Rule #13

How can you grieve something you don’t remember? No, really, how the fuck is that possible? 

Remus has asked himself this over and over—when Harry and Draco showed him that photo, when he finally sat down the Marauders and asked for the truth, and when he muffled his tears with his pillow every night since.

God, he doesn’t get to cry about this. It’s not like with Ty, Remus doesn’t have any real justification to grieve. Sure, he doesn’t remember his childhood friends, but it’s not like they’re dead, no, they’re all very much alive, thank god. 

And yet, with every story Peter, James, Sirius, and Lily share, Remus’ chest caves from the loss, from the childhood that he doesn’t get to miss, not really.

It’s not all bad though. Once he got past the shock of it all, Remus discovered that he quite likes reminiscing with the Marauders, or rather, listening to them reminisce. They’ve started a routine of sorts, coming together every night to swap memories, to paint a picture of the kid Remus once was. 

Apparently Remus wasn’t all that different: an avid reader, according to Lily, snarky and cryptic, according to Peter, obscenely unathletic, according to James, and fucking brilliant, according to Sirius. 

Remus can’t deny any of it, of course, so he just has to trust them. 

And fuck, he thinks he does. 

Which begs another question: How can you trust someone you can’t remember? 

Remus has spent almost an entire summer warming up to the four of them, especially Lily, but a few months as coworkers doesn’t warrant downright affection. It shouldn’t, at least. 

But as much as seeing that photo scared Remus shitless—a grainy picture featuring a younger version of himself playing guitar, the first time he’d seen himself at that age, staring at Sirius with a lovesick gaze he thought was reserved for Ty—it also made a cruel sort of sense. 

There was a reason that James was horribly easy to get along with; there was a reason that every time Peter looked Remus’ way, he felt he had to look back; there was a reason he opened up with Lily only one night in; and there was a reason Remus was obsessed with Sirius. 

More than obsessed. 

He had been so unnerved that first day at staff training when an icebreaker betrayed one too many similarities between him and Sirius. Remus had even gone out of his way to ignore the gorgeous counselor and world-renowned producer, which, obviously, didn’t work out for him.

 No, Remus is very much not ignoring Sirius now. 

How could he?

Sirius Black is impossible to forget. Or, well, barring any severe head trauma that forces just that, which proves just how bad that accident was, just how hard Remus flew out of the windshield and slammed onto the street, or so the police report claims. 

That’s something Remus is happy not to remember, but now, he can’t say the same for all the rest. Turns out there’s quite a bit of his childhood that wasn’t so bad, thanks to a summer camp, of all things. 

Remus looks out the Nurse’s Cabin at the Activities board and the ping pong tables, tracing the slope of wood chips into Gryffindor, the cabins full of snoozing campers. 

His name is carved onto the side of one of them. He’s all over this camp, in fact, and with the help of Peter, Remus has rediscovered Hogwarts, seeing the Wayward Woods and campgrounds as something more than a temporary workplace, but rather a piece of himself. An escape for a much younger Remus. 

It still feels like an escape now—brief and surreal, with an inevitable end. 

Remus turns away from the window, tired of his own pessimism. Maybe all of this has fuck all to do with the memories stuck somewhere deep in his head. Maybe the Marauders are just good people. Maybe even if Remus never knew Sirius, if this was the first time they met, Remus would still feel absolutely...smitten.

“Fuck me,” Remus groans. “When did I become such a goddamn sap?” 

He’s been spending too much time with couples, what with Barty and Evan’s perpetual love fest, and more recently, Regulus and James, who take the prize for most obnoxious PDA, all hidden from the campers, of course. 

But really, they’re just an easy scapegoat for the shitshow that is Remus’ feelings for Sirius. 

He tries not to think about it too much, because taking a page from Regulus, literally and figuratively, Remus made a list of all the reasons not to:

1. There’s just over a week left of camp, plus a week for the staff to wrap up, and then Remus goes back to Colorado and Sirius LA. 
2. Sirius is hung up on someone else. 
3. Remus isn’t ready.
4. Even if Remus were ready, he couldn’t do that to Ty. 

So Remus chooses not to dwell on the twist in his gut whenever he and Sirius lock eyes, which is more often than not, he certainly doesn’t reflect on how miserable he was when Sirius ignored him after their kiss, and he by no means cares that they were each other’s first loves.

His brain is not so generous in the dead of night, and sometimes his thoughts travel to soft, black hair and blue-gray eyes, comparing what he felt for Ty to what he feels for Sirius, contemplating who Sirius is trying to get over and if maybe, just maybe that person is—

Nope. See, Remus isn’t thinking about that. 

Instead, he’s finishing his copy of Princess Bride, the book Dumbledore gave him that he has since learned from the Marauders, was once his. It’s eerie reading his own annotations, the analysis made by a somewhat saucy thirteen-year-old Remus. 

More than once, Remus has laughed at how fucking gay his younger self sounded. 

The last page features a list of his favorite quotes, and a scribbling of critiques on the story as a whole, picking apart the craft choices, from the dialogue to the characters, contemplating the cliffhanger, and a drawing of a hand of six fingers. There’s a scribble under that awful sketch, a name autographed in perfect cursive: Padfoot.

