Rule #13

When reporters and fans ask Dorcas the secret to swimming, she gives them a simple answer: breathing. 

Or, actually, there are a lot of secrets (and not many of them are that secret) when it comes to swimming and honestly, Dorcas doesn’t think there’s anything simple about breathing (it’s deceivingly complex) but the point is…breath. 

That instinctual motion—in and out, in and out, in and out—stops under water, because beneath the surface, there’s no air. (Well, there is oxygen in H2O, only it’s utterly unbreathable, and thus, utterly useless). So every stroke, every push and pull of the arms and legs, requires a consistent harmony with the lungs, or else the body fails. 

There’s no life without air. 

Maybe that’s why Dorcas’ mom timed her underwater. She wanted her kid to defy life itself. 

Dorcas can admit that once, they wanted that too. 

A few more seconds, her mom would shout above the surface. Back then, she timed Dorcas every other month, pushing the limits of her records, testing the capacity of her lungs after each milestone in training. 

A few more seconds, A few more seconds, A few more seconds.

Then Dorcas can come up for air. 

But they’ve been stuck beneath the waves for weeks, blinking at another blurred figure sinking to the ocean floor, her blonde hair tangled with the current, pale skin shining with that strange mix of sun and sea. Down and down and down Marlene goes. 

(And Dorcas only watches, holding their breath, waiting to reemerge.)

“Hey,” Marlene greets them, the Lodge’s wood twisting her soft voice into something like a battle cry. 

A lame “Hi” is all Dorcas can think to say. 

“You’re early again.”

Dorcas nods. “Guess I learned something from you. What was it, ‘On time is late’?”

The joke was meant to make Marlene smile, to give her a taste of fresh air and freedom from the waves, but she doesn’t so much as take a breath, sagging with the water pressure. 

The ugly truth is that lately Dorcas has arrived early to every staff meeting just to get a glimpse of Marlene, storing the image away for when they take off for the other sides of the country. Like a spectator would a star, Dorcas collects her glimpses from afar; they don’t get to touch. 

(Not anymore.)

“Can you believe it’s the last day of camp?” Marlene breaks the silence. She stands between the rows of the fold-out chairs, inspecting Lily’s PowerPoint presentation already cued up. 

“This summer really flew by. I know they warned us it wouldn’t but I don’t know…” Dorcas trails off, hating how awkward she feels. 

Marlene throws them a lifeline: “Feels like time is slipping, doesn’t it?”

A few more seconds, Dorcas’ mom insists. 

“Exactly,” Dorcas agrees. “And I’m not sure if I want it to stop or not.”

Marlene laughs lowly, taking Dorcas’ candor for what it is—an apology, a declaration of love, a eulogy of what they’ve lost. 

Or maybe Marlene can’t read so far between the lines, maybe Dorcas ought to spell it out for her. Only they can’t bring themself to say any of it. 

(What’s the point?)

There’s only a few more seconds.

“Oh!” Lily pauses in the doorway, a pile of papers on her hip. “You two are already here! Your timeliness is noted and appreciated.”

The intrusion is a mercy, a reason to look away from Marlene, but for just a moment, Dorcas loathes Lily for robbing her of one of their last glimpses. (She hates Lily for shattering the illusion.) 

“Let me help you,” Marlene offers, taking the other half of Lily’s papers. She starts to set the stapled evaluations and meeting agendas on every seat, a color-coded key sitting in the top corner with green, red, and golden yellow. 

Dorcas forces themself to be useful too, her gaze trailing after Marlene like a puppy. It’s a facade, Marlene’s cool and calm exterior, Dorcas understands now. Just two weeks ago they were witness to Marlene covered in tears, trembling beneath motel sheets, confessing I love yous and I’m not okays and breaking Dorcas’ heart. 

Something deep waits beneath Marlene’s surface and Dorcas is there, holding their breath to see, but soon the clock will cheat them of their momentary immortality, and they’ll both leave the sea behind. 

A few more seconds. 

But what if Dorcas doesn’t want to breathe? (Not without Marlene). 

The thought comes and goes, as fast as the air leaves their body. It’s all been decided already; Marlene will go audition in New York and Dorcas will return to training in California. Their dreams await them, dreams they’ve both spent lifetimes working towards. 

After all, they’ve only known each other for a summer. 

(But then, why is it so hard to leave?)

“How’s Harry?” Marlene asks Lily, her face beautiful and blank. 

“Thank—thanks for asking, he’s…” Lily squints at the ceiling. “I think he, James, and I have a lot of talking left to do, but first we have to get through tomorrow. He seems nervous about it, and I can’t blame him.”

The entire staff had been de-briefed on the situation with Lily, James, and Harry, mostly as a precaution to keep the campers from spreading any rumors, and to watch out for Harry’s parents come pick-up day. Dorcas couldn’t imagine how overwhelming it must be for James and Lily, finding the kid they gave up for adoption here, but even more so, she couldn’t imagine how confused Harry must feel. 

They all suspected that he had a hard home life but now this—his adoptive mother stealing her sister’s kid? (And he found out on his birthday?!) If he were any other kid, Dorcas would fear the worst—but Harry is Harry. No, it won’t be easy, but Harry’s resilient and goddamn radiant despite his upbringing; he’ll be just fine. 

