And so, Estelle, we reach the end.

You know the rest- to some degree. You know the vague details, good and bad, and you are clever, and your mother's daughter. So you know the passion and the feelings which traced a pattern through our lives together.

It didn't take long. We were living together from that night, I think. When I came back to the apartment, her things were already there.

She said that she knew she hadn't needed to ask. She knew that her little declaration upon our meeting was a formality.

She'd been planning to simply move straight in without officially notifying me of her return, but she'd thought that would seem a little forward.

Honestly, I don't think I'd have minded.

I won't lie- we were no blissful couple. We did not finish each others sentences- we fought constantly. We did not call each other 'darling'- we called each other all the rude words under the sun. We did not gaze lovingly at each other, but glared with an intensity which made those around us quiver with fear. But we loved each other- no, more that that, we were each other. Each of us completed the other, and if we weren't always lovey-dovey, we were always whole, and we suffered from being apart. I would not change a single moment we spent together, because even the fights- especially those epic, wild fights- are precious to me. That was my life with her- she was my life, is my life. And i loved every minute of it.

Loose ends- are there any? No doubt. I have not written a very linear narrative.

Annika, of course. You'll want to know about her?

There is little to say, other than that I treated her abominably. I forgot her completely, I must confess. My letters to her simply ceased, along with hers to me, and I only remembered that there was another woman in the world people might consider to be 'with' me when the school year finished, and she was suddenly a part of the Order.

Surprisingly, she held no hard feelings. I think she'd realised when the letters stopped, and had gotten over it soon enough. When she saw her holding my hand at her very first meeting with the Order, she merely rolled her eyes and said, "of course."

I won't pretend we remained good friends, but we were amicable. But Annika and her? Not so much. Their mutual pride made it difficult for them to be in the same room, let alone bond.

But no matter. I don't know what else happened to Annika- I shall have to ask Remus. He knows all of these kinds of things.

But I won't make a point of telling you. Honestly, I do prefer to end it here, rather than to recount all the frightening ups and downs of our life together.

I'll end it with hope for the future.

And with unspoken love.

And a much desired embrace.

So ends the tale of the much debated, dubiously regarded Sirius Black. So ends his story, as he sees it.

But a part of me still thinks that perhaps, just perhaps, I should have told you of my life in a different manner.

Perhaps I should have told you mundane things; my favourite colour (dark blue), my favourite Bertie Bott's Every Flavour bean (roasted pork with mint, surprisingly), and whether or not I was a morning person (most definitely not) But I felt, mysterious Estelle, and still feel, that you would then not know me, but only about me.

I don't want to fall into the category of history projects. Born, Died, achievements. I want you to see what I was like. I need you to see what I was like.

I already know what you are like. You are like her. The one who is lying on my bed, smiling at the ceiling, telling me that I have little taste in colour schemes, that red and gold curtains are extremely passé.

Oh, god. I wish I could give this to you myself. I wish I could walk up to you on the street, on Platform 9¾, where I undoubtedly musthave seen you just a year ago, almost, when I accompanied Harry to Hogwarts- how could I not have, but I didn't. I would have known you- we must have missed each other by a breath. To think, had things gone just a little differently, I would not only have not missed you by a breath, but have taken you there myself, warning you all the while to 'watch out for that Jordan boy- they're a handsy bunch'. And yet, the most I can hope for is to thrust this manuscript into your hands and tell you that I'm sorry. But I know I cannot do that, cannot walk up to you and look in your eyes. I would not be brave enough to hand over my soul to you, written in purple ink on the back of several of Reg's old potions essays.

I hope only to see you again, although I can imagine you already.

I think you have your mother's hair, a mop of curls, riotous, falling wildly around your face, but soft to touch. You have a bow shaped mouth (your top lip may be a little on the thin side, but it is still perfect) and white teeth, with slightly pointed canines. Your nose turns up at the tip- just a little- and you have a heart shaped face, with one dimple, on your left cheek.

Boys love you, but you don't have the time for them. You will flirt with those you like, be kind to those who are sweet, and a bitch to those who are not. But though you'd never admit it, you sort of like the arrogant boys better. You like to put them in their place, to prove that you can win over them any day.

