Chapter Text
One would think that after living for five years with the menace that Barty fucking Crouch Jr. was the entire population of Hogwarts would be used to the chaos that would inevitably crash the peace of the millenial castle during the first ten days of February; but oh , how wrong would that thought be.
For those who didn’t know, Barty Crouch Jr. was half Italian. This being said, dear readers, you should know that it’s been 73 years since the first edition of Sanremo , the most anticipated music festival in Italy, and this was one of the only reason why every single student tried to avoid the Slytherin as much as they could during the festival's entire week
Barty, cunning, funny, charismatic, beautiful Barty obviously didn’t understand why during the Holy Week (because that’s what it was for him) he considered himself lucky if his friends talked to him. Granted, it could be because he spent almost the entire night screaming at the top of his lungs the songs that were chosen for the current edition - or because he would spend every free moment talking about the incredible injustice regarding whatever the hell the chart at the end of the night was.
That could have been the reason why, not even 30 minutes into the first episode, he found himself to be silenced by none other than Evan Rosier - part of the reason why he was screaming in the first place. But it wasn’t even his fault if freaking gIANMARIA woke up and decided to look so fucking hot while also being so similar to his best friend - whom he had a crush on since the previous year They couldn’t blame him for that, could they now?
You see, Barty wasn’t one to associate every blond person to his Evan ( no, he was not that gone yet, thank you very much). But they had the exact same hairstyle, and apparently gIANMARIA’s hairdresser chose just the right color for him, and his eyes looked just like Evan’s and…
It’s just that…
gIANMARIA
was so handsome… And that song was so good… He couldn’t help himself; he really decided right in that instant that he would be happy dying while admiring that boy and his stupid performance. Who gave him permission to- to- to wear that goddamn white shirt basically unbuttoned if not for the last button and- and look like the sweetest angel in the whole universe? Who told him it was acceptable? Did
Amadeus
- the host - really think that he could send a 20 years old boy on the
Ariston
stage and expect that everyone would be okay with it?
Because Barty wasn’t okay. And he was going to make it everyone’s problem.
So, curled up in his green blankets, a muggle computer fixed up by that goddess of Pandora to work in the Wizarding World on his lap, Barty turned to look at the blond boy on the bed next to him with the most outraged look on his face
“Evan,
per l’amor di Dio
, shut the fuck up. You don’t understand. You can’t understand. I’ve ascended. My life is complete. I know what i want to do once i finish school - hell, i could start right fucking now.” was the rambling monologue that left his mouth.
“And that would be…?” asked his friend in confusion, looking at him like he was a maniac. Barty thought it couldn’t be too far from reality; not after
gIANMARIA
.
“ gIANMARIA .” then he said, turning his gaze on the little screen where Amadeus announced Mr. rain (who, and Barty couldn’t stress it out enough, should stop plagiarizing his own songs; it was getting exhausting to listen to the same fucking melody with a remix of every lyrics he ever wrote).
“What does a gian- gian- THAT THING do?” once again Evan found himself asking; Evan who did so much as skip dinner in the Great Hall to keep Barty company - because he would be oh, so lonely watching his precious show in the dorms, all by himself; Evan who used his best puppy eyes to get the elves to give them enough food to last the entire duration of the FIVE HOURS show.
“He’s the love of my life. I was born to serve my man. I should do whatever he wants me to do.” replied the other with the most serious (no pun intended!) tone he has ever used.
Needless to say, Evan didn’t like that Giamping Thing .
“ Barty… Should I call Reg? Are you alright?” to be fair, he wasn’t going to wait for whatever reply he would get; that boy really scared him when February approached.
“I would be better if Marco would stop being so hot for nothing!” exclaimed the Italian, pointing his hand at the computer.
“Oh, I see it started already…” commented Regulus, finally entering the room to save Evan.
“This year’s even worse… He said something concerning after, like, 20 minutes? It’s a boy this time.” Evan explained the situation to the other one, trying to warn him about possible breakdowns concerning a certain blond-haired angel.
“It’s always a boy… He’s got a type and you know it.” simply said the Black, throwing himself on his own bed, on the other side of Barty’s bed, while also giving Evan a pointed look.
“He’s got not…” rolled his eyes the Rosier, sinking in his pillow -which Barty fortunately decided to return this time - to ignore whatever implication Regulus would try to make.
“ Coglioni , I’m trying to love Ari ’s performance even thought she’s so fucking out of tune it almost hurts. But she’s my baby, I gotta protect her. So please, please , shut the fuck up or I swear on Salazar’s pants I’m going to shut you up myself.”
And just like that, the night went on.
“I can’t believe it! Amadeus really put Ultimo on that stage and thought we would like it? Not just that, but he put him AFTER gIANMARIA . How am I supposed to like anyone other than my angel? How am I supposed to appreciate other songs when I keep replaying the close up on his TORSO while he sung « ma che ti sembro un mostro, guarda che sono apposto ?» It was revolutionary… I feel like I died, met Jesus and came back on earth to spread the word. I’m calling it, you guys: he’s gonna win this thing. He deserves it. If he won’t win I’m gonna apparate to fucking Sanremo and force Ama to give that boy an even better prize.”
“Barty, I love you. I swear to God, I love you. But please, can we have one meal without you talking about that stupid thing?” a gasp erupted from the Great Hall after Dorcas Meadowes’ interruption.
“What did you just say?” asked said boy, the smile on his face dropping that same instant.
“You do it every year, it can’t be that good! You’re totally exaggerating it.”
“Meadowes, you poor soul, I’m gonna tell nonna to pray for you too. Don’t worry, you can be saved. Maybe. I hope.” simply replied Barty once again. “So, as I was saying. Can you believe that I Cugini di Campagna are competing? I thought they were all dead, to be fair. But, I mean, if they won’t play Anima Mia , why are they even there? It doesn’t make sense. And GRIGNANI ! GRIGNANI ! He was totally drunk, I swear. He was so… extra. He’s a poor excuse of your brother, Reg, you should see him. But you know who was pretty good? Elodie ! I mean, I couldn’t concentrate much on her song because I was a bit exhausted BUT I know for a fact she was good. She’s Elodie , for Merlin’s sake!”
And while the Italian boy continued his rant, Regulus tried to catch his brother’s group attention to escape another 45 minutes of pretending to understand Barty’s word about a Bianco? Who stepped on roses? And destroyed the stage? While Jhonny cleaned it with a broom? And anyway, why would one use a broom to clean something? Did they know how disrespectful that was?
However, his cries for help seemed to be heard, as he saw the self-named Marauders approach the Slytherin’s table.
“Good morning, boys; good morning, love.” greeted James, going to kiss his boyfriend, before being stopped by none other than Sirius Black himself.
“No kissing or touching around me.” they just said, smiling at the rest of the table. “I’m really sorry. Crouch, but I think I gotta steal my atrocious brother for some sibling bonding time.” continued apologetically.
“You know the rules: take one, leave one. Your choice this time!” stated Evan, not bothering to look up from his cereal’s bowl.
“We’re offering Petey this time, he said he’d taken a liking to Italian culture.” proceeded Remus, extremely eager to avoid being trapped in a conversation he sure as hell didn’t want to have about singers who were not from the 70’s.
“Meh, it wasn’t exactly like that but whatever, Go on, Barty, what were you saying about- ehm- Jhoann?” resigned, Peter took Regulus’ previous seat.
“It’s
gIANMARIA
! I should make you listen to him. He’s really good, trust me!”