With two fingers she traces a scar on his abdomen. It used to tickle like no other when she did that, but he's grown used to it. Used to her. He grabs her hand as he always does, twining their fingers together and just lying there with her, breathing in her air. By now he doesn't have to look at her to be aware of how beautiful she is: her blazing hair fanned out behind her on his pillow, the freckles on shoulders stark against her skin and his sheets.

"I love you," he murmurs. She hums, kissing his shoulder.

"Love you too."

It's been three months now since she moved in with James, making these visits less and less frequent. But Merlin, he misses her just the same every second she's gone. The soft and warm smell of her lingers in his room always; oftentimes he worries that everyone else can smell it as well, that they know what he's done and for how long--but he's the only one who notices, his nose damnably superior. Not even Sirius seems to pick up on it.

She sighs heavily. "He's proposed," she says, apologetic.

He shifts his leg. "Ah."

This comes as no surprise. Of course James proposed. He's been a nervous and excitable wreck for the past week, which was a big enough tipoff on its own, but it was inevitable from the start. They're eighteen now and he's loved her since their third year.

Remus has loved her since their second.

"You said yes," he says after a pause. It's not a question.

"We're going to have the wedding in the fall, maybe a month from now. He said a spring or summer wedding would be nicer, but he doesn't want to wait that long."

He rolls over to face her, one hand still clutching hers. "I'm happy for you. Really," he insists when she scrunches her nose. "We're in the middle of a war, Lily, not everyone gets the chance to fall in love and get married and start a family. It's wonderful, it really is."

She doesn't respond. Those bright green eyes are boring holes in him, and even now he feels himself flush the slightest bit under their scrutiny. She disentangles her fingers from his and reaches up, stroking his hair in what might be a soothing gesture or just an affectionate one. His eyes flutter closed regardless.

He remembers telling her, weeks ago, that she pets him like a domesticated animal. She laughed, calling him her little lapdog--"Lapwolf!"--and kissed him soundly on the mouth. The memory brings a smile to his lips. She never tiptoes around his condition or makes him talk to her about it; instead she wraps her arms around him on the floor when he's too exhausted to get to his bed, makes him tea without being asked during the waxing moon. She doesn't complain when he has to stop halfway through their lovemaking out of soreness, but he apologizes anyway because she deserves better. She has better, too. James is waiting for her at home, all smiles with his ruffled hair and clean robes and unmarked flesh. The only thing wearing him out is scrimmaging with Sirius and the others or, recently, heading out on late-night missions for the Order. Even then he comes back in perfect health, his somber expression lasting only hours before that brilliant grin returns to his face.

As if on cue, Lily stills her hand, interrupting his thoughts with, "Aren't you going to ask, Remus? About why I said yes to him?"

No. "Do you want me to?"

He opens his eyes a fraction as she pulls him closer. Their noses are touching. "I don't know. Maybe."

He asks, "Why did you say yes to him, then?"

She pulls him in just a bit more till their lips connect. The kiss is sweet and slow like the ones after a full moon, but soon it grows more passionate, more desperate. She's rolling him onto his back and it's only now that he remembers how completely naked they are. With what little control he can manage, he pushes her back and looks her in the eye. "Lily."

"I would have said yes to you if you'd asked me," she tells him. Her eyes shine with moisture. "I would have, Remus. Even back then."

He knows she means in their time at school. But he was never confident enough to admit to it at the time, and when he'd finally felt certain enough to take the plunge, James had beaten him to it. And through a wholly unexpected turn of events, Lily had accepted.

It was late in the winter when he had told her, in a moment of rash boldness, that he loved her, that he had loved her for a long while but had never had the courage to speak up about it when she was still available. Then he had tried to sheepishly laugh it off, saying it didn't matter anyway since she was with James and they had better just forget about the whole thing, and that was when she gave a glowing smile, cupped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

One of them will say, every so often, that they should tell James. Yet Remus never makes her choose between them and Lily never promises to. He doesn't know if she would be capable of it. "I need you," she says whenever he asks why she stays with him. "And I need him," she adds, but only sometimes.

And now it has come to this. I would have said yes to you if you'd asked me. Would she, though? Did she want him to make her choose? Is this the unspoken opportunity they've been waiting for?

"What if I asked now?" he wonders aloud.

Whatever he expected, it was not this: She presses her forehead into his as tears streak down her face and drip onto his skin like hot oil. Her screwed-up eyes and choking sobs tell him these are not happy tears, so he pulls her in, holds her against his chest with a gentle shush. For what feels like ages he mumbles nonsensical words of comfort until she quiets and her shoulders stop heaving.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is muffled and tear-filled. "I'm sorry, please don't go, I c-can't--"

"Shh, no, it's all right," he says, even though it's not. Nothing about this is okay. James is the only reason he still has a roof over his head now, the only reason he has any friends at all and has lived this long without trying to kill himself, yet still he wishes Lily would change her mind. He feels guilty as all hell for it, but damn if he doesn't adore every fiber of her, inside and out. The greatest sound he knows is that airy giggle she lets out when he runs his tongue along the outer shell of her ear. When she stretches out across his lap with a book his heart soars. He loves the way she sings off-key to her favorite Muggle songs, the way she widens her eyes at him in amusement when Peter stumbles over his words at their monthly dinners, the way her hair smells just after she showers--

"You should be with James," he says to the ceiling. "You're engaged now. He'll take care of you, and we can go back to being friends like we were as prefects. It's the right thing to do."

She lifts herself off of him enough to meet his eye. Before him is a girl with flushed cheeks, matted hair, and a runny nose. She sniffles. "You're too good for me, you know that?" she chokes out, smiling a bit sadly. "You're--someday you're going to make a woman happier than she's ever been, and I'll be seething with jealousy but no one will be gladder than me, Remus. I love you so much that m-my chest is just bursting, like I'm--"

"Stop," he demands, shaking his head to will away the thoughts that are slowly creeping in. "We can't do this anymore. Go to him."

She just nods, sliding off the bed and stumbling around for her clothes. For the first time he finds himself looking away as she dresses. Once she's done she walks back to him, looking shy. "One more for the road?" she pleads. Unable to say no, he leans in and presses his lips to hers for the last time. They part, and she straightens out her clothing before Disapparating away, leaving him in the stale silence of his empty flat.

When the boy turns to him, Remus is met with a shock of green. Memories come flowing back, unbidden, as he tells him the closest thing to the truth the child can ever be allowed to know.

"Yes, I knew her," he says with as much detachment as he can muster. "She was there for me at a time when no one else was. She was not only a singularly gifted witch but an uncommonly kind woman. She had a way of seeing the beauty in whoever she met, even--and perhaps most especially--when that person couldn't see it in themselves." He allows himself an indulgent smile, then adds, "Which perhaps explains her affection for your father."

The more they talk, the more pleased and disappointed Remus is to find that the boy is every bit his mother's son. He wonders if Severus has seen that as well, or if the man's hatred of James Potter has clouded his vision. When Harry arrives at their next lesson, Remus decides it doesn't matter who the boy takes after more: This is his chance for redemption, this child who looks so much like the man Remus had wronged all those years ago and whose eyes narrow in exasperation the same as his mother's. He can make it up to them both.

And from the back of his mind, a selfish voice says that he can imagine, just for a while, that this is his son. Merlin knows it's the closest he's likely to get to one.