Remus has by no means stared at that name for hours. He definitely doesn’t use the photo Harry and Draco found who the fuck knows where as a bookmark. 

Remus can’t stress this enough, he is not thinking or dreaming or even acknowledging such things. 

He is, however, prepared to confront a different truth. One that no Marauder, not even Lily, can figure out either: Why the hell did Dumbledore give this book to Remus? And even more importantly, hire him at all? 

Of all the questions Remus has asked himself this past week, that one is the most manageable, and one that he decides in the glow of a passionfruit sunrise, after another night spent with the Marauders, another night not thinking about Sirius, should be answered. 

So he puts on his lucky sweater and marches to his boss’ house. 

“Remus.” Dumbledore looks up from his desk, expression unsurprised as if Remus appearing in his office at the crack of dawn is entirely normal. 

“Good morning. Can I have a seat?”

Dumbledore’s lips twitch, his beard jerking with it. “Of course, of course. How can I help you, Remus?”

There are quite a few ways Remus can start the conversation, a whole host of angles he can employ to wheedle the truth out of the notoriously mysterious Camp Director. Per Lily’s complaints, Remus knows that Dumbledore has been acting stranger than ever, giving Lily reigns of the camp that to her anxious mind can only mean one thing: armageddon. 

Remus hopes that sense of doom will be his advantage here.

“I have to say, I’ve enjoyed this position more than I expected,” he begins in a cool voice. “It’s been a much-needed break from my life in Colorado.”

Dumbledore hums. “I’m so glad to hear that, Remus. We were so lucky that you were able to fill Nurse Pomfrey’s position this summer.”

“So she will be returning next year?”

“As far as I know,” Dumbledore replies. 

“And was it Pomfrey that selected me as her potential replacement?”

Dumbledore leans back in his chair, mulling over his words. “No. That was me.”

Remus knew this already, Lily had told him as much, but he feigns interest with a nod. “I have to say I’m curious why, of all the nurses in the United States, you contacted me. It would have made much more sense to hire locally, no?”

There’s a long pause then, and Remus can feel the scrutiny in Dumbledore’s gaze, an assessment of just how much Remus knows, or perhaps, just how much Remus remembers. 

Dumbledore’s smile takes Remus by surprise, the expression warm and almost relieved. “They finally told you.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’ve been waiting for them to talk to you.” Dumbledore’s gaze trails to the ceiling as if stargazing the wood panels. “I had expected they would do so during staff training.”

Remus’ mouth goes dry. “You—what—are you talking about—”

“The Marauders,” Dumbledore interrupts. “Quite the charming name you five picked.”

“So you did know who I was when you hired me. You—you wanted them to tell me?” 

“That has always been my plan.”

In a way, it’s what Remus expected; the odds that Dumbledore hired a former camper by chance were slim to none, but this sounds like something more, Dumbledore sounds like he has an agenda. 

It unsettles Remus, snuffs out all his confidence. What the hell does Dumbledore want from him?

As if reading the question in his mind, Dumbledore’s face tightens and he blows out a breath. “I’m certain this paints me in a bad light, but I do have an explanation for you, Remus, one that I’ve been waiting all summer to share.”

Remus finds his hands shaking, so he laces them together in his lap, and nods.

“A few years ago I received a letter from a young man inquiring about his husband’s past. He had come across some photographs on our website, and he wanted to know what information I could provide him regarding one of our campers.”

It takes a lot for Remus to find the air, to find the voice to say: “Me?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore moves on swiftly, “I told your husband Tyler that I couldn’t give out personal information about any of our campers, but once he explained your situation, and I realized who he was talking about, I made an exception. We shared a long phone call, and I told him all about one of my favorite campers.”

“Me?” Remus repeats, head spinning. 

Dumbledore chuckles softly. “You were borrowing books from me every day it seemed. Back then, I had more flexibility in my schedule, I could help run Activities and Camp Games, I even was a cabin counselor some summers. You and I shared a special connection after an incident in my Astronomy class that ended with us both in the Black Lake.”

Remus flinches when Dumbledore winks. 

After days worth of reminiscing, Dumbledore’s words shouldn’t bother Remus, shouldn’t make his skin crawl with frustration, but nevertheless, his stomach rolls with nausea. 

Remus holds himself back from leaving then and there because he has to know why Ty would write to Dumbledore. Why didn't Ty tell him he talked to Dumbledore? 

“You were having a hard time your last summer,” Dumbledore continues. “And I had similar experiences growing up with a father in the military—”

“Stop.” Remus gasps. “Stop, I don't want to—I don’t want to hear about my family.”

“The others didn’t tell you?” Dumbledore frowns. 

“I asked them not to.”

“Well, I think that in the long run, it would serve you well to hear about it, all of it. It will give your psyche a chance to grapple with the trauma that you’ve like suppressed—”

“With all due respect, Albus. No. I’m not interested in your psychological recommendations and certainly not your judgments of whatever childhood I had. All I need to know is what you told Ty and what he told you.”

