Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simon

When I arrive back at my room after dinner, I see a pink envelope addressed to me sitting on my desk. At first, I assume that it's one of Baz’s pranks, because the letter definitely wasn't there earlier today. But then I remember that Baz isn't here anymore. He left Watford for the summer holidays already, yesterday morning.

“Do try to not get into too much trouble this summer,” Baz had said before he left with his packed bags. “The white hares this year were enough of a disaster.” He said it with his usual drawl, the one where I just know he’s rolling his eyes at me.

“Yeah? You could have helped.”

He raised his brow at me. “You wouldn't have wanted my help.”

“You're right. I wouldn't have,” I huffed. When he said nothing in reply, I glared at him. “Baz, I'll be fine. Nothing happens during the summers. I don't think the Humdrum likes sending monsters to the Normal world.” I don’t know why I bothered to be reassuring him, but I felt compelled.

He frowned. “Why do you let the mage do this to you every year?” His voice was low. Lower than normal, and dare I say, softer. Less venomous.

“Do what?”

“Abandon you. Force you out of the World of Mages. Throw you into random homes that don't give a fuck about you.”

“It's for my own good,” I grumbled.

“Is that what he tells you?” he asks without skipping a beat.

“Just because you hate him doesn't mean he has bad intentions.”

“And yet you come back every autumn term starved and rabid for food and magic.”

“How do you know that?”

Baz raised his voice back up, returning to his usual snarl. “I live with you.”

“So?”

“You wouldn't stop crying about it when you got back in second year. I had the displeasure of walking in on that.”

“But I haven't done that since!”

“Anyone can see your body withered to a shell. I’m sure Cook Pritchard and all the students do the moment you walk over to get food.”

“Oh, piss off!”

“Fine, I will!” he snarled. “See you in seventh year.”

And just like that, he left.

I hold the maybe-a-prank-but-maybe-not-a-prank pink envelope and glance around, just to make sure that there's no secret plot set up here. For a moment, I wonder if I should be opening it at all, but my curiosity gets the best of me, so I do.

Dear Simon,

I’m testing something out. I’ll be there shortly to explain.

— Penny

Before I even get a chance to be confused (or relieved), there’s a knock at the door. “Open up! It’s me!” Penny shouts from behind it. I open the door and she busts in, holding a small box under her arm. Her eyes immediately dart to the letter I’m holding. “Oh, good, it worked!”

“This thing?” I ask, holding it up.

“Yes. Then this all works out.” She’s doing the thing again where she’s talking as if I know exactly what she means, when in reality, it’s all still stuck in her head because she hasn’t told me anything yet.

“What does?”

Penny hands me a box of pink envelopes and a purple spiral notebook. “Since you won’t have a phone or a computer, I need to get a little creative if I want to remain in touch with you during the summer.”

“And these are…?”

“Love Letters — magicked envelopes that you can use to send letters to someone who loves you. Despite the name, it's not just for romantic lovers. My parents gave these to me because it’s faster than sending them letters by bird. And better yet, it won’t require you to risk using your magic on sending spells. They’re already prepared. You just put your letter in it, address it, and seal it with a kiss.”

“But Penny, the Mage always tells me I can't write to you over the holidays.”

“Then don't tell the Mage you're writing to me,” she says. “Why does he care? It's not like he checks up on you.”

“I can't disobey him like that.”

“Yes, you can.” She says it as if it's obvious. As if it were as easy as breathing.

“It's not that simple.”

“It could be.” She grabs one of my hands and clasps it in between both of hers. “Please, Simon,” she pleads. “Do it for me?”

I continue looking for an excuse to not have to lie to the Mage, because I don’t want him to get angry at me. “I thought magickal items were really difficult to make. There was this one time the Mage bewitched a key, and then he slept for a full day after that. It doesn’t seem like they’re things that we should be using lightly.”

“Right, but it depends on the magickal item itself and the spell needed. Keys are of great importance — they hold lots of power, endless possibilities, so keys tend to be one of the more difficult things to spell. This is just paper.”

