Twelve Letters:
From: Remus Lupin
To: Sirius Black
Letters that Sirius never saw, one for each year they were apart and then one, at Christmas time.
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December 25, 1981
Black,
I thought we were friends, honestly. More than that. I suppose not. Merlin, you are a bastard, aren't you? A right, mother fucking bastard, murdering your best friends! James, Lily, and Peter did nothing to deserve it. Neither did little Harry, who is an orphan, now.
I went to their graves today. James and Lily's. Since I was the closest thing they had to family left, I got to choose what was written. Instead of some sappy thing that involves how well loved they were and to whom, I chose, The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death. Fitting, I suppose. They were buried in the Godric's Hollow Cemetery, just outside that little church. They have a war memorial in the town square, remember it? To wizards, now, it appears as James and Lily, holding Harry close. They left the house as it was, and put up spells that ward Muggles away from that part of town. There is a sign that pops up just behind the gate, saying what happened, and people have started writing messages to Harry. Thank you notes, and wishes for good luck, and all sorts of things. Some just write their names. When things get bad again, and I can guarantee they will, I'll write on it.
I don't know why I told you that. Maybe I'm just hoping that should you ever see this, you'll realize what you've done. And, if you can't figure it out, I'll tell you. In person, I'll tell you. Because you won't see this damn letter any other way, you jackass.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1982
Black,
I moved out of that old flat we shared in London. I did it shortly after their death, actually, but I didn't mention it in the last letter. I moved into that old abandoned town of Cornwall, just on the edge of the mountains. It's far away from London, and wizards, and anyone else, really. It's safe there.
I catch myself looking for you and James and Peter and Lily all the time. You destroyed more than them that night, Black, you destroyed me, too. I'm drunk all the time now, and I've no idea what to do with myself. I get the Daily Prophet under some fake name I made up for myself, and on Halloween earlier this year; it did a recount of what happened. I wasn't sober for three days. They somehow got a picture of Harry. They also wonder what happened to me, seeing as I've basically disappeared off the face of the earth. I was mentioned a few times in the paper as Harry's honorary uncle. "The one who vanished" they call me.
Stupid.
I don't know why I'm writing to you almost like I used to. Like friends, but that wasn't how I wrote to you since third year. After that it was like a lover, but I can't ever cross that bridge again. Not after you. You ruined that, too, you bastard. So, I just stay here, in Cornwall, barely sober, drowning in the past since there isn't anything else left as I'm forbidden to see Harry.
I hope you're happy.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1983
Black,
Somehow I can't ever seem to bring myself to think of you as "Black". When I think "Black" I think Bellatrix on the Quidditch pitch, telling you how you can't fit in anywhere. I think Regulus and the amount of pain he caused you and how much trouble he gave us. I think of Narcissa and her picture-perfect hair and her damn son Draco who will go to school with Harry. Really? Who names their kid Draco? I feel bad for the kid, only a little bit.
It's been two years since that incident on Halloween. You're not stupid, I know you can probably figure that, but I had to say it. Two years! That's a long time without anyone, you know. Merlin, two whole years. I have trouble wrapping my head around it sometimes. I just…. I miss them. I miss them so much. I miss James, and Lily, and Peter, and Harry, and I miss you, as stupid as it sounds. I shouldn't miss a murderer but what can I say? I loved you, aw, hell I still love you. And it kills me because I want to hate and I try so hard to, really, but I sit on the floor or in my bed at night and I just can't. I can't.
They got another picture of Harry. He's three years old and I can tell his aunt and uncle are starving him. He had some sort of cut on his arm and his wrist was broken. I hate to think what that bitch Lily called a sister is doing to him. If you hadn't gone and killed James and Lily it wouldn't have ever happened would it, though?
There is nothing more I can say. Nothing at all. It's four am and I'm tired but can't sleep and it's your entire fault.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1984
Sirius,
I've finally accepted that I can call you Sirius, at least in my head. Out loud, you are still "Black".
I've been thinking things over. What I don't understand is why? Nobody hated the dark arts more than you- it doesn't make any sense that you would turn to him. And, I saw you two days before James and Lily died. You were praying for their safety, and mine, and Peter's. This whole mystery isn't making any bit of sense, Sirius, and I need you to answer the questions I have. There is one crucial piece that would crack your case wide open and seal your fate- free or dead.
And, that night, before you left, you kissed me goodbye. Damn you, Sirius Black!
