I don't remember a lot about my past life. Feelings and emotions come through- and of course the awareness of self that no infant with a pair of never-before-used lungs should have- but the memories themselves are either foggy or gone. I don't remember my name, or the faces of my family, or what kind of music I listened to.

I also don't remember dying, so I guess there's a silver lining to everything.

Everything is bright and loud, and there is a high-pitched wailing sound that won't go away. I take a deep breath to ask whoever it is to shut up, only to realize it's coming out of me. Have you ever tried screaming with a brand-new voice box? It is the weirdest sensation, I wouldn't recommend it.

All I can see is light and shadow and blobs of color, but I can feel myself being cradled in someone's arms. Given the size difference, it's pretty easy to figure out what's happened. Or it would be, if the answer was not so fantastical.

Still, reincarnation is not the worst answer to the 'what happens after death' question.

...

It did take me an embarrassingly long time to figure out who I'd been reborn as, though.

Everyone's read those reincarnated as the main character/sidekick/secondary antagonist stories, but I never expected them to be real. They're wish fulfillment, pure and simple!

So when I was introduced to my godfathers, Remus and Sirius, I just assumed that the Harry Potter generation had grown up and started having kids. It wasn't until I saw Uncle Sirius turn into Padfoot that I started realizing what was going on.

In my defense, I'm a girl in this universe. And my name is Hyacinth, not Harriet or something equally similar. Guess mum wanted to keep the flower name tradition going. Good thing I have nothing against hyacinths, although they are a little strongly scented for me.

Wait. How do I know that I've been reborn as Harry Potter? I thought my memories of my past life were pretty much gone.

Alright. Apparently I don't get to remember the faces of my loved ones, but the plot of a children's book series sticks with me. That's fine. I'm not bitter or anything.

If I'm Harry Potter, that means my parents are going to die, doesn't it? Fuck. I did not sign up for this Chosen One bullshit.

...

I'm about three months old, and my mother is crying. She's holding me to her chest, shaking with silent sobs, trying not to wake me up. It's hard to stay awake while pretending to sleep. Babies get tired quickly, and although my brain tries to lull me into the soft blanket of slumber, I'm worried enough about Lily and James to fight it. They've been slowly growing more and more worried, faces tight with distress nearly every time I see them. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been like that too, whenever they come over. I couldn't have screwed the timeline up this quickly, right?

"James," Lily whispers, and I can feel my father wrapping us both up in a hug. "I don't- I don't know what's wrong-"

"We'll figure it out," he says, but there's a tremulous note in his voice that makes me uneasy. I should have a year before Moldyfart comes, but the way they're acting is-

"She's so quiet," Lily chokes out. "and she doesn't cry, or throw tantrums, or even babble, and she'll look at things but she never seems interested in her toys or peek-a-boo or anything-"

"It'll be okay," James says, squeezing us tighter.

"I don't know what's wrong with our baby-I can't lose her, James, I can't-"

Ah, shit. I've always been a quiet and introspective person, but that kind of behavior is very concerning in infants. And with the Potters constantly moving from hideout to hideout, they don't really have access to a hospital to get me checked out. No wonder everyone's so stressed, they probably think I'm dying or something. I can feel my father crying, his tears dampening my tiny infant head, and nope. It's time to fix this.

I shift a little, open my mouth and yawn, slowly wiggling like I'm just waking up. Lily shifts me in her arms, holding me so I'm looking up at both of them, eyes overbright but still doing their best to smile at me. They don't deserve this, I think, and with that in mind I reach my hands up towards them, smile, and coo.

Lily's-mom's- breath catches in her chest. "Hello, darling," she whispers, clutching me tighter. I curl my hands into fists and wave them around, occasionally letting out more cooing sounds. That's going to get old quick. I consider moving onto babbling already. It may be a month early but it would still give me slightly more to work with.

Both of them are crying again, but I think it's happy tears now. Their faces are split into wide grins, and Mum is bouncing me up and down as if the moment she stops moving I'll disappear. For them, I think, I can handle being more active than I want to.

Dad leans down to press a kiss to my forehead. I pat his wet cheeks, blow a spit bubble right onto his face, and break into giggles.

...

The next time the Marauders visit, they walk into a completely different atmosphere than they were expecting. Mum is singing and dancing in the kitchen, and Dad's racing me around the house, playing airplane. He calls it Quidditch, though. What a jock.

"James?" a voice says. Dad pauses in his narration-"It's 150 to 90, and young Potter swoops down towards the snitch. Can she make it?"- to turn to face Sirius, a wide grin splitting his face.

"Padfoot!" he cries, delighted. The confusion on my godfather's face is hilarious. "Come in, come in! Come hold your goddaughter, I've got to help Lily out in the kitchen before she kills either me or dinner."

Sirius takes me, holding me up to eye level as a wonderful sort of understanding breaks across his face. "Hey there, little fawn," he says quietly. "You had us worried there."

"Abagahaba!" I shriek with glee, waving my toy rattle- painted to look like a snitch, of course- in his face. His eyes light up.

What follows are a solid thirty minutes of three grown men fighting for my attention. At one point I toss my rattle at Peter and nail him right in the nose. I burst into laughter, and the other three join me. Is it petty? Undoubtedly. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

In the shuffle to get everyone situated at the dinner table, I end up in Remus' arms. He looks me dead in the eyes, voice serious. "Hyacinth Jane Potter," he says, "please don't ever scare us like that again."

I really wish I could promise him that.