Happy Easter everyone! Here's another cliché that just popped into my head. Along with a couple of others I'll probably write later.
Letter from Lily
It was the middle of the night at Privet Drive, and nothing was stirring, not even a mouse, when from Harry's window there was a loud bang. Harry shot up out of bed, and grabbed his wand, only to see it was an owl, carrying a letter for him.
Slowly Harry reached out the window and grabbed it, taking a hold of the letter and letting the owl go. The owl did not stick around. The moment he let it go it flew off into the sunrise, albeit a little lopsidedly. Presumably it did not want a reply. Harry opening the letter and looked at it's contents.
Dearest Harry,
This is your mother, and if you are reading this then I am dead, and you aren't and have managed to defy the laws of time and send you a letter on your sixteenth birthday.
Harry blinked at that part. It was going to be his seventeenth birthday in a week.
There is so much I need to tell you, but cannot possibly do so in a letter. So please, take this dagger, and cut your wrists with it. When it comes into contact with your blood at those points on your body it will turn into a portkey and transport you to the afterlife, where I am.
I love you.
Your Mother,
Lily.
Harry looked at the dagger that was taped to the parchment. It looked very sharp. After a moment Harry threw the parchment and dagger on the bin. No way was he going to kill himself just so his mother could tell him things, like what his favourite food was when he was a baby.