Summary: The last letter from his soldier is opened. Much smut again. And a reconciliation.
Disclaimer: This is redundant, but I have to cover my ass. HP characters belong to JK Rowling, et al. I make no claims of ownership.
2 September 1978
I miss Sirius. Even if he fidgeted and sighed long-sufferingly whenever I was studying or reading (not paying attention to him). Even if he and James got me into trouble or convinced me to slag off on my Prefect duties. Even if he led Snape to almost certain death. Even if he stole my Beatles and Bowie records. Even if he left his towel on the bathroom floor. Even if he… the point is, I miss him a lot. But I don’t know how to fix things between us. I’ve been the one whom everyone comes to when they were having relationship problems. And I can’t solve my own problem, everyone else’s- sure fine, no worries. I bloody hate irony.
5 September 1978
The full moon falls on a Tuesday this month, so I’ll have to have off that day and Wednesday. At least it’s not on a Friday. Those are damn near impossible to get off. Joe, the owner, likes me so it shouldn’t be a problem if one happens to fall on a weekend. I think my pen is running out if ink. Bollocks. Found another. I’ve got hundreds. Pens are much easier to write with than quills. Although quills do allow you breaks in writing so you can think before you continue. Ah well. So, I still haven’t run into Sirius or heard from him. James said that he said to meet at the cottage for the full. I am dreading the impending confrontation between Sirius and myself. It wouldn’t be so terrifying if it were just the two of us, but James and Peter will be there to witness it. I really cannot stand that level of embarrassment. And bollocks! Now this pen is running out of ink. Just when I’ve got some good thoughts going. I suppose it is a sign to go back to quills and parchments and organise the scraps of paper, and transcribe them into a coherent report. What the? Oh Merlin’s balls! Regulus was spotted in late August at a “rally” for Voldemort in Derbyshire. Piss and bollocks. I wonder if Sirius knows this yet.
6 September 1978
Had lunch with Peter today. He has a girlfriend (finally), Paulette. That was rude of me. Fuck it, like he’s ever going to see this journal. And my friends went on about my supposed virginal state? I didn’t want to date anybody at school and risk having them discover my secret. That’s not to say that I didn’t get laid over the holidays. I lost my virginity the summer before my fourth year. What was her name? Anais, a pretty sixteen year old from Nice. I like that area much better than Paris. Well, more incoherent babbling in my journal today; I miss Sirius…
8 September 1978
I miscalculated. The full moon is on the 13th, Monday. What’s happening to me? I can’t even remember the lunar phase! So, I need Tuesday off from work. And James will not be there as he has an assignment. A top secret one that I can’t tell Sirius about. So it will be myself, Padfoot and Wormtail for the moon. Great. Peter’s not exactly a good mediator. He doesn’t take sides at all. Which does have its advantage, but not when you need to decide something. You can’t sit on the fence forever.
9 September 1978
I sent Dumbledore the last of my reports. It doesn’t look good. Voldemort is gaining more pureblood support while killing off those who oppose him. The Prewetts were attacked last night. They got out all right, but their home was destroyed. I’m really worried for Sirius. He could become a target. He’s a pureblood who turned his back on his bigoted family. And he’s a powerful wizard. He will most likely climb through the ranks of the Aurors swiftly. Voldemort is also attempting to recruit werewolves. He’ll find it difficult as the numbers are getting thinner and we’re scattered all over the place. Plus, I think we have more to lose if we get caught in his service. But I expect the Ministry to write newer, more restrictive werewolf legislation within the next few months. I think Dumbledore might be sending me on a few trips shortly…
10 September 1978
Bloody fucking hell! Peter just told me that now Sirius is going on assignment during the full moon too! I told Peter not to worry about it; I’ll go to my parents again. I really fucking hate this!
11 September 1978
Day trip on the outskirts of Prague. Meeting with four area werewolves. Need to convince not to side with Voldemort. Prague is full of history… Not about to go bookish now. Ah, here comes one of them now.
12 September 1978
Thankfully, one of them could speak English, as my Czech is terrible. Apparently, they are unofficial leaders, if that’s the right word, spokesmen, more like, of the Romanian and Czech werewolves. They have no intention of helping an egomaniacal madman interested in the purity of blood. Furthermore, they seemed surprised and genuinely moved when they learned that I had studied at Hogwarts under Dumbledore. They pledged their support to him should he ever need it. Then it was my turn to be shocked. All that I have heard about… Well, it was most likely misinformation, wasn’t it? Werewolves are human except for full moon nights, quite capable of rational thought most times. Anyway, Dumbledore should be pleased by this news.
