Chapter Text
Simon
I really just can’t have any rest, can I? Not one bit of down time. It’s nearly midnight, and I was properly conked out, when, suddenly, I was woken by sounds of shouts. I look over and see Baz slowly stirring and sitting up, confused. I hear another shout and jump out of bed, racing to the door. My sword is already in my hand as I dash down the hall—I don’t even remember saying the incantation. I hear Baz running down the hall after me, and, when I come to a sudden stop, he crashes into me.
There, in the hall of Mummer’s house, is a horde of porcutimes. It sounds as though a class of toddlers is shaking a bunch of maracas as the porcutimes run around, corralling the students into a circle in the hall. The boys on this floor are all trying to avoid the quills, but the porcutimes seem to have been sent directly to their rooms—trapping the lads in the hall. Baz pushes around me, still drunk on sleep, and whips out his wand—shouting a “Porcupine’s dilemma” at them. It does nothing.
I shoulder my way past him—blade poised—and go to take a swing, when a shout from behind stops me. His voice is croaky with the remnants of slumber but is easy to understand. “They’re a protected species, you numpty!” Baz shouts.
I turn to him, exasperated. “What do you expect me to do then?”
He sneers and tries to get in front of me. “Well don’t kill them!”
The guys are still dancing around the porcutimes, all afraid of coming in contact with their quills. I can sense Baz forming a plan as I broadly swing my sword to keep the porcutimes back. He doesn’t yell this time—familiar enough with my swordwork to see that I mean no harm, and too busy strategizing. In a blink of an eye, he moves. Scheme formed, and ready to act.
He yells for all the boys to get in their rooms if they can, or against the walls if they can’t. I lunge forward and use the flat edge of my sword to nudge a porcutime away from a doorway as it tries to charge at Rhys. Soon, everyone is out of the way, and Baz bellows “Stop, wait a minute!” causing all the porcutimes screech to a halt.
I watch on high alert; sword poised in case the Bruno Mars lyric fails. A bead of sweat runs down Baz’s forehead from the strain of freezing dozens of porcutimes, then he shouts, “All together now!”
The porcutimes slide against the floor and into a pile in the centre of the hall, as if pulled by magnets. The few blokes still in the hall stare on in awe as they start to understand why they were ordered to move. Baz is shaking from the effort as he deals his final blow. Raising his wand once more, he roars a “Go back from whence you came!” and, quick as a flash, the porcutimes vanish into thin air.
Slowly, the boys peek out of their rooms. Gareth mumbling something incoherent before Rhys hisses at him to shut up. It’s been over a month with no Humdrum attack until tonight, and the blokes haven’t been this close to one in a lot longer than that. Baz is still standing in the middle of the hall—head tilted down, hair framing his face. I hear another whisper and snap my head in its direction, growling. “Go to bed, guys,” I say. It isn’t a request.
Within seconds the hall clears, and we are alone. I’m already dreading talking to the Mage about this one. He’ll chide me for being so shit with my wand that Baz took care of the whole situation. Probably will make me do extra spellwork on my own time again. I glance up as Baz shifts his weight around, then a yawn escapes me. Merlin, it’s late.
Baz starts heading back to our room, and I follow wordlessly. A few steps behind, I can see he’s overexerted himself. His hair sticks to the back of his neck, and his hands are shaking ever so slightly. Baz would never admit it, but it isn’t easy to do as much as he just did after being startled out of deep sleep. I watch my feet as my steps fall into sync with his heavy breaths.
Baz
I cannot believe Simon Bloody Snow almost murdered a prickle of porcutimes. That’s nearly on par with the dragon he slew. Typical. Swing first, think never. That’s Snow. I thought he was going to murder me—going out there and fighting in just his pyjama bottoms. If I didn’t have so much practice being subtle, I’d be surprised he didn’t see me staring—prickle be damned.
I open the door to our room, and trudge in. Snow isn’t far behind me. Since I’m up and need a minute after just having been exposed to Snow’s bare chest and his shoulder muscles moving—sword an extension of himself—I go to the bathroom to get a drink of water. When I’m done, Snow is sitting on his bed. Probably waiting to take another shower, since he’s worked up a sweat again.
