Apparently I can't consume a piece of media without wanting to whip up a character of my own and throw them at my fave to see what happens.
This is going to be very cute, and very gay, and hopefully fairly silly in places (though displaced in time is never a totally angst free trope, so we'll see how we go).
Enjoy!
It's barely been two weeks since Halloween when the teachers go into a panic one afternoon. It should be alarming, but honestly, with how this year has gone so far, it's just astounding that they've gotten two weeks of relative peace. (Relative being the key word - there have been three accidental animal transformations and a third year girl who was bright blue for a day and a half, but nothing of particular note otherwise.)
Still, when Miss Cackle is looking serious, that means it must be something properly worrying, and it doesn't take too long to work out why.
The moment that Mildred and her friends look out of the windows, they see that there's a thick, familiar mist brimming outside. The kind of mist that fills the whole area, suffocates the castle, trapping them inside or - well. Mildred is never going to forget the last time.
"The Mists of Time are back?" Mildred asks Miss Cackle.
"It would seem so," Miss Cackle says, a deep frown creasing her forehead. "It was so many years between the last two times. This is so soon, not even a year. All we can do is ensure that everyone stays inside."
"Don't worry, I'm on it," Miss Drill says, blowing her whistle at full volume and making a nearby Miss Hardbroom wince.
"So long as everybody stays inside and does not wander off," Miss Hardbroom pauses to give Mildred a meaningful warning look, making the girl gulp and hurriedly nod, "there is theoretically no cause for concern. Everyone get to your classes as per usual."
"With the exception of PE, which is now a free study period," Miss Drill adds.
And so the afternoon progresses more or less without incident.
Even the first years manage to stay out of trouble - Mildred attempts to warn Sybil and her friends about the mist, only to learn that Ethel has actually done so already, to make a nice change. There's no way they'll be going anywhere.
"At least it seems like we all learned our lesson after last time," Maud says as they leave their final class for the day.
Almost the moment the words leave her mouth, there is a knock on the front door of the school, and the girls freeze.
After a few moments, there is another knock, consisting of several rapid taps.
"Um… Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred finds herself asking the thin air in the hopes that she might appear. In the past, it's seemed as though she can listen in on conversations and just materialise, so it seems as though it is worth a chance.
Sure enough, Miss Hardbroom transfers next to them a moment later, her posture stiff.
"What is that infernal noise?" she asks, craning her head around to look at the door, where the knocking is getting more insistent.
"Someone's knocking," Maud says.
"I can hear that, Miss Spellbody," Miss Hardbroom says with a sigh of exasperation. The tension in her frame has not faded at all, but she begins to walk towards the door, only to stop.
She transfers away, only to transfer right back a moment later, this time with Miss Cackle at her side.
"Hecate, what-"
Hecate simply points a finger in the direction of the door and the knocking. "We appear to have a… visitor."
"But the Mists of Time-"
"Are still present, yes."
Miss Cackle steels herself, and moves to open the door while Miss Hardbroom and the girls watch silently. The door finally opens and a woman comes striding through, broom in her hand. She's wearing dark robes over a bright red and orange flapper dress, the style of which Mildred recognises from watching period movies with her mum. The broom has glittery ribbons coming off the tail.
"Finally," the woman says as she looks at them all and grins. "I was starting to get worried I would be left out there for goodness knows how long. Bizarre mist, isn't it?"
They all stare at her.
"Right, sorry, stranger turning up on your doorstep," she says, making a face and laughing a little as she bows with her hand to her forehead. "Well met. Frances Fairheart. I'm here to pick up Miss Belinda Barnes?"
Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle exchange confused looks, the former mouthing the name with an odd look on her face, and Mildred finds herself doing the same with her own friends. There's no one at Cackle's with that name, as far as Mildred knows.
"We have a Miss Brittany Barnes in Year Four, and she is the only Barnes currently enrolled here," Miss Hardbroom says to Miss Fairheart, eyebrow up. "Is that who you were looking for?"
Miss Fairheart blinks at her for a moment, and then laughs. "No, no, I'm not looking for a student, I mean Belinda Barnes, the teacher. When I say pick up, I mean, you know, for a night out. Dancing, cocktails, that sort of thing. I'm sure she's expecting me."
It sounds lovely, in theory, except that if this woman has been in the mist, and she's wearing an old kind of fancy dress… she's probably come from the past. Which means that whoever she's looking for was probably here a long, long time ago.
"I'm afraid there's no one here under that name, teacher or otherwise," Miss Cackle says slowly, with a sadness to her voice that doesn't make sense to Mildred at first, but then it hits her. "At least… not anymore."
The smile is finally fading from Miss Fairheart's face. "I… I don't understand."
"Do you know what those mists outside are, Miss... Fairheart, was it?"
Miss Fairheart just gives her an odd look. "I'm sorry?"
"What year is it?" Miss Hardbroom asks her, out of nowhere, and in any other situation Mildred might have punched the air, because so far her theory is right.
"Is this a trick question? 1926."
"1926," Miss Hardbroom breathes, and Mildred gets the idea that while she had been expecting an answer different to 2017, she hadn't expect an answer that far from their current time.
