CHAPTER FOURTEEN: LETTERS

The silence between Flora and Regulus was unlike any silence before. They'd argued plenty of times in the past and given each other the silent treatment for hours, but never for days on end like this. In this case, the silence was one-sided. Regulus would have talked to Flora if she didn't so swiftly leave the room when he walked in, shutting him down before he could even open his mouth. The best opportunity was at dinner time — or it would have been, for even here Flora had found a way of avoiding him by cooking earlier than normal, eating her meal first and fast, and then leaving Regulus' meal on the table for him to find while she went outside to garden. She sometimes left the door open so his meal would go cold faster. When Regulus caught on to this, he started to come down earlier, but Flora would simply go upstairs to her bedroom to eat. She knew it was a little petty, but she was determined to make her point and feelings known.

Of course, it was unavoidable that they would have to see each other sometimes: in the hallway when one of them was coming out or going into the bathroom, making tea or snacks in the kitchen, and so forth. When Regulus did stumble upon a chance to speak to her, such as when she was watching television in the living room (she could never miss her television period drama) her stony face and refusal to look in his direction made him lose courage. She was impassable. But then, he knew, he deserved it. This silent torture was his punishment.

Remus visited his sister nearly every evening, bearing chocolate and small gifts of books and magazines to cheer her up. Flora even once managed to convince him to take her to the cinema one afternoon. Regulus was firmly excluded, sometimes shut out of the room entirely. He would often hear them playing music, laughing together. Sirius didn't visit at all, showing his disapproval by avoiding his younger brother altogether.

"You can stay with us for a while, if you want to," Remus said to Flora one evening. They were in the living room listening to David Bowie singles, which had been charmed by Remus to flip over or change when each song ended.

Flora looked at her brother in surprise. "Come to London?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "The flat is protected like the house here is. And I'd be happier having you where I can see you."

"I'm eighteen, not five, Remus. And your flat is too small anyway. It only has, well, one bedroom… doesn't it?" she gave him a brief, meaningful look and then glanced downward.

Remus also looked down, staring into a cup of tea he was holding with both hands. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of it. "We'd figure it out," he eventually mumbled. "I can enlarge the sofa easily."

They lapsed into silence for a long moment. Flora softly cleared her throat. "Where do you and Sirius sleep?"

"Huh?"

"You and Sirius. Do you share a room?"

Remus wouldn't look at her as he answered, his face growing slightly red. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"Just a room?"

"We have separate beds, Flora," he frowned, reluctantly lifting his eyes to hers. "What're you trying to ask?"

"Nothing," Flora felt her courage faltering.

Remus' attention turned to the coffee table where a purple Cadburys tin was sitting on the edge, just out of reach unless he sat up and reached over. He waved his wand. "Accio biscuit tin."

"So lazy," Flora tutted.

Remus gave her a lopsided smile as he shoved a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. "Want one?"

She shook her head, watching him for a moment. "If I come to London, will I be safe?"

"Course you will. It's protected. The only reason I don't have you there now is because its too small… but for a short while, to get away from the little fascist upstairs, maybe it will be good for you."

"Why can't you do some magic to make it bigger on the inside? Remember like that tent you had when we went camping?"

"It's not that easy, Flo," he replied, taking another biscuit, "That's an advanced spell and it's strictly controlled by the Ministry."

"Oh."

"Sirius said it would be okay if you came to stay for a bit."

"You mean you've already talked about it?"

"Yeah," he looked at her again, this time with a directness in his eyes. "I was fuming about what Regulus said, you know? And that you heard him. If we move you out of the way for a while, maybe we can find somewhere else for him to hide, and then you can have the house to yourself again."

Flora's stomach twisted uncomfortably at this suggestion. "You don't need to do that, Remus. It's fine, really."

"It's not fine," he frowned. "He's a little prick and you're too kind to him."

"I am not!" Flora objected indignantly. "I've been ignoring him for days."

"You still cook his dinner. If it were me, I'd let him starve."

"No, you wouldn't," Flora rolled her eyes. She reached forward and snatched the biscuit tin from him. "And stop eating all the biscuits."

"What does he do all day, anyway?"

"Regulus?"

"Who else?"

She shrugged. "God knows. He hides in his room usually."

"Little creep."

"You know," Flora began, fidgeting with the fringe on the sofa cushion, "We were actually starting to get along before all this happened. He taught me how to waltz and he…he tried to comfort me the other day when I was upset."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Did he?"

"Mmm…" she nodded, her eyes cast downwards. "He could be alright sometimes."

"What were you upset about?"

Flora paused, thinking quickly. "Just something he said, as usual. He felt sorry."

"Felt sorry?" Remus scoffed. "It didn't look like he had any remorse when he said what he said to me."

"He's weird. He can do and say the worst things and then somehow find a way to redeem himself," Flora frowned, continuing to pick at the cushion edge.

