Chapter Text
|
Dear Remus,
I receive a letter from a stranger about once a month. Yours is the first one I’ve answered. You do realise that it shows poor judgement to give a convicted murderer your full name and home address, right? I expect you’ll come to your senses soon and burn this letter, but in the meantime, do write back quickly. Anxiously awaiting your reply, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. You have nice penmanship, which I appreciate. I’m sure that the guards who read each letter before I do appreciate it as well. |
|
Dear Sirius,
Thank you for your concern for my sanity. I can offer no promises about that. However, when the convicted murderer in question has been sentenced to life in prison, it does rather reduce the risk of future unpleasant encounters. Tell me, is that an insensitive comment? There’s no etiquette book for starting up a correspondence with someone in prison — I did check, but my local bookshop seems fresh out — but it seems ruder for me to pretend that I don’t know that you’re serving a life sentence. Why did I write to you? The obvious answer is that I saw an advert in the paper and I thought, for some self-centred reason, that a stranger might be pleased to hear from me. Now that I reflect on it, I have no idea what I was thinking. But if I’m being honest, I suppose I wrote to you for another selfish purpose, too. I wanted to write to someone who doesn’t know anything about me or my life. I wanted anonymity without committing to being alone, connection without the attendant complications. I know that letter-writing may be considered old-fashioned, but I’m not one for new technologies. I wouldn’t know how to work them. I have enough trouble navigating the world as it is. You don’t write back to most of your supporters? Might I be impertinent and ask why? Remus Lupin P.S. — Was your postscript meant to remind me that these letters are screened? I appreciate your warning, but I imagine the guards have read much worse than anything I could dream up to say to you. |
|
Dear impertinent Remus,
Please continue being impertinent. It is a treat. I’m afraid that the Azkaban library is also sorely lacking in the prison epistolary etiquette department. I blame the taxpayers. Now how will I ever know whether your comments were rude or not? In any case, I wasn’t offended. The truth is that most of my “supporters,” as you call them, have questionable motivations in writing to me. Some have followed sensationalised accounts of me in the news and believe, somehow, that they know me. If I were to write back to any of them, they would merely be disappointed that I don’t measure up to the legend. I am neither as evil nor as interesting as the newspaper accounts would have them believe. Others want to introduce me to the joys of religion. Again, I prefer to spare them the disappointment. Some souls are not meant to be saved. Most of my incoming mail involves marriage proposals, if you can believe it. I’m not sure what the appeal of dating a jailed felon is… Feeling superior to your significant other? Knowing where they are at all times? I can’t blame people for seeking that safety and security in a relationship, but I’m simply not interested. A relationship might make my life here a little more tolerable, but it would make the other party’s life immeasurably worse. And who wants a convicted murderer for a partner? Don’t apologise for not knowing how to use technology. I can’t imagine how much the world has progressed while I’ve been locked away. I am pleased to be your old-fashioned pen-pal, but that raises an additional question: Why did you pick me? Or are you writing to a whole host of convicts? Ought I to be jealous? Impatiently-yet-respectfully waiting for your next letter, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. Now I’m intrigued. What is the worst thing you could dream up to say to me? |
|
Dear Sirius,
I entirely understand the impulse to isolate oneself to protect others. In my experience, it can become a hard habit to break. No need to be jealous — these are the first letters I’ve written in years, save the occasional thank-you note to my elderly aunt. I can’t promise to be an interesting correspondent, but I will try my best. I already told you that I saw an advertisement in the paper for some letter-writing campaign. I thought it would be an interesting diversion, at least. So I looked up the closest prison and pulled up the online roster — I may be hopeless with technology, but I can at least do that much — and saw a few details about you. I learned your name, that we were close in age, and that you were serving a life sentence. I suppose I should also mention that I saw your mugshot. I expect it was taken just after your arrest, because you look so young. There’s something in your expression that stuck with me. You look afraid, of course, but there’s a confidence in your eyes, as if you believe you’ll make it through. Anyway, I looked at that picture for a long time. I thought about that young man. I kept wondering what he was feeling now, twelve years into a life sentence. And that brought me to you. I do hope this letter was not too honest. Remus Lupin P.S. — Shall we just say that I have a very active imagination and leave it at that? |
