Some Kind of Madness is Swallowing Me Whole

There it was again. That sound. Bentley kept trying to convince himself they were very slow footsteps, bringing someone down the corridor to see him. But he hadn't told anyone anything of merit before the attack, so as much as he wanted to, he couldn't believe that someone might come get him. Might want him freed. Yeah, maybe the attack was his fault to an extent. But he had tried to warn them. Had gone to the flat above the Quidditch store only to find that Baldric hadn't actually moved back there. He had been without information and without options.

So when the Aurors came, it was Ben who took the fall. He hadn't even been able to see Baldric except for the once when he deflected a shot away from the blond in question. It was just lucky the Aurors showed up when they did - one of the other Death Eaters had caught him doing so, and clearly had no problem doing away with Clarence's son.

All of that was essentially useless, though. Well, not the whole thing. He had saved Baldric as far as he knew, so Ben decided that he could breathe a little easier, even if he had been dragged off for his father's idea.

The first day, a burning need for retribution kept him up and stomping around his cell. His attempt at redemption had failed and all he had left was a desire to counter what had been done to him... Again. By day two, Bentley realized that no one knew where he was. And who would bother searching now that the students were in danger? Rose didn't care, and Baldric didn't care. So he had finally sunk to the floor around noon and clung to the wall furthest away from the door outside of which Dementors lingered in wait. They were clearly desperate for him to come closer, but he was having none of it. He sort of slept, but not enough to bother talking about for too long. As day five rolled around, Ben found himself shaking, and tried to keep his gaze away from the door. He genuinely looked the part of a mad man trapped precisely where he deserved to be. Worse still, Ben honestly felt he had been given exactly what he had earned by that point, unable to accept the idea that he would be kept somewhere so awful unless he had done something terrible enough to have warranted such torture.

His eyes darted across the floor of the cell again, unaware that his father was being blackmailed or that a certain brunette was seeking out the man Bentley used to believe would stay by him in anything. By weekend, he wouldn't feel so physically trapped, to be sure. Mentally and Emotionally, on the other hand...

“I need a loan.”

It had been the first time Baldric had spoken to him since they’d all found out. It’d been a dismal Monday, after a weekend of sickness that was so unbefitting of the tall, broad, blonde Gryffindor that the younger Hayes matriarch had wanted to take him to St. Mungo’s. Baldric had come back late Saturday night, bearing the news that they had all been waiting for. Admitting it had stolen the air from Baldric’s chest, buckled his knees and he tumbled like a sack of bricks into the belated grasp of the Ivanov healer who caught him under his arms. They’d roused him with rum and chocolate wafers but when he finally came to, his eyes alighted on the imploring faces of the Hayes’, worried after him, and at that moment all of the guilt within him lurched up through his throat and out into the bucket that Millie hastily stuck under his chin.

He went to Keiran guilty, with his tail between his legs, after getting up, finally feeling more like himself. He was bundled up in a hoodie, his hands in the pocket in the front. He looked thin, hollowed out and miserable and as he sat down next to the elder man, pulling one of the twins onto his lap in a loose embrace, despite the smile he rose for the cooing infant he still looked desperately sad. The words came after a moment, a night of listless insomnia having given him a plentiful period of time in which to think and for all his upset he knew what he needed to do. Only, he, like his contemporary who had gone out to college that morning to submit some coursework, didn’t harbour much personal wealth of his own. But he knew no one with enough to pay a bail like this one. No one but Keiran – the man who had suffered, purportedly, at the hand of Baldric’s lover.

Inexplicably, the money had been granted. Too grateful to question it, Baldric scuttled out of the house as soon as Millie came home, confusion alighting on her features as he bustled out. It was to the Ministry that he departed. He filed his request for passage to Azkaban at the soonest juncture. They intended to make him wait, however. Posting bail was the last thing they wanted to do, of course. That had been enough to make Baldric explode. Having reduced the snooty secretary to tears and smashed all of the lamps in that corner of the Department of Law and Enforcement with his irate holler, he was taken off and given a better time slot. Wednesday. It was better than nothing. Better than the Saturday he’d been offered.

