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Dear Sirius,
Another short letter for you, but I’m (once again) running late for a doctor’s appointment. Yes, yes, I know. I can imagine your expression, though I’ve never seen your face in person. Isn’t that strange? There’s so much I want to say about your last letter. Your resilience is extraordinary, though it saddens me that you’ve had to learn to be so resilient. Remus Lupin P.S. — I’m enclosing another poem for you. I printed it out on the school’s printer, which is against the rules — don’t turn me in, will you? |
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Dear perpetually late Remus,
One of these days, I swear I will write my accountant and direct him to send you a new watch. I hope your appointment went well, by the way. Once again, you’ve found a poem that dragged emotions out of me that I wasn’t even conscious of possessing. How do you manage it? I keep rereading this passage: No one knows what the laws are. That there are laws we know, by the daily burnings if nothing else. It’s exactly what we’ve been talking about: the chaotic, unfair nature of everything. Sometimes, I feel like this is all a bad dream. Peter disappeared, and I’ve never known why. My parents died while I’ve been in here. My brother died. And I’m still trapped inside. None of it makes sense. None of it feels fair. I know it’s been twelve years, but I keep hoping they’ll find Peter’s body one of these days. The prosecution offered me a deal if I could only lead them to his body. If I could have helped, I would have. I would have liked to give Peter’s family some closure. And of course I’d like answers myself. I paid restitution to the Pettigrew family. I don’t know if I ever told you that. It was a part of my sentence, but I prefer not to think of it that way. It’s a donation. I didn’t kill their son, and I don’t know who did. But I want to help in any way I can. If I can make their loss a little more bearable… I don’t mind doing that. I’m human, too. I thought of taping the poem up in my cell, but I don’t want to share a gift from you with anyone else. I’m a possessive bastard. Keep sending me poems, no matter how depressing they are. Jealously yours, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. Don’t tempt me. I hear they’re sending folks to Azkaban for petty paper thefts these days. Or do you want to share a cell with yours truly? |
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Dear Remus,
Oh, I forgot to tell you in my last letter… The Azkaban library just got a new shipment of books, and wouldn’t you know, Wolf Moon was included. I know it’s the second in a series, but I don’t care. I’m going to read it. Wolfishly yours, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. I hope I didn’t scare you off. They don’t really send people to Azkaban for book thievery. |
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Dear Remus,
I hope I’m not bothering you by sending you another letter, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure you’re just busy. Anxiously yours, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 |
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Dear Sirius,
I’m sorry for disappearing. There’s no casual way to say this, but I was in hospital. I’m fine, though. Fine enough, at least. You’ve been honest with me from the start, and I feel I owe you the same. A confession for a confession. I’m sick. I’m not deathbed-sick, not yet, but I am ill enough to spend a lot of time around doctors. Remus Lupin P.S. — I’m not sure how much detail to give you. Do you believe in nominative determinism? |
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Dear Remus,
Christ, I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried. I’ve grown to expect letters from you each week. How are you doing, if you feel comfortable talking about it? Also, nominative determinism? If this is how you’re breaking the news to me that I’m pen pals with a werewolf… I wouldn’t mind, by the way. I think it would be quite a talking point, being best friends with a werewolf. Yours, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 |
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Dear Sirius,
I’m doing all right. Some days are better than others. I had to change a few of my medications, which is always a pain, but I’m starting to feel a little better. I’m not a werewolf, but you aren’t far off. I have a disease called lupus — a cruel joke by the universe, given my name. And it runs in families, so nearly all the Lupins have it. Or had it. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t suggested meeting in person. I can’t come to a jail, not with my immune system so fragile. I know it’s cowardly, but I can’t risk getting sick. Even a simple cold can knock me out for a few weeks. I can’t afford to miss any more work; I’m already at risk of losing my job due to my extensive absences. It’s not all bad, though. Lupus is what prompted me to write to you in the first place. I can’t get out much, not when I’m on heavy-duty immunosuppressants. I basically only go to and from my doctors’ appointments. When I was a child, I was in and out of hospital as well, but I had my parents at my side. They’re gone now, so my trips are a little lonelier. I wanted someone to talk to — someone who wouldn’t shame me when I have to cancel plans. I wouldn’t wish this condition on anyone, but I don’t want to view myself as a victim of circumstance. In many ways, I’m incredibly lucky. Medical care is getting better by the day. There might be a cure for me. Remus Lupin |
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Dear brave, incredible Remus,
I understand what you mean. I get angry sometimes at the randomness of the universe, its injustice. I used to tell myself I didn’t deserve this, but that seems to imply that someone else does. And no one deserves this. No one deserves what you’re going through, either. We don’t have to be the universe’s martyrs. We aren’t victims of circumstance, you and I. How about lovers of circumstance? Yours, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 |
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Dear Sirius,
Lovers of circumstance. That sounds like us. Yours, Remus Lupin |