Chapter Text
Baz
I liked to think of the memory spell as a gift to myself. For all the years I’ve spent playing Icarus; after all, there are only so many times you can race towards the sun before you have to take your inevitable fall.
I told myself that I’d be able to spend my whole life like this. That I’d have the ability to look into blue eyes every day and mock, stare desperately at blond curls that I’d never be able to touch, and spend my nights hunched in bed, always glancing at the other side of the room.
But one of the first things you should know about me is that I’m an insufferable liar.
Simon Snow was a force of nature, and it was impossible to be near him without being pulled in. Sharing a room with him was like being inches away from an open flame. I burned, and I burned, and I burned, over and over, and it was excruciating, it hurt, and one of my only comforts was the knowledge that I would die in the end.
Crowley, I was pathetic.
It still felt like somewhat of a betrayal, no matter how I put it. A betrayal to Simon, a betrayal to myself. Making the choice to forget, and stop loving him, makes the story seem unfinished. Rather than the ending that I always imagined, blood and war, and a confession of love in the last moments before Snow brought my demise, I was choosing not to have an ending at all.
There was one thing I worried about. The one thing that held me back for months and months as I agonised over whether to spell myself free or not.
When it came to the grand finale, the final fight between me and Snow, would I be willing to kill him?
The thought had plagued me. I even had nightmares for a while, where I stood over a blood-sodden battlefield, staring at Snow’s broken, limp frame without a shred of remorse or pity in my eyes. Because my family was everything, and if I’d never fallen in love with him, I would have slit his throat while he slept years ago. If Simon had never shown me that he was so much more than the Mage’s Heir, I would have thrown him through the window of our tower, Anathema be damned.
So when it was me against him, our final stand, the tipping point of our future, and I had no feelings for him other than the hate instilled by my family, would watching Snow die be on the cards for me?
Because memory or not, love or not, a world without Simon Snow wasn’t a world that need to exist. Right now, I’d give him every last ounce of my magic, every piece of my soul, for him to go on living.
So the idea of killing him, of not caring as I watched him suffer, was enough to almost send me over the edge.
Then I realised that I was giving myself altogether too much credit. Snow, despite his many blunders and terrible worth ethic, was smart. He could tell when I was plotting something, and he most certainly had the power to stop it. No matter what I tried, how many stairs I pushed him down, he was always there to save the day. The Mage’s glowing hero. He was far too bright a spark to be put out by the likes of me.
And there was the fact buried deep within me, that I didn’t quite want to admit. That no matter who I was, no matter what I remembered, I would never be able to kill Simon Snow. I’d tried, and I’d always failed, even back when I thought I hated him. Because he was the sun. Because he was so, so bright.
My phone (the Mage’s phone ban could suck it, there was no way I was going without Candy Crush for a full term) read three a.m, and I could hear Snow’s rhythmic breathing in the bed next to mine. He’d tried to fake being asleep a few times before, so he could ‘secretly’ follow me to the Catacombs, but I could always tell. I’d been paying attention to him for far too long to be fooled. This time, he was dead asleep.
Silently, I slid out of bed, and pulled off my pyjamas, revealing the clothes I had on underneath. I tied my hair up to keep it out of my face, and slipped on my shoes before standing up. My wand was slipped neatly into the waistband of my school-issued belt.
It didn’t quite feel real, that this was happening. That I was making the choice to do this. Loving Snow hurt, it hurt so much, but right now it hurt far more to know that I was letting him go.
I’m sorry Simon Snow, but I don’t want to know a world where you don’t choose me back.
He would probably feel thankful. After tonight, I would show absolutely no more feigned interest in Wellbelove. I wouldn’t care about how his eyes narrowed in jealousy as I stole her away. I wouldn’t lay in bed later, recalling that look, and pretending that he was jealous for me.
Simon Snow would be utterly removed from my memory.
That’s a good thing.
I was still an insufferable liar.
It would feel strange, to leave the room without one final goodbye to Simon. An unfinished plotline. And since there was a part of me that still longed for a happy ending, I walked silently over to his bed, and stood over him for just a minute, holding my breath so I didn’t make a sound.
I wanted to kiss him.
Merlin, I wanted to kiss him.
But he was asleep, and this was goodbye, so I just watched him for a moment longer, greedily taking in all I could. While I still appreciated him for the glorious nightmare he was.
Blue eyes.
Golden curls.
Moles littering his face and neck, and moving down below his shirt.
Simon Snow was alive.
Simon Snow was going to have a future.
I just wouldn’t feature. Not as I am now.
“I love you.” I whispered, just to say the words once, and if this was a fairy tale, he’d awake at just that moment. He’d tell me that he’d always loved me too. We’d sweep off into the sunset together, and my ending would be a happy one after all.
He continued to sleep on, and I turned around and left the room with my chest tight and eyes prickling.
I didn’t have a place in Simon Snow’s fairy tale. A monster never could.
Simon
It was already lunchtime, and Baz still hadn’t shown up to any of our lessons. I thought it was strange this morning, when I woke up and found that Baz had left the room before I did, which was odd for him. The prick had always been vocal about his beauty sleep (not that he needed it). More than that, he hadn’t even closed the window on the way out.
I thought he was scheming. Penny did not think he was scheming. Penny thought that she was trying to study, and I should be too, even if Baz had bunked off school for a day.
