Putting the Pieces Together

[devalis]

Sometimes living in the wizard world drove Brin crazy. Not often. Sometimes it was all she could do to thank her lucky stars that of all the unlikely of unlikely events she had been gifted with these magical abilities where even the father she had inherited them from had been bereft of them. While she would never be a wonder with a wand, there were more than a few things that were made a helluvalot easier by some wrist-flicking. At least in theory. Brin would never figure out how to work her way around a proper charm, which was terrible because there were all sorts of helpful hair-straightening charms she might have taken advantage of if she had any sort of talent whatsoever. As it was, before graduating Hogwarts she stood to make a very good living as an apothecary at St. Mungo's. Excellent at potion work, she was. It wasn't necessarily the most fashionable of careers, but she felt as though she was being helpful and her father insisted that she find work in the wizard world just because of the opportunity he hadn't been allowed. But as it happened, you had to have certain high marks in certain subjects to become even an apothecary and as hard-working as Brin was (Hufflepuff right down to the core), she hadn’t quite made the cut. Ollivander had been kind enough to give her work as an apprentice and if she was being honest, the work suited her much better. There was still more than a peppering of magic to be had, of course. But it made sense to her that the raw materials that made up a wand were mostly responsible for what they were best used for. She still worked at the garage over the weekends to keep her fingers practiced, and for stress relief. This was one of the places in which the wizard world was lacking.

Brin thrived on the workings of a thing, on the pieces and parts and how they fit together. This made her an expert puzzle-solver and pretty good with heavy machinery, but that bought her exactly nothing in a world where you could point to an object and order it to be something else entirely. Transfiguration, especially, rubbed her the wrong way because of exactly that. Why not just go out and find the thing you wanted instead of forcing something out of its natural form at your convenience? But that was just a pet peeve. What really got to her was the fact that there was nothing to explain it. Just a few fancy words and suddenly—well, anything. Sometimes she thought the Sorting Hat had chosen her for Hufflepuff because it had seen a future of her reading through the entire Hogwarts library, just so she could have some sort of actual solid information on this crazy world into which she had been thrust. Some nights she just longed for the familiar smell of fuel and a good, solid wrench in her hand instead of a silly wooden stick.

Nowadays, Brin was still most comfortable underneath an engine of some sort getting her hands dirty and fixing the world one piece at a time. Sometimes, though, she wished she was more. Even as a child growing up just outside of one of the most prestigious college towns in England, she had longed to be part of that academic elite who she was sure could just look at a book and know its contents. Brin was more practical than that and knew for a fact she could never fit in with that crowd. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the aptitude. She simply lacked the…attitude. She could never walk around with her shoulders back and her head held up, looking down her nose at other people, no matter what walk of life from which they came. She would bet nobody who went to Cambridge could pull apart a motorcycle engine and put it back together faster than she could. Or solve a Rubik’s Cube in under thirty seconds. Well, maybe some of them could do that. But the point, quite simply, was that it meant something. The fact that she longed to know more was a bit of a selfish endeavor, actually.

Luckily, she wasn’t the only wizard living in Cambridge and the other, a boy who had tutored her at Hogwarts, was taking classes at that selfsame university Brin could only dream of going to. His offer to bring over some books and give her a sort of audit of the courses he was taking was one she couldn’t refuse, though their schedules seemed to be so full of random that they ended up agreeing to meet at her grandparents’ auto repair shop. Her wand lay next to a wrench, both within reaching distance, though the only thing that could be seen of Brin were her booted feet. She could see Samson’s feet from her position underneath the 1965 GTO, a brilliant American car she had been rebuilding since she was thirteen. “Nice shoes,” came the easy voice from beneath the vehicle. “Glad you found the place alright. There’s cookies, over there on the red tool chest, if you’d like. Cranberry macadamia nut.”

