benjy.

He mentioned skulls like she went around punching death eaters in the head, and while she would if she had the opportunity she wasn’t quite that violent OR reckless. Everyone had an image of her in their mind it seemed, but none matched up with her jagged edges just right, it was always a bit off, or way off, and she had to wonder why that was. Did she project a different personality to everyone she knew? But she didn’t really care about being anyone’s broken puzzle piece right now as she watched him work. 

Seeing her bones was both odd and pretty cool, she had never been keen on becoming a Healer but Benjy made it seem like it wasn’t boring. Still, whether he liked his job or not remained a mystery, because she couldn’t decide that based only on his interactions with her.  When he began to explain the mechanics of wall punching she had to laugh, though she tried not to move. “Do you really want to give me tips on how to punch better, Benjy? It isn’t like I’m paying you.” She loved laughing, it felt so rare these days. “I’ll take taht compliment, first you’ve ever given me, and save it for a rainy day.” She teased.

She presses her lips together at his question, not proud of it whatsoever but it was only fair she told him how she fucked up her hand. The story was his payment, though she’d happily hide a couple galleons in his coat so he couldn’t give them back. “Right uh—” she blushed actually and laughed again, a rare reaction from her embarrassment. “Mcgonagall showed up at the cafe, sat down with me without asking, which really didn’t matter honestly. But then she kept asking questions that weren’t questions. Pointed statements and assumptions about my life, my job and who I am as a person.” She took a deep breath, she wasn’t even mad anymore.

“So I got angry but I didn’t want to explode on her. I mean, I did say a few choice words but then I literally ran from her, outside, and punched the wall. I was just —so full of —I don’t even know but I had to get out without hurting anyone.” She felt a little defeated and deflated slightly, ready for him to laugh or scold her or both.

Benjy doesn’t respond for a few moments — in truth his question about the wall was less driven by curiosity about the event than by attempting to draw her attention away from what he’s doing; it was always easier when people didn’t tense up before hand. Thin, golden strands fell from his wand, passing through the flesh and curling around fragments of bone; dragging them back into alignment and holding them in place as further spells sped the healing process, knitting bone back together with startling speed.

❝ I wasn’t thinking of myself; the last time I punched anyone was... well, learning to punch. My mother, though, has a large amount of practice with the skill. She rather regularly exercises it. ❞ He shrugs one shoulder, finishing her hand off with a flick of his wand that sent bandages flying out the end to wrap neatly around it, the end weaving itself back in to the fabric seamlessly. ❝ You should keep that wrapped for a few days. Avoid anything that makes it hurt more than a little but try and exercise it as much as you can. ❞

       Maybe he is. The infuriating thing about Benjy is he’s rarely wrong. As much as Caradoc would like him to mess up more often, just for an excuse to needle and watch how he responds, the man is a maddening talent. Instead, he watches Benjy as he’s turned away, giving him the chance to look at him without restraint. He looks a bit peaky, really — Tad would’ve brought him round for tea and supper in a heartbeat. The thought brings a rising panic in his chest, and he pushes it down, furious with himself for once again thinking of things he’s buried.

       It’s strange, really, to know that Benjy understands loss and also know that to ask him to talk about it would inflict more pain than Caradoc’s willing to bring anyone. Particularly in Benjy’s case, with someone he cares for. He swallows his sparking grief and lets the admonishment land as it’s supposed to. ❝ I’m in good enough shape not to take up their time, strained as things are, ❞ he admits, hand going to the back of his neck in a familiar gesture. ❝ Wasn’t thinking any healers would be in ‘round now. Just wanted to find the first person who’s half-capable, considering. ❞

       He refers to his own lack of healing ability with nonchalance born from years of practice. Does it ache in his chest, sometimes? Of course it does. He, much like other muggleborns he knows, has always been frustrated with the magics he can’t conquer, worried that it will prove to blood purists that he isn’t worthy. Of course he worries he isn’t enough, with his love of physical work and sport outstripping his fascination with magic 9 times out of 10. Caradoc’s had long enough to get used to it, but the ache remains, just a shadow of it beneath his rib cage. 

       There’s something pleasant and awful about being under Benjy’s eye. The scrutiny rarely turns out well for him, but he doesn’t really want it to end, either, no matter how many times he finds himself here. He isn’t quite prepared, however, for the way Benjy captures his jaw and pushes, putting Caradoc where he wants him in a moment. He feels himself inhale sharply, not quite sure what he can do to hide the way his face heats, his heart beating just a hitch faster. 

       Ted’s always said he’s obvious, but he doesn’t mean to be.