"Because he's manipulative. He's a slippery little creep. Even when I first met him, when he was a first year at Hogwarts, he was as unpleasant as anything. He somehow got in all the teacher's good books and never got caught for all the nasty tricks he and his friends played."

"Tricks?"

"Setting Boggarts loose, picking on smaller kids, trying to get Sirius into trouble… which never worked, by the way. I don't think he was the mastermind behind most of it, but he was still always there."

Flora considered this piece of information, trying to imagine what kind of a student Regulus was at school. Flora had spent the better half of her school life at home, taught by her mother, so she had very little to compare by. But she knew enough to know he would have been thoroughly unpleasant, possibly even a bully, unless you fit in with his pureblood status and ideas.

"Did he… did he ever have girlfriends?" Flora found herself asking suddenly. She wasn't quite sure where the question came from and felt a little embarrassed to have asked. Luckily, Remus didn't appear to think too much into the telling question.

"One or two," he shrugged. "I expect his mother had some marriage arranged for him, so he never really dated casually."

"Marriage?" She blinked.

"She would've married Sirius off too, but he got out before she could try it."

"Do their family really arrange marriages for them? Like in novels?"

"It's common with pureblood families."

Flora wasn't sure why this information surprised her, but ultimately it softened her a little to Regulus. It didn't excuse what he'd said, not by any measure, but she considered for the first time that she was dealing with a boy who had been fed extreme ideologies that were very hard to shake off, a boy who was expected to do certain things, act a certain way, just to make his family happy. She felt a little sorry for him.

Remus' attention meant a lot to Flora, for she'd seen so little of him since the war started. She so often grew listless in the house, suffocated by the literal restrictions placed around her. Since growing used to Regulus' company, variable as it so often may be, she had been feeling lonelier than ever. Day after day passed without a word, passing each other by like they were invisible. Even a silly argument was more desirable than the tension that currently lay between them. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction and to that she remained resolved, for he had insulted her so greatly. She could see he was squirming and she was glad of it.

And Regulus really was squirming. Tormented by her scorn, he had to speak to her. He wanted to apologise. Apologising had once been so alien to him, and now it seemed he found himself apologising to Flora all the time. But knowing the gravity of what he had said, he feared words would not suffice. He could not imagine what he could possibly say to her, how he would explain himself, especially as now she wouldn't even give him the time of day.

On the seventh consecutive day of silence, a whole week, Regulus decided a letter was the best course of action. He couldn't let this go on any longer. He was an articulate writer, and so, sitting on his bed one evening, he began a mammoth task of crafting this letter. He sat with his long legs tucked up, with an array of parchment scattered around him. He chewed on the end of his quill pen, then plunged straight into a stiff, conventional apology—

'Dear Flora,

Please allow me to apologise for what I said the other day. I spoke out of anger and didn't mean it.'

He paused here and reread it. He rubbed his face and sighed heavily, then scratched over the words. Too formal, he thought, and it sounded insincere, like when a child is forced to apologise with their mother looking over their shoulder. He started again—

'Flora,' it began without the previous formality, 'Please forgive me. I'm sorry. The truth is, I felt provoked by your brother and said things I didn't mean.' He again paused, reading it back carefully, trying to imagine how it may sound to Flora. Though it had more feeling, it was too self-protective. He again scratched it out and sat back, thinking. His mind drifted. He was thinking of her again, pretending for a moment that all had been forgiven between them and she was wrapped in his arms. He didn't normally imagine kissing her; usually, his mind cut straight to the essence of the fantasy — his head between her legs, her underneath him, on top of him, in front of him, on her knees. Now suddenly he was gripped with the fantasy of kissing her, touching her gently, slowly. As it happened, he could hear Flora in her room at the end of the hall. She'd moved her record player and all three boxes of vinyl records upstairs and was playing her music loudly; a woman with a quivering, high-pitched voice was singing about Wuthering Heights and Heathcliff, whatever that was. Flora would probably have taken the television upstairs with her too if she could. Regulus looked back the page in front of him, pulled a fresh sheet of parchment out and rapidly began writing—

'Flora,

please forgive me. I don't mean to do wrong and regret what I said from the borrow of my heart. every night, I dream of you and that's the truth. I dream of your hot mouth wrapped around my cock sucking me off and my head between your legs licking your wet cunt ravenously with your hands tangled in my hair and thighs squeezed around my ears. you moaning writhing mewling.

He broke off here, staring at the obscenities he had just written. He half smiled to himself, feeling rather proud of himself, and set the paper aside, folding it. He then took a breath and wrote—

Flora,

Please forgive me. I cannot stand this silence between us. Please rage at me, insult me, call me an ass. Anything. I don't mean to do wrong and I deeply regret what I said from the bottom of my heart. I never meant it. It was Remus I wanted to hurt, not you. Please can you find it in yourself to forgive me?

Regulus

He read it back to himself, feeling satisfied, then stretched and let out a heavy breath through his nose. He folded the letter and put it aside for the moment, distracted by an urge to urinate. He got up and left the room, crossing the hall to the bathroom. Flora's music seemed even louder now. He took this time in the bathroom to deliberate on how he would deliver the letter to her. Knock on her door and hand it to her himself? Or push it under the door and retreat? As he finished in the bathroom and walked back to his room, he decided the less confrontational manner was the better option. He would push it under her bedroom door. Perhaps it was a little cowardly, he thought, but he was afraid that if he knocked she would ignore him or refuse to take the letter. He wanted to do this quickly, get it over with. Perhaps by this evening, he hoped, they would at least be talking again.

He snatched up the letter and determinedly walked the few feet to Flora's bedroom door. He pushed it under the crack of her door, certain he had pushed it with enough force to send it sailing across the floor and get her immediate attention. As he turned to walk away, he heard a slight creak of movement as she (he imagined) turned her body to see what had disturbed her solitude. His heart was thudding, and his mind replayed the words he had written to her— forgive me… I never meant it… deeply regret… hands tangled in my hair…my cock … your cunt…

He froze. In the short seconds it took him to reach his bedroom, horror suddenly gripped his heart as he realised he never checked which letter he'd just pushed under her door. With sickened panic settling in his stomach, he rushed to the scattered papers on his bed, looking around wildly for the one he had folded up neatly. He found it sitting innocuously on his pillow and picked it up with baited breath, just at the same time Flora's bedroom door flew open. He didn't need to read the letter in his hand to know. But he read it anyway, his eyes scanning hopelessly for the obscenities he knew were not in this letter, but were in the hands of Flora. He heard her like a thunder storm, arriving suddenly in his doorway with his letter clenched tightly in her fist. She was livid, every bit as furious as he'd dreaded.

"Flora," he started at once, stepping towards her with her hand outstretched for the letter. "You weren't meant to read that," he said in a rush, his eyes wide.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" She replied, her voice half raised.

"No," he said at once, shaking his head, "No, no. I don't… you weren't meant to… I didn't mean to…" he trailed off in confusion. "Flora, give me the letter."

Flora took a step back as he came nearer, still gripping the letter tightly, her eyes blazing with anger. "It wasn't enough for you to insult me? You're depraved, Regulus."

Regulus moved in on her swiftly, his hand grabbing for the letter. In an attempt to dodge him, Flora turned around so she was in his bedroom and Regulus in the hallway.

"That wasn't the letter you were supposed to read!" Regulus tried again, speaking fast. "This… this letter here," he strode back into his room and snatched up the intended letter, brandishing it in front of her face. "This is the one you were meant to read."

Flora was standing by his chest of drawers, her arms folded with the incriminating letter tucked away. "Oh, and what's that one say?" She replied with venomous sarcasm. "'Sorry I called you a beast. Please do my washing.'"

Regulus felt his face burning with shame. Even though she'd read the letter, he was determined to get it back. In one quick stride, he closed in on her, moving so suddenly that she had no choice but to step backwards against the chest of drawers. It was a great oak piece with metal handles that rattled as Flora bumped into it. She knocked over several bottles of toiletries. They were now standing inches apart, close enough she could see the freckles on his nose and cheeks.

"Give me that letter," he pleaded.

Flora was caught off guard by his sudden proximity. Her back was pressed against the hard edge of the drawers, her arms now unfolded and hanging at her sides with the letter dangling from her hand, but she refused to yield. Her eyes were locked on his, defiant and fiery. Regulus leaned in closer to her, their bodies almost pressed flush against each other. He could feel the rise and fall of Flora's chest as she took in quick, deep breaths. His hand twitched for the letter; his fingers brushed the edges, but Flora didn't draw back this time. His eyes were fixed on hers. He understood suddenly why she wanted to keep the letter. It was her power; she wanted to humiliate him, emasculate him, to drive him to such depths he would grovel and squirm at her feet and beg for her forgiveness. And he knew he would do it. His fingers now gripped the edges of the paper more firmly, to which Flora responded by sharply pulling it away. He instead grabbed her wrist, not hard, not like before, but with a gentle firmness.

His eyes shifted down to her mouth, her small, pretty mouth, which was presently contorted with tight disapproval. He quickly tore his eyes away.

"Flora, it was a mistake," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.

"A mistake?"

"What I said… and that letter…" he answered. "I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean what? What you said in the letter? Or what you called me?"

They stared each other in confusion. Regulus could not admit he meant every word of that letter and so hung his head, lowering his gaze uncertainly for a moment before bringing his eyes back to hers.

"Please, just… read the letter I meant for you to read," he said.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

Regulus stared at her pleadingly, feeling like a kicked dog. Words clearly weren't going to change anything. He longed to take her in his arms, to cover her with kisses, hold her, soothe her. These thoughts were dashed to pieces when she spoke again.

"I'm leaving," she said, turning her head aside. Her tone was very matter-of-fact and she tugged her wrist out of his grasp.

Regulus blinked. "What?"

"I'm leaving," she repeated, lifting her cold eyes to his again. "You can stay here. I'm going to stay with Remus and Sirius in London."

Regulus felt like he'd been slapped. In fact, he'd have preferred being slapped to hearing this. He stared at Flora, stunned by her finality. "But… you can't leave. You can't. What about the wards and the protection and—"

"I'll be just as safe in London. Their home is protected. And anyway," she glared, "Isn't that what you wanted? Peace and quiet away from me?"

Regulus opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find anything to say. Flora continued, "Sirius says him or Clem will come cook meals and clean for you, unless they can find a house elf to borrow."

Regulus swallowed thickly. "Will you come back?"

"When I feel like it, maybe."

"But-but their flat is too small! Where will you sleep? What about all your books and things?"

"Why does it concern you?" She snapped back.

He didn't know how to answer. He felt this was unfair, that she would leave him here alone at the height of so much emotion, with so many questions, so many unsaid words.

"I don't want you to go," he said a little pathetically.

"That's not what I understood when I heard you talking to Remus."

"I never meant what I said! I wanted to make him angry and I said that and I don't know why," he said in a confused rush.

He grabbed her suddenly, catching hold of her elbows, but she just as quickly pushed him away and knocked him back a few steps. "What is the matter with you? You call me a beast, an animal, then you dare try and comfort me? And vice-versa, for that matter."

"Flora, please. Please don't go."

They both stood still, regarding one another. Even in her anger, she looked so beautiful; and Regulus in his despair, with all his insolent aristocratic airs abandoned, was suddenly a boy with soft, gentle eyes and loving hands that Flora felt she could melt into if he touched her again.

"Why not?" She challenged in a tone slightly more calm.

"Because… I couldn't bear it if you left," he murmured, glancing down. "Even if just for a short while. This entire week of silence has been painful."

Flora's anger had slowly given way to something between resignation and sympathy. She suddenly felt sorry for him again, pained by the thought of leaving him alone here. Regulus looked at her again, gazing through his long eye lashes. He took an uncertain step towards her, like he was approaching a rabbit that would spring back any second. She looked at him, her eyes still scornful, but she didn't throw him back this time.

"You hate me," Flora said quietly, never dropping her gaze from his. It was a statement. A matter of fact.

Regulus shook his head. "No."

"You called me a beast."

"I didn't mean it," he said in a low voice, taking another step closer. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Their hearts were thudding. Regulus found her hands and he pulled the letter free from her fist, which had now loosened. He screwed it up and threw it aside. His eyes roved over her, taking in every aspect of her: the defiance in her eyes, her confusion, her anger, her desire. Flora took in a trembling, deep breath as he reached out and gently took hold of her hands again. She wanted to maintain her cool exterior, to hold onto her anger, but his closeness was intoxicating. She looked up into his eyes and he into hers, and both saw the cracks in the walls, the walls they had built around themselves falling apart. Regulus held onto her hands just lightly, tentatively, silently questioning whether she would take fright and pull away. She didn't move.

"Please don't go."

Flora's breath hitched softly in her throat. She wanted to resist, to push him away, but her resolve was weakening. Regulus felt the muscles in her hands and fingers soften as she relaxed them, letting them mould into his. He was a step away from closing the space between them. Their eyes were fixed on each other. He took that step closer and dropped his hold on her hands, tentatively taking hold of her hips instead. Their chests were pressed together, sharing a subtle warmth, feeling the rhythm of their hearts beating together.

"Don't…" Flora whispered, shrinking away.

"Why not?" He murmured.

"Because I'm still so angry with you."

"I was stupid. I'm sorry."

"It's best we stay apart for a while," she looked aside, downwards, suddenly unable to look at him. "It's for the best," she repeated, as though trying to convince herself more than him. "We've been stuck in this house together for too long and… and I expect we will both do something foolish if we don't give each other space."

"Foolish?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Her eyes subtly drifted over to the discarded letter at the foot of the bed. She straightened up and took a steady breath. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"Flora—"

"No," she said more firmly now, looking at him again. Her eyes darkened. She gently wormed her way free of him and stepped away. "I'm going. It's for the best. I'll say goodbye to you in the morning if you're up. But for now, goodnight."

Without waiting for his reply, she quickly left the room.

AN: this chapter with the letter misunderstanding was heavily inspired by Ian McEwan's novel Atonement. I hope you are enjoying this story! Feedback is always welcome.