HSWW, Asst 11 | Gryffindor | Thaumatology, Task 3 | Write about someone having an accident.
Camp Hogwarts Decorating, Golden Snitch Cabin, [Song] Hold You Down by X Ambassadors
IPC #943 - [Title] What Time Doesn't Heal
365 #5 - Ache
A/N: Whoops, I'm sorry. Honestly this is just pain and suffering with very little plot. Enjoy?
Warnings: character death, funeral, graphic injuries
WC: 2751
o . o . o
What Time Doesn't Heal
When there's no one to hold you, I will still hold you down
I will still hold you down
- Hold You Down, X Ambassadors
There were five people between Lily and James. His father was to James' left, then James, Sirius, two stuffy relatives that she couldn't for the life of her remember, Remus, and then Lily. She could have stood before Remus, but he had offered to go first so she would attract less attention, and honestly Lily was okay with it because whatever second uncle was standing next to Remus smelled incredibly musty. Except she wasn't okay with it because there were five people between her and James and all she wanted was to hold his hand. She snuck a glance over at him, and felt her heart shatter a little bit more. He was staring straight ahead with glassy eyes, adamantly refusing to look at the ornate coffin in front of him. Lily understood. If he didn't look at it, it wasn't there. If he couldn't see her body, maybe his mom was still alive. Damn, if only she could hug him right now.
Remus elbowed her gently, a subtle reminder to face front again. It was hard to remember all these stupid rules. Especially since she had only met Euphemia twice, so she wasn't really all that sad. Well she was, it was awful losing such a tremendous public figure, but mostly she was sad because James was going through hell and there was nothing she could do about it. Lily peeked over again, and she could practically feel Remus roll his eyes. Great job, Lily, she internally reprimanded, channeling Remus as best she could, I'm sure none of the billion photographers have gotten a picture of you craning your neck to stare at the bloody Prince of England at his mother's funeral. That definitely won't be plastered across tabloid covers in a week. She sighed and tried to refocus her attention on the service that was taking place around her.
It might be easier if the stupid Abbey weren't eight hundred degrees inside. Not to mention if her heels weren't pinching her toes. People just shouldn't be allowed to die during the summer, it was far too uncomfortable. Lily mentally slapped herself for that. She had no business thinking about physical comfort right now. Grief, Lily, grief, that's what you should be feeling right now. Nothing else. She looked at the Queen's face, waxy and preserved. So much must have gone into making her look right for her burial, because Lily had been there, and the woman certainly hadn't died peacefully in her sleep.
o . o . o
Lily and James had excused themselves, leaving the private Royal car of the train, ostensibly to go find some food, but really they were looking for some privacy, ironically enough. It was just that it was only the second time Lily was meeting his family, and they were only 19, so who could blame them if they wanted a little bit of alone time? Euphemia was more than a little bit heavy handed with her hinting as well. When his mother said she was getting peckish, James had hastily offered to go get something to eat for them, needing a brief moment of reprieve. And then he had wisely claimed to need Lily's help carrying everything back, and they had both departed the little compartment with their hands clasped. Which is precisely how they had ended up in an empty compartment two cars down, the privacy shades pulled all the way down as their hands groped to find skin and they pressed desperate kisses against lips and noses and jaws. Lily thought she might actually spontaneously combust from longing when a loud metal creak tore through the air and she fell crashing to the floor of the train.
She barely had time to comprehend that the train was tipping on its side before she was sliding to the wall, James scrabbling for purchase beside her. An awful metallic shriek was rending the air as the train continued to surge forward, its outer wall scraping along the tracks. The lights blinked off as the train lost all power, and slowly, the train ground to a halt.
"Are you okay?" James asked her, struggling to get on his hands and knees in the sideways compartment.
"I think so," Lily answered. Later, she would feel the sharp ache of her broken wrist, but at that moment, she felt nothing.
James had a cut across his forehead where he must have banged it on the seat or something, and she was sure both of them would have more than a few bruises.
"We need to go find my mum," he said, kicking the compartment door open and carefully dropping himself through it. He reached up to Lily, helping her as she wiggled her way through and dropped down next to him.
Together, they quickly made their way back to the Royal Family's car, careful not to step on the compartment windows, half of which were shattered anyway. James pried the door open, kneeling on it so Lily could pass. But there was nowhere for her to go, with no floor to step on and the door on the other side of the gap firmly shut. James swore, clearly not prepared for that outcome, and quickly took stock of the situation.
"Go up," he grunted, nodding at the outer door, which had sprung open as part of the emergency protocol.
Lily nodded and grabbed onto the edge of the metal above her head, struggling to heave herself out. She kicked her feet as her stomach met the edge of the doorway, and she leaned forward so her chest was resting against the outside of the train car. Reaching up to try to grasp anything and finding one of the handholds for climbing aboard, Lily dragged herself out of the door, her muscles howling in protest as her belly scraped across the door. When she was finally out and stood atop the side of the train, she rolled her eyes slightly. Of course she'd gotten up on the wrong side. She leapt over the doorway, landing with a metallic clang on the other side, and then waited for James to join her. He managed to pull himself out in a smooth motion, seemingly with as much ease as vaulting out of a swimming pool, and if she wasn't so bloody scared right now, she would probably hate him a little bit for how graceful it was.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her along, their footsteps echoing heavy and hollow on the metal siding, until they reached the joint between the next two cars. James peeked through the doorway and huffed when he found the inner door to the Royal car firmly shut. Looking up though, he saw a window broken in, and immediately made a beeline for it. They could hear muffled shouts from inside the car, and James lowered himself inside, worry written in creases along his forehead, leaving Lily for the first time as he rushed to his mother. Lily tried to follow him carefully, but the broken window left a jagged, stinging cut along her palm. She hissed at it slightly before turning her attention back to James and his mom. When she turned around to face the compartment where the Queen had been sitting, her heart broke.
James was kneeling on the window next to the compartment door, held back by one of his bodyguards, grief and anger and disbelief battling for control of his features. Inside the compartment, Queen Euphemia was collapsed against the outer window, craggy glass shards littering the ground outside. The post of a track-side sign was sticking up through the broken window, piercing the Queen's stomach. Blood dripped through the cracks in the glass and oozed slowly across her shirt, but it was the only movement anywhere on her body. No flutter of the eyelids, no twitch of the fingers. Not even the faintest rise and fall of her chests to indicate breath. She was just… still.
"Mum," James gasped, nearly hyperventilating. "Come on, Mum, please."
Lily crawled over to him, reaching out to cover his hand with her own but he jerked it away sharply. She understood. She wasn't the one he wanted right now, she couldn't comfort him the right way. These were the one shoes she would never be able to fill. Even so, James leaned into her shoulder, reaching out and squeezing her hand softly before pulling away again. Just enough to let her know that he wasn't angry with her. She looked at him carefully, taking in the anguish and the way he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from his mother's body.
"I'm sorry, James," she whispered, her heart sinking even further.
His mother died and he hadn't been there. Lily wasn't sure James was ever going to forgive her for that.
o . o . o
The Garter King of Arms stepped forward, taking his place next to the Archbishop, and took a deep breath, projecting his voice throughout the Abbey for all to hear.
"Thus it hath pleased Almighty God to take out of this transitory life unto His Divine Mercy the late Most High, Most Mighty and Most Excellent Princess Euphemia, Queen Consort by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of her other Realms and Territories Queen Consort, Lady of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Lady of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Lady of the Imperial Order of the Crown of India, Grand Master and Dame Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order upon whom has been conferred the Royal Victorian Chain, Dame Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, Dame Grand Cross of the Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John. May God save the Queen."
"God save the Queen," a chorus replied, sincere in their wishes for their beloved monarch, and many people bowed or knelt in a show of respect.
The orchestra struck up a somber and melancholic version of the national anthem, and voices joined with the instruments. Lily peeked over at James as she sang, seeing the struggle on his face. She could tell he was desperately trying to hold back his tears and present the strong face that he had been counseled to display, but he was entirely overcome with grief. How could he not be a mess? To the country, the woman before them was a symbol, a figurehead, but to him she was so much more, and he grieved as any son would for his mother.
