Chapter One

Sophie

She's up to something. I just know she is. I can physically feel it. She had been far too quiet lately—suspiciously so. Of course, I don't mean quiet in the literal sense—she still mocks, teases, and belittles me. I mean quiet as in she hasn't been plotting anything lately, or at least not blatantly so. Maybe she was just trying to be less conspicuous. Maybe she was trying to get one step ahead of me by making me think she had given up plotting so I'd lower my guard.

I don't know which is worse—her plotting right under my nose, or her lack of plotting being part of a larger, more elaborate plot, where I'd never even know where and when she'll strike. After some consideration, I realise that I prefer the former. It's time for me to take the upper hand.

I have notebook that my best friend, Perry, gave me. He says that it's for me to jot down my emotions. He thinks it will help me keep from going off as often. As of this year (and, admittedly, last year, too), it had gone towards other uses. I'm just being practical—using the notebook to keep record of every dodgy thing that Baz does. If I can gather enough clues, I can try to puzzle the pieces together to give me insight on her plots.

This year had been no different. Well, actually, no—it had. That's the thing. The only dodgy thing I've picked up on was a lack of dodgy activity. It had been driving me absolutely mad. Why now? Why plot against me for 7 years only to give up 8th year? It doesn't make any sense at all, and Baz is not the kind of girl to just give up.

As if on cue, she walks into our shared room. I wonder if she can read minds. Maybe it's a vampire thing. No, I think that if she could read my mind I'd know by now. I'm probably staring at her, but I'm just trying to gather anything out of the ordinary about her movements.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She's scowling. "Is there something on my face?" She raises one of her perfect eyebrows at me.

"I know you're up to something. You're not as clever as you think," I spat. I don't clue her in on the fact that I don't exactly know what it is that she's plotting, but I want her to know that she's not slick. All she does in response to my accusation is flash me one of her smirks. The absolute tosser.

"Pray tell, Snow, what am I up to, exactly?" Her previously held scowl replaces itself with a smirk. She seems far too amused. I hate it.

"You would have to be an absolute bloody nutter to think I would give away my upper hand just like that!" I'm growling at her now. I'm not even sure why I'm so narked. Not only that, but I feel like it's coming out of nowhere. Maybe it's stress of not knowing what she's plotting.

"Would you calm down? I don't particularly feel up to dealing with you going off and nearly singeing off one of my eyebrows again."

"Oh, sod off, will you? I'm not going off."

"Right, you're just being your usual cock-up self. How could I have forgotten."

"You don't always have to be such an arse!" I pause for a moment, thinking up what to say next. "Just-.. just get lost before, um, I-... before I break your nose again!"

"I don't have to 'get lost', Snow. I live here too."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of you begging me to break your nose again!"

"Do it, I dare you. Then maybe the Anathema will get rid of you once and for all."

"Well then, uh, you break my nose! Then I can get rid of you."

"I would, honestly, but with a face like yours, I think a broken nose would be an improvement." She's sneering. Why does she sneer so bloody much?

"You're one to talk! You have the face of an, uh, a goblin!"

She doesn't have the face of a goblin. That's the most infuriating part! She has aristocratic features. Her face is sharp and angular, but in an absurdly attractive way. Her stormy grey eyes radiate intelligence. Her pale skin is always unfairly clear. Her makeup is always flawless and it's never too much, and her raven coloured hair always pulled neatly back into a bun.

That's one imperfection about her, I think. She looks much prettier when it's down framing her face. It's long, thick, and wavy, and it cascades over her shoulders like a dark curtain. I only see it like that when she's dressed in pyjamas ready to sleep, or when she's just woken up.

"The face of a goblin? I'm sure you're well chuffed about thinking that one up. Did you come up with it yourself, or did you have Bunce help you?" She laughs softly to herself over her own little snide remark. The look on her face as she says this tells me that I'm getting too worked up. I'm making things too easy for her. In fact, I'm practically dropping the victory right into her lap.

"Fuck off."

"That's what I thought."

Baz

Snow's little "fuck off" is the signal that I've won. Something was off with her today. She was wound up unusually tight. Stress, maybe? She seemed to be convinced that I was plotting against her, yet again. I was thick enough to think she had dropped the whole paranoia thing this year. I guess not.

I can't get over the way she was looking at me when I first walked through the door. She was looking me up and down, scrutinising me. Maybe when I lay awake thinking about it later tonight, I can flatter myself a bit and try to convince myself she was looking at me with awe, rather than suspicion.

A little over an hour later and Snow's sitting on her bed, still brooding, while I'm trying to work on my homework assignment.

"Knock it off, Snow."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're being," I pause, "unnerving."

"Good!" She's such a child sometimes. All of the women in the World of Mages, and my heart chooses her. Why her. Why me?

I look outside and realize it's getting dark. I need to hunt before it'll be too late for me to return before the drawbridge gets pulled up for the night. I grab my jacket and get ready to leave. Snow narrows her eyes.

"Where are you going?" Nothing can ever be easy for me, can it?

"You ask that like its any of your concern where I'm going."

"Oh I see," she winks. "Vampire stuff."

"Snow, how many times do I have to tell you-," I can't finish speaking before she cuts me off.

"So then what are you doing?" Snow's doing that little thing with her face where she squints at me, her lips pursed and her eyebrows all furrowed up in thought. I ignore her and continue towards the door. "It's obviously something secretive if you're being so dodgy about it."

"Or, maybe," I reply, "Im not being dodgy, and it's simply just none of your business," I sneer, hoping she'll back off. Bloody Snow. She can't just lay off for even a minute. At least it's better now than it was back in 5th year. That sure was something.

