Wasted Life

It seems to take him an age to fall. Before the back of his head has touched the tattered veil, his entire life has passed before my eyes. The day he and James befriended me during Herbology. His first fight with Severus Snape. The time he and I stole James' invisibility cloak and watched the sunrise from the Quidditch pitch. The look on his face when he found out that I was a werewolf. The day after, when he swore to always protect me from anyone who hated me because of what I was. The first time I caught him staring at me. The first time I caught myself staring back. The day that he, James and Peter announced that they had become Animagi, but Peter had to be taken to the hospital wing after his first attempt to show me. The row he and James had over which of them was more handsome. The night he ran away from home, and I was more worried about him than was probably proper. The strange mixture of sorrow and relief when he went to live with James and not me. The day that he noticed Snape staring at me. The following full-moon when he told Snape about the Whomping Willow. His strange moodiness after James' first date with Lily. His strange hatred of my first (and last) girlfriend. The strange fact that Peter Pettigrew found a girlfriend before he did. Our last moonlit romp before graduation, when he kept trying to get me alone. His anger on my behalf when I couldn't get a job despite having graduated top of our year. The wistful glance he threw me when James and Lily announced their engagement. The moment soon after when I noticed that he was, indeed, more handsome than James. The reception after the wedding, when he tried to kiss me but I turned him away because I was afraid. The ceremony at which he was made Harry's godfather, when neither he nor James would meet my eyes. The night when he and Lily saved James and me from a Death Eater attack. The night he, James, Lily and Peter all disappeared from my life, leaving me confused and uncertain for 12 long years. The day he escaped from Azkaban, and I wondered if it was really Harry Potter he was looking for at Hogwarts. My own strange inability to betray his Animagical abilities to Dumbledore. Our reunion in the Whomping Willow. The surprising way my body responded to his embrace, despite (or perhaps because of) the change in his handsome face that made him appear as prematurely old as me. My sorrow when I reemerged from the Forest to find him gone again. The night, almost a year later, when he turned up at my door to announce that the Dark Lord had returned. Waking up the next morning to find him staring at me again. His awkwardness around me during the reformation of the Order. His anger every time Snape entered his old house. The way my stomach flipped every time I met his eyes. His fury when his godson had to rely on Snape's memory of James instead of ours. Last night, when I stopped by headquarters to visit him. Last night, when both of us said the things we should have said so long ago. Last night, when, after wasting nearly 20 years being afraid, we each had our first kiss. Last night, when we fell asleep in each others arms. Today, gazing at his wasted, still-handsome face as he woke up. Today, wrapped up in each other, not bothering to go downstairs to see why Kreacher was making such a racket. Today, getting Snape's urgent call to come to Harry's aid at the Ministry at once. Today, kissing him on the cheek before Apparating to the Department of Mysteries together. Today, hearing his triumphant laugh when his cousin's first spell missed him entirely. Today, falling, falling...

Perhaps it is merely my own life, my life in terms of Sirius Black, which flits before my eyes as Sirius tumbles through the arch. After all, the eyes of the dying usually are not able to witness any memories but their own.