Under Pressure

by TheBurningNight

"Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking."(Under Pressure, Queen and David Bowie). Raziel's Institution; a boarding school for the most pretentious of parents to send their children. But what lies between the cracks of this school could shatter every little petty image that people are trying to create. Love, loss, heartbreak. Now, it's all just one more song. TMI/ID AU

This fanfiction is written by myself and my sister, so credit goes to her as well. This AU, and has characters from both the Mortal Instruments and the Infernal Devices, but I didn't want to put in crossover just because I'm lazy. The title is based on the song by the same name, by David Bowie and Queen.

I know it the summary it has Jace etc...but most characters and couples will be a focus in the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or Infernal Devices.

"Say this is it! Don't say hold on, don't say slow."
-The Cure, Just Say Yes

Will Herondale

"Willwillwillwillwillwill-ohmigod-will!" William Herondale was morally obliged to ignore a voice that was loaded with that much enthusiasm. Sticking strongly by his moral code, he kept walking, his stride automatically syncing with Jem's.

"I think Cecily's calling you." Jem, unlike Will, believed in actually being nice to people, and as such felt the need to encourage him to practice common courtesy.

Will turned to give Jem full view of the complete effect sarcasm had on his face.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

And then Jem laughed, a complete and utter Jem-esque laugh that reminded Will of crackling fires in winter and races down the main street, hurriedly dodging past mothers with prams and moustached men with arms loaded with veritable mounds of French bread sticks.

The memory was vaulted out of Will's head as a figure rammed itself into his back. A heavy, giggling figure. He stumbled, regained his balance and looked down to see a pair of pale arms wrapped around his throat.

"Cecily bloody Herondale, get off my back. Literally and metaphorically."

The smell of his troublesome, mischievous and incomprehensibly endearing sister, assaulted his nostril.

"My god, did you just tip a whole bottle of perfume on your head? Why do you smell like disinfectant?"

Cecily detached herself and a second later she appeared in front of him, walking backwards to maintain conversational connection. Her black curls were swept of her face with a floral bandana and they glistened like obsidian in the morning sun.

"Don't be such a jerk. It's my new perfume. You like?" She extended her arm, offering her wrist in a sacrificial manner.

Jem, who was watching the exchange with mirth lighting up his sparkling grey eyes, leaned over and gave her wrist a cat-like sniff.

"It's wonderful, Cecily. It smells like daisies and lemons."

"It smells like glitter and alcohol." Will amended, eyes catching on the thriving crowd up a head. "What are those people doing up ahead? Has Isabelle Lightwood opened up a kissing booth again?"

The frown on Cecily's face smoothed out, only to be replaced by a devilish grin. She then proceeded to say the two most hated words of Will Herondale's extensive vocabulary.

"Dorm rooms."

And she cackled off, black hair bouncing and summer dress rippling in the wind.

"Oh great," Will muttered to Jem, who was observing the writhing crowd of student bodies with interest. "Kill me now."

oOo

Clary Fray

"Simon?" Clary Fray asked of her brown headed, glasses wearing best friend. When he continued scanning the crumpled paper list with laser intensity, she tried again.

"Simon." Simon's slender finger stabbed the paper and then started a downward fall down the names. He made no sign of hearing her.

"SIMON!"

Simon looked up, a dazed confused look bleeding out of his eyes. He blinked and Clary waited until he focused on her.

"What's with the aggression, Fray? Can't you see I'm trying to see who I'm bunked with for the rest of my educational life?"

"No duh, sunshine." Clary hid her smile with an eye roll. "I found your name already. It's right here." She gestured where his name was on the list, a name she had located 5 minutes ago.

"FRAY, YOU GENIUS!" Simon elbowed his way to where she was standing, murmuring apologies to the other anxious students jostling to get a look at the dorm lists. Following her freckled finger, Clary watched Simon's expression change once the information was properly consumed.

She could name them easily. Simon had been her best friend since she was a kid. He wasn't a mystery to her, but a pleasant, familiar puzzle that she had completed numerous of times.

His face scrunched up like a waded tissue. Confusion.

Then, his eyebrows ran away into his dark fringe. Surprise.

Lastly, he stepped back away from the list and shot Clary a look lathered with extreme panic. Definitely fear.

"Isabelle Lightwood?" He implored of her, accidentally stepping on Cecily Herondale's foot.

"Sorry-" He murmured absently. Then he turned back to Clary. "Isabelle-freaking-Lightwood? I am going to die. It's official! Say goodbye to Simon Lewis, because by the end of the year I'll be reduced to a quivering blob of abused flesh!"

"Don't be such a drama queen." She told him. Simon gave her a look of the upmost contempt, his brown eyes narrowed.

"I don't think you understand," He explained patiently, "This is Isabelle Lightwood. The Isabelle Lightwood. You know, that one who torments the entire school."

Clary pulled a strand of bright orange hair out of her eyes, "You may be over exaggerating."

"That's easy for you to say!" He cried, "You're roomed with..." His eyes scanned the list in front of them, his glasses shining in the light. His finger stopped at Clary's name and his expression deflated. "Jace Herondale." His voice sounded low and fragile. He looked like a lost puppy, Clary reflected.

