Sirius slumped into a booth in the far corner of a pub near his flat, absolutely miserable. He signaled to a rather busty waitress and drank deeply of the particularly fine year of Firewhiskey she brought him. He knew he shouldn't be drinking, not now. He knew that once he started in his time of bitter misery, he would not stop until the pain went away. He sincerely hoped slipping into oblivion came soon, for he knew the pain would never go away.

It was his fault. He should have seen it coming. Sirius was not one to blame himself for circumstances out of his control, but this time he could not help himself. He knew he was to blame. He had suggested Peter, the dirt bag. He, Sirius, had come to the conclusion that he would be the first place Voldemort would look. Who would have guessed Peter? Poor, sniveling Peter. It made him sick to his stomach to think about what could have been. Or was that the alcohol?

Sensing his impending bacchanalia, he rose and purchased three full bottles of Firewhiskey and somehow found himself in his flat. He staggered to his couch and continued his alcoholic consumption until blackness clouded his vision and his mind.

"James think about it. If I'm made secret keeper, where d'you think Voldemort will look first? Me! Everyone knows we're best mates and have been since Hogwarts. I'm the logical choice."

James looked unconvinced. "So, what was Peter, a fan girl? He's just as much a logical choice as you."

Lily, cradling Harry, spoke up. "James, he has a point. I understand that you and Sirius are very close, but Voldemort will go strait to him and you know it."

James sighed and looked at his blossoming family. Sirius knew he would eventually come to the same conclusion he had and looked away. His eyes fell on Peter who was looking more nervous by the minute. Sirius gave him a confused look, then looked back to the Potters to find James stepping towards him. The two young men shared a brief, firm hug and then James pulled away. "Pete."

At the sound of his name, Peter jumped slightly, and walked over to join his friends, ready to perform the Fiddelius charm. Sirius watched with a grim satisfaction.

As they were finishing, Sirius noticed a decided uneasiness in the air. The four adults were looking at each other, and when Sirius' eyes turned to Peter, he was horrified to find a Death Eater in his place wielding a terrifying wand. He shouted something causing Sirius to whip around to find James and Lily dead, and Harry had vanished.

Sirius woke to his own scream and hit the floor, having fallen off the couch. He moaned in pain, experiencing his worst hangover to date. He stared at his clock in a stupor. 10:17 When had he fallen asleep? Sirius was under the distinct impression that he had left the pub around one. But he hadn't gotten to sleep until hours after that. Oh well, it didn't matter. The bottom line was he did not have enough sleep. What had woken him at such an ungodly hour anyhow?

Immediately, memories of his dream flooded his clouded brain, and the reason for his drunken misery came to him. With all the strength he could muster, he began to rise to his feet. Better crawl. He rose to his hands and knees and began to crawl towards his miniscule kitchen. About halfway there, he decided he merited a much higher need for a toilet. The reason for his trek to the bathroom presented itself to Sirius in the form of a large pile of vomit.

As there was now no need for a bathroom, he headed back toward the kitchen. Having reached the counter, he grasped its edge and pulled himself upright. Bad idea. Sirius then proceeded to deposit the leftover contents of his stomach into the sink. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he reached for his bottle of "Hangover Draught", and took a large swig. He blinked his eyes at the burning the potion left in his throat, and, instantaneously, his symptoms began clearing up. His stomach settled, his eyes cleared quite a bit, and his pounding headache calmed. He now felt as though he had the lightest of hangovers was mercifully able to go change from the sick covered clothes.

After he had pulled on what he thought were the cleanest items of clothing he owned, he studied his sorry figure in his dirty and cracked mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, traces of stubble were rearing their ugly little heads, his clothes were in no shape or form ironed, and his hair was beginning to acquire a little length.

He debated with himself for a full minute about the sanity of the actions he was considering. In the end he decided there was nothing for it. He had nothing else to lose. Everyone that counted was under the impression that he had been the Potters' secret keeper, and would think he had betrayed them to Voldemort. That thought alone was enough to make him forego the hangover stuff and vomit all over again.

Peter deserved to die a most horrible and painful death for what he had done and Sirius was the only one for the job, literally. With that thought, he nodded curtly at his reflection and set out to dole out justice.