13 September 1978
I’m at my parents’ house. About to go to the shed. God I miss Sirius. Miss his lips wrapped around my cock. Miss his heat, the tight muscles squeezing me dry. Miss… Bollocks! Need to get to the shed!
15 September 1978
It took all of yesterday for me to recover. Poppy came by to fix me up. I couldn’t get home until late last night. I don’t feel like going into the gruesome details. Let’s just say I’ll have a few new scars. Anyway, I found that letter from Sirius. I’m afraid to open it. I haven’t heard from him at all. Not even through James or Peter. I have finally realised that I will have to be the one to end the silence. I haven’t figured out how to do that though. Thus my dilemma never ends. I can’t take much more of this.
16 September 1978
Still going insane, plus I have to do the shopping on Sunday. The club has been let for a party that night. I need to pick up fifteen pounds of ground beef Sunday at MacGregor’s Meats. Lovely. Next they’ll want me to cook it too! I’m a bloody bartender, not Julia Childs! Sorry, but I’ve not had sex in over a month and have no time for a decent wank. Add in recovering from a bitch of a transformation… I’m very irritable to say the least. Well, since I’ve got a few moments, I’ll open that letter now.
11 July 1978
I just finished reading your letter. I’m glad you found a flexible job. Prongs wanted to know if our drinks would be “on the house” when we come to visit you at work. I told him not to take advantage of your good nature. He told me that giving us free drinks was the least you could do and “Sod off, Sirius.” Then we proceeded to go into an absurd comedic bantering contest.
I am tired and sore most of the time. Naturally, I have acquired an obsessive longing for a long, hot bubble bath. Do you think Dumbledore would mind if I asked to use the Prefect’s bath?
I hate that you’ll be alone next week. I know you’ve done it most of your life, but you don’t have to anymore. Prongs and I will be back in August, just in time. I hate seeing you suffer and I hate that there’s nothing I can do to stop the pain… I love you. I know I’ve said it before, but you can’t ignore ink and parchment. I love you. And I miss you terribly.
I miss how you kick off all the covers and freeze my bollocks off. I miss your morning breath. I miss your bed hair. I miss how you scowl at me when I’m being too tough on Peter. I miss the smell of your sweat. I miss how exasperated I can make you. I miss beating you at chess. I miss helping you with potions. I miss you breathing down my neck, trying to get me to study more.
I miss the taste of your skin. I miss the moan you make when I nibble on your earlobe. I miss how you take control without taking it away from me. You make me sweat, and then you lick it up. Your tongue delves into every crevice, over every muscle on my body. You tease my nipples, making me moan louder and louder. You lick up my throat, over my lips, making me so hard it hurts. You press your body against mine. While your tongue is busy stifling my moans, your cock rubs against mine and I could die, begging for release. You keep thrusting against me; I’m almost crying with need.
You break off the kiss, sit back on your heels, your erection prominent, glistening, and you turn me over. You pull on my hips; I get on all fours. You run your hands up my back, watching my muscles tense and shudder with anticipation. You stretch out over my back, your cock brushing against my arse. You start at the back of my neck: nip then lick. You continue down my back: nip, lick, nip, lick, nip, lick, lick, swirl, nip, lick paying extra attention to my arse. You work your way inward spreading my cheeks with your hands. I feel your hot breath fanning across my opening. Your tongue darts out and licks up the cleft. God I love your tongue. You draw circles around my opening before penetrating it. You push past the ring, tongue curled, I’m keening. Your tongue pushes further in, unrolls, wiggles and I can’t help myself. I start stroking my leaking cock in rhythm with your tongue. You keep probing, stretching me, preparing me for your cock. Your tongue isn’t enough; it is only a tease. I need you to fu-Shite–! Will continue in next letter.
17 September 1978
I’m the world’s biggest wanker. I feel like utter crap. I read the last letter Sirius sent me. While the last two paragraphs did provide phenomenal wanking material, the rest broke my heart. He really did love me, not just the sex. I mean, he didn’t just think about sex. I didn’t give him any leverage. I wrote him off without a second thought… Because I was scared. I still am scared. He makes me feel things I can’t explain or analyse. The wolf in me enjoys that and that is what scares me, losing control of myself. The world is not going to end if say, the spirit moves me to shag Sirius in a public toilet, or if I wanted to play Seeker in a pick up games of Quidditch. I need to take risks from time to time. Keep the blood pumping and the adrenal glands working and all that rot. I wonder if I should start a letter to Sirius? This could take days.