"Practically a Lightwood," She murmured. "That won't be too bad." She told him, "He's nice."

Simon scoffed. "Nice to you maybe."

Clary adjusted her t-shirt in conjunction with balancing the only sketchbook that wouldn't fit in her bag. "What do you mean?"

Simon straightened, his lanky arms going to his sides. "Nothing." He said, looking down.

It was his tone of voice that made Clary shot her best friend a glance. He still looked like the same Simon, arms and legs long and skinny, his glasses square on his face, his mess of curly hair hanging around in his eyes, which were wide and dark in his sockets. But there was something different about him, something she couldn't quite name.

Clary smiled, socking Simon in the shoulder. "Right, Si. Time to go meet our fates with the nefarious Lightwood clan."

oOo

Alec Lightwood

"Did you hear?" Jace called out to his brother behind him, one golden hand cupped at his mouth, "They're changing our dorm rooms this year."

Isabelle came up behind, wheeling her suitcase along gracefully, despite her seven inch heels. Alec tried to shake the excuse of "But they match my suitcase so well!" as he watched her deteriorate her ankles.

"What?" She cried, and in her rush to catch up to Jace a strap of her newest blouse fell off her shoulder, "They can't do that! That's just…just…"

"Dastardly?" Jace supplied, "Despicable? Wretched? Reprehensible? Abhorrent?"

"Oh, shut up, Jace." Isabelle said, "You're such a show off. You always need your ego stroked, don't you?"

Jace grinned, turning so Isabelle could see him. Alec would have worried that Jace walking backwards was bound to end in some sort of unfortunate accident, but this was Jace, who could balance on a railing with his eyes closed and not fall down.

"Not all the time, darling Isabelle. That would be preposterous."

Isabelle snorted and flicked a long strand of dark hair off her shoulder. "Of course it would be."

The hallway that they were walking in was dark and arched, with wood from one of those ancient trees that probably shouldn't be cut down. There was velvet on every elegant chair that lined the halls and shining antiques piled up on shelves. When he had first arrived he was memorised by all the information that there was to observe in one space of area, he had loved it. Loved looking at everything, loved learning about it, but now? Now, he was tired and sick of all the expensive, pointless things that served to dehumanise the school. It made him feel like a prisoner more than any jail ever could.

"JESUS, JACE!" Isabelle's voice rang through Alec ears, "THAT WAS SOOO CLOSE, DID YOU SEE HOW CLOSE THAT WAS?"

Alec looked up to see Jace over near a blue and white china vase, which was balancing precariously on a small, wooden pillar. Jace himself had his white T-shirt crinkled, his jeans hanging low on his hips.

"Shut up, Isabelle," Jace grinned, "Someone will hear you."

That tickled Alec's 'my sibling is doing something wrong' sense.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice low and careful. "Why are you standing near that vase?"

Jace's grin grew as he pulled a hand to the back of his head. "Oh, Alec. Alec, Alec, Alec. Nothing happened. Why are you so suspicious?"

"I'm suspicious," Alec said, shooting a glare at his brother, "Because when I'm not, Mum and Dad usually end up having to spend vast amounts of money trying to fix whatever you've done."

That earned a snort from Isabelle and a squeak of indignation from Jace.

"So," Alec continued, "What did you do?"

Jace grabbed his suitcase from behind him, an old, square thing that he refused to replace. "Nothing. It's not even worth the effort of explaining."

Alec started to walk down the foreboding hallway, Jace alongside him and Isabelle tottering behind.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" He told his brother, wheeling his much smaller suitcase on the heavy wood floors, "And you nearly broke that blue china vase, didn't you?"

"What matters is that I didn't." He said serenely, "And Mr Morgensternwon't use my skin as a costume in the next school play."

Alec blanched at the image of one of the drama buffs running around in a bloodied suit of skin, with muscles and tendrils still hanging on the side. Alec wouldn't put it past Mr Morganstern, who was of the variety of school principle whom liked to rule with an iron fist, which wasn't always entirely metaphorical.

"Ew, Jace. Why did you have to say that?" Came Isabelle's squeal of disgust, "Now I'm going walk into the atrium looking all vomity, and everyone will make fun of me."

"No one could make fun of you, Iz." Jace grinned, cocking one, blond eyebrow, "You scare everyone far too much."

Isabelle pouted, her red lipstick glaring harshly under the lights, "Don't be mean."

Jace pushed his dark sunglasses up through his hair, "I'm not being mean, it's the truth."

"Jace."Alec warned. He was all too aware of how sensitive Isabelle could be. Strong, fearsome and intimidating, it had scared him at first when she had come bawling into his room because Sebastian Morgensternhad called her a giant freak in gym class. She had, at the time, nearly decapitated Sebastian with a skipping rope, but that didn't stop the sting. He didn't want his sister's complicated and confusing inferiority complex being fired up on the first day of school.

Jace's response was a golden eyed glance at Alec, examining his expression, and then silence.