“I told Ty everything I knew, including your father,” Dumbledore says softly. 

Remus clenches his jaw. “And what else?”

“Well, he was particularly interested in your friends.”

“Why?” 

Remus didn’t mean to ask that particular question out loud, because what the fuck would Dumbledore know about Ty’s intentions—Ty was Remus’ husband, he was Remus’ best friend. 

And yet, he never told Remus about this. Why?Why?Why?Why the fuck—

“I wonder if Ty himself might be able to answer your questions better than I.” Dumbledore leans to the left and slides open a drawer. He shifts around a couple of papers and pulls out an envelope, sliding it across his desk to Remus. 

The stamp, the address, god, the name; it makes Remus reel, stagger up from his seat to clutch at the familiar handwriting. 

There’s nothing left to say to Dumbledore, not when he has a piece of Tyler in his hands, some part of his husband that he never got to know. 

Remus bolts out of the office, out of the house, and sprints to the Nurse’s Cabin, grateful that the camp isn’t up to witness the panic wobbling his knees, shaking his hands as he throws the screen door open.

Though panic laces his body, Remus manages to open the envelope gently, careful not to rip the corners as he tugs the letter free.

He takes one deep breath, blinks the tears from his eyes, then begins to read.

******

It’s an hour later that Peter finds him on the couch, letter inches away from his nose as he rereads Tyler’s words yet again. 

Peter takes one look at Remus’ tear-stained face and nods. “You want to be alone?”

A few weeks ago, Remus would have said yes, but now, well, now that he knows just how comforting Peter Pettigrew is… “Do you have a second?” Remus asks instead. 

“I was intending to share a cup of joe with you so I’ve got some time.” Peter raises the two Hogwarts mugs in a mocking toast. 

Despite himself, Remus laughs. “Cup of joe?”

“What, is java better?” Peter smirks. “Bean juice? Rocket fuel? Maybe a cuppa?”

“That’s British, and it’s reserved for tea.”

“Heinous people, those tea drinkers.”

Remus sits up, pointing to the cup of tea he left out from the night before. Peter merely shrugs and walks over to the couch, setting the coffees on the small table and sitting next to Remus. 

“So you’re just having a good morning cry or…”

It’s easier, Remus thinks, if Peter reads for himself. He passes the letter to him, and Peter holds the thin paper with the same amount of care Remus does, and that alone makes Remus want to cry all over again. 

“Ty knew about Hogwarts,” Peter breathes when he finishes. “He wanted to connect you with us?”

Remus scrubs his face. “But he never fucking told me about it, I guess he wanted to contact you four before he got my hopes up, and then the pandemic began, and he got sick and—and—” 

Peter’s quick to press a hand to his shoulder, voice low but certain. “He wanted you to have a part of your past back. The good bits.” 

“God, it’s just so Ty. Fucking thoughtful and sneaky, always knowing what I need before I know it.”

“Sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” Remus’ voice breaks. 

Then the screen door swings open again, this time Regulus standing in the doorway, a pack of cigarettes in hand. He looks from Peter to Remus, then drawls, “I wanted to share a smoke but I have the feeling you’re otherwise occupied?”

Remus sighs. “No, no, the more the merrier I guess. Everyone gets to see me cry today.”

“You’re an ugly crier,” Regulus says matter-of-factly, coming forward to join them on the couch. 

“We’re smoking in the morning now?”

“Yes,” Regulus tells Remus simply. 

Peter chuckles. “Remus Lupin is my favorite role model.”

They lapse into silence then, Remus trying to rub his tears away again, until he caves, “Oh just give him the letter, Wormtail.”

When Peter doesn’t respond, Remus looks up. “What?”

“You called me Wormtail.”

“Oh.” Remus swallows. “I guess I did.”

Regulus takes matters into his own hands and swipes the letter from Peter’s lap, reading Tyler’s letter to Dumbledore much quicker than should be possible.

After, Regulus folds the letter carefully, lips pursed in thought. “Dumbledore’s a bastard,” he eventually says. 

“Well, Ty lied to me too.”

“Clearly your husband had every intention of telling you, he explicitly states that he wanted you to reconnect with positive relationships from your childhood,” Regulus says. “Dumbledore, on the other hand, hired you and kept you in the dark regarding his communications with Ty until, what, you asked him about it?”

“He was waiting for these guys to tell me who I am to them,” Remus says with a glance at Peter. 

“Shit.”

At Peter’s grimace, Remus nudges his shoulder. “Hey, I already told you all that I don’t blame you for not telling me. I gave you every impression that I didn’t want to know.”

“Ty knew that you did though.” Peter nods to the letter. “And I didn’t know your husband, but that letter makes it sound like he was trying to learn what he could so that you didn’t have to hear anything about your past that you didn’t want to know.”

“I agree,” Regulus seconds. 

Remus takes the letter back, chewing on his lip. After all this time apart, after all this time stewing over what they had and what they could never get back, it’s downright debilitating to bear witness to Ty’s love for him. 

He never deserved that wonderful man. 

And there Remus goes, crying again. 

