Author's Note: MrsTater and myself had so much fun writing our last joint endeavour, "Up All Night", together that we decided to team up again, this time for something completely different. We decided to do an R/T story almost entirely by letters between them, with one of us writing as Remus and the other as Tonks. And this is the result...

Dedicated to Lisa for being the best writing partner ever. :)


Between the Lines

Remus Lupin stared at the small brown owl who, tired of standing on one leg for several minutes with the other held out expectantly, decided to concentrate on tucking some errant tail feathers back into place instead.

"It's only a card, right?" he said aloud, fingering it doubtfully. He'd already smudged the ink, which dismayed him considerably, and he had no idea why a simple, spontaneous gesture had become such a major decision. Except that it was exceedingly rare nowadays that he afforded himself the luxury of making simple, spontaneous gestures, let alone to young witches he'd only known for a few weeks.

Still... His first instinct was that she'd appreciate it for exactly what it was. No more, no less. He wasn't quite sure whether that sounded reassuring or disappointing, but decided to settle firmly on the former.

The owl had cast him a brief glance and resumed its grooming.

"It's just a friendly gesture."

The owl carried on preening further south of the tail area.

"Not that friendly." Remus sighed heavily, which caused the owl to pause again, and roll the nearest eye at him in a way that reminded him of Moody.

"Hoo-oo."

"If you're saying that I'm making entirely too much of this, then you're absolutely right." Remus sighed again. "In a minute, I'll be asking you what you would do if you were me?"

The owl regarded him for a moment, head cocked to one side.

It hopped forward and held its leg out purposefully again.


August 14th, 3.40pm.

Dear T,

You may not be aware of this, but I'm away doing some volunteer work for the Phoenix family. Trying to alert people to a worthwhile cause in these difficult times that they may be unaware of. Or avoiding.

It's all been a little frustrating today; my fault, I'm sure. In search of peace and inspiration, I took a long walk alongside the lake in this beautiful part of the world, and passed a tiny café that sold postcards. Including this one. Whether it will actually reach you is slightly uncertain; my choice lay between an owl who has recently taken self-imposed retirement, or Olive here, who apparently has beauty but no great sense of direction. If she makes it, I'm assured that she'll remember you and your location forever if you happen to have a chocolate digestive or two going spare.

Best Wishes,

R.

I'm certainly not implying that I will be bombarding you with any more cards. I know we haven't known each other that long but, as they say, I saw this and thought of you.


14/08/95

9.15 PM

Wotcher, R!

Your postcard took me by extremely pleasant surprise! (Not very constantly vigilant of me, huh?) I had to think for a minute whose name I know starts with R. Hope I wasn't meant to reply to a certain gargantuan member of the family, haha!

You lucky git! Why don't I ever get to volunteer for the ace jobs? Lakeside view, wow! Only I'm not sure I believe you were thinking of me so much as rubbing my nose in it that I'm still sat in my cubicle (note my very professional, pale blue embossed parchment, except for the pumpkin juice stain in the corner) reading boring-as-Binns files for anything that might be helpful to the Phoenix family. Even my Kirley McCormack Duke poster's lost some of its shirtless lustre in comparison to the glow of the sunset on the water. Although I have found a new hair colour in the postcard, which I don't think makes me look too peaky.

All the same, even though I'm green with envy that you're in such a great location (bet I'm the only person you know who literally could be), I hope tomorrow's luckier for you. Being the sanest and most socially adept of the family, if you can't make some headway, none of us can.

How long will you be away? Only I may need to restock my stash of McVitie's, as your owl is gorging herself.

Take care,

T.


August 15th, 5.30pm.

Dear T,

Am glad to hear the card met with your approval – I hoped your eyes would concentrate on the beautiful sunset over the water, and not what those ducks were getting up to in the foreground. I was rather thinking you might like that shade of pink, but isn't 'going green' always to be encouraged?

