Black Velvet
When he was young she dressed him in black velvet. It didn't take him long to destroy the velvet. He would come inside caked with dirt and with large holes torn into the once perfect fabric and she would scream and curse him; but he always got a new robe. If he was going to wear black velvet it must be perfect, or at least appear perfect.
When he was eleven she dressed him in the finest black velvet robes money could buy and sent him off to Hogwarts. He quickly discarded them in favor of his new mate James's extras because the black velvet made him feel awkward around his new friends, especially Remus, whose robes were just a few inches too short. He did miss the soft feel of the velvet for a few days, but at night he was encased in the crimson velvet of his new bed and he was happy.
When he was sixteen she stopped dressing him forever. Instead of black velvet he wore black leather and blue denim. He left her dark house forever, or so he thought, and entered the Potter's house which was full of light and color. Mrs. Potter wore bright, warm colors and the only time she wore velvet was around Christmas when she would don a bright red robe. He liked her and even called her mum on occasion, but at night he sometimes stroked his red velvet blanket and wondered what life would be like if it were green.
When he was twenty she would have been appalled to see what he was wearing, for it was very little. Instead of fabric he dressed in sweat and passion and love and a werewolf. They would lie in their large bed in their tiny flat and love each other in a way he had never been loved before. Remus's lips were far softer than any velvet, and he kissed them as often as possible. He never wondered about what his life could have been like anymore, because he couldn't imagine life without Remus in it.
When he was twenty-two he had been dead for so long to her that she didn't even care when she found out he was wearing a tattered, dirty prison robe. He also wore hatred, grief, loneliness, and sometimes, when it all became too much, fur. He longed to be back with his arm around Remus and with baby Harry on his lap while James and Lily laughed from across the room. Those days, however, were long over. They grew dimmer in his mind as time went on, but he never forgot the dark house where he wore black velvet every day.
When he was thirty-four she didn't know what he wore because she was dead. He dressed mostly in fur and didn't think of her at all. He thought mostly of Harry and saving him from the rat. When he rested though, he thought of Remus and James and Lily and yearned for the past.
When he had been reunited with his godson and lover, she would have been disgusted, especially if she had seen him wearing the too-small, patched robes lent to him by Remus. For that short period of time he wore happiness and velvet soft kisses again.
When he moved back into her dark house, her picture shrieked her disapproval at him. He wore his own clothes again, but never black velvet. At night, however, even though he was protected by Remus's familiar and safe body, the velvet came back to him. It covered their bed and sometimes worked its way into his dreams, strangling and suffocating him until he awoke screaming. Remus would calm him then, but depression and frustration started to settle down over him like a thick cloak.
When he died she would have laughed at the irony of his death. He had spent his whole life running from black velvet and in the end it finally caught up with him in the form of an old and ragged veil.