When I disagreed (quite loudly) with Penny’s method of thinking, she kicked me out of the library, and I went to look for Baz.
Our room had no trace of him. His bed was still unmade, which, for the uptight git, was possibly the most fucking surprising thing I’d seen all year (and I’d walked in on the Mage pretending he was Robin Hood, hat and all, crouching on his desk and pointing a child’s bow and arrow set at the picture of Natasha Grimm-Pitch on his office wall).
I tried to sneak back into the library to check if Baz was hiding between the shelves, or under a table. Penny practically hauled me back out.
Eventually, all that was left was the Catacombs.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been down there looking for Baz, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I honestly had no fucking clue why he’d adopted them as somewhere he regularly went. Was it a vampiric law that all secret lairs had to be underground and surrounded by dead bodies?
Nonetheless, I dutifully trekked through them, looking. It was probably last period by now, but I didn’t want to go back to class. If Baz hadn’t been in lessons all day, he wasn’t going to turn up now. And even though he could be out there cooking up a diabolical plot, he could also have been attacked by a feral rat, and bleeding out on the floor of the Catacombs. And I couldn’t just risk that.
Even Dev and Niall had begun to look a little worried by the time I started searching.
I could barely see six inches in front of me, but I didn’t bother casting a spell for light. I’d either blow the whole place up and get buried alive, or I’d be forced to stare at the skulls set into the walls as I walked. Neither option was particularly attractive.
There were various scratching noises down by my feet, and I knew it was the rats. Again, I couldn’t understand why Baz, the poshest wanker to ever set foot at Watford, was interested in hanging out under the school with nothing but a bunch of rats and skulls for company.
My foot slipped on something, leaving me skittering backwards and tripping. I paused for a moment, before crouching down, and starting to grope around on the cold, stone floor for whatever I’d stumbled across, praying that it wasn’t a corpse’s finger. Or arm. Or anything to do with a dead body. Magical creatures I could deal with, but humans were pushing it a bit.
My hand brushed against something that I prayed wasn’t a rat. The shudder I felt made me inch forward slightly slower. In hindsight, feeling around in the dark in the middle of a fucking tomb probably hadn’t been the smartest idea I’d ever had.
Scratch that, none of my ideas were clever. This one probably didn’t even hit the top ten of stupid decisions I had made.
Finally, the offending item scraped my palm, and I grabbed it triumphantly.
Then I realised what, exactly, it was.
Baz’s wand.
He never went anywhere without his wand.
What was it doing on the ground?
And far, far more importantly, if Baz’s wand was abandoned on the floor of the Catacombs, where was Baz?
My heart was hammering faster now, and my feet caught one another as I began to run blindly through the dark. Baz’s wand was clenched tightly in my fist.
“Baz!” I called out, my voice bouncing off the walls, creating an indistinguishable echoing clash, which roared in every direction. There was no response, even when it died down. Gasping, I stopped running, reaching out to feel the walls in an attempt to gauge my surroundings. I brushed something that could have been the eye socket of a mouldy skull, before almost falling through another pathway to my right. My breathing slowed slightly, but the tunnels were still alive with the noise I had made.
Was this what Baz had to deal with every time he came down here?
The darkness of the tunnels seemed to push closer, and I swallowed. Coming down here alone was very different to coming down to tail Baz. At least he always knew where he was going. That meant by default, I always knew where I was going. Always after him.
I squeezed Baz’s wand tighter in my hand. Light. I needed light.
Almost painfully, I extracted my own wand from where I’d stuck it in my back pocket. I never liked to rely on my own magic. It almost never played in my favour but now, I couldn’t see any other option. I shot off a quick prayer to all that was holy (by which I meant sour cherry scones), and adjusted my grip.
“Let there be light!” I shouted, tensing every muscle in my body to prepare for the possible explosive consequence.
Nothing happened.
Breath in. Breath out. Focus.
“It’s a wonder you can control your magic at all.” Baz had told me once “You try to force all of it out at once instead of letting it flow bit by bit. It’s like you’re afraid of it.”
Bit by bit. Bit by bit. Don’t let it scare you.
Do it like Baz.
I raised my wand.
“Let there be light!” I hissed, closing my eyes and breathing out slowly as I let my magic ibue every syllable, wrapping around my words like weeds. Control had never been my strong point when it came to magic, and holding it back was akin to trying to stop up a dam full of holes. New ones kept bursting through as I frantically tried to stop the whole thing from overflowing.
A second passed, then two, and when I was certain that the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse, I hesitantly opened my eyes.
The tip of my wand burned cheerfully, the flame providing a soft glow to the walls of the Catacombs. I smiled in spite of myself.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.
It was easier to walk when I didn’t have to drag my hands along the walls to keep my bearings. The skulls that adorned the tunnels were still creepy, and made my heart rate pick up when I looked at them for too long, but it felt less like I was stuck in a fucking horror film now that I could see what I was doing.
Wiping my grimy hands on my trouser leg, I kept pushing forwards, holding my burning wand like a torch in front of me and ignoring my scorching fingers.
Then, at last, I saw him.
Baz
It was cold. And I was tired.
Darkness surrounded me, and I was flat on my back, my head pressed against the cold floor. I had tried to struggle up a few times, but I always collapsed, and blacked out again. Even now, I could tell that I was fading in and out of conscious. Despite the fact that I couldn’t see, life was blurry somehow, and I felt drained, like I’d done something that took up all my energy reserve, but couldn’t quite remember what it was.
