I'm going to keep this short and sweet. It's been awhile, and I'm sorry, but in the time I was gone I made a schedule for this story, and you should expect a chapter every three weeks on Tuesdays assuming I can keep up. I have the rest of this story planned out, so we are now officially on dwindling time. Hope you enjoy the rest.

Chapter 6

There was a loud crack as Antonin Dolohov appeared out of thin air, crumpling onto the ground. He clutched his ribs, rising slowly to his feet. He was outside the Lestrange estate, the first place he could think to go to. He could have also gone to the Malfoys, but he felt like they had too much money for their own good. They cared about it more than they did Lord Voldemort, and Dolohov didn't like that. At least the Lestranges shared his devotion somewhat.

He shakily pushed the gate open, then hobbled to the front door. With a grunt of pain he made it up the steps, then grabbed the massive knocker and banged it several times. After a few moments the door opened, revealing Rodolphus Lestrange. Rodolphus quickly let Dolohov inside, where three others were waiting inside. Barty Crouch Jr. and Rabastan Lestrange, Rodophus's brother, were sitting in chairs. Bellatrix Lestrange, his wife, was pacing back and forth.

"Antonin." Rabastan said, nodding in his direction.

"What are you doing here?" Bellatrix asked him icily. "It's bad enough that we have the boy with us."

"We lost Wormtail. Your cousin interfered." Dolohov answered, making sure to match her tone. He gently laid himself down into a sofa, holding his injuries.

"Damn him." Bella hissed. "How did he find out?"

"I don't know." Dolohov admitted. "But we must let the Dark Lord know."

"You haven't heard, have you?" Rodolphus asked him.

That didn't sound good. "What do you mean?"

"There are rumors." Rodolphus said uncertainly. "Probably lies. But they say that… the Dark Lord is no more."

Dolohov felt a chill roll through his spine. No. It couldn't be true.

"What do you mean?" He asked desperately.

"They say that he was defeated." Rodolphus said sadly. "By the Potter boy. That somehow a little baby defeated the Dark Lord. It seems impossible, yet he is nowhere to be found, and the boy survived. And even the Dark Mark has gone silent."

Dolohov checked his wrist. There it was, the scar that marked him as a hand-picked follower of Lord Voldemort. It was the same as ever, yet it was completely different. Now, somehow, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Like it was just a normal scar. Why hadn't he noticed before? It must have been the pain from his injury. He had been so focused on his ribs that he hadn't noticed his arm felt different. "It-It's true…"

"NO!" Bellatrix screamed. "LIES!"

"He can't be." Barty said softly. "He can't be gone." He was shivering in his seat despite it being comfortably warm in the room.

"He's not!" Bellatrix told him sharply. "He is still out there, waiting for us to return to him. We just need to go find him."

"How?" Rabistan asked her.

"I don't know." She said. "But we have to do something. We need to check the usual meeting spots, even the ones we don't use anymore. Anywhere he might have gone. And if he's not there, maybe someone else might know where he is." Bellatrix smiled, a wicked smile that held none of the warmth a smile usually had but was instead a wild fire of anger. "We just need to get someone to talk."

"Well while you guys check on the meeting places," Dolohov said, "I will check in on Lucius. He might know something."

"We will bring him back," Bella said with snarl. "No matter what."

The boy, Barty, echoed her, tears in his eyes. "Yes! Yes. No matter what."

The rat that scurried through the dirt and ash went unnoticed, even to the nearby large crowd. It was especially commendable considering that there were several wizards in the crowd, here to see the place where it had all happened. The Potter household. Or what was left of it, anyway.

Wormtail made it into his old friends' house unseen, and soon set to search for what he had come for. After several minutes he found it. The wand.

The rat dragged the magical piece of wood behind some rubble, then transformed. After a moment he was human again, a man that was supposed to be dead.

Peter Pettigrew.

He tenetively picked up the wand, looking around nervously to make sure that he wasn't seen. He couldn't afford to be seen now, or the whole world would find out that he was alive. And if they found out he was alive, then it became much easier for Sirius to get a confession out of him. But it was hard to make a dead man tell the truth, and if he was dead and they believed Sirius had killed him then they would never believe good old Sirius Black.

He slipped the wand, Voldemort's wand, into his coat pocket. He needed to keep it safe. Voldemort wasn't dead, couldn't be dead. He would be back, probably soon. And he would reward Wormtail greatly for keeping his wand safe… yesssss….

So until then Peter would hide, and wait for his master's return.

He transformed back into a rat and scurried away, off to find a hiding place for his master's wand.

Nov 4, 1981 (three days after Voldemort's disappearance)

Rubeus Hagrid tried and failed to wipe away the tears as he followed the two ministry wizards, guided by their Patronuses, into the prison. He still couldn't believe what had happened. James, and Lily, and poor baby Harry… how could they just be split up like that. It was horrible, it was wrong. Even now, everything that Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done was causing so much pain and heartbreak. And the person that had allowed all of this to happen, he was why Hagrid was here.

Hagrid could feel the chill, the despair, seeping through the walls. He hated it. But this was just the place for people like the Death Eaters. People like Sirius Black.

After what seemed like forever Hagrid and the others arrived at Sirius Black's cell. Inside was the man who was responsible for James and Lily Potter's deaths.

"Do ya hear me?" Hagrid asked, tears continuing to well in his eyes. "Black?"

The man stirred. He had been laying down, staring at the ceiling of his cell. He lifted his head enough to look at the door of his cell. "H- Hagrid?"

"Yes, ya ruddin' traitor!" Hagrid wailed. "It's me!"'

