Warning: Character death, and it's not Sirius (well, it is, but besides that).
Percy, Albus, Minerva, Remus
It's times like these that Percy knows he picked the right side. He had been a stupid teenager, blinded by the idea of power. For when you're in the middle of a seven-children family, when you're the "odd one out", power and acceptance are the two things you crave. He started losing the things that were closest to him, and when Oliver and Penny stopped talking to him, he knew he had taken it a step too far.
Ron had the hardest time forgiving him, even after Harry had. But Dumbledore had welcomed him with open arms and had trusted him implicitly, and he knows that only Dumbledore wouldn't even have given it a second thought. He is proud of his choice, of the people he fights for, of the life he leads.
He is proud of the way he dies - before the flash of green light, he does not scream. He does not wield to torture. He does not succumb to his captor's Imperius curse. He looks into the only part of the face that isn't hidden - into eyes he had looked into thousands of times at the Ministry - with defiance. And the last thing he thinks of is the information he gave Dumbledore that will win them the war, or of his hand on the family clock, or of the letter that will appear on Penny's bedside table. Then nothing.
It's times like these that Albus wonders what all the effort is for. Minerva, who has been his confidante for so many years now, keeps telling him that the war is to protect the future generations, to have a better world to live in, just like every other war that has ever been fought. Why protect the future generations, though, if the idea of younger generations is dying with each casualty?
They lost another of their best again this past week - Percy Weasley turned out to be a great asset, and he was a veritable genius, a wonderful husband, an evolved, albeit proud, human being. He was of a different, rarer mold, and now he is lost forever. Albus doesn't think about what the outcome of the war will be - at least, not often. He knows either Harry or Tom - Voldemort - must die, and Harry is growing every day into a wizard with astounding ability; given enough time, he would be a perfect mixture of his parents, and the most powerful wizard since Albus himself.
However, Harry doesn't have forever, and there is no knowing when Voldemort will attack once and for all. He can't be there for Harry forever, and he is well aware that he will eventually lay down his life for his young protege. Albus will never know the outcome of the war - not consciously, at least. Ultimately, he just wants to rest.
It's times like these that Minerva has the hardest time sleeping. She knows what Albus is going through, and yet she doesn't. She knows what her students - the children she calls her own - are going through, and yet she doesn't. She sees everything, but detaches herself, as if it will make the pain of losing them go away. So she continues being the strict, no-nonsense head of house, and no one questions anything. But inside, she's breaking.
She frets over young Hermione's worry. She wants to make Penelope Weasley's pain disappear. She wishes she had Ginny Weasley's strength - to fight an enemy that very nearly took her over at such a young age. And she hopes one day that she might have Albus' level of patience, compassion and understanding.
Until then, though, she waits underneath the stars with all the others, waiting for that day to come, waiting for the music to die, for the dreams to end and for the world to come crashing down.
It's times like these that Remus misses Sirius most. When he's relaxing in his armchair in the sitting room in the 'House of Black' (the tapestry still won't come off, neither will the portrait) alone, after everyone has Apparated or flooed home for the night. When Harry is visiting Ron or Hermione, it gets so quiet.
Remus sometimes hears ghosts of echoes of Sirius' voice calling his name - from the kitchen, from the bathroom. From the bedroom. So he follows it, padding softly up the stairs in his slippers, wondering to which memory it is going to lead him. He thinks it is Sirius' way of telling him he hasn't forgotten.
He walks through the memories as if it is a film. From Sirius laughingly throwing scrambled eggs at him in the kitchen to heartfelt talks in the bathroom, to both dark and light confessions in the bedroom. He always feels empty when he walks into the room and there is no one there, but that is how it always is. He hopes the war ends soon, so he can leave Number Twelve.
He feels older than he is, and he knows it's not just the werewolf. He will move to somewhere in France, where he is comfortable, the countryside maybe, somewhere where he never brought Sirius so the echoes don't bother him. He will let Harry visit him; Harry is his only attatchment to the past. He will live out the rest of his life in peace. Because that is the only thing that he has left.
mais où es-tu, si loin sans même une adresse
et que deviens-tu - l'attente est ma seule caresse
et je t'aime encore, comme dans les chansons banales
et ça me dévore, et tout le reste m'est égal
de plus en plus fort, a chaque souffle, a chaque pas
et je t'aime encore, mais toi, tu ne m'entends pas...