Until that point in time, Baldric was like a bear with a sore head and was avoided studiously by Millie who didn’t know whether to venture some sort of attempt at an olive branch or not. The only people he was calm with were the twins, much to their delight. Needless to say, the night before Baldric didn’t sleep. He got up early, too, and took the boat before the one that he was due to with a particularly grumpy Auror begrudged to have to attend. They arrived before the visitor’s centre had even opened – a grim shack in which Baldric refused what looked and smelt like reheated coffee. There wasn’t any more time to wait, thankfully.

A silvery lion padded up the halls in front of Baldric and the Auror, the latter’s herring swimming along beside the big cat. The Dementors fled, giving howls at the sight of the snarling beast that so reflected Baldric’s dismal mood. It batted its great paws at the coattails of the creatures and snapped at the herring that danced along with it. It would not settle, determined to clear everything in its path, until it reached the cell, casting bright light around and chasing away the shadows that encroached in the damp, unaccommodating quarters.

The lion jumped up at the cell, excitement changing its features entirely, and Baldric picked up his pace, coming up alongside it, reaching out to curl a hand around the bars. All of his anger dissipated in that moment. He forgave Ben for everything, even though he himself held a lot of guilt. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated – about it all. In fact, majorly irritated. Impossibly, also, he still felt ill.

The Auror took his time opening the cell door but when he did the lion bounded inside, brushing up around Ben with all of the fondness in the world, as though the lion was a mere cat and Ben his affectionate master. Baldric himself couldn’t find a smile. He stalked in, the lion leaping back, and pulled Ben roughly to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the elder of the two of them. He sighed, leaning his head against Ben’s and mustering a kiss for the brunette’s neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to rub briefly against the back of Ben’s neck. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

With that he laced one of their hands together and tugged Ben out of the cell, determined that he should never go back in there ever again no matter how angry Baldric was with him and no matter how resolved Ben was to do what he perceived was right. If it came up, Baldric was going to turn Ben into a strange version of Rapunzel. There was no way in the creation of cats that he was going to let the infuriating man run riot again for the sake of someone that had done such a good job of abandoning him, twice.

“Mr Wood,” the Auror held up his wand half threateningly and by his other side, the lion bit out a growl. “You still have to fill out the paperwork. If you’ll follow me.”

Baldric’s own wand twitched up and he twitched an eyebrow at the Auror, daring him to try and get Baldric to go anywhere. The Auror blanched, staring at the man wondering how the Gryffindor could have ever moved fast enough on a broomstick to be a decent Chaser when he was so clearly built to be a Beater. The Auror lowered his wand, much to his apparent dismay, and he straightened himself up.

“I’ll go and check on the boat, then.” He declared. “But you do need to sign him out.”

Baldric wasn’t going to make that mistake. Once the Auror went, disappearing down a side corridor, Baldric tugged on Ben’s hand and took him back down to the outgoings office where one of the staff cast and irate look at Baldric before retreating back into the office for his cup of tea, leaving the clipboard on the side. Baldric  released Ben briefly and retrieved his bag, pulling out the clothes he’d brought with him. He didn’t want Ben in that god forsaken Azkaban uniform a minute longer.

“Put these on,” Baldric instructed, handing over a fresh everything – from woollen jumper to fluffy socks and a new pair of boxers. All of it had warming charms attached, Baldric having not believed for a second that they’d bother to make the cell habitable for him.

Then the younger wizard took up the clipboard and the pen, hastily scribbling out the details, intent on getting out of there. Ben had been locked up long enough. It was time to get him home.

The light coming from down the hall made Bentley wince, his eyes scrunching shut. Maybe they were intending to just pass by. No one had bothered coming to see him so far, so he didn't exactly expect that to change. His head lifted, though, squinting at the light as it stopped at his door and the bars rattled. He couldn't see beyond the shining glow to determine what was actually happening. When the door opened and the light flew towards him, though, Ben finally understood. It was almost like warmth as it approached, because he knew there was no other person it could be.

Shuddering breaths left him, half wanting to pull away when Baldric wrapped around him, but still desperate for that contact. It was amazing, even to Ben, that he had so quickly convinced himself that he deserved what he'd been dealt. He was just incredibly grateful that his time in the prison might be over. That Baldric had found a reason to come get him. The younger man made promises of ensuring Ben's safety, but at that point he was already pretty messed up. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, considering he had been in for less than a week. Still, he was weaker minded than he cared to admit, and now he had no choice but to accept it. It was plain, he was sure.

