Disclaimer: Still not mine

Warning: Still mildly slashy.

Dedication: This is for everyone who believes that true love can triumph over anything. You have to believe, or else you have nothing...

Author's Note: I'm glad I was able to get so easily back into the swing of writing. It's been a good six or seven months since I was able to actually sit down and devote any time to writing. I don't think I've lost my touch...

This is just letter exchanges between Severus and Remus.

A Personal Affair, Chapter Two

Dear S.

I don't think I can really put into words what all this means to me. It has been so long since I had any hope of finding someone. And I don't just mean to share my life with-though that *is* what I want. I've had a lot of trouble with relationships in the past. It sounds like you have as well. Maybe that's a good thing. If we've both been hurt, we can heal together. Or does that sound horribly corny? I'm prone to it, unfortunately. I really am a hopeless romantic. I have to be. If I didn't believe, firmly and surely, that there was a soul mate out here for me, a happy ever after, I'd go mad. Utterly mad. There's enough pain and bleakness in this world as it is. I need some sort of shining beacon, something to look for. Maybe you can understand that. I've had a rather lonely life. I'm not looking for pity, that's just the way things turned out. I spent a very long time with no real friends, and certainly no lovers. Part of it was me. I pushed people away. I found at the time it was easier. I think I still do it sometimes. I have a dear friend staying with me at the moment, and I even still refuse to open up to him. Though that could be because he's stubborn, and a bit self centered, and has never given any of my problems much deep thought.

I don't really mean to be so ranting with you. I guess it's just easier to get so much out, on paper like this. And I like to think that you're actually *listening* to what I have to say. Maybe that's all in my head. Maybe I'm imagining it all. Maybe you don't give a damn. Did I also mention I'm a bit neurotic? I worry. Probably too much. I was raised that way. My mother instilled a sense of dread in me. As far as she was concerned, the world was out to get me. She tried to keep me sheltered, but I think she simply succeeded in screwing me up horribly. My friends when I was younger were a bit wild. Needless to say, my mother's attempts at keeping me sheltered failed. But she made me afraid. No, not afraid. Worried. I worried about myself, about my friends, about my schoolwork...it stayed with me. Things like that, things that are drilled into you when you're little, stay with you. Like going out at night. I am mortally terrified of going out at night, because my mother would practically be in tears, screaming at me that I couldn't. Horrible things would happen. It was a useless insistence, but still...

What about you? What was your childhood like? I grew up on a farm, in southern France. It was certainly an interesting upbringing. I learned how to slaughter pigs when I was ten. We also had sheep and chickens, occasionally cows. Generally the cows were kept as milk animals though, rarely for food. My father also hunted, mostly in the winter. That's all I have to say at the moment.

Yours Truly,

R.

Dear R.

Yes, half of what you say does sound horribly corny. I suppose some would say it is part of whatever charm you may have. I suppose there is no harm in being romantic, lord knows there is little true romance nowadays. And do not be afraid to pour your soul. As I said, it is your character I am interested in, and your character you are certainly showing. I find you intriguing, do not be alarmed. And I am paying close attention to what you choose to share. I agree, it is far easier to put words onto paper and send them to a faceless name, rather then put them to speech. I am not a man known for verbally sharing my feelings. I find it difficult, and tedious.

I believe that I, too, push people away. It is a natural defense, however. I was rather unpopular in my boyhood days, through little fault of my own. I was the bastard son of a wealthy wizard, and that status earned me quite a bit of scorn even before I started school. It made no difference to me who my father was, or the nature of my conception. But ridicule was something I could do without. I am lacking your rural upbringing, living in the city as I did and still do. I find it suits me rather well. I grew up in London, and am thoroughly British, I can assure you.

France. I had no idea you were a foreigner. And southern France, at that. I've known a few wizards from the area, and visited it myself on occasion. Forgive me if I am wrong, but aren't there a great number of werewolves in the area? I would imagine that to be your mother's vigilant terror of the night. It is a well thing she forbade you to wander after dark, or I doubt you would be sharing these delightful little letters with myself. Werewolves are frightful beasts.

S.

Dear S.

Yes, you're right. There are quite a few werewolf packs where I grew up. And my mother's mortal fear of them *was* unfounded. Werewolves are not necessarily 'frightful beasts' as you put it. Those that are wild beyond the point of rationale, yes. And of course, an unchecked werewolf on the night of the full moon. But with modern magical techniques, a sane lycanthrope-even at the time of the full moon-is harmless. The rest of the time they are simply an average witch or wizard.

If it makes a difference, I don't care if you're a bastard. My own father hated me. And that's not projecting, it's simple fact. He would have had me killed, if possible. That caused some problems when I was younger also, but I've gotten over it. I did attend therapy for a bit, and it helped me a great deal. I had quite a few problems where my parents were concerned, as you can tell. My father hated me, my mother smothered me, and my brother pretty much ignored me. And as to me being a foreigner...my father was English. I was educated in Scotland. I haven't lived in France since I was seventeen. I consider myself to be British, of French descent.

R.

Dear R.

I notice a sudden frosty tone to your most recent letter. I fear I may have offended you in some way. I can only imagine that you are a werewolf rights activist, and apologize. I did make a random generalization. I have myself made the acquaintance of a werewolf, and found nothing overtly mortifying about him. I could not stand him as a person, but in all honesty his lycanthropy had little to do with my dislike. I meant you no offence, also, in calling you a foreigner. You proved me wrong, and I withdraw my labeling.

You certainly do seem to have many issues revolving around your parents. I suppose I may have a latent fear of abandonment, left over from my father refusing to acknowledge me. My mother and step-father raised me well, I like to think. I was certainly not lacking in an education. My step-father was a very well read man, of both wizarding and muggle literature, philosophy, and science. He was also a student of botany, a love I myself picked up young. I kept a small herb garden as a child, and now my collection of plant and fungi is unparralleled by any other private garden.