“Does paper not also have endless possibilities? Cause it sure feels like it does.”

She practically pushes the box into my hands. “For snake’s sake, just take the Love Letters!”

“But these are supposed to be used between you and your parents. I can’t waste them like that.”

“Simon. These don’t belong to my parents. They belong to me. They were given to me. I get to choose how they’re used, and I’m choosing to let you use them.”

I sigh and resign myself, because I know she’ll never back down when she gets in a stubborn mood. “Fine,” I say, taking the box. “I'll… give it a try.”

“Wonderful. I've included my home address and the basic instructions I just told you in the box as well.”

“This is an awful lot of them.” They're placed upright in a neatly packed row. There must be at least fifty of them.

She shrugs. “I can get more. It's not a big deal.”

“And you can send them to anyone you love?”

“Other way around. Anyone who loves you, specifically. That's how they're supposed to work.”

“Does that mean you send these to Micah too?”

“No, they don’t seem to work with him. Every time I try, nothing happens. I think it’s because they struggle with getting through whatever the magickal equivalent of customs is.”

“What are customs?”

“It’s whatever Normals do to check international mail. Sometimes when I send him packages, like for his birthday, they get stuck.” She waves her hand, trying to get us back on topic. “Whatever, that's not important right now.” She takes my hands in hers again, even though I’m still holding the box she gave me. “Simon, promise me you'll keep in touch.”

“I will.”

“And if there's ever any trouble, you'll let me know immediately.”

“I will.”

She extends her pinky to me. “Pinky promise?”

I shift the weight of the box to balance it on one hand, freeing my other. I lock pinkies with Penny. “Pinky promise.”

We both feel my magic fill the room.

“Shit.” I let go and stumble backward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

She's grinning from ear to ear, looking smug. “No, this is great! It works in our favor, actually. Now, if the Mage gets upset about you sending me letters, tell him that there was no other choice. You forced yourself to do it.”

“I don’t think he’d be happy about that either! And now it becomes my fault instead of yours!”

“Then he’ll have to visit you himself and counterspell you. That’s not my problem.”

I groan, but we both know she's won this battle.

I arrive at the children’s home I’m assigned to this summer.

In the first few years, the Mage let me stay with foster families. At least one of them was an enjoyable experience, relatively speaking. But it’s a group home this time. I’m shown to the bedroom where I’ll be sleeping.

There are five other beds alongside mine. I'm used to sharing a room, so it's not a huge deal. If anything, I've never had a room all to myself before. It would be weirder if I weren’t sharing.

Though six boys in a room is a lot, more than normal. Summer homes make me miss my room at Murmurs where it's just me and Baz. (Not that I miss Baz).

I don’t have much to unpack. I already don’t own many things, and anything I do own, I just leave at Watford, because it’s not like I have anything useful I could use. I pour out the contents of my backpack onto the bed. My wand is the first thing to land on the mattress. I sweep it aside and push it under the pillow. And then, for good measure, I tuck it inside the pillowcase too, to make sure no one finds it.

Penny’s box is the last thing to fall out. The two of us tied a ribbon around it before I packed it so it would stay closed. My eyes are drawn to it, like a compulsion. I think it must be the pinky promise spell. There’s a tug in my chest. It’s a little uncomfortable. And if I’m remembering correctly, from Magic Words class, it’ll only get more and more uncomfortable until it turns into pain.

Might as well get this over with.

I rummage around some of the zippers until I find a pen within one of the pockets. With it, I neatly write the address she gave me on the front of the envelope:

Penelope Bunce
1A Rowell Road
Hounslow

I pull a piece of paper out of the notebook she gave me, and I begin to write.

Hi Penny. I'm trying out one of these Love Letters envelopes you gave me.

I settled into this year's children's home a few days ago. It’s fine, I guess. It's no worse than the one from last summer, but that one was so bad that it would be hard to beat it (in being worse) (the last one had that lady that thought I was a chain-smoker) (because she said I smelled like smoke) (I guess she’s not wrong).

