Carry On SnowBaz

Snowday (3)

Baz

I tell my professor I feel sick (I was dying out of boredom anyway), then I leave the campus as fast as I can. When Bunce calls me, it's bad. Really bad.

I'm not sure if I can reach him – I wish I could. But he locks himself away on days like these. And then after a few hours (or several days sometimes) he's back to normal. The optimistic, clumsy Simon Snow. Like nothing happened. And he won't really talk about the bad time then – after it's over. I have to admit that I don't really like to ask him either. Maybe he needs to pretend that he's fine to be fine. If that makes sense. And I don't want to hold him back. But I also can't watch how he falls over and over again. How he thinks that he's worthless. A Normal. That he only brought bad for the magickal world. That it's maybe even better that he lost his magic, because like this he – I quote – can no longer hurt anyone. I always try to persuade him. Tell him that it isn't true. But I'm not sure if he's even listening. But I will do it anyway. Every single time. Until he believes me. He has to. Someday.

On days like these, I regret everything I said to him over the years. All the bad things I said to him. Because they maybe make it worse. It was just teasing and spitting, but I always assured him that he's a disgust to the world of mages. That he's the worst chosen one who's ever been chosen. He knows that I don't think like that anymore – that I never really had but anyway, sometimes words get stuck. And they come up again – on days like these. He won't confess it to me, but I think he still remembers them. Thinks about them.

I will try it again today. Try to convince him that he's not the monster he thinks he was. (Maybe he was the Humdrum but it wasn't his fault, was it?) I will tell him that he doesn't need his magic to be magickal for me.

I make a stop at a Bakery and buy a dozen of scones. (Unfortunately, they don't have any with sour-cherries. But normal ones with butter will work, too.) At the end, I need over thirty minutes to get to Simon's and Bunce's flat. (The traffic is a catastrophe in London downtown.) I ring at the door, although when I got my own keys. Simon gave them to me because he hated it, to have to unlock the door every time I'm standing in front of the house – which happens a lot. It's rare that we're at my flat. But I've got one. An own flat. But it's the one of Fiona, so it doesn't really feel like mine even if she's in Prague. It kind of feels weird to be there with Simon, so we always meet here. In the small but cosy flat on the fourth floor.

The door unlocks and I almost run up the stairs. Bunce leans against the open door and gives me a reproachful look.

"Ten minutes are long passed," she says as I walk past her into the living room/kitchen.

"I drove as fast as I could," I counter sneering.

"You could've spoken the roads free," she responds shrugging.

"I'm here." I get out of my jacket. "So, stop complaining."

"He won't talk with me. He just stares at the ceiling. I guess it's worse than last time. He isn't even hungry." She follows me while I unpack the scones and put them into a bowl. I pull my wand out of my pocket and speak Some like it hot like Simon likes them the best.

"I assume he was awake the whole night. Probably plagued with nightmares. They're mostly the reason why he falls again." She leans next to the fridge while I search in it for the butter. "We have to do something, Baz. This has to get better. Soon."

"I know," I say and place the butter and the scones on a small tray. "But he has to want it. And the last time he didn't really look like he wanted us to do something. We're here for him. I guess that's all we can do."

"Yeah, but –"

I make her shut up by shoving a scone into her mouth. "I try to talk to him, okay? Then we will see."