It was very cold in the high-ceilinged stone chamber of the Courthouse

Things Fall Apart; part II/ ?

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything! (Except the title, which is Chinua Achebe's.) I don't really even own the plot, which is fairly pathetic. Oh well.

A/N: Thanks SO much to those of you who reviewed, I really appreciate your thoughts. Thank you to: Northern Star, The Puck, Voltora, Becca Potter, Nikki, Briefly Del, Loony Loopy Lupin, and Blinky!

And now, here's more:

It was very cold in the high-ceilinged stone chamber of the Courthouse. Albus Dumbledore sat on the front bench at the far right of the room and glanced around at the others who had come to the trial of the century. Remus Lupin sat several feet away from him, his head bowed in sorrow. The poor man had lost all of his dearest friends in one night. All the color was drained from his already pale face, and his eyes were bloodshot and swollen with tears he struggled to keep in check.

Others sat in the courtroom also. There were a few suffering like Remus, though not as much. Most of the others sat rigidly in their seats, jaws clenched, awaiting the arrival of the madman who had ruthlessly killed thirteen. They didn't know that he had been the spy who was responsible for James and Lily as well.

Slowly, the door opened, and Barty Crouch walked in. He had a baneful look on his hardened face, and there was a murderous glint in his eyes. There was nothing he liked more than condemning Death Eaters. He took his seat at the judge's podium.

After Crouch came several human guards, who positioned themselves about the room. Next came four dementors. Their presence drew away whatever feeble warmth was in the room. It was one thing to chill the air, but chilling the heart and soul was a far more sinister duty. Dumbledore shivered momentarily, then braced himself to chase the terrible dark memories from his mind.

The dementors did not enter alone, they surrounded Sirius Black. His defeated expression was exactly what Barty Crouch wanted to see. His jaw was set, and those deep black eyes that had once sparkled so brilliantly were dimmed. His robes were torn and bloody; he was filthy. Dumbledore could tell, by the look on his face, that he was clearly affected by the dementors. He had never seen such anguish on the face of Sirius Black.

After Sirius was bound to his chair, the dementors left the room for the comfort of the spectators. The anguish on Sirius's face visibly lightened, but it was far from gone. Dumbledore wondered whether or not there was more to this story than he knew. Perhaps Sirius wasn't the cold-blooded murderer that everyone thought he was... this man clearly had qualms about what had happened. But after all, he had been their Secret Keeper... Dumbledore knew that for certain.

Crouch banged a gavel on the podium, and in an instant, all eyes were on him. He cleared his throat sharply.

"You have all heard of the appalling crime that took place this morning. I have reviewed eyewitness accounts, and believe firmly that this man, Sirius Black, should be condemned to life in Azkaban, without possibility of release. It is the duty of the Ministry to keep Death Eaters from taking any more lives. Guards," he boomed, "Get this man OUT of my sight."

Dumbledore sighed. Is this what it has come to, the Ministry eliminating the legal process to speed things up? It was futile to argue with Barty Crouch... and he is right, all accounts do point to Sirius, there is no doubt about that. There was no one else who could have killed Peter and all those Muggles... And Sirius had been Secret Keeper…

~*~

Sirius had never felt so awful in his entire life. The dementors surrounded him, and all the horror of the night before came back with a vengeance. His insides felt so cold... so cold... and his heart was wrenched with grief. As he was escorted from the courtroom, he thought, vaguely, that that had been a rather insufficient trial... there was not a single testimonial... here he was, condemned for life, and not even given the opportunity for legal rights. But perhaps I deserve it, he thought. After all, this mess is entirely my fault. Remus... I never should have doubted you... if only I could tell you that now...

Sirius was escorted away from the courthouse by several dementors and Ministry officials. From there, they boarded a boat to take Sirius to Azkaban.

The sea was rough that day, and dark, ominous clouds loomed offshore. The boat headed straight for them. Sirius was bound tightly to a seat on the deck; the dementors still at his side. The Ministry officials stood inside the boat's cabin, with the captain, and watched him, warily.

For the first time in his entire life, Sirius was afraid for himself. To every witch and wizard in Britain, Azkaban is an extraordinarily horrible place. There are many horror stories told to the children, yet those who have never seen it can not imagine the true terrors of such a place. Sirius feared what existed on that island fortress with all his heart. He didn't want to lose his mind. He was innocent, for God's sake... innocent! He didn't murder those muggles. He didn't kill Peter. Peter killed those muggles, and probably killed himself, for all Sirius knew. On the other hand, Sirius convinced James and Lily to switch himself with Peter for the Fidelius Charm... so he had as good as killed them. So whatever horror awaits me for the rest of my life is deserved. I wish none of this ever happened.

