To Have Loved and Lost

Lily Potter smiled and snuggled deeper into her pillow. She sighed contentedly, slowly and deeply. She was drifting between awakeness and sleep, between dreams and reality. There was a warm glow about her this morning, and she relished it, not wanting to destroy the dream by opening her eyes.

A slight rustling sound snuck its way into her semi-conscious mind. It was not urgent, and so it meandered its way though her groggy synapses, stopping to chat with the parietal lobe and the lower amygdala.

This was her favorite time of day - when sleep still slowed the mind, when nothing was urgent. Here, warm and safe, still retaining the willful handicap of blindness, anything was possible. She could be anywhere, if only she willed it so. She could imagine that the exotic colors of India filled the room she was in, or that the safari yellows and jungle greens of Africa surrounded her. If only she willed it... that was the beauty; that was the wonder. She never wanted to open her eyes.

The rustling persisted, the noise having finally made its way to her frontal lobe delivering its message, and bringing with it the impenetrable weight of reality. Boring old Godoric's Hollow - not South America, not China, but London... But she still did not open her eyes.

Even as she lay on the fresh cotton sheets, the warm glow she had felt upon wakening was starting to slip away. Her mind, free to wander, began to probe into the events of the night before.

Sleep had thrown a haze over it all, and her mind worked slowly through it. She had not gone to sleep this contented - it was quite the opposite feeling - but what had it been? The rustling next to her was distracting her thoughts, and she resented it.

Click. It had been resentment. It had been anger. It had been loneliness.

And it was because of James.

Good riddance, she thought, not entirely convincing herself. I'm glad he went off to South Africa. Alone. I needed time to think, anyway. Stupid git.

Rustle, rustle, said the other half of the bed.

If he's going to treat me like a tagalong ninny, then maybe he doesn't...

Rustle, rustle, said the other pillow.

Rustle, rustle? Oh, shit.

Her eyes flew open, knowing what they would see before the morning light fell upon them. The memories of the night before hit her like a man on a Nimbus Three Million hits a herd of Dementors.

She stared at the man who shared her bed, who was lying in all his naked glory, and she buried her face in the pillow.

Oh, god. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. How could she have done this to him? She wanted to take it all back; she wanted it to have never happened. But she was so lonely, so desperate, and he had been so comforting, so... so human. He had been so unlike anything she had ever known. So unlike James...

So unlike your future husband, you mean?

Guilt and shame engulfed her body, and she let it flow over and through her, powerless. Tears fell from her green eyes onto the cotton pillowcase, the one that had witnessed her fall from grace. It had seen the loss of her dignity. It had seen her disgrace.

But in the middle of all her remorse, a small voice began speaking, quietly at first, trying to bring attention to the emotions that were fighting against this torrent of shame and self-loathing.

These were resolve, and cold logic, and the will to find a way out of the mess she had gotten herself into. And the voice was growing stronger.

She knew that she had hurt both men last night. But neither of them would ever have to know.

With a trembling hand, she picked up her wand and willingly took the first step of a long, hard journey. She had no other choice. It was for those that she loved.

"Obliviate."

Remus never even woke up.