|
Dear perfectly honest Remus,
“A much-needed distraction” and “an interesting diversion”! Those are titles I will wear with great pleasure. I can’t help feeling pleased that I’m the only inmate around here carrying around your letters. I have your most recent letter here in my shirt pocket. It’s comforting to have friendly words within arm’s reach. I should have guessed that there was a prison roster available online. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that mugshot… What a stupid child I was! The expression you generously describe as “confident” was nothing more than arrogance. Back then, I thought I could talk my way out of anything. I thought that the police were there to protect me. I thought innocence was enough. I know better now. So you knew that I was a lifer before you wrote to me. That makes sense. You strike me as the sort of man who goes to an animal rescue and asks to adopt the oldest, most pathetic dog around. To be clear, that is the highest compliment I can pay you. Doggedly awaiting your reply, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. An active imagination! It’s cruel and unusual punishment to tease a man like this, Remus. And I’m a prisoner; I should know. |
|
Dear Sirius,
This will have to be a short letter, as I’m already running late for a doctor’s appointment, but I wanted to post this on the way. Are you calling yourself an old dog? I’ll remind you that there is a world of difference between adopting a pet and writing to a convicted murderer on a whim. That said, you aren’t terribly far from the truth. I did adopt an elderly cat last year, and she is the light of my life. That reminds me of something else — you know, you’ve repeatedly described yourself as a “convicted murderer” in these letters. Yet you never call yourself a murderer. Semantics, or something more? That’s probably a question too far, even for someone who claims to like my impertinent questions. Remus Lupin P.S. — Cruel and unusual punishment, you say. Did you have a penchant for terrible jokes prior to being sentenced to life in prison, or is that a side effect of life in Azkaban? (Was that too far as well? Do tell me if I cross a line. Or simply stop replying, and I’ll get the message.) |
|
Dear wonderfully impertinent Remus,
No need to apologise for writing brief letters. I appreciate every word. What’s your cat’s name? What is she like? I love animals… or at least I used to. It’s been quite some time since I got to see one in real life. We do have nature shows, but it’s not the same. Every few years, there’s some talk about bringing in therapy dogs or cats to Azkaban, but it’s never panned out. As for the “convicted murderer” language, it’s not purely semantics. I don’t claim the title “murderer” for myself, as it’s not accurate. I did not kill anyone. But I was convicted of murder, so “convicted murderer” is correct. We have a counsellor here who talks about person-forward language, so perhaps I should start calling myself a “person convicted of murder” instead. That was a joke, if that wasn’t clear. It was also permission to continue asking questions. You haven’t made me uncomfortable. If anything, I’m flattered by your curiosity. No one has shown such interest in my life (outside of my unanswered “fan mail”) for years. Actually, I just thought of something. You’ve never told me what you do for a living. Odd that I haven’t thought to ask that before now. I hope you don’t think me rude. It’s the sort of question that I used to ask people all the time on the outside, but such distinctions have largely lost their utility in here. All Azkaban prisoners are just that: prisoners. You lose a large part of yourself when you walk through the gates and put on the grey and black stripes. In a strange way, being in prison is a great equaliser. We have former professional athletes sharing cells with hitmen; the latter receive just as many fan letters as the former. And there’s a rumour that someone in a neighbouring cell used to be a member of the clergy, which has made him very popular in here. You’ve no idea how many people turn to God when there’s little else to do. What makes the greatest difference behind bars is how much money you’ve got. Money means phone calls home, video visits, and commissary. It means people leave you alone. Tell your cat I said hello, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. You’d never believe how much we prisoners love prison jokes. I don’t think there is a “line” to be crossed, as you say, but if you ever find it, I’ll let you know. Then I will give you an (imaginary) high-five. |
