Reading Gaol
February 27, 2004
Dear Harry,
Well. I hope this letter won't be as final as I think it might be. If luck's with us, we can laugh this note off as me being melodramatic and un-Gryffindorishly pessimistic in its assumptions. Let's assume it is for right now, then I can happily anticipate feeling like an idiot when everything's over and we're together again. If nothing else, you can hold it over me for blackmail purposes.
It's difficult to know what to say in times like these. One good thing about my time here: no Dementors, and the guards are kind and human enough to allow me ink and paper to write to you. These letters are a lifeline, Harry. They help me remember there's an outside world, a world with you in it. That you, out of everyone I've ever known and loved, are still there, and, God willing, will remain so.
I remember sneaking a peek over Remus's shoulder lo these many years ago, when he was writing the first letter of what turned out to be a long and satisfactory correspondence for the both of you. I stifled a chuckle when he told you of my One True Love: my bike. He was, of course, pulling your leg. While that motorcycle meant a lot to me and I loved tinkering with her, flying her above the clouds with my hair whipping in my face and Remus damn near cutting off my circulation with that panicked grip he'd get when we left the ground, it wasn't my true love. And, although we were best friends as boys, dear friends afterward, and lovers and partners even after that... in a way, even Remus wasn't my One True Love, and he knew it. And didn't mind. Although I loved him as fully and passionately as I've ever loved anyone, and he was my spouse. Nothing will ever take anything away from that, from what we had, and how deeply, hurtfully, I miss him. But I don't think he and I needed each other quite in the same way that I loved and needed one person in the world.
You're the son I never had, Harry. When I think of how I first appeared to you, crazed and shivering and shouting incoherent imprecations of murder, and when I think of how, not half an hour after that, you smiled at me and said "Of course I'll come live with you!"... then I don't know how blessed and lucky I have been in my life to have deserved you in it. Don't worry, my thoughts are not and never have been, er, "inappropriate". There are some lines I don't cross and don't want to cross—besides which, Remus, Professor Dumbledore, and that evil snake would have had my head on a pike if I'd had any such sick intentions. But that doesn't change the fact that you, Harry, are my One True Love. Because I've never needed anyone in my life the way I've needed you. You give me unqualified, un-asked for, ever-present love, with no holding back or reservation. I can never make up for what you lost as a child. I can never make up for not being with you right now. All I can do is try to send even a tenth of that overwhelming love and devotion you've given me over the years back to you, back to your heart where it will do the most good.
You must be laughing, Harry, to get such a sappy letter from your godfather. What have you ever done to deserve such an overwrought missive? I just want to tell you that I love you. I've loved you before you were born, because I loved your parents, I loved you when I held my godson in my arms for the first time, I even kept loving you (though I'm not sure why) when you reciprocated by spitting up in my face, you brat. I remembered you in that other prison that I don't care to think about even now, although the memories were overladen and shot through with recrimination and regrets. I tried to look after you when I was more or less stuck as Padfoot, though I can't say whether I was any good at it or not. And when the dust finally settled, I'm so glad you and I and Remus were able to have our time together, although it was so much shorter than I had hoped. But anything besides infinity would have felt too short to me.
Ah, who knows if you'll ever get to see this, dearest of godsons. The fact that you may never get it just frees me up to spill my metaphorical guts on the paper (better than my literal guts, surely). The guard looks at me, probably wondering what it is that I'm so maniacally scribbling on this poor sheet of paper, so crossed and recrossed with writing that it's probably illegible at this point. It's not so bad, this jailbird's life. I seem to be fated to end up in prison over and over again this incarnation. No doubt I earned it in previous lives and then some. Better to settle my accounts now than to have them hanging over my head in years to come.
The important thing, dear Harry, is that you know I'm innocent. I know I'm innocent. Eventually the world may know. Or it might not. But I have nothing to task my conscience with, save that I'm not able to be with you, to guard you and protect you. But given your impeccable antecedents, it's probably just as well I'm not around to taint you. You have no guilt by association with wizards, and I am unutterably grateful for it. Being a wizard is nothing to feel shame for, unless that power is abused. I hope I haven't. I know you never will. Whatever you are, however you choose to present yourself to the world, I know you would not corrupt yourself. I have faith in you. It's all I can give you now.
It all comes down to these simple, endless words. I love you, Harry. I always have, and I always will. I will always be there for you, somehow, I swear it. I believe in you. I trust you.
I will always, always love you.
Your devoted godfather,
| Sirius Black |
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written by Teka Lynn
December 29, 2002
All rights to the characters and setting are held by J K Rowling and
whoever else holds them, including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books,
Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros. This fanwork was created solely for
fun and has no legal or financial connection to the Harry Potter
novels.
This letter is set in the alternate universe established in my fanfic
Clipped Wings and should not
be considered part of the canon Harry Potter storyline.