Chapter 9 (Interlude)
Not a peep could be heard when Harry let himself back into the manor. Taking care to avoid the creaky floorboards (and a certain house elf who experience taught him may be scrubbing away in a shadowy corner – Godric, how high he had jumped that night), he tiptoed up the old staircase and quietly entered his bedroom.
Shrugging out of his robe, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his wand and instead grasped a roll of parchment.
Straightening it out absently, he caught sight of the word 'Prongslet' at the top and froze. Sirius. He stumbled the few steps to his bed and dropped down, his heart thudding away at his chest.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he began anew.
.
Hey Prongslet,
If you're reading this, I've managed to off myself – hopefully in a grand and very heroic manner, but probably before you've gotten rid of the old snake-faced git.
You know I'm not one for sentimental nonsense, but as your godfather, I suppose I should have at least one of these moments with you so that I can tell Lils I've fulfilled my duty.
My biggest regret, after not giving Sniv – oh alright, don't give me those disappointed puppy eyes – Snape a swift kick in his very wretched and bitter behind, will always be the twelve years lost in Azkaban that I could have had taking care of you. Mind you, I'm quite certain Lils and even Jamie would have liked someone a smidgen more … stable, but even they would have admitted that Petunia and Vernon were not suitable guardians for our littlest love. Besides, I would definitely have wrangled Moony into staying with us to balance out the lack of sanity, as it were, though he'd probably have turned you into a right bookworm if he had his way (or at least, more of one than you already are – don't think I haven't noticed you lurking in the library).
You were – and still are – very much loved, by all of us. I certainly hope Dora has knocked some sense into Remus and popped out a few cubs to join you, but as the first of the second generation of Marauders, you will always have a special place in our hearts. You were a precious and much needed bundle of joy during a very dark time, slobber and all. We should have suspected something when that rat kept worming his way out of babysitting duty, but I will have to be satisfied with watching Lils unleash her fury on him when he joins us.
Now, to more boring - er, practical matters. Assuming that our time together has continued in the same hectic and almost non-existent vein, I will likely not have had time to explain some important things to you.
The first is that you are the Black heir. At least, that's what I hope has come to pass after you've gone through the whole glowy ball routine at Gringotts – which, incidentally, is the only reason I was Lord Black after Reggie died. Moony helped work out all the stupid obscure family connections and arithmetic probabilities, and he says there's a fair chance that you are, so I'm just going to believe him.
The second, and rather more serious issue, is that I do not trust Dumbledore. Now, I know that he is one of a very limited number of adults that has been there for you time and time again, through ordeals I have yet to even hear about. I do understand, Harry; I myself was in the same position during my Hogwarts years and am loathe to doubt him after all that he has done for us. However, he has been increasingly vague and much less forthright with me of late, a trait that I know you are intimately familiar with. It would not have bothered me (much) had this … hoarding of information not extended to matters regarding you and the progress of the Order. The last straw was when I found a Mail Monitoring Charm on me, attuned specifically to the letters I sent to you. I don't need to tell you how worrying this is – how many of my letters have been altered, or not received at all? – and have hopefully managed to pass on the two-way mirror to you soon.
I think I've covered all the truly essential points – if I continue, I will either exceed Moony's Animagi essay for Professor McGonagall or sneak into Hogwarts and squeeze the breath out of you, neither of which I can bear at the moment, for different reasons.
Behind the posters on my bedroom wall – which you'll now find you can take down (and appreciate much more extensively) – are compartments with my most prized possessions: pictures of my time at Hogwarts, a few of journals, that sort of thing.
I am sorry, Harry – once again, I've left you behind with a few woefully inadequate words and trinkets. So many times I have wondered what things would have been like had I – had we all – done things differently.
No matter what happens, know that I am extremely proud of you, Harry. You have far exceeded anything we ever did, and are better than we have ever been. All I wish for you is to be happy, whether that means fleeing to the Caribbean islands and forgetting about Voldemort, marrying a vampire and opening a flower shop, or becoming a famous Quidditch star. And maybe give Snape that kick I couldn't, yeah?
I had better not see you anytime soon, Prongslet. Have fun, stir up some trouble – perhaps you could get those exceptional Weasley twins to help – and just … enjoy yourself.
Love,
Padfoot
.
Tears fell with abandon from his cheeks onto the parchment, and he hastily blotted them away. His heart was lodged in his throat waiting to erupt – if he opened his mouth, he didn't know whether the sound he released would be a scream, laugh, or sob.
Merlin, his emotions were a wreck … He didn't think it was possible feel this much at once, and that was saying something after the mess he'd been for most of fifth year.
It was as though everything he ought to have felt after Sirius' death was finally ramming into him with all the force and inevitability of the Hogwarts Express. Sirius, the only person in the whole world for whom Harry's wellbeing had been his first priority. Harry knew he sounded ungrateful, but if he had had to make the choice of dying completely or going back to defeat Voldemort at this very moment, he would not have hesitated in getting on that train just to hear Sirius' bark of laughter again.
Smoothing out the wrinkles from his desperate grip, he perused the words again. Sirius was smart. Harry had known that of course, as becoming an Animagus at fifteen was no mean feat, but his godfather had observed and questioned details that even Remus had accepted more or less blindly. That his Azkaban-addled mind – and he was under no delusion that the wizarding prison hadn't affected him profoundly – had still found the Light's leader's actions suspect was a testament to both his sharp intellect and his fierce love for his godson.
Harry sighed, regret welling up from deep within. The words that he wished he had spoken to Sirius would remain unsaid, forever caught in that tenebrous cage of could haves and should haves.
A/N: First, soooo many apologies for the late update. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that this past month and a half was very eventful. As you've no doubt noticed, this is just an interlude and not an actual chapter. I'm working on the next chapter, I promise.
My initial plan didn't actually include Harry's reading of this letter, but it sort of wrote itself while I was trying to whip up the next chapter into shape, so this is the compromise. Hopefully you still like it!
