(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by copyrights.)

(Note from the author: I am very busy with other projects, but I will finish Forever Alive. Bear with me. This story is not over.)

It was late in the night when Frank Longbottom was called from his hideout to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Alice helped him dress, and Neville slept as they said their goodbyes. Frank hadn't known what had happened during the night, but the Headmaster seemed anxious. He arrived in the school a little past three o' clock in the morning. The entire castle was asleep, except for select members of the staff. These members included Hagrid and Dumbledore, along with a man that he had never seen before in his life. The man was sleek, thin and black-haired with a long nose that protruded from the rest of his features. It was this man that frightened him the most.
"Frank, please sit down," Dumbledore said, offering him a chair, "We have urgent news."
Frank, finding Moody in the back corner of the Headmaster's office, nodded. Moody did not respond. Frank took his chair and waited to be spoken to. He had had these sorts of meetings before, but not in this fashion. The manner of the night visit was not as he had thought it was to be. All faces were grim, yet excited as Dumbledore said good night to Hagrid, and he left through the fireplace on the farther side of the office.
The black-haired man took a seat next to Dumbledore, and Frank was surprised. Dumbledore had only been flanked by two people: Moody and himself. This stranger setting beside the Headmaster himself was quite out of the ordinary.
"May I ask who this is?" Frank said, and Moody coughed.
"This is Professor Severus Snape," Dumbledore replied, offhandedly, "He has just been added to the staff here at Hogwarts. He comes highly recommended."
"Added to the staff as what?" Frank asked.
"Potions Master," Professor Severus Snape snarled, and Frank's eyes narrowed.
"I know you," he said, "You were that Death Eater . . ."
"We shall not speak of such names in these walls," Dumbledore said, hushing Longbottom, "This is a time of much joy and praise. No names shall be uttered."
"What's happened, Headmaster?" Frank asked, somewhat aggrivated, and Dumbledore only shook his head.
In a somber voice, he added, "It is a time of much despair as well."
Frank froze, and Dumbledore's sparkling eyes looked into his, as if not having to speak words to tell him the horrors of the night. Frank knew what had happened already. He knew it would happen somehow.
"The war is over?" he whispered.
"Yes," Dumbledore said slowly, "It is over."
Frank gave out a shout of joy, and looked to Moody, "It's over!"
But Moody didn't respond. He just looked to the floor, in bitter disgust in himself.
"What . . . why are you all looking like that? It's over! We've won! We won the war!" Frank said in esctasy, "It's . . ."
Moody turned away, covering his face with his cloak. Dumbledore sighed, and set his old brittle hand on his wooden desktop.
"Everything comes at a price, Longbottom," he continued, "The end came with a loss as well. The Potters."
Frank froze again, and his happiness was cut short.
"The Potters? James?" he said.
"Yes," Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, "They are dead. All but their son. Your family is to be moved back into your father's house by this morning, and no one will ever speak your son's name in the same text as the prophecy for years to come. He is a safe child, Longbottom. You are all safe. Consider yourselves better off than the Potters are this night."
Frank's face fell, and he stood, bowing his head, "James was a good man. I wish to put his name on the Memorial."
"Well, that is a generous offer, Longbottom," Dumbledore said, "But I believe that duty will be given to either Peter Pettigrew or Remus Lupin."
The absence of Sirius Black's name did not strike Frank at first, but it would hours later when he saw the scene he would see. But at that moment, it struck Alastor Moody, directly in the heart. He turned once again from the scene of the office and scanned the fields of the castle. He did not wish to show Frank his emotions. He did not wish to let Dumbledore know of his thoughts. So he ignored them until Frank had left, escorted by Severus Snape, and it was only Albus that remained.
The door shut behind the two, leaving the older men alone. Albus turned to Moody, and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
"Alastor, it is not your fault . . ."
"Whoever said it was my fault," Mad Eye exclaimed, snapping around to glare at him, "I do not take the blame for this. I never will."
"But you do," Dumbledore said, "We all do."
"Damn fools got themselves blown up, it's none of my business," he argued, "They want to play their tricks on one another, playing tattle tale on their friends, I can't stop them. They write their own fates! I had nothing to do with those damned gits! They were deserving to die to trust him."
"You don't mean that, Alastor," Dumbledore said sadly, "We all thought we saw good in Black. We were wrong."
"No, Albus," Moody said, crossing the room to let himself out the front door, "You were wrong."