I was in the Catacombs. I knew that. I was thirsty. I knew that too.
Occasionally, I heard a shout, footsteps, a scream of my name thundering down the tunnels to the small alcove where I was immobilised, and came to the conclusion that I was probably concussed. Nobody knew that I came down to the Catacombs. And who would even try to find me?
The world spun again, and my eyes watered. I hoped it was water at least, because crying blood wouldn’t bode well for my ability to well, live.
Could I die down here?
Could vampires even die?
I’d never much liked the idea of living forever. I couldn’t remember why.
More footsteps. More shouting. I considered shouting back, just to make the noise stop, but my throat was scratched raw. As the calls became closer, my head throbbed more and more.
I wanted my mother. I wanted to be four years old again and back in the nursery, feeling her soft, warm hand against my hair as I fell asleep. Because that was the last time I ever really felt safe.
Suddenly, light flared from the end of the passage, accompanied by a clatter of feet. The sudden brightness burned my eyes, but I couldn’t even muster the strength to squeeze them shut. I was close to falling unconscious again.
“Baz!” A voice gasped nearby, and the light got closer. It was a boy. He sounded familiar. His voice hurt my head. I wanted to scream. “What happened? Baz?”
My wrist was grabbed with all the delicacy of a rampaging kangaroo, and there was an audible sigh of relief next to me as he felt my pulse. Whoever had found me was a mouth breather. Delightful.
He leaned over me, and I caught a glimpse of his face for the first time.
Merlin, he was pretty. The torch that he was holding reflected in his eyes, and made the colour move, like waves made of fire rolling in his irises. His curls were scraggly, as if he’d just struggled out of bed, and there was a mole on his cheek, and now that I thought about it, I’d always, always, always wanted to-
The pain in my head doubled and my breath hitched, a squeak of pain forced from the depths of my lungs. Nausea rolled over me. The boy looked even more blatantly terrified at that, dropping my wrist rapidly, and moving his hand so it was positioned beside me, so he could lean over and feel my head for injuries.
“Baz?” His tone was softer now, more careful. He seemed to have figured out that speaking made it worse. But there, behind the control, was a thinly shielded fear “What’s wrong?”
I stared up at him, taking in each individual feature. My head swirled and thrashed and pounded, and my hands shook by my side “Who are you?”
He hadn’t been expecting that, though I couldn’t fathom why. He recoiled as if he’d been burned, eyes fixed on me in shock. I missed the touch of his hand. “What do you mean? It’s me, Baz. Simon. Simon Snow.”
The blur was coming back, making his face fade in and out of focus as he worriedly waited for my reaction. His eyes looked like jewels.
I giggled.
“Simon Snow. What a shit name.”
The pain crashed over me again and the gentle hands of the darkness stole me away.
When it was dark, I dreamed. And I dreamed of one thing.
Blue eyes. Bronze curls.
A smile that made me angry enough to fight. A smile that I wanted to protect at all costs.
I loved him, and I hated him, and I burned, burned, burned.
And yet, when the darkness receded, I tried to hold on tight, to not let go, because I knew that when I woke up, it would all be gone again.
The lights flickered.
I went.
Simon
When the doors of the infirmary closed behind Baz’s limp body and I was left in the spotless corridor, which I was streaking with grime, and dirt, and Baz’s blood, there wasn’t much to do other than think.
Thinking had never even cracked the list of my top one hundred favourite activities. It never seemed to solve anything, and generally, pissed me off quite a bit.
But Baz had looked like he was on the brink of passing beyond the Veil, they wouldn’t let me in while they examined him, and the thought of going back to our room and seeing his empty bed settled a deep pit of dread in my stomach.
So I paced the halls, and I made a list.
Things I Don’t Know:
- Why Baz was injured. He couldn’t have been attacked; the wards on the school were the strongest they had ever been, and there hadn’t been an invasion in months. And if there were, they would come for me, not Baz.
(I didn’t like the idea of them going for Baz)
(I didn’t know why) -
If Baz was fatally wounded
( I glossed over that one pretty quickly) - Why Baz didn’t know who I was.
Strangely, it was the last one that scared me the most. The second one was stupid− there was no way Baz would happily die without trying to take me with him. And the first one was easy enough too. If there was anyone out to get Baz, I would just get rid of them for him. Problem solved.
But that last one made my fists clench. The easy answer was to say that it was the shock of the moment, or he was just out of it because he’d hit his head.
But somehow it felt like more than that.
When I looked into his eyes as he lost consciousness, he didn’t recognise me. There was no hint of animosity, or flare of his old wit.
Odd as it was, I’d never imagined a world where Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch didn’t know my name.
I swallowed, and kicked the wall, leaving scuff marks and dirt. When I checked my watch, I saw that an hour had passed while I was lost in my own head.
“Get your grubby little foot off that wall before I rip it off and shove it down your throat.”
I jumped at the threat, my hand immediately moving towards my side, preparing to recite the (inconveniently long) incantation to summon the Sword of Mages. It was a reaction that had been ingrained in me since first year.
Then I blinked.
Fiona glowered from the other end of the corridor, projecting an aura of vengeance as she stalked towards me. She looked ready to tear me limb from limb. I even took a tiny step back before remembering that I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
Finally, she stopped, just a metre away from me, and hissed. “What the fuck have you done to my nephew?”