Dorcas tells Lily as much and she gives them a small smile. 

“I hope so too,” she says.

Marlene moves toward Dorcas as Lily fiddles with the projector, shaking it in all the right places so that the image sharpens. 

“Do you want to sit together?” Marlene points to two chairs in the second row. 

Dorcas does, of course, but they can barely stand the ache this far away. She’s not sure they’ll survive anything more. “Let’s not make it harder than it needs to be.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry,” Marlene whispers. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” (Neither of them do.)

So they sit on opposite sides of the Lodge, and Dorcas keeps counting down the seconds until she can return to the living, break the water’s surface, and gasp greedily for all that they lack. It should be a relief when it comes, but Dorcas knows it won’t. 

“Dork?” Evan sits on their left, Barty on the other. 

“I’m fine.”

Barty hums, disbelieving, and Evan passes her a blueberry muffin with a smile. She holds the warm pastry in their hand and picks off the top piece by piece. 

“You eat like a bird,” Barty says matter-of-factly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Then Barty winks and Dorcas nearly smiles. (She hates this dude as much as she loves him). 

The rest of the staff file in slowly until the room swells with conversation, the sunrise streaking through the old glass windows casting light over James and Regulus at the front, Sirius, Remus, and Marlene in their shadows just behind. Molly and her line chefs, Fabian and Gideon, sit in the row before Dorcas, the junior counselors on either end, Oliver sneaking glances in James’ direction and Marcus in Sirius’. Pandora, ever the best of them, takes the seat next to Gilderoy across the way, nodding along as he talks, his mouth moving a little like a broken puppet or perhaps a hungry piranha. 

Even Peter comes to the meeting, hanging in the back with his tool belt still clipped across his waist, ready to return to work the second Lily lets him. He catches Dorcas’ eye and smiles, and Dorcas returns it. (They hope it’s believable). 

Peter’s one of the only people who know where exactly Dorcas is going when staff wrap-up ends next week. What pressures and competitions and trainings face them in San Diego. “You were born to swim,” Peter had told Dorcas when he first recognized her. “I think you’re going to make it, Dorcas. I really do.”

It had been nice, those words of encouragement—the faith of a fan instead of the motives of a mother.

Mary and Lily whisper at the front, the projector shining an elaborate PowerPoint over their skin. Dorcas notices when Mary holds Lily’s hand, thumb brushing circles over her knuckles, and elbows Barty. 

“Hey, are those two—”

“You’ve only just noticed?” Barty laughs. 

“I’ve been preoccupied.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re miserable and heartbroken.”

At Evan’s searing look, Barty amends his tone, “I mean, I’m sorry that you’re miserable and heartbroken.”

Dorcas ignores him and watches Lily’s expression carefully, the lovesick smile and longing look, her grip on Mary’s hand before stepping back to her clipboard. 

Their stomach turns and once again, Dorcas feels a momentary hatred, a burning disgust, because why does Lily get this?

(Why does everyone here seem to get what Dorcas and Marlene can’t have?)

Then the bitterness simmers down until there’s just the sweetness of bittersweet, and Dorcas finds themself smiling. She is happy for them—just like she is for James and Regulus. (Even if it hurts a little). 

“I’m glad they figured it out.”

Evan hums in agreement. “And now that the bosses are dating, Rule #13 is out the window. We should make a spectacle of ourselves, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“Oh, yes, lovebug,” Barty coos. 

“As if you two don’t already.”

The light chatter pauses when the Lodge door opens one final time. 

Dorcas twists to find Dumbledore marching between the rows of chairs, greeting Mary and Lily with a silent nod then spinning on his heel to face the staff, his loose tunic billowing with the movement. 

He surveys the staff in silence, petting his beard like it’s a timid cat. 

Out of their dozens of staff meetings this summer, Dorcas can count on one hand how many the Camp Director has attended. It makes sense, of course, that he’d come on the last day of camp, but Dorcas shifts in their seat, unsettled by Dumbledore’s tight expression. 

She’s no fan of his, but he usually wears a smile as hollow as his principles. (Today he screams frost and ice). 

Dorcas shares a glance with Evan, then scans the rest of her coworkers for their reactions. Her eye catches on Regulus at the front, face angled toward Dumbledore with a satisfied smirk. 

“It seems our summer of Challenge and Discover must come to an end,” Dumbledore begins, his voice clipped. “Likewise, my time at Hogwarts must come to an end too.”

Now it’s not only Dorcas holding their breath—the entire staff seems to lean forward, staring at Dumbledore with dumbfounded expressions. Only Lily, Mary, and Regulus appear unsurprised. 

“I’d like to take this opportunity to announce my replacement.”

Dorcas doesn’t miss the venom in Dumbledore’s tone. He meets Regulus’ eye and swallows. “Please welcome your new Camp Director, Lily Evans.”

James is the first to jump to his feet, Sirius following shortly behind. They clap and screech together, hollering “Firefly” while Peter whistles from the back. 

Dorcas gets up as well, hands quickly growing numb from how hard they clap because Lily motherfucking Evans is officially in charge. (Hell yes!). With her at the helm, Hogwarts doesn’t have to hide dirty truths behind the scenes, the camp doesn’t have to turn to bigoted donors and compromise on campers’ wellbeing. 

