[london][mini plot] always summer [ben]

i'm burning like a fuse
i'm not afraid
'cause I know i've got nothing left to lose

Brita's cheerfulness and willingness to talk to strangers won her a fair many friends in most places she frequented, and she'd heard about the Summer Search within moments of turning up at Sandler's on a casual day of browsing the shops. Rachel had lowered her voice, despite her being the only other person in the store at 2:00 pm, and whispered the news about the rune she had received conspiratorially to the former Gryffindor. Brita was instantly excited: she loved the outdoors, and the idea of spending a day out and about searching for some real-life hidden treasure was extremely appealing. And it was a once-in-a-century chance! Wizards had long lifespans, but while she would probably make it to the next century she didn't expect to be quite in the shape to gallivant around the countryside. Well, maybe she would, but there was no time like the present!

She'd asked Liv about her plans, but her cousin had something else to do, and Brita didn't exactly want to make this memory alone. Luckily, she'd run into Ben at the park that afternoon and got up the nerve to ask the Healer if he wanted to go with her, since Rachel had promised not to tell anyone else for a day so she could get a jump on it if she had the opportunity. Ben's schedule was free, and he'd also volunteered Hank as "scent hound," so Brita asked him to meet her in London bright and early so they could figure out something to hide in return for whatever they found. After hastily convening with Liv to discuss what she should wear for the occasion, Brita pulled on a pretty tank for the heat and jeans for the hiking, accessorizing with a big leather belt and a well-worn pair of hiking boots. Taking a nervous breath for a moment, she dispelled any worries. It was Ben, what was going to go wrong?

Grabbing the morning's paper and Apparating with a crack, she found herself in the middle of Diagon Alley, in front of Acelyn's. They didn't open until noon on Sunday, so Brita didn't feel bad about stealing a seat on the patio. She'd gotten there a bit early. Soon enough, Hank announced himself and his owner. "Hi!" Brita said, this time addressing Ben before his faithful pooch, springing up and giving him a quick hug. "Ready to go on an adventure?" She flashed him a bright smile and turned down to scratch Hank behind the ears, swallowing the few butterflies hanging around. "So, thoughts on what we should hide? I was thinking about starting with today's Prophet," she waved her copy, "since people a hundred years from now might want to know what life and newspapers were like in our times?" Then they would have to pick something personal and symbolic or something fun that they could buy right now from one of the few shops open this early, but she didn't want to make all the decisions in this joint venture.

Man and dog made their way down the cobblestoned street, relieved that the worst of the August heat was still several hours away at minimum. Ben was off for the day, and would be spending it in quite possibly one of the best ways he knew how: in Brita’s company, and with an exciting twist. He had run into the blonde Trickett in the park the other day and she’d told him about something called the Summer Search, which – from her description – sounded much like a modern-day treasure hunt. What was more, they had a bit of an edge to the competition thanks to Brita’s unwavering amicability. The three of them – for Hank loved to find things and dig – would spend the day exploring London, and he was very much looking forward to it.

He was fairly certain that Hank smelled Brita before Acelyn’s – their agreed-upon meeting spot – had even come into view, for the normally-well-behaved big dog was straining at his leash and whining. Sure enough, Brita’s lithe frame was waiting for them, and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her. He returned her greeting and enthusiastic hug, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze as they parted.

“You bet. Trekking some serious mountains today, are we?” he teased playfully, with a nod at her boots. He himself was dressed comfortably in a loose t-shirt, gym shorts, and tennis shoes; while he enjoyed wearing nicer clothes, today was going to involve a lot of walking, so he’d rather be comfortable.

She asked what else they should hide aside from the Prophet and Ben glanced around, knowing full well that such a cursory search wouldn’t yield much of anything but doing it anyways out of reflex.
“I wish food would keep for a century,” he joked, tilting his head towards Acelyn’s at their back. “Hmm… what about a copy of Witch Weekly or The Quibbler to go with the Prophet?” he suggested. “The former for current fashion and petty gossip, and the latter for…” Ben lifted a shoulder, one side of his mouth curling into a smile, “well, not exactly sure. Amusement?”
Wait – she’d mentioned something about needing a sentimental or meaningful item as well the other day, hadn’t she?