"Come on," Alec told both his younger siblings, "Let's go see which pubescent disaster we've ended up with."

oOo

Gabriel Lightwood

Gabriel Lightwood could, usually, cope with school. He could avoid all the unpleasant manners of the teenage population that crawled around the halls of Raziel's Institution. He could pay attention in class and pass with an A in each subject and win the award for academic achievement. He was a favourite of most teachers and had his spot in the social hierarchy.

What he couldn't stand, however, was dorm rooms.

He had been fine for his first three years at Raziels, as he had been paired with his brother- one of the only people he could tolerate in this home for the terribly underdeveloped sanctuary for the unfortunate inbreeds who were currently going through their worst stage of life ever- but now, now, he had no idea whom he would be sharing with.

"You look like you're going to have a heart attack." Smiled Gideon kindly, his murky green eyes glinting.

Gideon was always the kind one, the friendly one. Gabriel was the academic, the cool and calculated, one. Not that Gideon was dumb, he wasn't, he averaged an A- with the occasional B, but he was just somehow warmer than Gabriel was.

"I can't believe that father actually agreed to this."

Mr Benedict Lightwood was known to have a large influence on the school board. Him, along with Robert Lightwood, were the largest contributors to the school financially, earning them a spot alongside Valentine Morgensternhimself.

"I think it's a terrific idea." Said Gideon, draping an arm around Gabriel's narrow shoulders, "It will really thread the school together. Who knows, you might meet someone new."

Gabriel shrugged his brother's arm off. "If I actually wanted to meet anyone, I would trust myself to take the initiative to talk to them myself, not rely on the luck of a draw."

"Maybe you should meet someone new." Gideon replied to Gabriel's pretentious tone, lengthening his stride to keep up with his brother, "It would do you good."

Gabriel fought the urge to hurry ahead, using his longer legs to his advantage. He did, however, take a long, deep breath and focused on the archway in front of them.

"Nearly there." Breathed Gideon, just to be a nuisance. "Our destiny awaits us."

"It's rather dire, isn't it?" Gabriel replied, swiping a strand of hair that had the audacity to obscure his vision, "If our destiny is to be chosen now."

There was silence while Gideon digested what he was saying and then, "What?"

Gabriel sighed. "This is my fourth year at this school," He explained, "And the word 'four' in Chinese sounds like die. Or Death. I can't remember which."

"Well, it's my fifth year." Said Gideon, walking ahead, "So your argument means nothing to me."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, a motion that he deigned to partake in most often. When he was little, Gideon had told him that if he did that enough, he would be walking around with the whites of his eyes permanently showing. This threat did not, however, do much to curb the rather obnoxious habit.

"It doesn't matter," He muttered, "My point still stands. This new, ridiculous, initiative, is the worst idea in human history. Including the time when the Persians tried to invade Ancient Greece and ended up as wreckage on the bottom of the sea."

Gideon smiled one of his 'I've had to live with this for enough years, I don't mind your innate ranting smile'- it was the type of smile that made his eyes crinkle at the side. It was probably the type of smile that made girls so interested in him.

The two brothers walked down the pathway that lead to the atrium were everyone would be gathered. Gabriel shuddered at the thought of all those teenagers pressed together in the riot to investigate whether or not their dorm partners would be a gift from God or a joke from Satan.

Whoever he got, Satan was going to be placing very cruel joke on him.

They walked through the curved, ornate, arched way that was probably rescued from the Titanic or something, knowing Mr Morganstern, and into the- there was no other word to describe it- sea of people.

"Oh dear," Said Gabriel, tugging his suitcase to a halt, "This is not going to be fun."

Gideon smiled again, much to his brother's annoyance. This time it was his 'I don't really like this situation- but it should be interesting' smiles. "Just follow me."

As Gideon was broader than he was, Gabriel was not going to argue. The sheer width of his brother's shoulders should prove as an adequate barrier between him and the rest of the school's population. He could see the dreaded William Herondale gathered with his merry gang (gang was a slight overstatement considering that it was only Jem) of idiots (idiot) near the wall where the dozens of papers that held the dorm partners were stuck up. Another obstacle for Gabriel to pass.

Gideon was already shouldering his way through the crowd -still using his manners, of course-with his expensive and massive suitcase he'd brought in Spain dragging along behind him. Gabriel was still stuck with his Armani that his father had brought him before his first day at Raziel's.

One of the only problems that Gabriel felt with his older brother was that too many people liked him. It was scientifically impossible not to like Gideon, resulting in the annoying number of people knocking on the door of their old dorm room that they used to share wanting to talk to the, seemingly irresistible, Gideon, leaving Gabriel to try and find solace in the school's library, where he was likely to run into Will.

"Perdón, Raphael." Gideon told Raphael, the resident Spaniard in the school. Raphael just looked mildly annoyed back at him and muttered, "Camille Belcourt, de todas la spersonas en el mundo, me sale el diablo literal wears prada, Camille Belcourt..."

Gabriel shot a look of confusion to his brother. "What was he on about?"

Gideon smiled, this one his humours one. "He got put with Camille Belcourt, a fact, it would seem, he is not happy with."

"Not happy with?" Gabriel asked, raising his eyebrows, "He sounded a little more than 'not happy with'. He sounds like his one his way to 'Decapitating with a chainsaw.'"

