25 January 1891 — Pettigrew House, Bartonburg

The noise was still ringing in his ears as he crashed through the fireplace and into Art's parlor. He would not usually have expected Art to be home on a random Monday afternoon, but the Quidditch season being as ridiculous as it currently was meant he was home more often, and that was a godsend. Ben needed help, urgently, and not the sort of calm, collected, reasonable help that he could typically expect from his brother. He needed his best friend. Art wouldn't understand the stakes — no one knew enough to understand the stakes — but he would come closest.

"I need an owl," he said, without further explanation. "Right now."

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   Marianne Finch, Melody Crouch

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If they didn't announce what was up with the Quidditch season soon, Art was truly going to go stir crazy. As it was, this was giving him a lot of time to get in deep with broomcare.

His broom was shoved aside when the fireplace lit up green; Art was standing before he saw Ben, because he had not exactly expected visitors. "Okay," Art said, because that was what you said when people needed an owl right now. "Let me get him."

He was back with the owl on his hand in less than a minute. "There's parchment in the drawer?" Art said, more unsure than anything else.

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Ben nodded and moved to the drawer. His mouth was too dry for words, at the moment, so instead he scribbled out the note and hastily folded the parchment, not even bothering to seal it before he thrust it into the waiting talons of the owl. "Melody Finch," he instructed the bird, not even realizing his slip of the tongue until it was out of his mouth. "Fuck. Crouch. Melody Crouch."

The bird took off, and Ben wasn't sure what to do with himself next. Part of him wanted to collapse on the couch, but he had too much nervous energy for that, so he started pacing instead.

Fuck. He should have asked where she was. He should have told her to go home. He should have said something other than the four little words he'd scrawled out — but now the owl was gone, so it was too late for that. He could have walked to the post office, he supposed, but he could tell that the color hadn't returned to his cheeks and he was certainly in no state to be seen out in public at the moment.

"Fuck," he said, momentarily unable to come up with anything more articulate to say. "Fuck."

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   Elon Wildsmith

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He wasn't sure he had ever seen Ben like this, was the thing; they often operated in some phase of crisis, but this was a different level. Usually Art had some sense of what was wrong, but Ben was in his living room using his owl and cursing about Melody Finch-Crouch, and he didn't really have a roadmap for this one.

Things were bad - Melody went through Ben's letters, (that was: fucked), and Ben was supposed to go to London, but everything had seemed Aldous-settled, and safe, and as fixed as they could be. He had just gotten Ben's letter a few hours ago, and now Ben was - here, and everything seemed vaguely broken.

"What happened?" Art asked, because he couldn't think of what else to say.

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Ben opened his mouth to reply, but for a moment could not find any word to encompass what was going on in his head aside from the obvious, which he'd already said: fuck.

He paced, wishing he had a drink but also knowing that he could not afford to be intoxicated until he'd figured out where she'd gone and what she was doing.

"She's gone," he said, although he recognized that this explanation would not even come close to explanation his level of panic, from Art's perspective. "She's pregnant," he continued, his stomach flipping as he said the words out loud for the first time. "She's pregnant and I don't know where she is."

Which was the whole reason for the panic, although Art still didn't likely have enough context to understand exactly what it was Ben was worried about — where his mind had gone when Melody's mother had called her but a young girl. He didn't know what Ben knew; what Melody was capable of, when she felt cornered and alone and helpless.

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   Elon Wildsmith

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Oh, right. He didn't have a roadmap for this because it had never happened before. Art was a little shocked, visibly - his eyes were wide and he swallowed, churning through the information Ben shared. Melody was pregnant, Ben couldn't find her, he was freaking out. That all sort of made sense to him, in the scheme of things - except:

"Ben," Art said, after a beat, "Are you sure she's actually pregnant?"

It had to be in the rich girl playbook. If he was Melody, and he found out that his husband had an illegitimate child and was obviously attached to it, how would he get him back? Well: he would claim to be pregnant. Bad things happened to pregnancies all the time - she could call Ben back to her and either actually get pregnant, or claim to have a miscarriage. (Miscarriages happened all the time.) She had already shown herself to be sort of unethical, with the letters - why not freak him out like this when she was at it?

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Ben's mind had spiraled after his admission, remembering the way he'd walked in on her with the potion in Paris. She might be off doing that right now, for all he knew. He didn't know where she'd gotten the potion or how difficult it was to acquire, but if she could manage it in Paris she could have done it all the more easily in England... If Ben didn't find her before that, there might not be a pregnancy any more. She thought he was gone, after all, and she'd made the same decision with less rationale before...

