Love Letters To A Better Life
For Remus, going home for the summer holidays on the eve of June 30th means being left alone in an empty house for all but two out of eight weeks. His mother, who is a young, pretty, single woman in her mid-twenties, doesn’t care to hang around the house with him when there are so many better uses of her time. And his father, as usual, is out of the country on one of his many, many work-related trips, leaving Hope, his kind stepmother, behind.
Hope is every bit the maternal companion a stepmother is expected to be. She makes the most wonderfully gooey chocolate chip cookies, dries her own tea leaves (which she gets from a garden she tends by herself), and annotates books with humorous little notes and observations.
Unfortunately, the only times Remus gets the pleasure of seeing her is when he’s too ill to truly appreciate her presence. There are the rare occasions where Hope is drafted for babysitting duty when his mother plans to be out for a few days at a time, but she doesn’t like Hope much, and she likes paying her even less, so these meetings are few and far between.
For the Black twins, returning to their home is a special kind of torture.
Severus Snape, however rude and unlikable they find him, is correct about the Black family when he sneers that they’re a bunch of rich, inbred assholes that flout their Pureblood heritage like it’s a medal of honor or an expensive piece of jewelry.
Even disregarding any obsessions with blood purity, Orion and Walburga Black are not the easiest people to have as parents. The Black family, being quite a rich and influential political force for multiple centuries, has imbedded a formula of how to behave in their generational teachings. Things that are considered necessary and proper are engraved into every branch of the family tree, and when learning and achieving these things, very few errors are forgiven.
There are the common practices, like having private tutors for things like piano and language studies, and there are the more totalitarian requirements, like not being allowed to speak above a certain decibel in the presence of adults and having to master the art of concealing and controlling any outward expressions of emotion before puberty hits.
One requirement, which is arguably one of the most important, is attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a member of Slytherin House.
Many Pureblood wizard families of old take special pride in the legacy of Salazar Slytherin because he is the only Hogwarts founder to famously be of the opinion that people with magical abilities should not congregate with those that lack them under any circumstances.
As more and more wizards decide they no longer care if their lifelong partners or chosen family are of magical blood, families who have historically valued staying faithful to the magical community by sticking to their circles and not mingling with the rest of the world get constantly more ticked off and tight-laced about showing people who they’re loyal to. Since it isn’t quite in modern fashion to publicly announce that one thinks Muggles are as concrete in being human as those who cast spells like Ignisimo, which makes a person fart a glorious plume of fire when performed correctly, families like these often find each other and stick together, making sure to raise their children to view the world as they do. As a wizard’s playground.
Orion and Walburga would be horrified to discover that not only have they failed, quite spectacularly, in fact, to sow the seeds of loyalty and a belief of Pureblood supremacy in their sons, but that both of their children have grown to despise the values they’ve been raised with.
It happened early on, when the twins were all but four.
They’d been vacationing in France, as they often did, and the boys were left alone with Kreacher while their parents took care of unspecified business. Sirius had run off after something shiny, and Regulus had followed his big brother without a second thought. They got lost almost immediately, as children often do, and were found sitting together and crying by an elderly Muggle woman. She kindly carted them back to their large vacation home, giving each of them a sweet strawberry lolly to quell the tears and holding their hands the whole way.
Walburga had raged up a storm at them for running off, and at Kreacher because he let them out of his sight, but not before shooting a vicious spell at the woman, who was knocked backward five feet and did not stand up again. She then performed multiple deep cleaning spells on their hands and incinerated the lollies with a flick of her wand.
Neither of them has ever been able to look at her quite the same way since then, especially because of the large scar on the rear of Kreacher’s head that burns itself into their corneas whenever his back is turned to them, obtained from the painful whipping session he received after Walburga deemed their hands free of any Muggle taint.
They’ve been seeing Muggles differently ever since too, as well as the magical folk their parents call abominations to wizard-kind. It would be detrimental to even dare mention it because they consider it a necessary commodity to have a roof over their heads, and because their parents are hard enough to please as is, but it’s hard to stay silent when they're constantly hearing scathing remarks casually made about the world’s growing acceptance of Muggleborns and Squibs over tea, not to mention the gruesome ideas suggested to deal with these "problems".
