Hey guys

You're probably wondering what this is about. If you're reading this, it means things are looking pretty crap. I don't know if you know this by now, but I'm dying, or possibly even dead. I suppose we all are dying. But hopefully, you guys have a while left.

I'm not explaining this right.

The starts a good place to be right?

You remember when me and Sirius snuck off on Christmas? The day after your dad got back? We were seeing muggle doctors - yes Ron, that's what they call their healers - I hadn't been feeling to well and of me to admit that's pretty bad. Sirius once said my version of 'fine' was 'not dead'. We went to the muggles 'cause Siri's scans didn't show anything specific, and generally, that means it's a muggle illness.

I got the news a week later. If wasn't very good news either. Merlin, I can barely even write this. How do you tell your best friends you probably won't make it to the new year? Like that I suppose. Damn dictator quills. I'm just going to be blunt. It's cancer. Yes Hermione, I know that there is no recorded case of a wizard with cancer, I read the books. Until me it was thought that only the muggles could get it. Merlin do I hate being able to do the impossible sometimes.

The worst thing? The damn scar's the only reason why I'm still alive. Half the cancers going down the bond to ole' snakeface. At least I'm bringing him down with me.

There's nothing you can do. I've read every book, magical and muggle that might even hint at helping. There's nothing. Sure, the muggles have their treatments. I've tried them. Apparently my magic views the chemo as a threat and attacks it, rendering it useless.

Sorry I couldn't tell you in person. I'm a bloody coward. You know me though, never say it hurts when your hearts still beating.

That's the condition of this letter opening by the way. It won't open unless my hearts been stopped for at least ten minutes.

I'm sorry I couldn't be there. Ron, I really did want to be the best man at yours and Mione's wedding. I wanted you to be mine too. I wanted to tell your guests about the time you locked yourself in Myrtle's bathroom because you'd stolen Mione's homework and forbidden her to do anymore. I'd describe the terror I saw in your eyes, I'm not going to let it go either.

There's so much stuff I'll never get to do. Can you guys do that for me? Live. Have a dozen kids, become minister of magic - only if you want to of course - name one of the spawn's after me eh? Just live. For me? Cause I can't. Not anymore. And I'm sorry. I. Going to miss you. So, so much. Just remember me as Harry, please? Remember the good times, the adventures.

I'm sorry,

Harry.