname and how dare you—”
But Gilderoy’s already off to the dining area, his juggling campers close behind.
Sirius simmers in anger, furious that Gilderoy interrupted a precious moment with Remus, furious that she can’t run after Remus, furious that Remus won’t run after her.
*****
Sirius is not supposed to bottle up their emotions. For years he’s been under strict orders from James to never let the feelings fester, to come to him before the pressure erupts into something fatal.
So, when Sirius catches a break after lunch thanks to Mary and Lily, she hunts down Prongs.
“What the hell?” The entire Lodge shakes when Sirius slams the front door.
Regulus and James snap their heads to Sirius.
“Padfoot!” James’ face brightens, immediately jumping up to run across the glossy wooden floors and bear hug Sirius.
No matter how little time has passed, James always, always, hugs Sirius when he sees her. The habit started the first summer they met, once James realized just how touch-deprived Sirius was. It’s become a little overkill given that they’re roommates in LA, and can’t go a day without seeing each other, but Sirius never complains. He loves holding James.
“Why are you two hanging out without me?” Sirius whines as she squeezes James. Extra hard.
James’ arms shake, a telltale sign that he’s excited about something. “Regulus is a star!”
Sirius pulls back. “A…star? Are we talking metaphorically or literally?”
“What?” James blinks. “I’m saying that I didn’t know that Regulus chose his name like you did!”
“Uhm, yes, that’s typically what happens when you’re trans.” Sirius rolls their eyes.
James’ cheeks burn. “No. I know that. I’m not explaining this right.”
Regulus chuckles from the other end of the Lodge.
Sirius has to lean to the side to look at their brother’s face because Regulus’ laugh sounds downright…fond.
Regulus is perched on a bench against the logged wall, his hair half pulled back like he does when he teaches aerial silks.
“James didn’t know that Regulus is the name of a star,” Regulus explains, voice still shockingly soft.
It is a cute story, admittedly.
Walburga was named after a saint and Orion a Greek myth, so they gave their children the same bullshit: Sirius got Jason, after the leader of the Argonauts, and Regulus Joan, after the girl-child-warrior-martyr. In the end, they were both too cosmic for such gendered tales.
Sirius started using her name the first summer at Hogwarts, determined to be known as something greater, brighter than a dude obsessed with a golden fleece.
The brightest star in the sky in fact.
Regulus chose his soon after, around the time he started using his pronouns.
Anytime Sirius needs a reminder of how much Regulus loves her, all they have to do is think of his name. Deep down, past the indifferent facade and the bitter wit, Regulus is fucking sweet.
“Regulus and Sirius: two stars.” James shakes his head. “That’s just adorable honestly, and the fact that Reg picked it after you chose yours, I mean—”
“Don’t cry, babe.” Sirius pulls James in for another hug. “Or cry if you want.”
James sniffles. “Nah, I’m good. I think. Maybe not.”
“My name isn’t just for Sirius, I also happen to like astronomy—” Regulus cuts off when James turns around to look at him.
“I think it’s lovely.”
Regulus, likely overwhelmed by the application of the word ‘lovely’ to a guy like him, falls silent.
“You two can’t hang out without me,” Sirius repeats when James lets go.
It’s not that Sirius doesn’t want Reg and James hanging out, he’s always wanted them to love each other as Sirius loves them. But they can’t do any of that without her.
“Oh come on, Pads, don’t be like that.” James takes Sirius’ hand and tugs them across the Lodge.
Regulus glares. “We were in the middle of a conversation, Sirius. Leave.”
“Absolutely not, I’ve had an incredibly traumatic experience, and I need to monologue, so who’s it gonna be?”
Regulus and James stare at Sirius: James concerned, Reg exasperated.
“Talk to both of us!” James offers.
Sirius hadn’t even considered the possibility. In LA, he vents in the apartment with James just to facetime Regulus once Prongs leaves to coach bratty teens. It’s doubly cathartic that way.
“Right. Yes. I guess I can do that now that we’re all in the same place.”
“Brilliant.” James returns to his seat beside Regulus, leaving room in the middle for Sirius to squeeze his way in.