“Er… what about a tennis racket or something? Not one of the expensive ones, of course…” he ventured lamely. The pair often had ‘sports dates’ where they would go for runs or play tennis or other things of that nature; a tennis racket might be marginally more appealing to a future treasure-hunter than a ratty old running shoe. Maybe.

"You're such a coward," Freya's teasing from the party the week before rang in her head as Ben's figure rounded the corner. She'd have to do something about it sooner or later, she knew, but she hadn't quite reached that point yet. Instead she laughed and gave a little twirl. "You like it? Gotta be prepared, you know. Today's adventure is the serious kind." She gave a mock-serious nod before dissolving into a grin.

Eyeing Acelyn's behind them, Brita made an exaggerated thinking motion with her hand, bringing it up to her chin and furrowing her brow. "You know, they do charm their containers to stay cold. I bet someone's working on an ever-preserve charm somewhere in the Experimental Charms committee or something. But you're probably right, and I bet food would get eaten." She relinquished her chin, brightening. "Oooh, the Quibbler could be fun. I think they sell them in a stand a little further down, want to head over?" As she started to move, Brita looked up and down the length of Diagon Alley, hoping for inspiration to strike.

"Oooh, tennis!" Brita's eyes sparkled. "I don't know how big the place will be though. What about some tennis balls? We could get the enchanted ones, the ones that can register whether or not the net was hit or they fell out of line and which return to your hand when you stick it out." Impervius sold them, actually, although she knew where their supplier was too. "Plus, we can toss them for Hank to catch if he gets bored while we're searching," she laughed. A rather large poster from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes caught her eye, and she added, "Ooh, you know what also captures the zeitgeist of the 2000s in Wizarding London? Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Extendable ears? Headless hats? Trick wands? Daydream potions?" Checking herself before getting too carried away, she added, "I'm not actually sure how much we're supposed to put in these things. I know regular geocaches can be really small trinkets, but since this is only once every hundred years..."

Stopping in front of the giant newspaper stand, she scanned the racks. "This month's big headline is something about Heliopaths that Luna Lovegood's written up," she laughed, pointing at a grand illustration of a fiery horse. "Yeah?"

“The most serious kind,” he agreed, returning her grin.

Ben nodded in agreement but the ever-energetic Brita was already off, a few paces in front of them. And then she made the “mistake” common to blissfully unaware non-dog-owners: The big mutt’s ears pricked at the word “ball” and he watched Brita expectantly, wagging his tail briefly when he heard his name.
Ben laughed out loud. He was used to having to spell certain words around Hank instead of speaking them (though he swore Hank was catching on to that now, too…) to avoid having to disappoint the playful pup, but since they would be following through on the inadvertent promise of a ball, Ben didn’t feel too badly about it.

“Well, you’ve certainly got his vote,” he grinned. “And I reckon he’s taking this whole adventure even more seriously.”

Then the pretty blonde was on another train of thought, chattering excitedly about other possibilities, and he smiled encouragingly.

“No it’s great! Hey, we’ll make this whatever kind of geocache we want. So a Quibbler, a Prophet, a tennis b-a-l-l,” – he chanced a glance down at Hank at this, but the dog’s attention had shifted to a small boy who had just walked out of a nearby shop with a large sweet of some kind – “and something from the Weasleys’ shop. I know the Vanishing Charms have to be renewed every so often… probably an Extendable Ear since they might keep better?”

Just then Brita located a copy of this month’s Quibbler, and he couldn’t have been more pleased with the headline. How very… Quibbler-y.
“Yeah! Perfect,” he chuckled, plucking a second copy from the rack and thumbing through it himself. As ludicrous as some – well, just about all, actually – of the articles seemed, Ben had never quite forgotten the critical role it had played in ensuring at least some semblance of accurate news was being reported during the early stages of the Second War and couldn’t bring himself to think too lowly of it, even now that it had returned to its usual questionable-at-best authenticity.