Hogwarts can find the magic that Dorcas had been certain grew from the wood chips when she was a camper—finally, Hogwarts can be honest and honorable inside and out. 

The rest of the Lodge erupts and Dorcas’ gaze latches to Marlene’s, a moth to a flame, and they’re smiling at each other, Marlene’s eyes crinkling in the corners. God, she’s beautiful. 

It’s enough to steal Dorcas’ balance. (Because their breath is already stolen). They collapse back into the chair, the plastic piece of crap slipping back a little, and soon enough, everyone else is sitting down too, listening to Lily’s first speech as Camp Director. 

Dorcas’ ears ache from the pressure, bubbles sliding from her nose and across her vision, but they try to listen to the presentation. Water muffles Lily’s words, twisting it into another language entirely, but Dorcas can make out Lily’s proud smile. She can see Mary at her side, watching with utter admiration. 

It’s good, it’s great—it’s exactly what the camp and campers need, Mary and Lily. But Dorcas’ lungs are screaming and when they turn back to Marlene on the other side of the Lodge, all they can see is the love of their life sinking.

(Sinking, sinking, sinking.)

And Dorcas can’t swim to catch her. 

******

It’s objectively admirable how hard Dorcas tries to savor the last Activity of the summer, their last Activity lifeguarding with Marlene, but she’s never been good with countdowns, and with every tick of her watch, they lose any sense of admirability and fall into the realm of absurdity.

Absurd is the right word—being coworkers with your ex, that you still fucking is love, is downright absurd! It’s torture! 

(But Dorcas wouldn’t have it any other way). 

Somehow Dorcas keeps their cool as she runs the lake swing with Marlene, the two of them flying campers across the lake and into the water with deafening squeals. Mei and Ginny (who would be her favorite campers if Dorcas picked favorites) both signed up just to spend time with Dorcas and Marlene, who have both been their counselors respectively. 

And it’s nice, listening to Mei giggle about mountain biking, raving on and on about how cool Prongs looked dodging trees on a particularly steep slope. 

And it’s nice, watching Marlene pull Ginny back as far as possible so the swing flings her up into the air for a perfect cannonball. 

And it’s nice, drying on towels on the grass of the North Lawn after every camper has a turn, the wind blowing across the group as if to say it will miss them, miss camp. (At least, Dorcas will.)

“Are you cold?” Marlene pulls a sweatshirt from her bag, offering it to Dorcas. 

And fuck, if that isn’t nice. (No, actually it isn’t nice at all. Marlene is a cruel woman with her kind disposition and effortless beauty and perfect performance. Just once, Dorcas wants to see just how deeply Marlene’s pain runs—they want to see the girl that sobbed in Dorcas’ arms in that cruddy motel. She wants some assurance that they’re not the only one…hurting.)

“Dorcas?” 

“No—I’m fine.” 

Unlike Marlene, Dorcas is no actor, and the lie burns like a red flag between them. 

Marlene levels Dorcas with a look. “I can see your goosebumps and I know how much you hate being cold.”

Dorcas scrambles for another excuse because that’s their favorite of Marlene’s hoodies and it probably smells like red apples and mint and honestly, that’s too much for Dorcas. (It’s too fucking much). But they’re weak and wanting, so she takes the sweatshirt with a quiet thanks and slips on the token of Marlene that makes them want to sit down and sob. 

“Better?”

It’s Dorcas’ turn to level Marlene with a look. “It’s a special kind of torture.”

Marlene’s face falls, only this time, she doesn’t apologize. “Then why’d you put it on?”

“‘Cause I love you.”

That ticking clock seems to almost stop. (Almost.) Then Marlene breathes, her blonde hair falling across her face, and Dorcas doesn’t get to push it back. 

“You and your honesty,” Marlene tsks. 

“Would it be easier if I lied?” 

“No. I’d know if you were.”

The sound of Hermione’s affronted scoff steals their attention, and Dorcas whips her head around to find Pansy and Hermione going head to head, both flushed with something more than sun. 

“And I’m telling you, I managed a flip into a dive. You merely dived. Therefore, your jump lacked the technique, style, and need I say, flair, that mine had,” Pansy hisses. 

“Hey,” Marlene interrupts them, Dorcas standing just behind. “What’s going on?”

Hermione doesn’t turn, her gaze locked on Pansy’s, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Pansy says in an innocent voice. “We’re just having a conversation.”

“WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH?!”

Hermione’s shout makes all the campers quiet. 

Pansy blinks, her fingers tugging on her dark, drying hair. “I don’t hate you, Granger.”

“Yes—yes, you do,” Hermione stammers, tears streaming down her face. “Everything I do you try to upstage, and whenever I talk you look at me like I—I disgust you and ever since I moved to Slytherin, it’s like I’m your greatest enemy.”

Pansy, Dorcas notices, can’t seem to meet Hermione’s eyes, instead looking at the grass. “You are my greatest enemy.”

“Why would you say that, Pansy?” Dorcas keeps their voice gentle but firm. This isn’t the first fight she’s had to mediate between campers, and thanks to Lily, they learned the trick is de-escalation, a good handful of calming interjections. “It sounds like Hermione’s trying to be your friend.” 

“I have enough friends.”

