December 19th, 1890 — Thom Pettigrew's Annual Quidditch Christmas Party
Reuben Crouch

Ever since the horrific events at the World Cup match, Melody's reluctant stance to quidditch had devolved into an absolute refusal to acknowledge the sport. Mrs. Turnbull died mere feet from them, there one second and gone the next. The sickening crunch of bones took months to bury in the deepest recesses of her mind, followed closely by the collective horrified gasps and screams of those in the box with her. Quidditch was a violent sport, one that only the foolish would partake in, and nothing was likely to convince her otherwise.

Not even her quidditch loving husband or a quidditch themed Christmas party.

Her attendance tonight was solely in an effort to spend more time with Ben in public. Their social invitations were still lacking nearly a year after their scandal took place, though that was to expected. The bitchy women of society had a memory like none other, it would be years before they were readily accepted back into the folds. And even then the hint of a whisper would never be too far. Such was the life she impulsively signed them both up for.

They became separated early in the evening. Ben, presumably, had gone off to chat with his quidditch friends or gamble (or both, though she hoped she didn't follow in Mr. Pettigrew's footsteps in that regard), and she was delighted to drink and reunite with her friends. By the time she thought to find him again she was pleasantly buzzed and eager to dance. "Hello again, Mr. Crouch," she greeted cheerfully. "I hope you've enjoyed your evening thus far?"

  

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It had been long enough since his elopement that Ben no longer felt awkward about being out in public by himself, but if he was honest being anywhere with Melody still felt a little exhausting. The last thing he wanted was to give someone an excuse to start up the rumor mill over the state of their marriage, now that things were finally starting to settle. If he wanted to project the message that they were still very much in love, but not in an obnoxious way, should he seek her out more often among the party guests? Less often? Should he try to introduce her to old friends or just leave her to mend her own social circles?

He was also pretty aware that his broom-racing friend — a fellow who, like him, was outside the Quidditch industry but well-connected enough to it to weasel his way into things like this— was absent tonight as he continued mourning his wife. Between that and the situation with the Pettigrews, Ben was feeling less and less inclined to put up his typical charade. People who actually wanted to be married were sitting at home grieving, but here were Ben and Melody Crouch. People who wanted children were spiraling off the rails after an unexpected loss, and... here they were at a party, Ben and Melody Crouch, acting as though they were just like anyone else and they could understand things like that. Acting as though they had every right to be here, having fun together — as though they had every right to be married — as though they were happy in spite of everything.

He'd been avoiding Melody, and basically every woman in attendance. That was decidedly out of character for him, but he didn't want to get himself into trouble with any of this mistletoe whizzing about. He had plenty of friends in attendance to distract him for a good chunk of the party, but eventually when he broke off to find another drink and instead came face-to-face with his wife.

"Oh, uh — yeah," he answered, a little surprised at her question even though it couldn't have been more predictable. "Always nice to have a chance to see old friends. You?"

  

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She quirked a brow at his response but gave no other indications that she suspected something to be amiss. Perhaps Ben had indulged in gambling and lost terribly or something of that sort. Whatever the case may be, she wasn't going to question him publicly about it, and certainly not when she was thus far enjoying the evening.

"Yes, I've quite missed Mrs. Abbott. Now that they've moved out to the country I see her less and less." The Abbott's were a handsome couple, and Melody was overjoyed for her friend to find such a successful match. "They only recently returned from their honeymoon, too, I believe, so perhaps we'll see more of one another in the new year."

  

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It took Ben a second to remember who Mrs. Abbott was, to be honest. He hadn't ever properly gotten to know the woman and the marriage (and subsequent name change) was fairly recent, so perhaps that was forgivable. On the other hand, perhaps if he was a better husband he would have made more of a concerted effort to meet and get to know Melody's friends. Mel had done her best with his family, the Pettigrews, and half a dozen other friends... including the Turnbulls, which had ended up traumatizing her.

Why hadn't they made a similar effort with her friends? For Ben's part he supposed that when she was disowned by her family she might have lost a good deal of her friends as well, but that didn't seem to be the case. At least not in cases where they'd been close before the elopement, anyway. She was probably too embarrassed to invite them to such a humble home in Irvingly. By right of birth she ought to have had a house like this one, and the ability to throw parties like this one with half the wizarding world invited. If she'd married that American bloke, she'd probably have a house this size on two continents. Instead, she was trying to figure out how to be polite to Ben's family while still complaining about how threadbare the rug in the front room was.

