Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

15. Home to Hampshire

A/N:Flexing with another Baz chapter because I love that kid

Baz

The Autumn mid-term break at Watford falls later than the rest of schools in the UK because of the Halloween Ball. We go to school on the Friday after the ball then go back home in the evening or on Saturday morning. Father picks me up on Friday night in the Jaguar. I don't take anything home, just my violin and the phone the Mage's men confiscated from me.

It's about an hour and a half drive from Watford to our place in Hampshire. I spend most of it looking out the window at the countryside. Earphones tucked inside my ears playing Queen's Greatest Hits, because that's what Snow likes and I'm a hopeless romantic. In fact, so much so that if I were a Sim it would be my only personality trait. That, and evil.

Father doesn't even attempt to talk to me, not even when we stop for a piss and a pasty from the petrol station. By the time we pull up into the garage it's almost 10pm. I shiver violently. My blazer providing little protection from the coldness of the barn-conversion garage. I take my violin case from the boot of the car and walk through the door adjoined to the kitchen. On the way to my bedroom my stepmother, Daphne, gets up from where she sits in front of her laptop at the dining table and moves towards me.

She puts a hand on the back of my head and pulls me to her tightly. "Welcome back, Basilton. We've missed you."

As much as a person is supposed to hate their stepmother I can't help but love her. She's good at showing affection, much unlike my Father. And sometimes it feels good to know somebody actually gives a shit about me.

"I missed you too, Mother," I reply, returning her embrace for a short while before pulling back.

I started calling Daphne "Mother" the day her and my Father married. Father feared it would be seen as uncivilised for me to call her my stepmother. I don't mind it. She's been around longer than my Mother anyway.

"I'll let you get to bed now." she says, and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

Daphne's only just returned to work after having the twins. She works as a clinical psychologist in Winchester so the nanny looks after all three girls: Mordelia, Rosamind and Juliette during the day. Far different from my childhood in the Watford nursery.

I give Daphne a nod and head up to my room. The dark wooden staircase is lit by magical lights my great-grandfather created in 1937 with a let there be light so powerful that they've stayed alight for almost 80 years now. My bedroom is practically medieval, covered in dark wood with a bed frame adorned with gargoyles. Although my bedroom is much more luxurious than the one at Watford, I find it hard to sleep here. The mattress is too soft and the sheets are too silky. I miss the poke of the duck feathers and the scratch from the low thread count sheets. But most of all, I miss the blue eyes and bronze curls that belong to the worst chosen one that was ever chosen. Simon Snow.

I change into my winter pyjamas. They're a matching navy blue, covered in little brown sausage dogs. It's not my usual attire but they were a gift from Daphne last Christmas so I have to wear them. I'm hoping I'll out grow them soon and have an excuse to get rid of them.

My head hits the pillow twenty minutes after I arrive back and my mind wonders yet again to Simon Snow. The feel of his warm cheeks beneath my hands, his soft lips, the fact that he doesn't want to fight anymore.

I'm asleep before I know it.

***

Sunlight slithers through the slight crack of the heavy red curtains and I drag myself out of bed and down to the kitchen. My craving for blood was sufficed by a family of rabbits that I herded at our stop at Cheltenham last night. So the rumble in my stomach this morning called for some carbs.

I open the cupboard to find a brown paper bag full of chocolate croissants so I take out two and place them on a plate in the microwave. As I stand at the bench top waiting patiently, I hear the doorbell ring. Father and Daphne will be at work by now and the nanny is upstairs with the girls. It's probably a cousin or maybe even a Jehovah's Witness. Despite my pyjamas, I ignore the beeping of the microwave and wander down the hallway to answer the door. The pyjamas may be a bad move if it's my cousin Marcus. I'll never hear the end of it.

But, to my surprise, when I pull open the large wooden door, standing in front of me looking freezing cold and helpless is none other than Simon Snow himself.

"What brings you to Hampshire, Snow?" I say cooly, as if this wasn't the greatest shock of my life.

"Agatha broke up with me."

Hallelujah.

"Go to Penny's then."

"Can't. Her mum hates me."

"Gareth?"

"He lives in Edinburgh."

"Rhys?"

"Wales. Jesus, Baz will you just let me in?"

I let him in.