Title: hearts don't heal themselves
Summary: Some nights, as she struggles between paper-thin, claustrophobic white sheets, her hands reaching out and grasping nothing but empty space, her mind roaming fitfully between consciousness and nightmares, Lily imagines / Lily, James and learning that the heart can't be glued back together / First World War AU
Notes: I don't write any/much Jily, but the plotbunnies struck and I felt I had to write this – because angst and WW1!MuggleAU is a combination that I love to read about and so, this happened. I hope that you all enjoy this little drabble. I know that my updates are usually sporadic but, due to exams, they're likely to become even more rare over the next month
"To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, and lures from cities and from fields, to sell their liberty for charms of tawdry lace and glittering arms." – John Scott, The Drum
Some nights, as she struggles between paper-thin, claustrophobic white sheets, her hands reaching out and grasping nothing but empty space, her mind roaming fitfully between consciousness and nightmares, Lily imagines.
Lily imagines James and his hazel eyes glinting in the lamplight, lying next to her, his warm hand on her arm, holding her close to his chest. Lily imagines James standing at the end of their – her – bed, his cold, empty eyes roaming around the room, his pearlescent skin glowing whiter than ever and his icy hands stretching out, reaching, trying to claw his way back to reality. Some nights, Lily even imagines gunshots and fire, mud and trenches, an explosion and black earth raining down on the ground – heavier and heavier, skin peeling off skeletons and hollow vacant eyes and blood splattered uniforms and pain and screams and bones and death and hurt and war and- blackness.
Some nights, imagining gets too hard and Lily remembers instead.
Lily remembers James, listening to the drum's call, marching off to war with excitement pooling in his naïve hazel eyes and the thought of golden medals and patriotism and pride echoing round and round his young mind. Lily remembers James and all the other men, leaving their homes and walking down the city streets, the country lanes, closing gates behind them and climbing off trains. Lily remembers their men – boys marching off to war, desperately searching for some kind of prize, seeking recognition and trying to earn their place in society.
(Sometimes, Lily thinks that some of them are more scared of white feathers than they are of shining guns and slick bullets gliding through the air)
Lily remembers their- her tiny kitchen on that morning, the kettle whistling a jaunty tune, its shades of ochre, red and homeliness and the wooden rocking chair in the corner beating out a repetitive rhythm on the tiled floors. Lily remembers James standing by the window, his words of grey and pale blue slicing through her like ice, his goodbyes echoing round and round her head.
Lily remembers James and his carefree smile, lacing up his leather boots and polishing his buttons, kissing her on the forehead and telling her that he would be home soon. Lily remembers James closing their front door behind him and exiting out into the world of smudged lavender and pale blue frost
And, so, he went marching off for war, with his glittering gun and his polished shoes, thoughts of patriotism and pride filling his naïve mind.
James went marching to war, leaving Lily and tiny Harry at home, alone, waiting for their protector to return, and fearing the day they'd find out he wouldn't.
Lily remembers that fateful day, with the knock on the door and the telegram. Lily remembers words blurring behind tears and smudged ink, but one word that jumped out from the page and seared itself on the back of her eyelids.
Fallen. Fallen. Fallen.
Lily remembers the cup in her hand falling to the ground, she remembers the china shattering everywhere and she remembers Harry's confused squawks and the feeling that she is alone.
Lily remembers her heart shattering, sending molten shards of shrapnel and grief to her lungs, her brain, her very core – Lily remembers discovering the feeling of how a heart breaks.
After that, Lily can only remember blackness, so sometimes, she turns back to imagining instead.
She imagines James on the battlefield, his heart pounding and his body weary, the sun glinting off his gun and the drum beating its constant rhythm of impending doom. She imagines the flashing explosions and the red stained ground and she imagines the earth raining down, like some sort of furious monster, beating its wrath and its story upon the ravaged plains.
Lily imagines James' last fleeting memory of being a boy who sold his liberty for medals and pride, a memory of a tiny boy with green eyes and a memory of a red-headed girl who promised she could change his life. Lily imagines panic and drowning and then-
Blackness.
At this point, her body is wracked with sobs and her eyes roam the room and all she can see is his ghost, standing over her and she swears that she doesn't want to ever wake up.
But, Harry's wail punctuates the sound of her heart breaking over and over again and the moment is shattered. Lily awakes and James' silhouette isn't there anymore – she truly is alone.
She goes and fetches her son and rocks him slowly to sleep and reminds herself that she does have something to live for, after all.
Because this is war for them: war is not the brave fighting and the spirit of a nation coming together. War is fallen soldiers and shattered dreams and war is unforgiving, cold, heartbreak and war is remembering every night that the human heart is fragile and was never meant to be repaired.
Some nights, Lily remembers and every morning, she awakes to an empty bed and a broken heart.