Marlene and Dorcas share a glance, silently communicating how to handle this, when Hermione sniffs. “If Draco thinks I’m good enough to be his friend, I don’t see why you can’t do the same, Pansy.”

“Obviously, I’m better than Draco,” Pansy snaps. “And yet he’s obsessed with you and Harry despite the fact that I’ve known him since we were babies, it’s absolutely ridiculous, and if he won’t be sensible then I will.”

Pansy spares a glance in Marlene and Dorcas’ direction as if expecting their reproach but Dorcas waits to speak up, and Marlene must feel the same, because they look in Hermione’s direction, giving her the chance to guide the conversation. 

“Are you jealous of me?” Hermione whispers with a sniff. 

“That’s absurd.”

“You just said that Harry and I stole Draco from you, I’m only being sensible,” Hermione repeats Pansy’s choice of words. “And you’ve been much more pleasant to Harry but I expect that’s because Draco would bite your head off otherwise, so, what, I’m an easy target?”

Pansy doesn’t reply, but she manages to lift her chin and meet Hermione’s stare. 

“How has Pansy’s attitude made you feel, Hermione?” Marlene asks quietly. 

“Horrible. I’ve felt just horrible.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive—”

“Stop,” Hermione cuts her off. “Please, just stop. I’m not trying to take Draco away from you, I’m not trying to sabotage you, the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend. Or at least to be friendly.”

“That’s very mature of you to say, Hermione,” Dorcas says when Pansy doesn’t respond. 

Marlene adds after a moment, “Pansy, how would you feel about starting over with Hermione? Maybe trying to be friends?”

“I much prefer her as my enemy,” Pansy says with a huff. 

“And why’s that?” Dorcas asks. 

“I, well, it’s—I thrive in competition, of course.”

“You don’t have to hate me to compete with me,” Hermione says weakly. 

“I already told you, I don’t hate you!” 

This time, it’s Pansy’s outburst that shocks the rest of the campers back into quiet, their hushed conversations pausing. 

“It’s an honor to be seen as competition by me, Granger,” Pansy continues. 

Hermione’s shoulder droops. “Sure doesn’t feel like one.”

Pansy looks to Dorcas and Marlene, eyes wide and almost desperate, searching for the right answer. Dorcas nods and mouths, “Apologize.”

And much to Dorcas’ shock, Pansy does. 

“Granger, I—-” Pansy sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you’re so sensitive that you thought I hated you and that my overpowering personality was too much for your delicate sensibilities.”

“I think you can do a little better than that,” Marlene says, and Dorcas can tell she’s holding back a laugh, which only makes them bite the inside of their cheek too. 

“Fine. Hermione, I apologize for hurting your feelings. There. Happy?” The question is directed at the counselors but it’s Hermione that looks up instantly, holding out a hand. 

“Let’s shake on our truce.”

Pansy sneers at Hermione’s hand then sighs, gripping it solemnly. 

Marlene and Dorcas leave them to their newfound friendship, biting back smiles as they return to their towels. 

“You know who they remind me of?” Marlene says. 

“Mary and Lily.”

Marlene throws her head back and laughs, one of her real ones, Dorcas recognizes. “God, I’m so glad they’re together, personally and professionally.”

“They’re going to be quite the administrators,” Dorcas agrees. She can already picture the organized chaos of the two of them: fighting in the office over schedules and handbooks until they get so caught up in each other they have to take a break to make out. “I’ve never seen two people as equally obsessed as they are offended by each other.”

“Yeah. Feels like almost everyone fell in love this summer,” Marlene says and they both promptly stiffen. 

When they turn to look at each other, Dorcas’ breath catches.

A few more seconds.

Dorcas looks at her watch, feeling the tick in time to their pulse, beating until the end. And maybe it’s Marlene's wretched expression, or maybe it’s their own tight lungs burning for air, but Dorcas rushes past the love and pain of the moment, and jokes: 

“Rule #13 only encouraged romance in the end, huh? No wonder Dumbledore’s retiring.”

Marlene laughs. (This one, Dorcas recognizes as fake).

******

Lately, every time Dorcas walks through the campgrounds they look around with wide, wondering eyes like she’s in a bad pharmaceutical commercial. 

They can’t help but soak it all up, memorize the way that Azkaban’s ropes wave with the wind, or how the Hogwarts camp sign sparkles at high noon, not to mention that addicting smell of pine and wood chips that Dorcas wishes she could bottle up and buy, mosquitos and all. 

Just like their last summer at Hogwarts as a camper, Dorcas feels the finality of something good press into their skin, drawing blood. Odds are Dorcas will never come back here again. (And if that doesn’t just make Dorcas want to die a little). 

But right now there’s no time for ambling around, so Dorcas quickens her pace, cutting down Slytherin to the heart of camp, the campfire circle. 

They tie back their cornrows, already looking forward to the next trip to the salon, though their grandma will make Dorcas wait at least a few weeks before she goes back to such a tight protective hairstyle. And since Dorcas plans to visit their grandma in Alabama first thing after staff wrap-up, one last escape from mother dearest, she’ll have to listen. 

Dorcas grins when they walk into the campfire where Regulus and Sirius are laughing with each other. (Or maybe it’s at each other?)

