(Although I wrote this one recently -- apropos of nothing and about five years too late to be of any use to anyone. And I'm not sure it's even worth much. Posting it really to prove to myself I can.)
Thanks to lefaym for the beta.
Title: A Letter of June 9th, 1994
Pairing: Remus/Sirius (I don’t even know)
Summary: Having made it to safety, Sirius writes a letter.
No, scratch that. Scribble it out.
No, that’s too friendly. Sentimental. Like I’m pretending --
OK. Just Remus.
No. Too cold. Dear Remus. I can change it later. Come back to that bit.
Dear Remus. I’m so glad to have found you again. -- No. Still too sentimental. Can’t be too mushy. He won’t want -- I can’t put that.
Dear Remus. Thank you for the parchment and the quill. They are very useful. It was lovely to see you --
No. He’s not my well-meaning maiden aunt.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. I hope it won't be too long til the next time. Love, Sirius.
No. Absolutely not. He’s moved on.
From Sirius, then? Sounds a bit cold.
Best wishes, Sirius -- no, no, definitely not. That's even worse.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. I hope it won’t be too long until the next time. And that’s far too short. Got to put something else.
Dear Remus. I’ve been meaning to write. Thanks for everything, and I mean everything. I hope it won’t be too long until the next time. Read it back and God, no, and I mean everything, that’s just awful, sounds like I think he’s a prostitute or something. Or like I’m trying to flirt and I’ve forgotten how, which is true, isn’t it, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Can barely hold this quill. It’s been a while.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. I hope it’s not so long until the next time. Do keep in touch. I’ll be thinking of you.
Perhaps I should elaborate. Be a bit less cryptic.
I’ve been meaning
I’ve been meaning to write
I’ve been meaning to write, but I confess I’m struggling over what to say and how to say it.
I’ve missed you terribly these past twelve years. James and Lily’s deaths, the pain I felt losing them, losing Harry -- it was matched only by the knowledge that you thought I’d betrayed them, that I was responsible. I was responsible. I should have trusted you, and I pushed you away, and I lost everything.
But somehow, at the same time, knowing you were out there, and that you were safe and maybe that you were happy, and the grain of hope that maybe I’d see you again one day -- it gave me strength. I would transform in my cell and at those times my human memories were put away in a corner and I remembered only the times we spent running wild under a fat moon, full of joy and utterly without care -- and I survived. I’ll never forget the happiness that was once ours.
Awful. Scribble that out, crumple it up, and throw it in the sea.
One more go.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. I hope it’s not too long until the next time. Do keep in touch -- this bird will know where to find me. I hope this finds you well. Sirius.
Or maybe I should sign it Padfoot, just in case.
And perhaps I should address it to Moony --
I’ve been here. Memory’s not what it was.
Seems awfully sentimental to use that name, anyway. Or he’ll just think I’ve gone mad. Can’t remember who we are. Can’t remember what’s happened. Some days I can’t.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. Do keep in touch -- this bird, or Dumbledore (better put Dumbledore) will know how to reach me. I hope it’s not too long until the next time and that this letter finds you well. S.
Staring at it now, reading it over. That S, no sign-off, it’s not right, but --
He’ll know. Or maybe he won’t, but I suppose it’s best if he doesn’t.
Dear Remus. Thanks for everything. Do keep in touch -- this bird, or Dumbledore (better put Dumbledore) will know how to reach me. I hope it’s not too long until the next time and that this letter finds you well.
And I’ll finish it: