Will we fight, stay up late?
In my dreams I'm to blame

April 13th, 1890 — Crouch Home, Swalllowbury
Reuben Crouch

There was once a time when having an occupation had been Melody's dream. Her job always revolved around books somehow, a librarian or professor usually. Something prestigious and important, a task worthwhile of someone of her station. Melody hadn't known then just what her life would come to or how far she would fall. She hadn't known she would have a job in a bookshop instead of a library or Hogwarts. Everything was off kilter and wrong. This should've been someone else's life.

But, despite how many times Melody pinched herself to wake up from this nightmare, it wasn't. This was her life now, for better or for worse.

All she had left to do to solidify herself as Mr. Binns' new clerk was inform Ben. It wasn't a requirement of the position, per se, but as her husband Ben ought to have some say. If he was truly opposed she wouldn't do it. Though, she hoped he wouldn't care. She hoped he'd treat her new position as he did her: with ignorance and steady avoidance.

They were seated on opposite ends of the table, their cook and maid already dismissed for the evening. Tonight was one of the rare instances where they were alone and still occupying the same space. "I met with Mr. Binns in Hogsmeade yesterday. Do you know him?" She asked after several minutes of silence. Yesterday had also brought about the crazy shop opening, not that she was going to dive into that story again this evening.

  

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Ben had been focusing on his food when Melody spoke, and he was honestly a bit surprised that she'd done so. They didn't typically have much to say to one another, and he was used to excusing himself as soon as his plate was cleared to go about his own business in some other part of the house. He certainly hadn't expected her to start a conversation about Mr. Binns.

"Uh, sure," Ben said with a shrug. He'd run into Mr. Binns at a few parties here or there, but hadn't had a conversation of any depth with him. "He's a bit of a prick, isn't he?"

This was partly observation, but may also have been colored slightly by his suspicion about why Melody was bringing him up. He was a married man, from what Ben knew, with several children. What business did he have meeting with young debutantes? Or... not debutante, anymore, but Melody was still a young women all the same.

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   Acacia Darlington

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Her brows furrowed as she struggled to reconcile the easygoing man with Ben's depiction of a 'prick'. Arthur Pettigrew was a prick, but Ben had little issue associating with him. Hell, much unlike Mr. Binns Arthur had been to Azkaban! What moral ground did Ben, the noncommital playboy, have to stand on over someone as pleasant as Mr. Binns?

"Erm...no." Melody answered. "He's actually very kind. I'm not sure where you heard differently..." She placed her fork down and folded her hands in her lap as she awaited his response.

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   Julius Scrimgeour

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"I've met him," Ben responded. He was trying to keep a casual facade about this, but the truth was that he had plenty of suspicions about this meeting Melody was only telling him about after the fact (she had said met with, which implied it had been planned and not a chance run-in, but he knew she hadn't brought it up before). He also didn't entirely appreciate the insinuation that he was forming character opinions about people based on gossip. Did she think that he couldn't possibly have had occasion to talk to this bloke before, because he didn't come from the same high society life she did? (Not that Mr. Binns was particularly well-situated himself, whatever airs he might put on; he tried too hard, was the thing, and everyone both below and above him knew it). "He seemed like a prick, that's all."

Why was she telling him about this? Hopefully not because she'd invited him to dinner, or anything like that — they'd had their share of dinner parties, and Ben didn't feel like having to put on a happy face for someone who was, in essence, still a stranger. Though, in the grand scheme of things, dinner was perhaps one of the most innocent options. He was still leery about what sort of meeting could have occurred between two married people with a significant age gap (and what sort of meeting she would feel the need to bring up at the dinner table, but only a day later).

"What did you talk about?" he asked, surveying her over the rim of his water glass as he took a drink.

  

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While it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Ben had met Mr. Binns and formed such a negative opinion, it didn't fit any of what Melody knew of the bookshop owner. The man loved literature and cats, for fuck's sake! No person — male or female — who spent that much time hunched over novels could possibly be a prick. "Well, he's not." Melody said.

She wasn't sure how Ben would react to the next bit. Since returning to Scotland their discussions on financial matters had dwindled to a non-existent amount, though Melody didn't know how they could've improved dramatically. After all, they were living in this tiny house paid for by his brother. The minuscule amount she was to make in the bookshop could be treated as her allowance, to improve the house or buy a new dress as she saw fit.

"He offered to hire me at his shop." She said bluntly before taking a sip of her wine. "We were friendly before ... this. I used to frequent the bookstore often."

  

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Ben honestly could have kept arguing about this, even though he knew it was silly and pointless. He felt as though she was calling his judgement into question, though, and he wanted to defend himself. Then there was the entirely separate issue that she'd apparently been close to Mr. Binns before they'd eloped, which — why? Why would a much older, married man be cozying up to a wealthy debutante? There was simply no good motivation for it, and he felt even more justified in his judgement of the man as a cad if he'd been associating with Melody for any malicious purpose.

Then she mentioned that he wanted to hire her, which a horse of an entirely different color. Ben blinked, for a moment not even sure how to respond.

"He just... offered? Out of nowhere?" Ben asked suspiciously. "Or you asked?"

  

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"I asked." She answered bluntly with a shrug. "I can't sit around idly for the rest of my life, and it's not like it's a particularly challenging job." It wasn't as though Mr. Binns would have her unloading heavy shipments on her own, and if he did that was what magic was for, was it not? "Besides, it's not as though I'm receiving many Society invitations. What else am I to do?"