[samson alexander hall]

Samson had spent the entire day reviewing his required reading—not only because it would help him later on but so that he could effectively explain their concepts to his new ‘student.’ Lying on his childhood bed, he’d highlighted and annotated neurotically for hours, not becoming bored in the least. He was glad that he would have this time to go over his notes, because he’d hate to explain such complicated concepts incorrectly. Especially since it had to be a pretty broad overview; at least (it being the summer and all) he only had two classes worth of material to cover. He remembered Brin as being a very attentive listener and eager to understand, however, so he wasn’t too concerned with whether or not the session would go well. On the contrary, he was rather excited about meeting with her. Brin had been someone who might not have been a close acquaintance at Hogwarts, but she was an acquaintance nonetheless. It had been a few months since Samson had had much interaction another magical person; he had been living almost completely immersed in muggle society since graduation. It wasn’t that he had any aversion to wizarding society—he rather loved it actually. It was simply a result of going to Cambridge. He was so busy with his studies that he didn’t make an effort to spend time in the wizarding world.

In any case, today he hoped to be able to talk openly with someone about things like potions and Hogwarts classes and maybe even quidditch. So with the determination and enthusiasm in which he prepared for most events, Samson prepared to tutor Brin. He paused only to find sustenance and give his poor eyes a break from the tiny text from which he was reading. Time passed quickly for him, and soon it was mid afternoon, time for him to head over to the auto shop that Brin had directed him to meet her at. He packed his books into his satchel and double-checked that he had anything he needed. Soon he was on his way over. It was close enough that he would walk there within an hour, and being a fan of walks, Samson decided to do so. It seemed to go rather quickly to him, as the weather was nice and his mind was still lost in his own academic knowledge. When Samson arrived, he was pleased to find that the directions she had given him worked well (he was the type to get lost easily)

Walking into the shop, Samson politely asked a stranger where he could find Brin. The smell of gasoline and metal was affronting and he wanted to get to wherever they were actually going to work as soon as possible. He was, unfortunately directed to a car under which Brin appeared to be lying. Samson walked over, wondering if he would simply stand by and wait for her to finish, or attempt to capture her attention. He stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to decide. Fortunately, he was relieved from the decision-making as she spoke out to him. Smiling, he replied, ”Um, thanks…” He wandered over to the cookies and took a bite, ”Wow, Brin, these are incredible! I had forgotten what an excellent baker you are.” He looked around, wondering what was going to happen next. ”So… where are we going to be working? He rested his hand down on a table and immediately regretted it as his palm was covered with grease. ”Brin… where could one obtain a rag, or could I perhaps wash my hands somewhere?” Standing awkwardly, one hand holding a cookie and the other blackened with grease, he waited for her reply.

word count:: 616
tag:: Brin, closed
notes:: yayyy!

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[devalis]

While Brin was excited to be learning something new that probably had nothing to do with the inside of an engine, she wasn’t sure she had quite thought through reconnecting with someone wizardly. On the one hand, she spent most of her weekdays in Diagon Alley talking to wizards and witches all the time while she learned the finer points of wand-making. Somehow, though, there was a large difference between talking over the latest Quidditch standings and the repairs being done to some of the buildings that had been destroyed in the past two years’ war. Brin didn’t like to talk about politics, but as a muggleborn witch she couldn’t deny she had been more than a little frightened. Especially since she wasn’t half as talented as some of the others in her year and had much more call to need to defend herself. Bringing some of that back to her muggle home, therefore, was worrisome. It was one of the reasons she had avoided any of the very few wizards she knew lived close.

Samson was different, though. He had spent the past few months surrounded by muggles by his own volition, because he wanted to learn. Brin had always found that endearing—he was a Ravenclaw to the core. And while he might have found himself a comfortable position somewhere in the Ministry of Magic or as a cursebreaker or something, given what she assumed were excellent marks in all subjects, instead he was taking muggle classes at a muggle university because there was simply more to learn. She liked that. Most wizards she had met were at least a little arrogant when it came to what was worth knowing and what was not. Most muggle studies, no matter how prestigious, just didn’t make the cut. And she still wasn’t entirely sure what it was Samson was studying. That didn’t matter too much, however. Brin couldn’t afford to go to Cambridge and she probably couldn’t sit still long enough in that kind of classroom setting, no matter how interesting the topic. After seven years of wizard school where you spent class periods turning animals into wine glasses, the muggle education system just wasn’t enough to keep her attention. Hopefully Samson would do as good a job teaching her now as he had during school. He was the sole reason she had passed her OWLs at all.

