A/N: Okay, decided to put Ch 2 up just so everyone could see how this will work and get Sirius' POV; I'm attempting to go back and forth between Remus and Sirius for every other meeting so I hope it goes over well. R/R if you have a second!

-Shadow

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," muttered the convict in question, hundreds of miles away and for entirely different reasons.

Sirius Black, once heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, was squashed against the wall of a… house by the… fence right in front of him. He still had trouble remembering words, even after almost a full day out of That Place.

Sirius did not say The Name. Sirius did not think The Name, even though it was one of the very few words he could not, would never be able to forget. Because if he said The Name, the other words came crashing out along with the darkness and the cold and the nightmares that came even when there was daylight outside and the fear and the screams and the terrible, bone-deep sorrow and hatred that were all the things he had left.

Them, and the unreasoning, mind-consuming obsession to finish that which had been started all those years ago.

Peter Pettigrew.

Sirius snarled violently at the name and the images that came with it, a price of living for far too long as Padfoot, his only refuge.

James… Lily… Little Harry… And Remus, his mind whispered. He had those memories and the pictures of their deaths and their pain because the things couldn't take them from him. They had no interest in that which tormented their victims, only in that which could give them any shred of light or hope in the darkness of That Place.

"Traitor, murderer, oath-breaker, liar, deceiver, I will not hesitate to erase your blackened, filthy, corrupted excuse for a soul from the face of this planet at the very first chance I can get you! You will die for what you've done!" Sirius screamed, quite unaware he was even speaking aloud until lights flickered on right above his head.

With barely a thought, Sirius was back in Padfoot's equally unfortunate form and limping through the underbrush to melt into the shadows and get away from people. Words, when they concerned Peter Pettigrew, he had no trouble remembering. He'd muttered them for years, but directed them at himself for failing, for giving the Dark Lord the very keys he'd needed.

Sirius had had him. He'd had Peter, right there in front of him, merely a day after James… after James… after Lily… Little Harry… And Remus… His memory played the images for him again, triggered now by just the thought of The Event. Each thought relentlessly dragged forth the next until the whole cascade played in his broken mind.

Padfoot whined and scrambled into a run, shaking his shaggy head and trying to dislodge the torrent of awful pictures that wouldn't give him a moment's peace. Not only could he not remember some words, some of the words he could remember, wanted and needed to remember, came tied to those bloody memories. Not only could he not speak, he had to be careful what he thought, too. And that was an exhausting task.

With effort, he remembered his original thought, and snarled again at Peter's name, the effect much more satisfying in a canine's body. He'd had Pettigrew right there and could have killed him cleanly with one shot. Right there! So close he could have torn the man's throat out.

But Peter, whiny, poisonous, traitorous, treacherous, back-stabbing, lying, murdering little Peter had shifted forms in the face of Sirius' rage and fled to the sewers before Sirius could see past the haze in his eyes to kill him properly. And the rage that had filled him at Peter's escape had released pure, uncontrolled magic that did what he'd wanted it to do. He'd wanted to kill, and it had killed those faceless, nameless Muggles on the street nearby.

He laughed then. He remembered the laughing. He laughed because of the unfairness of it all.

He laughed because he remembered Remus, already so tormented, learning of The Event, and now he was going to learn what he, Sirius, had done.

He laughed because it was so hopeless, so insanely, incredibly, extravagantly unfair that someone such as Peter should be allowed to live.

He'd laughed because he'd failed to protect Harry, and now that damned prophecy was going to come true and he'd failed James, and Lily, and Remus, and Harry, and he was so utterly, completely, and totally damned to mess up every good deed he tried to do because of his damned heritage.

But now, he'd had a chance to fix it. And with his god-forsaken heritage, he'd not only managed to scare Harry away from him, he'd nearly managed to get him killed. Padfoot cringed and whined, nearly crawling down the street as Sirius imagined James' hateful glare directed at him. Sirius still had his imagination, or what was left of what he'd once had; it was torn, warped, and twisted until all it could show him was hatred, hopelessness, and despair.

"You're supposed to protect him, you filthy animal, not get him killed! What kind of protector are you?!" James would yell. Padfoot cringed lower.

"James… I'm sorry…" he whispered, shrinking away from the man who was once his brother in all but name. He failed to realize he'd cowered into the street until he tripped in a sewer drain and went down hard.

"Sorry! Sorry failed to cut it the night you got us killed, Sirius! And now you're trying to do the same to Harry! I regret the day that the thought ever crossed my mind to make you godfather to him!"

"No… no…" Sirius whispered, clambering to his feet and clutching his hands to his head. In the confusion in his mind, Sirius had changed back to human form without even noticing and he now walked down the street clad in his assorted rags, shaking his head wildly and whispering to himself. "I didn't, I swear, I didn't hurt Harry! I'm protecting him, I will protect him! I promise!"

"Your promise is as worthless as Peter's was! Look at this mess you've created! Go on, look at what you've failed to do, all you've failed to protect!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," Sirius moaned continuously as he staggered down the street. Only when he staggered into a tree and hit the ground, dazed, did he realize he was human again and seconds later, a howl that made the soul turn cold split the air as Padfoot mourned in the only way a dog could.