Teddy
Uncle Harry told him anything he wanted to know, and Grandma showed him pictures and told him how much he reminded her of his dad, despite having his mum's Metamorphagus abilities.
Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron always told him about that time in their third year, when his dad'd been the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Professor McGonagall told him about being in the Order with his mum, about how lively and light-hearted she'd been, and Minister Kingsley told him about being an Auror with her.
Really, with everyone always sharing their memories of his parents with him and with the numerous pictures of them that were in everyone's houses, it was almost like they were still here, like they had raised him.
'But,' Teddy Lupin mused as he placed the lilies on their graves, 'they weren't and never would be.'
They hadn't been there to see his first steps, to hear his first word. They weren't there to see him off on my first trip on the Hogwart's Express; they weren't there to write him through his seven years of school. They'd never be able to meet his future wife; they'd never be able to come to his wedding. They'd never hold his children in their arms; they'd never spoil them rotten. They weren't able to see him grow from the tiny newborn only a few days old when they had left me to the confident, successful man he was now.
And that, alone, made him wonder if their sacrifice was worth it.