Dear Padfoot...

Dear Padfoot,

You're laughing at me right now, with your hair blowing in the wind and your eyes dancing. You're probably thinking, "Moony, you great idiot, dead people can't receive owl post!" I know, Sirius. I've lost too many people I love not to know. I know you can never get this letter, but I guess that it's just my way of coping with--with--it's been two months now and I still can't say it. I did this for Lily and James when they died--say hello to them for me, and tell them I'm doing my best for Harry.

Harry. You wouldn't believe how much he's grown up, after what happened in the Department of Mysteries. After you--you--fell, Harry just...he broke. Just like James used to. I tried to hold him back, and he was screaming for you. The worst part of it was that I felt the same, even as I was trying to hold him back. I felt that if I just pulled back the veil, you'd be there, laughing at all the commotion we were making over you. But I couldn't hold Harry...he broke free and went after Bellatrix. I tried to stop him, but he chased her all the way into the Atrium. He dueled with her, Padfoot. Somehow, miraculously, he survived both her and Voldemort. I like to think of it as your final gift to him.

I usually don't show pity to people; I know the feeling of being pitied all too well. But Harry, Ron and Hermione have seen so much death and pain, and they're still so young. They shouldn't have had to go through all this. Harry just seems like a normal teenage wizard, until you see the premature lines around his mouth and the constant pain in his eyes. As for Ron and Hermione, they didn't see you fall, but when I went back to the school and told them what had happened...they were both devastated. Ron struggled not to cry, but in the end, he and Hermione cried together for you.

We arranged a memorial service for you, two weeks before Harry's birthday. The marker is in the graveyard near Hogwarts, near the one place you were ever carefree and happy. That grave is empty, but all of the Order was there for it. Even Snape. Yes, I know what you're thinking--"Snivellus?! At my funeral?!" He was there, and since the service was in pouring rain, he actually managed to wash his hair. You'd be proud of him. Dumbledore was there as well, and that was the first time I've seen him cry. Don't ask me how I could tell the tears from the rain, but I could. It was as if the world was mourning for you, we didn't have sunny skies until two weeks later. Harry's birthday. Was that glorious sunrise your present to him? It certainly brought a smile to his face for the first time since the memorial.

He's not fine yet, I'm not fine yet, and I doubt any of us will get out of this ordeal unscathed. But don't worry about us, Padfoot. We'll get through somehow. Harry's been writing pretty often, once every three days. He forgot at first, and we sent Mad-Eye to check on him. Scared the hell out of those Dursleys he lives with. I've been around once or twice, and Harry's always glad to see me. I guess we've all reached an unspoken agreement--what happened, happened, and there's nothing we can achieve by blaming ourselves.

I'm running out of ink--guess I'll need to go to Diagon Alley and get some more. Remember when we first met there? How you ran right into me on your way to Gringotts and almost ran me over? Sometimes I wish I could use Dumbledore's Pensieve and get rid of the more painful memories, but I know I won't. The memories of our years together, good and bad, have made me who I am. For that, Padfoot, I owe you everything.

I owe you who I am. I owe you my life. Remember before Lily and James died, when you saved me from a Death Eater ambush? I swore to myself that day that I would always protect you. I haven't been able to keep that promise, and I'm sorry. But I promise to live, and not just exist, dragging a dead weight of grief behind me. I promise to help Harry as much as possible. I promise to take the fight to Voldemort instead of just letting him kill first. I promise to do everything I can to ensure that your--loss was not in vain.

Harry said that he thought we could nearly read each other's minds...he mentioned it in passing when I visited him once. I didn't tell him about us, but the truth is that we couldn't read each other's thoughts. We could sense each other's souls, feel the other person's heart, just by being together. Part of me--part of me wants to just leave, to finish it and leap into your arms, but I know I have work to do. I'll come to you after my work is done. Until then, wait for me.

Ever yours,

Moony