Summary: Letters passed between Sirius and Remus during September 1978
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.
20 September 1978
It was a bit of a surprise running into you yesterday. As I told you then, I am a bartender at a nightclub: The Glitter Collar. I enjoy the open-minded atmosphere and the hours are conducive to that side project I do. Most of my earnings come from tips. And this is shite. I’m sick of being so bloody proper and British about things. I was fucking shocked about seeing you yesterday. You may have noticed my fidgeting. I don’t know what to say to you. I really don’t. You, as always, were an open book. I didn’t want to look you in the eyes. If anyone ever wants to know the truth, all they would have to do is look into your eyes.
My job can be difficult: dealing with drunks, jealous boyfriends; I can’t help it if drunken people flirt with me. I’m providing the alcohol; I want to encourage the tips. You’d probably do well as a Bouncer. As I’m just rambling now, I’ll conclude the letter. Feel free to send me a letter or Howler in return.
22 September 1978
Did not notice any fidgeting on your part. However, you were worrying your bottom lip in a most endearing manner. As for what to say…. How about “I’m sorry I called you a needy, clingy, immature prick” and/or “I’m sorry I wrote you a brief, clinical note outlining why I thought we shouldn’t be together even though we’ve been friends for seven years and you were under a lot of stress and needed the support, what with training for a job where you’ll most likely be killed or captured or tortured.” (I hope that last run-on sentence didn’t annoy you too much.) How’s that? It’s just to get you started. If you need more ideas, I’ve got plenty. And a bouncer? Well, if this job doesn’t work out, I’m glad to know I still have options. Isn’t it nice to have options so you can run away from your problems instead of trying to work them out?
28 September 1978
I received your letter last Thursday and have spent the past few days trying to articulate a response. All I have been able to think of is: Fuck you too. As for the “brief, clinical note” at that moment in time, it was the most attractive option to breaking it off. What I really wanted to say was “I’m tired of being your fucking whore, go find a new doormat to trample on.” And about the timing, who decided to go into that profession without discussing it with me? You acted as though I didn’t matter in your future. And I wasn’t running away, technically you were. You went away to Auror training while I stayed in the same geographic location. I needed to remove myself from the situation in order to see it clearly. And the problem is that we were still treating each other as friends, letting things slide that we should not have. Also, the enormity of your sex drive is a bit frightening. Especially for someone who was not yet comfortable with his own appetite. Your first two letters to me while you were training only exaggerated my feelings of being used. I didn’t read the last letter you sent until a few days before I ran into you in London. I wish I would have read it earlier, but perhaps I wasn’t ready to know. I’m sorry I called you a needy, clingy, immature prick and I’m sorry that I sent you a brief, clinical note breaking up with you while you trained for a job where you could be captured, tortured or killed- even if you were the idiot who chose to pursue said career without asking my opinion on the matter.
R. J. Lupin