He paid the vendor for their purchase and turned back to Brita, one eyebrow raised.
“Right, so where can we find…” – again his gaze flicked down to Hank, sitting placidly in the shade of the stand now that the child had left the vicinity – “er, these round objects that feel the wrath of tennis rackets?”

Brita turned back at Ben's laugh to see Hank looking at her as only a desperately excited puppy could. "Ooooops," she said, then busted out laughing. "Is it leading him on if we just drag him around without picking one up?" She leaned down and scratched behind his ears again. "Oh Hank, you should be a stately old gentlepup by now, you know. Going on 9!" It sounded silly when she said it out loud in human company, but Brita didn't mind. "We'll get you one in a bit, okay?"

Turning back to his owner, eyes lingering on the contours of his face before she pulled them up to his eyes, she nodded in assent. "You're right, wouldn't want the magic to vanish after a hundred years. At least with an extendable ear, if the magic wears off they'll have some sleuthing to do to figure out what exactly it does." Brita's imagination conjured an image of a few very confused kids tugging on a flesh-colored rubbery string, befuddled as to why exactly this was in a cache, and her eyes twinkled.

Brita deposited the Quibbler on top of her prophet, cradling both under her arm. "Well we can definitely go to--" she paused suddenly, imagining Crystal's accusatory teasing face the second she stepped into the gym shop with a handsome male friend. It was all very well for the pretty brunette, who had gotten engaged two weeks ago to her longtime girlfriend. For some reason, in her limited experience, engaged people tended to want their happiness to spread to everyone they knew, and the chatty ones might start and not stop when it came to the subject of love. "--er, we can go to Ace Athletics, that's where we get ours from," she said, trying to sound smooth to cover up her sudden pivot. Feeling like her ears were turning red and wanting to pass off any flush as energy, she gestured in the right direction and started to move.

"What do you think we'll find? What were wizards into in 1901 anyway?"

Brita’s laughter was the definition of contagious: the Healer couldn’t help but chuckle along as she broke out into giggles.
“Nah, he’ll be alright for a bit – he may have already forgotten, thanks to the lad with the sweet that passed by.” He flashed a grin, nodding in the direction that the young boy had gone. “Fortunately, said stately gentlepup has acquired some befitting manners over the years… he would have pulled my arm straight out of its socket to get to food if he still behaved like he did when I first got him.”
Ben glanced down at the slack leash in his hand for emphasis and back up to Brita’s still-grinning face. She had that amused glint in her eyes, now; the one that suggested she was entertaining various comical scenarios in her mind’s eye. It was… profoundly alluring.

Thus distracted, he didn’t notice her cover-up, and was only half-listening when she mentioned getting the tennis balls from a shop he didn’t recognize which redirected his attention. Ben raised an eyebrow quizzically, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“Avoiding your workplace on your day off, Brita? How… mainstream of you.” He was being facetious, of course, as the pair frequented Impervius on their days off to play tennis; though unfortunately less so as of late, thanks to their respective work schedules.

It was a few moments before her suggestion struck him as odd. The athletic blonde rarely passed up an opportunity to visit the gym, and he himself would have liked to see the familiar faces (it had been several weeks since he and Brita had last met up there) and give her workplace some business. But before he could ask, in true Brita fashion she was already on to the next thing, and the moment passed. With an inward shrug, he gently took up the slack in Hank’s leash.
“C’mon, mate, or she’ll leave us in the dust and never look back,” he joked, waiting patiently for the big mutt to heave himself to his feet before the pair ambled off in pursuit, just barely catching her question.

“Mmm,” he hummed, considering. He ought to have paid more attention in History of Magic, really, but as it was…
“Dunno. Probably a newspaper, I’d bet, but aside from that I'm not really sure. D’you reckon Exploding Snap was around then? Personally, I always picture everyone strolling about in a top-hat and monocle,” he admitted with a chuckle. There was a moment of silence as he sifted through his mental files of what Professor Binns may or may not have taught them about the early 20th Century, when a memory regarding societal customs surfaced.

