Title: Hell Is Subjective

Author: IndigoNight

Summary: Remus didn't need to be in Azkaban to be burning in hell right along with Sirius.

Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!

Pairing: Very, very slight SiriusxRemus if you squint and want it there.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

Spoilers: For PoA I guess…

Warnings: None really.

Author's Note: Ah, it feels so good to be angsting with my two favorite wizards again! It's been far, far too long. Dunno where this came from, just showed up out of the blue. I think I might write a companion piece from Sirius' point of view, what do you think? Read, Review,

Enjoy!

"I need to see him." My voice cracks as I say them, those five simple words that have been haunting me for the past month. They burn all the way up from the depths of my gut, through my throat, singeing my tongue before being expelled to hang like smoke in the air between us.

"Do you realize what you're asking, Remus?" His tone is serious, but his eyes are twinkling kindly at me over half-moon spectacles.

I nod, throat too dry to speak. Yes I know, of course I know, he my goddamn… I can't even think it now. There's a hollow, dry burning at the corner of my eyes, reminding me once again of the tears that should be there, but aren't.

"I'll see what I can do."

I nod again to show my thanks. He's smiling at me and I know he means it to be kind, but I can see the pity their too. Maybe I deserve pity. I certainly look pitiable, of that I am well away. Always thin, I'm now positively wraith like, and my clothes, always shabby and worn, have recently add dirty and unkempt to their repertoire. There are black circles under my eyes and my hair is simply dreadful. I haven't been eating or sleeping and all can see it.

"Take care of yourself, Remus," he says as I stand to leave, even though he knows I won't, putting a gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder. It's solid and warm, briefly penetrating the cold, unreal hazy I've been drowning in ever since…

For a third time, I nod. It seems all I'm capable of doing these days.

And as I leave I hear his weary sigh behind me; I'm not the only one hurting.

*8*

If I thought I felt cold before, it is nothing to what I feel now. I stare up at the forbidding black walls above me, solid, impenetrable, and I shudder. As the small boat bumps against the shore I am briefly seized with the irrational, but almost overwhelming terror. Just the thought of stepping foot on that cursed rock is almost enough to make me cower in horror. I want to run, to flee, anything to get away from this place and the horrors it presents.

But I don't. My body, displaying the same numb indifference to my will that has taken over me since that night, calmly steps out of the boat toward the dementors who are waiting for me.

They lead me through long dark halls and I try to keep my eyes fixed on the stone floor beneath my feet. Screams echo like the cries of the damned all around me, which, I suppose they are. It's terrible to hear and I don't want to see what miserable faces those sounds are coming from.

It seems like I've been trudging through this hell for hours, though of course it hasn't really been that long, before we finally come to a stop. Before us is a single door. It's large and heavy, made of wood as ancient as this place reinforced with metal and magic. This is my last chance to back down.

Can I really face him? I know the answer, no, I can't. But I will anyway. I have to.

I nod and the door opens. Here are more dementors in a small circular room, a portion of which is cut off by bars. And behind those bars… its several minutes before I can make myself move, force my eyes to rise off the floor to actually look at him.

He's sitting back against the wall, already his beard is growing out messy and unkempt, and looking at his profile I see only the mad murderer that's all over the papers. Wild, deranged, evil.

Then he turns his head, and he looks at me. He bounds up, heedless of the clanking chains around his wrists and ankles and hurries to the bars separating us. There's this big, goofy grin on his face and the murderer is once again just the over-grown puppy I used to think I knew.

"Mooney," he croaks, and his says my stupid old nickname with so much affection, so much hope shiny out of his dark eyes.

Hope for what? That I'm here to rescue him? His joy is lost, it doesn't reach me, unable to pierce through the shell of numb pain that shields me and suddenly the pain turns to hatred.

"How could you? Lily and James, and Peter,Sirius, how could you?"

And just like that his face falls. The hope's gone, the joy's gone, and the murderer's back. There's a vast myriad of emotions playing across his face, but I can't, I won't see any of them. I refuse to look at this monster and see my friend, my anything. I won't sympathize with him, even though he's thinner than I am and his eyes are hollow and sunken.

We stand like that in silence for several moments. He doesn't answer, doesn't try to defend himself. Maybe he has no excuse, no way to defend himself, or maybe he just doesn't want to.

I feel sick. There's a burning inside of me that hurts worse than anything I've ever felt before. Worse than the time I fell off the broomstick the first day of flying class and broke my arm, worse than when Peter accidently turned my skin inside out and I had to re-grow it all from scratch, worse even than the night I'd first been bitten.

I turn and flee. Sirius is screaming behind me, begging me to come back, but I couldn't stop my feet now even if I wanted too and soon his voice blends in with all the others, reverberating off the dark walls around me as they chase me from the cursed place.

I can still hear them even in the boat back to the mainland. Even as I walk to the nearest town and take the train to a spot far enough away that I can Apparate the rest of the way home. Even as I take off my coat and shoes, still he's screaming in my ears, begging me to come back, not to leave him alone in that terrible place.

And I crumble. Finally the tears come, because honestly, he's not that much worse off than I am. Even though he's there and I'm here, we're both still alone, and we're both being tortured by the demons of what we've done.