“Did Dumbledore justify himself at all?” Regulus, politely, ignores Remus’ ugly tears. “Offer any explanation for his behavior?”

Remus sniffs. “Uhm he said that he expected I would’ve been told sooner, that’s all. Then he tried to tell me about other things, implied that my dad was in the army—”

When Peter stiffens beside Remus, he stops. “So that wasn’t a lie?” Remus asks. 

“You want to know?”

Remus nods. 

“Yeah. Your dad was in the military.”

“I—” Remus feels a laugh bubble up in his chest. “My dad, the man who killed himself and knocked eighteen years of memories out of my head drunk driving, he was a soldier?”

In the midst of Remus’ laughter, Remus’ tears, a knock sounds on the screen door. “Hello, Dr. Moony? It’s me, Prongs! I got another tick and it’s so gross but I brought one of Molly’s muffins to make up for it—”

Regulus swings open the door and James promptly shuts up. His lips twist into a wide grin. “Hi, Reggie.”

“Hi, Jamie.”

Peter’s already looking away when Regulus yanks James by the t-shirt and pulls him in for a long kiss, one that makes Remus smile despite his tears. Those two have been a long time coming. 

After a few seconds, Peter whispers, “Are they still going at it?”

“Yep.” Remus tilts his head when Regulus tugs James’ hair hard enough to make him gasp. “They have to come up for air at some point though, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Remus snorts.

Eventually, Regulus drops his hands from James’ face, kisses him once more, and then turns back to look at Remus. He doesn’t hesitate to announce: “I think we should go back to Dumbledore and express in no uncertain terms how thoroughly he mishandled this situation.”

“What the hell—what, were you scheming while you were eating James alive?” Remus sputters. 

“I can multitask,” Regulus says, shifting to the side to slide an arm around James’ waist. 

James smiles dopely at Regulus before his eyes catch onto Remus’ face, which must be quite the sight, as he promptly freaks the fuck out. 

“Moony, what's wrong?” James rushes over. 

They go through the routine yet again, passing James the letter, which takes quite a while for him to read since he’s so distracted by both Regulus’ smile and Remus's swollen eyes. 

When James finally manages to focus, Remus takes the chance to pull the tick out of James’ arm. For a man who despises ticks so thoroughly, they sure love him. It’s because of his delicious blood, or so Regulus claims, which, of course, makes Peter gag. 

“God, Remus, we should have asked Dumbledore ourselves, we just didn’t know if he knew who you were, but still, this is totally on us—”

Remus cuts James off, “Stop it with the apologies. This one’s on Dumbledore and Dumbledore only.”

James frowns, his gaze returning to the letter, skimming it over. Remus expects he’s going to try to apologize again, but instead, he says:

“I wish we could have known him.”

“What?” 

“Ty.” James looks up at Remus, his expression sincere, though tinged with something sad. “I wish I met him.”

Remus’s heart breaks a little because yes, fuck, he wishes that too. His eyes fill with tears and just like magic, the cycle repeats itself, one final time. 

“Remus I need to talk to you—” Lily freezes in the doorway. 

“Why is James the only one who was polite enough to knock?” Remus wonders out loud. 

Lily looks at the four of them, green eyes wide with panic. “What are you all doing here—” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, I need to talk to you all, so this is great. Perfect. Ideal. Wonderful. Magnificent—”

“Stop listing synonyms.” Regulus comes forward to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

Lily sucks in a breath, but before she explains she looks around. “Where’s Padfoot?”

Remus was wondering that himself, but of course, he doesn’t acknowledge that. 

“Probably getting ready for the Rooster Call,” James says. “I can call them on the walkie-talkie—what’s going on, Firefly? Did something else happen with Dumbledore?”

“Ok. Ok. Ok.” Lily shakes out her hands, and Remus recognizes it as the dance Sirius does when he’s nervous. “So after Mary and I talked last night—”

They all straighten, and Lily notices. “Yes, that went well, really well. Great. More than great—”

“Lily?” Regulus prompts. 

“Right. After Mary and I..reconciled, I got back to work—”

“I’m sorry, what does reconcile mean here exactly?” Remus can’t help but interrupt. He’s been following their rivalry like a telenovela, and while he hasn’t dared tell Lily, he’s rooting for a happy ending. Though they bicker incessantly, Mary and Lily are a good team—actually, they remind Remus of him and Ty.

“Guys let her finish,” Peter says with exasperation. 

“Bad news first,” Lily nods to Peter solemnly. “Or maybe it’s not bad news, maybe it’s great, it sure as fuck doesn’t feel great, but—well—uhm—I think Harry is my sister’s kid. That’s to say, I think Harry’s my nephew?”

All hell breaks loose then, James standing with wide eyes, mumbling about someone named Petunia, while Peter and Regulus force Lily to sit on the couch and breathe, and Remus scrambles to find her some water. 

It’s only after Sirius is summoned with unnecessary drama—“CODE RED, PADFOOT! WE NEED YOU IN THE NURSE’S CABIN STAT”—that they crowd around the couch and Lily walks them through all her research.

