no roads lead to (h)ome pv jojo

Location: Frankfurt am Main, Germany Dated: 16 August 2023.

Sender: Johannes Sauer Recipient: Cielle Johansen

Description:
[An unsent letter purposefully abandoned between the pages of Goethe's Faust. Written in a frenzied, shaky combination of Russian and German, it was finished late at night during what could only be described as an Emotional Crisis. The plain envelope is blank and unsealed.

The letter reads as follows, in rough translation:]

Reducio

devil child,

I’m writing this without the intention of ever sending this to you. Actually, prefacing this letter with that makes it easier, as selfish as that sounds. You deserve to have a new beginning without the ghosts of your old life looming over you. God knows we both know what’s that like.

It’s been ages, since I’ve checked any of my social media, even not including the time we’ve been at Durmstrang, but the glaring lack of snaps and reels and everything from you is too much not to ignore. I’ve unblocked you. You probably won’t realise it but I had unblocked you since spring break with a whole shredders worth of apologies and excuses. All of the means, none of the guts to reach out. Neither of us seemed receptive, and I didn’t want to break the uneasy dynamic we’d accidentally fallen into. (...That’s not a good excuse. Hell, using it as one makes it seem even more cowardly...)

I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable with my theatrics and overprotectiveness. It was never my intention, but it’s clear that you never wanted to be coddled. You didn’t need it either, especially considering everything. It was unnecessary and presumptuous and based as hell, because you’re stronger than anything and anything includes some American shithead who thinks it’s his right to your side.

Writing that out… just remove American and suddenly it’s us all over again.

But whatever the hang-ups, maybe I should have just let you have your mistakes instead of trying to protect you from them before they happened. (That’s a parenting hack, isn’t it? Might have read it once in a book, but all of their advice must have been written for different people because look what happened to us.)

You could have told me earlier, about feeling out of place. I wouldn’t have judged you (I may be hypocritical and an asshole, but I’m not that far gone yet), promise. Maybe we could have done something, talked to people, helped you more. I know you’ve always struggled with your status and the whole concept of belonging, but being good at magic or any of that crap doesn’t entail being a good witch. You’ve always been one with or without expectations and an even better person to boot. But it’s too late now to convince you of anything.

This is… the first time I’m admitting this out loud, and probably the last since you’re never going to fucking read this (fuck you, for not giving me another address to send this to), but I saw — still, in many ways, see — you as family. A younger sister figure, if anything. It’s weird, I know, because you’re just a year younger than I am, and neither of us have decent siblings to base anything on, yet I’d be lying to deny it.

You never got officiated or sworn in or any of that shit, but we always saw you as a fellow Hound. You were always one of my own. Maybe for a time that could have been enough. I regret always putting off sponsoring you, but that would have just decided your options for you, and you hate being told what to do just as much as ever.

[REDACTED REDACTED (The Pack’s been shifting long before any of us realised it. Hell, you never met my Boss, let alone the new ones. It still fucks me up, the fact that we couldn’t even attend the exchange of powers because we were at mfing Hogwarts. Maybe that’s partially why the current leader likely hates us — I don’t know for certain, but you’ve always been better at picking up the little nuances in a group… but don’t worry, I’ll make things right soon.*

Next year is going to be... a time. Let's hope for the best?) REDACTED]

Hexwizard… that’s more difficult to talk about. I still can’t believe you harassed everyone into joining, but you give me too much credit. Us two… we kind of came in a package but this entire time the only one I’ve really been close to was you. Maybe you’ve noticed by this point, but the Horde was basically refashioned as what amounts to an already-formed circle of individuals with a shiny name slapped onto it. A side effect of its creation, perhaps.

It isn’t always as obvious, but this sense of estrangement had haunted me since the beginning. It still does, in a lot of ways. It’s only obvious that it’d affect you too by extension. Yefim let you join partially because you were associated with me, but there’s a certain expectation that comes with it all. It’s almost funny. Neither of us really formed independent relationships with anyone without the teams as a social crutch. I mean… Quidditch helped some. I don’t know if it might have helped you on the bench, but it helped some, even if the Horde and Quidditch overlapped like hell.

I can’t believe you’re not even staying for the summer games, but I guess uprooting your life towards Denmark (damn, does this mean that you have to learn Danish? Not even the Danes can understand Danish… Make some Hamlet jokes for me?) needs a big adjustment period.

We only have a scant few years until we’re thrown into adulthood. Let’s reconnect one day? Even if it’s far into the future and we’re totally different people — probably old as fuck and bitter enough to curse out teens like us and not know how the hell to hologram-call each other.

I wish you all the best, and that’s cheesy as hell but I really do mean it. You always make jokes about how much of a shitty witch you are, but you’ve got the potential to do great things and more. Even if you aren’t at Durmstrang, whoever the person you turn out to be, you’ve always been my Cicero. We made a lot of good memories together. I’m holding out hope for many more in the future, even if we’re not by each other's sides anymore.

always,
your chaos demon

(p.s. fuck you for sending all my shit back without a return address. now I have both of our stuff and nowhere to put it all anymore)

(p.s.s.
i’ll miss you. stay safe.

love you)

*Quietly followed up by The Prodigal Son [Solo Letter].