Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. All rights go to JK Rowling/Warner Bros. I do not profit in any way.

We're going to die, James.

I know it, whenever I look out of the window, whenever we manage to actually tune that damn wireless. People are dying everywhere, and we're being targeted especially.

You know, too. I feel it when you hold me just that little bit more tightly at night. I see you try to act happy for me and Harry, and it breaks my heart that you have to try.

The only time you truly smile these days is when you pick Harry up. I suspect the same is true for me. Because who could think of terrible things; of murderers and victims, families crying, people screaming... whose mind could wander when they pick their child up and see their own features on a face so much younger than theirs, so unburdened. And he smiles at us, and we smile back, and we love him so, so much.

I wish more than anything that Harry stays young and naïve; that he never has to see the awful things we have.

They're still fighting out there, love, and I know you're longing to be resisting too. You worry about the friends we have left - the ones war hasn't yet stolen from us - and you feel weak. I know, because I know you, and because I feel the same.

But if we are to keep Harry safe, we have to remain here. And I'll see your false smiles and reflect them back at you, and I'll be grateful of your tight embrace.

He is so much more important than either of us, James. He can still smile. His eyes remind you of mine, from a time when we were young and carefree. He isn't broken yet.

And I swear, we'll do anything to keep him unbroken.

I love you, James. And I hope that we have a little time left yet. I hope that one day when we're grey and old, I'll find this unread letter again, tucked in a cluttered drawer with scented liners.

But if not, my love; if we die tomorrow, we had a great four years.