UNFORTUNATE SON

benjy ben fenwick || 41 || order

[ben-fenwick]

cxradoc‌:

His chuckle makes her smile –– it’s a tiny, pleased thing, she hides by ducking her head. There are very few people these days that can pull a genuine smile out of her, the kind that blossoms on her face against her will and before she can think better of them. She plagues herself with trying to summon them for other people, for Molly and Arthur and the children. Ben inspires them quietly, every now and then, during these quiet hours together when the rest of the world is tucked away safely in bed. “I considered getting someone to obliviate me to get rid of it, but I’m not certain it would work.” And she’d really hate to forget any part of him, even the gross smelling parts. 

She can see the relief in him when she holds herself back, leans her elbows on her knees and looks down at the heavy red carpeting in the room. Its still scary, she’s still terrified, but she finds a shovel and buries it somewhere deep inside herself for the time being. “She’d be in good company, If he did.” She allows, showing the protectiveness she echos back at him in waves. She’d do a great many things to keep him safe, and it claws at her that he’s going somewhere out of her reach. Caradoc is glad, though, that he’ll be with someone he trusts. 

A small shrug moves over her shoulders, her thoughts dwelling too long on Potter. She’s glad that she can talk about this with someone other than Potter, she’s glad she told him what she found and what was given. “I brought it to him, but he didn’t seem to know what it was or who could have sent it.” She was worried that they’d never figure it out, this part of their mystery, this part of the story. “I don’t know, maybe it was just all a ploy to keep us busy, but… it feels important.” A glance back up at him, a sheepish smile. She’s been obsessing over this a little too much, the thing that plagues her at night most of the time. “Best we can do is play Nancy Drew for a while.” A teasing lilt to her voice, as she carries on. “Its not hunting death eaters through the wilderness, but it’s something.” 

“So you still have it then?” he asks, looking up towards her. He’d silently been hoping she would have dispensed the ring with Potter, like the note on the package had seemingly intended. There was a certain energy about the thing, one he couldn’t quite describe, but it made him uneasy whenever she pulled it out in front of him. Whatever it was, and whatever its purpose, it held a power in it like one he’d never encountered before. 

“No,” he shook his head in response, “I think it’s definitely important. Whoever sent it made damn well sure it got taken over- and in your hands specifically for whatever reason.” She was the other important piece here, so important whoever it was that gave her that coat and ring made sure she’d have a guide on her way over the border. He was simply the additional collateral to make sure the plan succeeded. 

Her smile, shy and slightly embarrassed, as if she wasn’t sure if it was okay to give, pulls him out of his more troubling thoughts. “Trust me, I’d much rather be solving the mystery of the ring in the coat pocket, than try to sniff for clues in the woods with a damn stag for help,” he replies with a soft chuckle, poking light at Potter’s animagus form. 

[ben-fenwick]

prcng-s‌:

He didn’t like the idea that the Death Eaters might commonly do anything, cross anywhere, whether right here or anywhere else. He didn’t like the idea that the Death Eaters had done anything they hadn’t expected. After all, what was the point of spies if not to keep them one step ahead of whatever Riddle had planned? 

     ‘That’s a good idea,’ he agreed, half-heartedly. It was a good idea, even if they didn’t really have the manpower for anything more in the way of regular patrols these days. The Order had lost a lot more people than anyone wanted to admit when Remus had started recruiting for the Insurgency, and James didn’t think that was going to stop anytime soon. Even with Ben back, now– and maybe Caradoc? though it was hard to tell where her loyalties would eventually fall– they were outnumbered by the tasks that needed accomplishing, the problems that needed solving. 

Had they been naive, all this time, to assume that the Death Eaters would just stay where they were? Too content in Dumbledore’s assurances that they didn’t need to worry about Scotland being invaded or attacked? Or had Dumbledore’s death just made the Death Eaters grow, finally, bolder? 

     ‘Where do you think they were coming from?’

He shrugged his shoulders in response, unsure if the idea was even doable. The Order’s numbers weren’t anything like they were when he left, so he was still uncertain just how many they could even afford giving up to such a watch. The Insurgency may have wanted to end the war, but picking apart the Order to do so left the original group far more inept to handle the problems it once had. 

“Could be searchin’ for me and Dearborn,” he replied, the thought making his stomach churn. The timing made sense though, and he was certain Riddle wouldn’t simply let the two of them go without sending any kind of search party out looking for them. Letting out a sigh, he finally looked up to where the magical barrier stood only a few meters away from them. 

“Whoever it was, they had to be under Riddle’s direction. If they really were Death Eaters their marks would have alerted him the moment they crossed over.” Looking over to the barrier he knew what they had to do, it was the next logical step in their search if they wanted to find anything of note. Knowing though did nothing to calm the fear that was currently coursing through him. 

“We should cross over,” he added, fists clenching as he did so, “See if there’s any clues they left on the other side.” 

[lindamarieanson]

[ben-fenwick]

cxradoc‌:

The bedroom had character. That’s what Caradoc had thought when she first entered it. It was clean and tidy, but there were enough odd things lying around to occupy her mind when she needed it. Feathers, books, what looked like a dragon’s tooth –– or at least a good copy of one. She liked to look at it all from her current location, tucked up against the fluffy pillows of the bed, one knee curled up toward her chest. She liked to look at Ben look at it all, as well. He sits there near the desk and runs the feather through his fingers, and she wonders at how gently he can handle some things. Like back in the woods when he’d helped her up, a hand on her shoulder, on her hip. 

A soft sound escapes her, a huff. She looks away before he can catch her contemplating him too deeply, before his attention fully leaves the feather. She still wasn’t sleeping much, not nearly as much as she should have been. A vial of dreamless sleep should have been a solution, but prolonged use would do nothing but hurt her more, and she hated the idea of how deep it might send her. If something happened in the night, she’d like to wake up and take notice of it. A deep sleep was a hard thing to achieve, and the dreams haunt her when her eyes are open in the dark. The bed, too, was so soft. She thought she’d have appreciated it, but she was so used to the cold stone floor of the dungeon, or the brittle ground of the woods. She didn’t know what to do with this comfort. After a slightly prolonged moment of silence Caradoc gives a small shake of her head. “Dunno, kind of hard to think so when I’m not surrounded by the smell of wet bear.” And after another beat, a more honest answer. “I dream of it a lot, I guess. When I’m asleep.” 