"Maybe we could invite them somewhere so you could see them more often," he suggested. "An outing somewhere."

It was a shame that he couldn't just put the resources of Jewell's Distillery at her fingers to satisfy the urge to host she was probably leaving unfulfilled. Hosting and attending parties was basically Ben's job, but Melody might have been just as well suited to it as he was. Of course, if she had a job it would appear to be a mark against the pair of them, whatever the reality of the situation was. One more reason for people to whisper, or for her friends not to want to be seen with her.

"Are you happy?" Ben asked abruptly.

  

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"An outing sounds lovely," she agreed. Melody knew upon reentering life in Britain that she would be leaving behind just about every luxury she had ever known. But, aside from the expansive libraries and furnishings that were plush and comforting to the touch, she didn't miss much of it. Not having to live up to her parents' standards was a relief. Not being expected to host grand events as the wife of a diplomat was an even greater relief. No, the only true thing Melody missed about her former life was the ease of which she saw her friends.

Ben's next question caught her entirely off guard. Her brows furrowed and she glanced up at him with a curious expression. What sort of question was that? And to ask it in such a public setting? "Did something happen?" She asked lowly, her pleasant buzz evaporating entirely. Melody had never felt more sober than she did in this moment.

See, her fears of his infidelity ceased shortly after the World Cup, back when they had that conversation and things felt more right between them than ever. Since then, her confidence in their marriage grew, as did her belief that they would one day be alright. Ben would never love her as she loved him, but as long as they continued to work together what did it matter? It wasn't as though the American would've loved her either. "Are you not happy?" She continued only a second later, her renewed insecurities bleeding through the question.

  

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Her response made him realize how inappropriate the question had been, both in general but particularly in the middle of a party. The size of the ballroom meant they weren't exactly brushing elbows with other partygoers as was often the case for parties in Bartonburg or London, but they could be overheard all the same.

"No, nothing happened. Sorry," he said, cheeks flushing slightly. He looked away and tucked a hand into his pocket, wondering how to recover the conversation now that he'd so abruptly turned it in a direction neither of them particularly wanted to go. He hadn't been thinking before he said it, but all the same found himself wondering what were you thinking?

As for the question of whether he was happy... "Sometimes," he said, still not looking directly at her. He wasn't overly unhappy, the way he'd been at the beginning of their marriage, but this was still nothing near the life he'd envisioned for himself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I was just thinking."

  

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A party as large and congested as this was the exact opposite of the proper setting for such a conversation. Melody bit her tongue to keep from pressing him further, the sharp tang of copper a needed distraction. Ben was unhappy, again. Or, more likely, he had never been happy to begin with. Melody couldn't stop the fall of her heart as she realized he had never reached the same contentment she thought they had achieved. They weren't perfect, far from it actually, but she thought for a short while there that they were finding their way.

Remaining in the ballroom was no longer an option. So, in a move that felt all too reminiscent of what first got them into this mess, she reached for his hand and pulled him through the crowd towards the terrace. Anyone looking their way would assume they were a newlywed couple seeking out the mistletoe, when really her plan to leave was only just forming.

The air was crisp, too cold for her to enjoy what she was about to suggest but, for him, Melody would try just about anything. "Forget this party. Take me to the last place you were happy and we'll go from there. A broom, a magic carpet, illegal portkey. I don't care how we get there. Just, let's go."

  

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He knew he shouldn't have said anything, but the way she reacted really drove home how inappropriate it had been. It wasn't just that this wasn't the time or place, though it wasn't. She wasn't the person to say something like that to. Melody was acting as though his casual unhappiness was an emergency to be addressed, something she needed to fix, which was silly. How did she expect to fix something that built on a cracked foundation? Of course she would want to try, though; she still saw this entire situation as her fault. Ben had long since moved past that sort of thinking. They'd both made some poor decisions that had led to the unfortunate elopement. Whether it was more his fault or more her fault, at the end of the day it simply was and it didn't much matter what had led to it.