And when they make advances that are unwelcome, they always regret it, because you turn around and fix them with a long, hard stare. Looking out at them from under huge eyes, tilted up at the corners with long smoky lashes. Eyes as grey as mine. And you look at them for a moment, then tilt your chin slightly and raise an eyebrow just a little. And they quail, because you, my mysterious Estelle, fix them with the Black look, a look of such disdain that they feel like a pile of stinking refuse. This Black look is the only hint of your infamous ancestry, and when it graces your face, I appear somewhere in your eyes, and in the line of our jaw, marking my territory and announcing to the world 'hello. I am here. I made this.'

I think it is right to end it here, on such a pleasant note. I can feel her in my arms even as I write these words. Or rather, I can feel her hand on my shoulder, I can see her hair brushing along the paper as she leans over to see what I've written.

I imagine she's smiling condescendingly.

"Chien- surely not? So dull a retelling! Where is the passion? Where is the fire? You English have a poor was with words. That Shakespeare fellow- is he the best you can do?"

But she approves of my words- I can see it in her eyes. My first impulse is to kiss her cheek. But I'll have to move her hair first. It's dragging in the ink- smudging the words.

It is. In my mind, in another universe. In a happier version of reality, it really is.

In a happier reality, she accepts my kiss on the cheek without comment, and rests on hand on my head, toying with my hair as she reads my words to you.

"Nicely, chien," she whispers in my ear, "finish it nicely for my little star."

You know, Estelle, when I first heard your name, I thought it was a slur.

She named you a star- a patch of brightness which can shine like a beacon, despite the Black around it.

I thought she mean you to spite me. I thought she was telling me that you would conquer the Black within you, and be only light.

But I think now that this was not what she meant.

She named you for a star, Estelle. Something that glows in the night. Something which isn't afraid to differentiate itself from its surroundings- from its background, one might say.

She named you for a star, Estelle, because she knew that, no matter how much we suffered, you would stand out- you would break from our destruction and shine for all the world to see.

She named you for a star, Estelle, because stars are symbols of hope. Stars are associated with beauty, and the future, and better places. Stars mean the possibility of the divine.

And she named you for a star, Estelle, because, in her perverse little mind, she was marking you as a Black. For what black isn't named for a star? Or a constellation?

She was telling me that you were mine. No matter what happened. No matter how it ended, you were mine. You always would be, no matter what anybody said or did. It's in your Black look. It's in your name.

It's in your eyes.

And if I can say your name, Estelle, then surely I can say her name.

After so many years, I can speak her name again- my darling Dahlquist. My beautiful Aureilee.

It means light, you know. You're my little star, Estelle- born of darkness and light, and forever suspended between the two. You shine like your mother. You shine like my Lee- I know it.

I hate to leave you, mysterious somebody, but I have little choice. From the racket downstairs, it seems that Snape has paid me an unexpected visit. And he's in some sort of frenzy about something. Usually I'd keep him waiting, naturally, but he's shouting something incoherent about Harry- and that Umbridge cow. And- surely not- he seems to be asking if I'm here.

Where else I would be is a mystery to me.

It sounds urgent, Estelle, and I am the only one here.

But I can make him wait just a little while. I am, after all, Sirius Black.

And really, what trouble Harry could possibly have gotten into now is beyond me. Molly told me he was doing his History OWL today, and Binns is not the sort to let anybody cause trouble on his watch. It must be a mistake. Although, Harry is my godson, and James' son. He could no doubt make trouble anywhere. And Snivellus does sound rather insistent…

Ah, well. Snape can come up here and meet me. After what happened this morning when I left Kreacher alone with Buckbeak, I think it best I keep an eye on my poor, ailing hippogriff.

Snape's thundering up here now.

Farewell, mysterious somebody.

I hope to meet you. Someday.

Sirius Black

And there it is- finally finished! I hope it ended to your satisfaction, and thankyou to all those who've read it.

On that note- I have to admit that i feel a little sorry for Estelle, whose voice has never been heard. But I'm torn- is it better that way, that we don't know her, just like he didn't know her?

I have an idea already forming for a sequel of sorts, something from Estelle's point of view, following the events from the books- opinions?

Do you want to know what happens to Estelle? Do you want to meet her?

Let me know- and once more, thank you so much for all of your kind words and support!

xxx