Watching again as he moves to set the feather down, her heart stops in her chest for a moment. The fear comes too easily, still. She stops herself just short of blurting out: but you can’t. She stops herself just short of blurting out: but it’s too dangerous. She stops herself just short of blurting out: let me come with you. She moves, slow, putting both feet down on to the ground. They’re cold, she’s a little cold in the autumn air, even inside the warmth of the room. She doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want him to know how pathetically frantic she feels about the idea. She draws in a steady breath. “Potter?” She asks, after she gathers the strength. “Let the punk know there’ll be hell to pay if he doesn’t bring you back in one piece.” 

He manages a short chuckle at his own expense at her comment. The English wilderness at night was a cold place, even with the proper attire, and so as a means to make sure neither caught hypothermia he’d taken on the form of his furrier alter ego during the short bursts they allowed themselves to rest. “Well, nothin’ quite burns the nostrils like wet bear,” he shook his head, a faint smile turning up at the corner of his lip “so I’m sure it’ll be seared in your head for a while.” He doesn’t tell her that he’d oddly been missing those nights lately. Rest had come easily to him then, when his fur covered him like a heavy blanket, and her tucked into side. Somehow things were simpler then, when all they had to worry about was surviving. Surviving was difficult, but living, seemed an even harder feat. 

He kept those thoughts to himself though, especially as the conversation changed to that of his return to the place they’d both struggled so greatly to get away from. He could see the fear flash quickly over features as she takes in his words. He worries she’ll beg him to stay, because he knows that if she does he won’t be able to turn her down. Going back to work meant a lot to him, a first step in claiming the life he’d lost, but his urge to shield her from any further distress was stronger. 

He lets out a small breath of air he’d been holding once she replies, not with a plea, but rather a soft threat against his partner instead. He chuckles again, for the second time that night, before shaking his head. “Eh, you don’t gotta worry about Potter,” he replies, “I’ve been goin’ on missions with him since he was still just a wet-eared trainee, and he hasn’t gotten me killed yet. He’s just as afraid of his wife kicking his own arse should he screw up.” 

It’s then, as his thoughts turn back to Potter when he remembers Caradoc’s own connection to the wix. The small package, tucked within the pocket of the coat she’d been given, had been yet another mystery added to the dozens of others that came with their escape. “Have you talked to him yet?” he asks, looking over to where she sat, “about the... the thing the elf left for you?” 

[marleneonfire]

ben-fenwick‌:

He wanted to argue, to tell them how foolish it all sounded. If their hope had been to unite the groups then why even bother making two separate groups at all? Change was needed, this war had dragged on for far too long, his body was a testament to that. He did think the Insurgency would create some change in the tide of war, but not in the direction Marlene and so many others had been hoping. He very nearly did tell them all of that, in an attempt to sway their opinion, or at least to give them pause before they ingrained themself any further into the other group. But then they spoke again, their words slicing through him more deftly than any blade the Death Eaters held, as they confessed what had pushed them down that road in the first place. 

He could feel the bile begin to swiftly rise up his chest as they looked back at him, eyes full of grief for the family they hadn’t known was already lost if the Death Eaters were as efficient as he thought they were. Ducking over to the side of the bed, he quickly slid out the bed pan that sat underneath it and hurled. It was his damn fault, and of course it was. If he’d stayed he could have kept them going, ensured them their family was still safe, and would be telling them the truth in doing so, knowing the secret of their family’s location was locked in the steel trap he once thought his mind. 

Shoulders shaking as one hand grasped the bed frame, while the other held the pan in place, he remained hunched over, vomiting another two times until his stomach had no more to offer up. He knew he was going to have to tell them, before the lie grew any bigger and before they risked their life looking for people who were already months gone. And he would tell them, he promised himself, the question though was when. 

Pulling a cloth from the bedside table, he wiped his mouth and beard clean before turning back to face them. “Sorry about that” he replied, wishing he had the guts yet to tell just what he was really sorry for. Instead he hid behind the excuse of his condition, figuring Marlene would immediately think so anyway. “Do ya wanna uh… just talk later?” he asked, eyes darting from cloth in his hands to their eyes then back again, “I’m supposed to be outta here in another day, so we can meet up afterwards.” It was the cowardly move, but the only one he could get himself to make in the heat of the moment. 

They could see the disapproval clear over his face. It had become something of a skill, however niche, to spot when someone didn’t like what they were doing, what the Insurgency was doing, that it even existed. Normally, Marlene didn’t much care. Difference of opinions, difference of minds; they would do what they had to in this war. But it wasn’t the same, with Ben. They didn’t want him to be mad at them for this. They didn’t want him to disapprove.

But then, a moment later, the look was gone and replaced with someone else, something she couldn’t read. It turned out to be physical rather than emotional though and Marlene winced as Ben emptied his stomach. “Oh no,” they muttered, shaking their head. Guilt swallowed up any space in their chest – they should have waiting. They shouldn’t have tried to talk to him like this, about this, while he was still in a hospital bed, for Merlin’s sake.

Leaning forward, they put a gentle hand to his back, rubbing there soothingly as he continued to vomit. “I’m sorry, Ben,” they whispered, unsure if he could even hear them. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything, all right?” They cast about – Madame Pomfrey had stepped away – and found a glass of water at the bedside. Once he was finished, wiping his mouth, they offered the water to them. “Here. I can get Madame Pomfrey for you?”