She knew Ben was likely was going to recoil and be livid with her for asking without talking to him ahout it first. Which was why she quickly added the next bit, "I haven't agreed to it yet. I said I had to talk to you before we formalized it."

  

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Well, wasn't that just peachy. Yet another thing Melody had seen fit to involve him in only after the fact. She'd come to talk to him before she formalized it, whatever that was supposed to mean. His hands were clearly tied here. She'd gone out of her way to ask for the job, so now if she didn't take it, it could only have been because he'd put his foot down and said no. Which would forever establish him as the controlling, brutish husband — the mistake that Melody Finch had made that would haunt her for the rest of her life, which was already what some people were saying.

She was doing this intentionally. She had to be. There was no way that she could have just kept cutting him out of the loop like this and not realized what she was doing. This wasn't a matter of not thinking; not every damn time.

"We don't need the money," he said with thinly veiled hostility. "If that's what you thought."

  

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In the grand scheme of things Melody wouldn't be making anywhere near enough money to be really contributing to their funds. Still, it was something she could do — something productive instead of drinking her days away. "It's just a book shop, Ben." She protested weakly. Melody couldn't envision a scenario in which she would do greater damage to them by working. Before she could further dig in her heels, she gently added, "what are your concerns?"

At least if things further devolved from here (and Melody was already expecting them to) she could say she tried, which was far than Ben could say. If he had his way she would continue to waste away until she no longer existed. Then all his troubles would be solved.

  

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What were his concerns? It wasn't, particularly, that Ben had concerns about Melody having a job. He wasn't one of those stuffy sorts who thought women couldn't or shouldn't work. Some of the most interesting women he knew were working women, and he'd certainly met all sorts during his travels and as a cursebreaker. If he thought she'd be getting this job because it was something she wanted to do, he wouldn't have protested. That was partly the idea behind giving her the damn potion in the first place, after all — she could use it to make her husband more malleable when it came to nontraditional ideas like that, allowing her more freedom and the ability to go and pursue a hobby or a career if it would make her happy.

This didn't feel like something she was doing in order to be happy, though; it felt like something she was trying to do in order to be slightly less miserable, and it didn't seem likely to work. She probably hated this house, and how much her quality of life had suffered through marrying him. She probably thought she ought to get a job, because she thought that was something appropriate for a woman of her new social stature; that the newly-minted Mrs. Crouch ought to work in order to pull her weight and contribute to the household. In the end, though, it would just be another thing that disappointed her. It would rub her the wrong way because she wasn't built for this — she was built for high society life, which she'd thrown away by marrying him.

"If you're doing this because you feel guilty or something, don't," he said shortly. "It'll just end up being something else to resent me for, and I think we've got a long enough list already."

  

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It seemed that no matter the subject Ben and she were destined to exist on two different planes. Their rationales weren't meant to mesh and make sense to the other because they were never meant to be together. The events of 1887 had been romanticized to the extent of delusions in her head and they never could've been happy. How was it that she — the supposed smart one of the pair — had been blind to the truths before her all along? The same truths Ben tried to explain time and time again since their reunion last summer? Melody dropped her gaze from him to the plate before her, her hands itching for the comfort of a wine glass. They would never be happy — she would never be happy.

What was she meant to do if not work, though? It wasn't as though she was welcomed in her social circles. None of her friends would acknowledge her now, and those who did either had to do so in secrecy or had even worst reputations than she. Melody was at a loss. What was worse, though, was Ben's determination to keep her there — to continue to ignore her presence and go about life as though he weren't a married man. The chivalry keeping him bound to her wouldn't last forever. Eventually &mdash: perhaps later than sooner — he would cease to accept the reality she subjected him to, and then what? What would become of her then? At least with a job she had some sort of fallback. Some sort of way to regain a semblance of control over her life.

Melody bit back the bitter retorts and the flash of anger poised on the tip of her tongue. A fight would get them nowhere. A fight would forcefully shove him towards his hopes of an affair. A fight would be another lengthy step towards unhappiness. "I need to do something other than exist alone in this house." She stated quietly, her eyes still locked on her plate. "I don't resent you for any of this, it wasn't your fault. If anything, you were trying to dissuade me all along. I simply need something to do other than the intense loneliness I've subjected myself to. If the book shop isn't suittable please tell me so and I'll seek out another avenue."

  

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Her answer didn't satisfy him, because he didn't really believe her. She could say she didn't resent him, and didn't blame him, but that was all easy to say. Most of the things she might resent were his fault, no matter how she rationalized it out loud. If he'd been just a little wealthier, they could have had a lifestyle she'd been used to. If he'd been more responsible, he might have already had a house somewhere and they wouldn't have been stuck in Irvingly. If he'd been more respectable, maybe her parents would have been more amenable to marriage and wouldn't have disowned her. And then, of course: if he'd loved her, he might have asked them and saved her the turmoil of the broken betrothal to the American cad.

But it wasn't as though he could just tell her that he thought she was lying. Maybe she didn't even know she was lying; that was part of this martyr thing she'd latched onto. Her forced penance for her sins, for whatever good she thought it would do.

"It's fine," he said shortly. "Do what you want."

  

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Melody stood abruptly from the table, her plate mostly untouched and walked from the table. If every effort she made to try to mend the fence between them was to be thwarted then there was little use in trying. Tomorrow she would write to Mr. Binns and explain how she was mistaken in applying for the position and beg his forgiveness. Tonight though, she was to enjoy her liquid dinner alone in her room.

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   Ophelia Devine

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