It’s not much, but I figure it's enough to satisfy both Penny and the pinky promise. I seal the envelope shut and look around to make sure no one else is in the room watching me.

“Seal it with a kiss,” is what she said to do.

I kiss it awkwardly, and it disappears from my hands.

I realise that maybe I should have included the address of the home I'm in, but I don't actually know what the address is. I hope she can figure it out somehow, but if I don't hear back, I'll ask one of the adults and post her another letter.

And so, I wait.

It's late, and I'm about to go to sleep, when I hear a crinkle after laying my head on the pillow. I lift up the pillow. There's an envelope under it. It's a bit odd that it ended up under there, but Penny said something about how the whole point of the envelope is that it always finds its way to the receiver. I guess it needed to be somewhere where no one would steal or confiscate it.

The envelope has a red ink stamp on it, one that definitely wasn't there before, that says “Return to Sender”. Despite that, it’s still definitely the one I just sent out. It has Penny’s address written in my own handwriting.

I open it up, slowly and quietly. I'm sure someone hears me, but no one says anything. That's par for the course—you tend to ignore the other boys you share a room with. The sound of opening an envelope is probably one of the least offensive sounds to hear.

Inside the “return to sender” envelope, there is a fresh piece of paper. The writing is clean and beautiful. It puts my own handwriting to shame.

Dear Simon,

Clearly, your Penelope Bunce did not explain how to send your letter properly. The address has to be exact, and you forgot to include the postcode. If you write an incomplete address, your letter can end up with someone who is not your desired recipient.

Yours sincerely,
Someone who is not Penelope Bunce

Chapter Text

Simon

Hello. This is Simon again. Are you the not-Penny who just responded to my letter? Or are you actually Penny this time?

I send out my second letter, really hoping that it reaches Penny this time. It only takes about ten minutes to receive another reply.

Dear Simon,

Still not Penelope. If you keep forgetting to write her postcode (or fuck up any other part of her address) (or decide not to write an address at all), I'll keep getting these letters, which I assure you, you do not want.

I do what he tells me not to do and leave the address blank this time, partly to see if it ends up in the same place, partly because it feels weird writing out Penny’s address to someone who isn't Penny. (Is she going to be upset that a stranger knows her address? They've seen it twice by now. It’s already too late.)

You don't get to tell me what I want.

What's a postcode?

Is that a stupid question?

Dear Simon,

For Crowley’s sake, your friend told you to write to her, but then didn't bother teaching you how to properly format an address when posting to someone? And you have no idea what a postcode is?

I guess it is.

I double-check the envelope from the test letter that Penny sent me and read it carefully.

Simon Snow
Top of the Mummers House
Watford

There’s no postcode there, I think. That's the full address.

Penny sent one of these Love Letters to my room at Watford. I copied the way she did it. And it didn't have a postcode.

If Baz were here, I bet he’d know. And I bet he'd explain it to me, but in the most condescending way possible. I can almost hear him sigh in disappointment.

When I start thinking about Baz, I start thinking about Murmurs, and then I suddenly realise that I told this stranger that I have a room at Watford. I’m leaking personal information left and right. There are decent odds he knows who I am, chosen one and all that. How many Simons have there ever been at Watford anyway?

Merlin, this is going to get back to the Mage somehow. He’s going to find out, and then I’m going to get in trouble. I’m already starting to think of ways to make sure Penny doesn’t take the fall with me.

I think about stopping and giving up on all of this, but before I do, I check the folded-up paper where she wrote her address for me again, and I do notice a line I missed. Right at the bottom. “TW3 1YZ”. I must have skipped it because I didn't know what it was. Thought it wasn't that important. I didn't think it would end with my letter getting sent to a stranger.

Even though I know it’s a bad idea, I want to try one more time. I grab a new envelope and this time copy exactly what's on the paper, line by line. I start drafting a new letter for Penny when another “Return to Sender”-stamped envelope appears next to me. I open it up without hesitation.

Dear Simon,

A postcode is an alphanumeric code that designates the region for delivery. 