Marlene knew a dismissal when they heard one and they tried not to take it personally. After all, the man had just thrown up all contents of his stomach. “Of course. Yeah, of course. I’ll see if I can find Pomfrey on my way out, though. And, you know, no rush. Whenever you’re feeling up to it.” As gently as they could, Marlene leaned over and brush a kiss to his weathered cheek. “I’ll see you later, Benjy,” she said, before slipping out.

[ben-fenwick]

xenoslovegood‌:

There was suspicion in his eyes, but that was no different from anyone who knew them, even, at this point, and was thus never a true deterrent to them. In fact, this was perhaps for the best in this situation, since it seemed he also was unaware of who they were. Better that he had no impression, had heard nothing about them, or what the crueler amongst their community liked to think happened to their partner. Giving someone already primed for suspicion, with very good reason, considering what they had heard he had come from, even more reason not to be honest with them was the least helpful thing they could do if they wanted a chance at insight.

They were in their element, though, even if the location itself was out of the ordinary for them. Having a question that wanted for an answer was when they thrived. All the better if the question seemed to have no answer at all. And this was one that seemed to hold no obvious logic. They were convinced, yes, that the answer lied with their search for the diadem again, but why was she connected, when she herself even seemed confused. Sometimes others knew more of a person than they could themself. And so, the man sitting here was a good starting point, as he seemed to be the only one with any connection to Caradoc.

Perhaps to some people, his words would seem like a reason to leave, or a reason to rush anxiously through, but for them, it was merely invitation to forget any attempt––which likely would’ve failed anyway––at pleasantries, and dive directly into things.

“Easy enough. I’m Xenophilius Lovgood, although I’m not egotistical enough to think that name might be anything but nonsense to you, considering our very different histories,” they nodded, gesturing vaguely with a hand. Only fair, that he could have their name, too, even if they didn’t think it mattered. “You came across the border with Caradoc Dearborn, you were in the hospital wing up at the castle together, now you’re both staying with the Weasleys. Do you know much about her?”

The wix was right, their name gave him no further insight into just who exactly they were. It was enough of a mouthful that it would have clearly stuck out in his memory should he have heard it before, no matter the circumstance. This fact should have eased his mind, and a year ago it likely would have. Now though, he was all too aware that the biggest of threats weren’t the ones you knew of, but rather the ones that lurked hidden in the shadows. 

It didn’t surprise him how much they seemed to know about him and Caradoc, news like two escapees crossing the border was sure to spread like wildfire among the various social circles in Scotland. What had gave him pause though was the question that followed, a question he wasn’t entirely sure the meaning behind. Had this wix come to reveal some kind of dark secret of Caradoc’s? To make him question himself on how well he truly did know the witch his fate had been entangled with? Or rather, were they themself looking to find some insight on her? Either way, Ben felt his defenses draw up. He’d delivered on his promise in escorting her safely across the border, but the bond they formed through their shared ordeal made him still protective of her. 

“I know enough,” he replied flatly, not wanting to take the bait if that was indeed the question’s purpose. Looking over to the wix, he gave them a quick once over, before casting his gaze back out towards the rest of the pub, taking another long drink of his beer as he did. “You seem to know an awful lot though, there a reason?” 

A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind as he waited for the wix’s response, ranging from they were an old school friend, simply curious as to her well-being, to ones far more sinister. None though quite explained why they’d have come to him, rather than Caradoc herself. 

[ben-fenwick]

cxradoc‌:

The confirmation of her theory doesn’t do much to sooth, but it doesn’t hurt either. The two of them are dead things, in one way or another. If they die here today, it won’t make much of a difference to anyone who might be missing them back home. Dead months ago, or dead now, there really isn’t any difference. She still feels abandoned though. She still feels like her little boat has been left to drift in the fast ocean of pain. Her voice is a quiet thing, a whisper that barely carries on the air. She almost hopes he doesn’t hear. “I’m excited to be alive again.” Only half true. The idea of it is nice, the reality may be challenging. 

Caradoc feels embarrassed, distantly, for her stumble. She knows that he won’t have missed it. Part of her is scared he’ll think she’s weak. A weak little girl, slowing him down, can’t even walk straight for too long. She shakes it off, the negativity, and keeps keen eyes on him as he moves. Something in him seems to melt, and she notices a moment later the little marker of animal bones. A smart little trick, and he looks at it like a saving grace. It must mean that they’re on the right path, that they’re going the right way, that they might survive until the morning. 

She jumps, at the sound of a branch snapping. Her breath catches in her chest. They’re going to die out here after all, she thinks. Their game is coming to an end too soon, the chase she wanted to believe wasn’t happening is real. It must be a death eater, must be someone come to catch them or kill them. She shakes, but she holds herself up, and moves when he whispers to her. Training is a wondrous thing, and she pushes past any pain or doubt to move as quietly as she can in the direction he gestured. The fallen tree offers some coverage, a hiding place where they might, might, remain hidden from whatever or whoever is crossing their paths. 

There’s nothing she can do but hide, and she hates it. She’s a fighter –– a master in a duel, scrappy and unpredictable. Too dependant on a wand. Too wounded to put any physical might into a fight. Maybe before all of this she could have managed it. Now, all she can do is hide, and panic, and try keep her breathing even and quiet. She hears another snap, definitely the sound of footfall in the trees, and screws her eyes shut for a moment. Terror is no stranger to her, now, it greets her like an old friend. The oddness of it is that she’s terrified for more than herself, now. This man, hurt and a little gruff, strong regardless of everything. She doesn’t want to die, or go back. She doesn’t want him to die or get caught again either. 

Past the terror, she’s furious with herself. Cowering, eyes closed. If they do get caught here, she’ll meet her fate with her eyes open. Slowly, scrambling in the dirt, she wants to laugh. Luck might be on her side. The rock she grabs on to is heavy, but she might get a few good swings in of someone comes upon her here. Might be able to put up a fight. Her and him together might stand some semblance of a chance. 

He follows quickly behind her, trying to make as little noise as he can as he ducks behind the fallen tree. It’s not much of a hiding place, even with the weight he’s lost since first falling under Riddle’s care, he’s still just a little too large to be fully hidden behind it. Laying himself flat against the earth he rests the back of his head against the log, ears perked up to try to follow the footsteps as they made their way closer. 

