Sirius Black was sitting in Remus Lupin's house, in the guest bedroom, regretting the choice he had made that had led to the chain of events that had killed Lily and James and left Harry with the Dursley's when the letter came. It was addressed to him, with no address, in handwriting he hadn't seen in fourteen years. He let out a strangled gasp, which was quickly followed by a "Sirius, are you o – holy shit!" He assumed Remus had gotten one too – it was the only thing that made sense for him to react like that. He opened the letter hoping against hope that it was really from James – even though it'd have had to be from a timed post office box.
Dear Sirius,
Hello, …I won't ask how you're doing because if you're reading this, I'm dead. And if I'm dead, knowing you, you found a way to make it seem like it was your fault – I don't care what you did, it isn't. I'm writing this hours before Halloween in 1981. (Sirius let out another gasp. The day before he died. He didn't even know.) I'm writing it because I'm beginning to suspect Pete. Did you see the look in his eyes when we made him Secret Keeper? Looking back, over the last year or two, I notice more things like that – things that only we knew, and he had to have been the one to tell because I know you wouldn't have, and I'm almost as sure about Remus – but Pete – he's always followed people with more power than he has – who's to say he wouldn't go to Voldemort? My point being: tomorrow, I'm going to ask Dumbledore to be our secret keeper, but I'm writing this in case I don't get the chance. (oh, you don't know how hard it is to read these things, James.)
I just finished writing a letter to Harry – you should've got this on his fifteenth birthday. I told him what was in our will – just in case no one else told him. And I told him the prophecy. Do you remember that? We thought it had to be some sort of joke – but Dumbledore 'assures' us that it's not a joke. My son…is going to defeat the most powerful and evil wizard in history. That thought scares me – I hope my letter doesn't anger him – at the end I wrote about what hate and revenge could do to him and I think I phrased it a bit wrong, but I can't really change it as I already sent it. So to you, my friend, I've got a few last words. Thank you, so much, for being the brother I never got to have. The marauders, we were all brothers, but you must've been my twin, because we were closer.
I hope that my death doesn't bring you down too much. (I'm so, so, so sorry James…) If it did – have no fear, but move on, please. I have the feeling that I won't get to be there for my son – but if you are, please make sure that he knows how much I love him. Tell him about the marauders, about your brothers. (And I don't mean Regulus by that, if you were thinking that.) I don't want to upset you – I don't know how long it's been since I died if you're reading this, and I hope my fears that it's been a long time are unfounded. But I need to tell you some things. If you can't be there for Harry for some reason, please make sure he doesn't go to Lily's sister. She would hate him, and I don't want that for my son, for anyone, really.
I guess I'll give you some of
the same advice I gave Harry: trust in your instincts, they are very
often right – and that doesn't mean go running into things
without a thought. Keep your friends close – even if I'm dead,
you've still got Remus and there are others, I'm sure. Padfoot,
you are my brother in everything but blood, and I don't want you to
ever forget me, but I do want you to move on – take care of Harry,
be friends with Remus, go on with your life. I love you, padfoot, but
I've got to go – it's getting late and I've got a few more
letters to write.
Your
brother and fellow marauder,
James Potter a.k.a. Prongs.
Sirius layed down on the bed with tears in his eyes, crying for everything he had lost. But he knew James was right – he needed to move on. Not that it was possible, what with being the most wanted criminal in both muggle and magical worlds. He wondered how Harry had reacted to reading his letter – probably not too well. He had to get Dumbledore to let him come over soon, it was killing him not knowing his godson. Sighing for what felt like the millionth time that day, he rolled over and fell into a peaceful sleep – the first one he'd had in fourteen years.