Though it’s certain to be less dangerous of a reaction than if they find out their sons are associating themselves with people like Peter, Willow, and Lily (all three of whom are Muggleborns), both brothers are mildly panicked about what will happen when Sirius faces their parents as a Gryffindor.
Throughout the year, Hogwarts has acted as a safety net for many students, not just Remus, Sirius, and Regulus. Staying in the castle as the passage of time moves sluggishly from one end of school to the other provides a feeling of being rescued, being free.
For the majority of children, life often passes as if it could go on for a thousand years and still be unchanged at the end of the tunnel. Children themselves don’t realize this of course, more often than not only recalling lost time when it’s already become just that. Lost.
For the children in more dire situations than average, this skewed sense of time doesn’t work too well in their favor. Everything feels never-ending, and all wounds are eternally bleeding with no rest or reprieve. Until, of course, they aren’t. And when they aren’t, the feeling of being safely in paradise, or in this case, a magical castle that caters to their every need, also seems like it will last forever. Until, once again, it doesn’t, and people who would rather be anywhere else are stuck at home for two never-ending, monotonous months of hell.
Still, even with all these worries and apprehensions present in the face of summer holidays, it isn’t either of the twins or Remus who first cries on the train home. It’s James.
The five of them sit together, just like on the first day of school. Willow comes by with Lily to say hello, then they flit off together to sit with a few other girls, leaving the boys alone.
There’s a very shaky air of happiness taking up space in the cabin. A few weak remarks about how they’re glad to be rid of schoolwork for two months are passed around jokingly, but after four hours of eating sweets, playing cards, and throwing things into the empty spaces in the luggage racks above the seats, James suddenly bursts into tears.
“James? Mate?” Sirius says worriedly, leaning in close and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” Remus asks gently.
James hiccups and attempts to answer, but all that comes out is a faint choking noise. Peter, who is holding three sticks of licorice and is halfway through braiding them together, sniffles wetly.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” he laughs dolefully. “James, you’ve infected me.”
“’M s-sorry,” James snivels, wiping his cheeks on his sleeves in an unsuccessful effort to clear his face of tears. “I w-was just watching you all doing stuff, and then I fe-felt so sad all of a sudden.” He gives up on mopping the tears away and just buries his face in his hands and sobs.
“N-not cool,” Peter sniffs, his own eyes welling up with unwelcome tears. He wipes them away brusquely before they have the chance to fall.
Sirius’ bottom lip starts quivering. He draws himself up on his seat and puts his chin on his knees.
“I don’t want to go home,” he says simply, voice wavering dangerously.
Regulus is sitting on the opposite bench next to the window, and he looks out of it now, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the carriage as Sirius too starts openly weeping.
“Aw, James. You’ll miss us that much?” Remus pokes fondly, trying his best to lighten the mood before he also dissolves into a puddle of saltwater. This is the wrong thing to say, apparently, because all James manages is a punctured, “Y-yes!” before he’s crying even harder.
Sirius is shaking now, head bowed, concealed behind his knees. His breathing is heavy and sporadic, and he clutches frantically at his own fingers, pressing and pulling at any loose skin or scabs. Remus, recognizing the signs of a panic attack in some distant part of his brain, moves and puts a firm arm around Sirius’ shoulders, doing his best to help guide him into regaining control of his lungs.
After a few minutes, when they’ve all calmed down a considerable amount and the only noise is the occasional hiccup or sniffle, James finally lifts his head from his hands and says staunchly, “I’ll write to you all. Tomorrow morning, I promise. I’ll write.”
“We’ll write back,” says Sirius immediately. The others nod in agreement.
“Er, question,” Peter raises a hand hesitantly, “How are you going to write to all of us at the same time? Toby is only one owl.”
“Chain-letters,” James illustrates, wiping his wet cheeks on his sleeves. “I’ll send a letter to Sirius, he’ll send it to one of you, and whoever gets it last will send it back to me. And then we start all over again.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Peter mumbles.
“Yes, now that that’s sorted,” Regulus cuts in, “Can we get back to Exploding Snap? I appreciate the tears and all, but I’ve only got a few more hours to beat Sirius’ record.”
“Oh, Reggie,” James presses a hand over his heart and laughs wetly, “My dear Reginald. Rigatoni. Rugalah. Regional.”
“None of those are my name.”
“Register. Regulate. Rejuvenation.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’ll miss you most,” James pauses, smiling devilishly, “Regiment.”
Sirius snorts loudly, sending Peter into a fit of half-hysterical giggles. Remus smiles, wide and happy, fully welcoming a distraction from the fading urge to start crying still sticking to the back of his throat. James smiles, utterly pleased with himself, and Regulus sighs deeply.
“Exploding Snap?” he tries tiredly. “Anyone?”
The next morning, hours after the rest of the train ride and the tight embraces shared on Platform 9¾, Sirius is lying alone in his bedroom, arms and head aching from a few well-placed stinging hexes his mother had invoked. He’d received one for every detention he’d gotten, and two extra as punishment for sassing her when she demanded answers for how her oldest son, her prized heir, had ended up in Gryffindor. Regulus had received double for his enabling behavior and careless attitude for their reputation as representatives of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
So summer is obviously off to a lovely start.
At half past noon, Toby raps her beak sharply against Sirius’ bedroom window, rousing him from his foggy stupor. He sees the owl, sees the messy script spelling out his and his brother’s names on a letter that is secured to her leg, and lets out a loud whoop. He regrets it immediately, clapping a hand over his mouth and waiting for the telltale sound of his mother’s heeled shoes to come clicking down the hall, her wand ready to dole out another punishing hex. But Walburga Black must have other duties to attend to today, because she doesn’t come sweeping into his room to Vanish his mouth until she feels he’s learned his lesson. So, after waiting for a few extra minutes, just to be safe, and because Toby’s tapping gets increasingly insistent, he pushes his window open and ushers the owl in, cooing as she enters.
Sirius and the others have become quite fond of Toby over the school year. Rather than staying in a cage or the Owlery, Toby, being quite the sociable little thing, prefers to spend her time napping on the nearest soft object or being pet by anyone willing. As James and his owl alike very much enjoy being surrounded by friends, Toby has almost always been a notable presence in the dorms, on the grounds, and even during mealtimes and a class or two. Which of course has translated to her becoming a favorite of almost all the first years, not just the residents of Gryffindor Tower.
She cozies up to him at once in her usual fashion, wiggling her wings and pushing her soft head into the palm of his hand.
“You’re quite a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Sirius says softly, not daring to raise his voice again. Toby coos and tilts her head so he can scratch under her chin.
He unties the letter from her leg and holds out his arm. She hops nimbly on, headbutting him sweetly.
“Silly owl,” he chuckles, tiptoeing carefully out of his room to the door across the hall. A sign is hung high on it, engraved with large letters. It reads: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. Sirius, as always, ignores it, pushing his way into his brother’s room so they can soothe each other's hex wounds and answer James’ letter together.
These chain letters become the primary method of communication between the boys over the summer months. They read as one long, continuous conversation, and at the end of a long, hot, mostly lonely summer, they look like this:
…
July 1st, 1993
Sirius! Reggie! Lads! Hi! I’m writing right away, just like I said I would. It’s only been one day, but I miss sharing a room with you all. Mama made my favorite last night. We had samosas, biryani, and a bunch of salads. My dad likes quinoa salad, but my favorite is chickpea. I told my mum there’s no biryani at school and she looked as if I just punched the owl. It’s really good. So, so good. Maybe one day you can come visit and we can eat my mum’s food together. I’ve told her all about you lot. She says you sound mischievous. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but she laughed when she said it, so it must be a good thing. Write back quick, yeah? And if Toby bugs you just stroke upwards between her eyes. She’ll fall right asleep. Miss you lots!