After Sirius settles between their two favorite people, and Regulus gives a long, protracted sigh, she begins:
“Remus was staring at me while I was teaching songwriting and ohmygod it was incredible and then he even came up to me like literally left the Nurse’s Station to come and talk to me and he asked to hear my song which I read a little bit earlier in the class and I think he was eavesdropping anyways it was about him obviously and so I’m all like what if he knows it’s about him that would probably freak him out so I get all shy and lie and say that it’s not ready which it isn’t so that’s a white lie I guess which by the way I hate that term white lie it doesn’t make any sense it should be a more deceptive color like green or I guess white is deceptive well anyways I lied somewhat and then Gilderoy fucking charged in with his circus and scared Remus away and then he fucking called me Prongs!” Sirius takes a breath.
James and Regulus speak at once: “How dare Gilderoy!” and “You’re behaving like a child.”
Sirius whips around to face her brother, mortally offended. “Are you implying that a child’s behavior is shameful? Because at least half of our campers prove that is not the case.”
Regulus considers this, eyes growing distant like when he’s lost in computation theory and algorithms. Finally, he concedes, “I accept your criticism, and I will not use that insult in the future. Allow me to rephrase: You’re an idiot.”
Sirius slides down the bench, head thudding into the wall. “Yeah.”
“This is…complicated for you, Pads,” James begins. “You’re doing your best to deal with a really weird situation.”
Sirius lifts his head slowly. “Yeah?”
“What do you mean a weird situation?” Regulus frowns.
Sirius doesn’t keep things from Regulus. There’s an unspoken, unbreakable oath between them to never let their relationship fall apart like it did when Alphard died. Secrets are the bedrock of disaster, Sirius knows.
But this.
This is the one thing Sirius can’t share.
It had been Peter and Lily’s idea. After the bomb that Dumbledore dropped on them on the first day of staff training, in the form of an amnesic Remus Motherfucking Lupin, the four Marauders gathered in the treehouse to discuss:
“Look,” Peter began, his knees pulling up to his chest. “I don’t think it’s fair of us to load all this shit on Moony. It’s kind of depressing when you think about it, we all just carried on without him.”
Sirius, who had been crying intermittently in James’ bed the entire night, argued in a raspy voice: “He deserves to know.”
“Is that what’s best for Remus, or for you, Pads?” Peter prodded gently.
Sirius bit her lip.
“I wish we could just ask him,” James said with a sigh. “I’m sure Remus has had to deal with things from his past before.”
Lily rubbed her face. She was caught in the corner, shadows washing her in darkness.
“Firefly?” James nudged her forward. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”
“I—” She shook her head out as if clearing her thoughts. “I had a drink with Remus last night.”
“You WHAT!” Sirius jolted and knocked their head on the top of the treehouse.
“We just, uhm, ran into each other and then I convinced him to talk with me in my office, and then, well, we got to talking…”
Sirius swallowed the information, hands shaking from a swirl of emotions she could not name.
“What’s he like?” James whispered. “This Remus?”
Lily smiled. “He’s not all that different, just sorta…hardened. It felt like I was talking to an old friend and a stranger all at once.”
James wrapped an arm around Lily and tucked her into his chest.
“He’s…” Lily looked through the treehouse’s small entrance, searching the rising sun for answers. “Remus has been through some things, clearly. Just like we all have.”
“Probably for the best that he wasn’t there for the rough bits,” Sirius said dryly.
“I don’t know.” Lily’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe things would have gone differently if Remus was there.”
Sirius met Lily’s stare. “You think if I had Moons I wouldn’t have gone to rehab?”
“I was thinking maybe that James and I would have used a condom.”
“Ah, yes, Remus Lupin, the preacher of safe sex and D.A.R.E.” Peter snorted.
They could all laugh about it now, years later. Even so, Sirius and Lily carried the ache of decisions made that could never be undone. Lily was a warrior for it, but Sirius? There was nothing brave about their mistakes, the fleeting highs that nearly burned her to the ground. Nine years sober, and still.
Still.
Lily reached for Sirius’ hand, reading their loaded silence.
“I think Remus doesn’t want to know about us. He said he’s happy,” Lily’s voice cracked. “He’s happy that he doesn’t remember.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing though—”
Peter cut Sirius off, “But it sounds like he doesn’t want to know.”
“I’m not giving up on Moony.” Sirius’ shaking hands clenched into fists.
“No way,” James agrees. “But we have to love him for who he is now.”