Several Dementors turned to this outburst. It wasn't often that emotion was found in Azkaban. It was something that they found quite… appetizing.

"Hagrid, calm down." One of the ministry wizards said, edging closer to his Patronus.

"A'ght, a'ight." Hagrid said to the wizard. He turned back to Sirius. "I have ter wonder, Sirius. When did it all change? I remember you and yer friends, runnin' round Hogwarts. Thick as thieves. You four were the best o' friends. So what happened?"

"My- My friends…"

"I been thinkin' bout it, an' the only thing I could come up with is that yer blood started ter show. Yer a Black through and through, aren't ya? Black blood, Black heart."

Hagrid grabbed the bars of Sirius's door angrily. "But it wasn't enough ter just be a traitor, was it? You had ter go and make sure that they died! YER BEST FRIEND! HOW COULD YOU!"

"Hagrid!" The first wizard said. "Calm yourself now!"

"You said it would just be a talk, Hagrid!" The second wizard pleaded.

"EVEN POOR HARRY! YOU WERE GONNA LET HIM DIE!" Hagrid wailed.

"Hagrid! This is enough!" The second wizard said, pulling out his wand. By now many of the prison's Dementors were swarming, intent upon the action. The Patronuses were weakening against the power of so many. "We are leaving now."

Hagrid wailed as he was led away by the two wizards.

Sirius watched them leave, muttering "Wasn't me… Wasn't me…"

Nov 6, 1981 (five days after Voldemort's disappearance)

Dumbledore hummed as he walked among the dark halls of Azkaban. He had been vocal against the Ministry of Magic using Dementors several times in the past, but they had disagreed, so he had been forced to cope with it. But even the Dementors feared him, keeping well away from the old wizard as he roamed the halls, accompanied only by his phoenix Patronus.

Dumbledore eventually found his way to Sirius's cell. He sat down comfortably in front of the door, and waited a minute, still humming cheerfully, before saying, "Mr. Black? Sorry to intrude, but I have come as a guest. Would you be so kind as to have a conversation with me?"

Sirius stirred, then sat up slowly. He was already quite pale, as if his skin was tightening against his body and becoming thinner. He crawled over to the door of his cell, and even that seemed to take enormous energy. "Albus…." He breathed out.

"Yes, Sirius." Dumbledore said gently. "It is I. Now are you willing to answer a few questions of mine?"

Slowly Sirius nodded.

"Good." Dumbledore said. "Sirius Black, why did you sell your friends out to Lord Voldemort?"

Sirius made a choking noise. He appeared to struggle for words, and Albus even noticed a tear fall down Sirius's cheek. "No… No… I.. Never.."

"Never what?" Dumbledore asked, "What did you never do?"

"Be- be-" Sirius let out a fit of coughing. "Betray."

"You didn't betray the Potters to Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, scratching his chin.

Sirius nodded.

"Then what happened?" Albus asked. "If you didn't betray them, and no one else could, how did Voldemort find them?"

"P-p-p-peter…" Sirius managed to get out. "Se-Se…" He coughed again.

"Secret?" Dumbledore guessed. "Secret Keeper? Oh dear, you didn't make Peter the Secret Keeper, did you?" He shook his head. "It is a marvelous idea, I will admit, except that it depends on whether dear Mr. Pettigrew is trustworthy. Apparently not, I'm afraid."

Sirius nodded sadly.

"And that cost you your friends' lives. And then your reputation with your public. Everyone thinks you did it. No one would dare suspect our recent martyr Peter… and unfortunately all of the evidence is against you. This makes everything so very much more complicated, but to me it makes a lot more sense. I knew you were a true Gryffindor, and I'm sorry for doubting you these past few days. I'm sorry, Sirius, but there isn't much I can do to help you. I believe you, but I'm afraid few others, if any, would."

Sirius struggled, to talk, finally letting out, "Don't care. What a- Harry.."

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I understand. I will make sure he is taken care of." He got up. "Thank you, Sirius, for our little chat. It made many things much clearer to me. But I'm afraid I must go." He bowed slightly, then turned and left. This time he wasn't humming.

Nov 9, 1981 (eight days since Voldemort's disappearance)

"Expecto Patronum." Remus said softly, holding out his wand. He walked down the dark halls, glancing at each prisoner, each as broken as the last. Azkaban was no place for mortal men. But who were the monsters? The prisoners, or the ones who feasted on them? Remus hoped for the latter, but wasn't as sure as he used to be.

He arrived at Sirius's cell, and looked inside. There was his old friend Padfoot, but he didn't look like he used to. Now he was much more… defeated. It wasn't the Sirius of old.

"Padfoot?" he asked softly. "You don't need to say anything. I just had some things to say to you." He sighed. "I kept telling myself not to come down here, to stay away. But I couldn't keep putting it off forever. So I wanted you to know, I don't know if I've ever been more wrong about anything else in my life. I thought I could trust you, James thought he could trust you, Peter thought he could trust you. Now James and Peter are dead, and I am all alone. In the span of a day, the Marauders went from four to one. And I can't help but blame myself for all of this. I know that it's not really my fault, that it was you. that it was You-Know-Who. Yet I can't help but look at all the times we had growing up. How did I not see who you really were? How did I not see what you had become? If only I could have warned James, then everything would be alright. But now he's dead, and Lily is too, and Peter, and now Harry is left an orphan. Why? Because of you." Remus leaned in close to the bars. "I hope you rot in this hell until the day you die, Sirius Black. You deserve every second of it."

He turned and left, leaving his friend to suffer in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

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