I know I said I wasn't going to trouble you again, but I wanted to thank you for your kind and encouraging words. I am slightly concerned that you think I am the most socially adept member of the family. (Uncle Alastor did once lend me an interesting book entitled 'Beware of the Open Invitation', and I took note of many things. Before remembering that I then had to eat those notes to be vigilant.) But I think my concern in this case is whether I am the right man for the job. However, today has been more promising, I hope, and I can extend my planned week's stay if necessary. Though I do worry about a friend at home who has difficulty getting out and about these days; I may ask Cousin Arthur to call on him and see if he needs anything.

I'm afraid I simply couldn't resist the picture of this goat, which I thought another family member might approve of. Sincere apologies for the joke. I hope it doesn't put your poster even more into the shade on the wall!

Best Wishes,

R.

P.S Olive obviously enjoyed making your acquaintance because she seems very keen to remind me of her existence by thoughtfully leaving pellets in my shoes at every opportunity. Not so much dogging my footsteps as owling them?


15/08/95, 11.45 PM

R,

Am I the only one you're writing to, or is your Inner Eye especially clear today? At tonight's family reunion, Cousin Abe announced that starting this week, Thursday nights are going to be Blues Night at the Hog's Head. Pity he didn't ask for my musical input and go for Metal Mondays, as then he really could've got Billy Idol instead of making lame jokes about unemployed goats. But no one ever asks me, and as the joke on the outside of the card was marginally funnier than that crap about Olive owling your footsteps (you see, you're not the only punny one, Romulus), I've given your card a place of honour on my cubicle wall, next to Kirley's bare chest. I can't say broader, or hairier, than that.

Glad I was able to make you feel a little better, but you don't have to thank me, you know. I'm only stating facts. And you don't have to apologise for writing, either. Trouble's what I nearly got in when a note dropped out of one of the files I nicked last night and the cleaning witch unhelpfully put it back on the boss' desk. And Trouble's the middle name of our mutual shut-in friend who begged me to take him for a walk when I popped in at lunch, and I'm damned if he doesn't make the best puppy-dog eyes you ever saw. So after a day like that, a daft goat joke was just what I needed to make me feel pink again.

Only I wish you wouldn't say things that imply you're less of a man than any other. Think about who we've got in the Phoenix family! Seriously, you're so much more than that furry little problem, and other people will see it. And I hope they see it quickly, because I'm not keen on the idea of you extending your stay. When I said you're the most socially adept member of the family, I meant it. There's certainly no one else I'd even think of asking to go with me next Thursday to hear Billy Idol and his All Out-Of-Work Goat Blues Band?!

Good luck,

T.

x

PS - If Olive's in a snit when she arrives, it's because I've cut down on the McVitie's tonight for the sake of your shoes. I've tried to explain to her that it won't help you win friends and influence people if you smell like chocolate digestive pellets, but she blinked at me as if I was quite mad, and I reckon to an owl, I am.


16th August, 9.15am

Dear T,

As you liked my goat card so much, I've decided to treat you to another, with an even better joke. (Un)luckily for you, this shop has a seemingly inexhaustible supply. You must ask Cousin Abe what he calls an outlaw goat, and see if he comes up with Billy the Kid as well. Though I'm dying to know what the goats will make of Blues Night and trying, for the sake of my sanity, not to imagine a unique rendition of "Singin' the Bleats…"

You do make me feel better, you know (and it's not just the thought that I'm currently outshining Kirley's chest on your wall), and it seems to have changed my luck as I've been invited to dinner tonight with some people who I think might well have causes sympathetic to those of the Phoenixes. They also have some useful contacts and - well, we'll see how it goes. But I'm more hopeful than I have been since I got here. I'm very grateful to you for calling on my housebound friend, though I hope you resisted those beseeching eyes and told him that fresh air can be detrimental to your health. If it's not too much trouble, and you do get chance to call again, I know he would enjoy a game of Exploding Snap, a jug of cider with a pretty girl, and a chance to reminisce about happier times. (He's probably got a few goat jokes too, even if he tends to specialise in dog ones. Never ask him about distemper.)

