Remus
After Sirius's funeral, Remus removed his things from the rental flat he had stayed in. No sense paying the extra galleons, he sighed. And no sense carting around junk forever either. Once he had it all set up in his room, enlarged to fit a few beloved pieces of furniture, he began sorting through the boxes. The books would all stay, of course. Most of the robes and clothes went back into the wardrobe, though a few were worn enough that they weren't fit for anything but the rag bin. He delighted in burning away the few cheap boxes as he emptied them.
Most of his teaching things, Albus was storing for him at Hogwarts. He lifted out a few of his toys. The orbs his father had given as a graduation gift, he set to floating softly. The old record player held the place of honor atop what had been a night stand, and he left his enormous record collection in its box beneath. He quietly flipped through them. The old big band ones he had nicked from his mother's collection, the rock-and-roll James had loved, and Sirius's - what were they called? - his Motown, that was it, those American records that Remus had stored for him, because Mrs. Black wouldn't allow them in the house. And then he got to the far end of the box, and Lily's folk records.
There he stopped. Lily had introduced him to those, the softer songs, and the war protests, that he felt more and more need for once they graduated. He pulled out the last, worn album cover, the one that bulged in the middle. Buffalo Springfield. For What It's Worth. The record wasn't inside. He knew it wouldn't be. Baby Harry had broken that one, and Lily had apologized but practically thrown out the pieces. He pushed on the edges, and stacks of old papers fell out. He dumped them on the bed with the contents of the last box and began to flip through the years of notes and doodles and photographs.
His first time going to Hogwarts. He had met the red headed girl before he even got on the platform. She had just hugged and kissed her family, who were beginning to leave, and she stood, staring at the platform. He walked through with false confidence, mouthing goodbye to his mum who had come out to watch. She bumped through immediately behind him, upsetting both their carts. He nervously reset both of them, and decided firmly that if he was going to make a real go of it at school, he had best start immediately. "Sorry about that," he had said. "Can I help you get these up into the luggage car?" She accepted eagerly, and then followed him to the first empty car they had found. She was Muggle-born, and still a little in awe of all the things she was seeing. Just wait, he had said, until we get to Hogwarts. You won't believe it. And she hadn't. She hadn't even realized he was a first year, he seemed so confident, until they were on a boat together. She didn't know that he had already been to Hogwarts, been shown around, met the Headmaster.
There were dozens of pictures from that first year. Quidditch matches, early pranks, picnics, hanging out in the common room. Some of them laughed and waved at him, but a good deal were Muggle pictures. Back when it was okay to do Muggle things. Before the war came on, and everything was preparation, and choosing sides, and fun was followed by a sick sort of guilty feeling. Growing up pictures followed. Summer visits to Peter's small house, or James's large one. The Quidditch World Cup, from the summer before fourth year.
Lily got as excited about Quidditch as any girl did back then. She didn't follow the local teams too much, but when James's dad announced that he had gotten us all tickets for a few matches the last week, and the tournament was only over in Germany. It had been amazing. Lily camped in the small tent with Mrs. Potter, and the four boys got the big one with Mr. Potter. James was used to Ministry functions, but Remus had never been around that many wizards in his life. It was amazing. It was unbelievable. It was also the last matches Lily was to see, because James made the team during tryouts that fall, and she refused to go watch him. Once the time they were dating seventh year, she sat in the stands between Remus and Peter covering her eyes, as they reported the action on the pitch.
It had taken her until that trip to discover his condition. The other boys had figured out almost two years before, but since she didn't shower or room with him, she was less likely to notice either his scars or his peculiar absences.
It was late, the night before the final match. She had had a nightmare of some sort, and stumbled into the boys' tent unknowingly. She woke up with a cry of alarm when her shins met the side of his bed. He quickly pulled her inside the curtains before the other boys could see her, and muttered some apology to them for the noise. It was an awkward sort of comfort moment. She latched onto his side, and he put an arm around her nervously. He had been sleeping in just a pair of cutoff pants, and wasn't used to being this close to girls. After she had calmed down some, she just looked at him in the dim moonlight, and as her eyes adjusted she saw the scars that crossed his back and chest. She had been skeptical before, but now he knew that there was no way around telling her. She had been totally accepting, only asking how long ago it had happened, and what she could do to help him. The way she always was with him.
That was why she had taken up Healing. She would spend hours practicing the charms, and eventually she would wait up in the common room, slipping out to the willow and the shack when she saw the moon come down. She would fuss over his scrapes and scratches, his bruises and occasional breaks. The better part of three years she did that, until the other had perfected their transformations. He hadn't needed her after that, but she came still, and he was relieved that she no longer faced the danger of arriving before he had changed back. She had saved his life one night, midwinter, when the other boys couldn't come and he had spent the night smashing against the walls only to transform bruised and bloody and little more than naked in the drafty house.
But it hadn't all been that. There were good times, and good pictures. When they taught her to fly a broomstick up to the roof, and held picnics and football matches on top of the school. Wandering through Hogsmeade. Getting lost in Muggle London. He even had a picture of when she first kissed James, though a fortnight of Charms essays had ensured that Lily would never know about that one. It got harder for him to look at the later pictures. Of graduation, and the wedding, and the Order. Of a laughing Lily growing more and more pregnant. Of Mr. and Mrs. Evans's funeral, which he had attended in her place to put the final resting spells over their grave. Of Harry's birth. Christmases, and parties, and late night planning and chocolate chip cookie sessions. Ten years of pictures, until after Harry's first birthday, when the Potters disappeared as planned.
Ten years of his parents' life Remus knew Harry would want, should understand. And yet, as he looked, he couldn't bear to part with the last traces of comfort and familiarity these pictures would offer him. Wiping his eyes, he found an empty album and a jar of photo paste.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Still.
Author's Notes: So I did continue it, it just took me ten months. I'm not sure if I can take any more of this. Lily-sentiment is emotionally draining. Tell me what you think, send love and encouragement, and tell me if there is anyone whose input is needed.