So Sirius couldn’t tell Regulus why this is all so fucking hard.
Why Sirius wants to break down in front of Remus and shout out all the promises they made to each other, scream about their first awkward fumble in bed, and all the beautiful times after that, and howl that gorgeous feeling of young young young love that still inspires them to this day.
All of Sirius’ songs.
Every single one of them.
Is for Remus.
Regulus’ gaze is pinned to Sirius’, expectant.
“You know me, Reggie.” Sirius tries to laugh. “I’m rather obsessed when it comes to crushes.”
“That’s all this is, a crush?”
Sirius schools his features. “Yes.”
“You only lie to me for good reason, so I won’t push.” Regulus resettles on the bench, clasping his hands in his lap.
James gasps slightly, but Sirius only laughs, not even surprised: Regulus has always been able to see past Sirius’ smiles.
“How’s the new plan working then?” James asks.
Sirius blows out a breath. “Well, he talked to me today, so that’s a good sign, yeah?”
“A great one.”
Regulus leans forward. “What are we talking about?”
“I might have overshared with Remus when we first met and maybe came on too strong. There were tears involved.”
Sirius cringes at the memory. It had been the dawn of a full moon, another moon of no sleep, and all he had wanted was to wallow in the treehouse. But Remus had just been there, and they couldn’t help but spill. And splatter. And fucking dump. Sirius had been so close to saying more than she should, to recounting their long, beautiful love story.
In the end, Sirius only revealed the secrets of their own life. He bounced back and forth from the milestones of death. Walburga and Orion. Alphard. And finally, the metaphorical death of themself.
At least, it felt like death when Sirius blew Alphard’s inheritance on drugs, while Regulus graduated with honors from his fancy boarding school. Rock bottom.
Regulus smirks, snapping Sirius back into the present. “You and Dorcas both need to learn how to shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“So Wormtail gave Padfoot some great advice, unsurprisingly,” James continues. “And now Sirius is trying to be…chill about pursuing Remus.”
Regulus tilts his head. “You think that’s the right way to pursue a man? Be chill?”
James shrugs. “When it comes to matters of the heart, Peter knows more than I.”
Sirius nods in agreement.
“But I do think it’s important to show that you care,” James adds, nudging Sirius. “If not in words, then in actions.”
“What does that mean?” Regulus asks.
Sirius’ lips turn up into asmile: the smile they save for their brother. Reggie’s always been so direct with his confusions, picking apart every last statement so there can’t be a millimeter of misunderstanding. Once, Sirius had to spend an hour dissecting the phrase ‘Who do you think you are’, until Regulus understood it was not a direct question about his conception of self, nor his understanding of his genetic lineage, but rather an obscure, crappy way of confronting someone.
James, who knows as well as Sirius how earnest Reg’s questions are, takes a second to collect his thoughts. “Words are nice and all, and Sirius is very good with them, but sometimes it’s the little things that make up the big. How can you show someone that you care about them, rather than just talk about it? Oh! You should figure out Remus’ love language, Pads.”
But Sirius already knows Remus’ love language: words of affirmation, obviously. It’s part of the reason he got so good at writing songs, nothing made Moony blush more than a ballad. But then again, Sirius doesn’t know what this Remus likes. How this Remus loves.
The realization makes Sirius sick to their stomach.
“Love language?” Regulus blinks.
“Yeah, there’s five or maybe six of them? Like gifts, touch, or acts of service. That kind of stuff,” James explains.
“What’s yours?”
“Why do you care, Reggie?” Sirius snorts.
“It’s an interesting subject. I find the customs of dating culture fascinating.”
Sirius frowns. The conversation is supposed to be about Sirius’ plight, not Regulus’ intellectual musings.
“Wait—I thought you didn’t date, Regulus?” James says slowly.
Sirius nods. “He doesn’t.”
“Well, I was thinking of asking Remus out,” Regulus deadpans.
“That’s not fucking funny,” Sirius grits out.
“We talk every night, Remus needs company while he smokes, and I’m happy to oblige—”
“You do what?” James sputters.
Sirius, forever grateful for his best friend’s support, matches his shock. Or rather, tops it tenfold. “You’re meeting up with Remus?” She spits. “Every night?”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t ‘calm down’ me, how could you betray me like this?!”
“It’s not my fault that I’m the more palatable sibling,” Regulus’ voice is all innocence.
