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"Remus"
He wrote on the lid of the box, hands steady. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it was almost relaxing.
Even though what he was doing was horrible, for the first time all day he felt calm.

This was his suicide note for his first love. For his best friend. For the person who mattered the most.

Sirius set the box aside, so the ink could dry. He took the piece of parchment to his hands, looking at it's blankly yellow surface and thinking about all the things he could write on it.
Then he took the quill.

Remus.
There are no words big enough, not meaningful enough for me to use. There's nothing I can write that'd give justice for what I've done.
I'm sure you already know what that is by now.
I want you to know, that the past six moths have been both the best and the worst in my entire life. Loving you has been the best thing to ever happen to me. The world, however, or more so my family, will never understand that.
I did this to protect you, for an insurace that you'd be safe. Safe from my father, who hates your guts only because of what we have. In his opinion, you have made me a disgrace. In reality, you have made me whole.

In this box, there will be two bottles of extracted memories. In one of them, there will be everything I found no words to write here. It'll explain my home life so you'll understand just how greatly I've been hurting. In the other one, there are all the good things. Things I want to thank you for.

You have made my life something more than just pain and fear.

I love you, Remus John Lupin.
I truly fucking love you and I'm sorry.

-Sirius

A teardrop fell on the parchment, muddling a bit of the still wet ink. Not enough for it to ruin the text, only to make the paper a bit bumpy from where it landed.
Sirius felt so empty, as he read that letter over and over again. Trying to imagine the pain Remus would be in, once as he'd begin reading it. And trying to imagine the pain he'd be in when he'd finish.

He had a plan. Orion was one of the few wizards outside of the ministry of magic to own a working pensieve. He kept it in his office, Sirius had seen it three times in his life. It was big and round, in the glass vitrine behind the man's work table. The door would be locked to both the study and the vitrine, but Kreacher kept the spare keys in the cellar.
There were old firewhisky bottles in the boiler room. Sirius could use them for the memories.
It was all coming together, a stupidly dangerous plan. He needed to do it, he needed the memories for Remus to see, because as he wrote to the letter; no words could ever explain the sickening horrors of 12 Grimmauld Place. And Remus deserved to know just why his boyfriend wanted to die.

Of course Sirius would write for James and Peter too. But he felt like the two of them would be fine, they wouldn't blame themselves the same way Remus certainly would. They would be in pain, they wouldn't deserve it, but they would overcome it with time. Defeat it. Because they were strong.
Of course Remus was strong too. But he was more emotional. And he was in love.

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