       He tries to cover it with the same easy way he speaks to everyone. Nothing gets under his skin, not really, not that anyone sees. If he’s growing more and more frustrated and bitter by the hour, who would bother to notice? ❝ I know what a bloody broken nose feels like, ❞ he says, desperate to stop that intimate touch when the setting is clinical, nothing near to what he might have thought of, once or twice ( or many more times than that ). He forces himself to relax a fraction, letting Benjy move him where he wants. ❝ Was dizzy, yeah. Maybe am now, too. Hard to tell sitting down. ❞

Benjy makes a vaguely irritated noise in the back of his throat at the mention of untrained healing and gives Caradoc his most unimpressed look — one generally reserved for Sirius Black. ❝ If you’re so keen to spoil your looks with a crooked nose then don’t let me stand in your way, Dearborn. ❞ He huffs, almost soundlessly. ❝ Though I doubt you’d be able to continue your side career in book covers under those circumstances. ❞ 

He wonders, for a minute after he’s said it, if he’s supposed to know about that or not, then dismisses the concern. He may have stumbled onto the books by accident, but they could hardly be expected to be a secret; they’d been in the front window of Flourish & Blotts with a great deal of furor and a rather large number of people spilling into the streets to get them signed. If anything, discretion went against the entire point of modelling for what was, after all, a form of advertising.

He frowns a little, considering, at Caradoc’s answer. Dizziness after a head injury could indicate a number of things of varying severity, or it may simply have to do with the too-fast pulse under his fingers. After a moment, he shelves the thought; the nose is easy enough to deal with and then he can remove one factor from consideration. ❝ This is going to hurt.❞ He warns, shifting his hand to a position with a little more leverage to hold the other man’s head in place.

The first spell grabs hold of the disparate pieces of Caradoc’s broken nose, dragging them back into alignment with a grating sound of bone against bone, holding them in place as the second knits them back together, fusing the bones back into shape and removes the swelling as magic forces a month of natural healing into a few minutes. Benjy stays where he is for another minute when it’s done, examining the effect, then steps back with a small nod. ❝ You’ll need to give up being kicked in the face for a few weeks. ❞ He says, dryly. ❝ If you break it again quickly it will get a lot more complicated. ❞

SHE HADN’T NEEDED THE REMINDER     that death’s reach was vast and indiscriminate    (     when everything stands under the gaze of prejudice, this may be the hardest of all truths to accept     ).    And though Lily had been familiar with the loss of her remaining grandparents while she was still a child, there is something much more potent at the loss of a friend than there ever was in the strong scent of cigarettes disappearing from the curtains of her Nan’s house within days after her passing. Anna’s absence does linger, remaining glaringly obvious against even the darkest horizon. Even as that expanse of black threatens to take Benjy with it. 

She approaches the cemetery with caution, always feeling a bit odd at walking mere feet above those below laid to rest for their final sleep. She feels the need to apologize for the disturbance, to seek pardon for her minor interruption but ultimately accepting they are far away from this place and hardly have use for what remains.     ——-    Easier, then, to think of her friend somewhere she was much more suited for. Not one to stay down, with no time to waste on the matter. She envisions her, instead, somewhere she had always been. And as she approaches, she swears she can see her shadow on the ground next to him. 

Lily offers a soft smile as Benjy spots her, all inclination to turn and leave him to it abandons within an instant. The offer is still made,     “     I didn’t mean to interrupt.     ”     She’s not in the business of barging in where she is not wanted    (     not anymore     )    but she knows him enough to take what little is given as an invitation. While engaged to who could perhaps be the most expressive man on the planet, Lily is still relieved to find her sense sharp enough to register those not as demonstrative as James. 

The small box of potting soil and flowers fresh from her garden shifts in her hand.    (     Anna isn’t here, but she ought to have something nice to look at if she is to come and visit.     )    Not attempting to call upon what she had briefly overheard, not searching to offer something she can not give him, Lily’s request is simple and straightforward. And, really, he shouldn’t be alone.    “     I could use some help planting them.     ”

Benjy watches Lily for a moment, then shakes his head. ❝ It’s fine. ❞ He says, instead of you’re not interrupting because she demonstrably is and seems aware of it — he’s never been good at pretence, particularly when its so very pointless. Still, it doesn’t follow that he minds the interruption or that it’s unwelcome — ( not from her, not when she’s here for something of the same reason he is, when she has to have a thousand other things to do and still made time to come here ).