“Give me a second, I’ll be right there,” she called in an almost sing-song voice while she made the final adjustments. She smiled when he complimented her cookies. She had baked them specifically for their study session. “I remember from school, your patience was much longer if I had brought a peace-offering,” she laughed and gathered her tools, sliding out from underneath the car after a moment. There was more in the kitchen, too. There was no need for her to be nervous, it was only Samson, after all, and he wasn’t expecting anything she couldn’t give. But for some reason her stomach had flip-flopped the entire night before and she had spent that time working with her hands as best as she could, which had resulted in all sorts of muffins and quiches and cookies until she had worn herself out enough to go back to sleep.

She watched him for a moment with a look of slight amusement on her face as he stood so awkwardly, looking completely out of place among the tools and dirt and grease. She had always felt she looked the exact same way at Hogwarts and everyone there was unnaturally tidy. Laughing merrily, Brin stepped forward and took a towel from the back pocket of her denims and took a hold of his wrist. Her touch was surprisingly gentle as she wiped across his fingers enough to get most of it off. “We’ll be working in the kitchen, there’s a sink there. Haven’t you ever been in a garage before?” she asked with a smile, leaving the towel in his hand and unceremoniously wiping off her own dirty hands on the side of her jeans.

[samson alexander hall]

To be quite frank, Samson was happy that he was muggleborn. There was so much excitement to it—one day you are a normal little boy doing perfectly normal things, and practically the next, you are on a train to Hogwarts, preparing to learn about magic. Magic, for Christ’s sake! Logically, the young man understood that it wasn’t all joyful for everyone: some people hated the idea of their whole lives being kept a secret to their families and friends. Others hated knowing that they could never be doctors or lawyers or news anchors or whatever because they would never have a traditional education (unless, of course, you were lucky to have a professional educator as a parent like Samson did). Their whole lives were changed if they chose to take up magic, and could never really undo the change. And furthermore, as a muggleborn, they were likely to face at least a bit of adversity upon entering the wizarding world and being considered at least a tiny bit lower-class than purebloods. Samson had gotten lucky in his experience, and he was well aware of that.

Now he had the best of both worlds! The knowledge of the magical world with the opportunity to gain that of the muggle world; a good number of muggle friends, and Brin to keep him at least a little connected to the wizarding one. He hoped that the things he was learning—lately that consisted of philosophy and psychological research, along with a dabbling in sociology. Currently, he was taking Experimentation and Statistics, as well as Social Theory. He thought that Brin would find the subjects interesting, fortunately enough. Though he couldn’t be sure; it had been years since they’d really talked, after all. He didn’t know if her interests were the same, of how much she had changed at all. As she slid out from under the car, he could tell that she had changed at least a little since they had gone to school. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but she did look more mature. He probably did too—it happened to everyone, whether or not he had been expecting it. Her hair was darker than he remembered, no longer a dirty blond color but now a shiny chestnut color. Just as he remembered, Brin’s face was sweet natured, but too round to make her a typical beauty. He was relieved; she was quite pretty, if Brin had suddenly become gorgeous, he would have been horribly uncomfortable.

