10
It rained on the day of Katie's mother's funeral. That in itself was no surprise - if the sun had dared to shine, Katie thought bitterly, she would have researched a spell to put it out permanently. How could the sun shine, when her own world had gone dark in the time that it took for a man to lose control of a car? No - there was no sunshine left in her world - not anymore. Katie stood at her father's side; her father clutched her hand desperately as the rain drifted around them like a fine mist. Katie was dried eyed – she had cried herself out a few days ago. She had no tears left now. She was aware that Lee, Angelina, and Professor McGonagall stood in the small crowd of mourners, but she was yet to acknowledge them.
Katie's gaze was riveted to the gaping hole in the earth. Her mother's coffin rested above the grave, the gleaming wood overlaid with white lilies. For the rest of her life, Katie would hate the scent of that flower. Her mother had hated formal flower arrangement; she preferred simple wild flowers, and the way they grew with no rhyme or reason. Katie felt a small burst of anger at the ornate flowers that would send her mother into the earth - yet another way for dear Aunty Anne to put her overestimated, unwanted stamp of 'proper ways to do things' all over her mother's life. Katie glanced at the Aunty in question, as she sniffed into a lace edged handkerchief; Aunty Anne stood with her parents, Katie's grandparents, and Katie flinched at the grief they openly wore.
Both Katie's mother and Aunty were blonde; they were both fine boned, with violet eyes. Yet they were poles apart in every other way. Aunty Anne's hair was drawn back into a neat chignon - her mother's had always tumbled around her shoulders. Aunty Anne looked respectable in her formal robes - her mother had always had a smear of paint on some part of her body, and bare feet. Her Aunty had never understood Amelia Bell's 'bohemian way of life.' She had looked down on her younger sister's need to find joy in the simple way of life she had chosen, rather than become a part of upper society. Rather than spend her days sipping tea and eating artfully arranged foods, Amelia had chosen to weave and knit and paint, and love her husband and daughter freely. Her Aunty was a social snob - her mother just… wasn't.
"We gather here today, to celebrate the life of Amelia Bell. A loving wife and mother, who enjoyed the simple things in life. A woman who was dedicated to helping others…."
Katie closed her eyes and blocked out the soothing sound of the minister's words. Her mother had been dedicated to helping others, but when she had needed help in return, it hadn't been there. Brain dead. That's what the doctors and healers had said - her mother had been brain dead. Beyond help. Being hit by an out-of-control car would do that to you. Katie opened dry eyes, and cursed life once more as the minister droned on. When the minister's aid knelt and began to turn the handle of the winch that would lower her mother into the earth, Katie swayed on the spot. Unable to watch, she lifted her gaze slowly and stared off towards the trees that lined the small cemetery. It was only then, that she saw the cloaked figure standing in the shadows. And as she swayed once more, she recognized who it was.
Katie met Marcus' gaze and held it; she held it as her mother's coffin was slowly lowered into the earth. Held it, as arms were wrapped around her in condolence, and soft words of sympathy were murmured into her ears. She held it, until a figure blocked her sight of him, causing her to blink. And when Katie looked back to the tree line, Marcus was gone. Katie was held silently by Angelina, and in that moment, Katie finally lowered her head to her friend's shoulder and gave way to the shudders that had been threatening to wrack her slim frame for the last hour. But she didn't give in to the burning she felt at the back of her eyes though – her tears she swallowed as she lifted her head and gave Angelina a small nod. Turning back to her father, she took his hand once more as he continued to stare blindly down at her mother's coffin, before tugging gently and leading him away.
Katie sat silently through the wake. She drank tea that was too sweet and ate small cakes that tasted like sawdust. She patted people on the back as they told her how very sorry they were for her loss. And when it finally got to be too much, she sought out her father, and as if feeling the weight of her gaze like a physical blow, Henry Bell lifted blue eyes and locked gazes with his daughter. The haze of grief that had blinded him lifted momentarily, and he swallowed as he tracked tired eyes over his daughter. Grief had stripped away any lingering vestige of childhood innocence, and had left a young woman in its wake. She was her mother's daughter, he thought; her mother's daughter, but with her father's eyes. Blue eyes that showed her desperate need for escape. He managed a small smile as he nodded, and with his permission, he watched as Katie slipped away.
