A/N: Wow, I haven't written in a long time. I've been so busy with university, and then I had some issues where I didn't know where to take this story. But since it's been 7 years since Deathly Hallows was released, I wanted to put something up. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. I hope I'll be writing more frequently.

30 June 1975

Remus-

I'm sorry about all the shit I put you through and everyone else. Really. I've been in a ward for a few days now and I can't have visitors-not that you would visit. But I'm okay. It's not so bad. The first day I had a headache from hell. And I was really dehydrated so they keep me hydrated with water. I haven't heard from anyone.

People want me to talk about what happened and I can't. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to bitch about my depressing life to complete strangers. They want me to go to support sessions and talk about my dad and talk about so much bullshit.

I drank too much and it was an accident and that's all there is to it. I'm not suffering from a mental breakdown. I'm fine.

I'm hoping to get out of this place soon. I don't know if that will happen, but ah well.

I've taken to calling this place The Resort. Fitting.

Please write me.

-Sirius.

3 July 1975

Remus-

I have struck a deal with one of the people in charge. I don't have to TALK ABOUT IT if I write it down. So I might write to you, if that's okay. You don't have to write back. I know you're busy and I know what I did was kind of fucked up.

I'm sorry.

I think that's one of the first times I've ever apologised, so I think that counts for something. Life in The Resort is okay. I wake up at 7 and after a few wailings from the other guests, we shower, not together, or anything, but we have this line and in a way it's kind of like being back at Hogwarts, only James doesn't take all the hot water. After that, they make sure our beds are made and a nurse will tell me that I'm a good little boy because I'm surprisingly not messy. I don't get where people have this idea that I'm horribly unkempt, but I suspect it has to do with the hair, and the fact that my rooms always smell like leather, booze, and nicotine. So I guess, me.

But anyway, we get breakfast, and it's nice. Most of us don't really talk, which is good. Because a lot of people talk about depressing things and I just want to stare out the fucking window and imagine escaping. But I don't.

I sit there. I don't talk. Except for when I have to say how I'm feeling. And then I have to say my goal for the day. At first this was kind of rough. Apparently you can't feel fine. Apparently on a scale of one to ten, you aren't allowed to feel a fucking five. But sometimes I'm in the middle. And you aren't allowed to say that you are good, even when you are having a good day. You have to say you feel sad, or happy, or some other word. You can't ever just be okay. You are allowed to feel content though.

I think it's kind of fucked up in a way though. Like, I'm supposed to learn how to deal with my feelings and I'm supposed to learn how to deal with them in a way that doesn't involve copious amounts of alcohol. I'm supposed to learn how to cope from these vices that have gripped me tight and won't let go.

I might be a bit dramatic though.

I haven't had a cigarette in ten fucking days so I'm feeling like a three at the moment.

I'm okay.

I hope you are too.

-Sirius.

5 July 1975

Moony.

I'm allowed visitors now, which is kind of nice. And I've apparently gained some weight because I've just been sitting here in pyjamas all day long. I've learned how to knit. If I was suicidal when they brought me in. Which I wasn't.

I just. I don't know.

I couldn't think. I don't know. I can't piece it all together. I way too fucking drunk to understand my state of mind at the time of the incident. But anyway, if I was suicidal, them giving me knitting needles seems a good sign. They're made out of bamboo though so I don't think I could do too much damage with them.

But I wouldn't, anyway.

Regulus said he might visit.

Not holding my breath.

Mum and Dad are coming later. I'm excited to see them, of course.

James and Peter are coming tomorrow. I'll probably see James today though.

My legal guardians are not coming. I haven't heard from them. I don't fucking want to, though.

I've been thinking about it, though. The night I left for the last time. He was drinking scotch. For all his bullshit about muggleborns, he was drinking scotch. I might have to drink a different liquor now.

Actually, I've been advised not to drink for a while. Probably for the best.

I'm not an alcoholic though, so I don't know why everyone's got their knickers in a twist. I just went over the limit, and that happens.

I've been reading a lot here. Finished Crime and Punishment the first day I was allowed out of bed. I think that was the day I wrote you the first time, but dates get a bit muddled in here. I re-read Pride and Prejudice. Don't laugh, Remus. Darcy and Elizabeth are eternal. My roommate was reading Les Miserables, so I started it. I want to marry Enjloras.

This has been a bit of a long letter, but I just finished lunch and I've got some down time before I talk to this Healer and he asks me if I want anything to help my anxieties and I say I'm not fucking anxious. I don't have to lay on a couch, though.

-Padfoot

8 July 1975

My Dear Moony-

I saw the family and I saw Peter. They said that you've been busy. Not to worry, I'm good. We had a nice visit. I went to take a nap yesterday because I wasn't expecting any visitors, and Reg did stop by.

He didn't stay long. I could feel a wall between us and I couldn't get through. But he came, so there's that.