|
Dear Sirius,
My cat’s name is Darling. Before you laugh at me, she came with that name. It would have been unkind to change it, even if I had wanted to — but she is a darling, and I wouldn’t deprive her of her title. She’s earned it. She’s growing greyer by the day (as am I, come to think of it) but she still has the prettiest, softest fur in the world. She’s nibbling on the pen as I write this letter. I hope Azkaban partners with an animal rescue someday in the future. There are so many pets in need of love and attention, and so many people who would benefit from getting to pet a cat or dog every once in a while. Did you have any childhood pets? As to your comment about being falsely accused — I had my suspicions, based on the way you talked about your conviction, but I wasn’t sure. I wish I knew how to respond to that. Everything I can think of seems trite and insufficient. Saying “I’m sorry” hardly seems adequate under the circumstances. But thank you for telling me, and also for navigating my awkwardness about asking questions. I hadn’t considered how important money would be for someone in prison. I wish I had money to put on your books (that is the right term, isn’t it?) but — to answer your question about my work — I’m on a lowly teacher’s pay, so I can’t spare anything. Remus Lupin P.S. — I passed along your message to Darling. She slow blinked in return, which I’m interpreting as a thank you. |
|
Dear fond-of-felines Remus,
Darling sounds… well, darling. If you’re ever able to enclose a photo, I’d love to see a picture of her. Come to think of it, I’d love to see a photo of you as well. You’ve seen my mugshot, so it seems only fair. I did have a pet when I was younger, much to my mother’s irritation. She kept a tidy house and hated finding his fur on the furniture. His name was Padfoot, and he was a scraggly Irish wolfhound. I adored him. “I’m sorry” is a perfectly sufficient answer to learning that your pen-friend has been falsely convicted, actually. There’s really nothing else to be said about it. Believe me, I’ve heard all variety of responses over the years, from disbelief to anger to dismissal. Sympathy is by far the kindest answer you could have given me. A teacher! I should have known. What subject do you teach? What years? Also, Christ, I did not mean to imply that I wanted your money. Frankly, I’m probably in a better position to send cash to you than the other way around. If I wanted to spend thousands on commissary every month, I could afford to do so. I could spend money on instant messaging programs, video calls, and expensive online courses. But Azkaban already has my life; they don’t get to take anything else from me. That’s why I’m glad to write to you like this: letters are still free. Eagerly awaiting your answer, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. I want to reiterate again that I am not at all interested in your money… only your friendship. Please don’t put money on my books (a phrase you did use correctly, by the way). Just write back soon. |
|
Dear Sirius,
This will have to be another short letter, as I have an appointment to get to. You say you “should have known” I was a teacher — what gave it away? The note paper, nicked from the teacher’s lounge? The know-it-all tone? Or do I give off the air of being underpaid? You’ll have to allow me that last self-deprecating comment — I’ve certainly earned it. I feel ridiculous for assuming that you wanted something from me. I’m sorry. If it helps, I can promise that my assumption was not due to your present situation — rather, to a distrust of people in general. I teach government and history to thirteen-year-olds who would rather be anywhere else. I shouldn’t complain, but then you’ve caught me on an off day. I expect by next week, I’ll love the job again. Remus Lupin P.S. — I am enclosing last year’s Christmas card, which has a photo of both Darling and myself. It’s the most recent picture I could find. Hopefully that satisfies your curiosity? |
|
Dear overly apologetic Remus,
Please stop worrying about upsetting me. I can assure you that I’ve developed quite a thick skin over these twelve years. You seem patient, intelligent, and excessively haunted by your own conscience: the quintessential teacher. And I don’t know many grown men who like to write on lined paper. I hope this week is treating you a little more kindly. I can imagine that thirteen-year-olds are difficult at the best of times. What topics are you currently teaching? I wish I had paid more attention in my history studies. I’m attempting to fill in the gaps in my education now. There’s so much about the world I still don’t know. Reading gives me an escape; it lets me leave these four walls, just for a short while. With high hopes that your students behave this week, Sirius Black Prison ID AZ00390 P.S. Is that really a photo of you? You look… different from how I imagined you. In a good way, to be clear. |