This story was entered in the Sycophant Hex: Spring Faire Festival under the General Story: Missing Sirius Black.
The criteria is below:
We've seen Harry's reaction, but what about everyone else? How does Lupin react to the death of Sirius, his last living best friend? Or how does Snape celebrate the demise of his mortal foe--or does he celebrate at all? What about the Order in general? Molly and Sirius never did see eye to eye, but how does she take the news of his passing? What about Ron, Hermione, or Ginny? Dumbledore?
Six Ways
As Remus wanders through the dusty and oppressive domicile that is the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, he is actually grateful for the silence that pervades throughout. In the days that have followed the events of the Department of Mysteries, Remus has been surrounded by well meaning sympathisers. He had grown weary of the pats on the back and the hugs from the majority of the remaining Order members. As noble as their intentions are, he finds himself gritting his teeth everytime someone begins a sentence with 'How are you holding up?' or 'Do you need to talk about it, Remus?'
Most of all, he is tired of having to put on a show.
Remus had never realised how much of himself was a presentation until the moment that Molly Weasley, after treating him to a sincere speech coupled with a heavy dose of maternal guidance, ended with 'It's all right to cry, dear.' At those words, he felt the unbidden tears begin to well up in his eyes. After Molly had left, he felt like the biggest sham in the world.
Have you ever cried without actually feelingit?
The grim truth of it all is, in his neverending quest to rid the taint that his curse has wrought upon him, he has conditioned himself to give the people around him the responses they are expecting.
He is a puppet that pulls its own strings, and somehow that seems worse than being manipulated by another person.
Remus knew he should be despondent, depressed...something. Yet he felt only emptiness when Sirius was mentioned now. The 'person' that had emerged from Azkaban was merely a whisper of Sirius Black, not even loud enough to be noticed now that he was gone. Remus could never say this to anyone else, for fear of the condemnation it would bring down upon his head. 'You truly are a monster!' they would say, and confirm his worst fears. They would only accept him if he kept on smiling and nodding his head, like a grotesque marionette. How could he explain that he could not find it in himself to grieve for one of his oldest friends?
How could he explain it to himself that he had once believed Sirius to be capable of what sent him to Azkaban in the first place? He had failed Padfoot as soon as Lily and James were gone, and had mourned Peter with all of his heart, like a fool.
The only thing Remus has the heart to grieve over anymore is the death of his own faith.
He doesn't even know who to talk to anymore. The only person likely to be honest with him is...
Severus sits in his dark chambers, alone, as he prefers it. 'Company' is simply a polite word for useless conversation and a wanton intrusion of your private space. As he ponders the second war and those ensconced in it, he finds his thoughts drifting to an unlikely subject.
Sirius Black.
He is as casual about the mutt's death as everyone else had expected him to be.
No words of sorrow or sympathy to the mourners.
No public displays or any noticeable reaction, of any kind.
To look at him, you would think that Black never even existed.
Yet he had, and a mark had been left on Severus's life by his hand. Not the kind that you want to keep with you, like warm memories of school acquaintances, laughing in the carefree way of youth. The other kind...the images of childhood embarrassment and anger that you cannot forget. The moments in your life as an adolescent that you still refuse to speak of as an adult, no matter how long ago they may have been.
Many of them believe that Severus is secretly thrilled about Black's untimely demise, but has enough tact not to show it. You would think, by now, they would have realised that tact is not one of Severus's concerns in life. It is merely another excuse for not saying unpopular things that need to be heard, masquerading as a social grace.
He is not thrilled by it, as much as he tries to be. He knows he should have the euphoria associated with being the victor; he did win in the end, even if Black was never aware of the game.
The few who know him a bit better than the rest believe he is indifferent to the entire affair. A reasonable conclusion, one that Severus, himself, would have assumed. Why should he care, after all? When he thinks back on his school days, he reminds himself that Black did not matter then, and should not matter now...yet...
He is not apathetic, as much as he tells himself he is.
There is a loss in his life; he can no longer deny that fact.
The loss of the last person on the face of the earth that he had been able to be completely honest with.
"I despise you, Black."
And he did.
"It's said to be unbearable to watch, but I will suffer through it."
And he would have.
"Your foolish godson believes you to be at the mercy of the Dark Lord, and has fallen right into his trap. You are to stay here, although your Gryffindor tendencies may lead you to believe otherwise. Your presence will only endanger the others and most likely get you killed."
And Black had.
"Do not argue with me, you flea-bitten mutt! I, for one, will not shed a single tear at your funeral!"
That was the only time he had lied. However, it was more to himself that to Black. Not that anyone had seen it, anyway, since they were all too busy being smothered by that infernal redheaded woman known as...
Molly bustles about the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, cleaning the same things over and over again to prevent her from actually thinking about it. As soon as she stops, her traitorous mind forces her to deal with exactly what she had been working so hard to avoid.
Sirius.
Her heart breaks everytime she sees the look on Harry's face, ever present in the days following the accident. Many had taken that as a sign that, although she had not been on the best of terms with the Animagus, she still had taken the news rather hard...it is not that far from the truth. She did take the loss of an Order member to heart, as it meant one less soul to stand against the tirade of evil You-Know-Who was determined to wreak upon the world.
However, as much as it pains her to admit it, she knows that if a member had to be taken, it's best for everyone that it was him. He was the least useful Order member, and if they had to lose a limb, she wants it be a hand rather than a leg, so to speak. Even Mudungus Flecter is more valuable, unsavoury character that he is, due to his contacts within the less desirable elements of Wizarding society.
She tries to rationalise this horrible thought with a myriad of half-truths. She tells herself he was living half a life, anyway, that the young man known as Sirius Black really never left Azkaban, but she sees these false arguments for what they are: a convenient way to ease her guilty conscience.
If anything, Molly Weasley is a practical woman and a mother in the midst of war. She will do anything to ensure that her children will have a safe world to live out the rest of their lives in, and she recognises Sirius's passing as an acceptable loss.
In times like these, that is the best anyone can hope for.
She dreads the day when two more of her children will enter the Order, something that she suspects will happen soon. Just like Fabian and Gideon, her twin sons are eager to do their part in the struggle. She chokes back a sob at the thought; she does not know if she could go on if something were to happen to...
The proprietors of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezies are currently standing in the parlour of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, studying the Black Family Tapestry.
"He was right there, you know," George whispers, pointing to a black smudge on the fabric.
"I know," Fred replies. "I haven't suddenly gone blind in the last five minutes."
"No," George said, with an unmistakable glint of good humour in his eyes, "you've always been that way."
Fred reaches out to swat his brother on the head, but a familiar voice rings out, and stops him short.
"Boys, you are behaving like children, for Merlin's sake! Are you two ever going to grow up?"
"Sorry, Mum!" both boys sheepishly reply, in unison.
"Honestly, that woman has some nerve sometimes. We're not children anymore. You'd think she'd bloody well notice," Fred mumbles.
"Yeah," George murmurs in agreement. "We'll be in the Order soon."
They silently turn their gaze back to the erased branch on the ancient family tree.
++++++++++++++++
The Sorting Hat is not always right.
Albus sits in his chair, studying the object of his thoughts. Its worn out brim seems to be mocking him as he ponders where he went so wrong. He knows it's a foolish whim of fantasy, but it really seems as if the Hat started this mess, rather than himself.
After all, it placed little Peter Pettigrew into Gryffindor, didn't it? Surely, the House distinguished by courage and bravery should have never held a student who was clearly the worst sort of coward.
His musings bring him back to why he is sitting here, in the middle of the night, wide awake.
Sirius, the one who deserved to be in Gryffindor.
The headmaster may be getting older, but he can still clearly remember the day that young Sirius came into his office, with a brilliant plan to save the Potters.
Well, it had been brilliant at the time, anyway.
He recalls, after hearing all of the crucial elements of the ruse, leaning forward and gravely reminding Sirius of the huge risk he was taking.
"You know that if we do this, you will be running for your life as long as Voldemort walks the Earth," Albus had said, his tone indicating that this was not conjecture; this was a fact.
Sirus had simply shook his head and flashed a quick smile.
"But that's just it, Headmaster. I won't be running for my life, I'll be running for theirs."
A trill from Fawkes pulls him back into reality, and he finds himself staring at the Hat once more.
"I was foolish back then, Fawkes, to believe I could control all the outcomes. If wisdom comes with age, why I am doing this all over again?" He pauses, finding it painful to admit his costly mistakes to another living being.
"If I had only told Harry the truth from the beginning..."
At that very moment, Fawkes bursts into flames. Albus walks over to his perch, gazing at the newborn baby phoenix in the ashes.
"That's the amazing thing about you, my dear Fawkes, you can start all over again with a clean slate," he says, with a touch of admiration in his voice.
"While I cannot, as much as I wish I could."