People are no longer in a rut over Halloween. They aren't looking for me, and you are not of much concern. Harry is still being posted in papers. He's being starved, and in the latest picture- that was two days ago- it looked like his had been slammed into something pretty hard. Then hit over the head with a bludger with no care. Another repercussion of your traitorous acts, Sirius, dammit.
I would like to say that I hate you, but I can't. I feel that stupid forgiveness rise again. And guilt, and anger, and pain, and sorrow, and concern, and….
And you are still a fucking bastard.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1985
Sirius,
I am just so tired. I'm tired of the past, but every time I've tried to move on, I'll see something that will make it all come back. I'm crying, I'm just so tired. How could you? I know you are not to blame for this issue, not wholly. I'll blame you anyway, since it is so easy. You're to blame for everything else wrong in my life.
I found my things from Hogwarts. I could barely look at them. But I did it anyway. Merlin, that was stupid. I flipped though photo albums, and I saw you, and James, and Lily, and Peter, and Marline, and Mary, and Emmeline, even though she is still alive she might as well not be. I saw her a few days ago; she was at the cemetery here. She is numb, not unlike myself. She has no one left, either, so she is stuck in the past. I think she looks forward to Harry's start of school, because things will kick-start again, and it will do so with a vengeance. "You and your Death Eater friends will be broken from Azkaban," she told me, "and we will be in a war, again, with Voldemort at the head of one end and Harry at the head of us."
Anyway, I searched my things from school, and found my notebook or journal or diary or whatever you want to call it from seventh year that I never used. Do you remember that one? I'll bet you don't, at this point…. It was the one you wrote in, love notes and hearts and dirty messages. I saw them on Valentine's Day, turns out you had hidden them with a charm, and we lost our virginity later that evening. I flung the book across the room, cried for about six hours, and then crawled over to it like a child. Merlin, I am so pathetic, I am glad no one can find me.
Then I turned on Sonny and Chare, got considerably drunk and didn't look at the box again. That was three days ago. Happy bloody Christmas.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1986
Sirius,
It has been five years. I am twenty-six years old. So are you. James is still twenty-one, and so is Peter and so is Lily. Little Harry is six. Not so little anymore. He's in Muggle School. I don't know how much he knows. Knowing Petunia, though, not much.
Not much news on Harry. Not much news on anything. It's far too quiet. It gives me time to think. I've run the story over and over again in my head, Sirius, and it's doesn't fit comfortably, and something is staring at me in the face but I can't see it cause it's so close. Something it missing! MISSING! And it is driving me insane.
I miss you. I had finally gathered the courage to go through that box, and I saw all the pictures again. I realized I have your favorite old jumper in there. Even after all these years, it smells just like you. I just wear it around the house in the mornings now. Everything still hurts, but not as much as before. I can stand it. 'M healing, Sirius. Getting better. Still, I locked away the pictures in a safe so I wouldn't torture myself. I sleep on your pillow. God, I hadn't even realized that we had packed our Hogwarts stuff into one box, so all your stuff is there too. I locked most of it away. Some stuff I keep in my bedroom. Nowadays, instead of pondering what you did, I think back to our school days. Better days, so I think that's why it doesn't hurt so much.
Happy Christmas, you ass. You took so much from me. My friends, my family, my love. I'll never get it back. Still.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1987
Sirius,
Years have gone by since I saw you last. Can you believe that I have not seen you or basically anyone else for six long years? What would you think of me, if you saw me?
What would James say? What would Lily say? Or Peter?
I want to turn back time. I want to go back over every little detail with a fine-tipped comb and smooth it out, erase any wrinkles that prevented my vision from the truth. I want to go back to the seventies. God bless the seventies, Sirius. They were great. They were the best years of my life, my Hogwarts years. Oh, Merlin, our Hogwarts years. They belonged to us. We ruled that bloody school.
It has been exactly ten years since we were there. It makes me feel sad and old and guilty and nervous. Ten years! Merlin. I can't believe it.
Emmeline came by again. She just walked into my house with two bags and stayed the week. I can't say I blame her. I missed her, to be honest. She told me that even though it's been many years, she's still mourning, so people like to avoid her. I just replied that I stay away from people as a general rule. She laughed.
I then told her about my letters. To you, and to James, and to Lily, and to Peter, and to Harry. I told her how they make me feel so much better. She said she'd try it, so I handed her a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink. She laughed and sat down at the table and wrote. She wrote for a very long time, and cried a little. I said nothing as she wrote through the night and used up about sixteen two-foot long parchment pieces. She left the day following, with promises to return.
