So if you're alone just watching the sky
Losing your mind and you don't know why
And you wanna try going for one more ride
I could steer from the passenger side

April 3rd, 1890 — Crouch Home, Swallowbury

Ben and Melody had arrived the day before and spent the morning unpacking their belongings into their respective bedrooms. They didn't talk much; there wasn't much to say. The house was nice, Ben supposed. It would have met expectations if he'd ever had a reason to form expectations on what his eventual house might be like. As it was, he'd sort of been planning to live in Excalibur until they found out he was too old and kicked him out, and then switch to a rented room in another club — most likely the Magical Equity Club or Merlin's, just to avoid his brothers at Black's.

They were back just in time for Easter, which his employer was happy about as it meant he'd be on hand to help run the picnic in the park they'd started forming the plans for before this whole catastrophe and subsequent Paris trip had happened. Ben was rather dreading it, first because he wasn't sure if (as a newly minted Respectable Married Couple) he'd be expected to drag himself off to some sort of church service, and second because he assumed Melody would come to the picnic, to be a Supportive Loving Wife, and neither seemed very appealing. It was a relief, then, that Art was able to take time away from the World Cup tryout preparations to come and commiserate for a bit.

Except that when he got there, Ben didn't know what to say. Anything genuine was a bit too honest, and he didn't want to doom this relationship any more than it already was by airing his dirty laundry, so to speak, with his best friend. But lying didn't feel right, either, and given some of the letters he'd sent from Paris (particularly some of the less sober ones from immediately after the pregnancy revelation), he didn't know that Art would believe any of his lies, anyway.

"So," Ben said as he settled into a chair, after having offered a half-hearted tour of the house and made some ridiculous attempts at small talk. "This sucks."

Arthur Pettigrew

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   Melody Crouch

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Arthur didn't know what to say. Usually this would not stop him, but this situation seemed - delicate. He couldn't just speak stream-of-consciousness, because Ben was already married, and 'I hate your wife' was generally not a welcome statement. So he made the appropriate noises during the tour of the house, and was staunchly relieved when Ben brought it up first.

At least this gave him something to think about other than the Quidditch World Cup. People were expecting him to make the team and to do well - not just average - and he was, admittedly, worried. He was good at flying. He was good at Quidditch; it was the only thing he had ever been good at. But he was older than he had been a few years ago, and what if he wasn't good anymore?

So: Ben's problems were, at least, different.

"Yeah," Art said, settling into the chair across from Ben. "I won't pretend it doesn't."

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Being able to say it out loud as a relief, Ben found, even if he was still being vague about what exactly it was that sucked. Having Art agree with him instead of trying to cheer him or distract from the sentiment was also a relief. Cheering people up was one of those things friends were supposed to do, of course, but it would have just seemed superficial at the moment, and so he was glad that Art recognized that and didn't waste his energy trying. It wasn't as though there was anything, really, to be done.

"I don't know how she's handling it," he said, which seemed like a safe thing to choose to delve into. Safer, at least, than anything else he could be talking about. He was concerned about Melody, and this would be at least moderately in character with the loving-and-devoted-husband persona he was expecting to put on at all public events for the foreseeable future. "It's a lot of changes, obviously. And her whole family disowned her. So," he shrugged, then sighed, then eventually turned his attention to his drink. "That's my type, though, isn't it? Rich girls with crazy families."

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   Melody Crouch

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"That's your type," Arthur said with a sigh. He had told Ben this years ago, and more than once - his type was disaster rich girls with crazy families. Of course, Art had never anticipated that Ben would actually marry one of them, and certainly not that he would marry Melody fucking Finch.

"At least they didn't try to do anything - violent or whatever, I don't know," he said. There was a hopeful note to it. Ben wasn't in Canada, so that was good. Art took another sip of his drink. The thing was, he didn't know how to help Ben, because Ben was already married and therefore he could not do anything about it.

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"Yeah," Ben agreed wearily. "There is that. At least they're not the 'try to kill you, then end up in Azkaban and kill themselves' type of parents. They're more the 'use our connections to make your life a living hell' types. You know," he said sarcastically, "A la Canada."

He supposed Art did have a bit of a point, though. Between her parents and her fiancee, there had been several possible candidates for wealthy purebloods poised to go absolutely batshit insane. He very well could have ended up dead or maimed, or Melody could have. This, at least, was survivable. Most likely.

"Hey," he said, abruptly shifting the subject. "I need you to tell me what you know about preventing pregnancies."

Even without the context of what had happened in the past two months, Ben thought it probably went without saying that the last thing either of them needed at the moment was a baby. And while he hadn't been with Melody in that sense since their wedding night, he didn't really expect that to go on indefinitely.

Or maybe he did? He wasn't sure — he certainly had no immediate plans to proposition her with sex.

Well, at the very least, it would be keeping up appearances on the whole madly in love thing.

  

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Arthur didn't really like Melody, but he did know something about losing your family. He shifted in his seat, almost uncomfortable. Luckily, Ben changed the subject.

"Yeah," he said, as if this was the most normal subject change in the world. Frankly, it wasn't that unusual for Art. "I know a bit, I guess. But nothing is a better method than - not having sex."

"But it does work a lot of the time. I mean, we didn't have Gwen for over three years, so." He couldn't pretend there wasn't a risk, but the prophylactic was better than nothing, and it was definitely better than not having sex.

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"Oh, great bloody advice," Ben said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I'll just not have sex again for the rest of my damn life."