He tries to come up with some kind of plan as their doom seemingly drawls nearer, but each one seems just as hopeless as the last. His wand had been confiscated and likely broken after his capture, should they get out of this and back to Scotland, he had his father’s that’d been locked away after the man’s death, but that wouldn’t be any help to either of them now. With no idea how to get them out of there without alerting whoever was approaching, he twists his head to the side to look at the witch who had so far been his companion in escape, and now he soon feared death. 

His eyes fall on the rock in her hand first, before they meet her own. It’s as he stares back at her when he nods his head, agreeing with the plan she hadn’t verbalized but one he understood regardless. If this was the end of the game they were unknowingly thrown into, then they were going to go out fighting with whatever pieces of themselves were still intact after Riddle’s best attempts to break them. 

Readying to launch himself back up, he freezes for a moment and looks back over to her, realizing this very well could be the last time he could talk to her before whatever was to come. “In that tree I was looking at, you’ll find a map,” he whispers quickly, and before she could have the chance to argue with him, he reaches over and clutches her hand in his. He had no intention to die if he could help it, but knew the odds of both of them surviving weren’t in their favor.  

“Use the map and the trail markers in the trees to get you to the border. Once you’re over, find an auror by the name of James Potter, he’ll help you,” he could have said the name of any Order member, and her chances of receiving help would have been just as good, but it was because of what he said next that made James’s name out of all the others come out of his mouth. “W-when you find him, tell him what happened to me,” he swallows, before adding, “to Benjamin Fenwick.” It was the first time he’d heard his own name aloud since he last crossed the border, and somehow it makes what might happen next easier. If he was going to die, he’d rather die Benjamin Fenwick, instead of another one of Riddle’s nameless prisoners. 

[ben-fenwick]

prcng-s‌:

     time. 23 October, dawn      place. not far from the border           ( @ben-fenwick )

On one hand, it felt good to have work to do – work as an auror, work for the Order, even if it was because it was work everyone else seemed too busy to take on. He was grateful for the opportunity to do something aside from sitting at a desk re-reading the mysterious letter he kept receiving again and again. It was as if the week had brought with it plenty of work, between this and Caradoc’s appearance in the auror office with a note and another mystery for him.

On the other hand, there had been Death Eaters on their side of the border, a sentiment that was chilling even to think, and dangerous, especially because there had been no warning of it. No heads up from Sirius, no mention that Riddle was actively planning something that involved sending masked scouts or infiltrators into Scotland. He wasn’t young enough or stupid enough to wish that kind of danger on the people who had taken refuge here just so that he could feel useful for once.

But… he was here, and Ben was here, and at least they knew that the Death Eaters had been here at all, at least there was a chance they could figure out what they’d been doing here. 

     ‘This is where Marlene said they saw them disappear,’ he said, when he finally found the spot they’d described to him that afternoon. Same landmarks and everything… not that it helped, being where they’d left, to figure out what they’d been doing when they were here. 

He’d been itching to get back into the swing of things ever since he got back. Pomfrey had warned against it, of course, had said that what he needed now was rest and some time to readjust. After so much time spent penned up though, rest had been the furthest thing he felt like doing, especially with everything that’d happened since he was gone. Dumbledore was dead, the Order was beginning to splinter apart, and now on top of everything there were these Death Eater sightings. He needed to make himself feel useful again, and helping James seemed the like just the right place to start. 

Eager as he was to get back into the thick of things, going back to the border wasn’t exactly on his list of places he’d like to revisit again. The fear of recapture still pumped through his veins, and even on their side of the border he found himself on high alert, keeping a constant watch on their surroundings as they neared the spot Marlene had mentioned. He had no idea if the sightings were at all connected to his and Caradoc’s escape, but the timing made him suspicious of it. 

“Well,” he sighed, brows furrowing as he surveyed the scene, “given the fact they’re both still on this side of the border and breathin’, I’m guessin’ they weren’t spotted.” Stepping closer to the patch of earth the pair of Death Eaters had been spotted at, he knelt down, eyes scanning for any visible clues. It felt good shaking the dust of his auror persona, although part of him felt like a bit of an impostor, as he purposefully avoided looking over to the border itself. 

“We could use that to our advantage,” he offered, as he stood back up, having found nothing of note, “if this is a spot they commonly use to cross back and forth we could start a surveillance on the area, see if maybe we can catch where they are heading to on this side.”  

[ben-fenwick]

location: the burrow 

date/time: october 21, late evening 

status: closed to @cxradoc

It was after the rest of the Burrow had already tucked themselves into bed when he finds himself in the second vacated bedroom in the home. This particular one, with its collection of animal derived trinkets and treasures, had to be the aspiring magizoologist out of the brood, he thinks to himself as he looks around. Caradoc’s room hadn’t been as scrubbed clean as his own, and he finds himself grateful for it, as he picks up what appeared to be a feather of a golden snidget laying on the desk he was seated beside. 

“You ever wake up in the middle of the night and think you’re still in the woods?” he chuckles, twirling the bright bit of plummage in between his fingers before looking over to where Caradoc sat. Their sleep schedules not quite lining up with that of the Weasleys, he’d grown used to stopping into her room before he tried to get some sleep for himself. It was nice, being just the two of them even for that half hour or so. The world had grown complicated quickly ever since they stepped across the border, and it helped being around someone who understood just how complicated freedom had become. 

Sitting the feather back to its resting place, he let out a sigh, reminding himself of what he meant to tell her when he first came in. “But anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone early tomorrow, Potter and I are gonna head to the border, see what we can find about the Death Eaters Fletcher and McKinnon spotted.” It was the first time he was going to be back there since the two of them crossed it a couple weeks before. He’d been eager to get back to work, to make himself useful once more for the weakened Order. He’s assured Potter he could do it, but now that he was only hours away from being back there he wasn’t so certain anymore. “Won’t be long, just a couple hours.” 