Sirius works on their breathing as her head twists and squeezes and spirals. James’ stammering beside him only adds to the unraveling pressure.
Regulus has never expressed romantic interest in anyone. Of course, he doesn’t have to want romance, Sirius would support him either way.
He would always support Reggie. To whatever end.
“Do you really like Remus?” Sirius whispers. “Because if you do…I’ll—”
Regulus waits, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll back off,” Sirius finishes.
“Sometimes I forget how much you love me. Then you do something like that.” Regulus looks away for a moment. The windows lining the Lodge’s walls show the quiet parking lot and camp entrance just outside.
Sirius presses her thigh into Regulus’ and draws a star over his knee like they used to do in foster homes. It was nothing more than little shapes, and occasionally quick letters like O-K-? or I-D-I-O-T, and when things got really bad, R-U-N-?
“No, I’m not romantically pursuing Remus.” Regulus turns around. “But for the record, I am interested in dating.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“Ok.”
Sirius catches their head with her hands and blows out the longest breath. “I’m so glad you don’t like Remus, that would have killed me.”
“Just a crush, hmm?”
“Shut up.”
James just laughs at the two of them.
******
Today’s Cabin Adventure is a visit to the Low Ropes course.
Luna and Ron had begged to climb the infamous Azkaban as a cabin, an obstacle course forty-five feet in the sky, but since Neville’s afraid of heights, this was the cabin’s compromise. Sirius is more than happy to oblige, as it means an entire hour with Wormtail.
Hermione and Ron are under the mistaken impression that this will be easy, Harry and Luna think the opposite, and Neville just agrees with whoever is talking. Sirius is working on self-confidence with that one. Baby steps.
“You got this, Cabin 3!” Sirius hollers as his campers line up beside Peter. She may or may not be lying.
While the Low Ropes course appears deceivingly simple, no more than a maze of rope and wood, it took the Marauders at least five attempts over the years before they finished it. They were the best and brightest cabin to ever grace these campgrounds, so that says something.
Peter leads Sirius’ five campers through the dirt path, Zemlya sniffing at his heels, until they reach the first challenge, ‘The Surfer’: a long wooden plank over a small rod.
While Peter blabs, Sirius draws W+P 4ever in the wood chips, for Wormtail and Padfoot, of course. The kids listen carefully to the instructions, safety warnings, and Pete’s solid attempt at a pep talk: “Try your best, dudes.”
In short, they have to get on the board and balance above ground for five seconds. Usually they wouldn’t be allowed to talk, but Peter and Sirius already agreed that these campers would need all the help they could get.
The kiddos have many strengths, but coordination is not one of them.
Luna, ever the brave Lion, steps onto the wood first. “I wonder…if we start with one person on this side, then slowly add people to the other, maybe we can find a balance?”
Hermione and Neville quickly agree and rush to the other side. Along the way, Neville falls, or actually chassés onto the ground. A beautiful, somewhat brutal nose-dive.
“Alright there?” Sirius calls out.
Neville gives Sirius and Peter a thumbs-up once he’s back on his feet.
“He’s not even on the wood yet and he already fell?” Peter whispers to Sirius. They’re both leaning against the wooden poles across from The Surfer, giving the cabin the space to ‘figure it out as a team’, as Lily would say.
“I told you that they aren’t a graceful bunch. We did hula hooping on the dock the other day, and only Hermione could manage more than five seconds.”
Peter smiles, his dimple flashing. “I’d be concerned, if Moony wasn’t just as bad way back when.”
Sirius’ heart stutters at the mention of her Moon. Their very clumsy, perfect Moon.
“Ok, now Harry you slide onto the wood beside me, SLOWLY!” Hermione’s hands stretch out in a T for balance.
Zemlya, who’s lounging in a sliver of sun, perks her head up at Hermione’s screech. The pitbull gives a soft woof and settles back down.
“Where’s Ard and Tierra?” Sirius asks, searching for the other two pitbulls.
“I SAID SLOWLY HARRY!”
Peter shrugs. “Want me to call them over?”
“HE’S TRYING HIS BEST HERMIONE!”
“Nah, I’ll see them at lunch later. I was thinking we should enlist a cabin to give them a bath.”
“PLEASE, NOT SO LOUD! I CAN'T FOCUS!”