Lily, it appears, assigned all three of them to prep for the closing campfire, a ceremony that was suitably elaborate for the campers’ last night at Hogwarts. 

At every seat along the old logs lining the circle, “wood cookies” (tree branches carefully sliced by Peter) would serve as the seating chart. Pandora decorated the front of them with the campers’ names in bubble paint, but it was up to their cabin counselors to write a note on the back. 

For the golden campers, they would receive a small chest of wood carved from Hogwarts trees (also thanks to Peter), a parting token for their final summer at Hogwarts.

Dorcas still tears up thinking of their closing ceremony, when they received a chest carrying five years of camp memories: photos of all their cabins, too many friendship bracelets to count, and a good scattering of wood chips. (Their chest is still tucked in their closet, and every now and then, on the bad days, Dorcas takes it out to reminisce.)

“Wow, both Black siblings?” Dorcas drawls, jumping over a log bench. 

Sirius looks up from the scattered wood cookies and gives Dorcas a wink. “It’s your lucky day, Dorcas. Not many people can handle both of us at once.”

Regulus’ eyes stay on the list of camper names when he mumbles, “Is it luck or is it karma?”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” 

“Oh, I think you already know, Dorcas.”

“Hey!” Sirius scoffs. “We are delightful company.”

Dorcas snorts and sits beside Sirius.

“Careful, you sound like Rachel,” Regulus tells his sibling with a smirk. 

“Rachel?”

“Our social worker back in the day,” Sirius tells Dorcas. “Tried to sell us as a package deal. Poor thing never stood a chance.”

“No one wanted to adopt Sirius,” Regulus deadpans. 

It’s one of those jokes hiding a whole lot of hurt, a dark twist of the truth. (Dorcas can’t find the stomach to laugh, but of course, Sirius does.)

“Not my fault I looked like a parody of Edward Scissorhands and you had the face of a goddamn cherub!” Sirius wheezes.

“Are you calling me angelic?”

Dorcas  cuts in before they can really get going, “Regulus, want to start laying these on the benches?”

“Gladly.” 

Sirius sticks her tongue out at their brother when he turns on his heel. 

“You look ridiculous, Sirius,” Regulus says without turning around. (Like a fucking wizard).

It’s not often that Dorcas gets to spend time with Regulus and Sirius together. They’ve managed to connect with them both this summer, sharing records and gay panics with Sirius, and swapping secrets and cigarettes with Regulus. Two more relationships Dorcas will have to leave come next week. 

Reading Dorcas’ thoughts like the human mood ring he is, Sirius sighs. “Last day of camp. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Mm.”

“At least we have a lot to look forward to next summer, what with Firefly in charge.”

Dorcas finishes the pile full of their cabin’s wood cookies and tries not to frown. “I think Lily always was in charge if anything is just a change in title, not responsibility.”

“And salary,” Sirius adds.

“Good, we’re all much too underpaid, but Lily especially.”

Regulus collects Dorcas’ cabin’s pile, and she watches him lay them out, stand back with squinted eyes, and then adjust the small pieces of wood so they’re all perfectly centered. 

“So…next summer?” Sirius nudges Dorcas. “You coming back?”

It had been one of the questions on the evaluations Lily passed out that morning—an evaluation that, thankfully, Dorcas doesn’t have to finish until the last day of staff wrap-up. (They intend to procrastinate until the last day, thank you very much.)

At Dorcas’ hesitation, Sirius scoffs. “Come on, I thought this would be a no-brainer for you. You love Hogwarts and now that Dumbledore’s gone—”

“I don’t know if I can. Schedule wise.”

“Oh, right, post-grad job hunt. I remember how stressed Wormy was about that, but he landed on his feet, and you will too.”

“I’ve got a job lined up, actually,” Dorcas says quietly. 

It’s Regulus, standing above them, who asks: “What job?”

The words are on the tip of Dorcas’ tongue, and there’s no reason not to say it—-it’s not like it’s a secret—but they struggle for air, she’s always struggling for air these days, and suddenly the expectant gazes of Sirius and Regulus feels a lot like Dorcas’ mom’s.

A few more seconds. 

“Hey, hey, you don’t have to say.” Sirius crawls so he’s sitting in front of Dorcas. “Take a breath, yeah?”

(Dorcas doesn’t.)

“I’m fine, sorry,” Dorcas eventually manages. “I guess I’m just not ready to leave camp. Feels a lot like when I was a camper, you know, my last summer?”

Sirius shakes their head with a sigh. “Yeah, I know. Absolutely brutal goodbye.”

Slowly, as if unsure if he’s welcome, Regulus kneels down and sits beside Dorcas and Sirius, the wood cookies among them beautiful reminders of the end. “You can always come back, Dorcas. I’m certain that Lily wants you to.”

“I’ll be busy trying to qualify next summer,” Dorcas admits.

“Qualify for what?”

She looks at Sirius and Regulus and smiles sheepishly. “The Olympics.”

Sirius’ mouth falls open. 

“Holy fucking shit.”

Regulus jabs Sirius in the ribs. “Watch your mouth, campers haven’t left yet.” 

But Sirius ignores their brother, watching Dorcas with a starstruck expression. 

“So Peter really didn’t tell you?” Dorcas asks. 