He would have expected his brother to laugh, but all he did was shrug his shoulders noncommittally. "They both notoriously hate each other, what would you expect?"He weaved through a couple more groups of people and then stopped. "Ah, here we are."

Gabriel glanced at the list of names up onto the wall, scanning for his own.

"Who's Theresa Grey?" He asked Gabriel, indicating to the printed name on one the pieces of paper.

"Dunno." Said Gideon, "Maybe she's new."

"Well whoever she is I wish her luck," He replied, reading the name she was paired with, "She's got William Herondale."

Will was not going to be happy that he was separated from Jem, and Gabriel actually commended whoever put the list together for their bravery. Probably Mrs Branwell, he thought, She's always trying to break through to Will. Gabriel, honestly, didn't see the point. Will was like a locked box, and his lock was practically welded shut with an intricate puzzle protecting it. The only person who'd managed to at least thaw Will was Jem, and exactly how he did it was a mystery to everyone.

Leave it to Herondale to pick his only friend as the one with a fatal disease.

"I can't find my name anywhere," Gideon interrupted his inner broodings, "Can you see my name?"

"No," Gabriel said, "I can't." Although admittedly he hadn't been looking.

Gideon commenced a closer inspection of the papers, his nose nearly pressed to the wall.

"Here's your name," Gideon said, pushing a finger to the spot he was looking at, "But mine's not there." He scrunched his nose in puzzlement, his eyebrow descending.

"My name?" Gabriel asked, his attention caught, "Where?"

"There." Gideon replied in annoyance, his long finger pressed into the paper.

Gabriel squinted to read the tiny print.

Room 1, it read, Gabriel Lightwood and Cecily Herondale.

What do you know, he thought, I got a gift after all.

oOo

Theresa Grey

Reporting into an office was a simple thing to do in theory. That is, if one presumed that the office was relatively easy to find, and that the school wasn't currently being filled up with all the students coming back from Christmas Holidays.

Her brother had dropped her off at the elaborate entrance, waving goodbye with a solute of a long fingered hand. Tessa had then been left to her own direction, Nate hadn't even stayed to help her drag her luggage into the school. She hadn't packed that much- a few pairs of jeans, blouses, some skirts and a dress or two-but her chosen variety of books were weighing her down. She hadn't had a chance to scope out the library too closely in her tour of the school, so she'd packed her emergency reading material just in case. Really, it was only just the essential books that she needed, but their combined weight made her feel like she was dragging along Mount Everest instead of several paperbacks.

The only book she'd packed that was a hardcover was A Tale Of Two Cities, one of her favourites. In a desperate fit of kindness after he'd thrown a drunken fit one night, Nate had brought her the book from her favourite bookstore and had even written an apology note inside the pages. It still made her smile to read, sorry, tessa. didn't mean to be so mean. peace offering? Written in her brother's messy scrawl.

Now, Tessa was trying to puzzle out where the office was on the school map stuck a display of glass at the entrance of the school. She glared at the annoyingly bold and red YOU ARE HERE arrow that wasn't helping her locate her desirable path to her destination at all.

She ran her finger down the lines and curves of the map, passing several flagged locations as she did so. She could identify the atrium, the main gym, the library and the science classroom, but still, no office.

"Honestly," She complained to the empty air, "You would think that they would make the main administrative building easier to find."

She squinted at the map through the sunlight for another 5 minutes before giving up with a sigh, adjusting her brown leather satchel on her shoulder and pulling at the handle of her Aunt's old suitcase. She gave one last glare to the map and then headed off, finally deciding to find her own way.

She gasped when she first walked through the doors. Even though the front exit was made of glass, the school obviously valued privacy as the glass was tinted, so Tessa was surprised at the old and modern blend that the interior of the school held. Visually, the exterior was an impressive structure. It towered over the surrounding landscape in all its glory. And the surrounding landscape was beautiful. She'd only seen the front, but it was largely gardens and grass, with a winding road leading to the front gates. It reminded her of a contemporary Rosings or Pemberly, two estates that she held dear to her heart, considering that she'd also packed her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.

The inside looked like a Museum or an Art Gallery, with all the antiques and paintings that lined the hall. The floor was wooden and polished, and the hallway she was walking through held many small enclaves were doors were sheltered. There was small plaques that shined beside some on the doors, and she stopped by to read one. The swirling, dark writing was engraved on a small, golden plaque and she had to squint to read it properly.

Mr H. Branwell
Head of Grade

With a smile of relief, Tessa breathed out. Mr Branwell seemed like an appropriate authority figure to ask for help.

At her core, Tessa was a shy being, so it took her a moment to gather the strength to knock of the cherry oak of the door. When she did, the sound was loud, too loud for her tastes. At least Mr Branwell would be able to hear her.

The was the sound of someone scurrying inside, small footsteps and then the door was swung open revealing-

A women?

"…Mr Branwell?" Tessa asked, her voice uncharacteristically high- which was understandable, she was very confused.

The women in front of her was small, tiny, in fact. Her slight shoulders and short legs made Tessa of a child, but had a mature curve to her face, hips and waist. Her hair was falling out of a bun at the bade of her head, brown strands falling in front her face and obscuring her eyes.