“Mmm, there’s nothing quite like child labor.”
“THERE WE GO, HARRY! NICE AND SLOW!”
“It could be a community project,” Sirius points out. “I mean Dumbledore had us doing worse back in the day.”
“NOBODY MOVE ALL WE HAVE LEFT IS RON!”
“Meh. The dogs can just wash off in the Black Lake.”
“WHY DID WE LEAVE RON FOR LAST?”
“You know I convinced my cabin that the Black Lake is named after me and Reg.”
“RON IF YOU MESS THIS UP—”
Peter smirks. “It is, though. Don’t you remember James and I made everyone start calling it that in 2008?”
“DO NOT WOBBLE, RONALD!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“RON!”
“We made pamphlets and everything. A declaration of honor after the squid prank you orchestrated.”
“HANG ON!”
“And they’re still calling it Black Lake?” Sirius barks a laugh.
“I SAID HANG ON!”
“Our legacy is forever,” Peter says with a wink.
There’s a crack of wood, and then all the kids are skidding to the right, piling on top of Ron. When they land, Harry’s mussy hair peaks out from beneath Ron’s shoulder while Luna’s pink sneakers are angled across Neville’s face. Only Hermione remains unscathed, sitting to the side with an impressive pout.
Peter strolls up to the pile of campers. “So? What can we do differently next time?”
******
It isn’t until a few days after the deeply upsetting Gilderoy Incident that Sirius feels himself recovered. She’s had a good night’s sleep of at least five hours, a lovely breakfast with their campers, and an illicit pink starburst from Pandora. The camp rules about candy are absurd, but Pandora always has the hook-up for smuggled treats.
Sirius even sees Gilderoy on the way to their Guitar class and doesn’t immediately throttle him. She does, however, pretend not to hear his hello.
The class, this time a whopping fifteen campers, is settled in the usual spot by the Nurse’s Station. They’re paired up in twos to share the limited supply of guitars, Sirius passing around a portable tuner so that everyone can try twisting the tuning keys. Cause it’s fun, duh.
For some reason, Draco’s in attendance, and Sirius is trying, trying, trying to be cool about it. But, well, the kid chose guitar? That’s like becoming a stripper to the Black family. The black sheep of the string instruments, if you will.
Sirius feels practically giddy at Draco’s defiance, even if it’s teeny. These things have to start small: a ripple becomes a wave becomes a tsunami, and then before you know it, Draco starts a riot, falls in love with a man, or at the very least, gets the fuck away from those fuckers!
It’s possible that Sirius is projecting. Maybe Draco is here just because the other classes were full. But a queer could dream.
“So the sheets in front of you have all the basic chords we’ve just gone over. Once you nail down G, C, A, E, D, and F, you can play most pop songs,” Sirius says, glancing around the campers.
Brad, yes Brad, one of Dorcas’ kids, slams a hand over his guitar, the clang of strings violently off-key.
Sirius coughs. “Reallllly close, Brad, keep working on that A chord. Make sure those fingers are pressed down.”
As the campers practice Sirius walks around, adjusting hand placement or nudging fingers to the right fret. In a feat of incredible composure, Sirius holds back a squeal when Draco demonstrates a perfect progression of four chords. Draco’s partner, Pansy, is not as successful.
“This takes time, Pansy, don’t stress. You’ve got all summer to work on this.”
The dark-haired girl scowls, her long bangs falling into her face. Sort of like Violet from The Incredibles, only much more threatening. “If Draco can do it, I can do it.”
“I absolutely agree. But everyone learns at their own pace—”
Pansy raises a hand and Sirius stops.
Then Draco speaks for the first time all class: “Don’t be pissy, Pans, I’ll help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Fine, then I’ll stare in silence as you mess up.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
Sirius bites their cheek to keep from laughing. “Okayyy. Keep at it then.”
He walks away from the Slytherin duo, the murmurs of their bickering backed by soft strums. When Sirius looks back, Draco’s mouth is curved into a delicate smirk.
And, well, that’s not fair. When Draco smiles like that, he looks like a much younger, much more angelic version of Sirius.
The majority of the time, Sirius is glad that it’s Regulus who has to deal with mini Lucius. Reggie’s got the tact, the patience, and the poker face to pull it off. But fuck, when Draco looks like that, Sirius can’t help but want…
No. Nope. It’s stupid to fucking want.
