Azkaban
The sharp clang of the cell door closing rang, not only through his ears, but also through his entire being. It was the pitiless sound of finality. The bone-chilling coldness of the Dementors spread through him like a disease, bring with it a creeping, soul-crushing sorrow that clawed at his insides and sapped away his strength. The darkness around him was overwhelming. He could see nothing but the impenetrable blackness.
Slowly he felt around himself until his hand touched metal. He'd found the toilet. He crawled in the other direction, his hand gingerly brushing against the stone floor. After a few seconds his hand bumped into the wooden leg of a cot. Cautiously he rose up from the ground and settled himself down upon his miserable new bed. This was, without a doubt, the worst bed he'd ever lain upon. Memories flashed through his mind; the bed he'd had at his parent's house, the four-poster he'd slept in while at Hogwarts, the bed that had always been ready for him at the Potter's—
A great anger flared up inside of him at the thought of the Potters, an anger that was swiftly replaced by intense and agonizing pangs of grief. James and Lily, the two greatest people he'd ever known, were gone forever. And it was all his fault. He had convinced them to use Peter as their Secret-Keeper. And then that little rat betrayed them; sold them out to Voldemort. Anger roared up inside him again. What he wouldn't do to get his hands on that sniveling, cowardly, traitorous piece of filth. Why had they ever become friends with that worthless, sycophantic Tow-rag in the first place?
Hot tears were now flowing down his face. James and Lily were gone, little Harry was all alone, Remus was now completely friendless and adrift, and he was locked away in Azkaban for crimes he didn't commit. Meanwhile the real villain roamed free. He could feel what happiness and hope had head left being sucked away by the long, rattling breaths of the Dementors, only for them to be replaced with a nagging sense of regret and self-loathing. He hated himself more than anyone else, even more than Pettigrew. And from that hatred and misery spawn new and far more pain memories: the Potters' house in shambles, Harry crying, Lily dead in front of her son's crib, James strew across the stairs.
The image of James' dead body lingered in his mind's eye, sending fresh waves of anguish coursing through him. He could see his best friend's face as clearly as if it were right in front of him now; his glasses were askew, his face was blank, his body limp, and his were eyes wide and unseeing.
Pain beyond anything he had ever felt flooded through him. He wanted to die. He wanted to leave this horrible world behind, because any world without James and Lily was not worth living in. He hoped, he prayed for death. But it didn't come. Death was not to be his fate. Instead, he was to remain here, in Azkaban, imprisoned for crimes he did not commit; serving penitence for the role he played in the death of his best friends. Sirius Black shifted on his uncomfortable cot, settling himself in for the first night of his life sentence in Azkaban.
Round 5: Ravenclaw, Prefect, Drabble, Azkaban Cell, and 557