alt_regulus | (no subject)

From:

Your mother just had me on the Floo - the elf isn't back yet? She said she'd asked Mother for one of hers, but Mother only really has the two anymore and can't spare them, so she came to me. When I asked her whatever for, she said Our Lord had only borrowed Kreacher. (And she had some choice words, at that, considering that He has all the elves He could need - well, I'm sure you can imagine.)

Do you want me to send Trinny through?

From:

alt_narcissa

Regulus?

From:

alt_crouch_jr

What are you on about?

From:

alt_crouch_jr

Reg.

This is not the time to wind us up.

Answer one of us, dammit.

From:

alt_sirius

Bugger.

From:

alt_pansy

what did you do?

From:

alt_pansy

I miss you so much, Pirate.

Especially today.

From:

alt_pansy

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

From:

alt_pansy

"We are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or an egg collection, without feeling very much the worse for it, is it not."

I got your books.

The Beckett one will take me ages to get through, but I found the bits you underlined. I think we both got sadder, and neither of us very much wiser. You had quite a collection of it before we ever met, I think, and had more than you could bear of it in the end. And I took some of yours for my own.

Collections of books and sadness sort of go together, don't they?

I just realised that I won't be able to see what I've written to you any more when I get too old for the lock.

I think that's probably a good thing. But it is still another kind of loss, isn't it? The growing up kind.

I think I might be falling in love with someone. I worry so much sometimes about what he doesn't know about me, and about what he'd think if he knew everything. And that makes me think that what he likes about me isn't real, which means that he could never love the real me. But if I think on it too much, it makes me blue, so I'd much rather write it down and be done with it. And you're as good a person to write to as any.

Your brother is still incredibly annoying, by the way. For someone who seems to have all the answers, he certainly is very stingy about giving them out.

I like this one too:

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

I'm awfully good at failing. But he does have a point. Sometimes, we've got to pick ourselves up and try for it again, until we don't want to any more, and give up. Like you did.

When the books came, it was like I'd lost you all over again. And I missed you so much that it felt like I'd been punched in my stomach by it. It doesn't hurt as bad right now, though. And I miss you whenever I see your books on my shelf, but I'm also happy I have them. So there's that. And the idea that you were thinking of me after all, that I didn't send off those notes into nothingness, that helps too.

Thank you, Regulus. Thank you.

From:

alt_pansy

Happy Birthday, Regulus.

I've nearly finished the first volume of Beckett.

I hope I can live up to your fine literary standards. You've certainly set a high bar. Here's hoping becoming well-read doesn't automatically lead to an increase in depression, because I've got quite enough of that to start with. But then again, brilliant people are often a bit unbalanced, aren't they?

I suppose I must be destined for brilliance.

I've been better this year, though. Much better. I've been happy more than I've been sad. I still worry too much about everything, though. That's all your fault, of course.

Kidding.

Sort of.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, mostly because I've been writing Sirius about it (which I'm sure you would be quite amused by), but I find it quite ironic that I started talking to you because I couldn't talk openly to your brother, and then when you were thrown away like you were, that was the what made me sit up and be angry and really notice that things were wrong and rotten, and it made me learn that even people like you and me, people who were born into the right sort of families, even we weren't safe.

I'm so sorry, Regulus.

I'm sorry that all I could do was watch while you were broken into little pieces.

I'm sorry that I might've made things worse for you.

I'm not sorry that I cared what happened to you, though. I'm not sorry that you have people who mourn you, and miss you, and wish you hadn't died. And that I'm one of those people.

Sometimes I think about what you would be like if things were different. Like if you'd never run away. But then I don't think I would've liked the you that hadn't run away nearly as much. And I don't blame you one bit for not wanting to be here. I don't want to be here either sometimes.

If you'd run away and never come back, I don't suppose you'd take the same route as your brother and write, and if you had, I would've gotten in trouble for talking to you so I wouldn't have bothered. But I'd rather you were alive and sitting on a sunny beach somewhere, reading a book and missing England, and not ever have known you at all.

And if you'd have stayed alive, if you were strong and managed to hold on, well, I'm sort of torn on that one too. It's awful to think of, but now that I've had some time to sort it out, I don't think He wanted you to ever become a complete person again. I think He was trying to push and twist you until you weren't you any more, only you killed yourself before He could.

Sometimes, it's brave to run away.

Sometimes, it's better to decide your own fate.

I don't know if I'd be strong enough to hold on for as long as you did, and make the choice you made. I hope I never have to be that strong.

I put out two sickles on my windowsill for you. And I'm going to look for your star tonight.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you so much, Pirate.

From:

alt_pansy

I have a feeling you'd laugh very hard if you ever met Dolores Umbridge. And you'd be no end of amused to know who she's lumped you in with.

You deserve so much more. I wish you had a proper burial. But it's not up to me, is it? I suppose this is what I've come up with instead. Visiting your paper grave, and leaving letters instead of flowers.