He couldn't talk about this with Melody, because she would blame herself and end up hurt, which was what was happening now. He also couldn't talk about it with anyone else, because they'd be missing too much context to ever even begin to understand. This was just something he had to bottle up inside and try to manage on his own. He did alright, most of the time. He did a good job of fooling people into thinking he was happy — he'd even convinced Melody for a while, apparently.

"We can't just leave the party," he said with a shake of his head. "People would talk. And you've got other friends you want to see, don't you?" He let out a long breath into the cold night air. Now that they were out here they'd have to stay a minute, so that people assumed they were kissing. Then they could go back inside and dance a bit before going their separate ways, and maybe if Ben was lucky she'd forget he'd said anything by the time they got home.

  

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The smile on her face fell as his firm rejection sank in. This was what their lives would always be, wasn't it? Her foolishly suggesting ideas and him laughing her off. Really, Ben ought to have let her disappear a bloody year ago when they had the chance to part ways. Then, he might be happy. Then, he might not resent the life she had tied him to. "We'll never be past this, will we?" She asked in a near whisper, the question slipping out before she could think better of it.

Melody dropped his hand and took a small step back from him. "No, you're right we can't leave." She stated a second later. Whatever his answer was to her question, she didn't want it. Ben was still unhappy, still reluctant to accept this as his life, still viewing himself as the unlucky victim of her antics. Nothing he said now would fix the evening for her. Melody would follow him inside after a few minutes, rejoin her friends, dance with whomever asked. Meanwhile, all she would be able to focus on was how awful a person she was to believe he could be happy in a life she trapped him with.

"You go on in," Melody gestured towards the door from which they came with a false smile. "I need a minute."

  

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Ben heard her question, but didn't have an answer for it. The silence seemed like an answer in and of itself, and a dangerous one. This was as loud as the silence that followed after Melody had told him I love you.

If she hadn't been unhappy before, she certainly would be after tonight. Nice going, Reuben, he thought to himself. Melody would always trace any difficulties the two of them had back to herself, back to the original sin, as it were, but Ben knew he was just as much of an obstacle towards their happiness as she was. Even more, sometimes. She'd been having a nice night, and actually smiling instead of faking it, and then he'd come along and ruined things by bringing her mind back to those questions he couldn't answer and those things he couldn't respond to.

He almost went back inside when she told him to, not because he was fooled by that smile but because he just didn't know what else to say. He felt like everything he touched tonight would break, and by lingering he might do more harm than good. But he couldn't just leave her here to feel glum on the patio by herself.

"Listen, this — this isn't what I meant to say," he eventually said. "I mean, you're getting the wrong idea — I'm giving you the wrong idea," he continued awkwardly. "I'm not... I mean. I see that you're trying. I know this is hard for you, too, just — in different ways, I guess. And we've been doing pretty well, you know? I'm not — I'm not unhappy. I just... I feel so fake, sometimes," he admitted.

  

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"It's alright, Ben," she began in a futile effort to dissuade him from continuing to stand there and break her heart. But then, he kept trying to explain. He kept adding words until, lastly, landing on fake. Melody dropped her eyes to the stones between them, refusing to allow him to see the hurt she knew to be displayed there. She could withstand the hurt of knowing she would never be loved. She could survive the pain of realizing Ben would choose to be with anyone else given the opportunity.

She couldn't bear the sudden knowledge that this was all just ... pretend to him. That even in their good moments he was just an actor playing the part. That he didn't enjoy the few quiet moments together, or dancing with her at a party. It was just too much.

In reality, Ben's truthful statement was nothing she shouldn't have already known. Even in Paris Ben had enforced the idea that they had to be over the top in love when they returned home. That they had to sell the lie she trapped them into. Melody shouldn't have been surprised that he hadn't settled into the lie as easily as she, but she was nevertheless. A heavy sigh escaped her then. Once more, she was the creator of her own misery.

"It's alright," she stated again, this time weaker. "You never wanted this." He said as much in Paris. Melody was just stupid enough to believe he changed. "We have to sell the lie, right?"