Passing him, I start to get ready to go back to sleep. He heads to the ensuite and stops. “Baz.” I feel him staring at me—I don’t answer. “Do you hear that?”
I pause to listen. There, next to the wind, his heartbeat, and my own slower one, is a soft pattering. A soft pattering of…. paws? I jump up, wand out and walk towards the noise. Snow is already looking by the wardrobe and shouts “Aha!” as I draw near. I peer past him and see a porcupette, hiding near the wall.
“Snow, back up.”
“It’ll be fine, it’s just a baby one.” He inches towards the baby porcutime, and it dashes briefly at him before running to another corner. Snow looks at his outstretched hand in shock. “It just shot a quill at me!”
“Don’t be daft, they can’t shoot their quills.”
“It just did! Look. There’s a quill in my hand!”
He works on pulling it out as I cautiously step towards where I saw the porcutime last. I find it hiding behind the desk, and just as I’m about to spell it away, the bloody thing runs past me and vanishes into plain sight. It must have gone to a different time.
Snow has since pulled out the small quill that lodged itself in his hand, and is grumbling about not having much time to sleep, while heading back to the ensuite to take a shower.
I feel something pushing out of my foot and look down just in time to see a quill fall to the ground. That porcupette must have gotten me when it ran past. Bonus of vampire healing, I suppose, that I didn’t notice it. Checking the clock, I see it’s nearly one in the morning, and I go to sleep.
Simon
My hand was already healed by the time I woke up, so I just went about my morning as usual. Right now, Penny is chiding me for not bothering to re-tie my tie before I came down and started stuffing my face full of scones. I wipe my hands on my trousers and fix it quickly before resuming my inhalation of butter and cherry.
“Tell me everything,” Pen demands. “A humdrum attack at night? And he sent porcutimes of all things? Those don’t even live here!”
“It seems like you already know everything there is to know, Penny.” She makes a face at my speaking with a full mouth.
“Well, that’s just the basics I heard on my way here. I want to know it from your side.”
“Nothing much to know. I went to kill them; Baz insulted me and told me to stop, and he took care of them.”
“You were going to kill them? Si, they’re a protected species!”
“Well, I know that now! What else was I supposed to do? The Humdrum sends creatures, and I kill them.”
Penny sighs and drops the subject, instead, opting to remind me about the Political Science coursework I was supposed to have done for class today. I would have preferred her disapproval of my porcutime-handling than talking about this.
Baz
Snow is pacing when I go back to our room after dinner, so I go straight to the en suite to shower and change. I’d rather avoid any arguments. He’s likely itching for a fight since he didn’t go off yesterday, and I just don’t have it in me tonight. By the time I come out, he is sitting on his bed, brooding. Shirt off, chin out, tugging at his curls. He really does like to torture me.
It’s still early, so I can’t just go to sleep now. I fed yesterday, before I went to bed, which means I don’t even need to leave for a trip to the catacombs. We usually both try to avoid our room like the plague when we know the other is in it, so I don’t know why he isn’t with Bunce right now—especially since we don’t have to be in our rooms for another few hours. I want to go to the library just to have some space, but it isn’t like there’s any good books in there thanks to the Mage, and Snow would just assume I’m plotting if I were to leave now.
Well. Maybe that’s exactly what I should do. Make him think I’m plotting. Drive him crazy in retaliation. He deserves it, actually. He deserves to make himself mad wondering what I’m up to. He deserves it for driving me mad, for fighting shirtless, sitting there shirtless, jutting that godforsaken chin out with his moles just taunting me.
Snow’s eyes dart to me as I stand and make my way to the door. I hear him almost start to say something—and I hesitate for just a fraction of a second—but he stops, and I walk out.
I don’t even know what I’m doing. Circe, I’m pathetic. Running away from my own room because Simon bloody Snow doesn’t like wearing a shirt. I end up in the Catacombs again, and snack on a couple of rats. Better to feed whenever I have the chance. I consider going to visit my mother’s grave, but I can’t bear to do it. To visit her when I’m being this pitiful. She’d be disgusted enough if she knew I was a vampire, but if she knew her only child was losing his mind over the Mage’s Heir? I can’t even imagine how much she’d hate me.