Either way, Samson felt his stomach twinge the tiniest of bits when she laughed at him for making such a mess. Smiling sheepishly, his stomach dropped once more as she cleaned him off—Samson had almost no female friends, and had always been too preoccupied with coursework to date. He was entirely unused to people touching him, and decided to blame the feeling entirely on that. ”The kitchen sounds good. And yes, I must agree that I always enjoy the food you make… but would you really call me impatient?” As someone who hoped to teach people things one day, Samson was sincerely curious. He frowned at Brin a little, ”No, Brin. I have never been in a garage before… I’ve never had reason too. Must it be so… greasy?” He knew he was being a little whiny about the whole thing, but Samson was the type of person who liked things orderly, and clean. This place was certainly neither of those things. He hoped that the kitchen would prove to be cleaner, at least. And had ample room for him to lay out his notes. ”So, are you ready to get started?” Shoving the rest of the cookie in his mouth, Samson continued to wipe his hands with the rag, paying special attention to his fingertips. If grease got on his papers, his whole day would be ruined. ”I hope that you have an interest in psychological research, or social theory. If not, we can always talk about the things I took last semester, like philosophy or even computer science. Though, that would be rather difficult, as I did not bring a laptop with the necessary programs… I thought that, with subjects like these, we could take a more informal approach. I’ll introduce you to the types of readings I’ve been doing and what I’ve learned, and then we can just discuss it. That is basically how the classes are taught anyway.”

word count:: 740
tag:: Brin, closed
notes:: I hope this classes are okay…c:

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[devalis]

Brin didn’t put too much stock in appearances just because she had trouble maintaining her own. As a girl who spent most of her time elbow-deep in one messy machine or another, it was difficult to walk around looking as glamorous as most of the other women she came into contact with. In the muggle world there were all sorts of makeups she had never been taught to apply and all sorts of fashion magazines and tips she had never heard. It just wasn’t her environment. And though she realized it was important, it always seemed to fall to the wayside for other more practical matters. Like how on earth was she expected to work properly in a pair of high heels? In the wizard world there were charms and potions and things to make women undeniably attractive all the time, if they had the galleons for it. Brin had experimented in school with hair charms, once. It had turned her naturally brunette locks to a golden hue… before burning off the edges of it. What had been a ponytail she was secretly proud of reaching almost to the middle of her back became a blonde pixie cut in a matter of seconds and though it had impressed the Weasley boys enough to give her a job at their newly opened shop (mostly because they found it hilarious), she had only stuck with the style for the rest of the year because she had too much pride (and fear) to try and charm it back the way it had been.

Samson always seemed to be so put together, though. Even during their late night study sessions he was always in full uniform while Brin had come in her blue bunny slippers and pajamas with only her school robes over them to look as though she really meant to learn something. And she had. But Samson was good looking even without taking his clothes into consideration and that had always intimidated her a little bit. Not that looks had anything to do with personality and she would be the first to admit that some of the most attractive men she’d ever met also happened to be the sloppiest, gruffest looking creatures on the planet. Again, she didn’t put too much stock in appearances. Samson was a rare, pleasant mix of personality and looks and had he not been so desperately attached to his studies, she would have had a hard time placing how he had managed to keep the girls away from him. Yes, she had noticed that, too. She was nothing if not observant. She kind of wanted to ask if he was dating anyone now. Not because she had any personal interest, of course, but because, well… his jaw had squared out quite nicely since graduation. He looked more the part of man and less the part of boy than he had only a few short years ago.

Nonetheless, from what little she had seen of him, he was quite the same as he had always been. Brin was affectionate by nature and even during their tutoring sessions at school she had probably leaned closer to him than necessary when they were looking over texts or leaned her head on his shoulder when her mind was wandering. She smirked a little when he asked after his patience. The comment she had made was casual, but it was kind of endearing that he seemed genuinely worried about it. “No, no, nothing like that!” she laughed, wiping the rest of the grime onto her jeans. “But I know it takes a special kind of patience to deal with teaching me anything magical and you had more of it when I brought goodies,” she explained. She didn’t want to make him feel bad when he asked about the greasiness of the garage, but she had to suppress a smirk, at least. “Until muggles come up with a cleaner way to upkeep their machines… yeah, it’s mostly like this,” she winked and turned to lead him through the garage and up a set of side stairs to the little apartment she was renting out there at half the cost from her grandparents.

