Last Words by P.L.S.
To Whomever Reads This:
Once upon a time I was thinking about teaching, but my very best friend interested me in following him into Auror training and then later in to field operations behind enemy lines and finally into the organized crime division which needed a few more muggleborns or at least muggle raised who were good at infiltration and other covert operations.
Two years after I followed him into the O.C.D. One of the aides pulled this from under old forms and reports I had yet to do:
My Living Library,
I think you need to think back. Remember me as I was as a first year or as a young kid just seeing the world for the first time. I know you aren't going to like this, but as your former field commander, I order you to stand down and let me go. Just do this for me. I figured something out and now I can't stay.
The great stories are of great stife and of wars. Do you know why? It's pure in a way peace is not. War may be a tragedy, but peace is by far filled with more crime and sin than war. It's why I can't stay.
I will never for get the day I found that and another formal letter to his superior upon my desk. It was a few weeks after he was reported as AWOL, but somehow his last words to me were buried under paperwork he left for me to do. I was supposed to spell and grammer check the formal letter and hand it in, but I instead did something I think he would have liked to be part of. A joke of sorts in tribute to Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and above all to Jet, the very last of the now historical and heroic Mauraders.
It was five more weeks until they found a corpse that was identified via old hospital, auror, and muggle dental records as H.J. Potter.
I just needed to tell someone before I die that Jet is soaring the skies and I'm sure Harry is doing as he pleases, probably as a soldier of fortune.
H.J. Granger.