“I-I didn’t-”
Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm so hard I gasped. “I will not repeat myself again. What. The fuck. Have you done to my nephew.”
“Nothing!” I finally managed to squeak, snatching my arm back, and cradling it to my chest. Then, somehow second-guessing myself in the presence of Baz’s very pissed off aunt, I added. “Well not nothing, I did steal his salt and vinegar crisps this morning, but that was before I knew he was hurt I swear−”
“Snow−”
“−and I know it probably goes against all the sacred writings or whatever for the Chosen One to nick a packet of crisps from his roommate, but I have needs too−!”
“Snow−”
“− and Penny says that those crisps have too much salt in them, which means she doesn’t let me buy them that much because apparently I already eat enough cherry scones to wipe out the whole of Britain’s flour stores−”
“For the first time in your miserable life, would you shut the fuck up?”
My mouth shut with an audible click, and I swallowed, trying to stop myself from launching into another tirade. Whenever I’m nervous, I talk, which almost always backfires, since there’s usually somebody on the other end of the conversation who actually has to listen to me. Vaguely, I wonder if the reason for my imminent death will be written in the records as a salt and vinegar crisp related demise.
Fiona massaged her temples and winced. “Your voice goes up about an octave every second.” Pausing, she levelled me with a stare. “Since Baz is far too intelligent to be seriously injured by somebody like you, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. What happened?”
“I found him in the Catacombs.” I told her, watching her face carefully for any sudden bouts of anger “He… wasn’t himself. Looked like he’d hurt his head something nasty, and kept passing out. And…” I bit my lip, worrying it between my teeth, before giving an awkward shrug that felt far too matter-of-fact for how torn up I was feeling. “I don’t think he remembered who I was.”
An incredulous look passed over her face, but before she could say anything, the infirmary door opened. The Nurse stepped out primly, and both Fiona and I immediately whipped round to stare at her. She was smiling, but there was a slight hint of worry in her eyes that betrayed her. My stomach sank. “He’s awake.”
“Is he okay?” I asked far too quickly. “His head was bleeding. It looked like he had a concussion at the very least.”
The concern in her eyes deepened, making them appear a murkier, tired brown, as she finally looked at us properly. “No substantial injuries that a few days of taking it easy won’t fix. And no concussion. The head injury was…” She hesitated almost imperceptibly. “It was of a magical variety.” Then, turning to me, she added. “Mr Snow, thank you for bringing Basilton here, but you can go now. There’s something I need to discuss with his Aunt.”
I shook my head. I didn’t know why, but the idea of leaving right now seemed very, very wrong. Whatever the Nurse was saying, it wasn’t the full story. And that scared me. “I want to see him.”
I expected Fiona to protest, or at the very least cast Stand your ground, but to my surprise, she watched me with an odd, searching expression that I had never seen before. Then, she sighed, grabbed my shoulder, and started dragging me forward “I suppose we’d better let him in too. If we leave him outside, he’ll just scratch up the door like an abandoned cat.”
I was slightly offended by the comparison (I’d always been more of a dog person), but since Fiona’s moods were fickle at the best of times, I stayed silent.
the Infirmary had never been one of my favourite places at Watford. My mind took in the smell of antiseptic, the whitewashed walls, and the faint buzz of healing magic in the air, and associated it with the memories of arriving back from the missions the Mage sent me on, often barely returning in one piece. I’d have to sit on one of the white beds and wait while the Nurse checked me over, pronounced me healthy enough to fight again, and sent me on my merry way. I’d be tired and aching and ready to collapse, with nothing to do but stare at the meaningless charts on the wall until I was allowed to go back to the room and sleep.
The worst times were when Penny was there too. Like last year, when we’d both turned up at the White Chapel with blood dripping from our pores. Those days were always awful because in my post-mission clarity, as I watched Penny being barraged with healing spells and bandages, I’d realise how much danger I had put her in. Maybe everything had turned out okay, but what about next time? Or the time after that?
For me, the infirmary was a place of being hurt, and watching others hurting because of me, so the idea of Baz being the one trussed up in a white bed made my chest hitch.
But then I caught sight of him, and it seemed as though he shared no such qualms.
He reclined against the bedpost, so perfectly poised that I could only assume it was practiced. The same look of haughty apathy he always had was clear as day on his face, and he seemed perfectly alert and happy (as happy as Baz could ever look, at least) as we approached.
The only signs that he’d been injured at all were the tiny flashes of white bandages I could see underneath his sleeve, an identical one around his head. He looked as if he’d only been in a minor scuffle instead of the horrific state I found him in.
Relief swamped me, and I almost staggered as I stepped forward. He was alright.
As we made our way towards him, he spotted Fiona, and nodded at her. She gave him the middle finger in return, and the two chuckled.
But then he glanced at me. And I knew something was wrong.
His eyes barely caught mine for a moment, but in that mere second, confusion filtered over his features. Then slight pain, as he furrowed his brow. Then his features evened, and his eyes slid over me as easily as if he hadn’t noticed me at all.
There was no animosity. No token sneer, or tossed insult.
It hurt.
“Fiona,” He called out, ignoring me. “I assume you’ve come to badger me on my deathbed?”
“You should be so lucky. My bedside manner is impeccable.” She sniffed, but I could see her visibly relax at the sight of him. The two were obviously close.
