Ben hadn't known that she was interested in becoming an Animagus, and for a split-second the revelation surprised him. Then he reminded himself that he didn't know anything about her, not really; even the things he thought he'd known and liked about her before the marriage seemed false now, as though he'd just constructed them in his head based on what he wanted to see in her, not what was there. She could have told him she was a convicted murderer, at this point, and he would have no reason to disbelieve her. It wasn't as though they had ever really known each other the way he'd thought they had.

Her plan was a suicide attempt, in more ways than one. He wasn't sure from her explanation whether she really intended to try the Animagus transformation (which could very well be a form of suicide, particularly if she rushed it) or only pretend that she had, but her follow-up was so poorly thought out that it would kill her all the same. Leave and go somewhere, she said, but where? And what did she intend to do once she got there? Living in Paris in the conditions that they had been must have been uncomfortable for her, but it was nothing compared to what one could accomplish with no income and no reputation to fall back on. She'd be destitute on the street, and she'd starve — or she'd turn to prostitution, perhaps, in order to avoid starving. He couldn't condemn her to that, no matter what she did or what headache and heartache her actions caused him.

Ben let out another heavy sigh. "You keep talking about leaving like it's a valid option," he pointed out. She'd suggested something similar in the aftermath of their marriage, when she thought divorce was still a possibility. "You'll die on your own. And I don't — I'm not saying that to be mean," he clarified, shaking his head. "It's just a fact. You can't just ship yourself off somewhere with no plan and think you'll make it through."