“Petunia was dating someone when I…left, but I didn’t remember his last name, only now that I’ve thought about it, Dursley does sound right.” Lily looks at her hands, which both James and Sirius are holding on either side of the couch. 

Remus is trying his hardest to focus all of his attention on Lily, and not to look at Sirius’ freshly showered hair, her gaze that sweeps his way every few seconds. 

“And there are no photos of Harry on her Facebook, they’ve got another kid which they’ve posted everywhere, his name’s Dudley—”

“Dudley Dursley?” Sirius says. 

Peter huffs on Remus’ left. “Poor kid.”

Lily looks at Sirius beside her, then Regulus standing on Remus’ other side. “Did Harry ever talk specifically about his parents? Besides what we know about his dad drinking.”

Sirius fiddles with their bracelets as she bites his lip in thought. Remus hones in on those pink lips, imagining things he shouldn’t, until Sirius says: “Harry’s never mentioned a name, and I definitely would have noticed if he said Petunia.”

They all turn to Regulus, who stands apart in an unsettling silence.

“Reg?” Lily says. “What do you think?”

Regulus takes another moment, one that has the entire group leaning in, and then says:

“Ever since the sorting hat, I’ve been watching Harry closely, mostly to see how well he adjusts to Slytherin, which, evidently, hasn’t been a problem.” Regulus crosses his arms. “I’ve come to several conclusions, however, regarding Harry’s behavior.”

Sirius and James lean back and meet each other’s amused gaze behind Lily. 

“1) As we all suspected, his home life is unstable. 2) He’s a better liar than you think. 3) While he claims to love his mom, he’s not homesick.”

“How can you know that though, you just said he’s a good liar?” Peter interjects. 

“Because he doesn’t lie to Draco, and I’ve overheard one or two of their conversations.” Regulus adds after a beat, “Accidently.”

Sirius snorts. 

Regulus gives his sibling a flat glance. “Unlike you, I’m observant. They’ve been sneaking around quite a bit—”

“Yeah, to play matchmaker.” James grins.

“Which I’d say they’ve managed quite successfully,” Regulus says, lips twitching up. “So it begs the question: what else is Harry hiding?”

“What about Draco?” Remus asks. 

“That’s been handled.”

This time, an amused look passes between the Black siblings, which makes Remus think that it’s probably better he doesn’t know. 

“God, I love when you’re cryptic,” James says, almost giggling. 

Regulus raises his brows, but Lily speaks before the two of them can get going, again. 

“If I am Harry’s aunt,” she chokes on the word. “And if Harry’s parents are mistreating or neglecting him, which I fear is the case, especially since they haven’t been in communication with the camp since registration, then—then—” Lily takes a long breath. “Then I’m next of kin.”

Remus tenses as Regulus fills in the blanks, “They would send Harry to a family member before putting him in the foster system.”

“What about your parents?” Sirius asks.

Lily’s voice slips into something stiff. “In my research, I discovered that they have both passed.”

No one speaks, and Remus isn’t sure what anyone could say. Though Lily’s had no contact with her family ever since her pregnancy, though they haven’t been in her life for years, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. 

God, it fucking hurts. 

“In order for that to happen,” Lily pushes forward, tucking her hair behind her ears. “We need evidence that Harry is being abused, or, we need him to be willing to testify to the police.”

“And we have a week to do it,” James says. 

“I can handle it.”

Remus and the others turn back to Regulus. 

“I’m his counselor so he trusts me, but he doesn’t look up to me the way he does you, James, and Sirius,” Regulus explains. “He won’t try to lie to look a certain way.”

When Lily’s bottom lip starts to wobble, James shakes his head. “Why would Harry lie about this? We’re just trying to help him.”

The question is posed to Regulus, but it’s Lily who answers, “He’ll be embarrassed. Ashamed.” She swallows. “I was, at least.”

James tucks Lily under his arm, and Sirius leans into them, gesturing to Peter to get in the hug as well. A part of Remus wants desperately to join them, but he’s not sure he would fit. Sometimes, he’s not sure if, after all this time, it makes sense to try. 

“We’ll handle this, Lils,” James says assuringly. “And if it comes down to you taking Harry, we’ve all got your back. It’ll be a team effort.”

Lily breaks into tears then, hiding in Sirius’ shirt. 

Peter, despite his grumbling about hugs, holds the others tighter, the four of them a dog pile on the couch. “What a day, huh?” 

“What do you mean?” Sirius blinks slowly.

“Well, you know, Remus’ thing with Dumbledore, and now—” 

Lily and Sirius both whip around to Remus. “What happened?”

Remus sighs and nods to the letter. 

“Here we go again.”

******

It’s a long ass day, in the end. One of the longest ones Remus has endured, which is saying a lot given his many harrowing shifts in the ER. 

None of them have a chance to reconvene, everyone is too preoccupied with the Friday chaos, which ends with a Camp Game Sirius and James planned—something about a zombie apocalypse?

All Remus knows is that he keeps hearing counselors moan and groan like the undead outside, campers shrieking as they run from challenge to challenge, collecting points for another round of prizes. 