Watford doesn't have a postcode. Royal Mail doesn't deliver post to us. That's for Normals.

If your friend is still a student at Watford, you can use her Watford address if you'd like. The job of the Love Letter is to deliver itself to a specific person, not a specific place. Any address they could be living at will do.

Otherwise, if you want to use the address you originally tried to use, you would write it like:

Penelope Bunce
221B Rowell Road
Hounslow
TW3 1YZ

(I looked up her address on Google Maps. Apologies for breaching privacy.)

The pickiness over formatting is due to how this magic gets its power from Normals. Personally, I think it's inefficient and antiquated, and it leads to people like you getting letters sent into the void and into the wrong hands.

This is the longest letter I’ve probably ever received in my life. I mean, it’s not like I have much to compare against, but I’m really flattered, in a way, to see that this stranger has taken the time to explain everything, even though I think I’ve already figured it out.

I double-check the format on my current envelope with what my anonymous sender wrote for me. It looks right this time.

I scribble out a quick note for her:

Hey Penny. This is Penny, right? I didn’t mess up the address this time around? Please respond if you get this message. (And please respond if it’s not Penny too, just so I know.)

After dinnertime, I finally receive a reply. This time, I find it crinkled within my trouser pocket. The envelope is addressed to the top of the Murmurs. I let out a great sigh of relief because the handwriting is one I’m deeply familiar with. It’s probably the most familiar thing I have in this entire building.

Of course it’s me, who else would it be? I’m glad you were able to find a place to write. I was almost worried I should have given you a pen, in case you weren’t able to get one yourself. Is that an ignorant thing to assume? Surely not all children’s homes are neglectful antiquities?

— Penny

Well… I actually messed up and forgot the postal code on my first attempts. They got sent back to me instead, but now that I know I’m doing it right, it’s not a problem anymore. You don’t need to worry about it.

I debated how much to tell her about the letters I’ve been exchanging with the mysterious stranger. I know the two of us have a no-secrets pact, but it’s a bit embarrassing, so I settled on that more generic explanation for now.

Oh, that’s a bit odd… Maybe I misunderstood something about how they work? Either way, I guess it worked out in the end, so it doesn’t really matter. Now we can finally have a summer where we’re not both so alone. Because I’m sure you miss me barging into your business every day.

Tell me about the place you’re in. Are they treating you well?

On my end, Mum’s been driving me insane. Though if you ask her, she’ll tell you that we’re the ones driving her insane. This seems to happen every summer, when she’s suddenly forced to deal with me, Primal, and Pacey being back in the house.

If someone is murdered in this household this summer, you’ll be the first to know. Unless it’s me, of course.

— Penny

I laugh. Her family home always sounds so crazy when she describes it to me.

Maybe this was a good idea after all, even if we get caught. Because she’s right (she always is). I miss her. I miss her every summer. I miss everything about Watford and magic every summer.

But maybe, just maybe, this summer will be different.

“Is that a letter from your girlfriend?” I hear someone say in a whiny, high-pitched voice.

I immediately pull the papers close to my chest where no one can see. A young boy, several years younger (and shorter) than I am, is standing in front of me and peering down at me.

“No. Go away,” I say as I lean myself backwards. I hate it when people enter my personal space. Does no one teach children these things anymore?

“Aren't you going to come eat supper?”

“I will in a minute.”

“Okay, weirdo.”

I'm going to need a lockbox for these letters at this rate. (I know I won't be able to get one.)

After supper, I take some time to tell Penny about the place I’m in. I reassure her that I’m okay, that it’s not too bad. The food is edible. I have a bed. The roof is intact and free of leaks. It could be worse.

She tells me that this does nothing to reassure her.

Please get yourself some higher standards.

— Penny

And then after that, despite my attempts, I can't stop wondering about the mysterious stranger who replied to my first few letters. Their words and handwriting keep rolling around in my head. I… want to write to them again, I think. I have no clue who they are, but there’s a part of me that wants to know, even if they seem awfully posh, almost as posh as Baz (though, I'm not sure why that makes me want to learn more about them).

