Books were my life, you know. Books and music. I would sit still for hours and just read, or listen, if I was allowed, but there always seemed to be something that needed to be done. Peace was a rarity, and when I had it I seized it with both hands, and almost refused to let go when time was up. But those days are over now. There’s peace now, but not the kind that I wanted. It’s dark, with no light, none of that wretched company I used to hate so much. None of my precious books, or music. Just silence, warmth and darkness.
It took me what seemed like forever to get used to ‘nothingness’. But after a while I managed to figure out how to submerse myself in my memories like I once did when I was alive. Yeah, that’s right, alive. I was in the bank, running an errand for my mother when there was a loud grating noise, the sound of the doors being thrown open with wild abandon, and then I was shot down from behind. My murderer couldn’t even look me in the eyes as they ended my life. I regretted that day, more than I ever had before, that I hadn’t bothered with physical fitness. If I had, I might have ducked at the sound, I might have been able to stand a chance. As it was I was probably the first of many to die in that robbery, and what bothered be the most was the little blonde 4 year old that had been standing in the the line to my left with his mother. I would likely never know if he had survived. He would never be able to stand this darkness, it would bore him to death judging by the way he fidgeted and carried on in the akward near silence of the bank.
My own boredom was terrible enough to deal with, having me wish I could die a second time just to go somewhere else. But then my memory returned.
For a while I had a bad feeling, like for some reason my memories didn’t belong, that I wasn’t supposed to have them and I should really really just give them up, but that went away after a while, I was too thrilled to have my ‘mind palace’ back to worry about some iffy ‘feeling’. I had been ill in life, because my mind was able to remember everything. It had been depressing, really, until I had been able to take an idea from a British television show I had fallen in love with (one of many). My ‘mind palace’ was more of a manor than a palace. All plants I had learned about where in a garden, and all objects I knew how to operate, or knew anything about were located in their proper areas of the house. (There was a distinct absence of a mechanical can opener in the kitchen, those things are Satan, I’m convinced.) The library was filled with books I had read and the music room had CDs, cassette tapes, even the instruments themselves, though I only somewhat knew how to play two of them at most.
For the longest time I wondered if this was the after life, after all I had the peace I wanted, I could read and listen to all the music I wanted in my ‘mind manor’ but that thought was squashed by the fact that I could emerge from the manor, and be aware of my body. It was different from before, restrained somehow. I could barely move. As time passed I would check in with my body more and more, because things were changing. Suddenly I could move more, I could feel, hear. I realized there was always sound, I just hadn’t been able to hear it before. There was a drum beat somewhere that never stopped, although the tempo would often vary. I would touch my foot to the walls every now and then, just to reassure myself they were actually there.
One day my peace ended. There was violence, spasming and tightening, of the walls that surrounded me. For perhaps the second time since I had been in that place I felt fear.
I was moving, but for once not by choice. There was little I could do but brace myself, and hope that I would finally figure out what was happening to me and where I was once this was all over. And I did find out. Once all the violence had ended it was cold, there was light everywhere, so bright after so long in darkness. I began to breathe and it hurt, my lungs felt like they were unused to working like this, as if I was running a marathon and sucking in air, but I had been fine a second ago. Before I could puzzle it out I was wrapped in a warm blanket, finally out of the cold. I opened my mouth to say thanks but was stopped short when my clumsy tongue met gums rather than teeth when I tried to make a ‘th’ sound. My eyes snapped open, finally revealing the world around me, and it ‘was’ the world. There were people, and items, and things- and was that Gary Oldman?
The face loomed above me, younger looking than I had ever known the actor to be, and it was then I realized I was being held. Easily. With a blanket wrapped around me. I also noticed the man holding me speak.
“-eyes, Lils. Awfully vibrant, just like yours.”
I was then snatched away from the man holding me. I found myself looking up at another man, this one with glasses and scary hair that seemed to have a life of its own. I reached up for the glasses, unable to control myself for a moment, the sheer desire for the shiny- but I pulled my hands back when he laughed, and I ducked my head, feeling a little ashamed, I was in my twenties, I should have more control than this! I lost track of the conversation while I was berating myself, and found that I was being handed over to yet another person. This one was in a bed, a woman with vibrant red hair, looking extremely tired, but with a smile on her face anyway. It was as I settled comfortably in her arms that I came to terms with reincarnation. I was obviously a child again. Better than death, I suppose. I was still deciding what to do with my newly aquired life when the door burst open and what seemed like David Thewlis ran in, inquiring about whether he’d missed it, whatever it was, I had an inkling it was me. I gave a lazy wave, batting my hand at him.
My mother spoke first. “A little too late. So unlike you Remus.” she spoke teasingly, so I assumed that’s how the name was meant, as teasing about a past role played in a movie. Sirius Black look-alike spoke next, “Yes, imagine, me being more punctual than you, what has the world come to?”
The other man swatted him on the arm. “Enough, Padfoot. Here Remus, come see her”
“Her? I thought the medi-witch said it was going to be a boy?”
The man shrugged, “There was a 2% margin for error. I guess we fell in it.”
“Does she have a name yet? You didn’t have any girl names picked out did you?”
The man looked thoughtful, opened his mouth to speak, then promptly snapped it shut before turning to his wife for an answer. She laughed softly.
“She already gets your last name, so I suppose she should get a family name from my family. All the females have had flower names for years.”
There was an immediate rush to say the name of every flower they had ever heard of in their lives. When names like Snapdragon, Statice, and Solidaster began to be thrown around my mother had enough.
“If you aren’t going to take this seriously you can wait in the hall!”
Ironically enough it was the ‘Sirius’ man that spoke to break the ensuing silence. “Rose.”
My mother glared at him for a second before a smile split her face and she turned to the man who must be her husband.
“Oh, James, what do you think? It’s perfect!”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes it is. Only appropriate the idea came from her Godfather.”
The names they were throwing around so casually, Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, this can't be, -I can't be-
James spoke, "Yes, Rose Lily Potter. That name will do quite nicely I think. Not as good as Harry James Potter would have been, I suppose, but nice all the same."
'Well, crap.'
