Remus thinks Lily has never looked so beautiful in her life. Lips painted as red as her fanned-out, scarlet hair, skin pale and clear as porcelain, immaculate fingers linked together in a pose of quiet politeness. Her dress is just right, hem line a little below the knee, neckline a little above her breasts, sensible, black shoes on her small feet. She does not look like she has been taking care of a child for the past year, or gone through war and tragedy. She doesn't have stringed carrots in her hair, or bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, or laugh lines from watching Sirius try to teach Harry to talk. Her lap is not wrinkled from bouncing an infant or bending down to straighten James's pants before a luncheon at her parent's house. She smells like roses, like powder. She is perfect. She is immaculate, like the virgin queen herself, and Remus hates it. He hates it. He wants to see her vibrant eyes open, her cheeks to become rosy with joy, not makeup, as she smiles that bright smile that made James love her, made all of them love her. He wants to hear her yell at him about the ministry's ludicrous werewolf laws, and hum merrily while she cooks. Remus wants her to sit up in that coffin and tell him to stop brooding. But she can't and she won't, and a man he doesn't recognize behind him is waiting to see her body, so Remus touches her forehead once and turns away.

He walks out of the building. No one asks him if he's okay, no one grips his arm in silent comfort or offers him some water. They simply stare, knowing he slept with the man that murdered the Potters. And Remus goes home, to his home, to the home of the Potters murderer, and he stares at the pictures of Sirius in the Daily Prophet. He is furious and insane. Laughing and screaming and moving like living people do. Remus is unaccountably grateful for this, and then he remembers the coldness of Lily's skin, the flat neatness of James's hair that the man himself had never been able to achieve. He tries to hate Sirius and fails. He is only ashamed to be grateful that Peter's body was never found, that he does not have to know who will raise Harry, does not have to see how many people perished during the chaos. So many years ago someone told Remus Lupin he was the bravest of them all. But that man was a liar. And now both of them suffer their vices.