~*~

James and Lily's funeral was the very next day. Remus did not attend. He wasn't ready to face people yet; Sirius's railroad job of a trial was bad enough. For the past two days, Remus had sat in his living room, staring in to the fire, lost in thought. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't slept, he didn't even think that he had moved from the chair in which he sat since he's gotten home from the courthouse. He just stared in to the fire. An owl or two had come rapping at his window, but flew off after he refused to answer.

Finally, that evening, Remus left his chair, grabbed his cloak, and left the house. He honestly had no real idea where he was headed, but he felt so confined and alone that he needed to just... leave.

The sun was low in the heavy gray sky; the bitter wind ate in to Remus's face. He walked on. Soon he found himself in a little cemetery outside of Godric's Hollow, standing over the graves of his deceased friends, unaware as to how he had ended up there. He stood quietly for some time, the wind ruffling his cloak and his soft brown hair.

The wind whipped his face intensely as Remus's tears fell freely. As he looked back and forth between the two fresh graves, he felt a great sob build within him, and after a few moments it was too much. He fell to his knees and clutched the grass with shaking hands as the desperate sobs came. He had no idea where all the tears were coming from; he had never cried so much in his entire life. Not even when his mother died last winter. Not even when he was consumed by pain during his transformations. No, Remus could not remember a feeling worse than this. James and Lily and Peter… dead… and Sirius… in Azkaban, for the rest of his life- for killing them. Damn him, the bloody traitor! He deserves that place! And poor little Peter… why, why did he go looking for Sirius? He never had a chance! If I had found him first, I would have surely killed him. But what good was I? I was asleep, for God's sake! While my best friends were dying, I was sleeping. I'm worthless. There was an intense ache in his chest, like someone had been carving a hole out of him and had begun pulling his heart out of his body. And then it was too much for him. He curled up on the ground and wept bitterly for hours, until he fell in to a fitful sleep.

~*~

He was running, running as fast as his exhausted legs would carry his weak body, and he was terrified. But he didn't know what he was running from, only that it would be the end of the world if he were to stop and let it catch up to him. He ran and ran, the sky above his head darkening with every heavy footfall, and an icy cold had settled all around him. Then, suddenly, he stopped. He felt his head turn slowly, and his eyes beheld an all too familiar scene. He was at James and Lily's house… but nothing was right… James and Lily lay together on the ground, dead… their house had collapsed around them. He began to scream in horror. Then James raised his head slowly and looked at him, fury in his normally warm eyes. "How could you? I trusted you," he was saying. "No, no, James, I swear it, I didn't, I couldn't, noooooooooooo!" His screams were so desperate that he didn't recognize them.

But once his mind recognized the hoarse screams, Sirius was jerked awake. He lay, curled in to a fetal position on the filthy floor of his cell in Azkaban, trembling from cold and horror. He was drenched in sweat, and his thin robes weren't enough to block the chill that came from within. And he had the most horrible feeling, as though not only would he never be happy again (especially being responsible for my best friend's death, he thought ruefully), but that he never had been happy before in his life. He couldn't remember a single event in his life that was happy, and it scared him.

He had heard about this place in his youth, quite a bit. (The teachers had always told him that if he continued his usual mischief, he might, one day, end up in Azkaban. They had been joking, of course, but how did they feel knowing they had been right? Satisfied? Or ashamed to have ever taught him? ) He had heard that the prisoners went mad within weeks. Sometimes days. He had heard that the walls weren't even necessary as long as the dementors were there, to make the prisoners re-live their worst memories constantly. And there was no escape from the hopelessness. But the worst thing about everything he heard was that it was by no means any exaggeration.

~*~

Peter Pettigrew did regret what he had done. A little. But he did what he had to do, he supposed… After all, Lord Voldemort would have killed him. Now, he did regret his actions. Because now that Lord Voldemort was gone, all of his supporters were blaming him for his downfall. Peter had been living in the sewers for the past several weeks in his Animagus form, not daring to surface as a man for two reasons: one, it was good for the whole world to continue believing the business about Sirius, (seeing as how he himself was supposed to be dead,) and two, the Death Eaters would surely kill him if he showed his face above ground. He didn't want to die.

So, here he was, scurrying around with the filth of the sewers, waiting for some interesting news to reach his ratty little ears.

