THINGS FALL APART: Part III/ ?
Disclaimer: JKR owns all the HP stuff. Chinua Achebe's title.
Heartfelt thanks to Iniga, Raven Lady, and Nikki for reviewing Part 2!
A few months had gone by when Peter finally found a decent home to live in. He had scampered throughout England, but every town he managed to end up in had no wizards in it. It would be better, he thought, to live with wizards, for that way, any news of Voldemort would reach him quickly.
He had made his home with a family full of redheaded wizards: a family with six boys and one more child on the way. The father worked for the Ministry of Magic, perfect for news in the wizarding world, and the two eldest sons attended Hogwarts. The youngest son was almost two. Then came a set of twins, they were five, and another boy, six. Peter had endeared himself to the six-year-old. Sure, this boy was bossy, and a fairly righteous, but he let Peter sit on his shoulder and go wherever the boy went. He was even given a name, Scabbers. A bit strange, if you asked Peter, but it would do. It was a lot better than living in the sewers, not to mention the fact he was guaranteed food.
The father's name was Arthur. Arthur Weasley. Peter's new boy, Percy, seemed to want to follow in the footsteps of his father, for every night, when Arthur came home, the boy would ask his father what happened at work, and if there was anything left for him to help with. Percy was very eager to hear news of anything interesting in the Ministry. Perhaps one day he would become Minister of Magic… unless He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose again and the world order would be restored.
Peter couldn't deny that the existing situation looked rather bleak for the Death Eaters. He was just relieved that he was here, sheltered from any Ministry raids. How ironic to be safe from the Ministry while living with an aspiring hopeful Minister. He had heard, while scurrying about the kitchen while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were talking, that the Lestranges had been brought in. Peter remembered the Lestranges well. They were right there, in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, right next to Lucius Malfoy. The most loyal of the Dark Lord's supporters, braving Azkaban for him. Peter didn't know if Azkaban would be preferable to death or not. And he didn't want to die.
~*~
Sirius lay huddled in the corner of his cell one particularly horrible night. The last few weeks had been very eventful; at least twenty Death Eaters had been thrown in to Azkaban since he'd been here. The Dementors were particularly excited about this, and even though the newcomers provided fresh thoughts for them to feed upon, they didn't leave Sirius alone. Not at all. It seemed that there were even more around him than there had been before.
Sirius had just woken from another vivid nightmare. His throat was hoarse from the relentless screams that tore from his very soul, and his entire body was numb from cold. He was trembling, and as he drew his knees up to his chest, another wave of desperation flooded his mind. He was going to die in this place. He had gotten his best friend killed. And he had thought that Remus, his only living friend, would betray him. God.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… ohhhhh, please, please, go away, no! God DAMN you, get the HELL AWAY FROM ME!" He shrieked hoarsely. The dementors had sensed his retreat in to despondency and had swarmed around his cell, eager to feed on his terror. "Ohhh, no… no… nooooo! You can't bloody DO this… I'm innocent, I tell, you, INNOCENT, for God's sake!" His voice quieted a bit. "I'm so cold… oh, James, please, please forgive me… Remus, forgive me for doubting you… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" he broke off quietly. Tears of cruel regret ran relentlessly down his dirty face and dripped on to his quivering hands. What was happening to him? He was going to die in this place…
He was pulled from his reverie by the horrible cries of the other prisoners. Another terrible thing about Azkaban was having to listen to the desperation of others. Knowing that there was nothing that you could do to quiet their screams, and again came the feeling of helplessness…
"YOU FOOLS!" Shrieked the first voice. "You think you can keep us in here! The Dark Lord will come for us! He rewards his followers! He is not gone forever! He will rise again, I tell you! Again! Just wait! You will regret the day you threw us in here, Cornelius Fudge, I promise you!" the voice carried on until the dementors surrounded it. Slowly, the cries diminished… the Death Eater was probably huddled, trembling, in the corner of his cell, muttering to himself.