There’s something bleakly raw in this place; or perhaps it is simply that here he can’t hold his walls too tightly, too much emotion bottled behind them to hold against, pressure that demands an outlet. Lily’s presence isn’t a balm per se, but it is an anchor, something to grab onto in a current that feels far too easy to get lost in. Every time he comes here he wonders if he’ll be able to leave; every time he leaves a little bit more of himself behind in payment and finds himself a little more hollow. Vague platitudes about time making it easier seem venom-laced lies when there’s no end in sight and the current grows stronger by the day.

He manages to scrape together a smile, the barest shaving of one and quickly whisked away but for a moment there is relief in his eyes as he stands. He can see the hand outstretched in her words, knows she doesn’t need his help to plant a few flowers but has opened her offering to Anna to include him without rancor or reluctance, sharing herself as easily as Anna always had. Lily’s kindness has always been easier to swallow than some others, untinged by pity and bound in the fact that she had loved his sister too. ( Camraderie is not a word Benjy usually considers for himself )

He comes to stand beside her, looking down at the bare patch of grass in front of the headstones, and nods ever so slightly. ❝ I would have thought you’d have been too busy to come, ❞ he says, quietly relieved that she had found the time when he hadn’t known it was needed ❝ With the wedding around the corner. ❞ 

Her mossy eyes are on her own hand, a representation of the ramifications of caged fury.  Marlene was a study in abject disaster (   with a bite sting-sharp and a bark that could perforate eardrums. And yet it was caged away, lock and key swallowed and yet still unfortunately dangerous.   )  People would give chained, barking dogs a wide berth, in spite of the fence and the chain between them and the teeth. So why did no one think to cross the street when she appeared? And would that satisfy her or push her closer to the edge?

A short silence settled in her ribs, the ache there shifted to the side to make room for shame. She was not terribly familiar with the sensation, she refused to acknowledge such an emotion because she committed wholeheartedly to her mistakes and their consequences. But she had not wanted to do this, and she despised why she had done it as well. Swallowing the lump in her throat she shoved it out of her body and down the stairs. There would be no shame housed within her, not on her watch. 

And it was then she looked to him again as he took a seat to examine her stupidity. It was fascinating to watch him at work, to practically hear the gears shifting in his head. The bones involved, the cure for swelling and bruising, the pain he could cause in order to fix it. All there in his eyes and it was the first thing about him that had convinced her she could trust him. 

He proceeded immediately, as his presence there was permission enough to treat and she had said as much before, she was sure. Already it looked mildly improved and she held it still, learning when she was young that letting people do what they needed would always result in less pain and suffering for her. Although her dentist never got over the biting incident. 

It was comical really, he assumed she’d done this at work, that she would punished for it with desk duty? If it remained injured they could try and sit her out but that had never worked in their favor before. She almost laughed, a smile peeking out of her concerned look. Nothing could deter it anyway, the beast she tried to keep locked away. Her anger issues were growing increasingly distressing and she was still at a loss as to how to handle that. 

“That whole, pain is a lesson, crap is crap.” She joked, knowing he’d disapprove. And of course, she’d had worse when it came to injuries and their healing. But Benjy had not been the one to put her broken doll parts back together, not always. His mind could see the healed fractures and sewn shut scars but he couldn’t see the trauma behind it and she was grateful for his inability to mind heal. 

This time she snorted, she couldn’t help it. “Well, when you punch a stone wall it really doesn’t matter how good or not your form was.”

There’s always an odd sort of familiarity to Marlene’s self-destruction, an echo with his own but turned inside-out, mirrored. Benjy treated his own burns and stings with numbing ice until frostbite bit and riddled his veins, Marlene dealt with hers by wildfire, throwing flames at others to reduce the amount on herself. Neither method seemed particularly viable in the long term, but it worked for him for a measure, more than the alternative of a raw wound throbbing to the lightest touch. He presumed it was the same for her, the half-functional alternative to a broken reality.

Perhaps it’s why he tolerates her stunts more than he does those of others. Perhaps it’s why he’s here, casting a charm over her hand that makes the bones shine through and picking over them slowly, carefully, inspecting each for signs of fracture and misalignment. ❝ It does, actually. Punching a hard surface like a wall - or skull - tends to result in compression fractures to the bones in the palm, but improper form can yield additional fractures to the knuckles or the thumb because the impact isn’t optimally spread. ❞ He pauses for a moment to give her an exceptionally dry look, though the corner of one side of his mouth twitches slightly upwards. ❝ I’m sure your skull would prove particularly formidable. ❞

It’s a terrible joke, the awkward clunkiness of someone not used to friendly teasing ( rusted cogs in the back of his mind squeal angrily at being forced into motion ). Returning to her hand, he frowns again, considering, weighing options as he categorises each fracture. ❝ Should I ask why you decided to punch a wall? Or am I better off not knowing? ❞