19 September 1978
Just got home from work. I ran into Sirius in London today. I still don’t know what to say. It was a shock running into him. There was so much to say; yet, I didn’t want to say it. Wasn’t the right moment. I need to send him a letter. I don’t think I told him where I worked. Not like he’ll pop in to see me. Why should he? Our conversation today consisted of inconsequential babble and awkward pauses. He’s having someone over for dinner tonight. It’s probably only James, right? Sirius would have told me if it were someone else, just to rub my nose in it.
20 September 1978
Wrote a letter to Sirius and sent it off. I’m afraid I’m now babbling in letters. I started off with my usual reserve, then cursed, and then ceased hiding behind a wall of pretences. I have no idea what to say to Sirius other than “I’m sorry,” but that doesn’t seem to be enough. I was justified in dumping him, but I didn’t explain why. I didn’t want to validate the feelings of being used; I didn’t want to believe that Sirius would do that to me. And I can’t put all of what I just wrote into a letter. Not yet. I don’t want to make myself that vulnerable. In Order business, Dumbledore is pleased with my work in Prague. As a reward, he’s put me back on paperwork. Mostly analysing maps and D.E. activity. We’re trying to find central locations to see if the Aurors can’t make a few raids. Anything would be helpful now. Voldemort keeps gaining following, most of them due to fear. Thank Merlin for Dumbledore.
22 September 1978
Have not received a reply from Sirius yet. I’m sure I’ll get one within the next two days. He’s always impatient. I met Lily for lunch today. I’m afraid I was still quite groggy and not paying attention to her. She complained about James, I think. Something about his first day back and he ignores her and goes to Sirius’ for a steak dinner.
23 September 1978
I just received an owl from Sirius. I’m torn between feeling like the world’s biggest wanker and feeling like I could commit justifiable homicide. Maybe I could commit murder while feeling like the world’s biggest wanker? It will take me a few days to craft a response to this letter. He’s really pissed me off. Well, I did finally receive the tongue lashing/temper tantrum I knew Sirius would eventually send. Perhaps I should come back to this in a few days. I need to read between the lines and I can only do that when my mind is calm. I can’t fucking believe he brought up his training! Maybe if he had taken my concerns into consideration I wouldn’t have broken it off while he trained to get his foolish arse killed!
25 September 1978
Just got back from Bavaria. Had to cut short my “ambassador” trip because the werewolves there were absolutely inhospitable to outsiders. At least they won’t be joining Voldemort either. They keep to themselves, much like the centaurs. I still have not crafted a response to Sirius’ letter. I have read it twenty times now. He’s hurt and he’s lashing out. Perfectly understandable, but he has no idea what I went through since May. Maybe that’s the problem, I should have told him off when we were at school. Not that it would have changed his mind, but maybe I wouldn’t have built up all the resentment towards him. Well, now I have to see Albus before I start my shift tonight. Must let him know the Bavarian trip was a disaster. I think I’m lucky to be back in one piece.
27 September 1978
I have broken down the arguments in Sirius’ letter, having surmised it’s overall theme is “fuck you.” Thankfully, Sirius can elaborate on such a simple theme, which gives me something to reply to. I think I’ll address the actual break up letter and my reasons for doing so. And then I’ll tell him off. Where does he get the nerve telling me how I should break up with him when he left me out of his career choice? Getting angry again. Not a good mood to be in when writing a letter. I realise how I must have hurt him. I suppose I forgot who Sirius is when he isn’t acting like himself. That last sentence made absolutely no sense. I ought to start writing that letter.
29 September 1978
I sent the letter yesterday. I did tell him “fuck you too” as well as divulging the contents of my confused mind. I think I apologised quite well; I might have even been flirting a bit. I did have a realisation as to why we never told each other off like Lily does James; we were still acting like friends. I stayed in the pattern of allowing my friends to get away with more than they should, still afraid of losing the friendship if I put my foot down. You can’t do that in a relationship; you need boundaries, otherwise you feel as though you are constantly being used. The stakes and emotions are much higher and you’re much more vulnerable.