"Or maybe," she continues, "You're going off to meet Augustus in the woods again. I bet that's it," she says, getting herself worked up. Here we go again... "You bloody boyfriend stealing slag."

"Ex-boyfriend," I correct. I can't help it. She makes it so easy. On another note, did she just call me a fucking slag?

"Ex-boyfriend all thanks to you!" One of her fingers is pointed at me in accusation.

"What can I say? It's hard to resist my charm." I'm agitated at this point. I really need to go out and hunt.

"I bet you're just using him to get yourself up the duff to, um, uh, to make a point!" She gets a perplexed look on her face as she says this, probably wondering what the hell just came out of her mouth. She wouldn't be alone—I'm wondering that as well. She nods her head as if she were trying to reassure herself of her statement. "Yeah," she adds.

"Aleister Crowley, What the hell are you on about?"

"Well it's just that-," she starts, but I cut her off as quickly as she began. Honestly, and to my surprise, I find myself at a complete loss for words.

"I-..." I don't even know which words to say, and it's all thanks to her own particularly disturbing ones. Does she honestly think that of me? I'm quite disgusted. Surely she's just trying to say whatever she can to disgruntle me. "You know what, Snow? Absolutely. You've sussed me out." Her eyes widen as I say this. She looks taken aback.

"Wait, I didn't realise that you actually-... I was right?" Her voice is wavering. Is she actually speaking to me right now? Are these actually the words that are coming from her mouth? The paranoid bloody git seems to think the world centers around her.

How dare she imply that I would do something so utterly disgusting just for the sake of, in her words, making a point? Does she really think so highly of herself? Really? Every thought in my head is telling me to put her ego back in check, and remind her of where exactly it is that she stands.

"Have you gotten yourself plastered while I was gone? Or are you just the thickest, most dim-witted girl I've ever had the displeasure of speaking with? I was being sarcastic, you right prat." That girl, that infuriating, beautiful girl is going to be the death of me.

"Huh?" She's looking at me wide eyed, her bog-standard blue eyes showing an emotion that I can't quite put a finger on. The clueless look on her face is more than enough to set me off. How can anyone be so bloody thick?

Sophie

Baz is angry. I don't blame her. I did call her a slag and then imply that she's trying to sneak out into the woods to meet up with my ex-boyfriend to get herself up the duff. I didn't mean it, but I do know that she has a thing for Auggie. And he has a thing for her right back. So, yes, I was trying to strike a low blow and get her to spill some information.

I know what she's going out to do. (I've known since 5th year.) I just haven't been able to get her to admit it yet. But for some reason, when she told be that I'd sussed her out, I can't deny that I had a small moment of panic. It was stupid. Me asking her if I had been right was somehow even more stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She's looking at me now. I always describe her grey eyes as stormy. (Never outloud, obviously. Just to myself.) I always used to mean it in a figurative sense—a way to describe the colour of them. With the way she's looking at me now, her eyes are stormy in a nearly literal sense. She's angry, and she has thunderstorms in her eyes, threatening to destroy me.

Shes walking towards me, now. Slowly—like an animal stalking their prey. She's just about 3 inches taller than me on her own, but she always wears heeled shoes with her uniform. I used to swear that she did it only for the sole purpose of spiting me. She's always dressed rather smart, actually. She seems to have a need, almost, to be the most posh and well put together student at Watford. She wears tights under her uniform skirt, her tie is always perfect, and she even smells pretty! Like cedar and bergamot. Her uniform never even gets wrinkled! She probably magicks it to be that way.

She wears rings on her long, slender fingers. Jewelry also has a tendency to make its way around her neck and her wrists. Her jewelry always matches—they come in sets. (Minus the rings—those are her own personal little touch.) She used to wear these beautiful dangly earrings, and she had a pair for each set. It all must've cost a bomb.

One day in fourth year we had a particularly nasty fight and I grabbed her by the earring and pulled. It ripped clean out—tore straight through her ear. It wasn't a pretty sight—or sound, for that matter. I secretly felt pretty terrible about it. It must've hurt like hell. Ever since the incident, the only earrings she wears are studs, and her left earlobe has a nasty scar.

As of now, with her heels, she's about 5 inches taller than me. She's close enough for me for goosebumps to make their way up my arms. Goosebumps of fear. It's certainly enough to pull me out of my thoughts and drag me back to reality. The reality where my vampire roommate is about to kill me.

"Snow, you are the most gormless," She gives me a rough shove. Barmy." Again. "Trollop!" She shoves me once again. A trollop, huh? Well if that's how it's going to be, then I really don't feel as bad for calling her a slag.

My back is up against a the wall. She's going to kill me. She's going to finally do it. It's 8th year right now anyway, how much does she really have to lose? If she were to kill me now, she'd be kicked out of Watford, but the Old Families would worship her like a bloody goddess. Hell, they might even have a statue put up in her honour. At least I wouldn't be alive to have to see it.

All thoughts go out the window when she raises a fist, about to punch me right in the face.

"Anathema!" I'm panicked, and my voice is completely giving it away. It's quivering, and dripping in terror. Shite, I hate her seeing me like this—all fearful and weak. She stops and lowers her fist before scowling at me.

"I wouldn't have even punched you." She was lying through her teeth, probably a bit surprised with herself for being so close to losing her control and beating me to a bloody pulp. "I was just trying to scare you." I can't bring myself to do anything other than stare at her wide eyed and open mouthed. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, you right skiver," she spat.

And just like that, I was shoved out of the way as she slammed the door behind her. I didn't have it in me to follow her.

Was it something that I said?

A/N: Hi, hello. This is the first chapter. The second chaprer should be out very soon! Please let me know what you think and feel free to drop me criticisms and ideas :) Also, what generes should this be? I have no clue.