Art's question, however, stopped his pacing. Ben's eyes widened again at this possibility. It was possible that it was all a lie to get him hooked again — just as possible that the one time he'd slept with her without protection she'd gotten pregnant. (Well, all in all it had happened twice — and apparently, allegedly, had resulted in a pregnancy both times). He had no reason to believe that either Melody or Mrs. Finch were trustworthy — in fact, he had every reason to believe they weren't. But if they weren't lying, if this wasn't a trick, could he risk it?

"I don't know," he admitted, openly dismayed. He raised his hands and ran them both through his hair, too frazzled even to pace at this point. "I don't know. Her mother told me. I don't know. We've been using protection. There was just one time. A month ago. I don't know," he repeated, shaking his head. "But what if she is? What if she —?"

  

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Art didn't know what Ben needed, right now, and this was rare for him - usually he was able to figure it out as best he could, fumble his way towards doing the right thing. Sometimes it was advice, sometimes it was just validation; sometimes he just let Ben vent at him, because that was the equilibrium they were supposed to have. But he didn't know what to do, now - Ben's wife was maybe-pregnant (Art didn't believe it, obviously) and she was missing and he was freaking out in Art's living room, and this was so far removed from anything he and Desdemona had experienced that Art didn't know what to do.

Not for the first time, he really, actually hated Melody Crouch. Art had never liked her, but it was rare for someone to actually inspire an actual level of hatred in him - but she had very successfully managed to ruin Ben's life, and if she had her way she would ruin Ben too.

He hoped she wasn't pregnant.

Arthur took a few steps forward and caught Ben's wrists in his hands, as if with some physical contact he could stop him from freaking out. "Ben," he said, "If she's not pregnant, that's - we'll figure it out. And if she is pregnant, we'll figure that out, too."

There were options; Aldous Crouch would probably be better at deciding what they were, but Art knew they existed. There was one that hung in him like bile in his throat, but he couldn't say it yet - he didn't think Ben would actually like what he had to say, but it was the only feasible option Art could come up with.

He sighed, steeled himself: "If she's pregnant, and she's willing to go missing already, then I think you should contact a solicitor. Because - what's to stop her from doing the same with a child?"

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Art's hands on his wrists did help, somewhat. He was still panicking, but he was grounded, now. He couldn't pace, so he forced himself to breath. He looked Art in the eyes and tried to listen to his words and actually internalize them. They'd figure it out. They'd figure it out. They'd figure it out.

He was in no way prepared for the next thing Art said. His eyes clouded with sudden hurt and he made a noise in the back of his throat that could probably be most closely be described as a whimper. He'd been too focused on what Melody might do while she was pregnant that he hadn't even considered what she might do afterwards. Part of him thought she wouldn't have been interested in taking a child with her, if she did up and go — the abortion potion in Paris had been her idea, after all, and he'd just gone along with it. She was clearly less interested in parenting than he was. But he couldn't be sure that was still true. He'd never imagined that he might want a child until he'd been faced with the reality of one. He'd agreed to the potion, in Paris, and just yesterday he'd had an actual breakdown at the idea that he'd never be able to have a real relationship with Elliott because of Melody's meddling. So, people's minds changed, where these things were concerned. And Art was right; Ben had no reason to believe Melody would suddenly become a more stable person after the baby was born.

"If we divorced," he said quietly, deliberately. "Would I get to keep the baby?"

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   Dionisia Fisk

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Arthur wasn't a divorce expert; nor was he a child custody expert. But he did have a non-zero sense of the law, largely because he had been in  a non-zero amount of legal trouble, in the past. He had a passing understanding of most of the simple tenants of the law because of the whole Azkaban Issue, and somewhere along the line children and property had slid into that knowledge base.

"She'd have to petition for access, I think," Arthur said; and maybe this wasn't ideal, either, but it was better than the risk of Melody taking the baby and running. "But a solicitor can help you establish that you want the baby."

He really, really didn't want Melody to be pregnant. It was easier if she wasn't - a clean break. Because Art was done, really done, with watching this happen - any goodwill he had for Melody Crouch had vanished somewhere when she called him a bad husband, and any remaining patience had vanished when she shuffled through Ben's mail.

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Ben listened, hanging on Art's words even though the terms themselves didn't make any sense to him. The most experience he had with the law was sitting in a holding cell while polyjuiced as his brother, and even that hadn't had actual legal repercussions after Aldous had come and saved him. But he understood that Art was saying there was a chance. He could divorce Melody and keep the baby. His hesitation to divorce her had evaporated the moment he'd believed there to be a child involved. It was one thing to want to stay with her because she had no where else to go and he didn't want to see her on the streets. It was another thing to force this on a child, and Art was right — he had no proof that Melody wouldn't become a danger to that child, sooner or later. Particularly given what Ben already knew about her from Paris.