The Nurse coughed, drawing our attention. The anxiety lines on her forehead and around her eyes had returned in full force, and there was a slight sorrow to her words “Now that Basilton has a family member in the room, there’s one rather important aspect of his condition that still needs to be discussed.”
Baz, apparently choosing to ignore her for the time being, leaned over to Fiona, and whispered loudly “Not that I don’t appreciate the eye candy Fiona, but why exactly have you dragged a stranger in here to stare at me as I waste away?”
He was looking at me.
Fiona’s eyes widened.
I stared back at him.
There wasn’t a specific emotion I could use to describe myself right then. It felt like the fragile framework of how things should be was falling apart right before my eyes. And I was tumbling down with it.
“Basilton has been the subject of a memory spell.” The Nurse said grimly.
Baz
The blond boy visibly jerked at that, moving his head to and fro to stare at the Nurse and me one after another, gaping like a fish. It looked ridiculously cartoonish, and if he didn’t look like his whole world had just been destroyed, I’d probably have laughed.
Then I realised what exactly the Nurse had just said.
I snapped my head up “I can’t have been hit with a memory spell. I think I’d know if I’d forgotten anything.”
“You’ve forgotten me.” The blond boy said, his voice hollow, blue eyes piercing.
For a second, I stared at him. With his perfect hair, and the sword slung at his hip, he looks like a prince pulled straight from a fairy tale. Except he looked distraught; the horror marred his otherwise beautiful features.
I almost wanted to tell him to breathe. That everything will be okay in the end.
He really was a beautiful bloke.
My head chose that moment to cease the dull ache I’d been nursing for the last half hour, heightening instead into a sharp pain that left me wincing. All thoughts of the boy slipped from my mind as easily as water.
“I don’t even know you.” I snapped back, perhaps a little too harshly. He recoiled.
“Yes, you do.” Fiona interjected. Her face was pale, and she grabbed my arm tightly. I’d never seen her look so scared before. “You really, really do” Seeing my blank expression, she added “He was the one who found you down in the Catacombs.”
I blinked. “Oh,” Twisting to face him, I said with vague politeness. “Well, thank you I suppose.”
“You’re welcome,” the boy said numbly, still not taking his eyes off me.
The Nurse stood from her desk, and walked over to my bed, stepping next to me before speaking again slowly. “It won’t feel like you’ve forgotten anything. That’s the nature of memory spells; they’re designed to be discreet. That’s why they’re illegal,” When nobody interrupted her, she continued, her tone becoming more brusque and business-like. “A memory spell isn’t a problem by itself. Under normal circumstances, they have simple counter-curses that can be implemented at any time.”
The blond boy lit up at that, shooting up from his seat. It was surreal, seeing hope enter his previously downcast eyes. I wanted to see it happen again. “So the spell can be undone?”
She hesitated. “Under normal circumstances. Unfortunately for Basilton, in his case, things are more complicated than that.
“Although it’s impossible to tell the specific spell that was used on him, one thing is very clear. Something went wrong while it was being cast. By itself, the base of the spell is strong enough to wipe a whole string of memories from a person’s mind. But since the spell was cast incorrectly…” I leaned forward in my seat, listening to every word. The tiniest tinge of fear sparked at the base of my gut. “It has warped Basil’s memories far more than the caster anticipated. What he’s forgotten now may only be the beginning. If a counter-spell isn’t found quickly, then he will lose his memory completely.”
Lose all my memories?
The room was silent. Fiona’s grip on my arm began to cut off my blood supply. Outside the Infirmary window, I could vaguely hear the sound of first years giggling.
The heavy scent of smoke settled over the room, enough magic to choke a mule bubbling underneath. The boy at the end of my bed was standing stock still, hands slack by his side, and eyes empty. “Snow.” Fiona said sharply, but the magic didn’t let up. If anything, it became even denser.
Something very bad was about to happen.
I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I was certain as hell that I couldn’t let this carry on.
“A counter-spell,” I said loudly, obnoxious enough to distract, and the hazy look in the boy−Snow’s−eyes lessened a little. I made a show of swinging my legs out of the blankets, to create a movement for him to focus on, before I continued to speak “You said that there’s a counter-spell.”
“Since we don’t know what the original spell was, finding a counter spell for it won’t be easy.” She opened a filing cabinet, and rifled through several sheets of paper, before extracting a few and handing them to me “If we’re lucky, it’ll have been a common one, and one of these counter spells will do the trick.”
I flicked through the papers silently, screwing my nose up at the sheer amount of them. Trying all of these would take days. But losing my entire memory didn’t exactly sound more favourable, so I folded them up and gripped them tightly.
“What if they don’t work?” Snow asked, edging slightly closer. His eyes kept flicking over me, as if he was making triple sure that I was okay.
“Then we find another damn way.” Fiona said resolutely. “As much as I hate you, Snow, it’s weird as fuck not hearing you two sniping at each other, and I’d smack the shit out of Basilton if he fucking dared to forget who I was. So no matter what, we’re fixing that head of his. Maybe we can even smooth out the many, many things that were wrong with him before this.” She smiled wickedly at me, but I could see the sadness behind it. I squeezed her shoulder in a pathetic attempt at comfort, before coughing awkwardly, and pulling back. Fiona and I had never really been the hugging sort. But for the first time since I’d met her as an infant, she looked afraid, and I wasn’t going to take that lightly.
