a/n one: hello everyone, welcome to chapter one of the mage's heir! i will talk more afterwards, because i think you would rather read the story, yes?

these characters belong to rainbow rowell, sans matron hopewell, and aiden, who are, my own.

edit: oops! i wrote simon as a blonde sorry, very sorry! (edited: 1/4/15)

edit 2: ahaha, all these guests make me nervous! so simon has golden hair? english is confusing lol! (edited 5/4/15)

the mage's heir: one

Simon was too hot. The wind blew through his room in the orphanage, where the window never quite closed, and melted his bones. It tore through his grotty cotton sweater, and nipped at the frayed hems of his denims. "Overheated, and in jeans," Simon mumbled to himself. "This is how I die." Scampering from his small desk in the corner of the room, he dove underneath the covers on his bed, pulling them around him like a cape. It was a rather foolish decision, if he had wanted to ward off the heat, rather than draw it in, but the current of air from the moving quilts gave off a nice breeze.

From the other side of their shared room, Aiden, Simon's roommate rolled his eyes, turning another page in the English textbook. "God, Simon. It isn't that warm."

Simon balked at the boy, throwing his quilts haphazardly onto the mattress, pointing out the window. "Isn't that warm?" He asked, blue eyes wide with disbelief. "Christ, Aiden, it's like a heat stroke, for God's sake!" It was as if the older boy couldn't feel the bone-melting heat that curled around the room, squeezing Simon in it's grasp. Aiden snorted, waving the ten-year old off again, returning to his textbook.

Simon didn't quite blame him, actually. He would probably ignore himself as well, if he had a teacher like Professor Amelia Rainsworth giving an English test. She was notorious amongst the students of Hyde's State School.

But the little brunet ten-year-old sighed, and flopped, boneless, back onto the covers, staring at the large cracks in the ceiling. Sometimes, he wondered if the roof would fall in and crush Aiden and him while they were sleeping. Simon shuddered. What an unpleasant thought, he mused, counting the cracks again.

He must have fallen asleep like that, spread across his quilts and sheets, because before he knew it, Aiden was shaking him awake. "It's time for dinner, Simon," he whispered, and Simon felt like he had an older brother. "Come on Simon, or Matron Hopewell will wonder where we've been."

The motherly matron of Gardenia Orphanage was quite large, width-wise, but she was one of the nicest people Simon had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She had raised him since he was a child, and Simon could not remember a life before the Orphanage, with its cracked ceilings, and windows that would never fully close.

Galloping down the steps of the rickety old staircase that led to the attic room he shared with Aiden, Simon stopped in front of the Matron, and wondered why she was waiting by the stairs, and not in the cafeteria with the other children. "Simon," the elderly woman began, her tone reproachful, and Simon blurted,

"Matron Hopewell, I swear, it wasn't me this time! I've been with Aiden all day, and I didn't put frogs in Marie's closet!" Simon had a knack for getting into trouble, but today, he couldn't figure out why the Matron would be reprimanding him.

The matron laughed, her wrinkled face smiling at the ten-year-old. "No, Simon, you aren't in trouble dear. Someone has just come to see you."

Aiden crept past Simon, and mouthed, 'who?'

Simon shrugged, and looked at the matron. "Who is it?"

Her smile dropped a tad. "Come with me Simon. Aiden, off you go, eat dinner with the other children." And she whisked Simon away from Aiden, and down towards the parlour.

Simon entered the parlor, and there sat a man, with hair so blond, it might have been white. Grey streaks wove within the white-gold locks that the older man sported, and his brown eyes were tired. To Simon, he looked ancient, yet powerful, sitting tall in that tall-backed, cushy lavender chair Sophia liked to read in on a rainy day.

There was also a cape, draped atop his broad shoulders, black with large silver buttons, and spilling onto the floors. Simon drank the strange man in, and his appearance like a breath of fresh air, within the familiar and bland appearances of his peers.