[ben-fenwick]

mmollyweasley‌:

Oh, Molly thinks, watching Ben look around, tracking his reaction to Ron. He’s been through more than she originally anticipated. The twins are out, thankfully, and Ginny at the Tonks’–she’d figured one child was enough to burden their new arrival with while he got used to the place. And Ron was, unlike most of her others, quiet. And Ben needed to be eased into it, she figured, and it seems she was right.

“Oh, seemed prudent enough,” she answers, passing it off as if asking him and Caradoc out here was simply a matter of convenience. “You’ll be back here, in my Bill’s old room. We’ve made you your own entrance, too, y’won’t need to come through the rest of the house–” Molly leads him through the house, to one of the bedrooms closer to the kitchen on the ground floor. It was one of the few rooms that had existed as part of the house originally, back when they’d first moved in with only three children.

It’s not large by any means, but it no longer looks like a teenager’s room, the blue walls scrubbed clean of Bill’s decorations (what he hadn’t taken with him to his dorm was packed away, ready for when he returned for the summer). It was bare but comfortable and, Molly hopes, it’s good enough, better than a hospital wing. “If you need any changes, my husband Arthur, he’s the best at renovations and he’s always happy to do them. Only way we survived living here for ten years, him able to add new rooms and change things up a bit.

“When Caradoc comes along, she’ll have the room across the hall; the rest of the children–there’s four now, the other three at Hogwarts–are upstairs with me and Arthur. I can fill you in on the rest over some lunch, if you’re peckish, or leave you to settle in, if you’d like.”

He’s half listening to her as he follows her through the home, his attention pulled in so many different directions as he takes in the place. He’d heard before of the amount of children the Weasleys had in their brood, but hearing it and seeing the evidence of it around the home, still left him a bit mind boggled. Molly was probably at least a good five years younger than him, yet still in that short time she’d managed to build quite the life and family for herself. He was almost envious, having never had anything close to a solid family life growing up, that was until he thought of the sheer size of laundry that had to be done every week. 

When she stops in front of the empty room his attentions pull back towards her. “Oh, no, no,” he shook his head at her offer of additional improvements. She could have thrown him in the attic with a cot and he would have been thankful, let alone give him his own room with a private entrance. “This is just fine- perfect even,” he assurs her. The room wasn’t much larger than his cell, but far cleaner, with a bed that didn’t make his back cry in protest at the very sight of it. 

Moving around her, he steps further into the room and sets his duffel bag on the bed. At the mention of Cardoc, his eyes glance over Molly to the door in question across the hall. It was more comforting than he’d realized to know she’d be that close. Thye’d spent the last week in fairly close proximity to one another, this being the furthest and longest even he’d gone without seeing her since they first left Riddle’s. His dependency on her couldn’t last, he knew that, but at least here it wouldn’t be such a swift break and more of an ease out of the habit. 

“I can uh get settled in for a little bit and then meet ya out there if that’s alright,” he offers. He’d been on the move ever since he left the infirmary and had been looking to rest a minute, on the other hand he wasn’t one to turn down a warm meal either. “But uh, Molly,” he adds, as he looks over to make sure she was still there, “thank you... for all this. This is um... this is really kind- what you all did here. Thank you.” 

[ben-fenwick]

xenoslovegood‌:

17 october, early evening, the hog’s head          ( @ben-fenwick )

A fledgling interest born from a long loved obsession, it was easy to let their mind be taken over with something so new and intriguing, that felt so familiar and clarifying. The abrupt ending to the night had been a disappointment, had made something in them twist in a way they weren’t used to. To feel as if they had been peering at their answers, a haze clearing, and to suddenly be ripped from it, it made them ache even greater for whatever it was they had seen.

They were not so easily deterred, though, and even if the weak excuse to run from insight and understanding, the assurance that would be tomorrow had not been followed through on, they were busy with their own research. It wasn’t difficult to find information, when you knew where to look, and they had long ago perfected the art of research. A name was all they needed, after all, and the information swelled before them, as they asked, concerned voices easily giving up knowledge. That lead to another name, a name that apparently lived side by side with hers, and perhaps might lead to a better understanding of what strange power she held behind her eyes.

It wasn’t difficult to find the man, Molly kindly directing him to the Hog’s Head, and allowing them to, once again, leave Luna in her care for an undetermined amount of time. They weren’t one to frequent pubs or bars, no desire to cloud their mind with the sort of libations people usually came for, but they could endear for information. And sure enough, there information sat at the corner of the bar alone.

Xeno wasted no time in going over to him, and taking the seat next to him, eyes fixed on that man. “You’re Benjamin Fenwick,” they said, a statement, not a question, looking him up and down. Not yet full healed, that was clear from the way he sat, even. 

“I need to speak with you.”

The Burrow had been- well exactly as he’d imagined a house equipped to handle seven children would be. Even down half their numbers it took some getting used to, in a blink of an eye he’d gone from living in complete isolation to suddenly having to share a bathroom again like he was back in the dorms at Hogwarts. He was glad to have the bed, and Molly’s hospitality extended above and beyond what he expected, but he still caught himself here and there needing a break from the bustling home. Like it once was, The Hogs Head had turned into a frequent haunt of his again, somewhere to clear his head in the anonymity a crowded pub could provide.

As with most evenings he found himself there, he was huddled in a far flung corner of the bar, back flush against the wall with the rest of the pub and its patrons fanned out in various tables around him. It was the perfect spot for someone who wasn’t comfortable yet leaving his back unguarded, and still jumped far too easily at every unexpected sound or tap on the shoulder. 

When the small bell above the door jingled with the arrival of a new patron, Ben's gaze darted up to get a look at them. They weren’t anyone he recognized, but his eyes stayed on them regardless, waiting for them to take a seat next to someone they were meeting or to head in the direction of the bar. They didn’t do either of those though. When the wix’s gaze locked with his own, Ben could feel his shoulders tighten as a flash of recognition passed over their features. He hadn’t known them, but clearly, and for whatever reason, they had him. For a brief moment a spike of fear rushed up his spine, thinking maybe this was someone Riddle sent to collect him. Or that whoever decided to free Caradoc figured he’d served his purpose and he was simply a loose end that needed tied up. 

