•• find yourself a book or two

[GRAHAM ALBRECHT GOODWIN]

Diagon Alley was always busy this time of year, so the amount of wizards and witches clogging the cobblestone shouldn't have been a surprise to Graham. He was in his fifth year of dealing with the bumps and bruises of shopping season, no parents to lead him by the hand; Wesley had promised to catch up after running into a housemate, so until then, Graham was on his own. Normally the solitude would have been relieving, but it was hard to imagine he was truly on his own when he was being bowled over by rather heavyset, albeit sprightly wizards and subjected to the chatter of teenage girls hunting for similarly teenaged boys to buy them an ice cream.

He suddenly wondered why he hadn't thought of coming in the off season for supplies.

It wasn't so much the hustle and bustle that bothered him. Graham usually thrived when the world was spinning around him, as he was good at buckling down and immersing himself in the rush of responsibilities and the demand of getthisdonenow. What bothered him was getting poked and prodded and feeling uncomfortably claustrophobic, dodging giddy first years with little sense of direction and overloaded parents splurging on their darlings' potion supplies. So when Obscurus Books came into view, a 'must' on his to-do list, he forged ahead, passing by other shops he needed to visit in favor of what he hoped would be an escape from the crowd.

A gust of cold air greeted him as well as the sound of quiet. Graham paused slightly in the doorway of the store, expectantly surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere, before adjusting his robes and proceeding with a subdued smile. He immediately took a turn into the fiction area, saving his textbooks for last, lest he carry them around the whole store. Browsing for pleasure-reads was his first priority, as some of the books were second hand and wouldn't be there when he decided to go back for them. One of Graham's favorite things in the world - literally, in all of the world full of things to love - was finding a rare edition or a hardback of a novel he loved. Secondhand books were his favorite, and preferred to buy the original, ratty and stained as it might be, rather than the mass produced paperback on its tenth reprint. Often times there were pieces of paper or notes stuffed in the binding, forgotten bookmarks, or discolored photographs, and Graham liked to find them by accident in his purchases, a remnant of someone else's life. He enjoyed imaging the stories behind them, who owned the books previously and the type of person they were who would actually write a shopping list for eggs, milk, and bread.

There was always an air of determined quiet in bookstores, like a shared reverence among the patrons for the books, the knowledge, and Graham loved it. One of the reasons he was so keen on bookstores, besides their wares, was their singular purpose; to provide books. It left little room for people to dawdle and be raucous - if they needed a book, they went and got it, maybe browsed a bit for something, paid, and left. The ones who took their time and lingered in the aisles, absorbed in their mental wishlists, weren't the ones to be rowdy, but respected for their intense considerations.

Or, at least that was what Graham thought as he rounded to the corner of a shelf only to run right into another person, lost in a daze that was quickly dissipated.

"Oh - I, um, so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to - sorry." he exclaimed in a rush, barely making eye contact as he stuttered his apology. He hated to make a scene.

[ADAM IAN TWYNAM]

Whenever the beginning of a new school year rolled around, Adam got excited. Soon he would go shopping for quills and books and herbs and parchment. For some reason, there was nothing like the feeling he got from purchasing and organizing those supplies; perhaps it was the anticipation of a new year, reuniting with friends. Or, maybe the strange stir came from the promise of new information; this year he had changed his electives and the new ones he'd selected seemed interesting. That hardly seemed likely, however. Even though he promised himself every year that he would not fall behind on schoolwork, life always caught up with him, and before he knew it he was knee-deep in three foot scrolls that needed to be finished in mere hours.

Obscurus Books was the first destination he had in mind this particular day. It was sunny out, and beautiful, but for some reason he felt the pull of the bookstore rather than the call of the outdoors. He'd been in the shop the majority of the day. This was one of his favorite places; no one minded how long he roamed the aisles, or how much he'd read, and he always ended up buying more than he planned to without regret. He knew that as soon as he returned home that day, he would organize the books in order of priority (schoolbooks at the bottom, of course) and start at the top of the stack. Naturally, by the time he finished one, he would rearranged the books in a new order and start all over.

And so, he found himself pulling a small book off of the shelf. It was an illustrated (animated?) history of wizards pretending to be magicians for muggles. The drawings were hilarious, and he found himself smiling as he watched the astonished look on a muggle's face as the wizard made a rabbit come out of a hat – the hat the muggle was wearing. He was so absorbed in the book, in fact, that he didn't hear a familiar friend round the corner, and was sufficiently surprised when he was bumped into.

However surprised Adam was, he didn't drop the book. That is, he didn't drop it until a second after he'd noticed who'd done the bumping.

