She Is Not Fair To Outward View
Her very frowns are better far
Than smiles of other maidens are!
~ Hartley Coleridge
"Don't even start, Imogen."
Constance Hardbroom run into the staff room, one hand covering her left eye, her face twisted in the most ridiculous grimace the PE teacher had ever seen. She couldn't help it but giggle at the witch as she tried to look at her black eye in the mirror, looking completely ridiculous.
"Come here, Miss Hardbroom, let me help you with that."
The temporarily one-eyed brunette looked at her with doubt, trying to raise her left eyebrow for the effect but failed miserably.
"I had medical classes in college, you know. Just sit here and I will patch it up for you."
The potion teacher was not completely convinced it would be a good idea to trust her colleague's nursing skills but seeing that her attempts to fix it failed, she had no other choice. Imogen couldn't decide whether to be insulted by the lack of faith the witch put into her or honored that she was allowed to help the skeptic woman. Constance sat down while she collected some cold water and a towel. Then she dipped the white towel into the cold water, softly applying it under the witch's eye to minimize the pain. Constance hissed when the cold towel touched her cheek.
"I suppose I don't even have to ask who is responsible for the black eye, do I?"
"The usual suspect was not present at the crime scene, I am afraid. I was attacked by Ethel Hallow's innovative third year project instead."
"Is she trying to come up with a spell to beat teachers up? Because in that case you might end up worse than this," the blonde couldn't help it and giggled, teasing the annoyed patient. Constance rolled her eyes and her black eye twitched, causing Imogen to accidentally put more pressure on it than she originally intended. The older woman cried out in pain and moved her head away from her.
"Well, you seem to be the one beating up the teachers here!" she remarked with a hint of hurt in her voice.
"If you weren't so restless it would be much easier. "
"It hurts," she huffed.
"I take it you are not used to bruises, are you, Miss Hardbroom?" Imogen inquired.
"Unlike you, Miss Drill, I do not tend to put myself in situation where I could be hurt. I do not see what is so unusual about that."
Imogen couldn't help it but smile at how sensitive the witch was to pain. She would whine and make faces, complaining about how indelicate Imogen's touch was. She knew that Constance was not used to touches but only then realized that by not allowing people to touch her, the woman developed hypersensitiveness to any form of human contact. Finally she stopped cooling down the eye and softly traced her fingertips along Constance's strong jaw line.
"What exactly are you doing now?" Miss Hardbroom snapped, feeling quite uncomfortable to have her face examined like that.
"Nothing. Just checking if the broom didn't do any other damage to your face," the blonde lied.
By the look the sitting woman gave her she could tell that she was not satisfied with the answer. But what was she to tell her? Imogen didn't think Miss Hardbroom would respond well to compliments, no matter how stunningly beautiful the PE teacher found her.
"Are you going to help me with the patch or is your quest for bruises going to continue for the rest of the day?"
Imogen rolled her eyes and walked to the medical cabinet where they kept all the bandages and eye pads. She cursed under her breath when she saw that the eye pads box was empty.
"Miss Hardbroom, I am afraid we run out of eye pads."
"What? Run out of eye pads? How is that even possible, last time I checked there were plenty!" her voice went up with each word.
"Was that before or after the incident with the magical boxing gloves?"
The question did not need to be answered. Three weeks ago Fenella Feverfew decided that it would be a good idea to invent a spell that would make boxing gloves box on their own. Neither Miss Hardbroom nor Miss Drill understood why anybody would come up with something like that – but then again, it was Fenella and she was not exactly known to have the most sensible ideas. The spell worked almost perfectly : the gloves kept boxing and boxing and eventually chased the fourth year around the castle, trying to beat them up. At that day many eye pads were needed.
"I've got an idea," Imogen suddenly proclaimed and opened the cupboard where Davina Bat used to dwell so often. She dug through the open boxes, accompanied by Constance's doubtful glare. Then she found was she was looking for and presented it to Miss Hardbroom.
"You must be joking."
"It's the only eye patch we have left." Constance threw a disapproving look at the black 'pirate-like' eye patch in Imogen's hand. She let out a dramatic sigh.