-James
...
July 1st, 1993
I miss you all too! And so does Reggie. He’s blushing right now and saying I’m lying, but I know he does. Also, he wants to know what biryani is. I do too; it sounds delicious. And Jamie, tell your mum she’s absolutely right, we are mischievous.
Do any of you have plans for the holidays? Mum says we’re going to France for our cousin Bella’s engagement party. It’s only for a few days, but neither of us can stand parties. And we can’t even talk to each other in privacy because everyone there can speak French, English, and literally every other language under the sun, and no one has any idea how to mind their own business. Wish us luck I suppose. (And Toby could never bother me. She’s a queen among queens, James, how dare you demean her.)
-Sirius Orion Black
Sirius is full of shit. I didn’t blush. But whatever biryani is sounds lovely. As do the salads.
-Regulus Arcturus Black
…
July 3rd, 1993
I love biryani! It’s this sort of rice-chicken-vegetable thing. I don’t know much about it, but an old neighbor of ours made it for us one time and it was so good. I don’t have any plans this summer, but my brothers and I sometimes drive into town to see a film or go to the beach. I’ve got four of them, but they always bring friends or their girlfriends, so I’m usually left alone to do whatever. My brother Rory is getting surgery soon, so Mam will be busy with that. There isn’t really much to do around here. Also, Mr. And Mr. Black, you speak French? And more? I had completely forgotten, but that’s wicked. We speak Scots at home a lot, but that’s all. Just Scots and English. Remus, what about you? Any other languages hidden in your arsenal of knowledge? (And oh my God, how could Toby ever bother me, she’s the best cuddler.)
-Pete
...
July 6th, 1993
I’ve got to say, I’m very interested in the chickpea salad James mentioned, as well as the biryani. And Reggie, don’t lie to us, we know the truth. The truth is you’re helplessly in love with us all. And Peter, I do in fact have a language hidden away in my extensive arsenal of knowledge. I speak Welsh. Mum calls it an indoor language and doesn’t let me speak it outside, but I do anyway. I’d forget it if I didn’t.
Ugh, does anyone else feel like it’s too hot to do anything except lie around and eat? Seriously, all I’ve done for the past week is sit and drink tomato soup out of the tin. Toby was a lovely distraction. She’s adorable. She fell asleep on my chest as I read this letter. And I'm pretty sure she ate my neighbor’s hamster, but it’s alright because he likes putting them in pipes to see if they can come out the other end. That child scares me.
Give me ideas on what to do with all these empty soup tins.
-Remus Lupin
P.S. Peter, I hope your brother’s surgery goes well.
...
July 10th, 1993
My mum saw our letter and said she’ll make biryani for you all when you come over. And you guys speak so many difficult languages, that’s so impressive. I speak Hindi, but I’ve been at school all year with you lot, so when my dad started speaking it to me I blanked for a second and panicked, but I’m alright now.
I’m glad you all like Toby. She’s a handful, but she’s very cute. Mama says she’s like me. Or am I like her? Anyway, Reggie, it’s ok to blush, I know you miss me. Blush all you want; it makes you look even prettier. And have fun in France. Pour some Phlegm into everyone’s wine. That should keep things interesting.
And speaking of Phlegm, Remus, Reg, my dad found my last bottle of your dung potion and wants to know if he could have the recipe. I’m not sure what for, but he looked excited.
Peter, is your brother alright? What’s a surgery?
-James
…
July 11th, 1993
Potter, stop flirting with my brother. (Don’t. It’s hilarious. He’s gone all red again.) We’re leaving for France soon and I’d quite literally like to drown myself in the kitchen sink. So that’s lovely.
It’s nice to know that we’re all some version of multilingual. Jamie, maybe you can teach me some Hindi sometime. I’ll teach you some French swear words and we’ll be all set to travel abroad. And I’d love to visit you (your mum) and see your house (eat her food).
Remus, your hamster neighbor scares me. Throw those tins at him. Avenge all the hamsters lost to the pipes of doom.