“We’d be quite the scandal, you know.” The crooked smile was back. “A nice young man and a delightful young woman out in broad daylight together, with no chaperone in sight. Pure fodder for gossip. Though I suppose that is still a thing in parts of Pureblood society,” he added ruefully, his thick dark-blond brows creasing in a slight frown. That led him to another train of thought.
“Blimey, that was during Grindelwald’s time, wasn’t it? Two seriously mad wizards in the same century… all the more reason to be glad, being in a new millennium.” He suppressed an involuntary shudder as he recalled the carnage of May 2nd, three years before.

“What about you, any guesses?”

He'd noticed. Oh, he didn't realize he'd noticed, from the sounds of it, but he clearly knew her well enough to make that little offhand comment. It made her feel content, actually; it was nice to be known. It wasn't that the 24-year-old had hidden depths to plumb--it was plain that Brita wore her heart on her sleeve. But everyone had their little quirks, and the feeling of natural and genuine familiarity spread a little warmth in her chest.

Looking back to realize that she'd nearly left the pair of them behind, she slowed her pace to make it easier to catch up, noticing that she'd conveniently skirted responding to his comment. "I'd believe it, cards are pretty old." She wrinkled her nose at the idea of top hats and monocles. "Does that mean I would be wearing a corset?" She looked down and pressed her spread hands against her waist, trying to imagine her curves being bound and constricted. "I'm sure they wouldn't approve of a woman doing what I do for a living. Heaven forbid we be allowed to go anywhere quickly!" She smirked, turning to look at him, and then raised her eyebrows.

Delightful? Is that what he thought? Probably the word to describe that smile of his, just crooked enough to be more real than perfect. Brita struggled, reaching for words. "Well, they can't object to anything in broad daylight, can they?" she gestured around to the people on the streets around them, which were starting to fill as the sun tiptoed upwards in the sky. "Just walking isn't something polite society can frown on, right?" Her eyes settled on his grayer ones with a mischievous smile for a moment. Not that I would mind giving them something to talk about, if he wanted to. Looking down to watch Hank sniffing at an odd stain on the pavement--probably some kind of spilled ice cream--she continued, "Yeah, they're still out there arranging marriages, like that Malfoy kid. Glad I'm not them--although," she glanced upward through her lashes, her smile carrying just a hint of ruefulness, "I guess they get to avoid the trials and tribulations of modern dating?"

She was bumping dangerously close to the line she'd tentatively drawn out, but then Brita never did like planning in advance. Even when she tried it, it rarely worked.

Brita frowned, thinking about the whole century. "I think he was just starting then...Here's to a better century." Her tone was subdued, but turned hopeful at the end. "Hmm...would you drink a bottle of hundred-year-old wine? Maybe something like that?"

Arriving at the door of Ace, Brita nipped in the door and asked for a standard canister of three tennis balls, digging around in her little purse for the right coins, which had unsurprisingly become scattered around the bottom. She held it up triumphantly. "Check! Just a pair of Ears left, then." She laughed suddenly, hearing how the phrase sounded. "Preferably not human ears..."

She didn’t offer further comment on her choice of tennis ball suppliers, but Ben let the moment pass. Brita was an incredibly forthcoming person; if she had chosen to withhold something, he wasn’t about to prompt or pressure her into admitting it. Maybe there was some work drama? Though that hadn’t stopped her from telling him about other such instances in the past… perhaps it was something more sensitive. In true Healer fashion, he made a mental note to keep an ear open for any other verbal cues as they might come up in conversation. After all, by this point in his career, Ben Fletcher was more than adept at coaxing important information from less-than-cooperative individuals.

The blond laughed out loud at Brita’s dissatisfied expression at the mention of corsets.
“Dunno, I think those might’ve died out sometime in the 19th Century, but I could be wrong.” He shrugged. “And good riddance… how anyone could breathe in those things is beyond me. And as for working, it doesn’t seem like they approve of women doing anything for a living.” It was perhaps an unfair statement, but the general impression he’d gotten of the traditional Pureblood families still seemed to project those… values. At least, judging by the various announcements published in the Prophet and elsewhere, as well as anecdotes from colleagues.

