Letters I Never Sent
James
James had decided it was time for him to tidy up his half of the room he shared with Sirius. Well, more or less, as his friend usually spent most of the time in Remus’ room downstairs, which was right next to Peter’s. James wondered how that poor guy could sleep, unbothered by, well…
Okay, let’s move on. He’d decided to reorganise and dust the bookshelf beside the desk, which he’d claimed as his as Sirius apparently didn’t need to use it, to change the bedsheets, and reorder his and Sirius’ David Bowie’s CDs, the ones they’d bought together around seven months before; he wanted to take advantage of the free time he had before heading with Peter to Lily’s place, for a movie and karaoke night. Just them, Sirius and Remus (who’d gone out on a date), Marlene and Dorcas, just like the good old times, to reminisce about their Hogwarts years. James started by taking everything off the desk, placing what belonged to Sirius on his mattress, so that he could display it wherever he liked later. He dusted off the wooden surface, then started staking up papers, a notebook, and a few books. He proceeded to change the bedsheets, and breathed in the scent of the new ones, which smelled like lavender.
Meanwhile he took care of the chores, he inserted a vinyl in the player, music filled in the silence. Singing along, James couldn’t help but notice how his singing skills had improved. Regulus used to make fun of him because, in his opinion, he was a terrible singer, almost always off key. However, he still secretly liked it when James dedicated some romantic song to him. Once, he’d told him it made him feel special. That James made him feel special.
He shook his head, mouth now shut.
He missed that. Him.
It was all he could apparently think about: all the damage he’d done that rainy day at Hogwarts, during his last year. When James had made a first step towards reconciliation, with a mere apology which could have never made up for all the terrible things he’d said to him, Regulus had already gone away, far away from him.
James had stopped listening to sappy love songs on his own, he still avoided it as much as he could. Though Dorcas and Alice loved them. And when they were together and they put them on, he had to pretend he was fine, that he wasn’t being tormented by memories of him and his lover, in the astronomy tower, or in the Quidditch pitch, looking at the stars, holding hands, having deep talks about the future they wanted to build together. He had to pretend he wasn’t thinking about Regulus, his smile, his eyes, the way his voice still resounded, forever enclosed in the cage of his heart, destined to bliss and plague the rest of his days at the same time. James had to pretend he didn’t miss him, at least not as much as he actually did.
But still, to his heart, every love song was about him.
About them.
About what they’d been, and what they could have been had he not been such an idiotic fool.
James remained silent while he took his books off of the shelves, two by two, placing them at the end of his bed. Fantasy novels, romantic comedies, classics, modern Shakespearean tragedies, sci-fi, murder mystery books… He had to recognise Regulus, Remus and Lily had really turned him into a bookworm, after all.
He cleaned the shelves, then proceeded to divide the novels based on the genre and started putting them back on the shelves. He kept the classics for last.
‘Sense and Sensibility’, ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Macbeth’, ‘The Picture Of Dorian Gray’, ‘The Odyssey’, ‘The Great Gatsby’...
He left one particular novel for last: William Shakespear’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’. The last book Regulus had gifted him before their grudging breakup. One day, James had told him he had never read that, Regulus had exclaimed that that was impossible and had given him his own annotated copy the following day. “Read it, you idiot” he’d told him, clasping it in his hands.
“Yes sir” James had replied with a light chuckle “I’ll start it today”.
“Good. It’s one of my favourite books, so you must read it, especially after you made me read almost every single Agatha Christie novel to exist”.
“She’s a great author!” James had complained.
“But she’s not Shakespeare”.
“I know you’ve always preferred Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde”.
“You might be right” Regulus had said.
James had leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips: “Thank you, Reggie”.
His heart ached as he tightened his grip around the novel’s burgundy leather cover. He sucked in a breath and started flipping through the pages, looking at Regulus’ notes on the sides. He’d always loved his handwriting, fancy, elegant, the one of a prince. Regulus had always been the ruler of his heart. Too bad James had exiled him from his land, and he’d never had the chance of conquering it back. James even doubted he wanted to, now.