"Okay," he said, trying to remember to breath. "Okay. But what do I do now? I don't know where she is," he said, the panic seeping back into his voice slightly at the end of this phrase. "And I don't know how I'm supposed to figure out if she's pregnant or not, if she's lying."

  

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Right, separate issue, Melody had flown the coop. Art would not have a ton of problems if she never resurfaced, (as long as she wasn't pregnant); but Ben had at least been in love with her last February when they eloped, so he was going to keep that thought to himself. Sometimes, being Ben's friend required doing things Art was not particularly interested in - and it was probably actually easier to find Melody than it was to pretend to like her.

"If she's pregnant these things tend to become obvious eventually," Art said, because that was true. "But don't - don't fuck her again when you don't know for sure." The last thing they needed was for Melody to become actually pregnant when they were trying to figure out whether or not she was. (For the first time, Art wished he had suggested this at the first mentions of troubles; not having sex with Melody would have saved them this bit of trouble.)

He let go of Ben's wrists, but remained close, unsure if he would have to do something grounding again. "And there's only so many places she would have gone, right? We can check."

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"Okay," Ben agreed, nodding; he wasn't sure what else he could say, at this point. He certainly didn't have any inclination whatsoever to sleep with Melody any time soon, condom or not. He didn't love the idea that he would have to wait to find out, but there wasn't anything to do about that, he supposed. He would have to stay with her until he did know for sure, because he didn't trust her alone. At the moment, he wouldn't have even trusted her as far as the next room.

But that was also a problem to be solved after they located her again.

His immediate thought was that Art was wrong. There were an endless amount of places she could have gone, if she was trying to be melodramatic and striking out on her own despite the fact that that was stupid — but the news of the pregnancy, fake or not, had narrowed those options down considerably, he realized. Her priority would be getting rid of the baby, if that was what she was planning to do, not fleeing the country.

He hesitated. He didn't want to tell Art.

But he also really needed to find her, before she did something he would regret forever.

"Knockturn apothecary?" he suggested, voice shaking.

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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"Why would she go to -" Art started, before he cut himself off abruptly.

Knockturn Apothecary was much less public than Hogsmeade's. Respectable potioneers and members of society didn't go there. It was a place where one could purchase less-than-legal ingredients and potions; substances one didn't want society (or the constabulary) knowing about. And if Melody was pregnant, and Ben thought she was going there - well. There was a short list of high-priority potions for pregnant witches, as far as Art knew.

"You think she's getting one of those potions?" Art said; the shock of it deterred him from his objectives of getting Ben out alive.

Abortion potions were dangerous, and beyond that - well. Before this summer, Art had not had a ton of emotional attachment to pregnancies, but Desdemona's miscarriages had him shaken. He understood why unattached women took them, or couples with far too many children - that made sense to him, it was logical in the way that birth control was logical. And if unattached women didn't talk to the men who impregnated them about their abortions - again, logical.

But Melody was married, had no children, even if her marriage had problems - she eloped with Ben, their marriage had to include some level of affection, some level of trust. But Ben seemed convinced that she was going to the apothecary - suddenly, his panic made a lot more sense to Arthur.

"Without talking?" he added, a layer of stress folding into his voice.

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   Aldous Crouch

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Yes, Ben thought she was getting one of those potions, and yes, without talking. That was where his mind had gone immediately on hearing the news that she was pregnant, because she had done this before. She'd had the potion uncorked and halfway to her lips when he'd interrupted her in Paris, and that had been the first he'd heard that there was even a chance she might be pregnant. If she was pregnant now, and she thought Ben had left her for good, there was nothing more logical than to assume she'd do the same thing.

But all of that was well outside the realm of what Art needed to know, in order to track her down, and Ben wasn't going to tell him. Now that he knew about Elliott, he was ashamed of his own part in the process — embarrassed to admit that he could have had a child and had instead allowed her to go through with it. There was no way to tell Art that, and no way that it would even start to make sense unless he knew more about the circumstances of their elopement than Ben had ever told him before. And they were sort of maxed out, as far as dramatic revelations went; they didn't have time for Art to come to terms with Ben's reality for the last year. They needed to find Melody.

"We should go," Ben said, not answering any of Art's questions.

  

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"Alright," Art said, because he wasn't going to fight Ben about it. If Ben thought that Melody was getting one of those potions, then he was probably right, and Art could deal with processing this later. "We can take the floo there." He thought, for a moment, of leaving a note for Desdemona - but she might not even notice he was gone, and he didn't want to delay them at all.

"Ready?" Art said; he pulled his floo powder off the fireplace's mantel and offered it to Ben.

And then they were gone.

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