His guilty conscience told him he was supposed to stay, but he couldn't hold himself to it. Doing as Baldric expected of him, Ben followed the blond out the door, practically on his heels for fear that he might be drawn away. Baldric frightened the Auror away, but Ben couldn't find words as he was pulled along. Taking the clothes in his hands, Ben just stared at them, anxiety marring his features.

He didn't want to put his new marks on display, couldn't handle another layer of proof given up. Turning away, Ben gathered all of the pieces of clothing in one hand so he could wrap his right one around the opposite wrist. Ben imagined he looked haunted, but he eventually found his voice. "It's okay." Extending the fabric back towards Baldric, he kept his gaze downcast in a physical manifestation of his guilt and shame. "I'll get some of my own things at home."

Baldric looked up from the clipboard, his pencil tip digging into the box he’d paused in where he was supposed to scrawl his signature – a great mishmash of all of the names he’d had the dubious honour of being bestowed upon birth. He stared at Ben, treating the elder man to a look that was not quite as dangerous as the one that he’d sent in the direction of the Auror but there was a similar menace lurking there that insisted that Baldric was not a person worth crossing in this situation.

“Put them on,” he repeated softly, despite the thunderous look on his face. “I’m not letting you in that flat unless you’re in something familiar.” Something like regular clothes, he meant. He couldn’t bear the sight more than anything else, regardless of Ben’s comfort which the warming charms were, arguably, meant to ensure. Baldric tapped the pencil against the page, feeling the cork of the clipboard begin to give under his grip. The item in his grasp visibly seemed to relax when he relieved the pressure of the pencil and he couldn’t help but glance down at it in vague amusement.

“I won’t tell you again,” Baldric said softly, flicking the end of the pencil in Ben’s direction. “Change. I’ll turn my back if you want.” And, true to his word, that’s what he did, dropping himself down into one of the waiting room chairs, dropping the clipboard onto his knees.

---

It had been one of those awkward days filled with activity and yet at the same time not at all. Baldric had been waiting for a few test results to come back which had arrived just after lunchtime. He’d spent the morning fretting and just generally irritating Bridget by being something of her shadow. He’d made tea, helped her around the kitchen and all the rest but he wasn’t as particular and as efficient as usual. No, it wasn’t until the papers arrived that he lost the tension from his shoulders.

His mother’s had been pushed in amongst his own paperwork and Baldric drew that out after perceiving that he was healthy enough – with the reintroduction of the potions – to resume some sort of normal existence. He brushed his fingers up through his hair as he squinted over the top of his glasses at the sheets laid out before him. By the looks of it, she wasn’t getting much better. If anything, she was getting worse and Baldric stifled a desperate groan, bringing up his cup of tea to his lips.

There was a part of him that had always blamed Oliver for what had happened to Alicia and, by extension, himself. There was a part of him that then went on to loathe his father all the more for treating the woman like he did and, also, making her – albeit it wasn’t as forcible as the verb sounded – have another child. She had lost her vibrancy. She had begun to feel the effects with the birth of Freya. Oliver didn’t blame his sister though he might’ve had he not had maturity on his side and instead he just really, now, felt sad.

Discarding all of it, Baldric took up his tea and returned to his room, promising Bridget softly that he’d be back down soon enough to help her with dinner. He decided to take an early shower. After setting down his post and the cup of tea he cleared his frame of his clothes and took the shower, scrubbing furiously at his skin. His fingers soon began to prune, though, and he stepped out after shutting off the water. It was then that Baldric heard Bridget’s call and he hastily grabbed some new clothes – pyjamas – and headed downstairs.

His hair was damp and he looked at little bit disbelieved, in the midst of pulling his jumper down over his head. He blinked a little bit as he reached the half-landing upon spotting a woman sat in the living room that Baldric didn’t recognise. He looked about himself, as though expecting someone else to pop out at the top of the stairs but when there was no movement, Baldric slowly descended back down the rest of the stairs to stride through into the room in question.

“Hi,” Baldric offered gently, a smile accompanying the greeting. “I’m Baldric. Sorry, you’ve um… you’ve come to see me?”

Bentley withered a bit, glancing back at Baldric when the younger man snapped at him. Taking the direction he was given, Ben swallowed once before changing as quickly as he could manage. It confused him to an extent that Baldric seemed to determined to make Ben back into something 'familiar.' The blond shouldn't have wanted that at all. Ben was not that man Baldric thought he was, apparently, but he also wasn't sure at all who he was supposed to be.