He sighed, ready to close the book. Too many painful memories to deal with. Then, as he flipped the page to the chapter of Romeo and Juliet’s meeting, he caught a movement with the corner of his eye. Looking at his feet, he noticed a white sheet of paper, folded in four parts, now laying on the light wooden tiles. He bent down and picked it up, putting the book down.
What was that? He couldn’t recall having ever slipped anything between those pages.
James put the book down, now entirely focused on that mysterious sheet. He unfolded it, eyes flickering with interest as he caught sight of his own messy handwriting.
Every sort of excitement died as soon as he read through the first few sentences:
Dear Regulus,
it’s me. Probably the last person you currently want to hear from. I’d despise myself too, had I been in your place. But please, give this letter a chance. Give me a chance to explain. If I won’t convince you, then crumble this piece of paper up and throw it away, rip it, burn it, and forget I even existed. If it will then… please, come back.. Come back to me. Because I can’t hold on any longer…
James quickly browsed through the whole text, long two whole pages, his jaw twitched as soon as he read the end of the letter.
That fucking letter.
He’d written it a year after his breakup with Regulus, after having finally found the courage to put his thoughts on paper, to beg for his forgiveness, ask him to come back, because no place would ever feel like home without him, that he feared he would never be able to make it without him.
He’d never sent that letter, too afraid of a rejection, too afraid things would go terribly, and every hope of his would be shattered once and for all. Though he hadn’t thrown it away, keeping it safe inside one of the things he treasured the most, inside what reminded him of Regulus. A piece of him, that was what the novel was, filled with glimpses of his soul, spoken through the beauty of the words which had flown straight from his heart.
And now, that letter was back in his hands. James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then brushed his thumb over that thin paper sheet, over the words written in black ink.
And he couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d actually made the right choice, deciding not to send it.
What if the fears he’d had had been nothing but pointless worries, what if that letter could have actually spared him years of suffering?
‘Perhaps I’d be with him now, having the chance of holding him tight whenever I want, whenever I need’, he thought.
A strange feeling twisted inside his chest. He stared at the ending sentence written at the bottom of the page, at his messy signature, accompanied by a little heart he’d drawn with trembling fingers, back then.
What would that letter’s destiny be? Remain folded between Shakespear’s novel, soon to be forgotten? Or finally taking off in its journey, hopefully to win Regulus’ heart back?
Of course, James couldn’t be sure two pages filled with text would actually make any significant changes, though that effort was still something. Worth trying. Worth risking.
Maybe.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then let the locks fall back over his forehead.
Why did everything have to be so… difficult? Why couldn’t he simply reach out to him, show up at his doorstep and beg for his forgiveness, then and there, wrapping him in a hug after all that time and refusing to ever let go again? Why did fright need to clutch his stomach like that, blocking his every intention, reducing it to a mere pointless attempt in his mind?
Why did he have to keep on doubting himself so often?
James plopped down on the mattress, resting the letter on his lap, carefully, as if it had been part of a rich patrimony which was to be preserved.
He could try. An attempt wouldn’t cost anything.
Though had he not received any answer…
He sighed loudly, shoulders raising with his deep breath. What would Regulus think of him after he read that letter? Would he wrinkle his nose and throw it away or would he be moved by his words? Would he be open to forgiveness, or remain closed up in his rage for what James had done?
So many questions it was impossible for him to find an answer too. Well, unless he tried.
He laid down on the bed, bringing the letter up to his chest and holding it tight.
There it was, his chance at fixing things.
Or at making them worse.
The last option simply felt unbearable. He swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. He hated it when anxiety washed over him like that, hindering him from thinking clearly.
There was just one thing James found genuinely helpful in such situations: thinking about what his mum would have said had she been in his place.
So, he started reasoning, biting the inside of his lip.
‘What would Mum say? What would she do? What piece of advice would she give me?’.
