Ben had been conflicted upon returning to England, he supposed — except conflicted wasn't really the word for it at all, it was just a kinder word than anything more descriptive. He'd been on the defensive from day one, since he suspected that he'd been imported solely to cast a ballot for his brother, and having done that (or rather, failed to do that, but the other Crouches didn't need to know he'd avoided voting for Roman), he assumed one misstep would see him whisked away again like the embarrassment to the family that everyone seemed to believe he was. To that end, he'd been playing things a little close to the chest for his first month back, stretching his legs a little more slowly to ensure that he didn't do anything to unduly piss Aldous off.
Reuben would not have said he was afraid of getting shipped back to Canada, because fear wasn't a very appealing emotion of a grown man and a proud former Gryffindor, besides, but that was probably the most apt word to describe it. A 'don't be dumb' pep talk from Art Pettigrew and a brief but rather frigid run-in with the princess' resident crazy sister had decided him: it wasn't worth the risk of trying to go see her. Not, at least, until she had initiated something, which he was almost certain she would. They'd been writing fairly consistently in Canada, after all, and he was confident he could just wait for her next letter to orchestrate some sort of meeting — like the one she's suggested once at the tennis courts, perhaps — that left him altogether faultless, in the eyes of their older siblings.
Her letter didn't come, though, and Ben went from worrying she'd changed her mind about forgiving him to worrying that maybe his mere presence back in the country had gotten her in some kind of trouble. Her crazy sister had seen him, after all, and might have inferred something untowards or even gone digging through her room and found their letters. If that was the case, he certainly couldn't write to her without getting them both very deep into hot water. So he didn't.
It had been so long since he'd come to that resolution that he was almost startled to see her in the shop that day. He hadn't been planning on seeing her, obviously; he'd just been out looking for a new quill, his old one having had a fit and exploded on his next door neighbor that morning in a rather inky display. He was on the hook for replacing the man's damaged clothes, it seemed, which was an expensive mistake, and one he didn't want his quill making for him a second time. He was perusing the quills (why were there so many, and why were they so expensive? What could be so special about a quill?) when he noticed her, though he didn't dare approach — not, anyway, until he'd had a chance to surreptitiously look around and make sure the Crazy was nowhere to be seen accompanying her.
Before he could manage to stealthily survey the rest of the shop's patrons, though, she had spoken to him — though in that rather offhand way that might not look like a conversation to anyone not within earshot. Did that mean that they were trying to avoid Crazy, then? Ben turned his attention back to the quills in front of him to keep up the charade, though he wanted to look at her — particularly to see what on earth she'd meant by that last comment.
"I was waiting for a letter from you," he said, with a frown. "What, did you run out of paper? Or did your owl die?" He spoke lightly, but realized that it was altogether possible that she might have had her owl confiscated if her sister had realized that she'd been writing to him, and sobered slightly. He really hoped he hadn't gotten her in trouble.
MJ made this <3
Reuben would not have said he was afraid of getting shipped back to Canada, because fear wasn't a very appealing emotion of a grown man and a proud former Gryffindor, besides, but that was probably the most apt word to describe it. A 'don't be dumb' pep talk from Art Pettigrew and a brief but rather frigid run-in with the princess' resident crazy sister had decided him: it wasn't worth the risk of trying to go see her. Not, at least, until she had initiated something, which he was almost certain she would. They'd been writing fairly consistently in Canada, after all, and he was confident he could just wait for her next letter to orchestrate some sort of meeting — like the one she's suggested once at the tennis courts, perhaps — that left him altogether faultless, in the eyes of their older siblings.
Her letter didn't come, though, and Ben went from worrying she'd changed her mind about forgiving him to worrying that maybe his mere presence back in the country had gotten her in some kind of trouble. Her crazy sister had seen him, after all, and might have inferred something untowards or even gone digging through her room and found their letters. If that was the case, he certainly couldn't write to her without getting them both very deep into hot water. So he didn't.
It had been so long since he'd come to that resolution that he was almost startled to see her in the shop that day. He hadn't been planning on seeing her, obviously; he'd just been out looking for a new quill, his old one having had a fit and exploded on his next door neighbor that morning in a rather inky display. He was on the hook for replacing the man's damaged clothes, it seemed, which was an expensive mistake, and one he didn't want his quill making for him a second time. He was perusing the quills (why were there so many, and why were they so expensive? What could be so special about a quill?) when he noticed her, though he didn't dare approach — not, anyway, until he'd had a chance to surreptitiously look around and make sure the Crazy was nowhere to be seen accompanying her.
Before he could manage to stealthily survey the rest of the shop's patrons, though, she had spoken to him — though in that rather offhand way that might not look like a conversation to anyone not within earshot. Did that mean that they were trying to avoid Crazy, then? Ben turned his attention back to the quills in front of him to keep up the charade, though he wanted to look at her — particularly to see what on earth she'd meant by that last comment.
"I was waiting for a letter from you," he said, with a frown. "What, did you run out of paper? Or did your owl die?" He spoke lightly, but realized that it was altogether possible that she might have had her owl confiscated if her sister had realized that she'd been writing to him, and sobered slightly. He really hoped he hadn't gotten her in trouble.
MJ made this <3