Slowly, Sirius pulled himself to stand on weak legs. How had he become so thin? When? He hadn't noticed it before now. He could feel his ribs through the thin fabric of his robes, every one of them, poking out from beneath the skin of his chest. He lifted his fingers to touch his face, and could feel that his cheeks were hollowed out. God. What was happening to him? He was going to die in this place…
~*~
Remus sat before the fire in his living room, his feet propped on an ottoman. He seemed to have been swallowed up by the bulky armchair in which he sat; several pillows rested at his sides, and beneath the huge book he rested on his lap. Remus spent many nights like this, reading before the fire. Since the fall of the Dark Lord (among other things), he hadn't had much of a reason to work for Dumbledore. The Ministry was rounding up countless Death Eaters weekly, and they didn't want his help. He was, after all, a werewolf. So he spent his nights alone, studying interesting tidbits of information from countless books.
Remus loved to read. Nothing made him feel more satisfied these days than learning. He had accumulated quite a library over the years, full of all sorts of fascinating volumes, ranging in subject matter from magical theory to muggle science. He had always considered himself a scholar, when none of his friends were around to talk him in to breaking in to the kitchens at Hogwarts.
The faded, worn book that lay in his lap at the moment was a selection of essays on Dark creatures. Remus supposed that he had kind of a sick fascination with them… after all, he was a Dark Creature himself… no matter how much he despised being a werewolf, he would always yearn to learn more about his "fellow creatures," as many of the bigots in the world would say.
But no matter how insatiable his thirst for knowledge was, he could not deny that the real reason he had sat, reading, before this fire for so many months was that he needed something to keep his mind off of Lily and James. And Peter. And Sirius. For God's sake, they were my best friends, I can grieve, said one side of his mind. But the other said, harshly, you've been grieving for the last nine months. Isn't it time to let it go? Let it go? If only it were that easy.
In one night, he had lost everything. His entire world had fallen apart. The only people who had shared his secret, and accepted it, and even embraced it, had disappeared from this earth forever. When he had met James, Sirius, and Peter at Hogwarts, his life had changed so drastically there was a time when he could not imagine what life could be like without them. Now he knew. He couldn't have imagined how difficult this was. Not a day had passed when he didn't think of them… when he wasn't torn apart inside by thoughts of Sirius… His best friend…
He still found it hard to stomach that Sirius Black had betrayed James Potter. If there was one truth in the world, Sirius was James' and Remus' best friend. But Remus knew that once the world had fallen apart, truths ceased to exist. Just like his happiness. But there had been so many witnesses… and Sirius had been James and Lily's Secret Keeper… but it was so inconceivable that Sirius, his best friend, for God's sake, would have done such a thing! What had happened? The world had come crashing down… And even after all this time, the wound was still deep, the damage was still devastating. Oh, God…
A few thick tears fell on the tattered pages of the book on Remus' lap.
~*~
He was running again, but this time he knew what was behind him. He knew where he was going. Before his eyes appeared an all too familiar scene, one he had visioned every day. And every time the smoke cleared, he saw the ruins of his best friend's house, and as he looked down he saw his own hands, stained with blood. And he still ran, in to the house. He knew what was in there by now; he had been there so many times… In the front hall lay the body of his best friend, in the back, the body of his best friend's wife. And the Dark Mark in the sky. Every time he saw this, the ground below him fell sharply away and his heart was suddenly in his throat. And there was nothing he could do. His hands were bloody.
Even in sleep, tears ran freely down Sirius Black's face. He clutched his knees tightly to his chest, and he sobbed, mourning the deaths of his best friends.
"It's my fault! It's all my fault! No, noooo, you don't understand… James, oh God… James… no… must understand… Please… NO!" Sirius tossed fitfully on the cold ground, unaware of anything but the horrible scene that repeated, over and over in his mind, night after terrible night. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. There were dementors outside his door every second of the day.