In the start it had confused him. As far as he knew, Dementors forced you to relive your worst memories. But the first memory Sirius re-watched was a relatively normal one. Happy even, you could say. But as the years grew longer and time stretched endlessly; he began to understand. Happy though the memory was in itself, it brought him no happiness. It was nothing but another reminder of what he had lost. Of what he had failed to save.
"Sirius! Sirius don't!"
His brother was younger; his black curls bouncing on his head as he anxiously stared up at his brother. The Sirius in the dream was younger too; determined and grinning like a lunatic down at Regulus from the higher branches of an old oak tree. He recognised the tree as belonging to his mother; the gnarled old oak tree that used to stand in the front of her garden. Regulus was clutching a broomstick in his small hands; peering anxiously into the leaves as Sirius straightened up shakily, preparing to jump.
"Don't be ridiculous Reg. You won't get into trouble. Just throw it as I jump, okay? I'll catch it. Don't worry."
Sirius's confidence did little to soothe the younger boy, whose eyes kept darting uneasily back at the large brick house behind them, where surely their mother and father were sipping tea with Grandmother. His mother would be livid if Sirius got injured again. She had said no more climbing. And no more flying. If Sirius pulled this off then he was going to have broken both of those rules. And even if he didn't, there was a good chance he'd be dead.
Sirius seemed to read his thoughts, stretching a hand out and grabbing the branch above him to steady himself as he finally stood upright. He shook his head in derision at Regulus, knowing just the right buttons to press.
"Reg, don't be such a baby. Just think how cool it would be if we pulled this off? We could be stuntmen. Set up our own business. Leave here for good!"
Regulus frowned, the toes of his shiny new boots scuffing in the grass. "Why would we leave? Who would feed us?
Sirius started, peering down at him with a grin. "I would of course."
"Can't we take Kreacher?"
Sirius grimaced, growing impatient with the hesitancy of his brother. "Ew, no. Why would we want to take that old relic? Just throw it already! I'll jump on the count of three, okay?"
"Okay."
"One, two- THREE!"
The picture distorted, the image of eight year-old Sirius flying through the air with a grin and Regulus panicking and throwing the broomstick far too high fading, being moulded into something else. Sirius watched as his younger brother's face grew older; as his form grew taller and his shoulders filled out more; the garden around him disappearing, darkening. Suddenly Sirius recognised the layout of his old room, recognised himself on the floor; the stench of sweat and vomit heavy in the air. Regulus was shaking him awake; whispering hurriedly.
"Get up."
The edge to Regulus's voice was unmistakeable. Sirius didn't even have to work to place this memory. It was one that had haunted his sleep for years after, until his life had become so fucked up that he acquired new memories to rival it. But this had been the moment of no return. The moment that he had become so damaged and messed up that everything he touched turned to shit.
"Sirius, get up now. You've got to leave. You have to."
His stomach sunk as he watched; wishing his own younger self would get up, would listen to Regulus instead of staring resentfully up at him, lying in his own pain and misery. If he had just done as Regulus said straight away, so many things might have been different. If he hadn't pushed him away after that night. The boy's voice broke as he shook him roughly.
"Sirius please! They're- they don't know what they're talking about- it's not safe for you here."
His heart cracked as he watched his own eyes slowly beginning to understand Regulus's meaning. As he remembered that feeling of cold dread, of sickening clarity. That his own parents were going to murder him. That his own parents were going to look into the eyes of the child they'd created, the child they'd raised, and take his life from him. Because that was what he had been. A child. At the time, he'd seen himself as so much more. Almost of age. An adult, standing up for what he believed in. He didn't need his parents. He was fully grown and had out grown them.
But years of nothing but reflection had brought clarity, perspective. He'd been a kid. Just fucking sixteen years old. Not nearly ready for everything that had happened.
And Regulus.
When he thought of how he'd been so furious at him for making this choice, for not being a man and standing up for what he believed in.
He'd been just a child too. Fifteen years old and terrified. He didn't know what he believed in. Sirius had been lucky, he'd had James. Regulus had been alone. Needing his older brother, who should have been there for him, instead of punishing him for the mistakes of their parents. Constantly punishing everyone. Himself. Regulus. James. Marlene.