Well, she would have certainly read through the letter, attentively, allowing every word to sink in, then scolded him for not having told her about that dim possibility of winning Regulus’ love over again before; then, she would have judged the letter, pointing out every mistake and extremely sappy line he’d written, but later praised him for his romantic words, for how he’d poured his heart out on that paper, ink to symbolise the blood spilling from its open wound. Then again, she would have hugged him, whispering some of her usual reassuring words: ‘Everything will be just alright, my darling’.
James smiled as her voice echoed in his mind: she’d told him the exact same thing after his and Regulus’ breakup.
Then… then she would have probably told him to just go for it. To try, and not be afraid of failure.
‘Everybody makes mistakes, James’ she’d told him that same night, sitting at the kitchen table with a good cup of tea in front of them. ‘And mistakes are not irreparable’.
‘But what if mine is, this time?’ he’d asked, dubious, gaze kept low on the golden liquid in his cup. ‘What if I won’t be able to make up for it?’.
‘You’ll never know if you don’t try’ his mum had smiled. ‘Regulus loves you, he’ll forgive you’.
James had shaken his head. ‘Not this time. I’ve been too… cruel’. It had hurt only to admit that.
‘Talk to him. Apologise. You’re extremely sorry, I can’t feel that. And it wounds my soul to see my son like this. Let him feel your sorrow too’.
‘But what if things don’t end up well?’ he’d asked, voice as thin as a thread, on the verge of breaking for the second time that day.
‘Well, at least you tried’. James’ mother had leaned forward, cupping his cheek. ‘And I’ll still be proud of you’.
‘You shouldn’t. I told him horrible stuff, Mum. I couldn’t recognise myself any more at that moment, but I was too angry to hold the words in’ he’d shaken his head. ‘I wouldn’t forgive myself, either’.
‘James, look at me’ she’d said, categorically. He’d locked eyes with her beautiful blue ones, the same eyes that had infused trust and comfort in him so often all throughout his existence. ‘Sometimes, people make terrible, terrible things. However, no matter how despicable, they can still be fixed. You just need to wish for it from the bottom of your heart. Give yourself a second chance, James. If you don’t, how could Regulus?’.
‘That doesn’t change the fact I’m still so disappointed in myself’ James had insisted.
‘It’s fine love. I’m not. Whatever happened, it happened because of the fear and anger that blinded you. If, now that your mind is no longer obfuscated by either of those, you really regret everything you said, then it means the latest events haven’t even scratched your love for Regulus’ his mum had grazed his cheek, then leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead. ‘I can feel how deeply you care for him. Fight for him, James. Don’t let anything pull you apart’.
Fight for him. Don’t let anything pull you apart.
James sat up, grasping the letter.
He’d been stupid.
So, so stupid.
It was late, yeah, but better late than never, right?
Right?...
He really hoped so.
He had to do what was to be done before the surge of adrenaline inside him died and he changed his mind.
So, he stood up, grabbed his old pair of red Converse lying beside the door, tied the shoelaces, and rushed to the door. As soon as he opened it, he found Peter standing in front of him, hand in mid air, as if he’d been about to knock before entering. “I was just about to knock, James” he, in fact, said. “It’s pretty late, we should start heading towards Lily’s place”.
His eyes trailed down James, then back on his. “I’m glad to see you’re already ready to go”.
“Yeah, I just need to do… something, first” James said, hiding the folded sheet behind his back. Peter glanced in its direction, curious. “What is that?”.
“Just, a…” there was no point in lying anyway “a letter I need to send”.
“Oh. Cool” Peter gave him a soft smile. That was one of the things James loved the most about his friend: he was never invasive, he always respected their spaces if they needed it, though was still there to support them. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs. Try not to take longer than five minutes, I’m sure Pads and Moony are already on their way”.
James nodded and closed the door back behind him as Peter headed downstairs. Then, he opened the first drawer of the desk he’d recently finished tidying up, and started rummaging through its contents. “Found it” he exclaimed, triumphantly, as he pulled out a white envelope, the last one he had. He placed a kiss on the letter, then let it slip inside the envelope, which he carefully sealed.