The wix didn’t give off the appearance of a Riddle follower though, their clothes stood out too much, if they were a Death Eater come to collect they would have made themself blend in more, to erase the possibility of a future witness to whatever was to come. No, he thought to himself, whoever this was didn’t mind having eyes on them, and likely enjoyed the added attention. Their use of his name, confident with no question as to whether he was the man they sought, only confirmed his earlier suspicions. They knew him, enough to know his face as it appeared now, a stark contrast to the clean shaven mug he’d had a year ago. Most notably though, they knew they could find him here of all places. 

“You got until this bottle runs dry,” he replied, lifting the ale to his lips he took a large swig, “better make it fast.” 

[ben-fenwick]

cxradoc‌:

The walk is hard, she tries not to let it show. Life is hard, it always has been. Added pain and exhaustion doesn’t make a difference. Caradoc is more than aware that she’s probably slowing them down, that if he was alone he would stand a much better chance of making it out of this alive. Longer legs, what she wouldn’t give for some added speed herself. She knows from experience that thinking negatively won’t do anything but crush her spirits, make it harder to keep going. She knows that if she gives up on the inside, the outside will follow. She keeps going, and tries not to slow them down too much. 

“Kind of.” She allows, a deep breath in to try and steady it. “I was a trainee auror, before the boarder dropped. Dumbledore asked me to stay.” God, she struggles sometimes with that. There was another life she could have been living. She could have gone home, she could have taken her family and ran. She could have been living in Scotland, been an Auror done and tried to protect people. Albus said she had a role to play, but she didn’t know how useful she had actually been in the end. It was her pride that stopped her from quitting, from crying for mercy and escaping back to her friends and to safety, away from all the terrible things that happened in this country. “His guy on the inside, give him reports and shit.”  

Talking uses up breath, but it takes her mind away from the pain. It helps her keep going, so its worth every ounce of breathlessness. Caradoc keeps her eyes trained ahead, wondering if they would have been friends if she’d lived her alternate dream life. Co-workers. They might have gone for drinks at the end of the day, they might not have shared these scars. He might have gotten stuck anyway. And there’s something in her that twists at the idea of nobody sharing it with him, of him still being locked in that dungeon. Selfishly, she’d still trade for it, and she doubts he’d hold it against her too much. “He said he’d come for me, if something bad happened.” She confesses, childishly upset. “I guess he thought I was dead. You too.” 

She stumbles, she catches herself. she pulls in another steadying breath and keeps going. Walking until dusk is something she can do –– and maybe she’ll finally get a night’s sleep, with this man next to her. A safety net. Somehow she doubts it, but she promises it to herself regardless. 

An auror in training, he tried to wrack his brain of the young faces he’d left behind when he went to Scotland with Moody and some of the others, but couldn’t picture her. He hadn’t done training in months though by the time Scotland seceded, so it didn’t surprise him he hadn’t came across her. She wasn’t just an auror though, but a spy too, one of the countless he’d heard about but never actually met before. The thought of Albus asking a trainee to stay behind seemed strange at first, until he realized that was likely the whole point. All of the older aurors’ loyalty to the Order had been found out one way or the other, but a rookie? She could fly under the radar far easier without being questioned. Even though he could understand the reasoning behind it, he still felt bad for her, he’d only been stuck here for a year, she in one way or another had been imprisoned the last decade. 

“That’s what I’ve always assumed,” he nodded, having heard the same promise from the elderly wizard himself. And after everything he’d given him, he had to believe it to be true. He’d sacrificed mind and body all to protect the Order, and even in his failures he had to believe it wasn’t for nothing. Albus and the Order was their saving grace from all of this, the one thing that Riddle feared the most. No, he couldn’t have known. 

He’s too late to react when she stumbles, his hand no where near her when she manages to catch herself. They were going to need to stop soon, that or he was going to have to carry her, but even in his bear state he was unsure how well he’d do without a couple hours of rest first. It was then, like a silent prayer being answered, when he caught sight of something hanging in the branches of the tree ahead of them. It was one of the Orders’ markers, this one a pair of animals bones, bound together to form an “X”. If they were still running under the same system then “X” didn’t just mean they’d stumbled across one of the refugee trails, but that a supply cache was also located within the tree. The caches were usually nothing too extravagant, a canteen charmed to refill itself, some dried food, and a healing salve of some kind, but most notably they usually contained a map as well. 

So distracted by the possible saving grace sitting just meters ahead of them, he paid no attention to the rest of his surroundings as he began to walk toward it, until a loud snap of a tree branch sounded out somewhere in the brush and trees to their left. “Shit...” he breathed, realizing the mistake he’d made. “Quick hide.. hide” he whispered to her, nodding his head in the direction of a fallen tree, unsure just what may be walking upon them. 

[ben-fenwick]

marleneonfire‌:

There was something off-putting in Ben’s voice when he spoke, asked them about their own place. Something just a little cooler than they were used to hearing from him. “I… Well, no. Not quite. I don’t want to do that.” They sighed a little, lips pressing tight. It wasn’t often that Marlene had to explain themself on this stance – people either figured they understood or didn’t want to get into the conversation. “I want to help both. I want to see how the two groups can work together. There’s obviously a lot that the Order can teach the Insurgency. But I think there are some things that the Insurgency is…willing to do that maybe the Order isn’t.” They didn’t want to speak for Remus’s group as if they were the end-all arbiter of what it was and wasn’t.

They sighed a little bit, hands playing together. “I don’t know if that’s something that can happen. But that’s what I’d like to see, I think. I’d like to see the forces combine. It’s not about…us vs. them – we’re not against the Order or anything. It’s just another option, a chance to do things a little differently, think about this a little differently.”

