Dear Padfoot

Summary: Sirius writes Remus a letter telling him that he's spending the summer at James's house. Groveling ensues.

Warnings: slash pairing: don't like? Don't read. *There is a bit of offensive wording used towards the LGBT community. Please keep in mind that it was simply in the character and that those are not my true opinions.

Rating: T (Minor swearing)

Pairing(s): Wolfstar (aka Paradox's OTfuckingP)

Length: Drabble ()

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. We've already realized that I can't write multi chaps, do you think I can write seven 500 page books? I don't think so, darling!

Prompt: I was asked by the wonderful Elphie (booksdefygravity) to continue with Remus's reaction letter.

(NOTE: This is written in a style that may confuse you, as I basically answered/ commented on each paragraph by answering with a separate paragraph. Any mistakes are mine, as I have no beta!)

Dear Padfoot,

I'm glad to hear you are well, even though you have "joined the charcoaled embers of the damned". I, however, have not joined anything, unless there's a club for those who have slept in until two in the afternoon and done absolutely nothing in their summer holiday.

I am nearly one hundred percent certain that I sold my soul to the Devil the moment you and Prongs stepped into my compartment on the Hogwarts train, so I've grown quite accustomed to the fiery seats of hell.

Oh, wait don't tell me! I know your mother's tangents by heart. She mentioned that James's mother is a Muggleborn, called him a Half-Blood, called me a 'pouf', a 'dog', a 'mongrel' and she absolutely completely forgot to mention Peter because there is nothing wrong with him except for his weight, and she can't really say anything about that without sounding like a bloody hypocrite, can she? Oh, and she probably called the lot of us 'misfits' or something of the sort.

Yes, I am special, and I will think whatever I bloody well please!

Sirius, it is odd that you talk of your heroic acts when you went completely ballistic over that frog that jumped out of the lake last year. "Yes I'm Sirius fucking Black. I'm the most manly man around, but I snog boys and am absolutely terrified of frogs."

Oh, and what about the fact that you can't stand the taste of tea? I mean, what man who was born in Britain does not like the taste of tea?

No, but really. I will never understand your distrust in tea. It is completely unprecedented.

Yes, I know you don't know what that means.

No, I'm not going to tell you, Padfoot.

Go look it up.

Oh, yes, call the one who enables you to get above a T in every subject a peasant. That'll work out well for you in the end.

He admits it! Yes, Sirius, asking me to do things like, oh, I don't know, provoke Peeves or make (illegal!) potions - or a replica of a flying carpet for that matter- is incredibly selfish, and most definitely not devastatingly easy.

Padfoot, I have told you several times that you are not the male version of Mrs. Potter. Do. Not. "Darling". Me.

And my arse is not furry.

(And Padfoot, trust me, you're just as vain and conceited as the next git. There's nothing inhuman about you.)

The problem is that you are old prick and deserve nothing short of rotting in a hole until my dying days, but the image of Sirius Black rotting in a hole is quite enjoyable, so I think I'd have prolonged your lifetime, just in order to see you suffer.

Yes, I will get my ass down there.

Sometime in the near future.

By the way, Pete was not hiding in a hole, but in a garbage can when I found him. He still won't tell me why he was there, but I predict it was something to do with getting stuck in his rat form. (Good Lord, has he still not mastered the transformation yet? He's had such a long time!)

And no, Sirius, he did not crumble into ashes. Please try to be serious.

…No pun intended.

With love,

Remus

A/N: I have a headcanon that Sirius has an irrational distrust in tea. I don't know why, I just do.