After a few minutes of wallowing in a pit of my own despair, I get up to leave the Catacombs. It’s starting to get too depressing, even for me. And that’s saying something. I don’t even know where to go. I was hiding out down there longer than I thought, and curfew has hit. Snow is definitely still awake though…
I steal away through the darkness, up to the ramparts. The weather has been good these past few days, and the sky is clear. The stars watch me as I sit down against the cool stone, tipping my head back till it hits the wall. The stars ground me. Ironic, since they’re the furthest thing from the ground. My mother hung the moon, I long for the stars. The new moon is my favourite for this reason.
My eyelids start to droop. I must be more tired than I thought, after expending all that energy sending the porcutimes away, and not getting a full night’s sleep. I’ll just stay here for a few more minutes, then I’ll go back to the room.
Simon
Baz wasn’t back by the time I fell asleep last night. Wonder what he’s up to. Plotting, probably. He’s still asleep now, cocooned in his pile of blankets. I have no idea how he sleeps like that without overheating. Well. I take that back. Damn vampire. I almost always wake up before him. For food related reasons, of course.
At the care homes, it was to make sure I was first to breakfast. Not that it made much of a difference. Wasn’t exactly first come first serve, but it made me feel better. More secure. I knew there would be food if I was there first. Some kids preferred to wait and be last—in hopes of getting extra helpings. I couldn’t ever bring myself to take that chance. That sums up my life pretty well; there’s a smarter way to do something that requires patience, and I speed ahead to do what I know will work.
Here at Watford, I still wake up early so that I can be first down, but for a different reason. I like to be first to breakfast at Watford so that I can have time for two servings. So that I can stuff my face full of butter and scones without judgement.
I’m standing in front of the mirror, buttoning my shirt, when Baz wakes up. I see him in the glass as he stirs and sits up, yawning. There was a time when I was convinced that, if I watched him every time he yawned, I would be able to see his fangs. That was a rough couple of months. I kept trying to make him stay up late so he’d be tired and yawn more. But the only way to do that was to fight with him. And the constant arguments took a lot out of me, too.
I stare at Baz in the mirror, as he looks around him. There’s a hint of confusion on his face as he stares at the bed he’s sitting in, but—before I can try to read the expression—his head snaps up. I avert my eyes right as he looks at me in the mirror.
“Got a problem, Snow?” He growls. Merlin, that used to drive me mad. His voice in the mornings. Baz’s voice dropped before mine, that wanker. Always just two steps ahead of me. Two steps ahead and two inches taller.
One year, we came back after summer and Baz’s voice was deeper. Gravelly in the mornings. I didn’t notice it as much at first. By breakfast it was normal. Well, deeper than normal—it was the new normal. But first thing in the morning? Crowley it is rough and scratchy. I was jealous. I wanted my voice to be deeper. To sound like rocks crumbling under the relentless force of a waterfall when I first wake up. I wanted anything he had that I didn’t.
It doesn’t bother me as much anymore. Stopped after my own voice dropped. I still don’t sound like he does in the mornings, though.
“Sod off, Baz.” Ties are stupid. Eight years and I barely have the hang of them. I throw mine on and leave it loose—I never bother undoing it completely, just loosening it enough to take off—and start to grab my bag.
Baz is still in bed, only moving to get up when I start packing up my things for class. He always sleeps in these posh, matching pyjama sets. These ones are long sleeved and a deep, deep purple that looks almost black. I can barely stand sleeping in pyjama bottoms—a top would kill me. He shuts the ensuite door, and I leave for breakfast.
Penny is already at our table when I get there. She gives me a look, and I sigh, fixing my tie as I sit down. She slides me a plate of cherry scones and then says, “Tell me everything. A humdrum attack at night? And he sent porcutimes of all things? Those don’t even live here!”
I frown, stopping mid-bite. She’s got to be kidding, but it’s not like her to joke like this.
“Well?” Penny prods.
“Same thing I told you yesterday, Pen.”
Her nose scrunches. “Stop messing around, Si. What happened?”
I must not be getting enough sleep. Things aren’t making sense. “There isn’t much to tell,” I say, hesitantly. “I went to kill them; Baz insulted me and told me to stop, and he took care of them.”