"Oh - I, um, so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to – sorry."

Graham barely looked at him, his eyes more focused on the ground. Adam could see that his housemate, his roommate, had changed. He ignored the book that had fallen at his feet, opting rather to continue looking at Graham.

“Graham?” Adam questioned quietly, before realizing the astonishment in his voice was hardly appropriate. He hadn't seen Graham in a long time, and of course he'd changed, he'd grown up. So had Adam, of course, why was he so surprised?

“Graham, how have you been mate? How was your summer?” Adam changed his tone to a more upbeat, less bewildered tone as he studied his old friend. Graham looked a little different, but only just so. He had grown into himself. He looked at home in his own body. He looked... he looked good.

[GRAHAM ALBRECHT GOODWIN]

Graham was about to excuse himself with a curt nod and another apology when he took a double take, realizing just who he bumped into with parted lips and widened eyes. Adam was a roommate at Hogwarts and had been in classes with him since year one, so it wasn't exactly surprise that startled him. It was rare to see him outside of school, out of the context he had always associated with him - an environment of work and toil, of regimens and classes. Seeing him, plain-clothed in a bookstore, his favorite kind of store made the encounter seem much more real. Tangible. Like he wasn't just Adam Twynam, fifth year Gryffindor. He was...

Adam. Man. Etymogically and literally.

What was more, however, was how remarkable that although he recognized Adam, knew the person he'd just ran into more than a total stranger, it was still difficult to make eye contact with him.

“Graham?”

Being addressed, Graham slowly met Adam's eyes and managed to keep them steady. He wasn't sure exactly why he was so hesitant to look at Adam – maybe it was the embarrassment of bumping into him so abruptly, maybe it was the particularly small gap between them, or maybe it was just the way Adam looked at him, surprised and scrutinizing. No matter the cause, the symptoms remained, and keeping his eyes level with Adam's was a challenge. The heavy dark of his eyes touched Graham's, so penetrating that he felt like he was under a mesmer.

“Graham, how have you been mate? How was your summer?”

He managed to look away once again, smiled to himself in light of the question and scratched the back of his neck out of habit. What would he say in this circumstance to one of the world's oldest inquiries? Graham had always been a one-word type of guy when it came down to general questions, always 'good' or 'fine', maybe even a 'great' if he was floating on air, but he wanted to be honest with Adam, to tell him exactly how his summer was. That he'd went to the shore but was sunburnt within an inch of his life, then he'd joined a city-wide youth orchestral group (first chair); that he'd read for nearly a day straight because he'd had nothing else to do and then spent the next afternoon laying in the sun because he'd felt bad wasting the previous day inside; how he'd gone to America and learned the difference in smell between lavender and jasmine in his grandmother's garden and then visited his grandparents in Germany who still scorned his father in subtle touches to their conversations.

Crouching, Graham temporarily disappeared from sight as he grabbed the book Adam dropped and took his time coming back up. He wasn't really quick on his feet when he wasn't assured in his responses; in class, he was the first to raise his hand, but in situations like this? Clearing his throat, he returned to an upright position and handed the book back to Adam, eyes brushing the peach of his hands before wandering off again.

“Oh, er, well. It was... pleasant.” he said undecidedly, reasoning that some parts had been good and some parts had been bad, but he never felt the distinct sensation of having an unfortunate summer. The break in responsibilities was kind, but he felt anxious to center himself in work once again, to have essays to pour over and perfect, to scribe in obnoxious details the predictions of his tea-leaf destiny. At least then he would be productive.

“How was yours?” he asked in return, ready to listen. Graham was reluctant to share his own experiences but wanted to hear about Adam, whose summer was bound to be more interesting and whose voice didn't tremble at the slightest hint of uncertainty.

[ADAM IAN TWYNAM]

Adam hadn't been expecting Graham to retrieve his book. In fact, he had somehow managed to forget he'd had it in the first place, much less that he had dropped it. Generally Adam had a good memory. This sudden forgetfulness, which seemingly had something to do with Graham's presence, would have given him pause if he had not, in fact, been in Graham's presence. Things as they were, he was too busy to think on it. It took him a moment to figure out what what was going on when he noticed Graham begin to stoop. Once he'd realized the situation, though, Adam's reflex was to help - he crouched down as well, too little too late; Graham had already gotten a hold of the volume. And so Adam rose at an even pace with Graham, and when they'd both reached an upright position (Graham just a little sooner) Graham handed the book back to him. Adam took it with a quiet "Thanks" and turned it over in his hands, eyes still on Graham.

