January 5th, 1893 — Hogsmeade Market

It would have been easier to pretend her marriage wasn't falling apart had Elliott not picked up on the tension. He'd fully recovered from him bout of illness—which, according to the healer, was more indicative of an allergy than a common sickness—but he still hadn't been the same. Meals that had once been filled with conversation were now quiet, and any attempts made by Ari to converse had been shut down with a cold stare. After the New Year had rolled around Dionisia had become convinced she would allow her anger to pass sooner rather than later, but as the days went by she only found herself more and more annoyed to simply exist under the same roof as her husband.

Divorce had never been an option to Dionisia. Ari had been her shield before he'd become her husband and her friend; he was the person who kept her off the streets, who kept Elliott from being a bastard and her a harlot. Divorcing him would mean not only forfeiting her protection, but Elliott's, too—and that was without assuming that Ari would try to keep him. Dionisia had never thought him the type to be mean or vindictive, and deep in her heart she knew he wasn't that type of man, but it was too easy to tell herself that she couldn't possibly know what he was truly like after he'd gone and lied to her. So maybe divorce wasn't an option, but it was fun to think about. Why shouldn't she daydream of a life where she freed herself from the constraints of marriage, moved halfway across the globe parading as a widowed mother to seek out work and a life somewhere new? Had she been a dreamer rather than a realist, she might have thought it possible.

Instead she went about occupying herself with anything that would allow her out of the house. It was hard to forget about Ari when every familiar face addressed her with a polite Mrs. Fisk, but at least she could pretend to be enraptured by the latest imports when her mind wandered back to the dark corners she'd begun to find more difficult to avoid.

Dionisia reached down to pluck a pear out of one of the baskets, wanting something to do with her hands more than she wanted the fruit. She rubbed her finger along the smooth skin of it, her thoughts wandering away from her as she focused on the texture. Then there was a noise to her left, and the pear fell from her hands and begun rolling across the bricked sidewalk and away from the table. Letting out a noise that sounded like a growl as much as an annoyed huff, Dionisia followed it, walked around a table, and bent to pick it up, only for a shoe to step in front of her and nearly kick the bruised fruit across the brick once again.

She looked up, unsure whether she was prepared to excuse herself or excuse them, but then she recognized the face.

"Mr. Crouch," she greeted, her voice rising an octave in surprise.

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It had been five days since Melody had told him where she went when she left the party. Even as Ben went through the motions of normal life, he seemed to always have that conversation in the back of his mind as an anchor. It's been two days; she hasn't said anything else about Beckett Longbottom yet. It's been three days; no one brought it up at work. It's been four days; is this enough of a window to make a decision that doesn't feel rash? It had been five days, and he still wasn't sure of the answer to that last question. He thought he knew what his decision was, but he wasn't going to pull the trigger on anything or commit to a course of action until he could be confident that he'd really taken the time to think it through from every angle. So far he hadn't landed on anything after his conversation with his sister that would have changed his mind, but he knew — much like Melody's liaison with Beckett Longbottom — that once he acted he wouldn't be able to take anything back. He had to be sure.

He was distracted as he walked through Hogsmeade, moving between the Broomsticks and the Hog's Head for routine order placements and price negotiations. He had been distracted for days. He'd been looking down already, which was the only reason he noticed the pear that rolled in front of his foot before kicking it halfway down the block as he continued. Ben hesitated and dropped his foot down nearby instead of where he'd intended it, then saw the woman who had bent to retrieve it. They recognized each other at the same time. Ben's cheeks flushed slightly without his realizing it. "Mrs. Fisk," he returned, mirroring her greeting in formality. "Sorry — here, let me," he continued, bending to pick the pear up even though she was already closer and better positioned to do so.

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Dionisia flinched at the use of her married name. She straightened back up, allowing him to retrieve the pear, grateful that his chivalry prevented him from seeing her blatantly bothered expression. She smoothed her hands against her skirt, trying to wipe away her discomfort like it was dirt. She plastered a smile on her face once he straightened up and held out her hand, palm up, to take the pear from him.

"No need to worry. I think it was ruined the moment it hit the brick." Her nose wrinkled as she looked at the fruit, bruised and coated in a thin layer of crushed rock and dirt. Much like her pride, really. It was a terrible metaphor, but it spoke to how unlike herself she was feeling that week. Her gaze unconsciously scanned in, taking in all of what had changed and what had stayed the same. He wasn't much different, really, but he felt terribly out of place—not in the crowd, but in the moment. She hated to admit it, but it must have been weeks since he'd crossed her mind, months since she'd heard his name spoken aloud. He'd been having a rough time the last time they spoke; she could only assume his life had since gotten better, unlike hers.

"It's good to see you," she offered, finding the words easier than she'd expected—and truer, too. "It's been too long."

