Leaving Hogwarts shouldn't have been so bloody difficult. The entire school was a menace to humanity everywhere, sheltering children from reality and then thrusting them blinded into the troubles of the world. Honestly, as kids they laughed – nervously – at the stories they heard, whispers of a Dark Lord and his evil servants. They mocked them and told them at night in the Common Rooms, just to frighten the younger students. No one took the threat of war seriously, and now he found himself regretting every second of that arrogant dismissal.
If only they had been more aware of what was happening. If only some teacher had the decency to tell them the truth – explain why the rumours were important, share the details of what was actually going on, but of course, no one did. It was too much of a tragedy for children, they said, their impressionable minds couldn't handle the pain and grief that would overcome them if they knew. The truth would scar them.
Looking back on everything that had happened in the last few years – today, even – he felt more scarred from having not known than he felt he ever would have if he'd only been told the truth. If the misery had been a part of his life from the beginning, well – perhaps his smile may not have been so wide, but at least his heart wouldn't feel like someone had taken a dozen razorblades and just begun stabbing at it. At least the pain wouldn't have been quite so sharp.
He paced back and forth in the dimly lit lobby, brow creased as a badly-rehearsed speech shifted in his head. Vicious tirades against the school, and anything else he could think of kept cropping up in between, muddling the train and screwing everything up, which only irritated him further. He'd done this before, given someone the bad – tragic, in this case – news about a friend or family member, but this time was going to be so much different. Normally he could steel himself against the expressions, remind himself that this was the way life had to be for them – before they could resolve the suffering, they had to actually suffer, and painful though it may have been – they dealt with it. It hurt to watch his friends cry, to see strong men and women cave under the weight of everything they were doing, but it was always bearable. This time, however, he wasn't so optimistic.
St. Mungo's hospital was considerably quieter at night than it was during the day, a fact he'd been unaware of as he'd never – yet – had to spend the night here. The majority of his friends weren't quite so lucky. Even Gid had been sentenced to bed rest after an incident with a vindictive spatula. During the day the building was bustling, the staff raced around the corridors from room to room tending to their charges while visitors tried not to get lost or confused with some of the permanent patients, which happened more often than was reasonable. This was different, new, sort of peaceful – he found his mood pacified by the gentle sounds of running water, from a fountain in the corner. It was certainly more sombre than the frivolity and chaos of the Ministry, anyway.
His thought process was interrupted yet again, this time by the sound of robes dragging gently across a polished marble floor. Looking up, he was met by a cheerful, bright face – a beacon of light in the day's shadows, a short, blond witch decked from head to toes in the relaxed lavender colour of healers' robes. Her mouth split in to a wide smile when she saw him, positively glowing with delight as she floated across the floor. Fabian couldn't help but return the emotion, even if what he had to say was tearing at him inside.
Even he couldn't stave off the pain for very long. It broke through the surface, and his smile vanished, so suddenly even Eviny couldn't have missed it. The brightness of her smile died down, usual charm and good cheer fading as her mind registered his unhappy state. "Fabian, what's wrong?" There hadn't even been opportunity to exchange pleasantries, but it was a fact easily ignored in lieu of her concern. "Did something happen?" Her hand went to his face automatically, caressing his cheek and smoothing out the frown lines around his mouth.
"Evs…" he began softly, afraid to speak any louder because he knew there was a break coming. "Eviny, I have some bad news." He watched her carefully, reading her posture like a book, in the event that he had to react quickly. He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her close. This wasn't easy for him, but he could already guess what her reaction might be. In the event that she fainted, at least, he was prepared. "Sweetheart… there was another attack tonight."
In the span of a few seconds, Eviny's face shifted from concern, to fear, to absolute horror. She knew the dangers that they all faced by standing against the Death Eaters, but it never went down easy, no matter how many times she told herself that injury – and even death – were just a part of life. Fabian's face was a solemn mask as he forced the words out of his mouth. "Who?" she asked, voice an octave higher than usual. "Fabian, who is it? What happened? Are they alright?"Almost immediately she twisted, prepared to leap out of his embrace and begin preparing a room, or several if need be, for new occupants. Anything that could be done for the injured party, she would see to it.
Fabian refused to let her go, instead pulling her flush against his body and holding her there. "Eviny…" his voice was calm, soothing even. It was odd behavior for him, and they both new it, but the fact drew Eviny's attention more than repelled her. She looked up at him, grey eyes surging with emotion.
"Who? Fabian, who is it? Why haven't—"
He put a finger to her lips, shushing her softly. If there had been any other way, he wouldn't have given up everything to do it, but personal experience told him that a blunt delivery – while tragic – was the best way. She had to know. His expression softened, mouth twisting with sadness as he answered.
"It was Benjy. He's dead, Evs."
She stared at him, face blank and unmoving. Eventually she blinked, but nothing else changed. Fabian watched her carefully, his senses on high alert for any change at all, any sign of what was going through her head. Benjamin Fenwick had been, hands down, her closest friend since she started school – more like a brother than anything, and he knew that Fenwick had shared the sentiment. She was his exuberant little sister, and brighter than any ray of sunshine. He was the earth, giving her foundation and bathing in her light.
After a little while, he could see emotion starting to radiate out. Eviny was an amazingly resilient little creature, a fact he attributed to her Hufflepuff nature, but even she astounded him with the way she slipped from stage to stage. First there was denial, shaking her head back and forth in a general refusal to accept the truth. She skipped over anger entirely, bypassing it for bargaining, which logic reckoned too improbable and so sent her spiraling into stage four: depression. Try as she might, it wasn't something she could entertain for long. Acceptance gradually dawned, but that didn't make it easy. If anything – her willingness to just take the news hit Fabian harder than her being angry would have.
Slowly but surely, her eyes filled with tears, hands clenching tightly around a fistful of his robes. Her lower lip quivered and she dragged it between her teeth, biting on it to keep from sobbing outright. She couldn't defend against the whimper that escaped her throat, the ragged cry as she inhaled sharply. Her breathing hitched, chest rising and falling in an odd, jerky pattern as she struggled to maintain herself. Naturally, she failed, dissolving into hysterics in Fabian's arms. Sighing, he hugged her tightly, lips pressed to the top of her head as the scent of her shampoo wafted around him. Normally he found it reassuring, but today – it only stung.
"Evi—honey, I'm so sorry." Every tear burned, every sob ripped him just a little more. Seeing her in any kind of pain was torture, but this – knowing how much pain must have been coursing through her head, it was killing him. The Cruciatus Curse – he briefly wondered how long Ben had been forced to endure it – had nothing on this misery. It didn't matter that Benjy had been one of his friends. It didn't matter that somewhere, Emmeline was sobbing just as hard as his own little, Irish angel. All that mattered was the woman in his arms, and her pain.