"Come, Simon, sit down, sit down." The man gestured to the squashy chair across the coffee table that separates them, and Simon sat down, wondering how this odd, odd man knew his name.

The matron coughed rather awkwardly, and asked, "Sir, would you like anything?"

The blond man nodded, replying, "Tea and biscuits, if you please," with a wave of his hand.

Before Matron Hopewell could even make to leave the parlour room, the wooden serving tray that she would bring out for visitors bobbed through the door, the chipped porcelain kettle steaming from the spout, along with a plate of chocolate biscuits. The matron gaped, and Simon smiled with glee, his stomach grumbling quietly in the background. "Thank you, Ma'am," the man smiled kindly, watching as the robust woman left to check for the other children. "And you," the man continued, turning to Simon, after the matron had left. "You have proven very hard to search for, do you know that?"

Simon stared at the man, his face tinted pink. "I'm very sorry for that, Sir," he replied softly, wiggling his toes into the carpeting.

The man laughed. "Don't you worry about that, Simon. The Mage's Heir is someone people search for." He gestured towards the tea and biscuits. "Have a biscuit."

Simon took a chocolate biscuit, nibbling on the soft edges."Why are you here, Sir?"

"To take you to school, of course."

He stopped biting the treat, and stared at the man. "To school? Why?"

The man took a good look at Simon, and he could feel the brown eyes sizing him up, trying to measure him. "Well, not just any old school, I suppose," he mused. "I'm here to take you to Watford Academy for Magick." Brown eyes stared into Simon's watery blue. "I am the Mage, Simon, and you are my heir."

Simon's heart stopped for a moment. Half of him wanted to laugh at this so-called Mage, and call him a liar. But the other half of him remembered what the man had done with the wooden tray, and the tea with biscuits. How it had floated and bobbed through the air, before resting gracefully onto the coffee table between them. "This...is not a trick, right?" Simon asked warily, eyeing the Mage.

The Mage laughed lightly, and Simon felt irritated at how this man laughed at him. "Yes, I could see why you would think this would be a trick, I suppose. Allow me to demonstrate." From within the black cloak drawn across him, the Mage procured an elaborately carved stick, or a wand. Simon realized this with a jolt, and excitement began to build inside of him. "Up, up and away," the Mage murmured, and the little ten-year old felt himself float up from his seat, and into the air. "Settle down, Simon," the older man laughed, as Simon fell back into his chair, caramel brown hair mussed and plastered across his forehead.

"That was amazing!" He bubbled, bouncing in the squashy chair.

"Yes, well, you'll learn many things like that as well within your years at Watford," the man smiled knowingly, and another jolt of excitement ran through Simon's veins. The previous irritation had dissipated after the impromptu flight session he had gone through. "Well then," the Mage began to rise, and Simon hurried to rise with the white-blond man. "Please allow me to notify Matron Hopewell of your leaving, and you must pack you bags, Simon."

Simon's heart jumped to his throat in a second, nervous butterflies flittering around in his stomach. "Will I be able to come back here again?"

The Mage looked at Simon with a bit of surprise. "Well yes, you will return for summer holidays, and you will have the option of coming back for other holidays, but I don't particularly see why you would want to return, Simon."

Simon fidgeted with the hem of his pullover, pulling at a loose thread. "I grew up here, Sir. It's rather hard for me to leave my home behind..."

The Mage clapped Simon on the back and smiled gently. "That's alright Simon. But, I guarantee, Watford will be like a home to you, I promise." The man cleared his throat. "Now. Off you go, go pack your bags, and I will speak with your matron."

Simon ran into the corridor, and up the rickety old staircase, to his room with Aiden.

Aiden was already in the room when Simon burst in, slightly out of breath, cheeks pink from running up all those stairs.

"I told you, running up the staircase isn't a good idea Simon," the older boy frowned, swiveling around in his chair to face the younger boy. "And anyways, what did Matron Hopewell need you for in the parlour? Are you in trouble, Simon?"