I'm half inclined to call your bluff and take you up on the Blues Night out! Though you'd never explain to family or friends what you were doing with me as your date, while I'd probably have to spend all my time fighting off Kirley look-alikes and their chests. Sadly, you can see why it would never work between us!

PLEASE be careful with those files. Your boss is no fool, and nor are your colleagues. If you're there so late that the cleaning witch is around it won't take much to make him wonder why.

I worry about you. Why aren't you out enjoying yourself in the evenings?

R.

x

Poor Olive has not even had time to think of pellet dropping as I was keen to get this to you before tonight. She'll probably need a lot of TLC (Tender Loving Chocolate) to recover.

Do hope you can read all this. I seem to have crammed a ridiculous amount onto one small postcard…


16/08/95

3.35 PM

R,

It took a Chicken-Scratch Deciphering Spell, but in the end I managed to make out everything you crammed onto that last postcard. Have you heard of this useful little paper product called stationery, or is taking joined-up writing to new levels of, well, joined-upness Uncle Alastor's latest security soapbox? As the latter seems most likely, I went shopping for a goat card of my very own to see how much I could get onto one. I can't decide whether I want you to be more impressed with the joke, or amazed at my spellwork to make the writing appear and enlarge as you skim down the page.

Only I think now I've decided I wish I'd never seen this damn card and stuck with office stationery, instead. At lunch today I popped over to take our housebound friend some fish and chips, and asked him what you'd call a lip-synching goat? All I got when I said Billy Vanilli was a blank stare, and I could've hexed myself into oblivion for not realising he was hardly up on the music scene when Milli Vanilli were popular. Why don't I think? I felt so awful I asked him to tell me about distemper, though he wasn't really in the mood as I'd also just refused - again - to take him to the park for a game of Fanged Frisbee. Isn't there some way we could get him out? Even an hour would do him so much good.

I'm sorry, it's not fair to unload on you like that when you've got more than your share on your mind. It's just so bloody frustrating how tied our hands are! I spent my entire morning break listening to a member of the Royal Family vent about having to play dog-catcher while there's real animals on the loose, and I'm afraid it got to me.

Also, it's taken me four attempts to write this, as I'm continually interrupted. I finally resorted to locking myself in the ladies' loo, which is probably all-too apt considering all our talk about owl droppings...

But I just had to let you hear from me before your dinner. I've got everything crossed for you. Even though I know you don't need silly superstitious gestures. You'll succeed on your own merit, I know you will, and I'll be the most envied girl at the Hog's Head on Blues Night. It's me who'll have to be using my Defence Against the Female Arts training to keep Kirley's date away from you once she realises how over-rated tattooed chests are. Although you may not want to be seen with the member of the Phoenix family who perpetually goes about with two left feet stuffed into her mouth, not to mention the stupid hair colours.

Some cross-legged, desperate soul's about to blast the loo door down, so I'd better close. Please write me as soon as you can tonight, to tell me about your dinner. I'll actually be at home - well, at our friend's house, if he'll open the door to me after my balls-up - so you don't have to worry through the meal about me having another close call. Although there's something nice about knowing someone out there does worry about me, even if it's to do with the fact that it's not just me any mistakes put at risk. Still, we've got to be optimistic where we can, haven't we? I'll sleep so much better if I have good news from you before bed.

Now I'm really going so I can make good on my promise to cross my fingers for you!

T.

X

PS - Just got back to my desk to find old Olive raiding my chocolate stash. Put an Impervius Charm on your shoes tonight. Assuming she can get to you at all. Did you know a nine-stone person can get high from eating twenty-five pounds of chocolate? What's that work out to for owls, I wonder? And does it make any difference if the chocolate's Honeyduke's Best? Not that anyone could eat that much chocolate without getting sick. Which Olive definitely looks to be...

PPS - You wouldn't know a useful little spell for getting owl sick off a Weird Sisters poster, would you?