I just want to sleep. Happy Christmas.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1988
Sirius,
You're a fucking asshole you know that? Leaving me here, with nothing and no one. None but Emmeline, and she only comes by about every three months or so for a week each time. I don't ask where she goes, and she doesn't say. She mentioned America and Germany and South America once, but I don't know what's there for her. When I asked her, she said new memories. I said nothing after that.
Merlin, Sirius. I'm still bleeding from this past moon, which fell two days ago, and they've gotten worse since you all left me here to fucking die. Moony just howls and howls and howls so I can't speak and then he bites himself and I think I can sometimes feel James – Prongs – next to me.
I can feel him near me now. Lily, too, sometimes. Never Peter, though. It's weird, and I talk out loud sometimes, just to test it, and I get answers. It's like they could tell that I needed them. Do you get that? Do you feel them next to you, bringing you to life in Azka- I can't write it. Moony appreciates it, though. He's not so much of a presence in my mind as he has been.
James is the smell of autumn and pine trees and grass. He is a sense of strength and comfort and the knowledge that you're no longer alone. Lily is the smell of daisies and fresh water and ink and parchment. Sometimes, on Halloween, for instance, the sense of that lavender scented perfume she loved so much.
But I hurt again. It's your entire bloody god damned fault, you mother fucking asshole.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1989
Sirius,
Twenty-nine. I'm twenty-nine years old. Next year I'll be thirty, and do you remember what promise you made me for my thirtieth birthday? We were twenty, and you were about to leave me again, for a mission. I told you not to go, screw the fucking Order, just stay. You took my face in your hands and told me you weren't going anywhere. You said you would be there when I turned thirty, and then forty, then fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, until we were dead. Even then, you promised, you would be there for me, for us. I kissed you and let you go. I should never have let you go.
I shouldn't have let go.
Because I did, and I lost you. I lost you, and I lost James, and I lost Lily, and I lost Peter. And when James let go, he lost himself, and Peter, and me, and he lost you. We all let go, and fuck, we shouldn't have.
Your jumper barely smells like you anymore. I noticed it this morning when I cried into it, trying to find that fresh-rain misty smell I miss so much. I could barely find it. I suppose it will do that after almost a decade, I'm shocked it lasted this long. I'll keep the jumper anyway, though.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1990
Sirius,
You broke your promise. You were not there. I'm thirty and you are not here.
I was tempted to visit you, but Emmeline told me not to. I was tempted because I found your signature of some old piece of parchment. It had James and Peter's signatures, too. Dated back on May 2, 1978. It was just our four signatures on a plague. I don't remember signing it, or what it was for.
It also had our nicknames on it. I really didn't think about the Marauders. They seem like different people, now. I have trouble believing that was me and you and James and Peter. Makes me sad, because I know that was us. Intellectually, I know, I do know that. But, in my heart, I'm not the same self-loathing, love-struck, mischievous, smart, fun-loving teenager I was.
You killed me. Really, I swear you did. Moony- not the wolf, though I wish- is dead. Moony is dead and gone. Forever, Sirius. Just like Prongs and Wormtail. Dead as a bloody fucking stone. All your fault!
And I hate you for it.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1991
Sirius,
I just don't understand. I've gone through everything. Every memory that I have has been picked, plucked, punctured, smoothed out and turned about.
My memories, though, aren't many. Even though it's all I think about, I can't remember everything. Just yesterday, I tripped over a rock in my backyard when I saw a butterfly, because the memory of when you stuffed one into James' pancakes came rushing back. I've not thought about that for years. It surprised me.
Emmeline is here for Christmas. I can tell her memories are thin, too, because it has been so terribly long. Ten years, now that I think about it. Merlin, it has been ten years since I last saw you, and ten years since James, Lily, and Peter died. Ten years since you killed them. A whole fucking decade.
It's not bloody fair.
I know I should be telling you that you're a mother fucking bull-shitting jackass and just let you be. But I can't. I can't because, as unfair and wrong and stupid it is, I'm still in love with you. And I'm banging my head against the wall most days; leaving rather nasty bruises I really could do without, mind. Your entire mother-fucking fault, you stupid jerk!
Hagrid got a hold of me. He asked for about 20 pictures of James and Lily. I don't know why. I didn't read the letter, really, but I know he's doing something with them. Don't know what, don't care, really.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1992
Sirius,
It has been eleven years. I am thirty-two. So are you, though, at this point, I'm not sure you are aware of that anymore. I'm not sure that you know your own name, and it makes me feel awful. I get sick over the thought.
I realized about a week ago the proper date. It is 1992. That means that Harry is twelve years old, in his second year of Hogwarts. I feel awful that I missed it. He's twelve, Sirius! Dear Lord, that means he is certainly not the little kid I always think of. They've not posted any sort of picture of him for about three years. Last I saw, he looked just like James, Sirius. It's not even funny. I saw the picture and had to think about it for a few minutes on exactly who that was.
Dumbledore got a hold of me. He wants me to teach Defense next year. I don't know what I was thinking when I sent back a one-worded message back: yes. Dammit, I'm out of my mind. Harry will be thirteen when I see him. A teenager, Sirius. He won't even know me. The same little boy who used to cry out in glee whenever you and I stepped over his threshold into his house in the Hollow won't even know me.
But I'll get to see him, know him, and teach him. Just like I said I would. I suppose that's what made me say yes.
Merlin, Sirius, I'm out of my mind. So are you. Eleven years have not been good to us, have they?
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1993
Sirius,
I couldn't believe it when I heard that you escaped from Azkaban. You realize you did it on Harry's birthday? You're insane, and don't look anything like I remember you do. It pains me to see you that way, Sirius, really.
All at once, pieces of my past are being flung at me from every damn direction. Your escape, my job at Hogwarts, Harry himself. Merlin, Sirius, he looks just like him. I first saw him on the train, in the dark, because they were searching for you. It was the first time I spoke your name out loud in twelve years. Each fucking syllable is a blow to my chest. I spoke with Harry about the Dementors and their kiss. He said you deserved it. I nearly cried out. I really cannot believe this is the same boy who cried whenever you left, and didn't stop for hours. I almost told him that but didn't. He doesn't know who we are.
I'm staring out the window. There is snow on the ground. There is an orange cat, Crookshanks, just outside. (Crookshanks is a cat that belongs to one of Harry's best friends, Hermione Granger.) I can see the Whomping Willow. And, if I look hard enough, Sirius, I think I can see Padfoot, just on the edge of the forest. Must be my delusional mind wishing to see you again.
It's dawn; I've not slept all night. I've been longing to talk to you since your escape, and I'm sure I will, and figure this whole bloody fucking mess out.
Remus Lupin
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December 25, 1996
Sirius,
Harry blames himself, you know. When I last saw him, he was still struggling with the fact that you really are gone this time. Hell, I'm still struggling with it.
When I looked over my last letters that I sent, or didn't send, really, I realized I used language that I normally don't use. Ever. There always was underlying hatred, and love, in every stroke of the quill that made those words, and I can see it, all these years later. I never meant to look at the letters again, as it is a reminder of what I once believed. Tonks saw them and threw a hissy fit. I swear, I want to hit her half the time. Of course, I wanted to hit you, too, and James. All for different reasons, though.
Makes no difference, though. It is again painful to look at Hogwarts pictures, though it wasn't like it wasn't hard enough, but your death has made it worse. It was tolerable, before, hell, maybe about a year or so ago, but now… It's like those times never existed. I don't think about them if I can help it. Luckily, Tonks and Molly provide a good enough distraction, though the war helps nothing. Every time I go out, now, I look for you and James and Lily on the field, right next to me, but that's impossible. Mostly I look for you, since, if it weren't for Harry, I wouldn't really remember what James even looked like. It's been that long.
You left me once. Twice. You can't leave me again. I keep looking for you, again, even though I know I shouldn't. I watched you die; I know you are gone. Intellectually, I know, but I don't think I'm quite ready to accept it. And I won't write, 'dead', either. It seems far too final I don't like it.
This war seems different. It's the same people, generally, but it's a whole new generation fighting. A generation of children, one that isn't meant to endure it. Stupid war horrors that they shouldn't see, but they will. Those six children, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville you knew, sort of and then there was that Luna girl have already seen them.
We don't have Dumbledore at our head, not really. It's Harry. I know Dumbledore is training him, to take over, to be a leader. Someone everyone wants to follow. It's a tough job, I can figure, knowing Harry. And the Ministry isn't helping at all. It's a three-way war this time, Sirius. Death Eaters vs. The Order vs. The Ministry.
I wish you were all here. You could help me.
I'm sorry.
Now, this time, I'll allow myself to write the words I hadn't allowed myself to in the last letters: I love you.
Remus Lupin