Brita seemed to be on a similar brainwave; he nodded thoughtfully as she moved onto the subject of marriages. The engagement between the Malfoy boy and the youngest Greengrass girl had been all over the papers this past winter.
“I can’t imagine being engaged to marry at 21… or 19, blimey,” he added, belatedly remembering the age difference between the two betrothed. “I know many of our parents did it… but, well, times are changing. I was still figuring out how to take proper care of just myself at that age, for Merlin’s sake!” Ben let out a long, low whistle, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

Something in her tone changed ever so slightly in her last comment, and his eyebrow raised quizzically. It made him chuckle, though, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly in amusement. “Lucky them,” he commented drily. “Yeah I’d take the tribulations over an arrangement any day. I feel bad for them, really. At least with the tribulations, you get a chance to trial whether or not you think you could spend the rest of your life with the person – or not.”
He’d meant for it to be a lighthearted comment, but before he quite recognized what was happening he was drowning in Brita’s ocean-blue eyes. They were downcast at the moment, framed by her impossibly long dark blonde lashes, with a few rogue strand of her equally dark blonde hair coming loose to frame her face.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to refocus. Had she noticed him watching? And if she had… did she mind? He wasn’t a clueless teenage boy anymore; he was acutely aware of the depths of his affections for his long-time friend. But what continued to hang him up time and time again was the nagging concern that he’d put her in an uncomfortable position and cause an awkward sort of falling-out. And if he knew one thing for damn sure, it was that he couldn’t stand to not have her in his life.

After taking a moment to consider her question, he shrugged casually. “If it was properly sealed, then sure. I'm no expert… but doesn’t wine supposedly taste better, the ‘more aged’ it is? Or does apply only to reds?” He made a mental note to ask Maddie about it; having lived in France for the past several years, Ben was willing to bet that his sister had acquired some degree of knowledge regarding wines. Certainly more than he knew, at any rate.
He smirked suddenly. “I was going to suggest one of those tiny ‘travel-size’ bottles of Firewhiskey or something – but remembered that kids could be digging up our box a hundred years from now, and as a sworn Healer I couldn’t in good conscience simply allow that to happen.”

‘Our box.’
It was such an innocent, offhand descriptor – but he’d felt a swooping sensation in his stomach when he’d said it, and upon the realization felt a warm sense of comfort pulsing in his chest and spreading slowly out to his fingers and toes. This snapshot of a memory they’d made together would endure for the next hundred years – or longer, if no one found it.
It was nice to think about.

He was left to ruminate for a bit longer as Brita offered to go in and pick up the tennis balls, applauding as she reemerged not two minutes later looking most victorious. He chuckled at her comment on the Ears.
“Preferably not,” he agreed. “I rather like yours as they are: firmly attached to your head.” Grinning, he reached over to gently flick at her earlobe, which he observed was earring-less today. Sometimes she wore little colorful-gemmed studs, he recalled suddenly… but he also distinctly recalled a conversation they’d had some time ago in which she’d told him how annoying anything larger than simple studs or hoops could be (getting caught in one’s hair or clothes, heavy, uncomfortable to sleep on, and the list went on), but in the same breath how much fun it was to wear the larger, dangly ones (a concept he couldn’t quite wrap his head around but nodded obligingly along to anyways). As usual, he hadn’t the slightest idea how they’d segued into the topic of earrings; but, as usual, he didn’t mind.

That was one of the constant delights about Brita: every conversation, every infinitesimal interaction, was its own mini-adventure, and there was absolutely no telling how the path would wind or where it would lead. More often than not, it never ended at all; instead it serpentined and doubled-back on itself and elaborated and negated and clarified and changed tracks entirely such that it was effectively impossible to retrospectively retrace the evolution with a logical approach. It suited him just fine, though. At work, order governed, it had to; but Brita was the breath of fresh air that scattered the dandelion puffs, drawing him back into the less technical world and reminding him to just… be.