You made mention-in your defence of lycanthropes-to the afflicted being a normal wizard during most of the month. I have done extensive research on the topic-as you obviously have not. There is no 'wolf' and 'man'. There is simply a werewolf. I believe that is where the fear of the creatures come. They look like us, sound like us, act like us...but they are so different. They possess a strength we do not, a keenness of hearing and scent that we do not, and a streak of animalism that we do not. I believe, that deep down, we envy them. There is a vitality about them, a darkness about them, that draws us. As I said, I have done extensive research. I find them fascinating, truth be told.

It is amazing, how much these letters reveal of ourselves. I already have the measure of your character. You are a sensitive sort, but with a spine of steel. You are soft spoken, but adamant about your beliefs. And you have an infinite sadness to you that I find quite appealing. I have begun-despite my better judgment-to picture you in my minds eye. I can only imagine that you have very haunted eyes. I believe that you have had far more hardship in your life then you've let on so far. As have I. But some things are better left till later, don't you agree?

S.

Dear S.

I most heartily agree. There have been far worse trials in my life, but it's hard for me to talk about them. There is something that just won't let me go, that I just can't escape. It's what's caused my loneliness, and my recent lack of love. I'm not blaming it completely, but it is a large factor. I just can't leave it behind. And the thing is, I don't *want* to! I am quite happy with who I am. I like being me. I don't like what others think of me. I tell myself they're all just bigots, and idiots, and they don't know any better, but it's hard.

You find werewolves intriguing, do you? That's interesting. And I have done a bit of research, just a bit more hands on then reading about things in books. I never looked at werewolves quite the way you do. I've never thought that anyone would envy them, or desire to be like them. They're shunned in our society, for the most part. They don't even rate a being classification. I can't see anyone wanting to live like that. I've had a rough life myself, and I would do quite a bit to trade it in. I'm poor, and I'm very often forced to live hand-to-mouth. I was able to hold down a steady job for nearly a year, but again that thing interfered.

I know next to nothing about plants. History is my main subject. And the Dark Arts. Not the Dark Arts themselves, but Defence Against. I can't transfigure to save my life, and my potions skills are severely lacking. Not to mention my predictions! No matter what I use, they always come out wrong.

You have my measure already, hmm? Well, I suppose you're very observant then. And what do you think of my character? I think you're wonderful. There's something about you that I'm drawn to. I have a burning desire to meet you, to see you. I've tried picturing you, but you gave me nothing to go on. I imagine you to have dark hair though, and blue eyes. Very intense eyes. And pale skin. Am I anywhere near right?

Yours,

R.

Dear R.

My eyes are not blue, by any means. They are black. But as for the rest, you are rather right. I already told you, I find you appealing. But I think it may still be too soon to meet. I know we have been exchanging letters for over a week now, but as I said I am cautious. Though I doubt you will change greatly in person, I cannot help but be wary.

I can assure you, however, that you will want for nothing. I am rather well off, and have no quarrel with sharing my wealth. I am making no attempt to impress you, it is simple fact.

I myself have quite an interest in the Dark Arts as well. I have made quite a study of them, both currently and in my youth. Too many wizards fear them, see them only as a tool of the Dark itself. I believe it is simply a case of fearing what we ourselves cannot grasp, or master. A spell is a spell, and may be used for good or ill, depending on whom is casting it. I fear little, be it man or spell. Life is too short to live it in fear. Though I have been on occasion told that life is too short to be bitter, but that is something I have little control over. I have grown bitter in my age, but I make no apologies for myself. I do not see the point in attempting to mold oneself to fit social and political standards. Why waste one's life? Perhaps I have made some ill choices in the past, but at least they were my own.

Sincerely,

S.

Dear S.

I think we all make bad choices. I know I've made quite a few in my time. I'd like to say they were all my own, but...

I'm afraid I'm guilty of trying to live my life like other's wanted me too. It was easier, when I was younger. I hated to be a bother to anyone, and so I went along. I had a reputation for being very meek and quiet, which I'm not. I was seen as unassertive, polite and very low key. It was easier to just live up to that, rather then correct anyone. And then it just became a pattern, a habit. If I had the chance, I would have lived my life much differently then I did. I wasted a good part of my life, and I know that. I regret it, very much so now. I had so many chances to be so much more then I was, but they're gone now.

Maybe people know that. They see how...defeated I feel. That can't be much of a turn on, can it? I suppose I'm heading for a midlife crisis. I've been on edge lately, anyway, and all these wonderful inner probings haven't been helping. In looking for someone else, I've been finding myself. And I don't really like what I see. I try so hard to make everything easier for others. I've existed, to make life go smoothly for other people. I want to start living for myself, but I don't see how. I can't be selfish. I try, but then I get angry at myself. What right do I have to be selfish? What right do I have to want? I can't explain it any better then that. Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?

Love,

R.

Dear R.

I understand where you are coming from. You have every right to want, and to indulge in selfishness. What is the point of life, if not lived for yourself? I may not be a well liked man, but I am pleased with myself. I know I am my own man, and that is all that matters in the end.

I believe I am ready to meet. If only to ascertain what you are claiming is true. (Your crushing selflessness, I mean.) I am extensively traveled, so simply name the place where you wish to meet.

S.

Dear S.

I'm practically giddy! Do you know the Marksman? In Cantershire? I can meet you there in three days, at five o'clock...

R.

Dear R.

I know of the place, and the time is agreeable to me. I shall be waiting for you. I look forward to meeting you in person, as I am certain you do as well. Until then...

S.

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