Pleasant. What a word. Pleasant. Adam wouldn't have thought to use it in everyday conversation, but that was Graham for you. Ask a hundred people a basic question, you get the same three answers. Ask one hundred and one, Graham being the one, and you get one that is different. Not difficult to reason out why.

"My summer?" His summer. Rolling his shoulders back as he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, he let out a breath. "I'll use your word. Pleasant." Imitation was flattery right? Not that he was trying to flatter Graham -- not that he didn't deserve it of course, he was very accomplished for their age -- what was he thinking about again? His summer. Adam hadn't done much. There was the camp where he'd been a counselor, and he'd read under the tree in his backyard a fair amount. Oh, and he'd biked around his neighborhood, sometimes heading out pretty far past town limits. Usually for Adam, summer was something that was over just a little too soon.

But maybe school wasn't so bad.

'Pleasant' echoed around in his head, reminding him that a conversation required fuel, and that the one he was holding currently was in danger of sputtering out. But what to say? The questions that came to mind seemed so generic for a friend of five years. What did you do? How have you been?

"Looking forward to school?" Oh brother. Why was that the question his brain chose to send flying out of his mouth? There was honestly nothing else he could think of to say?

Well, of course there was something else. There were a lot of things actually. Adam found himself wanting to really talk to Graham - for some reason it suddenly felt imperative to know more about his roommate. Was he looking forward to school? Did he find summer boring, or the opposite? Did he dread the dungeons or was he excited to crank out roll after roll of parchment on dragon taming? Perhaps his question wasn't so terrible; after all, one doesn't just start a conversation with intimate inquiries. Not that Adam cared about what a normal conversation consisted of - he was never one to stick to the script of life. For some reason though, some unknown, bizzare reason, Adam just cared about how his questions would affect Graham.

[GRAHAM ALBRECHT GOODWIN]

Graham's eyes had minds of their own; one minute they were examining the hardback in his hands and the next they were staring into Adam's, transfixed by the sudden closeness they shared. He hadn't expected Adam to crouch down with him, and he stared at him with a slight amazement as they stood up simultaneously. It wasn't exactly the politeness that amazed him; again, he found himself unable to describe exactly why his gestures, even the most innocent ones, made him feel humbled. In awe. Their gaze lingered; Graham felt himself grow red and he looked away, directing his eyes to somewhere that wasn't so... embarrassing? No, it wasn't embarrassing. He should be able to look at Adam, to smile and laugh and exchange pleasantries before parting on casual terms, not blush like a school-girl because he was being a gentleman. It bothered him that he couldn't.
"My summer? I'll use your word. Pleasant."

Graham quickly saw the fault in his own wording as it was parroted back at him. There was little substance in the response and it was frustrating in how little it revealed. He wanted to know how Adam's summer was, what he did, what he experienced. As he entertained the notion of elaborating on his own answer in order to coax more from Adam, though the idea seemed like it would make him look even more foolish than he was probably appearing, another question was being directed toward him.

"Looking forward to school?"

What to say eluded him once again. He didn't want to sound to bookish, but that's who he was and he wanted to be himself, but he wanted to put it carefully and maybe say it eloquently, but he was just coming up with run-on sentences and then he suddenly wondered why the strategic planning of his own words mattered so damn much. He wanted to be relateable but not put too much out there. He wanted to make Adam smile, but because he said something particularly clever. Why, of all times, did Graham suddenly feel a writer's block of his own thoughts? Realizing he had to say something before the pause in conversation grew too heavy, he decided to wing it.

"Yes, a bit. Quite a bit. I mean, I like schoolwork - maybe not the quantity of it - but the general, y'know, learning bit. And it's nice to see everyone again. It's nice to see you again, I mean, you look greatImeanit'llbenicetobeback, Hogwarts is like a second home, isn't it?"

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy. Graham grimaced in light of his own social ineptitude and looked down at the cuffs of his Oxford shirt, picking stray marks from the sleeves. He'd started out concisely and deliberate, but as soon as he tried to elaborate, all the wrong words came out. He didn't mean to say that Adam was good looking, but he actually did think Adam was good-looking, but he didn't say that he was good-looking, just looking good, but wasn't it the same thing? The incomprehensibility of his own thoughts made Graham flush even more, with both embarrassment and frustration. Reaching behind his neck, he scratched sharply at the short hairs of his nape, as if digging for something to help him regain his focus.

"So, erm, d'ya fancy that book there, or just browsing...?" Graham asked, trying to regain his lost composure and inner dignity by focusing on something he was most certain about: books. He gestured at the book in Adam's hands as if to make a point and let his eyes rest on the charming animated picture on the front. Funny - there was magic to aid in the simplest as well as the most complicated tasks, but there wasn't really anything that could help him feel less bewildered. Oh, where was some Felix Felicis when you needed it?

[ADAM IAN TWYNAM]

Adam watched Graham as he formulated a response to his inadequate query. Rosy, healthy cheeks, slightly parted lips, expressive eyes. Observation could be so useful, Adam thought, as he let his eyes wander down Graham's long neck, noting its simultaneous masculinity and vulnerability. The two didn't contradict one another, as he had been conditioned to think. There were so many conventions in life that Adam hadn't noticed until recently. It is conventional not to study your roommate. But why? Adam's inquiring mind wanted to know, and while waiting for a response to that question and the one he'd actually asked, he continued his study.

"Yes, a bit. Quite a bit. I mean, I like schoolwork - maybe not the quantity of it - but the general, y'know, learning bit. And it's nice to see everyone again. It's nice to see you again, I mean, you look greatImeanit'llbenicetobeback, Hogwarts is like a second home, isn't it?"

He felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. Perhaps Graham was noticing and dismissing these time-honored conventions as well?

"Thanks, you as well, friend. I'm quite excited to go back. Rather irrationally so, but that is how I tend to operate. Irrationally." Adam's response was deliberate and slow, and he meant it all. Graham was looking great. Graham was looking particularly great. Noticeably so. And Adam was irrational most of the time, especially when the beginning of the school year was nigh. It brought out the oddness that he called his own, for anyone who cared to look. Right now, he felt as though Graham might care to look. Graham was a friend; not too close and not distant either. Something told Adam that that time was behind the both of them. He felt some kind of future at his fingertips, and he was eager to grasp it. Opportunities rarely presented themselves so freely, and Adam's hands were itchy for a good prophesy. And so, in his mind at least, he prepared for a new friend. He carved out a spot for Graham in his mind, a spot that Graham could use as he saw fit. It was his.

Adam smiled as he observed Graham engage in habits formed long ago. He wondered briefly if he had any such habits, and if Graham would notice them if he were to practice them. Would look enough to notice. Would pay enough attention. It was a rare thing, Adam thought, to genuinely pay attention. There was never nothing going on, and he tried his best to keep himself appraised of what was. Right now, what was, was Graham, in this bookshop, in this alley, in this section of London, and he was scratching at his neck and looking unsure of himself. Adam liked that. Uncertainty made him human.

"So, erm, d'ya fancy that book there, or just browsing...?"

"I do fancy it in fact, and I was also browsing. I guess I'm lucky to find something I like when I wasn't really looking at all." He took a full moment to look at Graham in the eyes, and then moved his gaze to the book he'd set down on a nearby shelf. Adam pulled his hands out of his pockets and retrieved the book, flipping through the pages to find an animation he'd found particularly amusing. "Look, here, see how shocked this muggle is..." Moving next to Graham, he held the book out in front of them and pointed, glancing over at Graham briefly. There was some kind of future here, for certain.

[GRAHAM ALBRECHT GOODWIN]

Graham was a shy mess and had no idea of what to say. He was a proficient writer when it came to essays, instructions, creative prose… but he had yet to master the art of conversation, the fluidity that allowed intimate exchanges to stretch into hours without pause or hesitation. It was natural for some people, but Graham was not like some people - wasn’t like most people - and what was natural for him was to see social matters as something to grasp, to learn, to study. And yet there were too many variables, primarily the participants in the conversation, what they liked, disliked, wanted to hear, needed to hear. It was an ever-changing formula, and Graham had never been particularly keen on math.

But this he wanted to get right.

Once the animation on the book's cover had repeated itself three times, Graham felt he needed to turn his focus elsewhere. He chanced a look at Adam. The boy was looking at him, everywhere but his eyes, and that made Graham feel secure enough to do his own observations; the idea that he look at his room-mate with his knowing, Adam’s eyes following his own, made him nervous. Not uncomfortable, but nervous. Realizing he wasn’t alone in his curiosity, he was able to take in the summer’s doings - Adam’s dark tan, a warm shade of ochre, the slight highlights in his feathery hair, the sudden broadness of his shoulders. Summer had been good to him, had encouraged growth in him. Graham wouldn’t have been surprised to lean in close and smell freshly mown grass, or touch his hand to find the warmth of mid-afternoon sun against his fingers.

"Thanks, you as well, friend. I'm quite excited to go back. Rather irrationally so, but that is how I tend to operate. Irrationally."