PPPS - Please tell me you haven't got any tattoos on your chest??


17th August, 02.55am

Dear T,

Am devastated to learn you're not keen on men with tattooed chests. Fortunately, I have a few more days to find a specialist up here who can suggest some way to cover up my— Well, a gentleman never says, obviously.

Following your subtle hints, I have begged some parchment off my landlady, Mrs C, who may have got slightly the wrong idea when I said I was writing to a young lady. She insists that it's purely my imagination that I can detect a whiff of sandalwood about this – it appears that Mr C is away travelling, but his cologne isn't – and wants to know all about you. I only wish I could tell her, that you could meet her and her amazing sticky toffee pudding (I do wonder if she's related in some distant way to our good friend Milly), and see the dinner portions she gives me, which has not helped my popularity status with her other lodgers. She's asked if there's any way "my young lady" (sorry!) could be here on Friday which, apparently, is when a ritual known as "Up the Duff" night takes place. Before you get extremely worried, and never write a word to me again, I am assured that it's something to do with the evening meal…

Oh, it did take me a while to get to your subtle hints, by the way – at least ten minutes to persuade Olive to hand them over as she was swaying too much. Suffice it to say, I am currently working on the owl vomit spell myself. Consequently you've just met Bregawn, who Mrs C insisted on lending to me as soon as she became aware of the situation, and the biscuit hangover is currently being slept off in my cupboard. Good job I have no clothes I need to worry about.

I'm keeping you waiting with news about tonight's dinner, mainly because I made myself write a formal report to Uncle Alastor first, as I should. But walking back home in the dark tonight, I was looking forward all the while to telling you, and it's wonderful to be able to say that it went even better than I hoped. And to say the things that I haven't to him – that they seem to trust me, and what I'm telling them, and I've kept no secrets about myself from them. I want them to see that you can be accepted for who you are (they have some fears themselves in that area due to a relative's associations in the past), and that we need to unite at this time. They've understandably asked to think things over and see me again tomorrow, but I'm quietly confident. Hence this letter sent at a really ridiculous hour, but I hope you'll forgive me for what will undoubtedly be an early morning wake-up call?

I also owe you thanks for visiting my housebound friend again; you may not think you're helping him, but I've had a short note from him (and he's notoriously bad at putting quill to parchment) and you are. He's called you "the cheeky minx who eats all my crisps" and, believe me, that's high praise indeed. If – and only if – you get chance to go again, ask him to tell you the story of the time he took McGonagall's dressing gown and slippers as a joke…and then got caught by her whilst doing an impromptu fashion parade in our dorm. The curlers probably weren't a good idea. He'll enjoy that one, as he would the tales of a certain notorious criminal, who is reported in today's local paper as being sighted here in recent days and we're all asked to keep a look out. He apparently walks the hills at night, cunningly disguised as a shepherd looking for his flock (I blame the dog herding instinct myself). Oddly enough, he's only ever been seen by some stalwarts of the local pub as they make their weary way home…

As I sadly won't be able to show you the wonderful scenery here – and there's so much I'd love you to see - perhaps a 'thank you' drink for all that you've done at the Hog's Head on Blues Night will be a small consolation? I promise to step aside the minute I see Kirley or anyone else approaching to carry you off, but until then I assure you that I will easily be the most envied man in the room. Especially if you wear your hair that sunset pink.

Take care of yourself, T. And you've never yet made a mistake that I know of. (Apart from the odd plate smashing incident we won't mention because I still find it hard to believe my innocent remark made you jump so. No one should have a china pattern like that anyway.)

R.

X

I'm told Bregawn is a fan of bacon rind, which may be handy for breakfast. Just make sure we don't put two owls out of commission at the same time.

I'm afraid I'm all out of goat jokes. Unless I'm pulling the wool over your eyes, of course...


17/08/05

5.30 AM

Dear R,

Don't be alarmed at the early hour - Bregawn didn't wake me, I was already up. Long story, but I got called in for a night duty and only just got home. I'm dead on my feet, so please forgive any spelling mistakes and general incoherence in this note.