“Why would Peter know?” Regulus speaks when Sirius doesn’t. 

“He’s a big fan of competitive swimming, apparently, and recognized me during staff training.”

“Wormtail can keep a secret,” Sirius breathes, still looking at Dorcas with wonder. “The Olympics? Swimming? Are you serious?”

“No, that’s you,” Dorcas says drily. 

Sirius sits back, shoulder slumping. “I can’t believe this day has come.” She puts her head in her hands and mumbles into his palms, “Dorcas is officially cooler than me.”

“Ignore Sirius,” Regulus says, eyes focused on Dorcas. “Why don’t you sound excited to return to training?”

“I adore swimming,” they answer honestly. 

“Not my question.”

“Swimming is one thing…competing is another.”

Sirius’ hands drop from their face. “Oh, Dorcas, I know what that’s like. I know how your passion changes when you have to sell it or prove it or fuck, win.”

It’s not the first time Sirius has mentioned the limitations of the music industry, the execs that dictate what can and can’t sell. 

“You stuck with it regardless,” Dorcas points out.

“But I’ve had to make a lot of artistic compromises, ones I’m not proud of. No one would blame you for resenting the competition part of it all, or even walking away—”

“I’m not walking away. Not a quitter, remember?” Dorcas uses Sirius’ own words against them. 

“I didn’t say quit swimming. You love it, obviously. I’m only suggesting letting go of all the rest.”

“But all the rest is what I’ve been working my whole life towards, my mom—I can’t give up now, not when I’m so close.” It’s the same thing Dorcas has been telling themself these few weeks, only it sounds hollow out loud. As shallow as a beach’s shore. 

“I think it’s admirable to stick to your goals,” Regulus breaks the silence. 

Dorcas’ eyes flutter shut. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

(It’s what Dorcas needed to hear, an affirmation of their sacrifice, their commitment, their drive.) They open their eyes and feel a light, floating to the top, on the cusp of a breath when Regulus says:

“But there’s nothing admirable about sacrificing what you love to reach your goals.”

It’s worse than a gut punch, it’s a knife to the heart, one that would pierce Dorcas’ lungs and fill them with blood if they weren’t already full of water, wheezing for air. 

“Come on, Reggie, that was harsh—” 

“Is that what you did, Regulus?” Dorcas cuts off Sirius. “Youngest professor at MIT, computer science prodigy breaking ground with visionary research. Tell me, what exactly did you give up to get on your high fucking pedestal, hm?”

Regulus’ face doesn’t so much as twitch. “At the time, it didn’t feel like I was sacrificing anything. I know better now.”

It’s a mild answer, where Dorcas’ question was bitter. 

“What do you mean you know better now?” Sirius asks. 

Regulus runs a finger over the wood cookie containing Harry’s name. “All those years you went to Hogwarts and I didn’t, I guess I’ve learned this summer just how much I was missing out on. I took this job in large part for James, but I’ve ended up liking this place, loving it, in fact. I think I’ve realized that I never got to be a kid, really.” He looks at Dorcas, gray-blue eyes piercing. “Did you?”

Dorcas wants to look away, and she almost does but something compels them to hold Regulus’ attention, to answer: “I did at Hogwarts.”

“No wonder you don’t want to leave,” Regulus says simply. 

But it’s not that simple, none of this is black and white, and Dorcas’ skin crawls with the implication that all it takes is one decision. 

(One easy decision and Dorcas gets all that she loves.)

Because what about what she deserves? After all this time, doesn’t Dorcas deserve a chance at the Olympics?

“I’m damn good at what I do,” Dorcas insists. “One of the most talented of my age, they say. I’m not letting that go to waste.” She’s glad that neither of them knows that she’s quoting her mom. 

Sirius squeezes their arm. “That might be true, but you’re a great counselor too.”

Dorcas doesn’t know what to say to that, so they pick up another pile and walk to the benches, taking their time, wasting their time, losing their time laying out Marlene’s wood cookies. 

A few more seconds.

******

When the campers finish dinner, one of Molly’s most impressive feasts yet (roasted pork shoulder and a sweet and sour eggplant that just about killed Dorcas and then brought them back to life), the counselors herd the kiddos to the campfire circle. Dorcas’ cabin makes quick work of finding their wood cookies and they all peer at her with teary smiles after reading the notes they left on the back. 

Dorcas makes a valiant attempt at not crying. (Needless to say, she cries).

It takes a while for the camp to settle, everyone already getting caught up in hugs and farewells, but Mary’s booming voice captures everyone’s attention. 

“Hello, Hogwarts!”

Everyone responds to Mary with a resounding: “Hey! Hey! Hey!” 

Dumbledore, Dorcas doesn’t fail to notice, is not present. He’s never missed a closing campfire before, and a tiny part of Dorcas (the inner child that adored the Camp Director of her favorite place on earth) wishes he were here. (But, really, it’s better that he’s not). 

“Welcome to the closing campfire.” Mary takes a beat, spinning around to lock eyes with every person there. “This summer has been absolutely magical—”

Sirius’ whistle spurs a whole cabin’s worth of hollers.

Mary grins. “And while tomorrow we all must say goodbye, we have tonight to celebrate, to dance, to sing. And most importantly, to scream!” 

