He'd gone to sleep early in hopes of making these next few days pass more quickly. Time wasn't on his side though, and each second seemed to pass by with the infuriating pace of cold molasses. The more Ben tried to get himself to sleep, the more awake he felt. He cursed himself for using up the last of the sleeping potion the day after he'd gotten back from Ireland. Memories had begun to swirl up unpleasantly, and it was hard for the auror to tamp them down with the ease that he'd once been able to.

He hadn't even bothered to change out his clothes. He'd had to go on a mission in muggle territory, which had resulted in him staying in his suit all night. He ruffled his hair, doubting the black curls could get even more messed up. Birds would be nesting in it soon, it resembled that much of a birds nest. Ben groaned, wanting to chuck his pillow at the wall. Sleep was not going to come, that was for sure. He slapped his hand on the bedside table, groping for his wand. With a bit of a shaky wave, Ben summoned his reading glasses to him. Perhaps he'd go downstairs and see if reading a book with a good glass of whiskey would curb the slight feeling of nausea that was gripping his stomach.

He trudged downstairs, slipped a book from the shelf and flopped unceremoniously into the leather chair. Reading did nothing to help, either. The words just seemed to blur together, which had nothing to do with the alcohol either. Ben could hold his liquor pretty well, and blurred vision didn't usually accompany his feelings of drunkenness until he was a decent 7 glasses into the bottle. After a few drinks to get him decidedly buzzed, Ben felt the gravity of sleep weighing on his shoulders. It was then and only then, that he felt the overwhelming tug of déjà vu pull him into the waters.

It was as if he was cold all over again. Not like the other times memories had resurfaced. Those had merely flitted in and out of his vision  The only other time this had happened was when he remembered how he'd fallen off the cliffs. He could still feel the bite of rocks as he fell down more than 50 ft to what was surely his death. And then those eyes - stormy grey and full of fire. Ben never figured out what emotion those eyes had conveyed as he'd closed his eyes and drifted into oblivion.

The eyes had almost faded from his vision. In his dream it was as if he was reaching for them, beseeching they tell him what lay behind their meaning. They'd almost faded from reach, when it hit him.

Almost like a ton of bricks.

And that night came back to him. Not in pieces like his memories had done previously, but in full force, that Ben awoke, gasping for air, his head reeling. There was a crash as he bolted upright. His glass hit the floor, shattering in a million pieces. The noise only pulled him back into the memory, strong as an undertow. He heard himself curse at Ari. Saw the ferocity in Ari's eyes as he surged towards Ben and locked lips with him, desperate and full of an emotion that Ben couldn't even describe then or now.

And then came Ben shoving Ari; shouting at him to get out. Cursing Ari's name again.


Ben sat there on the floor, breathless and covered in sweat and whiskey. He'd managed to fall to the ground again. The acrid smell of something surged through his nose. Lifting up a hand, he saw he'd split his hand open; a mirror image of that night. He'd cut his hand then too, when he screamed at Ari to leave him.

Ari. Ben almost threw up in another wave of realization. His best friend, his....

"Ari..."

....was getting married. Tomorrow. He was too late. Or was he? Not bothering to clean up the scene, Ben threw on a coat, shoes and hat before he hurtled out the door as if the Devil Himself was chasing after him.

Though perhaps, the wizard thought grimly as his feet hit the cobblestones of Bartonburg. Perhaps – in Ben's case, as it always seemed to be – it was.

---

The following 5 users Like Benedict Sterling's post:5 users Like Benedict Sterling's post
   Aria Belby, Elias Grimstone, Elsie Kirke, Imogen MacFusty, Roberto Devine