Sirius, apparently, is one of said prizes—the top one, in fact. Enough points and a lucky cabin will get to send Sirius serenading around camp to whomever they choose. 

Remus holds vigil in the Nurse’s Cabin in case a camper gets hurt, but he abandons the front room with his Princess Bride book, his photo, and Ty’s letter, for the sterile sanctuary of the patient room. 

He drapes himself over the thin paper covering the bed and looks at the counter full of medical supplies, his vision unfocusing and focusing like a camera lens that doesn’t want to cooperate. 

Most people hate hospitals, but as far back as Remus can remember, which, admittedly, isn’t very far, he’s always found comfort in the clinical certainty of infirmaries. It was where he first blinked his eyes open at eighteen years old, a blank slate in a hospital bed, no knowledge of how the hell he got there, who the hell he was, and why all the nurses were looking at him with pity. A new life, a second chance. 

It was fucking incredible. 

But more than that, Remus met Ty amidst that antiseptic smell and those white walls, so, hospitals will forever mean something to him. 

If he were being honest, it’s why he won’t leave his job, despite the stress and exhaustion. The ER, for better or for worse, reminds him of Ty. 

A little morose, don’t you think?

Remus squeezes his eyes shut, wiggling the paper beneath him. When Mary told him he should try talking to Ty in his mind, he didn’t expect his dead husband’s voice to sound so real. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ty?” Remus whispers to the ceiling, the fluorescent light blinking every three seconds. “I wish you told me.”

I planned on it. 

Remus scowls. They planned on a lot of things, and none of that fucking worked out, did it?

Don’t frown, it doesn’t suit your pretty face. 

“I wish I knew about them sooner. I wish I had them when I—I lost you.”

I know. 

“I miss you,” Remus breathes unsteadily. “Every fucking day.”

I know that too. 

Remus rips the paper beneath him and jumps off the bed. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He moves to stomp away, to return to the letter, to Ty’s real words, when the voice echoes: 

You can miss me and keep living, you know?

He spins on his heel, and spits at the cobweb in the corner, “I fucking am! I came here, didn’t I? All the way to a summer camp full of happy kids because you would have wanted me to. I’m trying, I’m trying so goddamn hard, but none of this makes sense without you!”

Why are you living for me?

“I don’t fucking know, Ty, maybe—maybe I don’t want to live for myself?!”

Remus reels from his own words, stumbling to the wall and sliding to the floor. His vision blurs entirely, blinding the white into a thick, suffocating fog. 

What if you tried?

“I don’t know how,” Remus rasps, hiding his head in his hands. “Can’t you see? I’m drowning without you.”

Then maybe you should come up for air. 

“Don’t turn the metaphor on me, you shithead,” Remus spits then groans.

What the hell is he doing?

Remus looks at his legs tangled on the floor, the cold wood pressing into his shins and ankles and covering him in goosebumps. Ty’s nothing more than his own imagination, a mirage of what Remus thinks he would say, thinks he would want, and he’s so tired of guessing. Tired of trying. 

Ty’s voice rings in his head, making his head spin:

You can miss me and keep living—What if you tried?-—Maybe you should come up for air. 

He sits in the grief, drowns in it, chokes on it, until he hears a camper open the screen door, Dorcas’ voice soothing. “Remus will patch you up in no time, just a quick clean up and you can get back to the game.”

Remus wipes his face, wipes his thoughts, and walks out to greet them. 

Ty’s voice doesn’t follow him out. 

******

Remus wouldn’t fault Regulus for skipping their nightly smoke—there’s not much left of the summer, soon enough Regulus will be moving back to the other side of the country, away from Sirius, away from James. He ought to spend every minute left with them. 

And yet, he’s waiting for Remus on the lake dock, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Took you long enough,” Regulus drawls. 

“I had another cry.”

Regulus tilts his head. “That explains the look.”

Remus shakes his head and nods to the joint hanging from Regulus’ lips. “Are you smoking pot right now?”

“I’m officially on my twenty-four-hour break,” Regulus takes a drag. “And you need this more than I do.”

“Well I’m still on duty, and unlike you, I’m not willing to risk Lily’s wrath.”

Regulus smirks and gets up from the dock, nodding to the canoe tied to the edge. “We’re going stargazing.”

“And why does that involve a canoe?”

“Just get in the boat, Remus.”

“I swear if you push me in the water—”

“Don’t make empty threats,” Regulus cuts him off. 

Remus, of course, gives in and finds himself sitting on a damp plank of wood, rowing in time to Regulus’ strokes until they’re floating in the middle of the dark water full of algae and duck pee and god knows what else. 

“Stop looking down, and look up.” 

Regulus points to a constellation and Remus tries really hard to follow his long finger, but he’s at a loss. 

“What is it? A UFO?”

“No, my constellation, dumbass.” Regulus tucks the joint in his mouth. 

They settle into a silence splintered by the lapping of water against the canoe and the inhale and exhale of smoke. Remus would never admit as much to Regulus, but he’s going to miss these nights together, peaceful and stable, with no expectations besides each other’s company. 

Regulus is easy to sit and talk about nothing with. 