It was a cozy little space, just room enough for one person to live comfortably if they weren’t especially claustrophobic. There was a small sitting room and through one squared archway, a kitchen big enough for stove, refrigerator, table and chairs. A short hall led off to two doors, both slightly ajar. Brin nodded toward the kitchen. “There’s a big round table in there, if you need to set up. I remember you kept really excellent notes. I’m just gonna clean up a bit. There’s soda and stuff in the fridge, help yourself.” With a smile, she took the towel from his hand to throw into the laundry basket and walked off to make herself more study-presentable. A few minutes later she returned, quite a bit cleaner and smelling like vanilla and lilac. “So what’s this about… psychology or sommat?” she asked, taking a seat in one of the two chairs set at the table.

[samson alexander hall]

Samson watched Brin wipe her hands on her jeans with a frown, but kept his mouth shut. Bringing it up would make him feel like a jerk. He was always the sort that liked things to be clean and orderly. It was the way his brain worked, and so he liked for it to be the way his world worked as well. Everything neat, with it’s own place and well taken care of. He hated mess, and worse, he hated when things were dirty. Samson was the type of person to do dishes immediately after dinner, to fold his laundry the moment it was out of the wash, to wipe off shoes as soon as they got muddy. Because of this, he tended to look sharp and put together, even though it really had nothing to do with caring about his appearance. In the end, he never really worried about what he looked like or how people perceived his appearance. He figured that such vanity was a waste of time that could be better spent doing something worthwhile. Samson was completely unaware of his own attractiveness—he knew that his father was only moderately handsome and his mother had been a beauty, but had never really thought about how that related to his own appearance. The idea that he might be dating someone was almost laughable—he had a small but constant group of friends at Cambridge but they were all male and all while many of them were heavily invested in the exploration of the dating world, Samson had stayed out of the mess. It was too complicated, too time consuming. He knew that he would feel morally uncomfortable with the random hooking up that frequented most college campuses, but a steady girlfriend sounded like an awfully large amount of work.

So, while study groups and movie watching and late night chatting were things that Samson did on a regular basis, when his friends went to the bars or parties to pick up girls, he stayed home and read or did work. His father, of course, worried that he wasn’t experiencing enough of life; that he was resting on his fear of women and his love of learning too much to be possibly healthy. Samson waved off these concerns with a note that he would have plenty of time once he graduated. In any case, he hoped that this relationship with Brin would prove to his father (and his joking friends) that was capable of being friends with a girl; that he wasn’t entirely afraid of them. Of course, Brin was different from a lot of girls but Samson figured that to be irrelevant. He smiled at her kind response, ”Oh, well good then. I’d hate to think that I had been tutoring your badly all of those times. You know if I ever do a bad job of explaining something, or turn into a pompous ass, feel more than free to let me know.” He frowned; the gears in his head already turning in an attempt to figure out how all the grease and grime could be kept under control in a mechanic’s shop, without the use of magic. Shaking his head, he realized that it wasn’t really something he needed to concern himself with; Brin didn’t seem remotely bothered by the environment.

Samson followed her, curious to see where Brin lived and what it was like. Small and cozy, he liked the simplicity of the apartment. There was something noble to young man about living with only what you need, nothing more. Handing over the towel, Samson watched Brin disappear behind a door and then wandered into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and searched for something noncarbonated—he hated sodas for an unexplainable reason. Finally he settled on water, pulling out a glass and filling it with water from the tap. He picked up another cookie from the tray lying out and swiped a napkin to lay it down on. Finally, he began to pull out his notes and lay them on the table. He organized the notes in piles by subject, and stacked those in order of what needed to be discussed first to make the information understandable. By the time Brin came back, the table was full but organized. Samson knew they wouldn’t get through all of these notes, but he figured Brin might want to scan through them to decide what she was most interested in talking about. He grinned when she came back into the kitchen, halfway through his third cookie. ”I hope you weren’t saving these for anyone. Did you say something about Quiche?” He scooted over to ensure that she would have room to look everything over, getting a strong whiff of whatever smell she had on. It smelled fantastic but Samson refused to linger on it before continuing, ”Psychological research? Well, basically I’ve been learning about how so many studies that are talked about in the news are misleading and why…”

word count:: 832
tag:: Brin, closed
notes:: Sorry this took so long and is kind of blah! Hope it works!

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