A one shot in which Harry writes a letter to Sirius, a little while after the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm not 100% on the timeline, if I'm honest, it tends to skip around a bit. It was written quickly, so apologies for any errors. It's pretty emotional and fast, but I hope you like it!

Hey Sirius.

Merlin, I sound so happy. I mean, you're dead and I'm greeting you like I would if I just got home from Hogwarts. But I think that's how you'd want me to be. I think you'd want me to be cheerful. Maybe even Ron and Hermione, too. I know they respect the fact I still love you, unconditionally. Of course they do. Why wouldn't they?

Whenever someone walks into number twelve, I think it's you. At first I thought it might make it easier, almost like having you back. I still think it's you, sometimes. Some outer world miracle and you're not dead and you're still here. I'll even jump at the doorbell ringing, hearing your mother scream bloody murder all over again. I realise it's not you, of course, and its terrible, the low after the fleeting high. I used to imagine, silly enough as it was, that you'd walk through the door and shout "I'M HOME!" and we'd be happy families again. You, me, Hermione, the Weasley's, the Order - everyone. But you won't. You've had nearly four years to do that and now I know you're not going to.

It's odd. Stupid, even. I kept thinking that it'd be so strange not having you in the house anymore. An extra dinner would be cooked, another cup of tea (milk, two sugars, just the way you liked it), some more cauldron cakes thrown on the table. It would be done automatically, by Mrs. Weasley or Tonks, whoever was cooking. But no one ever cooked your meals, not even the day after you died. They forgot you, almost instantly; they were used to you not being in the house anymore. I resented them for it.

I still think it was me that caused it. Not caused it, per se. But caused what lead to your death. Going to find you, defend you. The battle was furious, mad, and wild. I don't know, would you have died anyway? The Order would have to fight, if the Death Eaters were making a grab for the prophecy… But maybe they'd never find out, if I hadn't fallen for his tricks. None of us knew. I shouldn't blame myself, and I don't, really. But there's always that possibility that if I had been a bit more careful or someone else had answered Voldemort's call you would have lived.

I wish you were here. That's obvious isn't it? There are times when it's been easier and then there have been times when I've missed you so much I felt sick and cried myself to sleep. It's getting easier, I'd think, and now it's getting so much harder. I miss you more now. Maybe it's because I'm finally growing up, going to see the real world, getting a proper job and settling down. Not doing something that seems so wrong and unreal, in a way, going off and saving the world. That wasn't real. That was just a duty, something I'd been born to do.

I wish you had been here to see Teddy being born. Now that is a responsibility, Sirius, a godson. It would probably have been you, if you were alive. You'd have been so proud – of Remus, for becoming a father; of yourself, for becoming a godfather; of Teddy, for becoming a person. I like to think you'd have been proud of me. Ginny says you would be, that you are. I got good OWL grades, and NEWT grades, once I had the chance. Now I'm training to be an Auror; what I always wanted, Sirius. Which you always wanted for me, I think.

I know I shouldn't blame myself. You died right after my OWL's and I knew that would mess me up. But I honestly I don't know if it did. I was upset – well, that's obvious - but I still tried my best. Are you proud of me? I wish I knew.

Arthur says I shouldn't spend the rest of my life without a father figure, and I know he wants to be that figure, but I just don't know. I'm marrying Ginny, Sirius, and you'd be so happy, but does that mean Arthur is becoming my Dad? I want to be happy, I do. But I don't want him to replace you. I don't know if he will. But I keep questioning his behaviour, checking to see if he's hugging me to much, if he's being too caring or kind. I keep expecting him to, but he hasn't. He's holding back. I know he will, eventually, whether it's deliberate or not. I just don't want it to happen. And I feel terrible about it, Sirius, I honestly do, because I love Arthur. But he isn't you. He never will be. I just don't know if he realises that, and how can you put that into a conversation? You can't say things like that to someone you care about.

I keep running into people from the Order and the Ministry. I don't know if they see me – they certainly don't acknowledge me, most of the time - but it's nice and awful all at once to see them. They're a reminder. I don't know why, I didn't know them well. Maybe it's that connection that keeps you real. I don't think you're not real; don't get me wrong - I know you were real. Of course you were. But I find it hard to remember bits of you, sometimes. I can remember what you look like, obviously. I've got a hundred pictures to remind me. But they're ancient, yellowing, from twenty years ago, and sometimes I don't think I can remember my Sirius. The one slightly maddened by Azkaban, with the tired eyes and unruly hair. I get your voice wrong sometimes, too. I have to remember specific phrases, things you said to me, and then build around them, if I need you to tell me something new. It hurts, having to that. It means you're slipping away.

I can't tell if the others miss you – Ron, Hermione, Ginny. I think they do, a little. Maybe they just don't want to show it, remind me. I want to scream at them, tell them to speak to me about you, remember you, because you were magnificent. I loved you, and maybe they did, I don't know what your relationships were like, but you were a part of me. The closest thing to a Dad I've ever had, so they must feel something for you. Gratitude, perhaps, for making me happy.

I keep getting scared that when Ginny is late home that she's been killed, and I'm going to be left unloved, all over again, at just nineteen. It's not something I want to contemplate. When Hermione and Ginny go to Hogsmeade, I'm not okay until I know they are through the front door. I don't want to have no immediate family at nineteen. Maybe that's why I get so scared when they go away. I remember when Ginny went to Hogwarts for the week, to take her NEWT exams. I was looking for something, your old quill, I think, and I found so much stuff that was yours. It wasn't the first time I'd been left on my own at Grimmauld Place, so I'm not sure why it bothered me so much. But it did. I cried for five hours straight and nothing would stop me.

This is turning into a bit of an essay now. I didn't mean to take so long with this – I just picked up a bit of spare parchment and wrote. Ginny's back from work and I'm trying so hard not to cry, what would I tell her?

I wish I could tell you I love you. I wish I could tell you I miss you.

I wish you could tell me you're proud of me.

That's all I want.

Funny how an attempt to save someone's life can end up in their death.

Don't forget me. Don't you dare.

I'll see you again.

From, Harry