Graham laughed quietly to himself. Adam hadn’t said anything particularly funny, but the determination in his voice, the commitment to his own peculiarity, made Graham realize that maybe they were more alike than he had perceived through the casual conversations they’d had over the past four years. It was a pleasant revelation, to find he was not alone in being conscious of his quirks, especially so to find that relief in such close company. And that the company had returned his compliment without so much as batting an eye. He wouldn’t been jealous of that fluency if he didn’t admire it so much.

"I do fancy it in fact, and I was also browsing. I guess I'm lucky to find something I like when I wasn't really looking at all."

Their eyes met once more, returned from their various wanderings, and he felt a distinct twang in his chest, the resulting vibrations of which lingered, fluttered. Graham smiled slightly at the new sensation as well as the double entendre; he wondered briefly whether Adam was just being clever or genuine. Or genuinely clever. He decided it was a mix of the two. A beat - a quarter note of pause during which he looked and saw and enjoyed the crinkle of Adam’s eyes - passed and Graham missed it already.

He kept his eyes on Adam as he pulled away to retrieve the book they‘d both fixated on, albeit momentarily in his case and only to keep his eyes preoccupied. Graham felt compelled to follow him the few steps he took, but found that he didn’t have to move at all; Adam came to him.

"Look, here, see how shocked this muggle is..."

It was surprising how natural the move came to him, the nearly magnetic pull towards Adam - to look at the book in his hands, of course - he felt as he instinctively shifted closer, craning his neck to put the picture in view. For a second, he smiled at how close he was to Adam and how he felt there was a door somewhere that he was being invited through. A wall, most likely existing in his own mind, that was being dismantled patiently, brick by brick. Graham looked into these opportunities and was glad to see them.

"It's as if he's never seen a woman splinched in two before." Graham joked cautiously, shoulders shrugging with his chuckle - enough so to brush lightly against Adam’s. The motion surprised him a little, and he looked over at Adam, the curve of his cheek, the perk of his lips, and smiled dumbly. He wondered if he would’ve believed in magic if someone had told him, at this point in time, that it really existed.

“I wonder if I would have believed them,” Graham started, suddenly orating his thoughts, to his own conflicted surprise, “the person who told me magic was real. I wonder if I would have believed them right now. If the me, right now, would have accepted it. The impossible.”

Graham drew a breath and took to studying the picture fervently, averting his eyes easier than averting his blush. He didn’t want to sound cynical or stupid or naïve or weird or abrupt or foolish or nostalgic , but he suddenly felt all of those things and hoped that he was the only one who did. He hadn’t taken the time to think about what his life would’ve have been like without the realization of his wizardry, but the thought struck a chord in him. Would he deny the parlor tricks and childhood fascinations as cheap entertainment? Shoot down the idea of magic, of charms and potions being useful - relevant - to everyday life? Ignore the hope that maybe there was something special about him, about a group of people, about a boy, that would link them together in a way he couldn’t comprehend?

For the record, he thought, very aware of the warmth next to him and in the apples of his cheeks, I’m not sure I would.

[ADAM IAN TWYNAM]

"It's as if he's never seen a woman splinched in two before."

A smile, soft. A smile that grew as he felt the contact with Graham, almost felt a buzz between them. Felt Graham looking. Felt the buzz between them. There was absolute buzzing. They were so close, Adam could feel Graham draw in a breath to speak, could feel his warm breath ghosting along his cheek as he began.

“I wonder if I would have believed them, the person who told me magic was real. I wonder if I would have believed them right now. If the me, right now, would have accepted it. The impossible.”

The impossible. Impossible, as in, it seemed impossible that Adam had been this oblivious to his own feelings until now. Impossible, as in, the person he'd been living with for years could suddenly make him feel warm all over, and a little lightheaded, a little fuzzy. Adam looked over at Graham, who was looking at the book again, and wondered the same thing. Would he have believed in magic? It did seem a little implausible. But, then again, why shouldn't there be something connecting all creatures, all things? The buzz he felt now, couldn't that be attributed to magic? The fact of human existence in itself was a miracle, why shouldn't that miracle be extended to magic? What was it that kept muggles from believing in the first place? Skepticism. Cynicism.

"I know I'd want to." Adam looked down, and then back at Graham. He was conscious of everything, he could tell you the thread count of his shirt if you asked and gave him a minute. He could give you an essay about how it felt to be flush with Graham's shoulder, to be next to his blushing countenance. The magic of the situation was undeniable. A quick laugh escaped him. "I'd be desperate to try it. I'd start waving my arms around and chanting nonsense until something happened."

Something had happened. Something had changed. Adam could feel happiness in his gut, could feel it running through him.

The air buzzed with magic.