As thousands of wizards were celebrating the end of the Dark Age that the Dark Lord had brought, others were in mourning.
One such man, who had found himself in the latter category many times recently, was Arcturus Black, the third of his name.
His shoulders were slumped, his hair thinned and grey, and his facial features shrouded in sadness.
It had been a dark period for the The Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black.
For hundreds of years they had stood as the epitome of Pureblood families, the perfection that all of wizarding kind strived to be.
But that perfection was tainted. Their visage of excellence was stained by the madness, and infertility that plagued the family.
And their years of glory had given too much pride to them. They were now paying the price of it all. The price in blood and death.
Their pedestal had crumpled, and the ruins scattered throughout. Cracks they had not paid attention to had split apart.
Their chances of redemption had died with Sirius. His eldest grandson had been their last hope, but they had not realised it at the time.
When he had left, turning to the cursed Potters, that hope was crushed.
They had put all their hopes and dreams onto Regulus. Poor Regulus, who couldn't handle the burden. Dear Regulus, who died an unsung hero, whom no one would remember for anything worthwhile.
In that moment, he hated the Potters. He hated them. For taking Sirius, for turning him against them, for destroying the Blacks, for marrying into the family and then tearing it apart. Yes, he hated them.
And now, the Blacks were to be a forgotten house, long lost in the annals of history, just pages in a history book written by some blood-traitor who would not understand the glory he and his forefathers had given to wizarding kind.
They would never know… for their hope had been lost with Sirius.
As he fell into a deep slumber, he cried. For Orion, his son who never quite reached his expectations, for Walburga, who had died screaming madly for Regulus in her sleep, for Bellatrix, who had been so great before joining the Dark Lord. For all of them, for dying leaving the family in fragments, but mostly for his grandsons, for dying before they could reach their potential.
He cried till his vision was marred with darkness of the name of his family. He cried till his vision was black. And he fell asleep.
He never woke up.
Technically Sirius isn't deceased yet during this time period, but considering he is essentially a lost cause to the Blacks, he's basically dead to them.