  

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Ben sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn't sure if he was really conveying what he wanted to say. He shouldn't have brought up the word happy at all, he didn't think — but it was too late for that. This wasn't really about being happy, because most of the time he was happy. At least passably happy, anyway — close enough that selling the lie, as she put it, wasn't as uncomfortable now as it had been at the beginning of their marriage. The two of them could keep on like this indefinitely, there was no doubt, and someday soon they might even be happy together. But when he compared their relationship with another one, it was just... there was something missing from their marriage that he wasn't sure they'd ever be able to recreate. Seeing the way that Gregory Turnbull mourned his wife, or the way Art Pettigrew reacted to Desdemona's pregnancy loss really put in stark relief how different a relationship like that was from what they had. Melody had to see it, too, didn't she? She knew what the Pettigrews were going through. She'd seen how Mr. Lukeson had reacted to the death of her cousin.

But maybe it wasn't that different, for her. Maybe from Melody's perspective, their marriage did appear to have all the same components as those other ones, despite its rocky start. Perhaps when Ben had been faking it, he'd managed to convince her, too, and not just the outside world.

"It's not... it's not just selling it," he said, with some difficulty. "I don't even care about — I mean, I'm still doing that, of course, but that's not what I'm talking about here. It's more like..." Ben drifted off, trying to think of words for what he was trying to express. "Like there's something... I don't know. I don't know if I'm — it's something about me," he said eventually. "It's not even about us, necessarily. It's like — I think there's something about being a husband that I don't have. Like there's a piece of you that's set up to handle those kinds of feelings, and those responsibilities, and that — that providing and protecting business, and I don't have it. That's the part I'm faking," he said, with a shake of his head. He paused for a moment, letting those words linger in the air as though he needed to hear them aloud in order to determine if they were the right ones. Eventually, he added softly, "I do care about you. I always have. I'm not faking that."

  

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Melody felt entirely out of sorts. In one breath, she was facing the obvious heartbreak that was her marriage. And in the next, it was all she could do to provide him some level of comfort. Regardless of how he felt towards her, Melody had always, and likely would always, love him in some way or another. After everything she'd put him through, a small dash of what she hoped to be comfort was the least she could do.

"Ben, of course you have it." Melody began quietly but passionately. The thoughts she had to comfort him with were the sort that none around them ought to overhear. To this point, she stepped closer to him and stared into his brown eyes. "You protected me from my own impulsive decisions and the ultimate scandal of the circumstances of our wedding." A mistake, really. Even if she didn't often consider it such anymore. "You provided me a home, comfort whenever I've asked for it."

She paused then. The few circumstances of him denying her comfort were of her own fault, but they were impossible to forget after such a tumultuous evening. "Our marriage doesn't look the same as others, it never has, because we didn't begin the same as them." Ben had never had any intention of courting her, nor had he ever thought himself capable of loving her. But, there was nothing to be done there. Melody knew better than to ask or expect it of him again.

"If we were to face a tragedy like the ones we've witnessed this year, you would still be as fine a husband as the one you were when you did all you could to establish a life for us here. You're doing your best, let that be enough."

  

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Ben understood what she was trying to do, but was hesitant to accept her comforting words. Aldous had provided a house for the pair of them; Ben had simply kept up the payments on it when the lease had been handed over to him. And as for protecting her from the consequences of her actions — marriage to him was one of the consequences of her actions, and he hadn't protected her from that. The fall from grace, the whispers, being cut from certain social circles. The best thing to do after their impulsive night together would have been to have sent her back home and pretended it had never happened — or to not have done it in the first place. The absolute best thing to have done would have been to have not furnished her with an illegal potion in the first place, but Ben had not, historically, been very good at making sound decisions, and so here they were.

She was right, though. The only thing he could do was his best, and even if it would never been enough, it would have to do.

"Thanks, Mel," he said, straightening his shoulders and trying to shake off the mood that had settled on him tonight. "Should we dance?"

  

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"Yes, we should," Melody agreed despite a dance being what she wanted least at present. Any hopes she had of enjoying the evening were squashed under the weight of her mistakes like a bug. In another hour or so (sooner, if she could find an appropriate place to insert her farewells) Melody would leave with or without her husband. It wouldn't be the first or last time Ben find himself alone at such an event after marrying her. Perhaps he'd even find the one to make him happy.

Regardless of what he said to try and dissuade her otherwise, Melody understood what his slip had meant.

She stepped over to the side and waited for him to offer his arm without looking directly at him. Nothing she said would ever truly matter, it wouldn't change his perspective or make him care for her as she did him. No, they would eternally be stuck in this pattern of faking, and she would just have to learn to cope with it.

Merry bloody Christmas.

  

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