Which is why Remus almost flips the canoe over when Regulus says, “You and I need to have a chat about Sirius.”

Remus grips onto the sides of the canoe to steady it. “What?”

“I promise this will be the only time I bring this up.” Regulus flicks his joint onto the bottom of the canoe, squishing it with his boot, then wraps it in a Kleenex and stuffs it in a ziplock bag. If Remus weren’t so stunned, he’d tease him for it. “But it needs to be discussed,” Regulus finishes. 

“I feel like one of your dissertation students.”

Regulus gives a half-smile at that. “No, they’re terrified of me.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?”

Regulus looks at Remus. “I think you’re the only person besides Sirius that I don’t manage to scare.”

And he’s not wrong—Remus has seen and suffered far too much to be intimidated by a nerd dressed in black, who’s really no more than a big teddy bear at heart. 

“What about James?” 

“Oh I think half the reason he likes me is because I scare him.”

Remus nods, amused but not surprised. It’s obvious how much James loves Regulus’ insults. Or rather, how much James loves Regulus point blank. 

“I’m glad it worked out for you, you know,” Remus says. “Your thirteen-step plan.”

“Me too.” Regulus looks up at the Leo constellation, at the star he named himself for, and adds, “You can’t see Sirius tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on…”

“The star,” Regulus says, tone teasing. “Sirius comes out in December—upstaging Jesus’ birthday and all that.”

“Ah.” Remus hates that he’s blushing. 

“He’s not going to tell you this, Remus, but I will.”

“Are we talking about the person now?”

Regulus doesn’t match Remus’s smile. “Sirius loves you. Has for a long, long time, but they’re not going to do anything about it. Now that you know everything, she thinks the ball is in your court.”

Remus doesn’t know what to say, and his mind is a desert full of cricket chirps and howling wolves. He hasn’t let himself think about this. He has his reasons not to think about this. 

“If you aren’t interested in Sirius, you have to tell them. She will spend the rest of her life loving you if you don’t. That’s what happened last time you left without a word.”

Remus winces. He’s not sure why he iced the Marauders out after their last summer, what the hell convinced himself to ignore them for three years until the accident took that choice away, but he has his guesses. If that Remus really wasn’t all that different from this version of him, well, he probably thought he was doing them a service by letting them go. 

“Don’t bother worrying about the past,” Regulus stops Remus’ spiral with a wave of his hand. “You can’t remember it, so what’s the point?”

Remus laughs weakly. “Easier said than done.”

“I’m only bringing it up because Sirius can’t go through that again. She won’t survive it.”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus looks away, those blue-gray eyes turning down to the water instead of the sky. “Losing you, losing Alphard, and then, almost losing me…it ruined Sirius.”

Remus’ stomach drops when he realizes. “Oh my god the overdose. Rehab.”

“I’m not trying to place blame, none of this is black and white, Remus. But Sirius deserves to know this time around. Tell them how you feel, even if it’s not what she wants to hear. They need to hear it regardless.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees without hesitation. “I will.”

“Before the end of the summer,” Regulus pushes. 

Now Remus does hesitate. “But I don’t—it’s not like I want to drag all of this out, but I don’t know what the fuck I want.”

Regulus looks at him, absolutely unimpressed. “You’ve been flirting with Sirius all summer.”

Remus’ mouth opens and closes, flailing like a fool. He has been flirting with Sirius, even if that wasn’t his intention, even if he didn’t mean to lead Sirius on, Remus has been watching and teasing and for one swift, sweet, and god save him, sexy moment, kissing her. 

No wonder Harry and Draco have been trying to set them up. 

No wonder Regulus is looking at Remus like that.  

“Was it that obvious?”

“Apparently to everyone but you.”

Remus sits with Regulus’ bitter tone, searching for an explanation to give. But he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t understand it either. “It’s not that I don’t like Sirius, okay? Everytime I see her I want to—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“Yeah, right.” Remus chuckles, but bites it back at Regulus’ glare. He shoots for sincerity: “It just feels like a betrayal, loving anyone else. So I don’t know if I can let myself.”

The mention of Ty, even if implicit, makes Remus shudder and he sinks into himself, tucking his knees to his chest and tilting as if he might fall into a seizure recovery position, as if he might let the grimy, gritty lake swallow him whole. 

Regulus doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. 

“Figure you’re shit out, and let Sirius know either way.”

Remus blinks, thrown back by the sharpness in Regulus’s voice. But this is his sibling, Remus reminds himself, Regulus is trying to look out for Sirius. 

Remus just wishes he had someone to look out for him.

You can miss me and keep living—What if you tried?-—Maybe you should come up for air. 

“Promise me: before the end of the summer.” 

Remus meets Regulus’ gaze. “I promise.”

They both return their attention to the stars then, and neither says another word.

******

Another day arrives, another sun rises, the morning light kindling for the campers’ last full weekend at Hogwarts. In exactly a week, the parents will come pick up the kids and the bus will drive away, taking the heart of camp with it. 

Remus isn’t even surprised when he realizes he’ll miss them. He’ll miss this. Fuck, despite Dumbledore’s bullshit, despite the mosquitos and grime and long hours, Remus actually loves it here.