Marlene still believed that their parents were alive, still thought about their actions in terms of whether or not they would be proud of them and what they were doing. But in their absence, in the absence of their approval, they had maybe begun to seek out other sources. Dumbledore had proved a dry well long ago. Ben, though… And the look in his eyes then definitely didn’t scream approving.

“Around people who want to do more,” they answered, eyes still lowered. “It’s been ten years, Ben. We’re all ready for this war to be over. Dumbledore’s plan, if he even actually had one, hasn’t worked. It’s time to look in other places. And it’s time for me to be a little less careful.” At that, they tipped their chin up, were able to meet his eyes. “It’s been ten years and there’s been nothing about my family. I’m ready to do more.”

He wanted to argue, to tell them how foolish it all sounded. If their hope had been to unite the groups then why even bother making two separate groups at all? Change was needed, this war had dragged on for far too long, his body was a testament to that. He did think the Insurgency would create some change in the tide of war, but not in the direction Marlene and so many others had been hoping. He very nearly did tell them all of that, in an attempt to sway their opinion, or at least to give them pause before they ingrained themself any further into the other group. But then they spoke again, their words slicing through him more deftly than any blade the Death Eaters held, as they confessed what had pushed them down that road in the first place. 

He could feel the bile begin to swiftly rise up his chest as they looked back at him, eyes full of grief for the family they hadn’t known was already lost if the Death Eaters were as efficient as he thought they were. Ducking over to the side of the bed, he quickly slid out the bed pan that sat underneath it and hurled. It was his damn fault, and of course it was. If he’d stayed he could have kept them going, ensured them their family was still safe, and would be telling them the truth in doing so, knowing the secret of their family’s location was locked in the steel trap he once thought his mind. 

Shoulders shaking as one hand grasped the bed frame, while the other held the pan in place, he remained hunched over, vomiting another two times until his stomach had no more to offer up. He knew he was going to have to tell them, before the lie grew any bigger and before they risked their life looking for people who were already months gone. And he would tell them, he promised himself, the question though was when. 

Pulling a cloth from the bedside table, he wiped his mouth and beard clean before turning back to face them. “Sorry about that” he replied, wishing he had the guts yet to tell just what he was really sorry for. Instead he hid behind the excuse of his condition, figuring Marlene would immediately think so anyway. “Do ya wanna uh... just talk later?” he asked, eyes darting from cloth in his hands to their eyes then back again, “I’m supposed to be outta here in another day, so we can meet up afterwards.” It was the cowardly move, but the only one he could get himself to make in the heat of the moment. 

[ben-fenwick]

prcng-s‌:

     ‘No, yeah, we’re alright. I mean– we’re great. Harry’s great. Lil’s been busy, with the Ministry and the Order and everything–’ 

And I feel like I’m shaking apart every time I look at my friends, like I’m the only person I know anymore whose life isn’t in constant peril, like one day I’m going to wake up and they’re all going to be gone and there will be nothing I could have done about it– or worse, something I could have done, and oh, also, these bloody owls are following me everywhere dropping me cryptic messages about bloody birds that I can’t figure out and I think Alastor Moody might not trust me, and–

He didn’t say any of it, of course, the dozens of thoughts racing through his head. Ben didn’t need to hear any of that. No one did, really. It was silly, probably; he shouldn’t complain, when everyone else has so much to complain about and he has a wife he loved and a job that was alright and a son he thought was just utterly perfect.

     ‘You know how it is. Good, even if everything else is a mess around it. That’s why we do it: holding onto the good things makes the bad ones easier to bear.’

There were a hundred things he wanted to say to Ben, about how glad he was that he was back, about how weird the auror office had been without him. He’d always felt like Ben trusted him as an auror in a way none of the others did, like Ben saw some promise in him that the others overlooked. But this wasn’t about him, not really, and he didn’t think Ben wanted to hear any of that.

     ‘Look, er, Lil and I want to have you round for dinner, sometime, actually, if you want. No pressure, of course, but I thought you might want something better to eat than whatever Poppy’s been feeding you here.’

He felt a sense of comfort he hadn’t in some time when James talked of Lily and Harry. Coming back to Scotland had been a constant game of catch-up between Albus’s sudden death, Remus’s new rebellion, and what’d been left of the Order as a result. He was glad that out of everything, the life James had managed to build for himself in the midst of all the chaos was one of the few things that remained the same. Families and the aurors weren’t always the easiest things to juggle, most aurors avoided having them all together, for those that hadn’t it was an uphill battle that he’d seen plenty fall victim in. 

“Dinner?” he repeated, gaze breaking from the view ahead of him and back to James, a faint smile on his lips. “Well I can’t promise I’ll be the most entertaining of guests, but I won’t turn down a meal, sure.” It certainly would put him out of his current comfort zone, which probably was a good thing. If he was going to try to make himself useful to the Order again, then he was going to have to prove he was of healthy enough mind and body to do so. 

“I’d ask if ya wanted me to bring anything, but seeing as how the bank still thinks I’m dead, it’ll be a couple days yet before I can get anything that I can’t beg, borrow or steal from the castle." He was lucky though, he knew that. Unlike Caradoc he had funds set up here, even a wand in the form of his father’s that was currently sitting in a safety deposit box at the bank. What remained of his former life may have been broken up into pieces and scattered into the wind, but he’d had enough of the building blocks of it to carve out a new one for himself. 

Nodding his head toward the door, he pushed himself off the balcony. “Well, we better get back inside before Pomfrey forms a search party lookin’ for me,” he sighed. In all his groans and protests to her incessant care though, he was silently grateful for it. “Just uh let me know when you’d like to meet up, and I’ll see if I can manage a second great escape this week,” he added, humor still feeling a bit foreign on his tongue, but it was beginning to feel less so the more he tried. 

