Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, this concept would never even have needed to be considered.

A/N: This is I suppose, a replacement for "Requiem".

One thing was for sure, neither Ginny, Harry, Teddy nor even Hermione (much to her consternation) could guess why thirteen was such an important age. Evidently the only person who did know was Remus Lupin and there seemed little point in asking, seeing as he had passed away thirteen years ago.

"Well," said his godfather, placing a stack of envelopes all addressed to Teddy Lupin, before him, "there they are - to be delivered no later than your thirteenth birthday."

Teddy frowned in confusion, staring down at the cursive loops and trying to recognise the handwriting.

"I don't understand," he said at last.

Harry shrugged. "I thought perhaps you would know what it meant. Remember he sent you that letter when you were off to Hogwarts?"

Teddy nodded. At eleven years old, receiving a letter from your deceased father was not an experience that you were likely to forget in a hurry. Yet, here were a large stack of them, tied together with a bright blue ribbon that almost exactly matched the colour of his hair.

"Maybe these are the same sort of thing."

Teddy nodded and shrugged, not wanting to admit that he was torn between two actions. One; leaping around the room in excitement, and two; breaking down in tears.

After all, it wasn't everyday that he received letters from beyond the grave.

As soon as Harry had taken his leave, Teddy ripped open the first envelope and thought that he was incredibly lucky that his Easter holiday had began early enough to include his birthday.

Dear Ted,

I sincerely hope you aren't reading this. If you are then I can only apologise but I hope you understand why I can't be there.

"Yeah," snapped Teddy, bitter and extremely irate. "Because you're dead. It's hardly rocket science."

Happy Birthday. If it's not your birthday, Happy Belated Birthday and also, Happy Easter. I imagine you'll be pleased, surrounded by chocolate and what not. You liked sweet things, your Mum always said that you inherited that from me but let the record state that she once ate a whole bar of Honeydukes' finest marble chocolate in one sitting so I refuse to take the blame on this one.

I wonder if they still make marble chocolate. It's milk and white chocolate sort of mixed together and it's heaven in a bright orange wrapper. They might have had to take it out of production by now because I think I may have been the only person who bought it.

Sorry. I tend to go off on a tangent quite often. You're probably wondering why I picked thirteen. I'm gong to take this moment to assure you that this was not a number plucked at random from my head. It was at thirteen that several major things happened to me and I'd like to think that you'll live a far more exiting life than I did. Therefore, you will no doubt be needing some fatherly advice. It's a slightly twisted way of giving it to you, but I hope it works.

Statistically, we're better off than most fathers and sons because it's been proven that the human brain absorbs more from what its owner reads than what its owner hears. 10% more in fact. That's 10% less chance of screwing up than the other boys. I don't know about you, but I like those odds.

When I was thirteen, I worried about Lycanthropy, a worldwide chocolate shortage, my appalling performance in Potions, and girls. I can't guarantee that you'll face the same issues but I can try and apply the theory behind my surviving puberty.

Lesson 1: Keep calm and carry on.

Lesson 2: Adults (other than myself) are not to be trusted.

Lesson 3: Neither are girls.

Lesson 4: Creating your own hexes is always a useful way to pass the time.

Lesson 5: If in doubt, test things on the smallest and most compliant of your friends.

These were my commandments, written by myself and my three friends when we were, you guessed it, thirteen. I hasten to add that the smallest and most compliant member of The Marauders was not altogether in agreement with Lesson 5 but he was too busy having chewing gum shot up his nostrils to complain much. (I'll tell you about that spell later. Needless to say, it was one of my most useful attempts at my own hexes and I hope it serves you well).

Anyway, must be getting on with the gospel according to Lupin,

Much Love (an expression I have temporarily loaned from your mother),