"But that's ninety one years ago," Enid blurts out, from their place several metres back.
"What?" Miss Fairheart says, with great alarm, looking past the other adults to the three girls. "Seriously, if this is a joke, you really need to work on your-"
"I can assure you it is no joke, Miss Fairheart," Miss Cackle says to her, quietly, making the younger woman look back to her with a new vulnerability in her eyes. "It is 2017 and my name is Ada Cackle, and I am Headmistress here. And the more I think about it, I think I did know a Miss Belinda Barnes, a long time ago, when I was a young girl myself and at school here. She was one of my favourite teachers. The most spry and sharp of any older women I knew, more so at seventy than I myself am now."
"Seventy," Miss Fairheart whispers.
"She taught potions, did she not?"
"I believe so."
"Theoretically, we should be able to get you back easily enough," Miss Hardbroom interrupts, "simply go out into the Mist, and then return."
"That will get me back? To ninety one years in the past?" Miss Fairheart asks hopefully.
"I don't know," Miss Hardbroom says. "But it's worth a try."
"Alright. Well, thank you. I'll give it a try."
With a nod to them, and then to the girls, Miss Fairheart grips her broom harder and exits out of the front doors. While she is gone, Mildred glances at her friends, who shrug and go back to watching the door, to see if anything happens. Miss Cackle and HB are watching the doors too.
A minute later, the door opens, and Miss Fairheart enters once again, and her face falls when she sees them.
"Damn," she says.
"I was afraid of this," Miss Cackle says.
"Why didn't it work?" HB asks her, half curiosity and half concern.
"If I were to theorise, it would be that Miss Fairheart was not inside the academy when the mists arrived, thus the previous protocol of being returned to one's own time by returning through the same place one exited, cannot quite apply."
"Meaning?"
Miss Cackle looks away from Miss Hardbroom without answering her question, and gives Miss Fairheart a look of extreme sympathy. "I am so sorry, Miss Fairheart, but I'm afraid there is a very strong chance that there is no way for you to return to your own time."
Miss Fairheart takes a long, shuddering breath, her grip on her broom so tight that her knuckles are stark white.
"Can you think of nothing?" she asks.
"We can do our best to look into the matter, but I don't wish to give you any kind of false hope," Miss Cackle says to her. "But we will of course be more than happy to help you with the… adjustment."
"Right," Miss Fairheart says. "Um. Thank you."
"Miss Mould's quarters?" Miss Hardbroom asks Miss Cackle.
"An excellent idea, Hecate."
"Our… art teacher recently had to vacate her position, you may use her quarters for the moment," Miss Hardbroom says.
"Oh, thank you," Miss Fairheart says, surprised. "Sorry, and you are?"
"Hecate Hardbroom, deputy headmistress, and current potions teacher," Miss Hardbroom says. "I believe I'm actually familiar with some of Belinda Barnes' academic work, now that I think on it. If you are interested, I may be able to find it for you."
"I didn't actually know her very well," Miss Fairheart admitted. "We'd only met the once. This was supposed to be a first date of sorts. I was only meant to be in the country for a week."
"Where had you been living?" Miss Cackle asks, putting a hand on the small of her back and leading her towards the stairs.
"Paris, they throw the most wonderful parties," Miss Fairheart says, eyes lighting up a bit. "You know, one time, there was a wizard who was dared to-"
"Girls, run along to your rooms," Miss Hardbroom says to Mildred and the others, glowering. "And speak of this to no one. There is no need for the whole school to be involved in such a private matter."
"Of course, Miss Hardbroom," Mildred says, and Enid and Maud chorus their agreement.
It doesn't stop them from whispering about it amongst themselves in their rooms long past bedtime, however.
By morning, the Mists of Time have cleared, and with the sun shining, there is not a trace left of them.
Not a trace, but the witch now wandering around the perimeter of Ada's office.
Frances Fairheart is probably not quite thirty, with light brown skin and dark eyes, with similarly dark hair that falls in curls just past her chin. She's beautiful in the way so many ridiculous women are (and Hecate uses this adjective and comparison because she's still wearing that absurd glittering dress underneath her dark robe, and no sensible witch would put such long ribbons on her broom). Or, she would be that typical sort of beauty, if it were not for her stronger jaw that gives her a hint of something more singular.
Currently her dark eyes are curious and quiet as they move around Ada's office, while her hands clutch a historical volume on the second World War and the notable magical events within it. They'd given her a number of history books the night before after showing her to Miss Mould's room, so that she might be able to spend the evening reading and find out what the world had endured and created and become in the ninety one years she had skipped. (With the understanding that, should they find a way to return her to the past, she agree to take a memory-altering potion so that she not go forward with dangerous foreknowledge. She had thankfully agreed immediately.)
"How are you doing?" Ada asks her. "I know it must be quite a shock, but we're here to do anything we can to make it easier for you. Do you have any questions?"
Frances hesitates, a look of dismay crossing her face, and it's odd, because Hecate has always thought that some faces seem to be made for certain expressions and not others, and the emotion just looks wrong on her features, like they're not used to hosting it.