Then, he proceeded to write the address to the Black’s Manor. He feared his parents would find it before him, or worse, throw it away without telling him anything about it. James wasn’t even sure Regulus still lived with them. But he had no other places to send it too, as he had no clue where Evan and Barty lived, either.
Or whether they were still alive, for what mattered…
He instantly shook his head, pushing that thought away.
They were fine. All of them. They had to be.
Then, he applied a stamp on the envelope and he was done. He quickly grabbed a grey coat from the wardrobe and let it slip in one of its large pockets. Then, he headed to the door.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
“You’re being particularly quiet today, James” Peter observed as they walked down yet another sidewalk. Two more blocks and they would reach Lily’s place. And James’ letter for Regulus was still in the pocket of his coat; he stuffed his hand inside it, his fingers brushed against the paper. He couldn’t turn back, or he would bitterly regret it for the rest of his days.
“It’s just that… nothing” he shook my head. “I’ve just been busy with… stuff. Stuff that has been running through my mind”.
Why did he feel like he couldn’t tell his best friend about what the matter with the letter really was about? Why didn’t he feel like opening up with anyone, at least not yet?
It may be because it felt just too personal. Or probably because he feared what they would say if he revealed more details. He feared they would express some sort of… judgement. Positive or negative, he did not know. Though he didn’t feel ready to hear any.
“You look pretty much worried” Peter observed. James shrugged, hands still in his pockets. The letter was suddenly beginning to feel heavy. “Do you want to talk about it?” Peter added later, voice softer at the sight of his tense jaw.
“It’s nothing Peter, really. Just… stuff”.
“You know ‘stuff’ is the most generic response you could have given, right?”.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it” James then added.
“If there’s anything I, we, can do for you, just say it”.
James knew his friends would always be there for him, and he loved them for that. More than everything. More than everything except for one person.
It didn’t matter how much time had passed, how much would: he would always keep on coming back to that one person.
“Peter” he suddenly whispered, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “There actually is something I want to ask you”.
“Sure, go ahead”.
“Let’s imagine you were in love. And that you wanted to confess your feelings to that someone, though you were terribly, terribly afraid to do so because you already knew you had little to no chance to win their heart over. Would you still try?”.
Peter’s eyes widened for a moment. “You’re not trying to tell me you’ve gotten over Regulus, are you?”.
James instantly shook his head. “No. Never”.
A subtle hint of realisation washed over him as he averted his gaze from James’ and pointed it on the streetlight ahead of them.
“Well…” he started, licking his lips. “I would try, indeed”.
“Even if you could meet with failure?”.
“Yes” he answered, so confidently, without the minimum hesitation.
James gazed at him, though Peter didn’t meet his gaze anymore. They turned left, then right again. And there it was, at the end of the street: a red mailbox.
James slowed down as soon as they reached it, and Peter stopped, understanding what he intended to do. A light breeze rustled through the tree branches, ruffling his hair. He sucked in a breath of cold, stinging air, and pulled the letter out. He stared at the address once again, wondering whether he was making the right choice for at least the hundredth time.
Then, an image flashed in his mind: Regulus, standing in front of him after their argument, the Dark Mark still visible on his skin, like an indelible reminder that that was his reality now. Their reality. The memory of the look in his grey eyes made James’ heart ache: hurt, angry, betrayed, scared of what was about to happen, afraid of the future. Afraid of losing him. Then, a lonely tear streaming down his face as James walked away and Regulus called his name for one last time, fist clenched by his side as he forced himself to hold the tears back. Regulus had never liked crying in front of others. He’d always said it made him feel too vulnerable. Though he’d never been embarrassed in front of James.
Back then, he’d been, though. As if every last bit of trust in him had crumbled up.
James looked down on the letter for one last time before letting it slip inside the mailbox.
‘I will never hurt you again, Reg’ he thought as he did. ‘I won’t let anybody ever hurt you again. That’s a promise’.