Title: Now What?
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK owns the toys, I just play with them.
Spoilers: Post Order of the Phoenix
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Summary: The mental musings of one Sirius Black
Completed: January 30, 2005
'This it?
Is this all there is?
One moment you're there, the next you're not?
It just seemed that there would be more to death than a disappearing act – like some bad Muggle magic trick. Utter rubbish illusions.
Muggles always had a grand vision of death: white lights, waiting relatives (Always the Good ones), fluffy clouds and pearly gates to paradise. Those winged things…something like some Veela playing harps, fluttering all about. And music. Muggles always had music. For everything.
So it just has to be more than this…this nothingness in the Wizarding World. It should be something more Wizardly! Shouldn't it? (Is Wizardly even a word? I'd have to ask Professor Moony on that one.) You'd think it would be…more. It would just have to be. This doesn't fit; no, this just doesn't do.
Though, I've never really thought about it, the 'now' of death as it seems. Not even in all those years (too many damned years) in Azkaban. I never thought about it, but I know I never expected this. It's so dark and…empty. It's all black, like being hidden under a sheet. It's not warm and it's not cold. It's just…Not. (Is that possible, to be Not? Remus would know. And he'd go on and on about it in a long lecture…) Nope, never thought about it. It never seemed like something to dwell on, as if just thinking about death was conceding to die there! And there was no way in bloody hell that I was going to die in that place. Nope, never. All ragged and wronged.
But wait…if this is death, and me being therefore dead, how could I be thinking about it now? Shouldn't death be the ultimate in loss of consciousness? (Whadda you say, Moony?) That much I'm sure of. I think. The Dead mustn't be sitting around thinking all the time. And if that is all I can do to occupy my time, how can I be dead? (Did the Dead even have to occupy their time? Seems mean somehow to have them sitting and waiting about, thinking all the time.)
That settles it; I can't be dead. It isn't logical. (Oh, how Remus loves his logic!) At least not Dead dead, anyway. But that still doesn't answer where I am or really 'what' I am. (I wish my Moony were here, I wouldn't have to be alone…but I don't know what this is, and if it's bad I don't want him here, ever. No, that wouldn't be fair or right. My Moony can't be here if it's bad.)
Is there even a 'here' to be in? In its silence and stillness…wait a tick…the one Wall of Dark is…fluttering. It's…moving, like a curtain caught in a draft. Every time, it tugs up the corner the most beautiful colours bleed in and noise too, muffled and muttering. But I'm sure they're conversations. The noises are conversations: Voices. And voices mean people. It could be Remus or Harry or…
If I just pull it back…
"Don't!" another voice, feminine and clear, jumps into the darkness. Or has it always been there? The voice has a body connected to it, which definitely wasn't there before. There's no halo, no wings. And really, she's rather plain, so I can cross her off as a Muggle death-bringer.
Still, who and why? And just for good measure; what, where, and how? But I'll just stick with the basics, "Why?"
"We wait," she replies simply, with a small shrug as if it's obvious, or she's not really sure why either.
I have so many questions, but still, urgently, "Why?"
I'm expecting excuses, rules, regulations or even common courtesy, but she shrugs again, "We just wait."
"Then what?" I gesture to the Fluttering Wall. Magic, Harry, Remus…oh god Remus. Anger, panic and loss…what about love? "Then what?"
She's calm. She gives a small smile, "Then…everything."
The same calm washes over me, "Everything?" (Magic, Harry, Remus. My Remus. Love, beautiful, nasty love. And fighting and sex. Oh Remus. Screaming and yelling. Barking and howling. Moony. Family, no Our Family, friends. Brooms, Quidditch, flying motor bikes. Chocolate. Early mornings, sunlight and wind. Remus. Everything.) And I smile.
(Never really) The End.