Besides Andromeda, Sirius and Regulus don’t talk to their family. The fallout after Alphard’s death and the general bigoted values of the Blacks made it so. Sirius is fine with that. She has the Marauders and Regulus.
And soon, he’d have Moony too.
The moon is on his mind as Sirius passes out the chords to “Three Little Birds”. The moon is on their tongue, in their fingertips, when they play the song for the campers. The moon is all she sees when the kids start practicing themselves, and Sirius is left to rot in the memories only he remembers.
“There you are, Moony! I’ve been waiting like forever.” Sirius scrambled to the other side of the treehouse, tugging Remus inside by his sweater’s sleeves.
“I was five minutes behind you. This counselor isn’t as heavy a sleeper as Danny was last summer, we have to be more careful—”
Sirius shut Remus up with a kiss. It was stiff and unsure, the nine months between them heavy. The night air was cold, Moony was cold, and Sirius was drowning in ice, desperate to light a fire.
“Oh.” Sirius pulled back, heart sinking.
Maybe Remus didn’t want her anymore. Maybe he found someone else at school and forgot about Sirius. Maybe that kiss last summer was all One Big Mistake.
Then Remus launched forward and climbed on top of Sirius. Moony kissed with desperation, grabbing Sirius by the chin and pressing their tongues together like a goddamn waltz. Slowly, all that ice melted into something ravenous.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” Remus panted when they finally came up for air.
“Mm,” Sirius' voice cracked.
“That’s all you have to say?”
Sirius couldn’t feel his hands or her heart or their brain. Remus was straddling Sirius like he did the bench at dinner that night. So, yes, all they could say was: “Mm.”
Remus looked divine under the moonlight, curls mussed with Sirius’ devotion, lips swollen and slightly wet. Sirius brushed their thumb over Remus’ newest scar, the jagged line crossing from nose to mouth proof of both bravery and pain.
“I know you don’t walk to talk about it,” Sirius began.
“No, I’m not very interested in talking.” Remus leaned in and kissed Sirius again. A slow burn this time.
Sirius was flying, dying in Remus’ embrace, but she found the will to stop and say: “One day, I will make sure your father pays for what he did to you.”
Remus’ forehead pressed into Sirius. “I know I look…different now.”
“You’re beautiful,” Sirius blurted.
Remus smirked at the blush spreading across Sirius’ cheeks. Then he kissed them again. And again.
Eventually, they sneaked back through the Wayward Woods and into Cabin 5, but only after they shared a piece of Hubba Bubba gum, and kissed under the full moon until they were breathless and bewitched.
“A Bob Dylan concert right outside my door?” a familiar voice pulls Sirius out of the past.
Remus is talking with some of the campers a little up the hill, Draco and Pansy on one side, Harper and Idika on the other. Sirius unabashedly stares as Remus nods along to Idika’s strumming, his eyes fluttering shut while he mouths the lyrics. Little by little, the class swarms around the nurse to take turns showing off what they learned. Even Draco agrees to play, though only after Remus asks.
“Are you gonna play for us, Dr. Moony?” Sirius finally steals his attention.
As predicted, Remus’ eyes shoot to Sirius, and stay there.
“Yes! PLEASE!” Harper begs.
“Sorry,” Remus speaks directly to Sirius. “Don’t know how to play.”
It takes a herculean effort for Sirius not to weep then, because Remus Lupin once played the guitar like nobody else. He taught Sirius how to play. For more reasons than one, Remus is why she is a songwriter at all.
“Just try.” Sirius stands up and passes their guitar to Remus. “For me?”
“I—” Remus takes the guitar with wide eyes.
“Use this.” Draco pushes his sheet forward on the ground. “It has the three chords you need.”
“I really can’t play.”
Sirius lets her silence, their lidded eyes and parted lips, do the work for him. And voila: Remus folds.
The first strum is jilted. Remus takes his time figuring out the next chord, D, tongue sticking out on the side as he concentrates. When he moves back to A, the pitch is perfect.
"Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright. Singing, don't worry about a thing 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."
Sirius has to look away then, has to pretend to be busy with shuffling through papers and a bag of guitar chips so that she can swipe away the tears when Remus says:
“I guess I’m a natural.”
Oh, if only Moony knew.