I decided then and there that I would do my best to break whatever spell had been put on me (and with any luck, happily snap the neck of whoever cast it). Some memories had been lost already. I was going to get those back.
Maybe then Snow would stop looking at me like that. He was attractive as fuck already, and the kicked puppy look sure wasn’t helping.
I couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, Snow was to me. Why would somebody rip him out of my head? He was attractive, sure, and I couldn’t deny that I found his clumsy words endearing. But memory spell or not, there was something about him that instinctively told me to stay away. This will end in flames, it seemed to say.
Fiona stood, and helped me stand up, before clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll give your father a call, boyo, and let him know what’s going on. Then I’m going to have a stiff drink because Crowley knows I need it, and then I’m going to find out how to break that flimsy bitch of a spell. See you later,” she strode purposefully out of the room, leaving the infirmary doors banging behind her. I couldn’t stifle a smile. Never let it be said that Fiona wasn’t dedicated in what she did.
“I guess we’d better go back too,” Snow said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. He practically radiated the fact that he wanted to talk to me. I sighed, and tried to remember where the hell my room was. I knew it was in Mummer’s House, but when I tried to focus on anything further than that, my head ached within an inch of its life.
I swallowed the shame, and asked. “Where is my room?”
He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. The top turret of Mummer’s House.”
I nodded, and started to walk off, but paused when he moved to come after me. “Why are you following me?”
He seemed to tense slightly. “We share a room. I guess that’s another thing you forgot.”
I stared back at him. At his hair. At his blue eyes. At his slightly awkward posture.
And then, against all scraps of common sense I had left, I gave a short nod.
It seemed I was about to be thrust into the best form of hell I’d ever experience.
He picked up his sword (which he seemed to tote everywhere), I picked up my papers, and off to horny misery I went.
Simon
We didn’t speak much when we got back to the room. I went off for a shower, feeling awkward, and by the time I got back, Baz was in bed and facing away from me.
I watched him numbly for a moment, mapping every crease and turn of the blanket that was slung over him, before climbing into my own bed and facing the ceiling.
I was worried about him. He’d already forgotten me. Now he was going to forget everything else?
It didn’t make sense. None of it made any fucking sense.
Why did Baz losing his memory of me hurt so much?
Well for one, it meant that I didn’t know quite where I fit in my destiny anymore. How can you fight a rival who doesn’t know who you are? I thought of Baz’s cold, disinterested eyes back in the infirmary, the way his gaze slipped from mine as if I meant nothing, and pressed my pillow down hard over my head. Magic began to fizzle beneath my skin, and I silently begged it to stop. I couldn’t do it tonight. I couldn’t fight.
What was the point of a hero without his villain?
Scrubbing my eyes, I released the pillow. Maybe that was going too far. Baz was still Baz. He was still everything he’d ever been.
But now he was a Baz that had never known me, never felt anything towards me, because at the very least his hatred implied that he gave half a shit.
And that was the thought which made me snap.
I sat up quickly, switched the room light back on, and chucked my pillow at the back of his head. “Baz. Baz.”
“I’m starting to relish the fact that I forgot you.” Baz mumbled after a moment. Apparently being woken up in the middle of the night made him grumpy. Who knew? “I get the feeling that you pissed me off quite a bit.”
“Probably right.” I agreed, moving to sit at the end of my bed. “I think we should talk to each other.”
“Well then Snow, we appear to be at a stalemate, because I think we should both go the fuck to sleep”
I scowled “You forgot about me, so I think it’s only right that we get to know each other again.”
He groaned, and for a second, I thought he was going to ignore me. But then he pulled himself up, pushed his hair out of his face (I preferred it without gel- it made him look nicer), and propped himself up. “If I do this, will you shut up?”
Doubtful. “Sure.”
“Fine.” He scratched the back of his neck and yawned. He still had crease marks on his face from the sheets “So we’re roommates, evidently. Friends?”
“Bitter enemies!” I told him brightly. He peered back at me in disbelief.
“So you woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you hate my guts, and what, challenge me to a duel or something?”
“You’d probably win in a duel. You don’t exactly play fair.”
“I assure you, Snow, my sense of honesty is impeccable.”
“Once you called me out to the woods, and set a Chimera on me.”
He laughed, and sparks danced in his steely eyes for the first time that day. They were warmer now; closer to the colour of a darkened sky than a London pavement. I preferred them that way. “I’m sure I simply used whatever tools were at my disposal.”
“You’re bloody proud of yourself, aren’t you!”
He simply raised an eyebrow, and burrowed further back into his duvet, watching me as his hair fell in his face.
And we talked.
I told him about all the times he’d tried to kill me, and all the plots he’d made. He cackled when I told him that he pushed me down a staircase, and asked if I’d accidentally stabbed myself on the way down.
It was the first normal conversation I’d ever had with Baz, and it was all because he’d lost his memory, and couldn’t remember how much he really hated me.
Honestly, I was surprised that Fiona hadn’t swooped in immediately, and told Baz that he should stay at least twenty feet away from me at all times so he wouldn’t be embarrassed when he got his memory back. But in a way, I was glad she hadn’t. It was nice to have a conversation with him where ‘Anathema!’ wasn’t shouted every thirty seconds.
“We’re going to fix your memory, you know.” I said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m going to make sure that you don’t lose anything else.”
Baz snorted, and said with a hint of humour. “Drop the saviour complex, it doesn’t suit you.” But later, when the light was turned out again and we were both in bed, I heard him whisper a barely perceptible, “Thank you.”
He really did have nice eyes, for a git.
Baz
Fiona arrived the next morning all guns blazing, kicking the door to our room open in one fell swoop. I didn’t bother asking how she’d got past the gender wards. Snow had kept me up half the night (Crowley, that came out wrong), and I was the living embodiment of the phrase ‘dead on my feet’. (or maybe deceased embodiment, considering the whole vampire thing).
It had been surreal, spending time with a boy who I didn’t recognise, yet seemed to be able to recount every stupid thing I’d ever done. And it left me wondering why the hell I’d decided that we were enemies in the first place.
Sometimes he’d tell me something that sounded vaguely familiar, but as soon as I tried to think properly about it, my head would burn and twist and ache until I gave up. It was probably part of the spell; Snow had been mixed too far into my life to be forgotten completely, so my mind was trying its hardest to make sure that I couldn’t focus on any discrepancies without almost collapsing in pain. There were a thousand links that lead to nowhere; I knew I was destined to fight the Mage’s heir. I just didn’t know who that was. I knew I’d been flirting with Wellbelove for the last year. I just couldn’t remember why (or why I would pretend to be anything less than a raging homosexual. The fact that anybody thought I was straight was rather amusing to me.)
The spell itself was another thing that didn’t make any sense. I remembered walking down to the Catacombs, but I didn’t know why. I’d hunted the night before, and caught enough rats to last me a few days. So I shouldn’t have had to go down to the Catacombs at all. Then it was all a blur until I woke up in the Infirmary, so I couldn’t even remember who had attacked me in the first place. Or why.
Who would benefit from me forgetting Snow?
The more I thought about it, the less any of it made sense. Snow and I were supposed to be enemies, he’d made that undoubtedly clear; why would it matter if I forgot him if we were destined to kill one another in the end? Even if I used to think of him as a friend, I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever let personal feelings get in the way of my duty. In the way of my family.
So why?
The question made no more sense when I woke up, and Fiona barging in was a welcome distraction. I sat up from where I was reclining on my bed, and put my book aside. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. A frightfully boring story, but one I had read enough times to make the very act of holding it in my hands familiar. It made me feel less like I was losing my mind. Even if, because of the spell, I slowly was.
“Have you tried any of those counter spells yet?” Fiona asked bluntly, striding over to sit on my bed. She was wearing a leather bomber jacket, with safety pins stuck into the sleeves in a way that was intended to be artistic. Anybody else would look like a right knobhead wearing it, but she somehow pulled it off. Snow, apparently hearing Fiona’s voice, poked his head out of the bathroom. His wet hair dripped down his craned neck, and I tried not to follow the drops with my eyes.
“Not yet,” he said, walking out of the bathroom fully and rubbing his hair roughly with a towel, scowling when even more water got on his shirt. I could picture him ditching the towel completely, and shaking his head wildly like a dog instead. The image made me smile. “Baz’s magic needed to replenish, and I didn’t trust myself to cast spells without accidentally setting him on fire.”
I straightened my tie. “I’m hardly flammable, Snow.”
“Yes you are,” he argued easily, sitting down opposite Fiona and I. “You’re a vampire. I don’t want to risk setting you off like flash paper.”
My spine stiffened at the word vampire. Just how much did he know? How much had I told him? I tried to play it off with a dry chuckle, but he eyed the tension in my shoulders with curiosity.
Fiona, bless her soul (although blessing it probably wouldn’t do much good as it was almost certainly already doomed to Hell), cut into the conversation, brushing aside the accusation. “Well, since time really is of the essence, and I don’t want you to forget how I like my gin and tonic, we can try them now. Are you good with the Mage’s Heir being here, kiddo, or do you want me to kick him out?”
Snow waited patiently for my answer. There was no hurt in his eyes at the possible dismissal, only unshielded, deeply rooted concern. It was clear that whatever rivalry we had, whatever animosity we shared, had been brought to a screeching halt in his eyes as soon as I had been injured.
An unfamiliar feeling began to sweep over me. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it.
“He can stay,” I told Fiona.
She nodded curtly in response, not bothering with any further discussion as she withdrew her wand from her sleeve, and stood in front of me with perfect posture. Snow hurried over, dithering between sitting beside me on my bed or standing nearby. After a good few moments of consideration, he remained hovering about a foot away from my bed, as if he was trying to be a comforting presence, yet give me my personal space. It was rather sweet.
Fiona picked up the pile of counter spells I had left on the night stand, giving them a quick once over before lifting her wand. “A trip down memory lane!”
There was a brief rush of static that made every hair on my body stand on end. I shuddered.
Snow edged closer. “Do you remember who I am?”
“Snow,” I said slowly. “I don’t- I’m not sure if I remember more than that.”
He hesitated. “Snow is my last name. I told you my first one down in the Catacombs, but you don’t remember that, right? So the only way you’d know it is if you remembered, well, everything. Do you know what it is?” His own hand ghosted over mine, and I jerked it away.
He was trying not to betray it, but hope had crept into his eyes. As if my memory of him was something he prized. Breaking that hope hurt me more than I wanted to admit. “No.”
“Right,” Fiona said without showing any signs of defeat. “Now we try again.”
But I could tell, in that moment, her own unflinching certainty of my recovery began to waver.
Simon
Baz didn’t show up to any of our classes.
Not that I’d expected him to. I honestly preferred that he stayed in the room with Aunt Fuck Face, trying out spells until he found the right one. Until he got his memory back.
But as much as I hated to admit it, I’d hoped that Baz would be cured in time for first period. I’d stupidly convinced myself that when I walked into Elocution, Baz would already be there with his trademark sneer, and I’d know he remembered me.
Talking with Baz last night had been good. I tried to be nice, he was civil, and it was probably the longest we’d gone without insulting each other for years. But woven in between the laughter and the anecdotes was the knowledge that seven years of fighting, of knowing one another was gone just like that.
And of course I wanted to find a cure to make sure that Baz didn’t lose any more memories. But there was a small, selfish part of me that was doing it in the hopes that he’d remember my name.
When the bell rang, signalling the end of our last class for the day, I shoved my books and paper into my bag, not caring about the crumpled pages, and went to meet Penelope on the Lawn.
I’d been trying to avoid her all day (and being rather crap at it, since I sat next to her in most of my classes), mainly because I knew she’d ask why I didn’t show up to dinner yesterday; usually a whole stampede of werewolves couldn’t keep me from my food. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk about the whole Baz thing yet. Mainly because I didn’t even understand how I felt about it, and my go-to method for dealing with complicated problems is to pretend they don’t exist. They usually go away by themselves.
It was harder this time around though. Ignoring Baz was like ignoring an elephant crushing my chest. It was just impossible.
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried about Penny asking questions about last night. I took care of that when I dumped my bag next to her, sat down, and without even missing a beat or making eye contact, promptly burst into tears.
Proper ugly wailing too, not that dramatic single-tear-sliding-down-a-cheek bullshit.
That served as a sufficient, if not fucking mortifying distraction.
Turned out that I was a bit more cut up about the whole Baz thing than I realised.
When Penny managed to calm me down enough to stem the flow of snot and tears, she demanded an explanation. And to be fair, I had just started crying in front of her with no explanation, so I couldn’t blame her for being a bit alarmed. So I told her.
I told her about how I couldn’t find Baz yesterday.
I told her about running through the Catacombs in the dark.
I told her about finding Baz on the ground.
I told her about how I was terrified that he had died.
I told her about the Infirmary, Fiona, the curse.
I told her about how he couldn’t remember me.
I didn’t tell her how much it hurt, but I think she could tell. Penny had always been good at understanding people. I’d always been shit at it.
“Oh, Simon,” Penny said when I’d finished. There was more to the words, like she knew something I didn’t, but she didn’t elaborate. I think she could tell that the last thing I wanted to do right now was talk about it. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Do Dev and Niall know?”
I nodded. “I think so. They weren’t in Political Science or at lunch, so I figured they went up to see him.”
“He’s just forgotten you for now, right? But if the spell isn’t lifted, he’ll forget everything. Everyone. Who he is.”
“Yeah,” I said, but it came out cracked, so I coughed and tried again. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“Then there’s no question,” Penny said. “We’ll have to help him.”
She stood up, brushed the dirt off her clothes, and smiled at me. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”
“Together,” I repeated, and it was the first thing that had felt real so far.
We left the Lawn, and made our way back to Mummer’s House. Penny insisted that I go on ahead, so I didn’t see the trick she used to bypass the gender wards. I wasn’t really sure what she thought I’d do with it even if I found out. It wasn’t like I’d run off to Agatha’s dorm; I was too preoccupied with Baz.
When I reached the open door, my shoulders sagged with relief at the Fiona-free room. I wasn’t sure how much more shouting I could take. Baz sat alone at his desk, his laptop open in front of him. Of course the git was still trying to defend his position as top of the class at a time like this.
Hearing my footsteps, he turned, and then scowled when he saw Penny behind me. “Any reason you decided to bring Bunce along with you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Of course. He wouldn’t know. “Penny… is my friend.”
“The Chosen One has a sidekick. How admirable,” he said curtly before turning back to his laptop and continued typing.
Fiona had clearly updated him on a few things, then.
“Penny, she’s…” I scratched the back of my head. “She’s smart. I think we have a better chance of finding a counter spell if she’s here.”
He looked Penny up and down, sighed, then closed the lid of his laptop. It was all the invitation she needed to walk in, and make herself perfectly comfortable on my bed. On the way, she picked up the abandoned list of counter spells from the floor. “You’ve tried all of these?”
“All the ones we can do without a full moon and a blood sacrifice.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which made me smile.
Penny pushed her glasses closer to her face, and was immediately in her element. She focused on the page. “These spells seem to focus primarily under the assumption that the spell used has a counter spell to match it. Most memory spells don’t. If none of these worked, have you tried some more common healing spells?”
“Get well soon,” Baz said without an ounce of magic, ticking the spells off on his hand one by one. “Feel better, in sickness and in health−though for that one I would have had to be married−, on the mend, and fit as a fiddle.”
Penny listened with an expression of close concentration. I stood by the door, happy to let them do their work. I wasn’t allowed to do healing spells; chances were, I’d blow off one of the patient’s limbs by mistake.
“Okay,” Penny said finally. “Medical spells aren’t working either then. I’ll do some research tomorrow, but there’s one more spell that could work.”
“What’s that?” I asked, leaning forward hopefully.
“True Love’s Kiss.”