It was early in the morning as the people of the city made their way down the streets to get to their random jobs. It was still crowded on the small street, even if the clock hadn't even struck nine yet. The world was just waking up to a brand new sunrise as the Muggles wandered the street, looking in the different store windows and hurrying to get to where they were supposed to be going. No one noticed the black haired man, shoving his way through the crowds.
His eyes were dark and hollow. Darker than anything that had come from Hell itself. He could not see anything but what was in front of him, and he couldn't see the people around him, trying to walk around him and ignore him.
The world was still going, even if he himself was dead inside.
James. Lily.
James was dead.
James was dead ...
He hadn't slept all night. His eyes were bloodshot as he dug his nails into his palms. He would get revenge. He wouldn't let him live. He wouldn't let him get to that train station.
He knew where that rat was going. He had seen the train ticket all of those days ago. Had it only been a few days? How long had it been since James had died? How long had he been without them?
He was on his own. The world had turned against him. The God that James had believed in had failed them. James was dead. How about that, James? God betrayed you! I went to church! I went to church for you and I prayed every night! But guess what? You're dead! You prayed all your life! And you're dead! Was it worth it, James? Huh, James?
Overcome with grief he continued to walk. He couldn't stop walking. He had to continue. He had to find that rat and strangle him with his very own hands. He had to kill him. These thoughts wouldn't stop until he killed him. He had to see Pettigrew dead to continue on with life.
He was alone. Completely alone. Remus would never talk to him again. Pettigrew was a killer. The Order would think it was him who had killed his best friend. And James ...
James was dead.
The tickets on the counter. He was going to catch a train and get out of down.
But little did he know that Sirius was coming for him.
Sirius scanned the crowds, looking for that little head of that traitor. He would kill him. He would kill him. He wouldn't let him live after what he did. He would take him and wring his little neck.
And then he saw him. Up in front about twenty feet, about to cross the street to get to a main road. He was trembling and wringing his hands together, dressed in a cloak.
It had to be him! He could tell from his hunched stance. The waddling pace. The hands wringing together. The hands that had signed the Order contract.
The beady little eyes.
The eyes that had stared right at all of them and had lied to all of them.
"PETTIGREW!" Sirius howled, and Peter jumped. He turned around, and his eyes became as wide as saucers.
"No ..." he mouthed, and then he broke off in a sprint down the street. Sirius shoved a lady out of his way and flew after him. He wouldn't let him get away!
His eyes only focused on that murderer. He would kill him.
The visions of James ran through his head. Lily's hair. Harry ...
They had all made a deal! They had made a deal! They had signed a pact! They had been friends!
HOW COULD HE HAVE NOT SEEN IT WAS THE RAT?!
IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT!
HE WOULD MAKE HIM PAY!
HE WOULD KILL HIM.
HE WOULDN'T LET HIM GET AWAY!
"PETTIGREW! YOU RAT!"
Peter ran around a corner and Sirius skidded as he followed him into a dead end. It was a small lot of the street, and about fifteen Muggles walked around them. Peter stared at the small corner, at his dead end ...
At his death.
Sirius raised his wand as he came to a stop. This was it. He could take care of the problem. It's time to die, Pettigrew.
He gripped his wand as the little rat scurried from the side of the corner to the other side, pacing, looking worriedly around at the people around him. He then looked to Sirius, who was smiling evilly. This was it, you little rat. You damned little rat. You rat!
Peter's eyes then became solid, and Sirius furrowed his brow. Peter was standing straight. Peter was taking out his wand. Peter was putting it behind his back.
What was he doing?
Was he going to kill himself?
He was going to kill himself.
He wasn't going to let Sirius have his satisfaction. He was going to end it himself.
And then Peter, licking his chubby lips, shouted words that Sirius couldn't register. But he knew what the man in front of him was doing. He knew perfectly well. That selfish little turncoat. He was writing Sirius's epitaph at that very moment. He would see Sirius rot in jail before he gave up.
Right before the explosion, Sirius swore he could see Peter smile maliciously at him. He had finally outsmarted his genius friends. He had finally done it.
And then the world broke apart. The cement broke apart from underneath their feet, and the Muggles screamed. Sirius watched in horror as the fires exploded right in front of his face. The flames lapped at his face, and he saw the innocent people falling to the ground or running away. So many people ... So much fire.
Sirius couldn't move.
The sewer opened up as the cement flew through the air and smashed against the store windows. Screams. Cries. Hell.
Hell.
Sirius dropped his wand, and he fell to his knees. This was his revenge. This was his God. This is what God let happen.
Peter had killed himself.
The visions of James. Of Lily. Of Peter. Of Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Of Elise. Of Gideon and Fabian. Of Dorcas. Of Emmeline. Of ...
The sirens of the Muggle bobbies were heard from a few blocks away. And the sirens of the Ministry cars were coming from the other direction. It was over. There was no escape.
And that's when he felt the tug at his heart. That's when he couldn't breathe. He was choking on the scene in front of him. The smoke engulfed him, as the Muggles fell to the ground. His vision doubled, and his body tensed. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't ...
A chuckle started from low down in his throat, and became a cackle that he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop laughing. He had to shut it out. He couldn't fathom what was going on. How could this have happened?
How could he have let this happen?
He had killed them.
He had killed them all.
The sirens got closer, but he couldn't hear them. Sirius Black was gone, lost to the world. He couldn't feel the hands of Frank Longbottom and Cornelius Fudge grab him and throw him in the back of a heavily guarded Ministry car. He couldn't hear the shrill screams of a Muggle child who was being held by a bobby. He couldn't see the fires.
It was all gone. He was in darkness. He could shut it out. He could shut it out.
As the car sped away, he heard James's voice in his head.
"Why do you do that? Why do you think that you have to laugh?"
Because, Sirius thought, not knowing if he said it out loud or in his head, There's nothing else I can do.