I hope your brother is alright, Pete.
All hail Toby, Queen of our hearts.
-Sirius Orion Black
Potter, stop flirting with me. And if Remus agrees, then I’m fine with sharing the dung recipe.
All hail Toby.
-Regulus Arcturus Black
…
July 14th, 1993
Surgery is when doctors have to cut into the body to treat a disease or fix something, but Rory is fine, don’t worry. He’s really excited actually. He’s waited years for this surgery. He and Mam are traveling all the way to Sweden for it, so David is going to be in charge for a couple weeks. Rory isn’t sick, but he was born a girl, not a boy, so he’s having surgery to change his body to how he wants it to be. I checked the library at school, you know, because I wanted to see if there was a magical way to do it. But I couldn’t find anything.
I fully agree with you launching those tins at your creepy neighbor’s head, Remus. Avenge those poor hamsters. And yes, hail Toby, our letter-bearing overlord. We salute her.
-Pete
…
July 19th, 1993
Oh, Peter, I do hope Rory’s surgery goes well! I’ve read it’s quite painful. But I’m sure he’ll be alright. And don’t you lot worry about all those tins. I’ve got loads more now, and I’m slowly stacking them on and around Creepy Neighbor’s house. I’ve painted little pawprints on them too. He thinks he’s being haunted by rodents.
Your dad can have the recipe, James. I don’t mind.
-Lacewing flies
-Fruit fly hearts
-Electric eel livers
-Tempered mold
-Bile
-Lemon juice (as a base)
-Black pepper
-Anything spicy
-Any and every type of bean
-Essence of hag’s breath
Exact measurements don’t matter; just mash it all up and throw in a ton of everything until it looks right. Or until it can dissolve wood.
Regulus, Sirius, I assume you’ll be back in England by the time you read this, so how was France?
-Remus Lupin
P.S. Reverence is given to Toby on this fine day, for she swooped in and ate a cockroach that scared the shit out of me.
…
July 22nd, 1993
Remus, your potion sounds terrifying, but Baba was very impressed. Surgery sounds terrifying too. There’s a potion that does what Rory wants, I think. I asked my dad, but he said the ministry doesn’t let Muggles take it. I suppose surgery is a good thing, then, even if it sounds scary, because he can still be himself, even if it starts off a little painful. And yes, how was France? Did you use any Phlegm? Was it marvelous? Did anyone’s nose explode? I need information. And just by the way, you cannot stop the flirting. It’s a sickness, and I am deathly ill. That reminds me, Mama said my Auntie is coming to visit, but Auntie is always sick, so she isn’t any fun to be around. I’m so bored, I’ve started counting things. I can’t play Quidditch by myself, and my house has a lot of windows, so I’ve counted all of them but the greenhouse. I can’t decide if a greenhouse is one huge window or a bunch of little ones.
-James
…
July 24th, 1993
France was just as nightmarish as I predicted. Bella is engaged to this absolute baguette of a man. And he’s not even properly French, he just looks like a baguette. Phlegm was used, but not by me. I think it was Reggie, but he insists it wasn’t. (I don’t believe him.) Please don’t mess with my perception of greenhouses right now, I don’t have the brainpower.
Also, why have I not been made aware that people could do that? Do what Rory did, I mean. People can just switch? Just like that? That’s wicked!
Hail Queen Toby. She’s my everything.
-Sirius Orion Black
France was dismal. Rudolphus Lestrange is more of a giant prick than a baguette. I wasn’t the one who poisoned his glass, but I do take pride in the fact that he still makes chirping noises whenever he gets startled.
James, tell your father Remus and I want royalties, and Peter, Rory has my best wishes. It is a shame that the ministry doesn’t allow Muggles to use medical potions.
Hail Toby, bringer of peace to my idiot brother.
-Regulus Arcturus Black
…
July 29th, 1993
I told Rory that you guys wished him well and he started crying. He says thanks. He also got tears on my favorite jumper, but I’m willing to overlook it for now because he and Mam are leaving for Sweden in two days. James, I asked Mam if greenhouses are one giant window or not and she told me she had no idea. I think it might be lots of windows. The greenhouses at school can’t be all one window, can they? They’re too big. Maybe little greenhouses are one window and big ones are a lot of them put together.