“You were going to kill them? Simon, they’re a protected species!”
I’m losing my mind. “I didn’t know, Pen. The humdrum sends creatures, and I kill them.”
She sighs. “Okay. Did you do your Political Science coursework, at least?”
I could have sworn we didn’t get anything new assigned yesterday.
Baz
I don’t remember going back to my room last night. I mean, I clearly must have, given the fact that I woke up in bed. However, I don’t recall leaving the ramparts—just thinking that I would head back in a few minutes. I must have been way more tired than I realized, if I walked all the way back to our room in such a state that I can’t remember it. To top it off, Snow was staring when I woke up. I cannot get a single moment of repose. He’s always there. Watching, staring. It’s nowhere near as bad as fifth year, but still awful. I won’t survive this. Him. I stare with longing, subtly, so as to not get caught. He stares, unabashed, with overt hatred.
After getting ready, quickly, I head down to breakfast. Simon always aims to be there as early as possible, which oft results in him waking me up while he’s getting ready. I never skip a meal in the dining hall, even though I don’t actually eat there. Got to keep up appearances. Cook Pritchard will always make me something for later. Bonus of having a cousin in the kitchens.
I never skip a meal, but I don’t necessarily go early. I stroll in halfway through breakfast and take my spot at our table. Niall and Dev nod, before going back to their conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Snow and Bunce. Snow looks like he’s questioning his entire existence right now. Or his sexuality. (Can you imagine? I’d never be that lucky.)
I tune back into Dev and Niall’s conversation and immediately am hit with a wave of déjà vu. I swear they’re having the same exact conversation that they were at yesterday’s breakfast. Of all the things they could be talking about, they’re debating how many times one can wear pants before needing to wash them. A disgusting topic, and yet here they are, talking about it for a second day. Making the same exact points. I have half a mind to ask why they don’t talk about something new, but I honestly can’t be bothered. I don’t always say much, but they don’t mind.
Soon it’s time for Greek. We’re just a few minutes into class when I notice it. Something is wrong. This is the same lesson as yesterday. I’ve always been ahead in this class. Nothing the Minotaur says is really new to me. But this is different than usual. This lesson isn’t familiar because I know the concept: it is just the exact same as yesterday’s. I wouldn’t consider the Minotaur to be a necessarily great teacher, but it isn’t like him to repeat a lesson verbatim. I steal a glance at Snow—he still looks like he’s just discovered that the world isn’t real. Something is horribly wrong. For this to be happening and Snow being the only other one to notice makes this even more concerning. Bunce doesn’t even look bothered.
The rest of the day went on, getting more unnatural by the minute. Damn near everything was the same as yesterday. Snow was getting perpetually upset. Throughout the day he kept getting worse and worse and worse. Slamming into everything he possibly could. By dinner, his magic is a thick haze in the air. I push the food on my plate around discreetly—making it look like I’ve eaten—as the people around me get stupid and drunk off his magic.
By the time dinner is finished, I’m exhausted. The mental strain, plus Snow leaking magic like a faucet has me needing to lay down. Just my luck, then, that as soon as I’m changed and lying in bed Simon barges in and slams the door behind him. He storms into the ensuite, ramming his shoulder against the doorframe on the way in, and slams that door shut too. It’s a wonder our doors haven’t splintered by now.
As much as I just want to rest, I know Snow is about to start something, so I grab my book and slip out of our room. I head to the Catacombs again. This day makes no sense. First, Niall and Dev had the same conversation, then all my lessons were the same as yesterday’s? There is something going on here. I need to figure out what. I need to do that, yes. But it’s been a long few days. I can read for just a little bit. Take advantage of any bit of peace I find.
The candle I lit has all but burnt out, when I hear footsteps and a familiar heartbeat. As the sounds draw nearer, I hear a growl of annoyance, and smell a mixture of bacon, homemade cinnamon buns, and smoke.
“Baz.”
“Snow.” I don’t know what he expects to come of this. Finding me down here.
He gets up in my space, towering over me. A rare occurrence for him—being taller. I’m still sitting against the wall, my arm propped on one knee and my other leg extended. I have to tilt my head back to look at him properly—he’s standing almost directly above me.
“Get up.” He spits out.