The good news is, I've got an unexpected day off, so as soon as I finish this and have some breakfast (good job I stopped at the shops on my way home and got a slab of bacon!) I'll cast a Darkness Spell in my flat and sleep the day away, which is perfect, as I've got a big night tonight. (You see? I do, occasionally, have something resembling a life.) One of my old schoolmates is in town, and we're meeting up for a drink. He's got the coolest job ever- PR manager for the Weird Sisters - and always was the loveliest bloke, so it'll be great to see him, not least of all because he's got access to this really posh new club, The Grindylow Tank, which has its own (hopefully) Grindylow-free swimming pool, and I can try to charm concert tickets out of him!

Although, I'm not sure "Up the Duff" night with your landlady might not make for a more interesting cultural experience. Perhaps even outdoing Blues Night at the Hog's Head, so maybe you ought to extend your stay after all, and we can compare notes. Be a shame to miss out, especially after Mrs C's given you all the preferential treatment and stuffed you full of sticky toffee pudding, and it might be just the thing to celebrate a successful branching out of the Phoenix family tree!

Which I'm so happy to hear about! I felt like I was holding my breath all night during my shift, though of course when I read your letter I wasn't a bit surprised. (Well done with the stationery, by the way; I'd never have taken you for a sandalwood bloke.) You're a sheep in wolf's clothing (Do sheep jokes count?) and there are good people in this world who can look at the inside of people, at what counts. People like that will change the world. I am curious to know about their situation. Uncle Alastor would probably let me take a peek at the report you sent him, but I'd rather hear it from you.

Just as I think I'd rather hear the story of our mutual friend dressing in McGonagall drag from you! So prepare yourself to be in top storyteller form on Blues Night, as I've a feeling we'll need a bit of distraction from what's taking place on stage!

Right. Bregawn's begging for bacon, the brain has abruptly decided to stop producing anything like logical thought, and I've already dozed off twice writing this and narrowly escaped drooling on my parchment -- all signs that I shouldn't be trying to do this writing lark! Especially if I want to get to you before your dinner, to wish you all the luck in the world I know you don't need.

Yours yawnily,

T.

X

PS - You. Are. A. Git. Even though you're right, and I was nobly saving Auntie Tuney from a truly horrific china pattern.

PPS - I know you're just taking the piss about chest tattoos. You are so not the type.


17th August, 6.05pm.

Dear T,

Apologies for keeping you waiting for news, but I'm in that position myself. You'll have seen this morning's papers, no doubt, and the announcement from a certain Ministerial department regarding their intention to pursue a policy of "Positive Discrimination" in the future against Dark Creatures. It's all carefully worded, but followed by "Safety for your family first, apologies for mistaken identity can always be given later," whichspeaks volumes for the direction this is going.

Of course, it couldn't have come at a worse time. I met my contact at lunch time and he's asked for more time to think. What can I say? I've given all the reasoned, logical arguments again, he agrees with them, but I can see the doubt in his eyes purely because it is me saying the words. Frankly, it's hard to blame him.

I hope this doesn't sound too depressing. I'm probably making far too much of this and being needlessly pessimistic.

Enjoy your evening out, and I look forward to hearing about it!

R.

X

I don't think sandalwood is quite me, either, but it's defying every spell I can think of. Even the owl is starting to whiff a bit now…


18/8/95

4.10 AM

God, I can't believe I stayed out till four bloody AM. I'm going to be absolutely cream-crackered for my shift, but that's what Pick-Me-Up Potions are for, isn't it? That and helping you focus properly, I hope. And The Grindylow Tank was well worth it. You just can't get in there unless you're somebody, or know somebody, or are somebody's somebody, but Nick's both, or all three, and thanks to him I can now claim to be one of the elite few in England who's swum with the Grindylows!!