We didn't talk much. I was already in bed and I was having a cold spell, and I guess the lack of nicotine and other vices were kind of hitting me. So it was a bad afternoon. I looked worse than I felt. Anyway, I was already in bed and I had the blanket over me, but I was sitting up reading. I'm almost done with Les Mis. So in comes Reg and I start to get up, because it's rude to lay in your fucking pyjamas and I felt awkward being in this hospital bed in this treatment centre thing.

So Reg says to just stay in bed because I looked absolute shite. And I just kept feeling like the biggest fuckup ever.

He told me to take care.

Take care. I kind of hate that phrase. I mean, I'm obviously trying to do the best I can. But I'm an heir to this estate I don't want and I've got parents I don't want, and they don't want me. It's not like I asked to be brought into this world. And then there's Reg. The darling boy. The spare. But the actual heir. We all know it.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't been born at all and it would have saved everyone this hell.

But then I think, fuck. I've got a great family and who needs them. You make your own family. You go your own way. And they're gonna regret it someday. I'm gonna be great. I don't need them.

I probably sound like a twat.

I might be getting out. I'll keep you posted.

-Padfoot

15 July 1975

Sirius.

I've gotten your letters. I should have written sooner. I'm sorry. It's hard for me to watch, or read. It's hard when I see my mother drinking every day and then I saw you drinking every day. But I'm glad you are doing better. I think you do have a drinking problem, though. So it is probably best that you are getting help.

On the one hand, I completely understand your hesitation and your lack of wanting to talk about it. I've been sent to therapy a few times to talk about my furry little problem, and I've found that it just depresses me. But on the other hand, I think there is something that you need to talk about, and that is what happened. You need to learn how to piece it together.

I know you probably don't want to hear that and you are probably not asking for my advice, so that's all I have to say about it.

Sirius, so many people love you and care about you. And I know we don't say that all the time, but we do love you dearly. And the world would be an absolutely terrible place without you. I hope to never have to experience a world with you not in it.

Life here is okay. I'm okay. I'm glad you are okay.

You might be a morning person after all. I've been waking up at 9 most days. I don't start my day with a shower. Who would have thought Sirius Black would be more disciplined than me? I jest. We all know you are the clean one. Your disheveledness is all an illusion.

I do start my day with reading the Prophet. Are you allowed to read it in the Resort?

I've also found a summer job working in a library. I catalogue the books once they've been returned. It's wonderful and there is air conditioning. I still can't believe you have read Crime and Punishment, and you've finished it twice before I have read it. I'm still working my way through, but I'm almost to the end.

I don't understand why some people think you are so dumb.

It's a lie your guardians have clearly been spreading.

Do not believe it.

I saw some ducks by my pond the other day. Thought of you.

I do wish you well. I know you don't like the phrase take care. But I do hope you are doing well. I think maybe that's what some people mean when they say take care. They know you are trying, so they mean to keep trying.

Maybe I'm just trying to give your brother the benefit of the doubt.

-Moony.

Remus almost hated himself for writing it. He had said that he would not write back. He had wanted to keep that promise. But Sirius needed him to respond, and he knew he had to. He almost hated himself because he had been distant, cold, and now the words sounded a bit fake.

He added a post script: We do need to talk about things when you do get out. We can't just pretend this never happened, whether it was a suicide attempt or just an accident. We can't just move on and not deal with this. You're learning to cope. I need to learn how to deal with it, too.

22 July 1975.

Remus-

I fucked up. I fucked up again and I'm sorry. I won't be getting out until probably right before the start of term. My actual father came to see me. I don't know what possessed him to come. But he brought me booze, and I got caught. So that prolonged my stay. I didn't even drink it, but the fact that I took it... I'm sorry. I was allowed to read the papers but now I'm back to no privileges, as they call them. I'm back to level one. I can't read my books. I can only go to group, and I can't have visitors for another week.

Mum and Dad are not happy about it. James is pissed. Peter just told me it's okay.

I guess there's also the issue of where I'm going to go once I do finally get out of here. I can't go back to Grimmauld Place and I can obviously go back to the Potters, but legally I'm in limbo. I'm not old enough to be on my own yet, and the Potters are not my guardians legally. So, I might just be here until term starts.

Maybe it's a good thing I fucked up, then.

I hate feeling like the kid stuck with two sets of parents in a divorce, like I'm being bartered. I know none of this is anyone's fault but my own. Still.

I won't write for a while. I need time to actually process this shit and ask myself why I'm such a fucking moron sometimes.

-Sirius.

Remus stood with shaking hands as he read this last letter. He wasn't even upset for the reason that Sirius took booze from his father. He was upset because his father clearly did not give an actual shit about him. Sirius was locked up in a ward because his family could not give him the love he deserved. They could not understand him. They could not accept him. And his father knew that he had drank himself to oblivion, to the point of alcohol poisoning, and he still gave him booze. Like it meant nothing.

Like Sirius meant nothing.

It was injustice.

Remus wrote one last letter. It contained a single sentence: You deserve better.