Ty’s ‘I told you so’ grin shimmers in his mind, clear as day, and yet also far, far away. Absolutely unreachable. 

Remus gets up and stumbles across the woodchips for his usual cup of coffee with Molly, who takes one look at the bags under his eyes and gives an impressive, practically maternal sigh. Not that Remus would know what maternal really means. 

She seems to recognize his melancholy, something heavier than the usual exhaustion, and gives him a kiss on the top of the head. “Whatever happens after this summer, Remus, you do what’s best for you.”

It feels somewhat like a goodbye, a sendoff to the life he will have to lead without them, this staff, this camp, these woods. Remus isn’t homesick for Colorado, and he sure as fuck doesn’t miss the ER, but he can’t deny the tug in his stomach, rooting him to the place Ty is buried. 

He should go back, even if just for him.

You can miss me and keep living—What if you tried?-—Maybe you should come up for air. 

The caffeine does nothing to lift his spirits, and Remus looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, scoffing at how fucking dejected he looks. He doesn’t get to mope about leaving this place after no more than a summer. He doesn’t get to brood over Regulus’ words, the promise he made Remus swear. 

Just like he doesn’t get to grieve what he can’t remember—trust who he doesn’t know—love who he shouldn’t. 

Not when Ty is the one. He was supposed to be the one. 

You can miss me and keep living—What if you tried?-—Maybe you should come up for air. 

Remus splashes water on his face and pulls on a sweater that smells fine enough, slinking back to the couch where his copy of Princess Bride and Ty’s letter waits. He doesn’t need to read either of them again, and he definitely doesn’t need to pretend not to stare at his bookmark with a young Sirius’ beaming face. 

But he does. 

He’s a chapter in, thumb brushing over Sirius’ eyes, when he hears strumming outside. 

“The sun is setting And you're right here by my side 

And the movie is playing But we won't be watching tonight.”

It’s a Sunday—the campers should just be getting up—so there’s no way there’s a songwriting Activity outside. But that’s undeniably Sirius’ smooth voice, and it calls Remus to his feet, urges him to push aside the thick curtains and shove the rusted window open. 

Standing across from the porch is Sirius, playing guitar, a single rose tucked behind their ear. 

Her hair is tied in a bun and a crochet shawl that Pandora made is draped across their chest, alongside a mess of beaded necklaces made by adoring campers; it’s nothing all that special, just another one of the counselor’s eclectic fits, but it’s Sirius—it’s Sirius—it’s Sirius. And god, if that doesn’t make Remus’ heart squeeze. 

When his eyes meet Sirius’, she sings the chorus:

'Cause I never knew, I never knew You could hold moonlight in your hands

 'Til the night I held you You are my moonlight Moonlight.”

Remus recognizes the song as one of Sirius’ records. He had done quite the deep dive into everything that Sirius had produced—had listened to every single song on the old computer in the back room, scouring the lyrics and melodies for traces of a person he barely knew. 

The person he wants to know. 

When the song finishes, Sirius plucks the rose from behind their ear and sets it between her teeth with a wink. 

It’s downright devastating. 

A ringing of cheers yanks Remus out of his stupor. He looks up the slope to find Regulus and his cabin watching, Harry and Draco standing at the front, the former bouncing on his heels.  

“Reggie’s cabin won my prize last night,” Sirius calls out to Remus. “And Harry demanded I serenade you first.”

Remus laughs, both at Harry’s undeterred matchmaking antics, but more so at Sirius, the beautiful fool. Sirius had sworn that one day they would serenade Remus outside his window with a rose. 

And there he is, promise delivered.

Regulus begins to herd his cabin to the dining area, not so much as glancing Remus’ way. 

Remus tries not to take it personally, but he does, of course he does, until his attention’s back to Sirius, and all the rest of the world falls away. 

Sirius swings their guitar behind his back, running up the steps to stand on the other side of the open window. 

“Nice song,” Remus says. 

“I think so too.” Sirius grins. “One of the lesser known songs on that album, but by far my favorite.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It’s about the moon, of course.”

Remus sees the bait for what it is, but Regulus’ accusatory tone from the night before keeps him from asking what he so desperately wants to know. 

Of course, that doesn’t deter Sirius. “Honestly, it’s rare that I don’t mention the moon in my songs, it's somewhat of a lyrical theme for me.”

“That’s—that’s great.” Remus’ voice is hoarse.

“Sometimes the artist doesn’t want all my mooning about the moon in the lyrics, so I just compose music that evokes that celestial, satellite quality instead, you know?”

Remus nods slowly. 

“I’m just obsessed with the moon, I guess.” 

Obsessed, god, Remus is too. But he doesn’t say that. He’s not sure he should. 

Sirius holds the rose out to Remus and after their fingers brush, she says with a piercing stare, “I’ll see ya, Moony.”

As Sirius walks away, as Remus sets his fingertips on his own smile, as the chorus of “Moonlight” echoes in his head, he closes his eyes and lets himself, finally, think about it. 

You can miss me and keep living—What if you tried?-—Maybe you should come up for air.