The answering roar is immediate, and Dorcas feels her eardrums shiver from the noise. (Ow.)

“Oh I think we can be louder than that, don’t you think, Lily?” Mary looks across the fire with a wicked smile. 

“Definitely.” Lily jumps up to stand on the stones lining the campfire. “We have to wake up the wolves!”

This time, Dorcas braces herself for the encore, finding Regulus across the circle with his palms over his ears, Draco doing just the same. The screams continue until a distant howl breaks through the noise, and the campers stop all at once.

“There the wolves are,” Lily announces proudly. 

Dorcas makes a tally of everyone who is and isn’t present, then hides their giggle. Leave it to Remus to hide in the Wayward Woods and play wolf. 

Mary runs across the circle, high-fiving campers as she starts the camp song: “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts…”

They sing campfire songs until their voices grow hoarse, and then Lily and Mary pass out the wooden chests while Sirius plays something slow on the guitar, Pandora humming with it. Cedric is the first called up, and he quietly sobs when Lily hugs him tight. By the time they make it to the final two, Fred and George, the entire camp is swaying with Pandora’s movements, hands raised in the air like it’s a Fleetwood Mac concert. 

Tucked between Ginny and Harper, Dorcas looks around at all the bright eyes around them. Mary and Lily’s sorting hat idea had worked brilliantly for the most part, and despite all the snags with Dumbledore, Dorcas is certain that this summer had been one of Hogwarts' best. 

She’s glad that she could be a part of it. (One last time). 

When Fred and George flip open their chests, a loud pop sounds, and something green and gooey spits on their faces. 

Lily pats them both on the shoulders. “Gotcha.”

Marlene’s laugh catches in Dorcas’ ears, pulling their gaze to where the fire’s smoke curls. Mei is sitting at Marlene’s side, whispering into her ear, while Marlene holds Sam’s hand in her lap, ever the doting counselor. To think that once Dorcas had been jealous that the campers got to touch Marlene when she couldn’t. 

Is it better or worse now that Dorcas knows exactly how much she’s missing? 

Marlene notices Dorcas’ stare, and they hold on for just a few more seconds, enough time to summon that dazzling blush to Marlene’s cheeks, to elicit a real fucking smile from her lips, to grip Dorcas’ heart (and squeeze it empty). 

A few more seconds. 

Then Dorcas looks away. 

After a dramatic skit from Barty and Evan, where they “pretended” to get married with Peter as the officiant, the fire begins to crackle into something small and tame. The moon and the stars soon become a backdrop to a campful of tears, and Lily and Mary stand up to lead one last song. 

Lyrics to Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” are passed out and Dorcas pulls her campers into a bear hug as they all sing: “You just call out my name And you know, wherever I am I'll come runnin' To see you again Winter, spring, summer or fall All you have to do is call And I'll be there You've got a friend.”

It’s a chaos of hugging after that, and Dorcas races through the crowd of campers and counselors, latching onto anyone who will let them, which becomes quite the spectacle when Sirius and Dorcas both try to hug each other to death.

After a good long pep talk from Molly, and about five of her warm hugs, Dorcas locks eyes with Harry Dursley. (Perhaps soon to be Harry Evans.) 

“Hi, Dorcas,” Harry’s voice is quiet with sorrow.

“Harry!” Dorcas doesn’t hesitate to hug him, hoping to squeeze all the sadness right out of him.

“I—uh—I’m really glad you taught me to swim. I really like swimming.”

Dorcas pulls back to inspect Harry’s face. (God, he sounds so heartbroken). “Don’t tell anyone, but you were my favorite student. You rocked the frog kick.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Marlene agrees.”

Dorcas expected the comment to make Harry smile, but his face falls comically as if spiraling with a thought. 

“Uhm Dorcas, are you and Marlene—did Dumbledore…did he end your love story?”

The word love slips into Dorcas' head and bounces off the walls, ping-ponging around the empty chamber. “Love story?” they repeat.

“I know you can’t tell me 'cause it’s against the rules and all, but I just want you to know that I’m rooting for you. Draco too. We think that you and Marlene would be legendary.”

Dorcas looks down and forces a laugh, one that Harry reciprocates. “Legendary, huh?”

“I’m not sure what you know or how you know it—” Dorcas sighs. “But you don’t have to worry about me and Marls, yeah? We’ll be alright.”

“Together? You’ll be alright together?” 

And Harry’s only eager to see Dorcas and Marlene happy, she knows that, but hell, if that question doesn’t twist the knife deeper. Dorcas is in the midst of surviving the wave, of holding the fuck on—-a few more seconds—when Harry attacks them with a tight hug. 

“You’re a great kid, Harry.”

He really is a great kid, and hopefully, he’ll soon have great parents too. Even before James and Lily knew that Harry was their biological kid, Lily had been prepared to take him in, to face the wrath of her estranged sister to ensure her nephew’s safety. 

It’s the kind of unconditional, generous love that Dorcas once thought she knew well. Then they grew up and learned one important condition to their mother’s affection. 

(Winning.)

Glancing around to make sure no one is listening, Dorcas kneels in front of Harry and takes his hands. “I know about all the crazy things that have happened to you this week, and I’m sure you’re overwhelmed, but can I just say—there’s a reason you were both Slytherin and Gryffindor. You’re clever and brave, loyal and kind. Whatever happens next with Lily, James, and your parents, trust that you are going to get through it because you’re incredible. No doubts about it.”

