Ben wasn’t sure he’d had a fully fleshed out thought since he’d realized the date in the Great Hall. Everything was coming in snippets, fragments of memories and rushes of emotion and half-baked ideas. He didn’t remember the last conversation he’d had with Melody; something inconsequential. He’d thought about that yesterday, after he’d gotten the letter and heard she was dead (the letter that was nowhere to be found now, of course, because it hadn’t been sent yet). They’d talked over the Christmas holiday when he’d been out of school, but he couldn’t actually remember what the last conversation was. The letters they’d exchanged since then had been equally empty — or seemed so now, anyway, in light of what he knew was coming. So the first thing he’d done was head to the owlery, with the intention of sending her a letter that could be a proper goodbye… but then one of the students, seeing him go in, had asked “d’you think it’s safe for them to fly yet?” and that had stopped Ben in his tracks.
Diana’s owl had made it to him — or would make it to him, later today. It was safe to fly. And if the skies were clear for owls, then they would be clear for brooms. He could fly.
The hardest part of it, actually, was getting to the pitch in the first place. The snow was piled high and magic had no impact on it, so he had to stomp his way through it collecting water and weight with every step. Some of it had started to drift and he was able to find a crooked pathway where the snow was far less deep, but his trousers were still soaked through to the knee by the time he opened up broom storage. He took the time to magically dry them only because it would have been a death sentence to brave the air chill with wet clothes on a day like this. He had the sense that time was of the essence, even though he didn’t know precisely when it happened — but all of their time was limited now, wasn’t it? Whether he made it to the Abbott home with minutes to spare or hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough time. They were supposed to have the rest of their lives. Melody wasn’t even going to see sunset. He was wrestling with the same deep rift of guilt that had surfaced when Nora survived the dragon attack. He was so much more cognizant now of how limited time was, and subsequently how much of it he’d wasted. Wasted during the separation, wasted working at this school, wasted arguing with Melody. At one point in the past he would have thought he wouldn’t miss her if she’d gone, but he knew with the certainty of recent and painful experience that wasn’t true at all. He missed her terribly, and she technically wasn’t even gone yet.
So much wasted time that he couldn’t get back. Every time he thought of it he pushed his broom a little faster, as if he could make up for it, but he knew he couldn’t.
He’d spent the length of the flight wrestling with grief (and occasionally dodging suspicious weather formations) and none of it thinking through a cover story for why he was showing up at the Abbott’s home unannounced. It seemed so paltry, in the face of everything, to waste any of his mental energy on silly lies. So when he arrived at the door all he said was “Is my wife still here? Is she —?” Alive, alright, am I too late? he did not manage. He was shown in, and then there she was. Alive, alright, holding Nora on her hip, looking worried.
“Mel,” he choked out, reaching for her. “Melody.”
Diana’s owl had made it to him — or would make it to him, later today. It was safe to fly. And if the skies were clear for owls, then they would be clear for brooms. He could fly.
The hardest part of it, actually, was getting to the pitch in the first place. The snow was piled high and magic had no impact on it, so he had to stomp his way through it collecting water and weight with every step. Some of it had started to drift and he was able to find a crooked pathway where the snow was far less deep, but his trousers were still soaked through to the knee by the time he opened up broom storage. He took the time to magically dry them only because it would have been a death sentence to brave the air chill with wet clothes on a day like this. He had the sense that time was of the essence, even though he didn’t know precisely when it happened — but all of their time was limited now, wasn’t it? Whether he made it to the Abbott home with minutes to spare or hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough time. They were supposed to have the rest of their lives. Melody wasn’t even going to see sunset. He was wrestling with the same deep rift of guilt that had surfaced when Nora survived the dragon attack. He was so much more cognizant now of how limited time was, and subsequently how much of it he’d wasted. Wasted during the separation, wasted working at this school, wasted arguing with Melody. At one point in the past he would have thought he wouldn’t miss her if she’d gone, but he knew with the certainty of recent and painful experience that wasn’t true at all. He missed her terribly, and she technically wasn’t even gone yet.
So much wasted time that he couldn’t get back. Every time he thought of it he pushed his broom a little faster, as if he could make up for it, but he knew he couldn’t.
He’d spent the length of the flight wrestling with grief (and occasionally dodging suspicious weather formations) and none of it thinking through a cover story for why he was showing up at the Abbott’s home unannounced. It seemed so paltry, in the face of everything, to waste any of his mental energy on silly lies. So when he arrived at the door all he said was “Is my wife still here? Is she —?” Alive, alright, am I too late? he did not manage. He was shown in, and then there she was. Alive, alright, holding Nora on her hip, looking worried.
“Mel,” he choked out, reaching for her. “Melody.”
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MJ made this <3