Disclaimer: See Prologue
A/N: I can't believe this is the end. Without sounding like Gwyneth Paltro, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed or favourited or even just read it. Neither can I believe that this was supposed to only be fifteen chapters long…
Also, the sequel will be up Sunday night so sorry, I can't link. The first chapter of that leads on from Chapter 49.
"Uh-huh? Just let me finish this sentence."
Teddy Lupin looked up from the Charms textbook he had been flicking through. Harry thought that despite turquoise hair and a disturbing penchant for punk rock, the teenaged Teddy had never reminded him more of Remus Lupin.
Harry was jolted from his reverie by the sound of his godson to whom he handed three boxes, all full of Lupin's photography. Three boxes that spanned almost thirty years.
"I've tried to organise them," Harry told him. "The first one is school. The second should be the eighties; if it's not, it's the third which, if I did this properly, is your mother."
Teddy tentatively opened the box that Lupin had handed Sirius so many years ago, upon which was now written 'one'.
"The third box is my mother?" he joked. "I thought my family dynamics were messed up enough already without that kind of bombshell."
Harry laughed. "You get more and more like your dad every day."
Teddy shrugged. "I can think of worse people to bear a resemblance to than my own father." He pulled out the first photograph, one of Harry's particular favourites, of Lupin and his own father leaping on Peter's bed, laughing and strumming air guitars. For a moment, Harry almost regretted giving them away; until he saw Teddy's expression.
It was decidedly 'uncool' for a fourteen year old boy to cry, so Teddy didn't but he squinted a little, holding tears off, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Harry knew the feeling. He had exactly the same tendencies when he saw that picture.
Thankfully, he was saved from making an embarrassing excuse by a telling crash and the shouts of his sons as they battled it out for the title of innocent victim.
"Oh dear God. Okay Ted, I really have to got to run but I'll be back later if you don't mind. You might want to hear about them."
Teddy nodded gratefully and steeling himself, delved further into the box.
It was early evening when Harry returned, choosing to knock before he entered the spare room because it had somehow gradually become known as Teddy's. It was almost like a second home. He had two crammed bookshelves and case upon case of obscure CDs, most of which by bands that very few people had heard of. He had stuck posters to the walls and it had even been painted.
It had not even been a gradual step, by which the boy had started leaving small possessions behind. He had stayed over for a week during the previous summer and, having inherited his mother's bluntness, asked if he could have the spare room. Had his father been around, Harry was sure Lupin would have reacted with the same world-weary shaking of his head that had been previously reserved only for remarks made by Sirius Black.
What first struck him was the lack of moving band posters and even the lack of paint. Harry's eyes toured his spare room, taking in the images of Lupin that served as a sort of makeshift wallpaper. Pictures he knew well, ones taken at school. Pictures that induced an ache that would once have almost crippled him, ones taken in the year of his parents' death. Pictures he had never seen before, ones taken in the last years of Lupin's life - mostly of Tonks, swatting at the camera and trying to hide herself.
But perhaps most shockingly of all, Remus Lupin now lay on the bed which had been dragged into the centre of the room, and gazed up at pictures that would seem to be of himself.
Harry felt the ache for Lupin, a feeling he had never before really experienced. In the past it had been faint, when he needed someone who would know anything and everything about a strange but interesting creature that had made its home in the bottom of the garden pond or when he needed sound advice. And yet, now it was stronger than it had ever been because he was so close, he could reach out and touch him.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Is this you then?"
Teddy sat up, shocked to find he had company. "Sort of." He stood, an exact clone of his father (minus the scars and prior to Peter's hair spell) but betrayed by his voice, and screwed up his face, concentrating hard.
Harry gazed into the eyes that Teddy had inherited from the Blacks and honestly felt as though an emotional breakdown would soon be on its way. "You look just like your father but you have your mother's eyes."
Teddy laughed. "Irony doesn't suit you Harry."
"I can't believe I just said that," muttered Harry, his eyes wide and his hand resting on his forehead as he shook his head slowly.
"Oh, by the way," said Teddy, indicating towards one box that was still full of pictures. "I kept those for you. They're photos of your mum and dad and well, I didn't know them and given that, it would seem a little perverted to keep them so if you don't already have them, they're yours. Some of them are of Lovett too, I'm tempted to burn them in a mass pyre so when you find them, hand them over. I'm a right pyromaniac when I get going." He winked and Harry was able to release the breath he had been holding in fear.
"Now might be the time to tell you just how much you scare me Ted," laughed Harry. "You and your shrine," he added.
"Leave my shrine out of this."
Teddy smiled faintly and without warning, threw his arms around Harry's neck.