XxXxXxX
Katie walked through the rain without drawing the hood of her cloak over her head. The rain misted over her hair like tiny crystals as she walked aimlessly; she collected the wild flowers that grew along the way. Bluebells, Snowdon Lilies, and Windflowers. Wild Sage, and Wood Violets by the dozen. Her mother's voice whispered in her mind as she walked, pointing out the flowers and their many uses. Katie trailed her fingers across the stone wall that surrounded the cemetery, her fingers dipping and rising between each stone. And when she knelt at her mother's grave, she scattered the wild flowers across the small mound of dirt. The simple wooden cross that stood at the head of the grave would be replaced with a stone marker in time, and Katie stared silently at her mother's name. Digging her fingers into the loose earth that covered her mother's grave, Katie spread her fingers when they were covered. She felt the earth crumble wetly around her fingers, and stain her hands as she clenched them into fists again. Katie stared blindly at the simple wooden cross that bore her mother's name. Her mother had been thirty-eight.
No more running through the meadow behind their house together while it rained, and laughing as her father exclaimed that they'd both catch colds. No more late night chats in front of the fire, and the familiar feeling of her mother brushing her hair. No more hugs and kisses that smelled like a cottage garden. No more being woken in the middle of the night to bake biscuits together and trying to muffle their laughter when half of them came out burned. No more impromptu trips to France in summer. No more lazy days on the beach, chatting about school, friends, and boys together. No more parcels arriving at school, with muggle candy tucked between books and beautifully knitted jumpers, each stitch looped with love. No more owls arriving in the middle of winter, with colored sketches of summer to hang on her wall.
The crunch of footsteps on leaves had Katie swallowing hard. The footsteps were measured; designed to alert her to his presence. And when woolen clad thighs slipped either side of hers, Katie leaned back against a familiar chest as he knelt behind her. Lee's arms bought a familiar sense of comfort, and as he rested his chin on her shoulder, Katie shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut as his scent enveloped her, much like his arms had.
"I'm not ready," she finally whispered, and her voice broke slightly as she stared blindly across the grave.
His arms tightened, and Katie swallowed when his lips brushed her temple.
"You're not alone, Katie."
It was a whispered promise, and as the first tear slid free she turned blindly into Lee's arms and wept bitterly. Wept for the injustice and the feelings that had tangled her up inside. She felt Lee's lips brush her head again, and heard his soft whisper that she wasn't alone - she would always have him. Lee rocked her as her fingers clutched at his robes; her sobs echoed bitterly across the cemetery, while his heart broke in the face of her grief. Lee stared down at the flowers he had seen her pick, and then he narrowed his eyes when he saw the single red poppy that rested against the marker. Poppies were for remembrance… a single blood red poppy that shimmered with magic. Poppies, that grew like a magic carpet in green house four at Hogwarts.
His mind was taken back to the night his house had found out about Katie's mother. Katie had vanished for several hours after dinner; Professor McGonagall had come looking for Katie, with her face pinched with worry. It was only when she was told that Katie wasn't in Gryffindor tower, that she admitted that Katie's mother was in the hospital. For one long moment, Lee had felt blind-sided; in all the years that they had been friends; this was the very first time that he could ever remember Katie not coming to him with her problems. He had shaken the feelings off quick enough, and had been one of the very first to raise his hand in offer of helping to look for her. The portraits were unable to locate her, nor where the ghosts of Hogwarts. Not even the twins had been able to tell him where Katie was. The Marauder's map had been confiscated by Professor Lupin several weeks earlier, and not wanting to give up the maps secrets, the twins and Harry had stayed silent.
The castle had been searched high and low. It was only when the Patronus of a doe appeared before Professor McGonagall nearly two hours later, that they had learned of Katie's whereabouts; she'd been found asleep in green house four. Her hair had been damp, and she'd been wrapped in a cloak that was twice her size as she laid sleeping on the carpet of scarlet flowers. A cloak, Lee slowly remembered, that had borne a silver serpents clasp. Professor McGonagall had taken the cloak with her, and seeing it had been pushed to the back of Lee's mind in the face of Katie's grief. Even so, staring at the poppy as he held Katie, Lee began to think again. He remembered the cloak now. And as the puzzle pieces slowly began to click into place, Lee cursed softly. A cloak, a silver serpents clasp, and one other indisputable fact; in the days after Katie had been found in green house four, Marcus Flint had been sick with a bad head cold. Some might call it coincidence – Lee didn't believe in coincidences.
Lee continued to stare at the poppy as Katie's sobs grew softer, and as they slowly turned into hiccups, she grew still in his arms. Staring hard at the flower, Lee wondered where Flint had found Katie that night, and how he had known before any of them, that something had been wrong. What had he seen from the outside that her house-mates and closest friends had missed? Where had he found her? What had she said to him? Why had he wrapped her up in his cloak? Why had he chosen green house four? And even more puzzling, why had he taken the trip from school, to lay such a simple flower on the grave of a woman he had never met? And when Katie shifted restlessly in his arms, Lee got an answer that not only bore more questions, but whose answers troubled him.