Ah. That’s what he expects. A fight. Physical, I take it, given he came here instead of waiting for me to return to our room. “I’m fine where I am.”
Snow’s always been known to be a bit of a wild card. No one knows what he’s about to do. Probably because he himself doesn’t know until he does it. Right now is no exception. Before I know what’s happening, Simon yanks me up by my shirt collar so that we’re nearly nose to nose. He’s going to be the death of me—he’s so close. My eyes flick down for just a millisecond, then he growls and I snap them up.
“What. Did. You. Do.” Simon demands, not even making it a question.
My lip curls. “Nothing, Snow.”
“Bullshit. You did something, I know you did.”
“Oh, really? And what might that be, Snow? Tell me what I did.” I’m taunting him now. There’s no good reason. I suppose I like to torture myself as well. This is the only way I get to have him, to keep him close—by fighting.
Snow’s fists are still balled in my pyjama shirt—he shoves me against the wall. “Everything is repeating. I know you did this.”
I’m weak. Letting him keep me pinned here, just so I can be held by him. “‘This’ isn’t because of me. I don’t even know what’s happening!”
Simon’s breath is hot on my face as he tightens his grip. “Stop lying!”
“Enough, Snow.” I’m letting this go too far. I need to snap out of it.
Shoving him off of me, I sneer. “I didn’t do a bloody thing. Whatever is happening here? It’s probably your fault. You and your pathetic excuse for magic.” My words are dripping with vitriol—my attempt to ignore the way my heart sank when his warmth left me.
He sputters, then growls again, stepping closer and closing the gap I made when I pushed him. He doesn’t lay a hand on me this time, though. I can’t tell if I’m glad for that or not.
“Cut the shit, Baz! Tell me what you did so I can fix it.”
“Fix it? You couldn’t fix anything if your life depended on it.”
“Aha! So, you admit you did something!”
“No, you wanker. I didn’t do a damn thing. I just know you’re too incompetent to function.” His nostrils flare, his fists curling and uncurling. He steps closer—which seems impossible given how close we already are—and pins me against the wall again, forearm pressed against my clavicle.
“Why is everything repeating? Why are we the only ones who notice? Answer me, Basilton.”
The absolute gall of him. I try to step forward, but he doesn’t let up.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what you did.”
I could shove him off. My arms are free enough to get leverage. I should shove him off again. He must sense what I’m thinking from my silence, because he puts more of his weight into keeping me here, but it’s too late. I’ve already made up my mind. Before he can utter a sound, I jut my hand up and push away his arm, catching him by surprise. Another bonus of vampirism, I suppose. My strength, that is. I flip us around and take up the stance that used to be Snow’s—pinning him against the wall.
“Like I said: I didn’t do a damn thing.”
Simon
He’s lying. He has to be. Penny could sense something was off with me and tried to get it out of me the whole day, but I didn’t say anything. She probably thought that I was acting weird because of the Humdrum attack. The attack. The attack that she thought was last night…I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what to think. Penny said exactly what she said yesterday morning about the attack and thought that it happened last night. The Minotaur and all of my other teachers gave the exact same lessons as yesterday. The only differences being when Baz or I changed our responses to something. Well, that and when my magic got out of hand.
He has to be lying, because that’s the only way for this to make sense. That’s the only way it would make sense that everything is repeating yet, out of the entire student body and staff, only Baz and I are affected. The only reasonable explanation is that he was plotting, and it went wrong. Or that this is the plot. I start to tell him as much, but he pushes me against the wall with more of his weight, stopping the words before they can fully form.
“Enough, Snow.” He looks down his crooked nose at me—that bastard. “This has nothing to do with me.”
I growl and try to mimic the move he did earlier to flip us around, but Baz is fast. He catches my wrists in his free hand and holds them down. “Let go.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my demand, just grips my wrists tighter. He’s lost his edge if he thinks this will stop me. It barely hurts.
He starts to say something, telling me again that he hasn’t done a thing, but it sounds muffled—as if he is slowly moving further away. I feel his grip loosen, and his forearm is no longer digging into my clavicle. My vision is going spotty, but I can just barely make out Baz taking a wobbly step back. My brain is a wall of fuzz as my sight goes completely black.