"So much has happened," Frances says, biting her lip. "The world went to war again, parts of it are still so-" She goes quiet again, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive my lack of - I'm not used to dealing with unpleasant things, I think this is the most serious I've had to be about anything since I was eighteen."
"Is there anything we can do for you?" Ada asks her. "Is it possible you have any living friends or family? Children?"
An odd, barking laugh escapes from Frances.
"No. No children. No… anything. Guess I should be grateful I never had any family to lose. Some friends in Paris, sure, but… I'm sure they got over it."
"I see," Ada says, sadly.
"Oh," Frances breathes, eyes widening a fraction. "My gallery. I wonder what happened to it."
"Your.. gallery?" Hecate asks, confused.
"Yes, tiny little thing, but it was mine, and that made it - well. Doesn't matter now, I suppose," Frances says, only to cough into her free hand and force a smile, shrugging. "Probably just got given to the next remotely talented person who came along. Which is fine. Good, really. I just… wonder what happened to my work." A strange look crosses her face. "Hold on. Did you say it was your art teacher who had had to vacate her position? Is there… a vacancy?"
Ada looks at her with interest. "Your gallery… as in, an art gallery? Are you an artist, Miss Fairheart?"
"I am, actually," Frances says, brightening. "Painting and dancing, mostly, but I dabble in others. I've never taught children before, but I'd be more than willing to try, I love sharing that sort of thing with other people-"
"So what I am hearing is that you are not a qualified teacher," Hecate interrupts, frowning. "Which means that we couldn't possibly-"
"Oh, Hecate, but how can we ignore such a fateful thing?" Ada asks, claspings her hands together. "A capable artist, lost in a new world, falling right into our laps just as we need one."
Hecate stares at her with disbelief. "I wasn't under the impression we needed an art teacher at all."
"Of course you do," Frances says, laughing. "How else are they going to learn to express themselves? Unless chanting lessons have really progressed since I was in school, and with the books you've given me to look at, I'm fairly sure they haven't."
Hecate Hardbroom, then and there, decides that she is fairly sure she is not going to get along with Frances Fairheart much, if at all.
Ada, however, being Ada, laughs. "You're already sounding like Miss Mould. She was an excellent creative spirit."
"Oh yes, because her sounding like the woman who was planning to betray us all to free your psychopathic sister is absolutely a positive sign," Hecate retorts, astounded.
"I beg your pardon?" Frances asks, looking at her with confusion.
"Well, given that Miss Fairheart comes from a time before my sister and I were even born, we are hardly in any danger of that particular scenario repeating itself," Ada says patiently, with a smile. "I even found Miss Fairheart in some old witching records early this morning, and it seems she did indeed apparently vanish off the face of the earth in 1926."
"Does this mean… I have a job?" Frances asks tentatively.
Ada smiles warmly at her. "Provided that your inexperience with teaching children doesn't become a problem, I don't see why not, at least on a trial basis. And it will give you time to adjust regardless."
"Thank you thank you thank you!" Frances exclaims, beaming from ear to ear and doing an odd little spin of excitement. "I'll do my absolute best, I promise, and I'll welcome any teaching advice you'll give me."
"How… eager… of you," Hecate says, making a face.
"You do seem to be taking this whole situation remarkable well, for the most part," Ada says, tilting her head a little.
"Well, crying would ruin my makeup when I just fixed it, and honestly, I'm never one to look back, only forward - which admittedly, is trickier in this particular situation, but I'm about making the best of things. I'll be honest, I sort was waiting for something to take my life in a new direction, just because I was getting bored," Frances says, with an odd little laugh. "And, alright, this is definitely not what I had in mind. This is absurd. But I think it might actually be better. Parties and galleries were fun while it lasted, but I've always felt like I could do more-"
Hecate is astounded at how rapidly this woman is able to talk, and how few of any of those words really meant anything of substance. It makes her immensely uncomfortable.
"Well, your enthusiasm is charming," Ada says, making Hecate want to roll her eyes. "And I would be delighted to give you some tips on teaching, as I'm sure Hecate here would be as well."
"I-" Hecate's protest dies in her throat as Ada gives her a firm look. "Of course." She attempts to give Frances a smile. "I can teach you how to have a very firm hand, which is absolutely needed with these girls, some in particular."
Frances grins at her. "Tell you what, I'll see how I go, and then ask for help with whatever problems arise."
Ada smiles and nods. "An excellent idea. Welcome to Cackles, Miss Fairheart."
Hecate guesses, as Frances does another little twirl, that it will be less than forty eight hours before she is on the mirror to Pippa, complaining about this new addition to their faculty.
It takes twenty five and a half hours, and only because the new art lessons don't start until the next day.
Sometimes, Hecate Hardbroom is sure that the universe is determined to try and persuade her that she should give up on teaching. She never listens, of course, but it's at times like this that she really wishes it were possible to challenge the cosmic force of the universe to a duel for the chance to win some fucking peace and quiet.
Pippa will make her entrance next chapter and I'm beyond excited.
Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought!