Rosebud Boys (Snowbaz fanfic)

Irreplaceable

     I passed Snow in the corridor on my way back from the catacombs. He was headed to the dance that I had previously intended to show up at, but then. Well. He was wearing my suit. He smirked at me, trying to lord it over me that he had managed to get his hands on something nice. I should mention that it is a wonderful thing to already be dead, because you can't be killed by a vicious monster, or an evil wizard, or one of Snow's smirks. I stumble the rest of the way to my room. I can't go to that dance if he looks like that- in one of MY suits. I struggle with the door for a minute, and then immediately fall into our room. What is WRONG with me? I can't fall for Simon Snow. There's simply no room for that. My father is already ashamed that I like boys. This is taking it a step too far. Even for me.

     "Shake it off, Baz," I think to myself, pulling on some fresh trousers. The old ones got dirty in the catacombs. I quickly finish changing and sit on my bed. My head falls into my hands. What is happening? I have to clear my head- do something- I can't just sit here. I can't wait around with the thought of the dance... Snow... with Agatha... smiling... dancing.

     "Knock it off," the little intrusive voice screams. I was enjoying myself- wait. No I wasn't.

     Finally an acceptable thought crosses my mind- visit my mother's office. The catacombs were too dusty and dark by now, even for me. The closest I could get to solace right now was through the dreaded Mage's office.

     I know the way to the office by heart, but it's been a while since I've actually had to go. The last time was the day Snow and I were sentenced to sleep outside. The steps to the tower are very narrow, so I have to be careful not to miss one. A fall down these stairs is designed to hurt. The tunnel is dark, and a chill sets in. Not exactly what I was looking for, but it'll have to do. I cross over about ninety stairs before the glow of a fireplace is even slightly visible. I know the Mage is irresponsible, but leaving a fireplace unattended? Wow. I know he's too thick to have cast any magic on it, plus there are none of the usual signs of spells in the air. 

     I come to a dark wooden door with a large piece of glass set in the top to let light through. Peeking through, I can see that the Mage did, in fact, leave the fire burning without magical restraining. He actually set a fire, by hand, and forgot all about it. I had no idea that you could qualify to be a school administrator and still be dumber than a brick. 

     The door slides open with nothing more than a creak. I want to slam it, just to spite the Mage. And Snow... but neither of them are here, so it wouldn't matter. 

     The office itself has been deprived of any semblance of cozy. There is no indication that it was once my mother's. There's a desk, and a lamp, plus two large, oaken bookshelves, which contain... wait a minute. The books on those shelves are my mother's. The Mage at least had some sense. I pick a few off the shelf and place them on the desk, because I might as well have a laugh. The books land on the desk with a resounding *thunk*. The first has a royal purple cover, embossed with the words "Signs that You're Lupine: Advanced," in a cheap looking gold. Not my mother's. The second, third, and fourth are all a part of a series about get rich quick, lose weight, look seventy years younger in thirty days, and useless scams of the same variety. Also not my mother's, unless, of course, she was more easily swayed than I remember. 

     Now that I think about it, I can't remember her very well at all. I can't remember what she looked like. I can't remember what she felt like. I can't remember her laugh, her smile, her hugs, her stories... she's fading away. This can't be happening. In a frenzy I grab everything off the walls, the shelves, the desk... anything within my reach... anything that might resemble her. My breaths are short- too short- and my vision gets dark. No. I can't slip away like this, not here, not now. I sink to the floor, papers and books cradled in my arms. My vision returns to normal as my breathing is reoriented. That's better. I look down at what I've gathered. 

     The books can easily be sorted into two groups- new and informational. The new ones are all have titles like "Leprechaun Gold Made Easy" and "Memory Boosting Magic." The informational ones are spellbooks that vary in caliber of magic. Some of them warn the reader of "ancient magic and fearful results if done incorrectly" while still others bragged of containing "the darkest of the dark spells." These books, while they had no identification, were definitely my mother's. By all rights, I supposed, they're mine now.

     I look at the shelves. Little bits of cardboard hung from the edges of the shelves. I stand up to investigate, and find that on one side, they have been painted to resemble book spines. These were meant to hide all my mother's books. Well. It used to be a joke of sorts between the Old Families, but now it's certain. The Mage is LITERALLY trying to cover up any and all traces of my mother, without actually doing anything beneficial for himself or the other people who live here. I laugh out loud, to myself, alone in this monster's office. Some of my mother's books stay on the shelves to keep all of the little facades up, and to give the Mage the benefit of the doubt. He will probably never know these books left his shelves, as I sincerely doubt he checks behind his own disguise very often.

     The trek back down the stairs was difficult before, but now it's nearly impossible. I can't see over the stack of books, and it's much darker now than it was before. I only slip once, but I land on my feet again on the next step. Given the circumstances, I'm not terribly ashamed of myself.

     The dance is still going when I pass the Great Hall. I have some time to myself in our room before it ends. "What time is it?" I wonder. The clock on the wall tells me it's 9:30, so I've got about two hours to go through my books before I need to start looking for a place to hide them.

     The books are all interesting in their own rights, but I'm not really reading any of them. I can't focus. My mind keeps trailing off to one thing or the other. One of the common distractions is that these were my mother's, he was hiding them, he took them from me, from my family. The fact that he is taking her from the world all over again. Another thing that's been bothering me is Simon Snow. The just downstairs who's laughing, smiling, dancing with the girl who was made for him. I suppose that I should just admit to myself at this point, that I've fallen into a deep, dark abyss. I should also admit to myself that despite my best efforts, I will never escape it- nor will I ever truly want to. Simon Snow is going to be the death of me, all over again, every day until I finish dying.

     One thing I do manage to focus on between all my thoughts of selfish fantasies and well schemed revenge is a certain spell in a book titled "The Art of Revenge." The book is about a week away from completely disintegrating. The spell in question allegedly makes its target forget everything from up to three years ago. The spell is different depending on how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years you want someone to forget. It's incredibly complicated, and looks as though hours and weeks can be easily mixed up. It also doesn't say how accurate it is, like most spellbooks do, but I make it a goal of mine to master this spell. I don't think I've heard of any banned spells regarding memory, but I probably forgot. However, Fiona always stressed learning all the forbidden spells just so I had good blackmail. What's another one?

     The clock flashed 11:39. If I wanted to find a good place to put these potentially illegal books, I'd have to do it soon. The dance will be over in twenty minutes, and people have probably already begun to leave. Snow doesn't leave events early, however, and he's the only one I'm really worried about seeing. I'll be fine. Perhaps a trip to the catacombs might not be as bad an idea as I'd thought earlier.

     The bricked-in alcove that hides a skeleton near the catacombs' cellar is perfect for hiding books about dark magic. It's a bit wet, but it'll do. I found an old chest nestled up against the skeleton's skull, so in they went. This time around I was careful to keep myself clean, but as it was still so dark, I failed miserably. The warm light emanating from the castle is more appealing then ever. And so, the journey back to our room begins.