Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. I wrote this for the little special for September 2022, where word counts were given based on a dice roll, and mine was 587, give or take ten words. This one-shot hints at an answer to a question one of my readers asked that I've not yet gotten to the point of revealing.

Pages in a Book

The bell chimed, indicating a customer entered Granger Bookstore, yet the owner didn't look up or move from his spot where he stood in a corner reading a book.

Instead, his granddaughter headed over to speak with the customer. "Can I help you?"

He heard from where he stood the mentioning of Shakespeare and glanced up, acting disinterested. The boy stood there, rocking back on his heels. His black hair was combed back, but the way he dressed seemed a tad too proper, as he was from an earlier era almost. A dusting of pink on the boy's super pale skin appeared on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears as his silver eyes stared at Olivia.

"I say the Twelfth Night ," Olivia said without hesitation, with far more confidence than the young man who was around the same age as her. "It's where my name comes from, actually."

The owner of the bookshop watched as the boy politely nodded his head, his eyes wide as Olivia took a copy from the shelf behind her, where the Granger Bookstore always carried a stock of Shakesphere, just as the Granger family was known for using Shakesphere to name their children. She turned back, ringing up the young man's purchase and bagging it for him, wishing him to have a good day while he—her grandfather went back to reading his book, completely disinterested.

The bell chimed again, indicating the young man had left and, "What was that about?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Grandpa Richard," Olivia said, making him look up to see a rather amused look on her face.

"I really don't."

"Don't you?" She continued smiling. "There you are when a customer comes in, acting completely disinterested and reading a book. You never do that."

"You can handle customers quite fine on your own."

"Be that as it may," her lips pushed together before she turned back to the cash register. "It was rather odd."

"Odd?" He said. "Was there anything particular about this customer then?"

"Well, he was rather cute," Olivia said, smiling as she did so. "And super polite. Perhaps a bit more than I'd expect for my generation."

"Your generation?" He said. "I wasn't really paying attention."

"He seemed a year or two younger than me, I guess. Not that it matters as I've not seen him around town before, so I'm not likely to see him again," Olivia said. "Though it might be nice. I got the feeling he likes books."

"Well, he came into a bookstore, so shouldn't that be obvious." He snapped the book shut. "Since you can do well enough on your own, I can look through the stock in the back."

"You mean you want a quiet place to read for your break," Olivia said.

He shrugged and headed to the back room, letting the door close behind him.

"Well?"

The sound of someone else in the room nearly dropped his book, to which he glared at the intruder.

"How did it go?"

"I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that, Artie," he admonished, a smirk appearing on his face.

"I'm sure you're one to talk," said the other, letting a rather peppered eyebrow lift. "What did she think of my grandson?"

"She thinks he likes books," came the reply.

"Oh, come on, Ree," the other sighed.

"Obviously smitten with her, but that's not surprising as it's my granddaughter."

"And her?"

"Amused."

A sigh, and then a snap—the person disappearing.