He'd tried. He'd done what his father expected of him. And yet nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing. He wasn't meant to be part of that family or part of that world. But Ben just wanted to go back and let Baldric convince him otherwise. He wanted Baldric to have slapped him upside the head and knocked some sense into him.

Actually, he just wanted Baldric. Period.

Unsure what to do with the uniform, Ben looked down at them in his hands for a moment before setting them carefully atop the desk. His hands fell to his sides as he waited for Baldric to finish with the paperwork, feeling much smaller than he really was. How was he supposed to go back to work after all of this? Sure, Derek and Nancy would try to understand, but he wasn't convinced they would forgive him. Baldric hadn't, after all, so why should they? In fact, he was half wishing he had refused to leave as instructed.

Now Clarence and the others could choose to do something just as mad as their attack on those kids, except directed at him or people he cared about. It just made him incapable of understanding where he was in relation to those around him, it seemed, because while he and his the Gryffindor used to be equals, it certainly didn't seem that way anymore.

He shifted his weight back and forth for a few moments before walking over to sit next to Baldric, silently pointing out that he had done what was asked of him. He felt stiff, to an extent, but after a few moments of being uncomfortable, he started to relax into his typical posture. Little steps, he told himself.

"Now what?"

Once the elaborate signature of Baldric Wood was dotted across the line at the bottom of the page, the page shot out from under the clasp of the clipboard. It rolled itself up and a stamp came from seemingly nowhere to seal it closed before the page shot out through the window and, presumably, onto the Ministry. The clipboard and pen disappeared back into the office and Baldric sighed, realising that all of the turmoil was now over. He could take Ben home where the man would be safe from any further harm.

Lifting his arm, Baldric wrapped it around Ben, leaning over to press a kiss to the elder man’s temple. He exhaled gently, leaning against Ben with all of the fondness in the world, desperately trying to convey to him just how much he loved him in one single gesture. He didn’t really know if he could do it without words. He wanted to, though. He wanted to take Ben home, get him into pyjamas and feet him with tea and whatever he managed to bake during the course of the day so that it made up for all of the injustices.

He’d do it, too, he was sure. Without complaint or anything of the like. He was still angry. He was still hurt deeply. There was always something more important than his own feelings, though. Ben mattered. Ben mattered to him like nothing on earth. He was the priority in that moment. Every bitter feeling would have to be forgotten because Baldric knew that there was something more important at stake somehow.

“We’re going home.” Baldric promised. “And I’m going to sort this out.”

---

The first thing that really registered within Baldric was the fact that this was the woman who, in his mind, was responsible for Ben’s gross lack of judgement. Before he had chance to covet any dislike of her, however, he reminded himself that she wasn’t the one who had pulled the strings – she had only helped Ben. He had made the decisions – for good and bad. No one else had done that. Baldric couldn’t fault Audriana – even if she had a hand in the madness. Still, that did nothing to keep him from folding his arms across his broad chest and adopting a harsh, cold stance.

He lost that frosty edge when she mentioned the A-word, however. His arms fell limply to his sides once more and he gaped at her, his mind conjuring an image of his lover shivering in a cell that befitted neither man nor beast. He swallowed. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Ben was supposed to have learned his lesson early and discovered that there was nothing in that life for him. In Baldric’s mind, he should have come and found him, written to him at least, and Baldric would’ve been there in a shot. They would’ve made things work again.

“Say that again,” he uttered finally. “A-azkaban? But Ben … he…” Baldric swallowed. “No,” he resolved. “You have to be lying. He wouldn’t … he didn’t … His dad…”

Baldric dropped down like a sack of bricks into the arm chair and ran his fingers through his hair, desperately trying to resolve the image in his brain with the man he knew – the man he’d said he wouldn’t be despite the influence of his father. Baldric couldn’t imagine Ben in that world. In that prison. He didn’t want to. But the idea of going to get him – of being able to – let him find the light at the end of the dark tunnel he’d found himself in.

“I’m going …” he declared, standing up again. “I need to … I need to go and … I need to post the bail or … I … something. I…” The sofa sagged as he abandoned himself into that next and he dropped his head in his hands, the image of Ben in Azkaban etched on the backs of his eyelids, half-tormenting him.

“Why did this happen?” He asked.