The women smiled, and it was one of the kindest smiles Tessa had encountered.

"Oh, no, dear. That's my husband." She extended a small hand, "I'm Charlotte."

Tessa took her hand. "Sorry," She said, despite her blush, "I just thought-"

"That I was Henry?" Charlotte gave a tinkling laugh, but not the obnoxious tinkling, the kind tinkling, like a wind chime moving on a summers day. "Most make that mistake. He is often not in his office."

"Then where is he?" Tessa asked, blushing at her rudeness. Her curiosity usually did make her seem rude. Maybe she was rude and that was an off product of her curiosity.

"Oh, probably in the lab. He likes to tinker around in there."

Tessa processed this information and another question brought itself to the forefront of her mind. "So you...look after things while his in there?"

And odd expression crossed Charlotte's face. "He's always in the lab, dear."

Tessa tried another approach. "Are you always in his office?"

Charlotte gave her a good natured smile. "I do have my own office. But you'll usually find me in here, yes."

Tessa then realised that she had just waltzed into the school, suitcase in hand, and that the awfully nice women standing in front of her most likely had no idea who she was. She could have been a stranger of the streets for all Charlotte knew, yet still here she was, smiling at her from the doorway of her husband's office, dark circles under her eyes- probably from staying up late to work-and answering all her questions with patience. There needed to be more people like that in the world.

"Um," Tessa stammered, "I'm Theresa Grey. I'm new here and I was just wondering, well, I was looking for the school office?"

"Welcome, Theresa. And since you're a pupil you will call me Mrs Branwell. I'm the deputy head of grade." She smiled and her words, that would usually appear stern, were soft. "Don't worry about the office; I'll show you were you need to be."

Tessa adjusted the sleave of her cardigan in embarrassment. "Oh, no, Mrs Branwell, I don't want to take you away from your work-"

There was that soft smile again. "I'm due for a break. Come on, follow me."

Charlotte-Mrs Branwell- swept out of her husband's office, her short legs carrying her with more speed than Tessa expected. Her pencil skirt, grey with a small split near the bottom at the middle, came down to her calves, and her dark heeled shoes proved no adversary for the tiny women. They weren't ridiculously high, but they were high enough that Tessa would trip over if she was to wear them. Mrs Branwell set off with such a pace that Tessa had no choice but to follow.

In her hands- Tessa hadn't seen them before- she held a blue plastic folder. There was a label on the front, but Mrs Branwell's thumb obscured it.

Mrs Branwell pulled a sheet of paper out of the folder. "This is your dorm number."

Tessa took the paper, noticing the gold ring on Mrs Branwell's finger as she did. There was a small inscription on the side. To my dearest Lottie, Love Henry. That was made the corners of Tessa's mouth itch, pulling themselves upwards.

She had never grown up with married parents- she didn't even know whose hers were. She'd always had Nate and her Aunt, and then just Nate. She didn't know what being married really looked like. She'd read about it and she'd seen it on TV. Every now and then she'd have the occasionally lunch with a married couple, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She knew about the vows and the rings and the kisses. She'd didn't know about the scratches from when the ring came off, she didn't know about the fights that occurred from purely just having enough of each other.

She then realised that she had the piece of paper in her hands- the one Mrs Branwell had given her. She glanced down at it- it was a normal piece of paper really. White, slightly creased, Times New Roman inked in black. Tessa had never liked Times New Roman as a font. She was much more a Calibri person.

In big, bold letters, Theresa Grey was printed at the top. Underneath there was a table, one column said DORM NUMBER and the other read INHABITANTS. There was only row underneath it- one held the number three and the other had her name and William Herondale. It must be her roommate. Funny, she didn't think such a prestigious school would have mixed dorms.

"We're implementing a new strategy." Mrs Branwell said, seeing Tessa looking at the piece of paper, "Mr Morgenstern suggested it. He theorised that by allowing a co-gender environment pupils could assimilate to a society in which a heavy emphasises is placed on sexuality."

Tessa thought that Mrs Branwell sounded like she swallowed a textbook and couldn't help but think how many other teachers had swallowed the same pitch.

"Oh. Okay." Tessa said, trying to balance her suitcase and the piece of paper whilst she rushed to keep up to Mrs Branwell. "Mrs Branwell?" Tessa asked, seizing her curiosity again, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Mrs Branwell said, rounding a corner.

"Who's William Herondale?"

"Will?" Charlotte said, surprised, "Why do you want to know about him?"

Tessa blushed. "He's my roommate."

Mrs Branwell walked around another corner and Tessa was faced with a giant portrait of a cold looking man with hair the colour of snow. It was cut close to his head, which made his cheekbones arch out of his face. His mouth was a thin, closed line. Underneath the picture was a small, golden plate that read; Valentine Morgenstern.

"Yes. Of course." Mrs Branwell's voice clung to Tessa's thought, reeling them back to her. "Will's been put with you because I had to separate him from another student."

That made Tessa blanch. "...Because he they hated each other?"

Mrs Branwell laughed. "Because they liked each other too much. Will and the other student, Jem, were very close. Jem was Will's only friend. He still is. Me moving him is my attempt at making him branch out his horizons, so to speak."

"Is he nice?"

Mrs Branwell hesitated in a way that didn't make Tessa feel entirely comfortable. "Will is...well, I wouldn't say nice, but..."

"Is he mean?"

"Not to most people. Stop worrying, Theresa. You and Will will get along fine."

Tessa bit her lip. "Tessa, Mrs Branwell." She hated Theresa. Theresa was old fashioned and out dated.

They rounded another corner, this time, they'd turned into a corridor that had four or five doors.

"These are some of the classrooms." Announced Mrs Branwell, "As Raziel's Institution is only a small school, most of them are located on the floor above us." At that, Tessa looked up at the ceiling. It was as immaculate and sculpted as the rest of the building. "The floor after that is where your dorms will be. That's the living quarters. It houses everything but the kitchen, which you'll find on this floor, which is formally known as the administration block. It's where you'll find most teachers and the office and such."

That would be easier enough to remember. Classrooms are on the second floor, living quarters on the third and kitchen and administration on the first.

Tessa only had a couple more questions she needed answered in order to quench her curiosity. "What about the library, where's that?"

A smile unfolded onto Mrs Branwell's face. "I was right. Will is going to like you." Tessa only had a moment to ponder that particular bit of information before Mrs Branwell moved on. "The library is on the fourth floor. That's where you'll find most specialist areas, like the auditorium and gym." Tessa remembered seeing the gym on the map. "Of course, there's a smaller gym on this floor. It's easier for when students need to bring equipment into the grounds."

"What's on the top floor?" Tessa remembered looking at the building and counting five stories. Mrs Branwell had only explained four.

Mrs Branwell grimaced. "Mr Morgenstern's office is on the fifth floor, as is Mrs Herondale's. She's the director of punishment and rule enforcement. Hopefully, you'll never need to go up there, Tessa."

There was a pull at her stomach, making her heart beat a beat more frequently. Tessa wasn't one to break rules, she hadn't before. She was a good student. However, the way Mrs Branwell said it made Tessa fear it anyway.

"Lastly, the Science labs are one level below us. That's where you'll find my husband, if you'll ever need him. Other than myself, Mr Branwell and Professor Starkweather, all the other teachers stay in the smaller building behind the school."

"Why don't you stay with the others?"

Mrs Branwell laughed, and this time it was genuine and kind. "Someone has to keep an eye on you kids after dark, otherwise, who knows what you'll get up to."

oOo

Manus Bane

In Magnus Bane's mind, Raziel's Institution was a grand, old building, like a castle out of a fairytale. However, even though the outside was magical, the inside held state of the art facilities that were the off product of the school's high fees. The library wasn't what the facade would suggest. There wasn't a maze of old, musty shelves, piled high with ancient encyclopaedias and with an old librarian hobbled over the desk. The library at Raziel's held neatly organised shelves filled with textbooks and fiction and those terrible teenage romances that Magnus clandestinely loved to read. It also had perfectly geometric white desks with computers and curved class barriers between each workspace, with massive glass windows that overlooked the surrounding grounds. It annoyed him to think that this beautiful old building was ruined from the inside.

"Who's excited? I'm excited."

"Do be quiet, Rangor, not all of us are as ecstatic as you are at the new dorm arrangements."

"Shut up, Woolsey. You're dampening my mood."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Fell, Scott. They're just dorms, it's not like you're getting married to whomever has the misfortune to be roomed with you."

Rangor pulled an arm to his forehead. "Misfortune? Really, Magnus? How incredibly rude of you."

Magnus was used to Ragnor's antics, he would be after six years at school with him. Rangor could be overdramatic, but then again, so could Magnus. He sometimes felt sorry for Woolsey, for having to deal with both thespians, but Woolsey wasn't known for having the biggest emotional range, so he could usually cope with their behaviour.

"I wasn't being rude, I was being honest, and that's a trait that most people appreciate."

Rangor closed his eyes, his pale eyelids fluttering. He didn't move his hand from his face. "I am not most people."

Woolsey raised an eyebrow. "That is the only thing you have ever been right about."

Rangor smiled serenely. "Thank you, Mr Scott."

"I think you're missing his point."Interjected Magnus.

Ragnor swivelled around, a fast smile forming on his face. "Have you checked the list yet, honey bunch?"

Magnus put down the book he was reading and looked Ragnor.

"What are you getting at?"

Ragnor dropped his eye lids, parading his supposed innocence.

"Nothing, my dear Magnus. Why, nothing at all."

Woolsey, who was nose deep in The Modern Machiavelli , puffed out a resigned sigh.

"Ragnor, you are as transparent as a well cleaned mirror. I'm studying. A foreign concept, I know, but please respect the wishes of those who have ambition. Take your antics to another environment more suited to your frivolity. Like say, a pig pen."

The words slid over Magnus' skin like water. He was used to Woolsey's sophisticated gibberish.

"I want you to do something for me, Woolsey." Magnus dropped his tone to what Rangor called his 'charmer' voice. He dropped his eye lids to cover half his eyes.

"What, Magnus?" He didn't even look up. His watery blue eyes followed the lines at an efficient pace.