I can't get away from you these past few days. I'll turn a corner and you'll be waiting there, looking lost and sad and broken, and I'll feel small all over again. It's been ages since you've shown up, but it still manages to take the breath out of me. I wonder if this will ever really end? I can't imagine feeling like a second year when I'm sixty or seventy, but I suppose I'll have to wait and find out. If I ever get to be that old, that is.

Someone just told me yesterday that as long as a person's name is remembered, their soul will never be lost. And I'll remember you for as long as I live.

So there.

From:

alt_pansy

I miss my Pirate.

From:

alt_pansy

Hello, Regulus.

It's been three years.

You still don't have a grave. Not a proper one. I've asked Sirius for your locket, the one with your hair in it that you gave to your mum to see I can try and find you. I hope that I do.

When we were sitting in your room, talking and laughing and crying, it felt like you were right there with us, being wry and rolling your eyes, and it was wonderful.

Everything has been moving so very quickly lately. I can see where I came from, and where I've ended up, but it still makes my head spin sometimes. Especially when so many people I love

It's hard to walk away from them. From everything I've known.

A part of me is glad that you died before becoming my enemy. Before He twisted you into someone I no longer knew.

I still miss you.

Happy almost birthday.

From:

alt_pansy

I did something today I probably shouldn't have.

Story of my life, isn't it, Pirate? If I ever write a memoir, that will have to be the title.

Since I've written you last, I've become a partner in a rather successful business (you would have loved it to no end, and bought one of everything to poke fun at Narcissa Malfoy with, I have no doubt), come back from a rather miserably broken heart (sometimes, mostly, I hope), joined a terrorist organisation, had an offer to apprentice with a potioneer, went to a ball with a rather fit boy, and been thoroughly snogged by a completely different rather fit boy. That's quite a lot of living to pack in to half a year.

I still see shadows of you whenever I go to Grimmauld. I'm holding a piece of one of those shadows close to my heart right now, and I'll tuck it away in my trunk for the time being, but know that I miss you and love you and am thinking of you today.

From:

alt_pansy

Oh, Pirate.

I'm so tired. And nothing seems to fit like it used to. It's like I'm speaking a different language all the time, and it feels like ash in my mouth.

It was so very stupid of me to think that things could be like school only better. Or like Grimmauld, only ours. People grow up. People fall in love with other people who aren't me, and choose each other first every time. People don't need me as much as they used to, even though I need them more than ever, and getting angry about it just makes it all my fault and makes them more likely to leave.

I want to curl up in a giant pile with People and forget about the world for a while. And not worry about being a successful loser or what I've just been asked to do for this sodding challenge or whether we'll be alive next year or whether I'm ever going to be good enough or useful enough or trustworthy enough

It's such a bloody mess.

And the thing about being in like instead of love is that if you go through a rough patch, well, it's not like you can trust they'd want to be around for the messy bits. Or want to see who you really are.

I hate everything.

I miss you.

From:

alt_pansy

Happy birthday.

It would make you smile to learn that you're still managing to be enigmatic and maddeningly frustrating beyond the grave. It's been months and months, and I don't think I'll ever sort it out. Not on my own, at least. And I can't tell anyone else. They wouldn't understand.

Draco certainly didn't. George most certainly won't. He'd go running for the hills. After all, I'm damaged goods. You really have ruined me, Pirate.

Sally-Anne tries. She's tried to understand me more than anyone, I think. But it's not as easy as it used to be, and I wonder if she thinks it's worth the effort any more.

Sometimes when I light the candles and call out your name something almost answers me back, and it's like I'm in the Department of Mysteries all over again listening at the veil, or holding Marie up to my ear, and it feels so right, but it's too quiet for me to sort out the words. I hope you can hear me. I hope you know that you're remembered.

Sometimes I think I'll die before I have the chance to find you and give you a proper grave, and then we'll both be wandering lost and alone forever.

I want so very many things that will never come true. Everything seems so pointless sometimes.

Including dwelling on hopeless wishes, I suppose.

So I'll light the candles and say your name and put two sickles on the windowsill just for you, and that will have to be enough for now.

I miss you.

Every day.

From:

alt_pansy

It's very nearly your birthday.

How odd. It's been almost a full year since I've written you.

We found out what you did, and we're going to finish what you started. I felt so very...

Well, I suppose complete is the word? So very complete when I found out what you'd done. How you'd died. And it was awful, and tragic, and sad, and brave, and good, and wonderful, and Sirius and I couldn't stop crying and laughing about it for ages and ages.

And guess what? Those friends I was so worried about losing? They saw me at my absolute worst and loved me anyways. Loved me more, even. And maybe that's why I haven't needed to write you quite as much. Because I could just tell them everything instead. And I love someone who loves me back -- all of me. Messiness included.

Anyways.

We're getting ready for the final showdown, and I'd like to think that in a different world, knowing what I know now, you'd be right there beside us. Keep an eye on us, will you, Pirate?

Maybe I'll see you soon.

I will remember you for as long as I live.

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30

(no subject)

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags