The wind blew eerily through the bare trees. Leaves crunched underfoot as the man opened the gate. His black cloak blew in the breeze. He walked up to the house. Pointing his wand at the door, he whispered the spell. The lock clicked open. A small smile flirted across his pallid face, and he opened the door.

"James?" Lily's voice was forcedly calm. Her husband rolled over with a grunt.

"Whassit?" He groaned sleepily.

"James. The front door…" Lily's voice trailed off. James heard it too. Footsteps, in the kitchen. No! James thought, panicked. He can't be here. Peter…Peter wouldn't. But James knew it was true. Remus was innocent. Peter had betrayed them. And now Voldemort was in his kitchen. He was going to kill Harry. NO! James jumped out of bed. "Lily. Go. Take Harry." His wife glared at him.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Lily. He'll kill Harry. Go."

Lily looked defiantly from her husband to the door. Dumbledore's words echoed in her head. Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives. She knew what she had to do. For Harry, and for the Order, and for everything they'd been fighting for.

She met her husband's eyes. "Till death do us part." She whispered. Tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them back. Then, with a backwards glance at the man she had fallen in love with so many years ago, she ran into her son's room.

James watched her leave. He took a deep breath, and then ran downstairs. He did not want to die. He had so much to live for. Lily, Harry, Remus, Sirius, the Order. And Peter had taken all this away from him. With a cry of anger, James ran into the kitchen. Voldemort turned to face him, a cold sneer adorning his once handsome features.

"James Potter." The voice was like ice. James suppressed a shudder.

"Voldemort." James pulled out his wand.

Voldemort laughed. "Do you think you can fight me Potter?" He, too, drew his wand. "You think you can save your wife? Your son?" James found that he couldn't move. "You will die here James Potter. And for naught. Your wife is upstairs with the boy, and there she will stay. She cannot apparate from here, all floo networks are cut off. The prophesy will be fulfilled tonight. Goodbye, James Potter." And with that, a green light filled the room. James never even got the chance to scream. He had been the first marauder to die. The war had finally taken it's deadly toll on the four brothers. Prongs was dead.

Upstairs, Lily had realized that there was no way to escape. She had been frantically searching for a way to save her son when the green light filled the house. He was dead. Lily knew this. She did not try to deny it. She had know it would happen. They all would. Her husband was dead, and she would die with him, and so would Harry, and Voldemort would win the war. They had failed the Order.

Voldemort appeared in the doorway, interrupting Lily's thoughts. "Give me the boy." He commanded. Lily glared at him with a loathing that she had never felt before.

"No."

"Give him to me, or die like your husband."

Lily had not intended to beg this man. She swore she would die fighting, like James. But suddenly she realized that it was real. This wasn't a game. It wasn't about pride. He was going to kill her son, like he'd killed James.

"No. Please. Spare Harry!" She found herself in tears, pleading with this murderer to spare her son. "Kill me! Spare Harry!"

"Stand aside, foolish girl!"

"No! Please!" There was a flash of green light, and Lily Evans joined her husband. The fifth marauder had died.

Harry was oblivious to this all as Voldemort turned his wand to him. "Avada Kedarva!" He yelled. For the third time, a green flash split the October night, and this time, Voldemort was gone. Harry Potter became the Boy who Lived. And Lily and James had died to see it happen.

Sirius stood before the ruins of the house at Godric's Hollow. A small boy was cradled in his arms, and he wept. James and Lily lay dead before him. He had been the first to arrive. He had dragged their dead bodies from the rubble and rescued their son. They were gone. It hit him suddenly. Lily, red hair and temper, so kind and caring. And James. Prongs. Prongs…He fell to his knees. This was his fault. He had switched with Wormtail. The rat! He would kill him. He stood up.

"Sirius? Tha' you?" A voice called out. "Blimey. Wha' happened?" the giant Hagrid took in the scene before him. "Where's 'arry?"

"Here." Sirius handed over the boy. "Take my bike. I won't be needing it." Sirius knew what he had to do. He had to kill Peter.

Hagrid watched him go with a sad shake of his head. Sirius was strong, but he had lived for James Potter. What would he be without him? Hagrid was the only one who would feel pity for Sirius Black for the next twelve years, and that pity would soon turn to hatred as he learned that Black had supposedly sold his best friend to the Dark Lord.

Sirius didn't care about any of this. He was intent on one thing…revenge. He guessed that Wormtail would want to get as far away from London as possible, so he headed to Kings Cross. He got there without having given himself time to think about what he was going to do. His mind was back at Hogwarts with James and Lupin, outside on the lake where they used to relax years ago.

They had taken Peter in. He had always been the outcast, the little ratty boy who no one liked. Than he had gotten on their boat in September 1st, ten years ago, and had made his first friends. A werewolf, a family misfit, and a blood traitor. They had taken him in, treated him like a brother, saved him from detention, they had always trusted him, and this was how he repaid them? Sirius clenched his fists. He would kill that rat.

And then he saw him. Slouched in a corner with his trunk at his foot, ticket in hand, looking nervously over his shoulder. Rage coursed through Sirius's body. "Petterigrew!" He yelled. The man turned to look at him, his eyes wide with fear. Not caring about the muggles that were watching him in shock, Siruis drew his wand.

Wormtail smiled. Sirius Black had always bested him in everything. He had always gotten the better grades, the better girls, James and Remus had liked him more. Peter had just been their shadow. Everyone knew the Marauders, but no one knew him. That was about to change. They would worship him as a hero, tell stories about how he had so bravely challenged Sirius against all odds. And Siruis would pay for his arrogance and his jokes all those years.

"Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?" He asked, his voice laden with fake sorrow.

"Coward!" Sirius raised his wand, but Peter was quicker. With a flick, the street blew apart. He pulled out a silver knife, and, taking a deep breath, cut his finger from his hand. He than transformed and slipped in the sewers to live his life as Scabbers, the pitiful pet rat. Peter Petterigrew was a hero. Peter Petterigrew was dead.

Siruis saw this. He knew what Wormtail had done. He knew the Ministry would come for him now. And suddenly, it was too much for him to bear. The irony of the whole situation! He laughed. A wild, maniac laugh that chilled the hearts of those who heard it.

And the Ministry did come, and they arrested Sirius, and they gave Wormtail the Order of Merlin, first class, and all was well in the wizarding world, because Lord Voldemort was dead. No one cared about the Marauders. Their sacrifice had gone unnoticed.

Remus pondered this with a wry smile. You thought you knew someone, you thought you knew what they were like, and than they went and did something like this. Peter had always been the coward. But tonight, he had stood up to Black, and died a hero. And Black. He had loved James like a brother. He had sworn to kill Voldemort. And he had gone and joined him and sold out his best friend. Life was strange. He sighed, not allowing the tears to spill. The Marauders had died tonight. He was the last one. And no one would ever remember his name. He was the last Marauder. The sole survivor. Sirius Black was still alive, but the Padfoot Remus had know had died with Prongs and Wormtail. And now Moony was alone again. Yes, life was strange. They had all blamed him. The werewolf. People would have remembered him then. But no. He was innocent, and so he was forgotten. He lived, and so he was forgotten. The Marauders were truly dead.