Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

18. Meet the Family

AN: Was supposed to write tonight but went shopping, talked politics and books. Oopsie whoopsie.

AN: Wrote that 4 days ago. Only just finishing it now at midnight after binging Umbrella Academy all day. Legendary.

Baz

When Snow and I arrive back at the house I make sure put the keys back in the lock box the exact direction they were facing when I took them in the first place. Father's Jaguar and Daphne's surprisingly humble VW aren't back in the spots yet so I know we're safe. Snow trails behind me through to the kitchen and follows suite when I perch myself on one of the stools at the kitchen island. A long and low rumble reverberates off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. Snow's stomach.

"Are you truly hungry again?"

Guilt washes over his tawny face. "I wasn't going to say anything, but..."

I sigh and mosey over towards the fridge and pull out a plate of little finger sandwiches that Mordelia must not have eaten today. They're ham and cheese, Snow's favourite. I slide the plate across the table and he pulls the cling wrap off ravenously. His un-manicured hands grabbing greedily at the children's snacks.

"Well, well, well," I hear a familiar voice say from the kitchen's archway. "If it isn't the Chosen One himself."

Snow's eyes widen, the sandwich almost dropping from his mouth. Standing in the kitchen archway is none other than my Aunt Fiona. Her dark hair is a mess, the white-blond streak petruding chaotically from what could be justifiably described as a "messy bun". She wears a burgundy leather jacket and acid-wash flare jeans. The picture perfect rebel.

"Fiona," I nod, keeping our interaction civil before it inevitably turns sour.

"Basilton," her response equally as courteous. "Nice to see you again. I hope school's going well."

"Simon, this is my Aunt Fiona."

"Oh, we've met." Snow says.

Hostility fills the kitchen from the black and white checkered tiles all the way to the LEDs. Snow is not a fan of my Aunt Fiona. I mean, not many people are but Snow has good reason not to be. He once came storming into our room, grubby finger pointed at me, claiming that Fiona had spelled his feet into the ground. Also that she had been snooping around the Mage's office under the false pretences that she was looking for something of my Mother's. Unbeknownst to Snow, Fiona was also the one who gave me the pocket recorder to take his voice. Unfortunately, or perhaps not so unfortunately, the plan backfired and the recorder took silly old Philippa Stainton's voice instead. It was a blessing in disguise really, Philippa was absolutely obsessed with Snow that year, and I couldn't stand it and therefore rejoiced in hearing her squeaky little voice ripped from her throat.

Snow is practically glaring at her now. Swivelled fully away from his food. Fiona's eyes scan Simon from head to toe, as if she's sizing him up, trying to find his weaknesses.

"Simon needed somewhere to stay." I say, seeing in Fiona's eyes the hunger for an answer.

A wicked glint appears in her menacing brown eyes and the right corner of her lip tugs up into a smirk.

"Interesting."It's as if she's heard all she's needed to know. She picks up her tacky silver handbag that sits against the archway and pulls it over her shoulder.

"Well, I best be off. I only popped in to pick up some of my CDs. Come by and see me sometime." I escort her back down the hallway to the front door. Her car must be parked the car around the back. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she turns to walks out the door. Just as the door closes, I see her wink at me with an alarming amount of destruction in her eyes.