angelus (rosier) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-22 20:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | angelus rosier, barnaby snell |
WHO: Angelus Rosier and Baz Snell.
WHAT: Scattered scenes of rivalry.
WHEN: Their Hogwarts years.
WHERE: Hogwarts.
WARNINGS: Obscene length.
“Barnaby Smell?” Rosier queried as his attention shifted back to the other boy he’d been placed at a table with for this Transfiguration lesson. Something about mixing up the Ravenclaws and Slytherins during their first week to get to know one another better. “What kind of name is that?” It seemed like earnest, genuine confusion if nothing else from the first year Slytherin. “I knew people had weird names, but that’s just gross.” Barnaby’s immediate response was an exaggerated eyeroll. It was not the first time he had heard that joke — it wasn’t even the first time he’d heard that joke today. “It’s Snell with an n,” he corrected, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “I don’t know why your name is Angelus.” His eyes lit up with amusement as they darted around the room. “Did you bring Buffy with you?” It hadn’t been the first time the Slytherin boy had heard that question either since coming to Hogwarts, but he still didn’t get it. The confusion still splayed across his features, Angelus frowned further. “Look, Smell, my sister’s name is Persephone.” “I was talking about your girlfriend,” Barnaby replied, dismissively waving his hand. “Haven’t you ever seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer? It’s like, one of the best television shows ever.” “I don’t have a girlfriend,” Angelus protested, sharing the exasperation Barnaby displayed moments earlier. Who actually liked girls, anyway? “A telly—what show?” “What, have you never seen a tele—” Barnaby was abruptly cut off by a stern look from Professor McGonagall and his attention shifted to the Transfiguration textbook in front of him. Reading aloud, he told Angelus, “The intended transformation is directly influenced by bodyweight, or ‘a’, viciousness (‘v’), wand power (‘w’), and—” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned over. “Have you never watched television before?” Eyes glazing over at the actual transfiguration talk, Angelus zoned out during the typical Ravenclaw explanation (regardless if it was verbatim from the text or not). “I know how to transfigure things,” he boasted, and then dropping his voice. “No?” “Huh. I guess your family doesn’t really like muggle things?” Baz suggested, looking bewildered. Shaking his head, he continued, “My mum’s muggleborn so I grew up with the WWN and stuff like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” “A muggleborn?” Rosier echoed, bewildered. Sure, he knew about them, but it wasn’t like he’d had any contact of course. “Um, I’m a Rosier? Like a Rosier?” Angelus stated, sounding as if that made all the sense in the world. Barnaby stared blankly at the other boy. “Did your family invent something or…” “Loads of stuff, probably,” Rosier answered, shrugging. It was probably the truth at any rate. “We’re Sacred 28,” he added, matter-of-factly. “Sacred 28?” repeated the Ravenclaw, his face screwed up in thought as he tried to remember why that phrase was so familiar to him. A heartbeat later, it all dawned on him: “Oh, like Aleister Rowle, the beater for the Appleby Arrows. That means you’re like, some old pureblood family, right?” Barnaby scrunched up his nose. “That sounds kinda boring.” A second away from making some comment about how ignorant Barnaby seemed to be, Angelus’ face lit up. “Yeah, exactly like Rowle — who is great by the way — there’s twenty-eight really old families.” He flipped a page in the textbook idly. “Yeah, sometimes it’s boring,” Rosier admitted, because it certainly was. He didn’t notice McGonagall had started to make her way over to their table. Barnaby quickly amended his statement in his head: parts of the pureblood lifestyle sounded very boring. They didn’t even have television! Some parts, on the other hand… “So are you like, super rich?” he asked in a matter-of-fact voice. Tact and politesse were two things he hadn’t mastered yet. “Oh hell yeah,” Rosier said unabashedly. “You—” “Five points from Slytherin for your language, Mr. Rosier,” McGonagall reprimanded sharply as she appeared behind the two boys. “We’re here for Transfiguration.” Barnaby flashed their professor his most charming smile as he tugged his textbook closer to him. “Of course, Professor McGonagall.” The older woman did not return his smile. In fact, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as she regarded both boys with a cool stare. Once she swept past their table, Baz leaned over and jabbed Angelus in the arm. “Tell me everything about being rich and I won’t make fun of your name,” he told him. (But he slipped a hand behind his back and crossed fingers.) Rosier had been rolling his eyes at McGonagall’s retreating form and missed any movement on Snell’s part that would have tipped him off that his offer was less than genuine. “Sure. Okay, so…” “I don’t really want to go to Madam Puddifoot’s,” Baz told Persephone Rosier with a sly smile, “but I don’t see why that means we can’t go to Hogsmeade together.” He would’ve preferred to have this conversation in private, but he was forced to make do with a table in the library. He had insinuated himself in the seat across from Persephone before the girl had a chance to protest, but she didn’t seem opposed to his company. Propping his elbow up on the