Ben was more than happy to do just that today, in the pleasure of her company.
Smiling for a different reason now, he offered her his arm in mock-gallantry and the adventurous trio made their way to their next destination. Turning over Hank’s leash to Brita just outside the Weasley brothers’ joke shop, – there was no way he was letting her buy all of their trinkets, it was a group effort after all! – he ducked inside and made the final purchase.

“Right, then. Now that our loot for the unwitting posterity has been procured” – he gently rattled their bag of purchases – “where to, did your friend say? Do we have clues or a map to lead us to a specific site, or do we just have a look wherever our little hearts desire?” Grinning again, he waggled his brows goofily at her.

"You know, I'm pretty sure people wear them today for...other reasons," Brita joked, imagining the nearest lingerie shop. "Well, if I didn't work, I don't know how I would be able to afford the cute mason jar garden I've started," she laughed. She wasn't kidding--Brita did love buying little things to display around the house. "And well, you know, maybe you were just especially hard to take care of," she teased.

For a second their eyes met, and Brita had to take especial care to breathe. She thought that she could maybe do without the trial if she had to.

"Hmm, you know, I've never actually gotten my hands on that super expensive stuff to tell if it's any better. Clearly, I need more friends in high places, but for now I'll just have to drink the recent vintages like the rest of the common folk," she laughed. "But maybe there's a way to make runes adults only," she added. Upon consideration, though, she rather thought that people might be expecting something other than a bit of alcohol in an adults-only cache.

Emerging from the store, Brita grinned, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind the ear that he'd touched. That was pretty...personal, wasn't it? You didn't just touch people there. Even touchy Brita took the area around the face a little seriously. She thought about it as she knelt down to scratch Hank behind the ears, waiting for Ben to come back with their last loot.

Straightening up with a few last pats for the mutt as he emerged, she grinned at him, digging the rune from her pocket. "Well, I got this in Manchester so I'm thinking it's somewhere in Peak District National Park?" Holding it up, she squinted at a series of dots in a circle. "I think there are some old henges around there, maybe that's what this is. But we'll figure it out as we go," she said confidently.

Reaching out for his hand for an Apparition--she didn't think Ben was familiar with the area, being from Oxford, she smiled at him. "Do you trust me?" Taking his in hers firmly, Brita spun, the sensation of instantaneous travel surrounding and compressing her, and set them on course for their new adventure.

[out]

“You mean to tell me people still voluntarily wear those?”
Ben was genuinely astonished – why on earth would anyone want to put on something that made it hard to breathe?! Belatedly, he processed her brief pause and subsequent emphasis on the word other – which sounded an awful lot like what his patients tended to do when alluding to more… intimate subjects.

“Ah. Of course.” He pressed his lips together so as not to laugh. He was spared from having to think much further on it when she provided him with something else to respond to instead.

“Me, hard to take care of? You wound me.” He placed a hand over his heart for emphasis, but this time did allow a smile. “I’ve only tried one expensive bottle of wine… and it tasted absolutely no different than the nicer cheap stuff, so I don’t think we’re missing much.”

Once they were ready, Brita took the rune out of her pocket and mentioned they’d likely need to go to Manchester. He nodded agreeably – he’d only been a handful of times, so the opportunity to explore was even more compelling.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he replied with a grin. “Let me, er… secure the ride-along.”

Ben glanced down at his pup at his feet, who shifted his gaze from his owner to Brita as she reached out her hand. His tail thumped the ground softly. Ben had only Apparated with Hank maybe three times (after thoroughly researching it to be sure it was safe, of course), and his four-legged friend had seemed to do alright with it. The Healer had physically held onto him each time, though, not trusting the tenuous bond with the leash to keep his trusted companion safely alongside.

Letting out a sharp exhale, he crouched down and gathered Hank up – all 70+ pounds of him, thank goodness Ben kept up with going to the gym – and managed to find Brita’s hand; grasping it perhaps more tightly than was necessary, as his skin tingled at their touch. And as the space-time continuum warped around them, he found he wasn’t quite sure if the squeezing sensation around his heart was only from the Apparation process.