It really was a shame. James had been so nice to him ever since he'd met him at Hogwarts all those years ago. Sirius had been somewhat annoying, but he was good-hearted for the most part. And Remus had been a good friend, for a werewolf, he supposed. He shook his head. No, schooldays are over now, he thought. You need to forget. Voldemort would have killed you if you hadn't done this, remember? Oh, yes, he remembered all too well the fear he felt when the Dark Lord looked at him. Those eyes, those vividly red, menacing eyes, were enough to keep him from sleeping at night sometimes. He remembered the nights when Voldemort was feeling particularly wicked with a shudder. All too often he had been called to stand before the Inner Circle, been questioned contemptuously by the Dark Lord, and then… then Voldemort would finger his wand delicately, as if it were the finest porcelain the world had known, point it straight at Peter's heart, and utter the most horrible word Peter had ever heard…

"Crucio."

The pain that came with the Cruciatus Curse penetrated his very soul. Within half a second he was reduced to a whimpering puddle at the Dark Lord's feet. Spasms of pain would wrack his body, sending shocks up and down his spine. It felt like he was being turned inside out and disemboweled all at once. And burned. And thrown in to a frozen lake. Among other things. It was horrible. The Killing Curse would have been preferable… but the pain stopped eventually. It felt like years, but it did stop. When Voldemort felt that his servant was sufficiently humbled, he moved his wand ever so slightly, just enough to stop the curse, but little enough to make you hold your breath in anxiety in case he cursed you again, which he sometimes did. But now… he didn't really have to worry about that anymore! A rat couldn't be cursed by a Death Eater who couldn't find him! Peter decided that living as a rat until all the Death Eaters forgot about everything might not be so bad, if he found himself a decent wizarding family to live with. He'd have to get right on that.

~*~

Rain fell softly in Godric's Hollow early the next morning. Fat droplets splashed upon the blades of grass and darkened the colors of the day. Remus Lupin woke when a particularly fat raindrop splattered on his pale cheek.

His eyes were still red from the intense tears he'd shed the night before. The friendly, warm shimmer that had before brightened the stormy gray of his eyes was gone. Now they were a desperate, lonely gray, to match the color of the two gravestones he lay before. He shivered slightly, and drew his soggy cloak about him more tightly as he stood. His weary muscles protested feebly against the sudden strain, but he forced his aching body up. He gazed for several moments at the two graves and sighed deeply. What a way for it all to end… Everything was so perfect. Now what? Damn Sirius, that bloody traitor. He'll pay for this. If I'd gotten my hands on him before, I'd have killed him. I'm sure of it. I hope wherever he is right now, he's completely miserable. Remus rubbed at his eyes halfheartedly as he turned to leave.

"Goodbye, my dear friends. I hope that wherever you are right now, you're at peace," he said softly. He sighed once more as one more tear snuck its way down his cheek, then walked sadly towards home.

~*~

Remus got his wish, for Sirius was completely miserable where he was right then. He had backed in to the corner of his cell farthest from the door and sunk in to a little ball, knees clutched to his chest with white-knuckled fingers, his eyes screwed tightly shut. If only closing his eyes would keep the horrible images away… But such simple mercies were not available in this place. When he woke up screaming the night before, he knew that, at this rate, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from falling in to despair. True, he had not been able to remember anything good about his life in the past few days, but he found that if he focused on one thing, he still knew who he was: I am innocent. When he focused on those three words, he knew who he was, why he was there… and who he betrayed.

Oh, James, Lily, how could I have ever believed that Remus was the one? Why did I convince you to switch? Please, oh, God, I never meant this to happen… Peter was supposed to be trustworthy, that filthy cretin…

The thoughts ate away at him constantly. What could have been, what had been, and what shouldn't have been. Thinking the same thoughts every waking minute made him feel so desperate and consumed with guilt that he was starting to think it would be better if he just couldn't think or feel at all. At least let the emotions be less severe…

Then it hit him. Do dementors have any effect on dogs? It wouldn't hurt to try, he supposed. This moment of excitement drew the dementors nearer to his cell, however, and he suddenly felt as though he was being smothered. He fought with the despair that threatened to consume him.

After a minute or so he had mustered up enough strength and magic to transform in to the large, Grimmish dog called Padfoot. It took a remarkable amount of energy to do something he had learned to do without a wand (in case of emergency), and as he slowly lay on the filthy ground he came to the remarkable realization that this wasn't so bad. He was still very cold, but as a dog, he could not feel desperation. Perhaps he would survive long enough for someone to realize his side of the story hadn't ever been heard.