This might have been a bit too much to say out loud, even to Art, but Ben hadn't taken the time to think about it. There was a difference, after all, between not wanting to procreate right now and not wanting to ever deal with the headache of having to raise a child alongside someone you supposedly loved and trusted. Well, Art could read into it whatever he would; Ben trusted him not to go spreading it around, and it wasn't as though anyone could accuse Ben of being particularly paternal or responsible or anything anyway. That being said, not having sex for the rest of his life was not an option.

Not having sex with Melody might be, depending on how things leveled out (or if they ever did), but Ben knew better than to even hint at that possibility.

  

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Ben really didn't want to have kids right now, apparently - this could be a glass houses situation, but seeing as Melody wasn't employed, it felt different to Arthur.

Of course, he also didn't like Melody, so the longer Ben didn't have kids the better.

"Just thought I'd say it before you knock her up and it's my fault," Art said dryly. "Anyways, have you ever heard of a condom?"

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Ben frowned. "I've heard of it," he answered, trying to recall exactly what he'd heard about it. He'd been hoping Art's solution was something else — something quick and easy and maybe magical, like a weird seed one of them could eat with breakfast or a potion to mix with coffee, or something. The idea of putting a physical thing between him and his partner during sex seemed... well, unappealing, in a word. Not to mention the awkwardness of envisioning putting something around that particular part of his anatomy in the first place. It was like something out of a medieval torture chamber, not something he thought married men could really be dealing with on a regular basis.

"Is it... worth it?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, do you even feel anything?"

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"You still feel it," he said, "Just not as - intensely, I guess." He shifted in his seat. This conversation was getting closer to actualizing his penis, which was fine except that it was not how he'd anticipated his afternoon going. "It's worth it if you don't want a ton of babies you don't want, and it's still sex. And it's better than having to use one of those potions."

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   Freddie Prewett

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Art was right, he supposed; sex was sex, and having it was better than not having it. Probably. The next question was where to get one, which presumably Art would know the answer to — but Ben was distracted from asking it by his friend's reference to one of those potions. He knew, of course, exactly what kind of potion Art was talking about, or at least he thought he did. The idea that Art would have any knowledge of them, however, was so foreign that for a moment Ben wondered if he'd misheard.

"Yeah. Have you ever... used one?" he asked tentatively. This was not a question he had ever expected to ask, because it related to a space that was far too personal for him to really want to know about. If Art and Dez had ever had an aborted pregnancy, that was none of his business — but there was something appealing about knowing, too, because it would mean that Ben wasn't entirely alone in all of the shit that he was currently experiencing. He couldn't share the details of the elopement with Art, and he couldn't tell him what the dynamic between him and Melody was like at the moment, or why — but if they had this experience in common then maybe Ben could at least say that, and the idea of sharing something was appealing. He wasn't used to having secrets from Art, and he didn't like it.

  

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"No," Art said, "Well, not with Dez, and not that I know of." It was probably possible that he'd gotten someone else pregnant at some point, but if he had he didn't know about it, and didn't expect to ever find out. After all, it wasn't like he had any money for them to try to get from him.

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"Oh," Ben said, as the faint hope that he might actually be able to talk about one of the many things on his mind receded. He was ... almost disappointed, but obviously that wasn't the right word at all. He wouldn't have wished the conversation that he'd had with Melody, or all of the feelings that had followed it as he'd tried to drown them in whiskey, on anyone, much less his best friend. Still, it had been something to think, for a moment, that at least he hadn't been the only one in the world to have this shitty experience — and now that something was gone.

"Right," he said awkwardly, trying to reorient himself to the conversation they'd been having before this. He was doing it clumsily, though, and he wondered if Art knew what he wasn't saying here. Would it be better to just change the subject and move on, or would that only make it more obvious?

"So where do you get one?" he asked as he found his metaphorical footing once again. "A condom, I mean?"

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There was something about that Oh, right that carried a lot of weight, and Arthur wasn't sure what to do with it. Should he engage, or was it better to just - let things drop, and carry on? He didn't know which was the better option, and before he could think of anything to say, Ben had circled back to their original topic anyways.

Maybe it was better to let it lie, then.

"I think there's some stores in Knockturn that carry them sometimes," Arthur said, "But I've only ever gotten them through owl order. I can get you the address." It always seemed better to conduct one's dubiously-legal-definitely-frowned-upon activities that way.

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An owl order. He could handle that. "Yeah, perfect. Thanks," he said, turning his attention back to his drink. That would be one thing taken care of, then; now he had to just go see if Melody was keen to let him use it. Their relationship wasn't exactly steamy at the moment, but he hadn't entirely given up hope on that front. She'd decided to sleep with him in the bloody closet at that Valentine's Day party, after all, so presumably there was at least a baseline attraction. Whether they could set aside how much they occasionally disliked each other to get back to it was yet to be determined.

"Why'd you decide to get married?" he asked Art suddenly. He didn't think he'd ever come out and actually asked before, which was strange considering how long he and Dez had been together. Or was it? Maybe it wasn't the sort of thing you asked people. Maybe the answer just sort of went without saying, or should have.

  

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Art tilted his head to one side. "I love Dezzie," he said, "But, well, I'd been in love before." Desdemona had not really been his first by any definition of the word. He was struck by her; he had been infatuated by her; he often wanted nothing more than to make her laugh. But that wasn't really it, either.

"But Dez - she makes me want to be better."

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