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Sam Winchester has known his entire life that he wants to work around books.
He’d been brought up by his muggle father, after “Mary Campbell” joined the list of witches and wizards killed in the second rise of Voldemort; he, his father, and his older brother had just barely escaped using the family car, which Mary had “enhanced” with a few possibly illegal spells. Then Dean had gotten his Hogwarts letter, seven years later, and returned on summer break with heaps of parchment, quills, and dusty spell books. Sam was only eight at the time, but those books entranced him. He wanted so badly to be a part of the wizarding world, even though his father disliked it. Ever since Mary’s death, everything pertaining to magic was taboo conversation. Dean told him about the school in secret after Dad had gone to bed.
He was seventeen years old now, and still remembered the sheer relief he’d felt when he finally got his letter. He’d been so worried about taking after dad, being unable to ever understand the secrets of those books. Dean was more interested in things like brooms and duel clubs, but Sam had always known magical books were his favorite part about being a wizard. Even his love potions smelled of books and ink and parchment- along with the tang of green apples and a hint of pine.
That’s why he plans on working in the bookshop in Diagon Alley his whole life. It’s just a summer gig for now, helping eleven year olds understand the difference between course books and “recommended reading” books and shooing thirteen year olds away from the dangerous books. Sometimes stocking shelves, sometimes fixing bindings, sometimes dis-enchanting some mildly cursed used books from questionable homes- Sam’s got plenty to do, even on quiet days.
He still finds time to work on new enchantments and spells for some of the old books that he’s allowed to experiment on. He wants to create books that give the ending that will be most pleasant for the individual reader, books that have moving illustrations and words that match the mood of the story, books that help readers learn by utilizing the most helpful technique for each reader, and journals that allow different charms to visualize. They’re all in the prototype stage, but Sam’s confident that he can one day publish his charmed books.
Until he hits a roadblock. The individualizing charm he’s working on doesn’t seem to acknowledge each person, but instead customizes itself to the first person to read it and stays that way. Frustrated and lacking customers, Sam decides to clock out early in hopes of talking to the owner of the joke shop- the great inventor, George Weasley.
It’s quiet this time of year; the back to school rush won’t begin for a month or so. Sam puts up a “be back shortly” sign and strolls down the alley, taking in the familiar shops and storefronts. The pet store, the broom place, the muggle artifacts nook tucked away behind the potion supplies (that one’s always a real laugh for the muggleborns and halfbloods), the ice cream place, the wand store, the joke shop- Sam knows this is where he wants to spend most of his days in the wizard world.
He stops in front of the joke shop- Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George and his brother had opened the frankly ridiculous looking place nearly fifteen years ago, and business has boomed, even through the second dark rise. The shop sold those bits of parchment that could either complement or insult the individual witch or wizard, and Sam had heard that George often talked to young aspiring inventors about improving their spellwork.
Since it’s summer, there are students of all years wandering the shop, and Sam briefly waves at Anna Weasley, a Gryffindor girl in his year who’s some distant cousin of George’s, before making his way to the counter. There’s a young wizard sorting through bags of candies there, his dirty blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail with a ribbon which has scrolling text of some kind. Sam makes out the lyrics to a song by the Weird Sisters before the wizard straightens up and rests an elbow on the counter. “Need something, bucko?”
“Er, no. I was hoping Geo- Mr. Weasley was in. I needed to talk to him about something.”
The wizard narrows his eyes. “You’re not another autograph hunter, are you?”
“No, I work at the bookshop just down the street-” Sam gestures awkwardly over his shoulder, choosing his words carefully. He’d heard George had taken on new help with the opening of the tiny second shop, but “bouncer” hadn’t been in the job description. “-I just have some questions about spells, for some stuff I’m working on. In the shop, I mean.”
The shop worker tilts his head a little, as though considering Sam’s words, then shakes it apologetically. “No can do- Mr. Weasley’s out at the Hogsmede branch currently.” He must have seen Sam’s chest deflate, because he brightens and continues- “But maaaaaybe I could help you out?”
He steps out from behind the counter, and Sam stifles a bout of laughter, because the blond wizard is at least six inches shorter than he’d appeared. He receives a raised eyebrow, and coughs once before mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’.
“Something funny, skyscraper?” Sam’s shaking his head, but the next thing he knows, the wizard is beaming again. “I’ve been brushing up on my muggle terminology. A skyscraper is a building with some number of stories…”
“I, er, grew up with Muggles.” Sam offers. “I see what you were going for there.”
“It’s doubly funny because you work in a bookstore. All those stories, eh?” He pauses as Sam digests this new play on words, then squints his golden eyes. “You seem familiar. What year ‘re you?”
“Just going into my seventh year. I’m hoping the bookshop job will be more than just for the summer, though.” Sam sticks out a hand. “Sam Winchester.”