"Look at me, darling." Magnus purred.

With a deep breath, Woolsey jerked his head and stared at Magnus, severely unimpressed.

"I want you," Magnus smiled seductively. "To take that pole out of your ass and hit yourself on the head with it."

Woolsey rolled his eyes and turned his attention, once again, to the book in his hand.

"The Modern Machiavelli?" Rangor cocked his head to look at the title, standing right in front of Woolsey, "Isn't Machiavelli that-"

"Psychopath?" Magnus quipped, cutting his pale friend off, "Why yes, he is."

Woolsey lowered the book to glower at Magnus. "Machiavelli was a genius."

There was the sound of the library door whooshing open. Magnus craned his neck to see who had entered- last time he checked most students were in the atrium, causing the next earth quake with their stampeding. However, even Magnus' impressive height couldn't see past the book cases that they situated behind. They were at one the study tables, which were near the back windows. These weren't the single tables- these were designed for 'healthy interaction and study with other students'. Which was exactly what they were used for.

"Are you guys talking about Machiavelli?" Came Simon Lewis' voice, followed closely by Simon Lewis himself. He shoved himself in one on the modern armchairs near their table, it was red and outrageous and Magnus couldn't understand why he didn't like it. It had everything he admired- style, taste and the ability to make someone stand on their head to try and figure out which way it was meant to be. "I love Machiavelli. He's so cool."

Woolsey paused, staring Simon right in the eyes. This, Magnus knew from experience, could be quite a terrifying moment. It was much like staring into s crocodile's eyes and seeing the predator inside, waiting to tear you apart.

"Do you?" Was all Woolsey said, calmly turning back to his book, holding it open by its covers.

Magnus shook his head. "I didn't take you for a Machiavelli fan, Simon."

Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Simon nodded vigorously. "Shawn Baichoo made such a cool Machiavelli."

Woolsey cocked his head. "What?"

Simon pursed his lips and looked worriedly at Woolsey. "I take it that we're not talking about Assassin's Creed, are we?"

Woolsey put his foreboding face on. "Machiavelli was of the most innovate philosophers of his time. He was a historian, politician, humanist. He was not an Assassin."

"Okay," Simon said, pushing further back into the chair, "Sorry."

"What are you even doing here?" Magnus asked. He couldn't help but notice that his red headed friend wasn't with them. Usually, they were inseparable.

"Contemplating my fast approaching death." Simon replied fluidly, sinking even further into the chair.

Woolsey ignored this completely, as if the possibility of a fellow student dying didn't even serve as a distraction enough from his book. Magnus shared a confused look with Rangor, who raised his pale eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"Uh," Said Rangor, still looking at Magnus, "Why?"

"Because," Simon stressed, lifting himself up with his skinny arms, "I got partnered with Isabelle Lightwood!"

After this, Simon looked wide eyed at Magnus and Rangor, turning his head to stare at both of them as if this news could bring the destruction of the world.

Magnus shrugged a narrow shoulder, "So?" He said, "Isabelle's fabulous, loads of fun at parties. She's also ridiculously stylish. I'm almost jealous.

Simon looked at him in such a unbelievable manner that he almost checked to see if he had an extra head growing out of some tumour on his neck.

"She's also an insane Mistress of anguish. Oh God. What am I going to do?" Simon wailed like a Diva and shoved his head in his hands. Magnus watched with mild amusement, running his fingers over the smooth edges of his phone.

"Don't you have a friend to do this complaining to?" Woolsey drawled from his seat, eyes still on the pages of his book.

Rangor pointed a long finger at Woolsey, sucking in his lips. "He has a point. Where's Clary?"

"Yes," Magnus agreed, "Where is that cute little red head?"

Simon pouted. "She's off looking for her room. I didn't want to face my dismal future yet."

"So you're hiding out in here?" Rangor inquired, hand dropping back down to his side, "How brave of you."

"Says the guy in khakis." Magnus said, raising his eyebrows imploringly at Rangor's pants. "With a designer hoodie, of all things. It's not even a proper hoodie! It's got half sleeves. It's just like a t-shirt with a hood!"

Rangor shifted his hands down his shirt. "Have you got a problem with this?"

"I have a lot of problems with 'this'." Magnus replied, curling his fingers into quotations, "Starting with the fact that it's hideous."

Rangor carefully brought his Aviator sunglasses down and pushed them delicately onto his face. Magnus had to admit, Rangor wasn't bad looking. Long and lithe, he was more broad shouldered then Magnus himself. He was shorter, but his fingers were just as long.

"You're the one in metallic purple leather pants."Rangor pulled his fingers back out to Magnus, "That's hideous."

"That's fashionable, something you would know nothing about." Magnus brushed a hand against the starchy material of his pants and aimed his nose high.

"I propose," Said Woolsey, his voice very quiet as he dragged out each word, "That you are both dressed outrageously dreadfully and the fact that you're both arguing about each of your separate outfit's repugnance amuses me greatly."

"You couldn't just laugh, could you Woolsey?" Spoke Rangor, "You had to say all that nonsense because you couldn't just give enough of a shit to laugh."