He had ruined both of their lives. He didn't even know where his brother was now or what he was doing. And always, always at the back of his mind was that photo Crouch had shown him in another lifetime. The photo that Regulus had taken. The photo that only Regulus would have known existed.
Had it been him? His own little brother? The idea tore at him, constantly gnawing at his mind. What if it had been? If it had been Regulus who killed her? Who had torn away the most important thing in his life? What if that made him inadvertently responsible? The universe's way of punishing him for not being a better brother. For not saving Regulus. The universe certainly seemed to be holding a grudge about that if his present state of affairs were anything to go by.
Again, the scene dissolved; Regulus's tear soaked face disappearing into blackness and his own horror stricken eyes floating away as suddenly he was in Marlene's bedroom, the familiar butterfly bedspread underneath him and her head on his stomach. He tried to place this memory, tried to remember what it contained and why it was important; but he couldn't.
The Sirius in this image was older than in the last, but much younger still that the present day Sirius. Seventh year maybe, or just out of school. He was reclined easily on the bed, absently fiddling with her hair as she traced circles on his stomach. She was chatting about something, but he couldn't make out exactly what it was about. But then he wasn't even trying. He was staring at her face, drinking it in, promising to remember every quick smile and nose scrunch and irritated eye-roll. Torturous as it was to see her, it was better than nothing. His life seemed to stretch endlessly in these grimy walls with nothing to do and no one to see. These memories were all he had now. Painful though they were, it was the only way he saw any of them.
The ones of Marlene were particularly difficult. She'd been gone for years before James and Lily were murdered. Sirius hadn't seen her then in anything but photographs and ever fading memories. The first time he'd seen her in these agonising flashbacks, he'd broken down and cried for what seemed like hours. The longing to hold her again was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He hadn't really realised how much he still loved her, how much he still missed her. Despite all his promises in the aftermath of her murder; as time passed, he'd moved on as best he could. There had been other girls; but even if he hadn't realised it then, he'd spent all his life comparing them to her. And none came remotely close. Sure, as time wore on, he thought of her less. But it never ceased to hurt him when he did. Seeing her name somewhere or hearing her mentioned was a blow to the gut, every time. He'd grown so used to pretending he didn't hurt that eventually, he'd convinced himself. But in the darkness and solitude of his cell, with only the dementors to judge him; he didn't have to pretend.
"Marlene."
"Marlene."
It was a recital of his. He repeated her name over and over with reverence; fervent and intense. He repeated all of their names as they came to him, clinging to what little he could of their ghosts and shadows.
He watched warily as darkness fell in Marlene's room and the scene shifted. The setting stayed the same; Marlene's room remaining relatively untouched. Only the addition of new clothes and the change of photographs on the wall indicated the passage of time. Her curtains were spread open as the moonlight lit up her room, seemingly deserted from his statue-like stance by the window.
But the moonlight was tainted. Tainted with the faintest colouring of green.
He knew what memory this was. The one memory awful enough to finally replace his last night in Grimmauld Place as the setting of his nightmares.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and swallowed deeply as the door opened to reveal himself; younger and pale, looking more broken than he had ever seen himself. No wonder Lily and James were so worried with his behaviour. He looked possessed. Although he probably wasn't going to be winning Sanest Inmate of the year currently either.
Past Sirius released a shaky whisper, his voice cracking over a name. "Marlene."
He couldn't help himself. He followed his younger self's gaze to the floor between them both, where the girl they both loved more than life itself lay cold and still. From her position on the floor, from the angle her eyes were directed in, he could kid himself that she was looking straight at him. That her eyes saw him, and knew he was there. If he focused completely on just those eyes, he could survive this again. Pretend they were elsewhere.
But his counterpart refused to give him that comfort, begging and sobbing and crying over her frozen body. He kept shattering the illusion with his hoarse pleas, kept forcing Sirius to remember the full horror and agony of this night.
"Come on Marls."
He had dropped to her side, shaking her. Sirius felt his own heart shatter as he watched himself lose her all over again, for the hundredth time.