The Quilt
by Jasmyn
Briefly a few years ago, when Remus was at his worst, with no friends, no job and no potion, he thought it might be a good idea to make a quilt. Of course he didn't know how to sew, and he wasn't sure he could afford any new material. But as he thought about it more and more, he figured new material wasn't necessary. The quilt, he decided with a dark muse, would be the fabric of his life.
And so, he began.
Going through closets and basements, he found his old school robes, his Prefect badge, letter passed between him and James, him and Sirius and even him and Peter, the poor dear. He found some baby clothes, and the hospital gown he wore home from when he was bitten; they didn't want it back. In a box put away long before his father died Remus found his mother's wedding dress. Holding it up his nose, he thought he could still smell her in the folds of the white-yellowed-with-age gown.
Figuring he had enough material to start, he grabbed his wand, and started putting things slowly together. Each square rebuilt the large hole in his metaphorical heart. White lace in the corner, grey rags toward the bottom. Sirius' sweater in the middle. Letters as the border. Tears ran quickly now, with no invitation, yet made themselves at home in the open spaces of his quilt.
He missed them. He missed them so much. Sirius, James, Peter... Lily. He wish he knew what Harry looked like, if he was happy. He wondered if his father was proud, for the being the only one left, for enduring in spite of feeling dead.
He held up the quilt, only three fourths of the way finished, and was devastated. His quilt was not beautiful, though some of the memories might have been. His quilt, his life, looked like a bunch of tattered pieces haphazardly sewn together into a rather large mess.
And so, Remus decided to give up.