They weren't actual Grindylows, just a clever little spell, but Nick sure as hell thought they were real Grindylows, and I've never laughed harder than when I was watching him try to remember what we learnt in DADA about how to dispatch the little buggers. Which, in his defence, wasn't much, as we didn't have the good fortune of having you for a teacher, and it was also probably a bit hard to concentrate when I was right there fighting to keep my bikini top on. It was a really clever little spell, the faux Grindylows. You felt those long fingers grabbing at your legs under the water, though I'd have preferred it to be an entirely different set of long fingers trying to untie my bikini top...

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I've got to find a way to get us back to the club, as they serve the most heavenly chocolate martini, three of which are directly responsible for my sounding just a tiny bit tipsy here. Or a lot tipsy, which probably also explains the embarrassing moment with the drain on the way home. Though I'm sure the drain's okay. I think I'm going to know pretty soon how our poor friend Olive felt the other night after her bout of over-indulging.

But until that glorious day, you'll just have to brace yourself because...Nick came through for me with Weird Sisters tickets! Two Weird Sisters tickets! For next Thursday! Front row seats!! BACKSTAGE PASSES!! I hope you won't be too disappointed, but unmatchable as Blues Night at the Hog's Head will be, even I can't say no to getting up close and personal with Kirley's tattooed chest, gleaming with sweat in the stage lights. Maybe if I brave the mosh pit, I'll get to touch him...

I owe Nick big for this. He's so sweet, underneath all that hair, and he did show me a couple of actual tattoos! (Bet you can't beat that, Romulus!) He's very good-looking too, and girls were drooling over him from afar and eyeing me with envy, and...

Isn't it funny how it's never who you imagine it will be who makes your blood fizz and your heart pound? Maybe it's because I feel so much older lately, but all I want now is someone who'll take my hand when I hold it out, holds it hard, and accepts me for what I am and we talk. About anything we fancy. I tell him bits about me I don't tell anyone else, like my hopes and fears, and he does the same and we hold onto those too. Because we want to share everything.

God, I'm rambling, aren't I? Mucho apologies, and I'll never look a chocolate martini in the glass again!

Maybe you can help me think of something suitable to say thanks to ever so lovely Nick, including Grindylow fighting tips from Professor L. I'll expect to have had something from you by the time I get out of bed at 7.53, the latest possible minute I can get up and still make it to work on time. And now to sleep, if I've any hope of not jeopardising the Phoenix clan tomorrow. Can't let all that faith you've got in me be misplaced!

This is my neighbour's owl, Marmalade. Who'll expect to be fed accordingly? I'm told he likes orange best, but lime'll do.

T.

XXXX (Because three just looks naughty and you're so very, very nice, R. But are you naughty, that's what I want to know??)


18th August, 6.55am.

Dear T,

Am delighted to hear you had such an entertaining and enjoyable night out with your friend. It soon became obvious from reading about him that tattoos in many places were a colourful and foregone conclusion. I am somewhat surprised that lovely Nick isn't more your intellectual equal but, as you say, there's no accounting for taste in matters of the heart. I wish you both all the best.

I'm still waiting to hear any news. However, it is not your worry, and I should never have burdened you in the first place, so please don't give it another thought.

Your friend,

R.


18th August, 7.00am.

T,

I'm so very sorry about the tone of that last letter. I did try to call the owl back, but was too late. I am worried, but that's absolutely no excuse for taking my frustrations out on you when you have been – in your words – very much a friend to hold onto and share my thoughts with all this week, and I am so very grateful for that. You have no idea how much it has meant to me. I would hate you to think that reading some people's misguided thoughts in the newspaper was bringing out the worst in me.

Forgive me. I do, of course, wish the very best for you, and that was the one thing I said which I wouldn't take back if I could.

Your friend,

R.

xxx

Is Olive all right as you used your neighbour's owl again? I thought she seemed fully recovered when I sent her, but you didn't mention if she wasn't up to the flight back?


18/8/95 , 9.30 AM

R,

There's so much I need to tell you, to explain, that I hardly know where to begin.

