(no subject)
Title: Dead Letters.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius.
Summary: Three different accounts of how they never got to tell one another they loved them.
i.
"Dear Sirius," he would write, curled up in the top corner of a piece of old parchment; and then he'd pause, because he never knew how to say it. The bed hurt his back when he let himself fall across it and the light sent a pleasant ache just behind his eyes that hurt in the way that reminded him he was definitely still alive.
"Dear Sirius," he would read aloud and bite his lip in frustration before kicking up off the mattress and pacing in circles around the thick persian rug across the room.
"Dear Sirius," he would start again and the ink would run as he collapsed against the back of the door.
"Dear Sirius," he would write, "I miss you."
ii.
After the war, boxes were packed up in stacks of names. Nobody wanted to move on almost as much as nobody dared think about who they'd lost. It was quick and it was rushed and it ached just under the skin, but nobody said a word because it was easier without the rush of nostalgia and the warm coffee.
They left Sirius's room until last, until Harry said it was okay, and the door stuck on a loose nail in the carpet that snagged at the frayed edge of an ornamental rug. They'd seen it before, of course they'd seen it before, but it was different knowing why they were there.
Cardboard boxes followed them and settled down against the wall as they folded clothes carefully and placed them at the very bottom. Molly's face was rather stony the entire time and Ginny was almost crying, but they pulled cases of books from under the bed and didn't give them a second glance.
They'd found a pair of Remus's jeans on the floor by the afternoon, and two of his old jackets in the wardrobe. But they clashed their teeth together and pressed them aside as if it were normal.
It was midnight when all of them collapsed into bed, and two am when Molly found herself still pulling furiously through old school things hidden away.
There was a ragged potions text in a bedside drawer with a note slipped carefully between the pages; "You left this in the dormitory. I don't know what you'd do without me sometimes. Love, Remus". It looked like it had been folded and scribbled on that many times it was barely comprehensible but for the hearts and lines and "really?" around the word 'love'.
She came across a flutter of loose photographs at the very back, and smiled when she saw the scruffy ties and untucked shirts. She shook her head. "God, you're gorgeous." it said on the back and she promptly stuffed it under a pair of old boots.
The letter was last, and it was almost worn; the ink blotchy and overused but still readable. She didn't want to look at first, she knew she shouldn't, but the first line was already in her head before she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Dear Remus," it read, "I wanted this to be simple and noncomposing but I can't think of a way to say it without dramatics. James doesn't know and Peter certainly doesn't know but I think you're the only one who has some certain degree of a right to. I'm not going to use fancy words or try and justify it or explain it away, because, frankly, it's what I've spent the past two years doing. And I don't think I'll even get up the nerve to send this despite having it all planned out in my head. The fact of the matter is, really, that I love you. I love you. I'm in love with you. And these feelings aren't going anywhere anytime soon. If you could possibly love me back, that'd be great. If not, well, I hope it helps you realise you really are worth it."
She blinked harshly past the words scribbled at end, "Always your, Sirius."
She handed it over dutifully to Harry the next morning with the rest of his stuff and grit her teeth together.
"I think this is the one thing you'll know about him that your father never did," she commented idly as she headed towards the stove.
Harry picked it up between shaking hands and nodded.
"Do you think he ever knew?" he asked, just before the kitchen started filling up, "Remus, I mean."
She closed her eyes as she stirred the porridge before saying softly, "I think," she paused, "He figured it out long before Sirius didn't send that letter."
"They're together now," Harry blurted out before he could clamp his lips shut, she turned to look at him but didn't smile, "I -- I saw them. With my mum and dad."
"They looked happy," he nodded, "And young."
"They looked happy."
iii.
Remus stood near the doors on the train, and it was familiar but it ached; his bones didn't twist up into his muscles like they used to but his heart still pounded restlessly and his hands still held a bare shake. It was crowded, or it started off crowded, and he didn't dare look around in fear of who he may see. He'd already spotted little Colin Creevey slumped on a seat, alone, with tears dripping down his cheeks. And he'd wanted to go to him, he'd wanted to go to Fred too but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the thick green scenery before him. It was just like he remembered.
He saw them, crowded around a bench in Hogsmeade station, and his throat went dry. He saw them before the train arrived and he scrambled for the release button. Nobody tried to stop him but they didn't slow down. Sirius turned then and looked directly at him through the frosted glass of the carriage window. And they both smiled.
"I need to get off," he mumbled, "I need to get off."
"This isn't your stop," a voice echoed through the loudspeakers above, and it was deep and gentle and hissing all at once, "This is the time, Remus Lupin, where you loved him."
He nodded but didn't say a word.
"This," the voice said again as they pulled up to what looked like a little village with trees thick and bushy and overgrown surrounding the small station, "This," the voice repeated and he could feel the vibrations down the wall, "Is where he loved you back."
And Sirius was standing there, James and Lily fading into silhouettes in the background. But it was him. And he was as beautiful as Remus remembered him. The doors swung open and his words caught in his throat.
He ran before he had chance to get hold of himself and slung his arms around Sirius's neck tightly.
"I missed you," he mumbled against his neck and he felt Sirius's arm slide around him and squeeze just as hard; "God, I missed you so much." His fingers tightened and gripped Sirius's shirt and their cheeks pressed together damply and his pulse was racing between his temples.
"Moony?" Sirius asked as he pulled back just enough to breathe.
Remus nodded and couldn't help the grin on his face as the train chugged back along the track.
"Remus," Lily smiled and he had three pairs of arms around him suddenly and one pair of lips.
"Welcome home," Sirius breathed against his ear and he felt shivers knot down his spine; "Welcome home."
A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered because the person to whom it was written cannot be found and it also cannot be returned to the person who wrote it.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius.
