Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

32. Baz, Full Stop.

AN: I always vibed Daphne being a supportive parent to Baz but he just doesn't like opening up.

Baz

It's Daphne who picks me up from Watford. She drives a silver Nissan Qashqai. A surprisingly humble car to drive in our family. My cheek gets a peck when she meets me at the gates and she loads my bag and violin case into the boot. The Rumours album by Fleetwood Mac is playing. She's tapping her red fingernails cheerfully on the leather steering wheel.

"How's school been, Basilton?" she asks.

"Fine," I say. I forgot to bring my earphones this trip so I'm just staring out the window.

"What's wrong? Usually you complain about something. The Mage. Simon Snow. A teacher."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Are you getting enough...you know?"

"Blood?" I laugh. It's not something our family talks about. "Yeah."

"Then what is it?"

"I told you, nothing."

You Make Loving Fun comes on. I sink into my seat.

"Oh," she smiles. "You're having romance issues."

"Am not." I fold my arms over my chest.

"Basil, you're acting just like you did when Hugo Irvine from your Year 6 class didn't want to come over after football."

"I did not like Hugo!"

I did. I totally did. With his shaggy auburn hair and freckly face. Is it that obvious how much of a raging homosexual I am? Morgana, I thought only Fiona was onto me. Maybe Daphne's more observant than I give her credit for.

"Okay," she says. Then starts singing along. "And I don't have to tell you, 'you're the only one'."

It's 100% romance issues. Simon Snow hates me again and it's eating me from the inside out and dragging storm clouds over my mind. I had him all to myself and now I have nothing again. Absolutely nothing. Apart from a Step-Mother who knows me too well, a "terrible father" and three annoying little sisters. And a bitch Aunt. Simon was a good thing. A really good thing. For a fleeting moment I may have actually been happy. If I think about it hard enough, running away with Simon might solve all my problems.

I don't need this family. I don't owe it anything. Not an heir. Not my last name. Nothing. But I owe a lot of shit to myself. Some fucking self--love, some real friends and a boyfriend. The Pitch name died with my Mother in the Weeping Tower, and then again when I was turned. It's completely lost on Fiona. I just want to be Baz. Intelligent and snarky Baz who dresses like a Burberry model and likes kissing his handsome roommate despite the fact the world might be ending. I want to be Baz, full stop.

My Father only nods at me, peering over his newspaper, when I walk in the door. I go straight to my room and pour my feelings into my violin. I wish I played something cooler. The electric guitar, drums even. Playing Chaconne made me feel like a pathetic knob. Maybe I'd be more emotionally balanced if I could shred the heartbreak out on a Fender.

I go to lie down on my bed. My left fingertips are sore from so many weeks of not playing. The faint smell of smoke drifts from my pillow. The maids mustn't have washed my linen since Autumn break. Memories of Simon sleeping at the end of my bed come flooding back. Him sitting on my windowsill reading in that big grey jumper. The Book of Magicks still lying on the floor where he tossed it that night we fought.

Shit. I miss the bastard.

The next few days are a blur. I study in the library. Jog around the property. During the day I steal the car again and head into Winchester. I spell my provisional license into a full license with a simple "Identity theft is not a joke". Lines from television shows work better in larger populations. There's more chance of people knowing the reference. My age changes along with the "L" in the left hand corner. I buy myself a bottle of Smirnoff and a packet of fags from Tesco's.

I drive home before the parentals finish work. Have dinner with the family. Then slink off to my room to get plastered alone and think about Simon Snow. I do that four nights in a row. When I run out of vodka I head back into town for more. I numb myself until I'm just drunk enough to be lulled into cosy dreams where Simon is in my arms. I need him in my arms.

Sunlight streams through the curtains and itches my skin and for a moment I think I'm back at Watford and Simon's opened the curtains on me. I need him in my arms. The feeling's still there when I wake up. It's late afternoon. Almost dinner time. I run through the dining room past Daphne working away on her laptop. I take the spare set of house keys Fiona leaves here and rip the Wellbelove's address from the back of Daphne's diary.

"Just taking the car to the reserve for a quick... you know," I tell Daphne.

Daphne nods uncomfortably at the notion of me going to drain deer. No one likes talking about the whole vampire thing. Anyhow, I'm not draining deer I already did that last night. I'm stealing the MG and pissing off to London to go sweep Simon Snow off his feet.