"Sometimes, Miss Drill, I think you enjoy seeing me suffer."
Imogen just grinned and gently placed the patch over the witch's eye, fixing it in the back of her head. When she was done, she leaned back to take a look at her colleague.
"Ay, ay, Captain," she giggled inappropriately. The cold glare Constance rewarded her with was enough to make her not utter any pirate references any more but not enough to make her shut up.
"I think you look dangerous. That is your usual style, isn't it, Miss Hardbroom?"
The pirate queen rolled her eyes (well, an eye) and stood up from the chair to examine herself in the mirror. Anyone else would look silly with such an eye patch but she managed to look simply different and not at all silly. It amazed Imogen how the woman was able to wear basically anything and the respect that everybody in the Academy had for her wouldn't cease. Sometimes, she wished she could be like that.
"Do I look stupid, Miss Drill? I cannot decide," the witch addressed her.
It took Imogen a bit too long before she responded. She took the question seriously and tilted her head to the side to examine the older woman in her full glory. Her dress was the usual black that made her look very old fashioned and sophisticated, the silver chain with keys around her hips giving her the look of a watchdog, a dangerous animal – but at the same time, a protector. She let her eyes rest on Constance's hips for longer than was necessary, a daring thought of placing her hands on each side creeping to her mind.
Forget it, Imogen. You were asked a question, so answer it, dammit!
The elegant way in which Constance held herself didn't look stupid at all and neither did the rest of her beautifully curved body. The witch was tall and thin and to Imogen she seemed fragile in a way – which was in contrast to everything the woman represented. Her skin was pale, somehow unnaturally pale and her lips were pursed, anticipating an answer to her question. The younger woman wanted to respond but her attention was caught by that piercing eye that was watching her. The cat-like shape of Constance's eyes gave her face a mysterious touch, the same way it makes a cat look fearless and supernatural. She wore a black eye-liner, fully realizing the power of her look and exaggerating its potential. The dark edges of her iris contrasted with the deep brown color it surrendered and gave her eyes a certain depth. Imogen was simply fascinated by the witch's gaze.
"Am I supposed to wait forever for an answer?" Constance crossed her arms.
"Uhm, no, of-of course not," Imogen stuttered, realizing that she completely forgot what her colleague had asked her.
Damn, think, think! It was something with appearance, wasn't it?
"You look beautiful," she said, mentally slapping herself. She didn't mean to say that! Constance frowned, taking it as a joke. Not a very funny one, though.
"I mean, it looks beautiful. No, wait – what I mean is – uhm…"
You're so screwed, Imogen.
"The eye-patch! It looks good. Yes, it does. It doesn't look stupid at all," finally she remembered the question. "You don't look stupid!" she said at least and sighed.
She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. Constance watched her for a moment and then took a few steps towards her. Imogen gulped. No matter how friendly she was, she didn't like people entering her personal space like the witch just did.
"Are you making fun of me, Miss Drill, or do you really mean it?"
"I mean it, I do find you beautiful," she answered in a small voice. That seemed to surprise the taller woman and she stepped back from Imogen, looking confused.
"I meant if you really mean it that I don't look stupid," Constance specified her previous question in a shocked voice.
"Oh…that."
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Constance looked as if she was about to shout at Imogen but then stopped herself and took a deep breath.
"I think we should go now, Miss Drill. The demonstration is about to start and we don't want to be late, do we?" she said, sounding as neutral as any other time.
"Of course we don't, Miss Hardbroom," Imogen replied and quickly left the staffroom, followed by shouting Constance.
"Right girls, get into line – check you have everything you need for the demonstration before you fall into the Great Hall. If anything goes wrong, only you will be the losers!"
Imogen watched as the deputy walked to Miss Cackle and sighed. She could hear the rage in Constance's voice and knew it was the way the brunette dealt with the honest compliment she had gotten from her. All she could do next was to hope that one day, Constance will realize she was not making fun of her nor was she mocking her appearance.
Somewhere deep inside, she also hoped the witch would realize her true feelings beneath the words.