I rip off a small piece of paper from my notebook. I’m not trying to conserve paper, or anything like that, but it feels weird sending a whole sheet when I’m just sending a single sentence.

Hi, it's Simon again.

I'm aware. What's the matter now? More addressing issues?

No. You'll be happy to know that my letters made it to Penny. And she even replied to me too!

Glad you have that all sorted out. But why are you still sending letters to me?

Okay, maybe not as posh as Baz. He dropped the greetings and formalities. Or maybe he just finally got sick of writing “Dear Simon” every time. It makes these letters feel more like a proper conversation now. Maybe it’s because they’re short, but I don’t mind. I think I like it. Is this what it feels like to “text” someone? (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never done it before.)

I don't know. Maybe because I want to? And because I'm confused about how all this works.

Confused about what?

Why do my bad envelopes end up with you? It doesn't seem like they're getting sent randomly, or I would have replies from a bunch of random other people. It seems like they're getting sent to you in particular.

They keep ending up with me because you keep sending them. Do you always ask so many questions, Simon?

I dunno. You don't have to be such a bully about it. I'm just trying to make sense of it. 

Maybe I am a bully. You shouldn’t continue to associate yourself with me.

I don’t believe that’s true. A bully would have told me to piss off. They wouldn’t have helped me get my letters to my friend and explain what went wrong.

What are you talking about? I definitely told you to piss off. Please refer to my initial letters. (Unless you threw them out already.)

No you didn’t. You told me that I wouldn’t want my letters to go to you. You never told me what you wanted. You weren’t very explicit or aggressive in telling me off. And I feel the need to once again bring up that you helped me instead.

Piss off.

Haha, very funny. Who are you? What’s your name?

Took you long enough to ask. Why do you care?

I dunno. I don’t have much else to do, and you seem like an interesting person to write to. And you keep replying.

After another awkward kiss of the envelope (it’s still weird, and I still have to make sure no one can see me), I feel my eyelids getting heavy. There’s no clock in this room, but it must be pretty late already. The sky turned pitch-black ages ago. I can’t even see the moonlight.

I roll over and close my eyes, hoping to wake up and find a new letter from my mysterious stranger.

Chapter Text

Baz

I never should have replied to his bloody letters.

This is my first time properly seeing Love Letters in use, but I’m aware of how they work. If you address one incorrectly (or don’t put an address in at all), it shoots off to the person who is the most “madly in love” with you. And Crowley knows I’m mad.

That’s what the story behind them is, at least. In actuality, it’s much less cryptic than that. The reality is that the letters are fueled by various passionate feelings, and “mad” happens to be one of the more passionate ones.

Sometimes children send unaddressed ones with stupid messages, usually as a way to tease whoever is crushing on them. That, or, you try to send one off and it either goes nowhere or finds its way to your parents—then it’s all embarrassing and the other children make fun of you for it.

Magickal items once used to send yearning letters between long-distance lovers reduced to a play toy for children.

The only reason this function isn’t further abused is because they’re tricky to make. They require both a good amount of magic and a Love’s messenger spell, which requires knowledge of an 1885 watercolour painting. I guess technically these things should be called Love Messages or something, but some mages decided to refer to them as Love Letters instead to be cheeky. Either way, I’m assuming Bunce or her mother spelled these up for Simon (because Morgana knows it’s not from the Mage, or Simon himself). I’d imagine neither of them would have a problem with the spell.

I’m half-tempted to try the Love’s messenger spell myself, just to prove that I can, but what would be the point? I can’t use them. I have no one to send them to.

Granted, most of this I learned from reading history books, which means that Snow is completely clueless. 

I’m trying to figure out what Snow actually knows about the mechanics behind all of this—Bunce must have told him something—when another envelope shows up in front of me while I’m already sitting at my desk. I wish he’d stop (but I also don’t).

Why do my bad envelopes end up with you? It doesn't seem like they're getting sent randomly, or I would have replies from a bunch of random other people. It seems like they're getting sent to you in particular.