And thank you ever so much, Reggie, for that image of a giant phallus holding a glass of wine and sneezing so loud it could topple the Sears Tower.
Hail Toby, calmer of minds and expeller of intrusive, penile thoughts.
-Pete
…
August 4th, 1993
I’m sorry France was so bad, but at least it’s over now. If you’re still bored, you should take a leaf out of my book and psychologically torment any creepy neighbors. The rodent haunting is going wonderfully, by the way. He’s putting up salt wards and refusing to touch any tins because I followed him to see where he shops and put little paw prints in the tin aisles. He’s feeding his hamsters now, so even if I’m diabolical, you can’t say I’m not efficient.
I think a greenhouse is both one window and a lot of little ones, and I definitely don’t appreciate the image of a giant penis sipping wine and spewing snot. They spew plenty of other things already, in my opinion.
Today, we appreciate Toby. The brave owl that valiantly attacked her own reflection because she thought it would hurt me.
-Remus Lupin
…
August 9th, 1993
I saw the words penile and spew and threw the letter across the room. I scared Toby, but worry not, I have atoned for my sins. Toby is content with my peace offering of treats.
Remus, I think we have yet to fully appreciate that you’re tormenting someone into being a better person. Merlin, that’s another level of marauding. Teach me your ways.
I’d forgotten about the greenhouse but now it’s bothering me again so when I’m finished writing this I’m going to count the tiles in my bathroom instead so I can be distracted from this existential nightmare. That’s a new word I learned, by the way. Existential. It's my favorite as a type of crisis. And I like the way it sounds when I say it.
The goddess has forgiven me. (She's sleeping on my pillows.) I am blessed on this day. Hail Toby.
-James
…
August 11th, 1993
I’m thoroughly entertained by this enthusiastic worship of Toby. It’s a bit cult-like, but all religions are a little bit cult-like, so it’s an expected development. I’d like to believe that this attempt at traumatizing Creepy Neighbor into caring for his hamster is also an extension of Toby’s influence.
All hail Toby!
-Sirius Orion Black
All hail Toby.
-Regulus Arcturus Black
…
August 14th, 1993
Rory is home and it’s two weeks to school! Wow, I never thought I’d be excited for school, but here we are. I’m going to bring pens and pencils this year. And regular paper. And maybe some regular supplies in general. I can’t wait to introduce you to erasers and crayons.
Hail Toby, comforter of older brothers in pain from reconstructive surgery. She and Rory are napping together in his favorite armchair.
-Pete
…
August 16th, 1993
Pete, could I borrow some supplies at school? Mum says I don’t need them for magic school and to just use what they tell me to, but I’d like to have the option of ink that doesn’t stain my fingers. It’ll be lovely to see you all. Only two weeks left!
Hail Toby, keeper of fine company. (A butterfly landed on her head and she fell off my kitchen counter.)
-Remus Lupin
…
August 20th, 1993
I’m so excited for school! Mama says I’m like those bouncy balls I brought home. We’re going for supplies soon, so maybe I’ll meet one of you in Diagon Alley!
I lost count of the tiles a while ago, but that’s ok because I’ve decided that greenhouses are made up of a lot of little windows, so my house has eighty-four windows.
I’ll see you all at the train station. All hail Toby!
-James
…
August 23rd, 1993
All hail Toby! (She’s the love of my life.)
-Sirius Orion Black
All hail Toby. (She’s an owl, Sirius.)
-Regulus Arcturus Black
…
August 27th, 1993
All hail Toby! (Reggie loves us. And yeah, Remus, you can bum supplies off me. I always pack too much anyway.)
-Pete
…
August 30th, 1993
All hail Toby! (Creepy Neighbor is now civil with his pet rodents and it’s all thanks to Toby and some chunky acrylic paint.)
-Remus Lupin