a/n: Bob 2 wrote the letter and Bob 1 wrote the ending as a suggestion, because Bob 2 was going to put it on her account. Then Bob 2 tried to get Bob 1 to realize that she wanted to put it on their account, so she could Bob 1's ending, and that took a little while (Bob 1 is kinda thick, and then will get mad at Bob 2 for writing that and then posting it). And finally, Bob 2 fiddled around with the ending a tad bit, wrote the authors note, and posted it, which is why you are having the privilege of reading it. We hope you like it and review!
Dear Sirius,
My life has gone nutso and no one is here to save me. I've reached the darkest of the dark and I cannot seem to come back up. After you left, nothing has been right. And you won't be back, you'll never come back for me. You left without an explanation, so I'll never know why the time had come. You don't realize the pain I'm going through, and if you did, would you care? I wish you'd come back Come back to me, for me.
A million words can't bring you back. I know; I've tried. A million tears can't bring you back. I know; I've cried.
Please come back. Please.
Love,
Harry
Harry placed the letter into an envelope and sealed it with wax.
He stared out into the darkening sky as the clouds approached, and thunder boomed in the sky, shaking the house and his body.
About two years had passed since Sirius had fallen through the veil, and he still cursed Bellatrix, not only for serving Voldemort, but for making Sirius fall through that veil.
His life really had gone nutso, ever since then, gradually, maybe, but it was happening. Nothing was happening the way it was supposed to, and there was nothing left anymore to cheer him up.
Everyone tried, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, everyone. But they had given up, they were no longer trying, they were living their own lives now.
"He died the way he wanted to," they said, but did they really know?
No, nobody knew. Nobody knew how Sirius wanted to die, because nobody asked. It's not like it's a thing people talk about.
Nobody else knew what it was like to have lost your parents, a godfather, and your headmaster in the span of seventeen years.
No one knows the pain, no one can understand.
There are those who think they do, but none truly know the feeling of the world's weight resting on your shoulders.
And damn, it's heavy. Too heavy for a seventeen year-old boy, that was for sure.
Nobody knows what it's like to have tried a million times to make it right, and no one knows what it's like to have tried a million times and failed.