I lean back in my chair and groan.

I can rationalise replying to his first few letters. Those were a necessary courtesy. If I hadn’t corrected him, everything would have been sent to me and not Bunce. I was just being cordial. Responsible.

But I also find that it isn’t like Bunce to not have taken into account what happens if the address is incomplete. It’s their only channel of communication. I can’t imagine she would be very happy if she received nothing all summer, just because he didn’t know he needed to include a postcode.

There are two possibilities here.

1. Bunce did tell him, and he forgot. It’s a solid hypothesis, and I like this possibility more than the other one, so I’m listing this one first.
2. She assumed that poorly addressed letters from Snow would be sent to her. It tends to default to family if the person has no romantic lovers (under the assumption that your family members don’t hate you). But Snow doesn’t have family. It’s possible that he could have some extended family out there, waiting for him, ready to love him at any given moment, but there’s no way they would take priority over Bunce right now. The only other candidate would be Wellbelove, but Bunce believes that Snow and Wellbelove don’t love each other (I’ve overheard this conversation. The two of them talk so loudly, even when they think they’re quiet).

If I were Bunce, I would have been fully prepared for them to go to Wellbelove, but it’s not like that would be much of a problem, because Wellbelove would just snap a picture and text it over. From there, I, Penelope Bunce, would correct Snow’s mistake in a reply, via another Love Letter.

But it didn’t go to Bunce. It didn’t go to Wellbelove.

It came to me. Because I’m the one hopelessly in love.

By now, he’s probably told Bunce about receiving a reply from a mysterious stranger who taught him about postcodes. And then she’s probably told him, “It’s not a stranger, it’s someone who is deeply in love with you”. And then he’ll probably send her one of the letters I wrote for her to take a look at. And then she’ll inevitably start investigating whose writing it is and find out it's me. And then she’ll tell him about it. And then he’ll probably…

Tell me how much he hates me? Ruin my half-alive life? Make plans to drive a stake through my heart the moment he can get me out of our shared room?

But I keep replying.

And he keeps replying.

At the very least, I’m using a spell to disguise my handwriting, Change of scenery. Unfortunately, it's easy to reverse. I think there are several spells you can use. But Snow wouldn't know that. That's what Bunce is for. That's how she'd figure it all out (I may be doomed once we all return to Watford).

It’s the same spell I used to give him the fake note with Agatha’s handwriting. I did think about doing that again, using Wellbelove’s handwriting, but I decided I’d rather be some faceless being than pretend to be his girlfriend. (Also, I can be cruel, but I’m not that cruel).

For now, I pretend to be someone I’m not — someone who isn’t his worst enemy.

For now, I take what I can get.

After a while of a back-and-forth exchange, he finally asks me for my name. This moron has been happily chatting up a stranger without questioning who it is on the other side of the pen.

Sometimes I wonder how he made it this far. Surely being thrust into a magical war would make one less trusting, more wary of people taking advantage of him, and yet… he has such a simple heart.

Took you long enough to ask. Why do you care?

I dunno. I don’t have much else to do, and you seem like an interesting person to write to. And you keep replying.

The first part is quite the understatement. I’m well aware he’s stuck in a normal care home. Again. We had that argument already. And I know he’s not allowed to use his wand (not like he’d be very successful anyway). No spells, no allies, no freedom. I believe he may have nothing to do at all.

Maybe that's why I'm finding it hard to put my usual venom into my words for him. Both he and I know that Baz would not speak to Simon like this. But… this isn't “Baz”. Wouldn't he appreciate a friend in a time like this?

Or maybe I'm just weak and pathetic.

I’m afraid I’m not very interesting, but if it makes you feel any better, I also don’t have much else to do, so I don’t mind taking the time to write back.

