Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

12. Glass Half Empty, Glass Half Full

Baz

Snow is the most irrational, moody person I know. Despite how often I stare at him, I can never quite figure out what is going on inside that thick head of his. One minute he's standing there, as irresistible as ever, dripping with water, a towel around his waist, thanking me for helping him. Then the very next week I'm being dragged out of a classroom and he's calling it off for the sake of my academic welfare. And just when I think he can't get anymore confusing he confesses that he thinks we "could have been friends." As if that would be any help when all the Old Families, including my own, would gladly see his mop-haired self vanish off the face of the magical Earth.

Honestly, I don't know where we stand now, but in the morning he doesn't pick the fight back up again. The room still smells vaguely of smoke and Snow's bedsheets look black and singed.

There's a knock at the door. Bunce no doubt.

Snow strides over to answer it as he tightens his tie. He opens the door to one of the Mage's men, who holds a large black garment bag above his head.

"For you, Mr. Snow," the man says in a serious tone. Well, as serious as one can sound dressed like one of Robin Hood's merry men.

"From Mrs. Wellbelove," He adds, hanging the bag over to Snow. He practically staggers back at the weight of it.

"Thanks." He gives a polite nod.

Snow goes over to his bed and lays the bag down and examines it quizzically. Hesitating, he pulls down the zip in the centre to reveal a dazzling silver suit and trousers reflecting the morning light throughout our room.

"Oh no," are the only words that escape his mouth.

"What is it Snow, shirtless Edward Cullen flashbacks?" I tease.

He stares down at the suit, mortified.

"I'm going to look like a right poof."

Fantastic. Homophobic slang. Simon Snow is sure to be secretly in love with me when he says such charming things. What an idiot. I don't think he would appreciate it if I said I look like an orphan when I wear a shirt from Primark. Knobhead.

"With the prettiest girl in the school on your arm, I doubt it." I can't be bothered defending myself.

The miserable look in his blue eyes seems to fade for a second or two but then comes right back when he looks back at the suit.

"What are you wearing?" he asks, eyes pining for some redemption.

"Classic black," I reply. I begin to collect my things to head down to breakfast.

"Christ, I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb,"

"But you're the Chosen One," I taunt. "You were born to stand out."

"Yeah, and a great lot of fun that has turned out to be. Killing a dragon, blowing things up, constantly under threat from an unknown magical monster." Snow is looking even more woebegone now.

"You're the heir to the world of Mages, you got a free sword, the perfect girl." I argue back. Entitled bastard.

Most of my rebuttal seems to go in one ear and out the other.

"Speaking of girls," Snow begins. "Who are you taking to the Halloween ball?"

"I'm afraid I'm a luxury few can afford, Snow."

And with that I pull on my blazer, grab my text books and drift out of the door leaving Snow to deal with his wardrobe malfunction. My blazer is still dusty from my emotional rampage to the catacombs last night. After Snow had so bluntly ended our deal and after I acted so unreserved about it, I needed to let off some steam.

Letting off some steam started with a rush of anger, walking quickly and purposefully towards the crevices of the catacombs where the rats dwelled. Then it was draining the life out of them and throwing their dead bodies hard against the wall. And, finally, when the anger was out of my system all that was left was emptiness.

When I was alone, when the facade was down, that was what I truly was, empty. Physically I've been empty since being bitten by that invasion of vampires in 2002. The emotional emptiness started that day too when my Mother died. Then it continued when I realised my Mother wouldn't have wanted me this way, cold and dead. There was, and had been since that day, very little warmth in my life. My father lost the faint glimmer of happiness and became the most unfeeling person I know. Aunt Fiona is fun but she's also reckless and selfish, not to mention she wants to see Simon Snow's head on pike.

My two closest friends are morons. And why have I kept them? To keep the facade up. That I'm a cocky and emotionless arsehole with a vendetta against the Mage's heir. I didn't want that vendetta. I'd never even seen the kid when Father and Aunt Fiona pitted me against him.

"Torment the little bugger," Fiona had instructed as she handed me my violin case to pack in the car.

"But what if he's nice or likes football like me?" I replied. So young, so innocent.

"No one who is a threat to our world can be "nice" Basilton."

They had always treated me far too old for my age, made me do things I didn't want to do. Even if it seemed like I wanted to do them.

In an ideal world I would be who I wanted. That's what I cried about in the catacombs, a loss of identity. I wished I could laugh at jokes I thought were funny and not be afraid people would perceive my easiness as weakness. I wish I had people in my life who asked how I was and I wasn't afraid to tell them. But above all, I wished I had Simon.

Not because he was beautiful, not because his magic drew me to him like a magnet but because where I was empty, he was full. People liked him because he was friendly, vulnerable and imperfect. He never let his downfalls dull his enthusiasm. Even if he couldn't make informed decisions to save his life, he always had passion.

The sad truth was that his relationships with Wellbelove and Bunce were not a facade at all. Wellbelove wasn't with Snow for his status or his magic, she was with him for him. She loved how he cared about her and told her she was beautiful. Bunce loved Snow's warmth, you could tell. She was constantly sitting with him enjoying his company. Bunce reads and Snow sits there conspiring about his next mission from the Mage. There was a closeness between the three of them that provoked so much jealously in me it made me sick.

Snow was warm and full and I wanted a place in his world, but after long periods of kidding myself, it all came tumbling down to the realisation that it was too late. That you couldn't spend your whole relationship with someone telling them they're worthless to then wanting be a part of their narrative. The truth hits me harder every time, and yet I do nothing to change my circumstances but sit and sob by Mother's grave. Empty and pathetic.

A/N: OK I'm gonna get stuff really happening next chapter !