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Every time he saw Dionisia she said something akin to it's been too long, and every time it caused a pang of guilt. He had been busy, he thought, and had too many other things going on — but then he wondered if that was really true, or if the divide was more of a fundamental one than that. Did Dionisia simply want him to be more involved than he had ever been, even at the beginning? Ben had always had his reservations about seeing Elliott. It always felt selfish, like something he was doing only for his benefit that could at best help no one else, and was quite likely to backfire splendidly at some point. He wondered if she thought of it the same way — something selfish that she was doing for her own peace of mind — or if she thought Elliott really gained anything from his time spent interacting with Ben. Neither really seemed right to him. He didn't think Elliott was old enough to remember much of their occasional meetings, and since he already had a loving and involved father there wasn't a gap in his life that needed Ben to step in and fill it. On the other hand, if it was selfish, what did Dionisia gain from it?

"Good to see you, too," he said, and decided not to touch the other half. "Did you enjoy your holidays?"

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Pleasantries were easy enough to exchange, even when in a foul mood. She'd been taught how to do it without having to think about it, and now that she was married, it was expected of her. Still, she hadn't expected him to hit exactly where it hurt from the get-go. It was a simple enough question, and one that she'd already had to answer to other people, but it still caught her off guard every single time.

She was smiling when she opened her mouth to answer, but when the words never came, the smile faded off her face. She glanced away from his face for a beat, trying to will a smile back on her lips, but it hardly looked genuine by the time she looked back up at him. "Holidays are always eventful enough, aren't they not?"

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The look spoke volumes. Ben's brow furrowed with concern. He wasn't sure it was his place to ask, but there was clearly something there that someone ought to ask about. Should he ask? Were they friends? This was a relationship that was hard to define; not anything covered in etiquette class back at Hogwarts. At any rate, though, it seemed unlikely that she wanted to discuss it here at the market, and there wasn't any place more private that he could invite her to continue the conversation. They didn't have any excuse for their acquaintance, so it might have gotten them into a spot of trouble to just be seen walking together, much less going anywhere even remotely private. On the other hand (a part of him thought rather darkly), it couldn't possibly do any more damage to walk somewhere with Dionisia during the middle of the morning than Melody had already done leaving a party arm in arm with Beckett Longbottom.

"Eventful, yeah," he echoed, because although his Christmas had been fine and peaceable the events of New Year's Eve had by now entirely overshadowed it in his mind, which left him wanting to make the same face that she just had. "It's... going to be an interesting year."

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There was a deeper meaning to his words that she wasn't privy to, but she knew it wasn't her place to ask directly. Even as she told herself this her head tilted slightly, a single brow arching in a question that her lips wouldn't utter. "I would have to agree."

The year had already been eventful enough and Dionisia hadn't even allowed Ari a chance to speak about that night in private. She'd shifted her routine, even to the point of discomfort, to ensure Ari was not a part of it. She didn't think anything would change if they spoke. If anything he might anger her further by trying to justify his lies, or worse—he'd anger her by validating her feelings to the point where she felt guilty holding onto her anger. She wanted to feel angry. She wanted to feel hurt. She'd never felt allowed to feel anything but grateful towards him, and she was going to milk it for as long as she could. As long as she could without it hurting Elliott.

She looked down at the produce in her basket, and then back at Ben, her bottom lip pinned between her teeth. It was likely imprudent to ask him, but it was probably wise to. "You don't happen to have any... allergies, do you?"

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He caught the question in the arch of her brow and had to chew over how he could possibly answer it. There was too much to be put into any slender response, and even if he could it wouldn't have been prudent to share with someone like her, or in a place like this. He'd probably already been too free with the details, even in just sharing Beckett Longbottom's name with his sister. If he'd really had any hopes of making things work between him and Melody, he should have kept that secret as close to his chest as he had the secret about the night they eloped. And yet — there was a wild, desperate part of him that wanted to just tell her, to just tell anyone. My wife snuck out of a party to sleep with Beckett Longbottom, so — I'll have to figure out what to do about that. Any suggestions?

Before he could come up with any appropriate response, she had asked him a different question, this time verbally. It was Ben's turn to raise an eyebrow, because he didn't quite follow what this had to do with anything. "Not that I know of, no."

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Her sour mood temporarily forgotten, her mind turned back to Elliott. She’d been careful with her shopping that day and every day since that night. The healer had not clarified what could have caused such a reaction, and Dionisia was not familiar enough with allergies beyond the kind that made people simply quit breathing.

“Oh,” she said, almost disappointedly. Dionisia had no allergies either, and one part of the healers spiel had left her hopeful that maybe there was an answer to be found. She gave Ben a sheepish look.

“There was an incident with Elliott a little over a week ago. He was very ill, very suddenly. The healer suspected allergies and said he’d seen cases where they are—” She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. “—hereditary.” She straightened up, averting her gaze again to her basket.