"Correct." Woolsey affirmed, examining a particular crisp, white page with a focus, "Laughing is a terrible pastime."

Then they lapsed into silence, Magnus lazily looking through random items on his phone, Rangor flipping through a MAD magazine and Woolsey still reading the political ranting of some long dead philosopher. Just as Magnus was about to show Rangor a particularly amusing picture, Simon interrupted.

"Have you guys checked to see who you're with yet?" He said, obviously aiming for a conversation.

Magnus laid his phone down on the table. "Rangor went. I didn't, of course. I'm not going to push my way through throngs of people just to see my name next to someone else's. I mean, I'm all for too many people in an enclosed space, but that's more when there's music and alcohol involved."

"Also known as," Spoke Rangor, "'When I'm just too smashed to care'."

Simon continued to look completely out of his social depth. "Uh, cool." He murmured, "So you know who you're with?"

Magnus' looked at Rangor, attention captured. He'd gone to check in the atrium, the only one of three actually willing to do so, and had come back with his lips sealed and his mouth quirked up into mischievous points. No amount of prodding from Magnus could unravel the self imposed stiches that Rangor had donned.

With one side of his mouth perked, Rangor answered. "I'm with Woolsey." He said, and Magnus' snort of surprise covered up Woolsey's, "Oh dear lord."

"Oh," Said Simon, "It must be good that you're with a friend."

"Define friend." Rangor winked, his arm cradling his head.

"I thought the whole point of the initiative was to expand this cohort's social understanding of each other." Woolsey muttered, "Not to fix friendships."

At that, Rangor lunged at him, arms around his neck and head pressed against Woolsey's. "Don't say that, dear." Unfortunately Rangor decided to adopt a southern twang. "Our friendship don't need fixing."

"Something will need fixing if you don't get off me." Woolsey muttered in reply.

"This arrangement is going to work out exquisitely." Magnus beamed, looking at Woolsey's 'I'm going to commit murder' expression.

"It could be worse," Simon said, hand pressed against his head in depression, "You could have ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD."

Woolsey narrowed his eyes and swiped a blonde curl from his face. "Could you please shut up about that? As entertaining as it was originally, your escapade has now lost any of the entertainment value it ever possessed."

Rangor lifted his chin from Woolsey's shoulder and looked at him. "You sound like a movie critique."

"Five out of ten." Said Magnus. "Points deducted for being annoying."

Rangor tapered a finger to his chin. "I was thinking more of a six and a half," He wondered, "For irking Woolsey."

"You're the one irking Woolsey." Magnus replied.

"THIS IS A LEGITAMENT CONCERN." Simon yelled suddenly, alarming all three of them. He stood up from the chair, dark eyes glancing manically. "I HAVE TO SHARE WITH HER."

"I don't think Isabelle shares." Rangor said, "She's more of a 'All for one and only one' type of person."

"Remember the fight between her and Cecily Herondale last year?" Magnus cried, eyes lighting up at the gossip, "Who was it over again? Merlion?"

"The hot foreigner." Rangor sighed, "Every single girl in school wanted a piece of that."

"Well, Isabelle apparently did get a piece." Magnus lowered his voice, "As well as Cecily. There was a massive cat fight in the hall between them. Remember? Alec Lightwood had to practically pull Isabelle's nails out of Cecily's scalp before Mr Graymark finally showed up."

"Didn't Will Herondale get Cecily off Isabelle?" Rangor asked.

"Oh yeah. That's right. Team work." Magnus agreed.

"Why didn't I hear anything about this?" Simon questioned, head cradled in his hand. He was sitting back down, his expression defeated.

"Because you're a social leper." Magnus replied, eyeing Simon, "No offense."

"Don't worry," Simon bit back, loading a sarcasm shotgun at Magnus, "A leper like me couldn't possibly be offended by you, Magnus. I'm honoured that you even notice me."

Magnus decided to fire back with his special hyberbole assault rifle. "Thank you, oh gracious, Simon. My reputation, as the magnificent Magnus Bane, can withhold such a detrimental association."

"Speaking of association," Rangor grinned mischievously around Woolsey, "Guess who you're partnered with."

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "A game, I see. Very well then." Magnus looked at Rangor for a few seconds, who still had the stupid grin. "Judging by your charming facial expression, it's not someone exactly neutral." He though, curling a slender finger around a strand of hair, "Is it Camille?"

"No."

"Sebastian?"

"Nope."

"Ah ha! It's Will, isn't it?"

"Wrong again."

"What? Who the hell is it?"

"I said guess, Magnus."

"Well, It's not you, Woolsey, Simon, Isabelle, Sebastian, Camille or Will. So..is it...Jace Lightwood?"

"He's with Clary." Simon said darkly.

"FINE. I honestly have no idea. Just tell me."

Rangor's grin grew even bigger. "Well, it is a Lightwood."

"Gabriel?"

"Uh ah."

Magnus sighed in frustration. "But that leaves Gideon, and he's the most neutral person on this planet..."

Magnus thought's derailed, crashed into a mountain and exploded. He took a deep breath. "It's Alec Lightwood, isn't it?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Rangor cried, "We have a winner!"