[ben-fenwick]

marleneonfire‌:

Marlene easily let out a trail of laughter, shaking their head. “Don’t give her too much trouble,” they said with a wink. “Not after she fixed you up so nice.” His eyes darted to the window and back and their heart ached again. What he had gone through… Marlene couldn’t even imagine. Couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened and how it was affecting him now. And that was difficult for Marlene, who so often threw themself at people wholly, without thinking what the effect could be. Swallowing, they left his hand alone with one final brush of her thumb. Who knew what the Death Eaters had turned touch into for him? They didn’t want to cause more pain.

All Marlene could do was nod when he confirmed that he had heard about Dumbledore. How could they explain it? How could they tell him who Dumbledore had become, what he had become, to Marlene? “He…was,” they said tentatively, eyes down. “I think it’s mostly between Kingsley, Lily and Minerva, at the moment.” Their chest pressed uncomfortably. “There’s also…something else. I mean. Another group – Remus started it. It’s…” They sighed and tried to stem some of the guilt that pulled in their stomach. “I’ve been running closer with them, lately.” It might be hard at first, but they thought Ben might be able to understand. He had been on missions with them, had seen the frustration awash on their face as they were forced to hurry back without a moment to spare to look to their family. He had known how readily they sprang to action, how much they wanted to do. And after his own experience… Hells, maybe Ben would want to join them as well. “It’s been good, going to those meetings and stuff. No one knows really what we’ll do, about Dumbledore and all. But it’s good to be around…” People who wanted to act.

He hadn’t thought it possible to miss so much in only a year. He’d changed drastically in his time at Riddle’s, transforming from someone that wouldn’t want anything more than to have an old friend jump on top of him and give him a hug, to someone so closed off to those that he was once closest to. Dumbledore’s death- still such a strange thing to imagine, had clearly sent ripple effects through those who were left in the wizard’s group. The Order, the one thing that seemed right in this world gone mad, was crumbling apart without Albus to hold it together. 

When Marlene rattled off the far too short list of those interested in taking over, there were several names clearly absent, Moody’s being the most apparent. He’d nearly given his life for the Order- had certainly sacrificed his mind and body for it in his attempt to keep what secrets he knew to himself. He couldn’t fathom leaving the group at its most vulnerable- and then only to join another? A sharp spike of anger rose in his chest, as Marlene went on. Remus... the damned fool, picking the meat off of Ablus’s still warm corpse, and all for what? Revenge? Power? Neither answer particularly sounded like him, but neither did being the driving force that could potential ruin the Order. It had its problems, he wasn’t naive enough to think it perfect, but surely trying to fix it was better than blowing it up entirely? 

It was just as he was about to voice his frustrations, and call Lupin every name he could think of when Marlene delivered their final surprise- they were one of them. “So you’re leaving the Order then?” He asked, the anger that’d been boiling in him subduing. Lupin he could yell at, Marlene was a whole other matter entirely. “Around who?” He wanted to know, he needed them to explain why they thought this group could do so much more than the Order had.

[ben-fenwick]

prcng-s‌:

It was one thing, to hear it: to hear that a friend you once thought dead was back, battered and worse for wear but very much alive. To hear that a mentor, someone you’d looked up to, someone you’d mourned a year ago, was home. 

The news that Ben had gone across the border, using the very animagus trick James himself had discovered, on a mission from the Order, and had never come back… it had hit him hard; he’d felt responsible, like it should have been him instead of Ben, a better auror than him and a probably better man. Hearing he’d come back had felt like a cruel prank, at first, a trick, like he’d go, heart filled with hope, and it would turn out to be a lie, and someone would say to him how could you be foolish enough to believe that: people don’t come back from war. 

It was another thing, altogether, to be confronted with Ben Fenwick in the flesh. 

It wasn’t like seeing a ghost; he thought it might have been. No, instead it was like being transported back half a dozen years, back when he was a young recruit in the Auror’s office, ducking outside onto some Edinburgh street to get some fresh air and a smoke. And then a cough wracked through Ben’s body, heavy and painful sounding, and the illusion was shattered. The faraway look in Ben’s eyes made itself known, as Ben finally looked back at him. 

And what did you say, to that?

     ‘Ah, no, you know. The wife would have my head,’ he joked, only a slight shake to his voice to indicate that he was feeling so much more than the normal jovial, light-hearted banter most people knew him for. A light edge of scarcasm, familiar and easy. Easier than trying to voice any of the other thoughts racing through his head. ‘You know what they say: those thing’ll kill you.’

It was strange, being back but not quite fully. To walk around in his old shoes, and try to talk to those he once was able to so so casually it took little effort, or to simply exist without a second thought to it. It almost felt like he was an imposter, come to live another man’s life, and he was doing a right awful job of it. The world was now far too bright and busy for him, with a whole new set of social ticks and hurdles he was going to have to deal with now that his presence wasn’t necessarily the easiest to be around. 

The look James was giving him was a multifaceted one, part pity, part guilt, but more so silently pleading for Ben to help him through this interaction. There was no guidebook on how to handle something like this though, and no matter how many people shot him that same look, he always came back with a similar response- he didn’t know himself. He knew how old Ben would have greeted James after such a long absence, he would have given him a body jostling hug, with a hearty ‘How the fuck ‘ave you been, arsehole?” before regaling his adventure behind enemy lines and all the ways he gave the Death Eaters a run for their money. He wasn’t that man anymore though, but rather the ghost living in that man’s shell. 

“I’d say I’m too stubborn for that, but I think me just hackin’ up a lung after one drag, like some sixteen year old hidin’ under the bleachers, would prove me a liar,” he groaned, another item to add to the list of things he could no longer do now. Another he could add, if it weren’t for the fact it was number one, was his new discomfort with extended eye contact. Shifting to lean back over the stone balcony, he looked away from his old brother in arms, and towards the scenery ahead, gaze scanning over the hills and valleys as if he were assigned guard duty. 

“You and the missus doing well then?" He asked, indicating James was welcome to stay if he still wished to. “Ya better be-” or I’ll kick yer arse myself, is what he would have said. Instead he found himself saying, “there’ve been enough changes ‘round here already.” 

[royal-abbotts]