Simon shook his head, and ducked underneath his bed to retrieve his school bag, and a ratty old duffel bag that Milly, a girl who had long-since been adopted had left with him. He began to toss jerseys, shirts, trousers, and pants into the duffel, and Aiden watched as the younger boy zipped up the duffel with little trouble, and took out the summer homework out of the backpack, setting it on his bed. The pencil case still inside the worn knapsack rattled as Simon shoved his old teddy bear into the bag, and shouldered it, finally facing Aiden. "Aiden, that man was from a school."

The brunet teen nodded, and rose from the wooden chair, hugging Simon. "Try and write then, alright, Snow?"

Simon nodded solemnly, wrapping his arms as far as they could reach around Aiden, burying his face into the brotherly boy's thin tee-shirt. "I'll try to come back for the hols, Aiden, I promise."

Said boy rested his chin atop Simon's head of golden curls. "Have fun, Simon."

Simon rapidly blinked away a few tears, then barreled out of the room, and back down the stairs, his bookbag pounding against his back.

Aiden shook his head, looking at the spot where Simon had been. "That bloody kid, I told him not to run down the stairs."

Matron Hopewell hugged Simon to her bosom, and the blond boy swore that he could breathe whilst she did, but hugged his caregiver back, crying slightly as he left her behind, at Gardenia Orphanage.

He gripped the Mage's hand tight, as the man whispered a few words, and waved his wand, before the world flipped upside down, and everything went black.

And when Simon came to, the world was no longer all the shades of London in the summertime, gray and muted green, muddy blue, and brown. The world was colored brighter than Simon could ever remember seeing it, with clear blue waters and golden sunlit reflections, brilliant greens, and pure white. The courtyard of Watford Academy in summer was gorgeous, and Simon gaped as he took it all in, with its cobbled walkways, and wooden benches with engraved plaques.

Beside him, the Mage laughed, and led Simon down the cobbled pathway, and to a building larger than Simon had ever seen, except for perhaps Buckingham Palace, the residence of royalty.

It was a castle of marble and stone, with high towers, and large glass windows, basking in the rays of sunshine. It glittered and glinted unlike anything Simon had ever seen, even the Palace, and he was certain that the Mage himself knew that. He smiled at Simon, and led the small boy through the hallways crowded with students of Watford, some dressed in what the boy could only assume were the school uniforms, and others wearing street clothing like football jerseys and denim trousers like himself. Some girls wore dresses, but none, Simon noticed, had a teacher with them.

"Sir," Simon asked, looking up at the Mage, "are there any other students like me?"

"Whatever do you mean by, like me, Simon?" The Mage asked back, looking kindly at Simon.

Simon fidgeted nervously with the red rubber ball that he had tucked away in his trouser pocket as they walked the corridors, and some students began to whisper. "Students that come from normal, non-magic families?"

The Mage smiled sadly at the boy, and squeezed his hand. Simon felt dread run through him, and his throat dried. "I'm afraid not, Simon. There has never been the case of a magician coming from a non-magic lineage. Magic is too precious to loose. Now come," the Mage continued, leading Simon along. "It's off to the Welcome Feast in the caf, and then to the Crucible room to get your roommate."

Simon nodded numbly, and allowed himself to be dragged along. He was, after all, rather hungry.

a/n two: sorry that wasn't very long, huh? chapter two will be longer, and of course, we will soon meet baz and penelope!

so, hi there! i'm jae-ha, but you could call me jae, i suppose. this is my first fan fiction, and i really wanted to write about simon, and his years at watford! i think this might have been done a lot before, but i plan to see this through, and finish it-up until the eighth dance. of course, it will probably deviate from what is "fangirl canon" for the gemma t. leslie books, because i want to include snow/baz if i can!

english is not my first language, so excuse any mistakes!

see you all next chapter, and please review/follow/favorite!

love, jae-ha