I hardly know how to feel. On the one hand I could hex myself into oblivion for not taking the time to read the Prophet yesterday, for not looking for an owl from you when I got home slast night/s this morning, and most of all for writing to you under the influence. On the other, I'm cheesed off that after everything we've said to each other this week, you automatically assumed I was more concerned about clubbing than about the work you're doing, or about your feelings. Even though that's completely unfair of me, as I don't doubt that whatever the hell I wrote in my drunken state must have read completely different to what I meant to say. Just as I'm sure that if it were me who was the object of "positive bloody discrimination", I'd be inclined to take things the wrong way, too.

So of course I forgive you, Romulus. You're my friend. And, I hope...Well, first things first.

As I said, I didn't get around to yesterday's paper as I was sleeping off my night shift, though if I had, I definitely wouldn't have gone to The Grindylow Tank. If I hadn't gone out, I'd have got your owl, but as things stand, I'd already gone before Olive turned up, so I'd no idea about your crap day. And I missed her when I got home from the club, because, as I discovered this morning when I got up to brew my Pick-Me-Up Potion, she'd helped herself to the McVitie's and got herself trapped in the cupboard. I found her passed out in another chocolate stupor, which is why we're back to Bregawn. After I'd found Bregawn and Marmalade sitting talon-by-talon, and been befuddled by the two notes you sent this morning, which sounded so unlike you I had a fit of paranoia worthy of Uncle Alastor.

But oh, R...I've been sat here staring at this parchment for the past hour trying to think of the right thing to say about your situation, and there's just...nothing. Except that I hate that horrible pink piece of shit, and if she crosses my path today, she'll learn the true meaning of 'positive discrimination'. And maybe the negative kind, too. Lest you worry that I might do something brash, don't. I'm on my best behaviour, keeping clear of certain wings of the building and the toads who work there.

I only wish there was something I could do. Is there? For you? Because you must know I'd drop everything, if only you say the word. Whether it's speaking to your contact, vouching for your character, or just metaphorically holding your hand as we take a walk alongside the lake for peace and inspiration. Whatever you need of me, I'll do, I'll be.

I know what it is to be alone, to ask what can one person do? I was both; I was asking that very question, the night your first postcard came. But hearing from you, writing to you, changed everything. I had a piece of you here in my hands, tucked into my pocket as I went about my work. All the thoughts I stored up during my days were for you, my dear...friend.

That's why it hurt so much to read you wish me happy with Nick. Don't you see? The first thing I did when I got home from The Grindylow Tank was write to you. It was my only thought. And yes, I'd drunk three chocolate martinis and was bloody lucky to have one coherent thought at all, but it's not about that. It's about me wanting all night to share it with you. I didn't care that it was Nick who got me into an elite club, or that I was the envy of every platinum blonde boob job because I was with him. What I wanted was to experience a swimming pool full of fake Grindylows with the man who's been sending me corny goat jokes, to see the world's biggest chocolate addict's look of ecstasy when he tasted a chocolate martini, to walk home on the arm of a man who'd have kept me well out the way of that drain. Just like next Thursday I want it to be him next to me on the front row of the Weird Sisters, keeping me from doing myself a mischief in the mosh pit, standing calmly amid the crowd commenting that even Blues Night at the Hog's Head couldn't match this experience, and surprising me with a fake tattoo on his chest to distract me from Kirley backstage.

I thought I'd made all that so clear to you in my letters. I thought you'd read between the lines and know that it's not Nick, or Kirley, or anyone who makes my blood fizz but you. And I thought you felt the same. You did mean it when you said you wished I could meet Mrs. C and try her sticky toffee pudding and see the lovely scenery, didn't you? You really asked me to Blues Night? I'd give up my Weird Sisters tickets in a heartbeat if only we could get back to that.

I realise all this might be the very least of your troubles right now. If I've been wrong about you, I hope we can salvage our friendship, because it's one to hold on to. At least you can show this letter to your contact, as proof of how implicitly someone trusts you.