That’s a bold-faced lie. I have loads to do. An overwhelming amount of things to do. We have two baby twins crying their eyes out and creating piles of nappies. On top of that, Mordelia is always creating a menace in the household, and it’s especially worse now that she realises she’s no longer the baby of the family. There’s never a moment of silence, and the silence I do have is often filled by either playing violin (which is often for the sake of getting the twins to sleep at the expense of Mordelia bothering me about it, so maybe that's a bold-faced lie too. There is no silence in this house).

But then I remember how lonely Simon must be. I tell myself that’s the only reason I’m bothering to reply, but deep down, I know that’s a lie too.

You still didn’t tell me your name.

Call me whatever you'd like.

Okay, Return-To-Sender.

Crowley, you're ridiculous. You couldn't have picked something that rolls off the tongue a little better? Something shorter?

I think it rolls well enough. It's what it says on the envelope you send back to me. Besides, if you're not going to tell me your name and tell me to make something up for you, you don't get to complain.

Return-To-Sender it is.

How about RTS?

Absolutely not. That just sounds dumb.

You’re the one that complained. Not me.

I’m playing with fire. I’m getting too close.

But I continue to play.

Chapter Text

Simon

I realise that although I’ve spent some time writing to Penny and Return-to-Sender (I still have no idea what name to use), I haven’t thought of writing to Agatha at all. Unlike Penny (and Baz), she doesn’t have as much of a vendetta against the Mage, so she doesn’t express the anger about my summers that the other two do. But, I figure I might as well, while I have the free time.

I write a short message about how Penny gave me these Love Letters to me and that they seem to work pretty well. I’m not sure if she’ll reply, but for good measure, I ask her how she’s been doing too. And I also reassure her that I’m doing okay, relatively. It’s not much, but I think it would make her happy.

I seal it with a kiss.

It doesn’t send.

My letter to Agatha doesn’t send.

I feel myself begin to panic.

What does this mean, what does this mean?

Except… I think I already know what it means. I might have known for a while now. I’m not sure I need a further explanation (I'm not that stupid), but I still rustle around for my pen and paper and write a letter to Penny anyway, just in case. 

How do these letters work again? Should you be able to send something to anyone who loves you?

Yeah. It’s pretty straightforward.

— Penny

What about that customs things? The one that blocks letters to Micah, in America.

I tried sending something to Agatha, but it didn’t work. Is there a chance that it can fail to send if someone is traveling? Agatha doesn't live abroad like Micah does.

Ah… I see what’s happening.

She definitely isn't traveling. I met up with her last week, and then I texted her just now, after getting your letter, to check. I asked her if she was in the area and wanted to hang out and she says, quote, “Where else would I be?” (but in case you’re wondering, she rejected me and didn’t want to hang out because she’s not feeling very social). Anyway, even though I technically haven't seen her this week, I don't think she’s the kind of person to lie about or hide travel plans. I can’t see any reason for it.

I’m really sorry, Simon. I tried to tell you that she’s not in love with you. I know you didn’t believe me, but this is proof that I was right. Don’t take it too harshly. Take your time to process this information as you will. It’s probably a lot to take in.

— Penny

I know Penny was right all along, and I didn’t want to admit it.

I dreamed of having a life with Agatha after the battle, after the victory. But the more I think about it, and roll the idea around in my head, the more I realise that this revelation doesn’t shock me. I’m upset, sure, very upset, but I don’t feel as broken as I thought I would.

Should I tell Agatha about this when we get back to Watford? Does this mean I should break up with her? She did like me at some point… right? How long does it take for like to turn into love? What if the two of us are just too young to be in love, romantically?

If I had parents, would I understand what love is supposed to be like?

Penny, I have something to tell you about. Do you remember when I told you my first few Love Letters were sent out incorrectly and then returned to me? Well… I didn't tell you about the part where the person sending the envelopes back to me wrote me replies.

And then… we kept sending letters to one another back and forth. I dunno why I was so stubborn on not telling you, but I know that it was a secret, and these are your items I’m using for my secret. I’m sorry for breaking our pact.

I knew something didn't make sense when you told me that!! Letters don't just get “sent back”. They should always end up somewhere, like at a given “default” recipient. At first I assumed that maybe your magic did something weird and pulled it back for you, but your recipient sending them back to you makes more sense.

Anyway, Do you know who it is?

No. And what do you mean by default? Like someone it will always go to? How does it pick?

Well… I believe the exact mechanic is something like, it gets sent to the person who love you the most. I can double check though, I know there’s literature on this somewhere. That, or Mum knows. I’ll get back to you on that.

Loves me the MOST? And it’s someone I don’t even know???

To be completely honest, I’m almost a little offended they didn’t come to me. (Btw I did ask and it seems like I was right, so yeah, I guess it can be someone you don’t know?)

Have you asked for a name?

Yeah but she didn’t want to tell me

Hm… maybe they’re an obsessive fan of yours. Like a Chosen One fan. Someone who believes you can save the world and loves you for it (I’m just speculating here). Send me a handwriting sample?

I feel a bit odd sending one of Return-To-Sender’s letters over to Penny. I'm not sure why I feel so protective over them — and maybe even a little possessive. She's Penny. No secrets.

Do you recognise it?

Unfortunately I don't. Can I keep the letter though? For research purposes? I’ll let you know if I can figure out who your secret admirer is.

I send her a “sure” while I blush at the words “secret admirer”.

Though, I guess the letters going to someone who loves me is better than the opposite. If they got sent to the person that hates me the most, they’d probably end up with Baz.

So would you consider yourself a powerful mage?

Maybe. Why?

I dunno, I was just wondering if it took a lot of magic to reply to my letters. I don’t have to use any of my magic to send them to you (luckily) so I don’t really know how it works.

"Return to sender" is a relatively simple spell. It’s just a matter of practise.

Easy for you to say. I’m awful at magic. I can’t control it. Whenever I use magic, it feels like a fiery bomb.

What does magic feel like to you?

A bit fiery, but more like a match than a bomb.

That’s what my roommate says.

I don’t get a response until a few days later.

I think you could become good at magic if you practised more. You have the capability to do so. I’m sure you have the capability to become good at most things if you put your heart into it.

Have you ever been forced to sleep in a room with a bunch of other people?

One other person, yes. Multiple people? Can’t say I have.

It’s a bit embarrassing. I get nightmares often and some of the other kids have started making fun of me for it.

The other kids seem like brats and assholes. No one should ever get made fun of for having nightmares. They’re already scary enough — and it’s out of your control. It’s not like you’re asking for them.

That's what I said (the last part). Do you get nightmares often?

I do.

What are they about?

I’m not telling you that. Would you want me asking you what your nightmares are about?

A lot of them involve dying a horrific death somewhere on a battlefield against the Hundrum. That or me losing my parents, even though I was too young to remember losing them.

Not sure how to respond to that other than, I’m sorry you’re struggling with those nightmares.

But I’m still not telling you what mine are about. Just because you are laying out all your trauma today doesn’t mean that I will.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.

You’re right, the others are just being assholes about it. I get nightmares a lot during the school year too, when I have to share a room with my roommate, but he gets a lot of nightmares too — daily. We have an unspoken agreement to not talk about it.

Sounds like he’s had quite the traumatic life as well. Apologies to both of you.

I think I’ll sleep better tonight thanks to you :) At the very least, I won’t worry as much about getting made fun of when I wake up. Good night, friend.

Dear Simon,

I played some football today with my cousin. He said he was bored and had nothing to do, but he’s always telling me that. I highly doubt he actually has nothing he needs to get done (he's a bit of a slacker). But, it’s good to get my football practice in during the summer. It keeps my skills sharp. I need to make sure I’m better still than him.

So you’re good at football?

I manage.

My roommate plays football too. Sometimes I go watch his matches, but only to make sure he’s not plotting something against me. Anyway, I didn’t expect you to be the type, but that’s cool.

Is it that odd? A lot of boys enjoy watching and playing football.

I write my next letter without thinking, and regret it the second it’s out of my hands.

I didn’t know you were a boy. I thought you were a girl.

Baz

Light me up and set me aflame. This charade was a mistake.