“I don’t mean to pry, of course. I just want him to be well,” she explained, knowing he knew how she felt. He had a daughter, too—one she knew very little about, but one who was likely well-loved considering how good with children Ben was.

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The furrow of confusion on his brow deepened to one of concern as she explained why she'd asked. Ill could have meant anything, but the way she'd said it had him suspecting that whatever had happened to Elliott had been terrifying for her as a parent.

"Is he better now?" he asked, because she hadn't exactly specified... though he imagined if Elliott were bedridden she might have sent someone else out to buy peaches at the market. In any case, his concern for Elliott's wellbeing was so intense that for a moment he almost didn't register how risky it was for her to have said something like that in such a public place. She'd lowered her voice, and no one had been close enough to hear more than a few words of their conversation anyway before they moved past, but still — as a general rule, they didn't really even talk in public, much less talk about Elliott.

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Dionisa gave a shrug, because as much as she wanted to flash him a smile and say oh yes, it wasn’t that awful, it would be both a massive understatement and a lie. “For two nights he was vomiting and feverish and swollen in the face and neck. He slept through much of it,” she explained, being sure to add the last part for comfort. In truth even Dio, with years of mediwitch training, had never seen a child in such a state.

“He’s doing better at the moment, but we never figured out what caused it to begin with.” They still hadn’t, but that was why Dionisia had been ensuring his meals were kept simple and all of his surroundings familiar and tested. Not that Ben had asked the details.

“I don’t mean to force your involvement. I apologize. I know you have…” A family. A wife. Any variant could fit.

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Ben frowned. A single question was hardly forcing his involvement, but the truth was that he did feel involved now. He could not have heard that Elliott had been sick without asking for details, and could not have failed to be concerned with what he heard. If he'd had anything useful to offer her he would have, but the only thing that came to mind when he tried to think of allergies was Desdemona can't eat strawberries, and obviously hereditary did not extend to the wives of Ben's friends. Had either of his parents been allergic to anything? They could have been, because it wasn't as though Ben would have known or cared why any particular ingredient was excluded from the household's regular menus, and it wasn't as though he could ask them now.

"Yes," he acknowledged, because he did have a family to consider and it was, in some ways, a breach of their unspoken agreement to be bringing anything like this up in a relatively public place. "But," he said, and hesitated. But he would have wanted to know if anything had been seriously the matter with Elliott; but he would have wanted to do anything he could to help, if there had been anything; but he wasn't sure how much he cared about preserving the illusion that his family life was happy anymore, anyway. None of which he could have said here.

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Dionisia frowned, too. She was not silly enough to assume his meaning, although she would have guessed that he was implying that this was a serious enough problem to warrant the conversation. She’d thought so, too; even if she hadn’t asked, she likely would have written a letter later, all while beating herself up over the prospect of crossing his boundaries.

“It’s a lot to handle,” she admitted softly, “I don’t even know who to talk to about it.” The Fisks were kind, but the only time the topic Elliott’s illness had come up around them had led to conversation about how Ari had been as a child, and that wasn’t relevant.

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Ben frowned faintly. He understood the feeling of wanting someone to confide in, and feeling like there wasn't anyone. He was a relatively popular person, and well connected, but even so there had always been things he didn't think he could talk to Art or Aldous or someone else about. She didn't have family, he thought he recalled, so the problem must have been compounded for her. Ben's siblings may not have seen eye to eye with him on a lot of things, but when he needed them they had always been there for him, no matter what the circumstances. He couldn't imagine trying to weather any of these latest developments without the lot of them.

You can always talk to me, he thought to say, but the truth was they had already reached the bounds of what could be casually mistaken for a quick greeting and exchange of pleasantries in the market. They couldn't talk much longer without making it obvious that they were having a real conversation, which would then beg the question of what the two of them had to talk about, and how they knew each other in the first place.

"Are you done with your shopping?" he asked, with a gesture towards the stall. "I was just passing through." He wasn't sure whether he was suggesting they move the conversation somewhere else or that they part ways.

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Dionisia was not sure how to take the sudden end to the conversation, but sudden pang in her chest suggested she was, at the very least, taken aback by it. She glanced over her shoulder, now all too conscious of how long they’d been standing together in the moving crowd of shoppers. Her cheeks were tinged with pink when she look back towards him.

“Oh—um—yes,” she muttered bringing her basket in front of her, both hands clasped over the handle. “I mustn’t be late to the Apothecary, anyways. It was good to see you.”

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The way that she responded took the decision right out of his hands: their conversation was apparently over, not progressing somewhere else. That was probably for the best, but he couldn't help once again feeling guilty at the expression on her face or her tone.

"I, uhm — yeah," he fumbled. "You, too. I, uh — let's not — let's talk again soon," he said. "Especially if — keep me posted about Elliott. And, I mean —" What, exactly, did he mean? "— we could — talk about other things, too," he concluded; his cheeks flushed slightly at what a mess he'd made of that entire communication.

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