Author notes: See, three people are still alive! Ha! I told you. Read on.
Lupin was sitting at the kitchen table in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, reading the paper and sipping lukewarm tea. He was searching for news of Harry, who he had not seen for more than two weeks. He was worried, and not just about Harry. Headquarters was depressingly empty these days. Charlie was working extremely hard, perhaps to distract himself from how difficult the rest of his life was right now. George hadn't been the same since Fred died; it was as though he was missing his legs or a vital organ that he could not function properly without. He did trivial tasks and espionage missions, but could not handle the strain of real danger and battle. After all, that was how Fred had died. But Lupin didn't like to think about that battle. It had been devastating, cutting their numbers by nearly 10 people, of only around 30 remaining before it.
And Lupin was growing old and weak and weary of his empty life, his half-life, his life without Sirius and James and Dumbledore and Nymphadora and now, it seemed, Harry. Lupin shook his head and took a choking gulp of tea. He couldn't think about Harry as though his return was a lost cause.
But not even a letter…
Lupin shook his head again, turning a page in the paper to read the obituaries. He skimmed them, but saw neither Harry's name nor anybody near and dear to him. Trying to ignore that, while nobody from the Order was present on the page, there were painfully familiar names such as Sprout and Pomfrey, he turned the page. There was a short piece about Blaise Zabini, who ran a charity organization in Scotland that offered relief to residents of war-ravaged towns.
But nothing about Harry, or indeed anything which shocked Lupin.
George shuffled into the kitchen, eyes puffy from lack of sleep, and poured himself some hot water from the kettle. He forgot a tea bag, but sat sipping at the plain water, staring absently at the front page.
"Anything?" he asked half-heartedly. George, like Lupin, was worried and none too hopeful about what might have happened to Harry.
"No."
"Mmmm."
George pulled the paper towards him, read the obituaries, the story about Zabini and the headlines. Then he slouched away, muttering about a letter to Charlie, who was recruiting in Canada.
Lupin walked over to a shelf over the fireplace and pulled down a dusty, faded scrapbook. It was Harry's. Lupin turned its pages absently, pausing every so often to gaze sadly at Sirius or James or Lily. His eyes rested for a moment on a very old picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione standing together on the Hogwarts Quidditch field, knee-deep in snow, flushed and laughing. Lupin watched the three of them move around on the page, throwing snowballs and grinning. He wondered how long ago this had been taken. Their third year? Second, even?
As he put the photo album back on the shelf with a flurry of dust and a sigh, he wondered if, even now, all three of its inhabitants were gone from the world forever.
Lupin didn't know that he would have his answer to that question with the evening paper.
Fin
Author notes: So that's all. The end. Wow, this one took like a month. Not very long, really, but it felt like it, seeing as how I was dwelling on it every waking hour of my life. So in a way I'm glad it's finally over, because now I'm not suicidal anymore. Well, not really. …Oh, man. Thanks again to my lovely lovely betas: Kat, Liz, Maddy, Courtney and sometimes Lauren (haha, they're like vowels). And if you reviewed I thank you too. Umm…bye.