**Prisioner of Azkaban**
Sirius Black
Azkaban, 1981
His heart was broken into thousands of pieces in his chest, embedded like shards of glass in his organs. Every breath hurt, every heartbeat hurt, every little movement hurt. Being alive has never been so painful.
And it's all his fault.
Sirius curled up in a fetal position on the cold, dark floor of his cell. The smell of rot and sea air didn't seem like much amid all the pain inside him.
It was his idea to put Pettigrew in charge of the secrets. He didn't pay attention to the signs, and by Merlin, there were signs. He just associated everything with the weight of fighting in a war and with Marlene's death...
He was a good-for-nothing who didn't do any good on earth, his life and existence was all about pain and getting in the way of other people's lives. He fought so hard for everyone he loved and in the end he was just a big walking failure.
He failed his parents, his little brother, his family, his friends, and himself. And now here he is, alive while everyone he loves is dead. Because of you, because he is weak and foolish, too stupid to see the truth.
Too childish, clinging to hopes of a better life. A happy life with James, Lily, Harry and Remus...
His eyes lifted briefly to the small window in the corner of the cell, and he saw through the black bars the silver light of the full moon.
Remus is alone, again, and this time forever, and it's all Sirius' fault.
If only he had died instead of the Potters. Harry would still have his parents, Remus would still have his friends, James would still have Lily and they could be happy.
But now there's nothing left but pain and loneliness. Guilt clinging to his body like a second skin, in the constant cold air as if he were lying naked in the snow in a storm. And there's nothing he could do to get out of there because there's no reason for him to get out of there.
He deserves this, he deserves to be here because they're right Sirius Black killed the Potters.
No, he didn't give them to the Dark Lord directly, but he gave them to him through a filthy rat whom he had trusted for years of his life.
It was his idea, who would have thought that little Pettigrew would have such important information as the exact location of the Potters at a time when they were already marked by the Dark Lord? Who would trust the fragile youngster with a secret of such importance?
Sirius, he would. Because he's a rich, stupid idiot who's never been good at anything but letting people down.
He saw the faces of his fallen friends, their accusing eyes haunting him. He could almost hear their voices condemning him, their words a painful reminder of their untimely deaths and the part he had played in them.
With tears streaming down his face. He wept for his lost friends, for Harry's stolen family, for the irreversible damage he had caused. His anguished sobs echoed through the desolate corridors of Azkaban.