Harry looks so much like his biological mom then, his green eyes big and shining, anxiety written all over his face. 

Dorcas sighs. “It isn’t easy saying goodbye but all of this will be here next summer, yeah?”

“I don’t know if my parents will let me come back next summer.”

“Lily and James won’t let that happen,” Dorcas says before Harry can let that worry grow. 

But either he doesn’t believe her, or he’s too caught up in his feelings surrounding the last day of camp, because he slumps, throwing his weight into Dorcas’ hands. She squeezes back. 

“You okay?” 

“I made a super duper big mistake, Dorcas.”

The gravity in Harry’s voice takes them aback. “We all do that every now and then, wanna tell me what’s up and I can help you figure it out?”

“It’s really bad.”

Dorcas waits, they know the power of waiting, of letting silence embolden kids where words fail. Sure enough, Harry eventually confesses: “My parents don’t know.”

“They don’t know what?”

“They don’t know that I’m here,” Harry whispers. 

Dorcas feels their hands freeze in Harry’s smaller grip, feels her body glitch, the clock finally ceasing its ticking. “Harry, how is that possible?”

“Well, you see, I—I ran away.”

They nearly curse, but Dorcas manages to clamp their lips shut and stand up, holding Harry’s hand tightly. “Let’s find Lily, yeah?”

“She’s going to be so mad!” Harry panics. 

“No, kid, she’s going to be worried,” Dorcas quickly says. “She worries about you because she loves you, no one is going to get mad or hurt you, alright?”

Harry doesn’t believe her, Dorcas can see that, but there’s no time to talk this through. Hogwarts has a goddamn missing kid in their custody. (Fuck, they’ve had him all summer).

“Lily!” Dorcas finds her standing by the aerial silk posts, talking with Hermione. “Hey, Hermione, can we have a second with Lily?”

Hermione nods, looking towards Harry with a confused glance.

When she walks away, Dorcas lowers their voice, “We have a situation.”

******

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, I’ve been Camp Director for one day,” Lily shouts. “One day, Dorcas!”

“I know.”

“And this—Harry. He’s been missing, he ran away from his house and now the cops are going to investigate the camp’s entire operation, and Petunia—” Lily swallows. “Petunia’s going to kill me.”

“Harry had good reason to run away from that home, Lily. The cops will eventually understand that.”

Dorcas is lying, they have absolutely zero confidence in the police, but they know what Lily needs to hear right now. (Something assuring, confident, and above all, calming.)

They have a plan, of course, albeit a half-hazard one. James and Sirius are sitting with Harry in the Nurse’s Cabin, reassuring him that he’s not in trouble, while Regulus is in Lily’s office pulling up amber alerts. Lily is meant to be dialing her sister, but instead, she’s been pacing the empty Lodge and yanking her hair out of a ponytail just to retie it again. 

Dorcas knows the signs of a panic attack when she sees one. 

“Hey, Lily, why don’t we take a moment and breathe?”

Lily shakes her head, spinning on her heel to make another lap. “I’m going to be a horrible mother. A horrible Camp Director. It’s all already going up in flames and I should have had it under control, I should have been able to manage it!” She sobs, her chest heaving in short bursts. “I should have, I should have—”

Dorcas grabs her shoulders and presses their palm right over Lily’s heart. “Breathe with me.”

They both inhale together, Lily’s shoulders shaking, her eyes blinking out tears, then they both exhale in sync. The cycle repeats over and over, and Dorcas isn’t sure how much time passes, how much oxygen they steal and carbon dioxide they release until her head feels dizzy, light even, like they’re floating to the surface. 

“Thanks,” Lily mumbles. “I—I didn’t mean to freak out.”

Dorcas blinks, only now registering the fact that they’re both on the ground, the cold hardwood floors pressing into her calves. 

“You’re good in a crisis, Dorcas.” Lily’s laugh is small. “Another reason to promote you.”

“What?”

“Oh.” Lily shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, I meant to do this officially. Like in my office or something. But yes, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to be the new Counselor Manager.”

Dorcas stammers in shock, “That’s—that’s a full-time job though.”

“Well, yes, it would require you to work with me year-round but you definitely don’t have to be at Hogwarts outside of the summer season, it can be remote.” Lily groans. “I have a whole outline with a pitch to convince you. Can you please let me give you that sometime during staff wrap-up so that we can do this more…” She glances at Dorcas’ palm still on her chest. “Professionally?”

Dorcas chokes on their own cackle, sucking down air, because what the hell—they’re breathing, they’re really breathing. 

As if testing a new pair of lungs, Dorcas gulps down another inhale, smiling at the lightness filling their chest. 

“Are you…okay?” Lily says hesitantly.

“Not at all.” 

Dorcas takes in another breath, the voice of her mother fading into the distance, a few more seconds turning into something unmeasurable, something light and lively. 

“I really think the universe can only handle one of us in crisis so…” Lily trails off at Dorcas’ smile. “What is it?”

“Just been a while since I’ve taken a breath.”

Lily tilts her head, then nods. “Feels good, huh?”

“You’ve no idea.”