The wizard snaps in recognition before he shakes Sam’s hand vigorously. “Yeah, I remember you. Your dumb Gryffindor big brother was in my year.” Sam feels his heart sink a little. Everyone always remembers Dean. Dean had been an excellent beater for six years, and a Head Boy his last year. Dean had continually been at the center of groups of friends, with a few girlfriends or boyfriends here and there; Dean had received high marks in almost all his classes, Dean was still a golden child of Hogwarts despite having graduated three goddamn years ago. Dean was now a hardworking young auror who occasionally made the papers.
Sam was a dumb seventh year nerd who made perfect marks but not the quidditch team.
“Dean. Yeah,” he mutters. “Head Boy and everything.”
The shop wizard drops his hand. “I think I remember- you were sorted into Ravenclaw, right?” When Sam nods, he carries on- “Of course I remember. I was a perfect. Perfects are always right, you know.” He winks. “The name’s Gabriel, by the way.”
And suddenly, Sam does remember, just four years ago- Dean bitching about that dumb Milton boy, Gabriel, being made a perfect. “The whole Milton line is a bunch of elitist snobs, and this one’s a fucking prick, to boot. Always has an excuse. The last thing I need is Slytherin house looking up to this guy.” Sam’s not sure he believes it, now that he’s face to face with the guy.
“Anyway, what kinda spells are you trying to talk about here, Sam?” Gabriel’s wandering towards the more book oriented end of the shop, clearly knowing Sam way too well.
Sam ends up explaining the entirety of the book theory to Gabriel, who looks genuinely intrigued, which is more than he’s gotten from several other people who had wanted to know what had him so stumped. “So what I need, really, is some sort of repeating charm worked into the paper, so it starts itself over every time someone new picks it up. Like these do.” He picks up a tiny scrap of parchment from a basket labeled “Instant insults!” Immediately, ink sprawls outwards from the center, spelling out “You’re such a prat someone had to define ‘prat’ and use it in a sentence for you and you still didn’t understand.”
“Fun, aren’t they?” Gabriel takes the offered scrap from Sam, watches as the ink rearranges itself to spell simply “Pardon me sir, but I believe your head’s up your arse.” Gabriel drops the paper back into the basket. “But unfortunately, you would need to talk to George on that one. Not sure how much he wants the help giving away.”
Sam shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for your time.”
Gabriel makes a “wait” motion, and pushes up his sleeve to glance down at what Sam realizes is a tattoo that tells time. “I’m almost at the end of my shift, and Alfie over there probably won’t mind watching the register a few extra minutes.”
Sam frowns in confusion. “You… wanted to see the books? Or…?”
“Nah, Sam, I was actually hoping we could go out for ice cream.”
Sam stands there, blinking dumbly and completely unsure if that was sarcasm and Gabriel actually wanted to see his book experiments, or if… he actually wanted to go for ice cream. Dear wizard god, he really is a prat. Faced with one cute wizard asking him out and he’s back to his dumb fourth year self, blushing and asking the blonde Hufflepuff if she wanted to “get- go and butterbeers with- for me.”
Which is why his dumb seventh year self says the worst possible thing he could say- “Why?”
Gabriel looks at him for a moment, eyebrows raised and eyes teasing, then makes a little “come’ere” motion. Sam mutely leans in so Gabriel can say softly and slowly into his ear, as though stating the most obvious answer, “I think you’re cute.”
Oh. Oh no. Two point something years ago, Jess the blonde Hufflepuff had agreed to getting butterbeers with “That’s really cute of you, Sam.” Gabriel’s words and his hot breath on his ear and his proximity were starting to make Sam all fluttery.
Gabriel leans back to look up into Sam’s eyes and continues- “I also think you’re really clever, and I like hearing you talk, and the new owner in the ice cream place gives me frequent flyer discounts.” He grins again. “That’s muggle speak too. You should be proud.”
“Yeah.” Sam agrees, nodding way too eagerly. “I mean, yeah I’m proud but moreso yeah I wanna get ice cream with you.”
“Glorious.” Gabriel nimbly picks his way through the shop to fiddle with a few things behind the counter, while Sam pulls himself together a little. He’s seventeen and witty and- he runs a hand through his hair- apparently pretty cute. He can do this. Gabriel’s looking at him again. When Sam approaches the front of the counter, he leans over it, suddenly serious. “But tell me now, bookworm.” He pauses, then asks intently, “Am I gonna get to hold your hand, or what?”
Sam rubs his chin pensively, elbow resting on the counter so his face isn’t far from Gabriel’s. “I think that can be arranged,” he replies with equal seriousness.
Gabriel grins, ducking his head. “Good. I’m into that kinky shit, Sam. Hand holding in public.” He jumps down from behind the register and swings out of his staff vest. “Shall we?”
As Sam lets Gabriel lead him by the hand out of the joke shop and down the street, he realizes that Dean is going to hex him to kingdom come if he finds out about this. But hey. Ice cream and public hand holding sounds like far too good of an offer to refuse. Books can wait.