Dear Sirius,

I don't hate you. I don't think I could ever hate you. But I know I hate everything about you. I hate how no matter how hard I try, I can't remember what your laugh sounds like. I hate how your image seems to be fading from my mind so quickly so that now - just a couple months later, I can't recall every line in your face. I hate how I can hardly recall your face. I hate how your smiles never reach your eyes. I hate how you would laugh and act happy when I knew you weren't. I hate how you tried to hide how hurt and how angry and how sad you really were. I hate how you died.

It just doesn't seem right. It doesn't honour you properly. You survived Azcaban for twelve years. You survived living with a family that hated you. You survived the first Great War. You survived all these horrible, harrowing things only to die tragically and unnecessarily at the figurative hands of a piece of architecture and some drapery? I just... I can't believe that. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe that a spirit such as yours could have been conquered so easily. I... I won't.

I won't give up on you, Sirius. Not like everyone else has. Not like Remus has. Remus... he... I... I just want to gag every time he comes to check on me. His eyes are always filled with such pity. He looks at me like I'm some child - unable to understand what the adults are trying to tell him. But I don't mind so much. Actually, that's a lie. I do mind, but not as much as you'd think I would. I pity him really. I pity that he could be convinced so easily. I pity that he didn't know you well enough to know that you wouldn't allow yourself to die like that. I pity that he's given up so easily. I pity that he's lost his hope so easily. But I'm not like him. I understand. I understand that you wouldn't die like that. I understand that I have to keep my hope.

I think the main problem is that no one understands hope. True hope. It's so easy to have hope when things are going well and everything is good in the world. But that's not true hope, that's just an imitation. That's just... just an empty shell of a reproduction. True hope comes from the darkest time, the darkest point in your life. A point where you all you want to do is curl up and cry and hope that tomorrow never comes. A point like this one. But I'm not curling up in a dark corner like I so want to. I'm not crying at your funeral pyre. That's what every one expects me to do. That's I want to do... No. I'm maintaining hope. I'm still hoping even though everyone thinks I'm crazy for doing so. I'm still hoping no matter how much I just want to cry. Because I know. I know that you aren't dead. You're still alive and out there some where, trying to get back to me. You're still laughing when you want to cry. You're still acting like nothing's wrong, even though you know that everything's wrong. You are. I know you are. I know that you're still doing all those things I hate so much about you - because that's who you are. You don't let people see your pain. You try to block out everyone and make sure no one knows the truth. Well, you failed. You failed because I saw your pain. I knew the truth. I won't pretend to know everything, because I don't. No one does. But I know enough to hate it when you laugh, because I know you're not happy. I know enough to know that no matter how much your eyes sparkle, you're not happy.

Sometimes I wish you were. I think that, if I had seen you happy just once or if I hadn't noticed how sad you really were I wouldn't fight this as much. I wouldn't be so unwilling to admit you're dead if I thought you were as happy as you acted. But, you weren't happy. And you're not dead.

You are not dead.

You're not dead because I know that if you were it would hurt so much more. If you were dead, I would be in so much more pain. I would suffer so much more. But, I know you're not dead. I know you're not.

I also know that if I don't find you soon I'll go insane. Well, more so than I right know. I see parts of you every where. Sometimes, when I'm washing the dishes, the sun will catch some of the silverware just so and I see your eyes. On those silent, dark nights - those nights when even the moon seems to be engulfed by the darkness - I look at those shadows in the shadows and I see your hair. I look in the mirror at my own pale skin and my own pale features and I see you. Every once in a while, I remark on how you have been more of a father to me then James ever was. And now I look so much more like you then I do him. Is that part of the blood bonding?

I still remember that you know. I remember every detail of how you adopted me, made more your son and your heir. I remember how cold the blade of that knife against the skin of my palm was and I remember how safe I felt in the knowledge that I was your son. I also remember how you smiled. I remember it because I remember how much I hated it. That should have been a happy occasion for you, for me, for both of us. You finally had the child you always wanted and I finally had a father. You should have been happy, but you weren't. You were angry and disgusted. I saw it your eyes when you smiled. You were angry that it was you there with me, and not James. You were disgusted with yourself for being happy to have me all to yourself. You were angry that James and Lily weren't there, that they were dead. You were angry that I didn't have them by my side. You were angry that I had to suffer what I had. Angry that you couldn't protect me. Angry that I needed to be protected, that I couldn't be a normal boy like you knew I disserved. Angry that I couldn't be happy. And you blamed it all on yourself. Yeah, I saw that. I saw it all. And it just made me so angry that you felt that way. I was so angry that you weren't happy like you should have been. And I've never been as good at hiding my emotions as you - especially when I'm angry. You, of coarse, saw that I was angry and that seemed to cement your ideas in your head. It never crossed your mind that I could have been angry for you and not at you. I heard you crying that night. You sounded so broken, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. I couldn't bring myself to forgive you for the self-loathing I saw in your eyes, so I didn't.

To this day I still hate myself for not telling you, for not helping. But I thought I hated you. It wasn't until this morning that I realized that I don't hate you. But I do hate everything about you, because the fact that you hate yourself shows in everything you do. I hate the fact that you hate yourself, because I love you. You're my father, my light, how can I not love you?

It's because I love you that I know you're not dead. And It's because I love you, that I coming for you. I don't care if I never return here again, as long as I'm with you. If I'm wrong, and you are dead and the veil does kill all those to enter it - then... then I will die. I will die and I will be happy because I'll finally be put out of all this misery and pain I'm in. I'm coming for you Sirius, at the end of the week - right after my birthday. I'm coming for you because I know you're not dead. I know you're not dead because you are Sirius Black and the very idea that a bloody curtain could kill you is so very ludicrous. And because I love you more than life itself, which is why I'm risking life itself to be with you.

Love,

Harry

A.N. I really love this one - I'm not sure why. Ah well, enjoy!