(1939-09-29) Should It Be Confiscated
Details for Should It Be Confiscated
Summary: Angelus heads into the library and finds Anthony and Ameinocles there. Angelus confiscates Locks' book while Anthony uses big words on Gel.
Date: September 29, 1939
Location: Library, Hogwarts

It’s Monday after morning classes and Angelus has made his way towards the library. His hand is lifted to his shoulder, hanging onto his book strap which dangles over the shoulder. A polite, short bow is customarily offered towards Madam Patil as Gel enters, offering a respectable greeting before he carries on towards the tables. As he flings the books around to set them on the table, his royal blue eyes scan the library, checking out who might be around.

Anthony is ensconced in what is basically becoming his favourite seat, with a large pile of books around him. Charms this time. Plus teaching theory.

In the corner, by himself is Locks with his backpack on the table in front of him. He is sitting slightly back in his chair reading a book on Metallurgy. His pale blue eyes are focused on the book before him that he doesn't see Gel enter. The younger Ravenclaw hmmms to himself as he takes a moment to write down some notes.

A quiet hum escapes the youth as he tilts his head, peering over at the stack of books as he wonders who’s there. As he glances around, he notices Ameinocles. No greeting is given at the time since he appears to be absorbed in his book, but Gel snatches up his book strap and heads in that direction. He passes by Anthony’s table first, stopping a moment to offer a polite nod. “Rowle,” he greets quietly. He strays on towards, head lifting as he greets, “Mulciber.” Uhhh. Angelus blinks, tilting his head at curiously at the book and shifting on his feet. “What are you reading?”

Anthony looks up at the greeting, "Ah, good evening. Anything I can help you with, or just being polite?"

As he looks up from his book, Locks blinks in surprise as his eyes fall on Angelus. However, when Anthony speaks he looks over in his direction and gives him a curt nod before closing the book to reveal the title, "1938 General Motors Metallurgy and Wheels Book". "It is a book about the different kind of metals that are used in what Muggles use to get around in called Automobiles. The metals they are making are a combination of steel and iron. It creates a very strong and suitable frame to build on."

“Possibly,” Angelus says over to Anthony in response to help. But he adds in with a flicker of a smile. “But…” Gel turns his head and glances back to Ameinocles, locking his blue eyes curiously on the book. “Interesting,” he murmurs out softly. But his eyes shift away from the fifth year as Gel frowns, dropping his head. “So…” escapes the boy as he considers, and then clears his throat as he lifts his head. Bringing his head up in self-importance, he sets the book strap back over his shoulder as he fixes his gaze on the older boy. “Muggle literature.” A brow arches and Angelus tilts his head, letting out a sigh. “Sorry, Mulciber.”

As he cocks an eyebrow, Locks sets the book on the table and says, "Sorry for what Angelus?"

Anthony leans back in his chair, and notes, "It's not literature, you know." There's a quiet accuracy in the boy's voice, and he flips his wand out, "Accio Dictionary."

“For needing to confiscate it,” answers Angelus on a sigh. He arches his brow expectantly at Ameinocles. He lifts his shoulders simply, a smirk flicking across his lips. His eyes flick towards Anthony again, and the youth shifts on his feet. “What?”

Ameinocles slowly stands from his chair, and places his hands on the table before him. The apples in his cheeks begin to darken a few shades of red. Locks just stares at the boy a moment, before he pushes the book towards Angelus. He might have gotten his father's intelligence, he also got his mother's legendary mouth. "Ya know Angelus. You’re a wanker. You’re a bloody Gryffindor and you’re a part of that -group-." Locks snorts like canvas ripping before he begins to start packing up and pushes the book rudely towards the older boy. "No one likes you Angelus…they fear you because you have Flint's ear." He zips up his backpack and swings it over his shoulder, "Take the bloody book…but ya know what. Stay away from me. I mean it." He states in an acid whisper as he pushes his chair in.

Anthony catches the book out of the air, and idly flicks through the pages, "It's not literature. Obviously. Let me just find it for you…." He gives a cheerful smile, "Literature implies artistic merit. This is factual, rather than literature. I quite agree he shouldn't have fiction, but as I understand it, this would be a text for a class still supported at this school."

Gel swings his gaze from Anthony back to Ameinocles. The youth frowns, letting out a sigh as he lifts his hand as he drops his forehead into his fingers. Smirking into his hand, the fourth year lifts his head back up and lifts his shoulders as he offers a proud little smile at Ameinocles. “You might not like the rules, but the Headmaster still made them. Follow them,” he states, casually rolling back his shoulders. “Don’t be like that, Mulciber. You should be supporting our culture, not against us.” His eyes drop to the book, but he doesn’t reach out for it. Instead, he looks over to Anthony. “Just one question, Rowle. Would Flint allow it or not? Honest answer, please.” His eyes have gotten colder, annoyance flickering within them.

Anthony says seriously, "Muggle Studies? I believe classes are continuing. So, yes, Flint allows it." Was that a deliberate misunderstanding? Anyway, the 7th year shuts the dictionary, and stands, "But, it would appear that he is conceding the book. I trust it wasn't one set by the Professors."

Ameinocles turns his cold stare upon Anthony, and remains silent before he turns and begins to walk away, "No. It was not because the studies of metal are a passion of mine." He stops and looks over his shoulder, "Stay away from me, Angelus." The boy's cheeks begin to fluster even more as he walks towards the exit.

“Thank you, Rowle,” says Angelus, dipping his head properly toward the seventh year. Then he turns his gaze towards Ameinocles, frowning, and reaching out to slide the book off the table. “I’m sorry, Mulciber,” he murmurs out again and turns away from the table. Head up, he walks with a superior air, heading out.

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