As the music transitioned seamlessly to some instrumental piece and the Archbishop walked around the coffin to begin the parade out of the Abbey, James pressed the heel of his hand into his brow bone and took a deep breath that shuddered through his frame. He repeated the action again, searching for composure as he prepared to face the masses of people gathered outside, lining the route. James stepped forward, taking his place next to his father, right behind the coffin, as officers of the Royal Navy stepped forward, carrying the top of the coffin from where it had been sequestered out of sight, and laying it over the Queen's body. They latched it securely shut, standing at attention. Two of the officers unfurled the Queen's personal standard, carefully draping it over the coffin like a blanket. In unison, the six officers reached down and grasped the handles of the coffin, slowly moving forward, one marching step at a time.
James flashed a look at Lily as he and his father began to move forward, following the Queen's coffin. He seemed to be searching for something in her face, some kind of strength or courage to keep going. She nodded to him, trying to encourage him and wordlessly reassure him that he could get through this. She would only be a few steps behind him.
The parade route was a mile and a half long, taking them along Whitehall, passing the houses of government along the way, and then along The Mall, with St. James' Park on their left, an imposing march through the Admiralty Arch with Buckingham Palace looming at the end. When they reached the end of their journey, the coffin was laid on a catafalque in the palace square, while the Royal Family, extended family members, and close friends made their way to the balcony.
In the privacy of the Palace, they were free to break from their strict procession order, and Lily immediately sought James out. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his grief, and Lily thought he might collapse from the strain of the day. She laced her fingers with his and he squeezed her hand as if he could extract strength from her grasp.
"It's almost over," he whispered, blinking quickly to contain the tears as they climbed the stairs together. It seemed like James was talking more to himself than to her, as if he was reminding himself to keep it together for just a little bit longer.
"James," the King said quietly, a gentle signal that it was time for their last public duty.
James stepped out onto the balcony with his father, and Lily returned to Remus' side, both of them taking their own places far off to the side. It was the final salute. The Royal Army began, conducting a spectacular gun salute in the courtyard. The Navy followed with a smaller display, their primary role as bearers of the coffin serving as their salute to the Queen instead. Finally, the Royal Air Force flew an array of jets over the palace, leaving streaks of red, white and blue, interspersed with a coal black. As the jetstreams faded in the sky, the Naval officers once again took up the coffin, this time conducting it into a waiting hearse. From there, the Queen would be driven to Windsor Castle and interred in St. George's Chapel. The guests on the balcony watched as the car departed, each privately saying their final goodbyes to the beloved queen.
As soon as the car was out of sight, James turned from the balcony, retreating to the privacy behind the palace walls, unable to take any more ceremony. His father followed a moment later, pausing only to wave farewell to his people, and then the rest of the guests on the balcony returned inside. The King patted his son's shoulder sympathetically, before moving down the stairs, still intent on being a good host. They still had a lunch for the attending dignitaries and attending guests, but Lily knew that James needed a few minutes before he would be ready for that.
She took his hand and pulled him off to the side of the room, and no sooner had they moved out of the path of the other guests than James collapsed in her arms. His head dropped to her shoulder as his hands wound around her waist in a tight hug. Lily had to stretch onto her toes so that she could reach around his neck to hug him in return, rubbing her fingers soothingly against his skin.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling his tears wet on her dress, not that she cared in the slightest about the scrap of fabric. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you for being here," James murmured, as his breathing steadied and his tears slowed. He looked up at her and Lily reached up to wipe some of the tears from his cheeks with a soft brush of her thumbs over his skin. "There'll probably be rumours after today, I -"
"I don't care," Lily interrupted, fixing him with an intensely sincere look. "None of that matters at all, James. I just want to be here for you."
The corners of his mouth twitched in the closest thing she had seen to a smile in a week, and he pulled her into another hug. After a long moment, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple and pulled back, taking her hand and turning toward the now empty grand staircase.
"Come on, everyone is probably waiting on me to start lunch."
Lily squeezed his hand and moved forward with him, glad that at least now she could stay by his side and be the comfort she knew he so desperately needed.