YOU-KNOW-WHO VANQUISHED!

WIZARDING WORLD AT PEACE!

HARRY POTTER – THE BOY WHO LIVED!

Sirius threw The Daily Prophet onto the beaten wooden table in front of him at this latest headline. It skidded across the surface and fell onto the floor. Reading the name Potter reopened a raw hole in his chest that ached with every breath. He couldn't believe that James was dead. After all they'd been through, they'd been so close to making it out alive and well, just to have it torn cruelly away.

He was going to murder Peter Pettigrew.

Sirius knew that if circumstances had been different, he would have been at a celebration, stress-free and happy. He would have been like the rest of the world. Shaking his head, he reached for a glass of firewhiskey at his side and swallowed a huge gulp.

As if his body had gone on autopilot, Sirius picked up the paper again. Yesterday, the fact that James and Lily Potter were dead would have been headline news. Now, as he scanned the paper quickly through saddened eyes, he hardly found a mention of their death except for a line at the end of the third article. Grimacing in disgust, he yanked out his wand and Vanished the paper. Left staring at the spot where it had previously lain, he was overcome by a fit of rage and pounded the table violently with a fist, shaking the plate that held crumbs of the sandwich that had been his meager dinner.

It wasn't right; it wasn't fair! Had the world forgotten the role James and Lily had played? Was he the only one that even noticed that world no longer felt right, that there would always be a sacrifice overshadowed by tidings of joy?

But of course no one wants to read about death, Sirius thought mockingly. They want to hear about how they can come out of their bloody hiding places and be normal again. Too bad I can never be effing normal!

If only he hadn't convinced James to switch to Peter – he would be sitting here, breathing, alive, perhaps laughing with Sirius over a memory of some prank they'd pulled.

But he'd made the wrong decision - and now his best mate was dead.

He held back hot tears and stood suddenly, pushing back his chair. He reached for the firewhiskey again and downed the rest of it in one gulp, the tears in his eyes replaced by cold fury and determination. He could put things right, in his way. Maybe getting back at Peter would somehow absolve him of this guilt that was rearing its head, eating at his innards, ready to swallow him whole.

Maybe.

With one last glance at the kitchen table, Sirius left his apartment.

He was going to kill Peter Pettigrew.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that…it was kind of angsty, but I wanted to capture how Sirius must have felt after his best friend was killed.

--ahem—glances at review button – you know what to do.