Disclaimer: See Prologue

A/N: Well, folks, this is it. As always I'll do my thank yous to everyone who reviewed, favourited or even just read. I am really going to miss this fic, it's been my favourite one to write.

Teddy meticulously sorted the letters into order and placed them neatly back in their envelopes while James (who had been bribed into it) searched for the electric blue ribbon that had tied them together.

James stood, waving the ribbon like a flag and grinning, obviously pleased with his victory. He leant over and frowned.

"Why haven't you opened that one?"

Teddy rolled his eyes. "I've opened them all, James. I've just put them back in the envelopes so they don't get lost. Honestly! I ask you."

James poked his tongue out and yanked the letter off the desk. "You licked them all back down, did you?"


He smiled smugly. "Then you haven't opened this one."

Teddy's heart leapt. "Alright, get on with the cleaning."

James sighed. "You're bipolish, I swear," he muttered, dragging his feet as he resigned himself to spending the last day of the holidays cleaning windows.

"It's bipolar," said Teddy. "And you'll never get anywhere if you carry on at that speed."

He waited until James was out of earshot before he tore open the envelope and grabbed the letter.


Obviously, I'll miss you and your mum. Other than that, I think the thing I'll miss most when I'm dead is being alive. I love life. I love the complete nutters that I seem to attract. Mundungus Fletcher, for instance, is someone I would normally cross the street to avoid but I'll miss worrying about his whereabouts and the lack of my best spoons.

You'd be surprised how many people don't feel the same way (not about Mundungus Fletcher - about life). I pass people every day who spend all their time staring at the pavement and frowning. Why? Honestly, what's the point?

I say this as one of those people who used to spend all his time staring at the pavement and frowning and when I started to look up, my life got so much more exciting.

Now don't misunderstand me, I meet a surprising amount of people who deserve to be scowled at, but what the bloody hell did the pavement ever do to these people? I keep wanting to ask but the time never seems right.

Ted, the fact is that you can spend all your teenage years doing it and get away with it but as soon as you hit your late twenties, you have to decide whether you want to have wrinkles in five years or not.

I've been lucky. I have a beautiful wife, a selection of clinically insane friends, a gorgeous son with amazing hair who is going to be the new King of Kooky, a very special cat, and one of the world's most interesting and dangerous jobs.

I didn't always used to think that way. I remember asking Peter at fifteen, whether he thought I was cursed. I used to think that my life was one long string of bad luck. I suppose it was to a certain degree.

But here's the strange thing, if my father hadn't been walking through a car park, my mother would never have met him. That's a bit lucky, don't you think?

If my mother hadn't failed her art exam, I wouldn't have been born.

If I hadn't been born when I was (i.e. if my mother had passed her exam) I wouldn't have met James and Sirius.

If I hadn't have been forced to sit next to Sirius that first day, I would never have met your mother.

If Anna Lovett hadn't liked the look of me when she was eleven, I would have been dead seventeen years ago.

If Harry had kept quiet about seeing Peter on the map, I would never have known the truth and Sirius would have received the Dementor's Kiss.

If your mother had had less determination, we wouldn't have had you.

Now don't you think that's quite a lot of sheer luck?

I've got a lot else to be thankful for too. I've never heard the words 'Dad, I'm calling from the Police Station' (which would be something of a miracle as you are only six weeks old) or 'Welcome to IRA Headquarters, please state your name and address, you jumped up English bastard', I still have all my limbs, and I grew up with The Beatles and The Who and Queen and a whole list of other superb musicians who are infinitely better than The Weird Sisters (please tell your mum I said that because now I'm dead, I no longer fear her).

Re: last statement. If I am not dead and you have found this in the attic, do not breathe a word of that last sentence or I will be forced to hide behind you and that is not something that any child should see their father do.

Anyway, I love even the bad days and I'd like you to feel the same way. If you do everything right first time then you never learn anything and your life gets very boring. Remember, every day must end. When I was having a bad day, I'd say to myself 'Remember, Remus, soon this will be over and you will be in bed'. I love bed. Nothing can go wrong when you're in bed (after the age of about sixteen and so long as you're alone).

I can't complain. Lycanthropy has not taken over all aspects of my life. My childhood was not populated by hairy pirates, gypsies or half-formed goblins. My parents didn't lock me in the cellar and call me 'It'.

While I'm on the subject of my parents, I hope you grow up surrounded by people like them. When I say 'I can't complain', I mean that I had the best childhood I could ever have hoped for. I grew up in Devon with cliffs and seas to explore and honestly, I loved it. I'm writing this in my dad's old office in the attic and I hope you still live there (not in the attic – that would highly suspicious).

When I was eight, we had a Measles epidemic. People were terrified of catching it. People died from Measles and the young were especially prone to it. I used to wonder what all the fuss was about. I didn't even know we were supposed to be afraid. That is how laid back my parents were. The only person worse than my father for the old classic of 'Ah, it'll all work out in the end', was Sirius who not only stopped to smell the roses but planted a few on the way.

You are related to both of them. I already fear for you. God bless you, child.

Christ! I sound like Sister Matic!

And on that note, Ted, I think it's time we go downstairs. You're yawning at me and I have turned into my Primary School Headmistress. Yes, I think it's high time we went to bed, kid.

Over and out,


Mischief well and truly managed.