I hope you have good news today, but if not...you've got me. Always.

Your

N.

xxx (Because you meant that, too, didn't you?)


August 18th, 11.30am.

N,

I really don't know what to say. Except that I'm so very sorry for so much.

Firstly, I must tell you that I've met with my contact once more, and that their agreement to help the family looks as though it still stands. We have mutually decided that I will no longer be their direct contact for the future after this – which, if I am honest, smarts a little, but is perfectly understandable – and at least I am now hopeful of achieving something worthwhile during my time here.

None of which counts for very much compared with the hurt I have caused you. s#/s You can probably tell from the blot on the parchment that I've thought long and hard over what to say next - I was originally going to make another goat joke to try and get us back to where we once were; I was going to offer to tell you the truth about my tattoo as penance; I was even going to tease you with what I've found out about "Up The Duff" night on Friday. I was going to say quite a lot of things, really, all of them light and flippant, and all of them neatly avoiding everything you've had the courage to say.

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I sent you that first card but we seem to have said a great deal in a very short space of time. I haven't said enough though. I know I was thinking of the girl who, when we first met, said: "Werewolf's only a word, you know. It doesn't tell me anything about what you're like as a person. You'll have to do all that for yourself." So I'll tell you so you will have no illusions about this. You are very different to me – you've never walked away from anything, or not faced up to anything, and you wouldn't because you're N- T- and it wouldn't even occur to you to do such a thing. But I see the world through the eyes of someone who has done all those things and therefore knows it's a place where people do it all the time to each other. Because of ignorance, or stupidity, or greed or… fear.

It was fear that made me send that reply to you. The sudden realisation when you spoke about Nick that here was what seemed to be the perfect, able-bodied young man for you, who had a history I could never share and perhaps even a future too. What you should have and deserve. My only defence is that I never imagined for one minute that you were talking about me instead.

But I would be lying if I didn't say I had been trying to read between the lines before that. I've done a great deal of work like this over the years and the vast majority of it has been alone. I'd thought I was used to it, but you have no idea how much it has meant being able to share it with someone who understands, and doesn't need long-winded explanations, but is there waiting as a friend to tell about my day. And I want to hear about hers in return.

Many times during this week I've wished you were here to see something with me, or laugh at something, and I wish it now most of all. If I haven't totally ruined everything, is there any way you can be here for Friday evening? I'll still be finalising things for the next couple of days, and I think I can safely say that Mrs C will be overwhelmingly - and embarrassingly - delighted to meet you.

But not as delighted as I will be should you decide to come.

R.

xxx

And, yes, I did mean it.


18/08/95

2.00 PM

Dear R,

Great news about the family's new help, only I hope Great-Uncle Bumblebee doesn't ask me to be the primary contact, as I'm not sure I could muster much cordiality. Or maybe I do hope Great-Uncle Bumblebee asks me, so I can quote myself on werewolf being just a word that doesn't tell anything about what a bloke's like as a person, and surely since they've spent time with you, they know very well what you're like as a person and surely they won't let a silly word get in the way of that? Because I wouldn't. I don't. I do, however, hex people into oblivion...

Maybe it'll take some of the sting out if I tell you I'd be overwhelmingly and embarrassingly delighted to come to "Up the Duff Night" as 'your young lady' on Friday. I'll make my Royal friend swear to cover for me if anything comes up. You'll know me by my sunset pink hair and irresistible personality.

Can't wait! Tell Mrs. C to get those sticky toffee puddings ready!

T.

xxx

PS - I still want the truth about your tattoo. Even though I know it's that you don't have one.

PPS - And don't call me N!!


We very much hope you enjoyed this and, even more, that you'll let us know if you did as there is a Part II to come... If you're interested in seeing the postcards and some of the actual letters referred to in this, there is a graphic version to be found at both my LJ and Mrs Tater's. If you click on the homepage on my profile page, it should take you there. In the meantime, reviewers get to share a wonderful sticky toffee pudding with Remus. ;)