Summary: Three different accounts of how they never got to tell one another they loved them.
i.
"Dear Sirius," he would write, curled up in the top corner of a piece of old parchment; and then he'd pause, because he never knew how to say it. The bed hurt his back when he let himself fall across it and the light sent a pleasant ache just behind his eyes that hurt in the way that reminded him he was definitely still alive.
"Dear Sirius," he would read aloud and bite his lip in frustration before kicking up off the mattress and pacing in circles around the thick persian rug across the room.
"Dear Sirius," he would start again and the ink would run as he collapsed against the back of the door.
"Dear Sirius," he would write, "I miss you."
ii.
After the war, boxes were packed up in stacks of names. Nobody wanted to move on almost as much as nobody dared think about who they'd lost. It was quick and it was rushed and it ached just under the skin, but nobody said a word because it was easier without the rush of nostalgia and the warm coffee.
They left Sirius's room until last, until Harry said it was okay, and the door stuck on a loose nail in the carpet that snagged at the frayed edge of an ornamental rug. They'd seen it before, of course they'd seen it before, but it was different knowing why they were there.
Cardboard boxes followed them and settled down against the wall as they folded clothes carefully and placed them at the very bottom. Molly's face was rather stony the entire time and Ginny was almost crying, but they pulled cases of books from under the bed and didn't give them a second glance.
They'd found a pair of Remus's jeans on the floor by the afternoon, and two of his old jackets in the wardrobe. But they clashed their teeth together and pressed them aside as if it were normal.
It was midnight when all of them collapsed into bed, and two am when Molly found herself still pulling furiously through old school things hidden away.
There was a ragged potions text in a bedside drawer with a note slipped carefully between the pages; "You left this in the dormitory. I don't know what you'd do without me sometimes. Love, Remus". It looked like it had been folded and scribbled on that many times it was barely comprehensible but for the hearts and lines and "really?" around the word 'love'.
She came across a flutter of loose photographs at the very back, and smiled when she saw the scruffy ties and untucked shirts. She shook her head. "God, you're gorgeous." it said on the back and she promptly stuffed it under a pair of old boots.
The letter was last, and it was almost worn; the ink blotchy and overused but still readable. She didn't want to look at first, she knew she shouldn't, but the first line was already in her head before she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Dear Remus," it read, "I wanted this to be simple and noncomposing but I can't think of a way to say it without dramatics. James doesn't know and Peter certainly doesn't know but I think you're the only one who has some certain degree of a right to. I'm not going to use fancy words or try and justify it or explain it away, because, frankly, it's what I've spent the past two years doing. And I don't think I'll even get up the nerve to send this despite having it all planned out in my head. The fact of the matter is, really, that I love you. I love you. I'm in love with you. And these feelings aren't going anywhere anytime soon. If you could possibly love me back, that'd be great. If not, well, I hope it helps you realise you really are worth it."
She blinked harshly past the words scribbled at end, "Always your, Sirius."
She handed it over dutifully to Harry the next morning with the rest of his stuff and grit her teeth together.
"I think this is the one thing you'll know about him that your father never did," she commented idly as she headed towards the stove.
Harry picked it up between shaking hands and nodded.
"Do you think he ever knew?" he asked, just before the kitchen started filling up, "Remus, I mean."
She closed her eyes as she stirred the porridge before saying softly, "I think," she paused, "He figured it out long before Sirius didn't send that letter."
"They're together now," Harry blurted out before he could clamp his lips shut, she turned to look at him but didn't smile, "I -- I saw them. With my mum and dad."
"They looked happy," he nodded, "And young."
"They looked happy."
iii.
Remus stood near the doors on the train, and it was familiar but it ached; his bones didn't twist up into his muscles like they used to but his heart still pounded restlessly and his hands still held a bare shake. It was crowded, or it started off crowded, and he didn't dare look around in fear of who he may see. He'd already spotted little Colin Creevey slumped on a seat, alone, with tears dripping down his cheeks. And he'd wanted to go to him, he'd wanted to go to Fred too but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the thick green scenery before him. It was just like he remembered.
He saw them, crowded around a bench in Hogsmeade station, and his throat went dry. He saw them before the train arrived and he scrambled for the release button. Nobody tried to stop him but they didn't slow down. Sirius turned then and looked directly at him through the frosted glass of the carriage window. And they both smiled.
"I need to get off," he mumbled, "I need to get off."
"This isn't your stop," a voice echoed through the loudspeakers above, and it was deep and gentle and hissing all at once, "This is the time, Remus Lupin, where you loved him."
He nodded but didn't say a word.
"This," the voice said again as they pulled up to what looked like a little village with trees thick and bushy and overgrown surrounding the small station, "This," the voice repeated and he could feel the vibrations down the wall, "Is where he loved you back."
And Sirius was standing there, James and Lily fading into silhouettes in the background. But it was him. And he was as beautiful as Remus remembered him. The doors swung open and his words caught in his throat.
He ran before he had chance to get hold of himself and slung his arms around Sirius's neck tightly.
"I missed you," he mumbled against his neck and he felt Sirius's arm slide around him and squeeze just as hard; "God, I missed you so much." His fingers tightened and gripped Sirius's shirt and their cheeks pressed together damply and his pulse was racing between his temples.
"Moony?" Sirius asked as he pulled back just enough to breathe.
Remus nodded and couldn't help the grin on his face as the train chugged back along the track.
"Remus," Lily smiled and he had three pairs of arms around him suddenly and one pair of lips.
"Welcome home," Sirius breathed against his ear and he felt shivers knot down his spine; "Welcome home."
A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered because the person to whom it was written cannot be found and it also cannot be returned to the person who wrote it.