Dear Padfoot,
Can I just start on a light note? You have no idea how hard I had to fight to get this letter where I desperately hope it is right now. Destroying Voldemort is a stroll in the park compared to arguing with Hermione.
She and Ron didn’t think it was a good idea, me asking her to send this into the veil. They said it was a sign I’m not “moving on in a healthy and realistic manner”. Those were Hermione’s words, of course. Ron’s were more along the lines of “what she said”. Can’t wait to hear that for the rest of my life now they’re together. Oh, they’re together, by the way.
When it happened – when he killed me – I saw Dumbledore. He told me I had a choice. I could go back or go “on”. I’m not ashamed to say I thought about it for a moment. I figured “on” is where you, mum, dad, Remus, and the others are. I obviously knew I couldn’t. It didn’t turn out to be as terrifying as I’d always imagined, you know, fighting him. I don’t think I’m capable of being terrified anymore, really. I’m just sort of… numb. Reckon it’ll always be like that, a bit. At the end, it was just me and him. And I didn’t have a choice but to win. Not after everything.
We all felt like we were living in a dream for awhile. Everything was a blur, for months and months afterward. I just felt like I was alive enough to move my body about, to go through the motions, but only just enough. I know you know that feeling. I know you probably felt it after my dad died. But now everyone else has reached that point where they start saying it’s time to “move on”. Hermione’s got a job at the Ministry, and Ron and I are training to become Aurors, and everywhere I go, if people aren’t still flashing a camera in my face, they’re telling me what a brave lad I am and that they hope I’ll be able to “move on”.
Why do people always say that, anyway? Like “on” is a bloody destination. Dumbledore said it like it was, but I took it to mean whatever comes after death, and if that’s the case, well, we’ll all get there when we get there, won’t we. So where is this “on” you’re supposed to move when you’ve still got the rest of your life in front of you? I’m not curling up in a ball and checking out or anything, so why can’t I be angry if I need to be? I know it wasn’t all about me, I know I was just the last piece of the puzzle, but it’s kind of hard to put that in perspective when you were always the full stop to every sentence. “We have to protect Harry.” “It has to be you, Harry.” “Harry is the best hope we have; trust him.” When I go back to Grimmauld Place, when I visit Teddy, when I have dinner at the Weasleys’, it’s not like I can ignore what’s missing. And no matter what anyone says, I’m always going to feel like it was partly my fault. I know you know that feeling, too.
Then there was Rita fucking Skeeter. I couldn’t care less what she wrote about me once everything was over, but she put out a book about you lot, as well: “The Marauders: Of Moonlight, Mice, and Murder”. If you notice that tear in the parchment, I just broke my quill thinking about it. I can almost hear you laughing your arse off right now, asking me why I’d let a slag like that cost me sleep, but it was hard to get over. It was too soon, I guess, to hear people talking about you, dad, and Remus everywhere I went. There may have been a fight or two. All right, there was definitely a fight or two. After I punched some tosspot in the Leaky Cauldron for saying Remus should never have been allowed to set paw near Hogwarts, Mr Weasley told me you three would be proud. You should’ve seen Mrs Weasley’s face when he said it.
Nobody who ever met any of you, of course, believes a word of it. I know we didn’t ever have time to talk about things the way I’d hoped, especially after I saw the incident with Snape in his memories, but just so you know, I understand. I think I understand everybody a little better now. I guess extreme trauma will do that for a person. Seems like we all had dodgy childhoods, but since I think mine took the prize, I can say with confidence that kids who are hurting inside aren’t always going to react the way their older selves might wish they would have. What I know – and all I need to know – about you, dad, and Remus is that you protected the people you cared about. I tried to, as well. I hope, if nothing else, we live in a world now where that’s enough.
Along those lines, it shouldn’t need said, but just because it never was: I also hope you never thought I might blame you for anything to do with dad. There was no way you could’ve known. It wasn’t your fault. I try to tell myself Teddy won’t blame me, either, once he’s old enough to know what happened. I hope he doesn’t. He’s really an amazing kid. Clever as they come. Too clever. Tell Remus and Tonks. Tell mum and dad I love them. Tell Fred hullo and that George is well. Tell Luna’s mum she should be really, really proud.
I’m not moving on, Padfoot. I’m just moving ahead, and you were right – you’re all with me, every step of the way. Always.
Your godson, Harry