table, he rested his chin against a balled fist. “And,” he continued in a low voice, “I’ll treat you to a butterbeer.” “Really?” Persephone answered, sounding non-committal even as she twirled a lock of her hair near her ear flirtatiously. Even though he was a nobody halfblood, Barnaby Snell was at least cute, and more importantly: he was paying her attention. She gave a thin smile. “The Three Broomsticks sounds a bit boring.” Angelus rounded the corner from the massive shelves of books with an armload of Transfiguration texts. And he stopped dead in his tracks a good twenty feet from the scene unfolding where Barnaby Snell was seated where he’d left all his belongings as if he owned the place chatting up his sister. “Okay, forget the butterbeer idea,” Baz said, dismissing his original suggestion with a wave of his hand. He caught Persephone’s gaze and held it, smiling widely. “What if I told you I could get my hands on some firewhiskey? Rosmerta loves me.” He was so wrapped up in trying to impress Persephone Rosier, he was completely oblivious to the boy stalking up behind him. “Firewhiskey?” Persephone echoed, sounding both surprised and a little legitimately impressed at the suggestion. “If you can do that I’d—” she closed her mouth mid-sentence. “What the hell, Snell?” Angelus thundered, stomping up loudly behind the Ravenclaw boy. He put his hands on his hips despite how ridiculous he looked doing so. “What do you think you’re doing?” Annoyance flickered over Baz’s face as he slowly twisted around in his seat. “Well, Rosier, Persephone and I were having a very pleasant conversation until you rudely interrupted us.” He gave Angelus a disdainful once over before his mouth curved into a smirk. “And you look like somebody’s mother.” “I do not!” Angelus retorted, face flushing despite his defiance. He moved his arms to cross over his chest instead. “You’re annoying her!” If nothing else, Angelus was very overprotective of his twin sister even though he didn’t need to be. Persephone didn’t hide her annoyance either. No one was paying attention to her now! She drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. “Boys.” “I’m not annoying her,” Baz shot back, glaring daggers at Angelus before turning back around to face Persephone. His elbows landed back on the table, his chin resting atop his hands, and he smiled sweetly as he asked, “Was I annoying you?” “Nope!” Persephone chimed in, although she was watching her stupid brother more than Baz at this point. Teach him to get in the way of her flirting. “Baz was just asking me—” “I know what he was asking you!” Angelus interjected heatedly, barely able to contain himself. “You can’t go out with Barnaby Smell!” “Why can’t I? He’s being quite nice.” Persephone knew there were a myriad of reasons she shouldn’t, but right now? She smiled right back at Baz. “Tell me more about these plans.” Her brother made a choked, strangling noise in disbelief. “PERSEPHONE!” Baz thought Persephone was very pretty, but his interest in her was skyrocketing now that he knew it would get under Angelus’ skin. Emboldened by Persephone’s smile, he reached for her hand, smiling widely as he brushed a thumb across her skin. “I thought we could start with some firewhiskey,” he said smoothly, ignoring Rosier’s spluttering, “and then we can see how the rest of the day goes.” “Unhand her!” Angelus gasped before Persephone even had a chance to reply. He rushed the last few steps forward and reached out to snatch the wand he’d left on the table. “I’ll totally hex you.” Baz stood up so quickly his chair tilted backward, earning stares from nearby library patrons. He stepped closer to Angelus, lifting his chin as he gave him a steely look. “You don’t have the balls, Rosier.” “Are you kidding me?” Rosier spat, incredulous at Snell’s gall. He prodded the tip of his wand to the raised chin. “Oh my Merlin would you boys stop comparing wand sizes!” Ignoring Persephone’s protests and the threat of Angelus’ wand, Baz reached for the wand left on the table — his wand. He squared his shoulders and quickly muttered the incantation for the head swelling hex, intent on giving Rosier a head to match his obnoxious personality. But nothing happened. Undeterred, he opened his mouth to repeat the hex, only to be cut off by Angelus— “Petrificus Totalus!” Nothing happened. Rosier’s scowl deepened. “What the heck did you do to my magic, Snell!” he exclaimed, panic starting to rise. Baz was just as puzzled and confused as Rosier, yet he let his mouth twist into a smirk. “Well, I inherited my mum’s muggleborn powers. I steal magic now.” Angelus’s gaze settled on his sister, who looked just as helpless as he felt, and then went back to Barnaby, mouth agape. This couldn’t happen to him, a Rosier— And then he noticed. “You have my wand you jerk.” But that didn’t make sense. Angelus looked at the one in his hand which was assuredly his own. “This is my wand, idiot—” But Baz abruptly broke off as his eyes fell on the wand in his hand. It looked the same, it felt the same, but it was slightly ‐ almost imperceptibly — smaller. His gaze cut to the wand Angelus had a tight grip on. “Do we have the same wand?” Now that the tensions had begun to dilute as rapidly as they rose, Angelus brought up the wand in his hand. Sure enough, it was a little longer — barely — than his own. “What the hell,” he stated, clearly stunned. “I guess so.” There was a clap as Persephone closed her Transfiguration textbook in frustration. “You two are such idiots!” Baz looked at Persephone in alarm, shoving Angelus away from him with one hand as he settled back into his seat. “Wait, hold on,” he stammered, “what about Hogsmeade?” Deciding that she could still salvage something, Persephone sighed heavily, “Tell you what, you get Firewhiskey and it’s a date.” She could see Angelus fuming behind Snell, and only made the whole thing even better. A slow smile spread across Baz’s face. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” It was enough to bolster his mood, and he was still smiling as he turned around and plucked his wand from Angelus’ hand. “I’ll take that. You can keep your tiny little wand.” Angelus was far too busy glaring daggers at his twin when Baz took his wand back. He shook his head, and switched his scowl to his Ravenclaw classmate. “It is not tiny, and I can do more magic than anyday!” “Whatever,” Baz replied with a roll of his eyes. Then, sweetly, “See you soon, Persephone.” “No? No no no, no?” Angelus stood in the Deputy Headmistress’s office stammering his disapproval at the whole situation. With the Gryffindor v. Hufflepuff quidditch match on the horizon he’d been given the opportunity commentate it. Finally. The catch was Professor McGonagall wanted him to do it alongside Barnaby Snell. Shooting Barnaby a plea for him to help this situation, Angelus raised his eyebrows and then looked at their professor. The look of revulsion on Barnaby’s face made his feelings on the matter quite clear. “This isn’t a good idea, McG—” The Deputy Headmistress gave him a withering look, and he quickly corrected himself. “This isn’t a good idea, Professor, ma’am. I don’t need Angelus’ help with the commentary.” Then, under his breath, “I’m sure he’d find some to cock it all up.” Head whipping around at the insult, Angelus huffed: “More like I don’t need you messing things up, Snell.” Rosier turned back to their professor, a pleading look upon his face. “C’mon, Professor, I’ve waited forever to do this and—” “As has Mr. Snell. I see the fairest answer would be for you to work with one another.” “There’s only one microphone,” Baz interjected, hoping everyone could conveniently forget about the existence of duplication charms. McGonagall gave Barnaby a look that brooked no argument. Angelus sighed. “This is the worst. Like, cruel and inhumane punishment!” “I’d rather be in Azkaban,” Baz groaned, no strange to dramatics. But McGonagall ignored their complaints and the two teenagers were promptly dismissed from the Deputy Headmistress’ office. Baz, however, was not ready to give up just yet. If McGonagall couldn’t be reasoned with, perhaps he could make an appeal to Rosier. He rounded on the blond as soon as they were in the hall, jabbing a finger in his chest as he proclaimed, “I’ve been waiting for this for years. You can have the next match.” “I’ve been waiting forever, and I’m a Rosier,” Angelus scoffed, puffing out his chest. He was about to say more when McGonagall interjected. “Either you do it together or neither of you will.” “Ugh,” Baz groaned. He grabbed Rosier by the wrist and dragged him away from the doorway and the sharp ears of Professor McGonagall. He cast about for ideas, things he could trade with Angelus, anything he could offer him. A horrible, horrible idea struck him. Leaning against the wall, he flashed Angelus his most winning smile. “What if I give you something for it and you pretend you’re sick that day?” By this time Angelus had thrust his hands into his pockets like a surly teenager that wasn’t getting his way. Which, of course, was precisely what was happening. He looked up, clearly interested. “What are you offering?” Baz leaned forward and trailed a hand down Angelus’ chest. “I think you know what I’m offering.” Rosier blinked, and then looked down at Baz’s hand before brushing it away. “Look, I know I’m drop-dead sexy, but no way in hell.” Baz wrinkled his nose. “You’re delusional. You should be flattered I’d even consider touching you.” Angelus clicked his tongue dismissively. “Nah, Quidditch over you, hands down.” “I can’t believe you’re turning down sexual favors.” Baz gave Angelus a critical once-over. “I know you must be desperate for some action.” Looking down at himself, and then back up at Baz as if determining what the hell Barnaby was confused with, Angelus scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Everything about me screams stud.” He cast an equally critical and judgmental look back at the Ravenclaw. “Obviously you’re only getting any because you’re trading them for stuff.” “I don’t have to trade anything for anything,” Baz shot back, eyes narrowing. “I’m the best looking bloke in Ravenclaw.” Beat. “Second best looking bloke in Ravenclaw,” he grumbled, “but it’s not my fault Owen is unfairly attractive.” Rosier couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, not everyone can match my looks, Barnaby.” Of course, he looked a touch wistful thinking about Owen Dearborn. “Dearborn’s got some ungodly genetics.” Baz stared at Angelus in muted horror. “You think you’re better looking than me? Have you lost your mind?” There was no mistaking Angelus’s look of absolute confusion. “No. What the hell is wrong with you?” “We could do a poll at the Quidditch match,” Baz mused aloud. “My adoring fans will settle this debate.” “Fine,” Angelus said, his competitive streak getting the best of him. A popularity contest was an easy way to settle this — one Rosier felt sure he’d win. “Just wait until your ‘adoring fans’ are rooting for me.” “In your dreams, my man.” |