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It was a white yule that year. The snow seemingly spawning over night as if someone had spelled it to. The first yule that Barty wouldn’t be spending at home and his first actual snowy yule coming together that same year. He had never much cared for the snow before. He had never been allowed to play in it, it was too messy for his mother to handle. Too childish for his father’s approval. One time, back when he was just a boy, he had gone against his parent’s permission and built a snow dragon. It was marvelous. It had hovered tall over Barty, just as a real ice-dragon would have. He had been so excited, so proud of his creature, that he had forgotten the time, forgotten his parents’ distaste for snow. He remembers running into the mansion, outside clothes still on, leaving a wet trail on the otherwise polished floor, dirty hands grabbing onto his mother’s skirt, proudly telling her about the snow-dragon that he had built. His parents weren’t so proud of Barty’s achievement.
After thoroughly destroying the snow-dragon, his father had taken him harshly by the arm and sat him down on the steps in front of the main entrance, told him to stay and then left. He left Barty sitting on those steps, wet and tired, snotty nose running from both his crying and the freezing cold that was slowly seeping into his bones.
He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, but it had to have been at least a few hours. The sun had long bidden the day adieu, and the moon had risen in east, his body going from a dead cold to a burning hot temperature, before a house elf had finally opened the door and with his father’s permission, brought him inside to his mother. She had been so worried. She had embraced him, kissed him, brought him back to life again. Barty had noticed the burning red tear stains on her cheeks through his fever haze. She had talked to him. Begged him to never do something stupid and inappropriate like that ever again. Swore to him that she loved him. Sworn that his father cared for him. Called him a silly child and assured him that it was all for his best in the end. Told him all the things that she usually told him when his father had taken it a bit too far for her liking. But the cold feeling in his toes had travelled to his soul, and he had never fully rid himself of it again.
Barty had turned 17, and the tedious tradition of going home to his family over the yule break hadn’t been very enticing. Deciding to finally try spending the holidays away from his family had not been difficult. Even though spending it at Hogwarts would have been quite lonely, as none of his Ravenclaw housemates near his age were staying over the winter. Even though Barty is a very sociable guy he just had never really taken the time to get to know many people from other houses.
When he had told his best friend Pandora about his winter-plans she had luckily offered him a place in her family celebration. A place he had happily taken, even if it meant having to share a roof with her absolute twat of a twin-brother.
Barty had always hated Evan Rosier. From the first moment his eyes had caught the darker skinned boy with the blonde curls, he had known him to be a prick.
At first it had been completely unjustified and to be honest Barty had felt a bit embarrassed about the lack of control over his emotions, but no longer than a week into the first school year he had gotten his reasons. There are many reasons to hate Evan Rosier. The way he holds himself as if better than everyone else, his snide remarks whenever someone slightly messes up in class, the stupid pearly grin on his face when his little cruel hexes hit their mark in the form of younger Gryffindor students.
All justifiable reasons
None of them Bartys
Barty hates Evan simply because Evan is good. Good in potions, good in defense, good in divination and good socially. Not better than Barty in any of the school subjects (except for divination, but Barty divination would be too unfair for Barty to really count, as it was something you had to be at least partly born with), but still close enough for the way the boy always shot him that sly grin whenever he got to answer a question that Barty had gotten wrong.
The boy was smart, pretty and charming, when he wanted to be, really who could do anything but loathe him.
He had informed Pandora of this. Well, not the pretty and charming thing, but she is aware that he isn’t the fondest of her twin. She is.
The Rosier twins are very close, they don’t spend much time together at Hogwarts, so you won’t notice it if you aren’t around often. Bart practically lives in Pandoras dorm room, so he has been more than privy to the almost unsettling magical bond between the siblings. The kind of bond that only appears between two souls touched by the gift of divination. They knew each other in and out, sharing everything without ever having to utter a word. Sensing the others’ presence from miles away. So when Pandora came up to him with a dripping clump of ice in her hands, he hadn’t expected it to be for Evan.
Earlier that morning, maybe about half an hour earlier. Pandora had asked him whether he wanted to come with her, and her little brother Felix, out to play in the snow. He had declined, opting instead to stay behind the Rosier mansion’s grand windows, and observe the two build a snow-wizard, where he knew the cold couldn’t bite him.
He must have zoned out, distracted by the sunlight playing in the winter landscape. Because he didn’t take notice of Pandora approaching him with a snowball before it was too late. Or, it would have been. Had she decided to throw it. But she didn’t. She offers it up to him with a playful smile.
Hesitating slightly, he takes the clump of frozen rain from her hands and sends her a look that he hopes conveys his confusion.
“Evan is still sleeping.” She says, as if that makes the situation any clearer. He just looks dumbly down at the slowly melting snow in his hand. Apparently dismayed with his inaction at this information, she decides to clarify a bit. “Barty, Felix and I want to show our brother our snow-wizard, could you please go and wake him up for us?”
