A Chain of Remembrance
A river. A river of silver. That's what it was like. But a small river, so small it could barely be seen, easily broken. And a tiny, tiny ring, too small to fit even his smallest finger, beautiful enough to make you cry. But it wasn't the ring that saddened you most, but the names. Inside the ring were two names, intertwined, curling, bonded forever: Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin.
Tears gently washed the ring, glinting silver, even after all these years the brightness never faded, like their memories, never faded. Letting the chain run through his fingers was torture, it burnt his fingers, scalded him, left invisible blisters; but it also healed him, just a bit. A tiny corner of his heart that was ripped was stitched up again.
Not neatly, like Hermione did it.
Not stoutly like Harry did it.
Not gingerly like Ron did it.
Not compassionately like Ginny did.
Not even fiercely, wonderfully like Victoire did it.
It was healed roughly, clumsily, ineptly, heavy-handedly. Sewn up like a factory worker on a short shift, hurrying to finish, so leaving work half-done. He could see the man now, ham-fisted, square, thick-set, bulging muscles and a bulging gut; he had short, thin hair, a disgusting greasy face and huge feet. This man fixed him now, barely able to hold the tiny, miniscule needle in his giant fingers, breathing like an overworked carthorse, smelling like garlic and sweat.
But his heart felt a little bit lighter, a little bit more cheerful, as he put the chain back in its box. He felt stronger, better. Suddenly, he took the chain back out again and wrapped it twice around his wrist and the feeling that his parents were with him swept over him like a wave of euphoria.
Nothing could take them away from Teddy now, not now they were with him forever.
And still, the burly worker remained, stitching gauchely at his heart, fixing it piece by piece.
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