Realization dawned upon Barty. He had heard about something like this before. It was said to be commonplace, in the winter months, among the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, to occasionally wake each other up by shoving snow down under the covers. Though he had never seen it happen himself. He had never participated in it either, wanting as little as possible to do with snow.
As he opens his mouth to tell her that he would prefer to wake Evan the normal way, she smiles sweetly and claps him lightly on his left cheek, the same way an old grandma might have. “Great! Make sure to really take his expression in when you do it, Felix is going to want a detailed description.” Then she runs off. Back to her little brother in the snow.
Barty stares at the snow in his hands as he slowly approaches Evans room. Up till now he’s done a decent job of avoiding the curly-haired boy, but after this he’s sure the blond will want to take revenge, dooming him to a yule full of horrible and awkward interactions. But if he doesn’t do it, Felix will surely be very disappointed, and Felix Rosier is probably the cutest five-year-old he has ever seen.
Awkward yule it is.
He slowly slides the door open and tip-toes into the dark room, the outline of Evans sleeping form laying on the soft bed.
Barty pauses over him, secretly hoping that the other won’t even wake up, that was technically possible, right? He then slowly removes the covers from Evan’s upper body, revealing Evan’s bare chest. He places the snowball on the boy with one quick movement. It slowly slides down over the chest, towards his naval.
For a second Barty thinks that he might go free. Evan still seems to be sleeping. The snow will melt without him ever knowing it was there, only leaving an inexplainable wet spot on the bedding. Tearing his eyes away from the snow currently being melted by Evans body’s warmth, Barty turns back towards the door, the light seeping through the crack under it calling for him.
One second, he’s standing on his feet.
The next he’s in Evans’s bed. The other laying on top of him while holding him down and pressing the ice-cold ball in Barty’s face. “You little bastard, I got you this time!” Evan says, voice a mix between annoyed and humorous.
Barty makes a strained sound and unsuccessfully tries to flail around and away from Evan. “Fuck, you’re not Felix.” The blonde says, loosening his grip on Barty at the realization. A big mistake on his part. Quick as a snitch, Barty snatches Evans hand and tears the snowball out of it, proceeding to smash it into Evans confused face.
Surprised by his own action, Barty freezes, staring up as water droplets drop from Evans’ unreadable face. His eyes catch onto a droplet, and he watches as it slowly slides down over Evan slightly parted lips, only just avoiding running into Evan’s warm mouth. Barty watches as the droplet gets stuck on the blonde’s chin, hanging down for a second or two, before realizing it’s hold and falling down onto Barty’s heaving chest. When he looks up once again, he’s met by the feeling of Evan’s breath ghosting just over his own lips.
The French boy had angled his body so that their noses almost touched. His eyes drilling into Bartys own as though he can see much more than Barty’s common-colored eyes, like he’s viewing Barty’s soul itself.
Barty though he knew Evans eye color, the pale-brown seeming never ending when gazing upon them from afar. Up close he noticed the enchanting hints of green that were sprinkled around in the teasing eyes. If Barty didn’t have several pureblood-families lineages memorized, he might have suspected Evan Rosier of being part veela.
The Ravenclaw feels blood rushing out to his cheeks at the realization that he had been zoned out staring. Evan seemingly amused by the whole situation let’s out a tiny giggle and raises his left eyebrow in a way that Barty can’t not describe as sexy.
Barty is no Gryffindor, that he is sure off. He’s scared of the dark. Scared of heights. Scared of the stairs at Hogwarts suddenly moving as he steps out onto them, scared of falling from a lethal height and having no magic to buffer his fall.
Kissing Evan Rosier definitely feels like falling.
Touching his lips to Evans is probably one of the bravest things Barty has ever done. Leaning across the small but yet oh so long divide between them, his conscience screaming at him to stop. His heart afraid of the pain rejection might bring, begging him to halt. His body, his hands, his legs, his lungs pleading for him to keep moving. As though they couldn’t breathe without Evan there to help them.
It had just been a tiny peck. Their lips hadn’t even been connected for more than a few milliseconds, but it had been worth it. Worth the heartbreak. Worth the awkwardness that would engulf them for the rest of the yule break. Woth the scrutiny and hatred he would receive if Evan decided to reveal Bartys actions to the rest of the wizarding world.
But as Evans’ lips consume his, his worries quickly fade away into the background.
The second kiss lasts for longer than a few milliseconds. It lasts a lot longer than that. When they finally part for air, Barty has his fingers curling into Evans’ curls, while Evan has his hand shoved up under Barty’s shirt.
The third kiss isn’t short either. Neither is the fourth, fifth, sixth, twentieth.
They spend the entire morning in Evans bed and if the knowing smirk on Pandoras face when they finally left the room is anything to off of, they weren’t very quiet.