Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch and the few songs lyrics that will be used throughout belong to Rihanna's 'Russian Roulette' (Massive Ri-Ri fan, if you've not yet guessed :P)
A/N: This will probably be a couple of chapters long. Things may or may not be as they seem as I've not decided what happens yet (in true Sammi fashion ;) )
I'm not really counting this as a full songfic as I've only used parts of the song (as the full thing didn't fit) depending on where and if they fit into the text, so it is not in order. One of the lines I changed from he to she, as it made more sense to do so.
I'm almost using the idea of Russian Roulette as a metaphor; obviously they're not going to actually play RR (though there will be a battle). If I was going to do that, then I would hand HB a magnum, have her turn the gun on Heckitty and blow her brains out lol.
Wee shout out to the lovely Long Vodka for her support and fun chat * offers Miniature Heroes* :)
XxX
A/N - Edited 2013- song lyrics removed. I've worried for some time about copyright laws and have thus made the decision to remove the lyrics from any writing I have done. :)
Russian Roulette: Chapter 1
And you can see my heart, beating
You can see it through my chest
Said I'm terrified but I'm not leaving
I know that I must pass this test
It was always a game when it came down to Heckitty Broomhead; a game of life and a game of death. A game where there was only ever one winner.
Her.
Yes, over the years she had played many a game and she had won. Every time. She was the kind of woman who made deals with the Devil, and then double crossed him.
Showing no mercy for the poor innocent souls she had stepped on along the way, she stomped down hard, ensuring they were broken; ensuring they were so broken they wouldn't get up again, ensuring she held the power over them. Many witches had met their end in this way, except from one. There was one witch who, no matter how much she was beaten down, somehow found the strength to get back up again and to carry on.
Constance Hardbroom.
Heckitty was deeply disappointed in her former protégée, to find her, after all this time, working in a second rate establishment like Cackle's Academy. The thought was almost laughable. She had shown so much promise; she'd had such a gift, such a talent, the ability to perform spells not yet learned by witches of double her young age. All that training she had given her was obviously going to waste, all that time she had spent building her Ice Queen clone, and with one word she could melt her to a mere puddle on the floor. It simply wasn't good enough.
As well as disappointment she also felt a deep seated anger towards Constance and the rest of the Academy. They had humiliated her! They had made a fool of her – Heckitty Broomhead- how dare they?! Her blood boiled; did they not know who they were dealing with?! And the almost smug underlying tone in Constance's voice as they had bid farewell enraged her.
Her hand remained still as she clutched the crystal brandy glass, downing the remains of the liquid; it slid down her throat with perfect ease. Pursing her thin lips together she rested the rim of the glass on her lip, as they curled into a lethal smile.
It was time to remind Constance Hardbroom just who was in control.
XxX
The storm tore through the air; the wind howled, like a lone werewolf out for the kill. Ready to destroy its surroundings, ready to destroy everything that stood in its path; the lightning crackled in the sky, the only source of light that flashed in the abyss on an otherwise dark night. Absent of the moon, absent of stars, lost in the anarchy that filled the skies above. Rain battered relentlessly off the window ledge as the torrential downpour flooded the ground below.
At the top of the mountain, its view almost obstructed by the tall trees in the forest, stood an old castle. The trees surrounding it standing proudly; like soldiers ready to protect it and its inhabitants from any impending danger. Despite the storm that raged just outside their door the residents of the castle slept soundly; peaceful dreams filled their slumber as they were transported to their dreamlike state, where they could let go of their cares, their worries and just sleep.
Yes, all were asleep, with the exception of one: their tower of strength, their pillar of hope, the most powerful witch they knew.
Constance Hardbroom.
It had been a long tiresome day: one which she never wished to repeat. One which had left her emotionally drained. She had prayed with all her might that she would never have to face her former tutor again, but, as always, luck was not on her side. She had reasoned with herself that by not thinking about her past, she could erase it from her memory, she had even half believed that she was starting to heal and put the demons of her youth to rest when she had re-entered her life. Sweeping in like a tornado, out to cause destruction.
The minute she had heard the name, she had panicked. The minute she had came face to face with her; she had felt like she was back under her tutelage at College. It was as if nothing had changed; the piercing eyes watching her, judging her every move, desperate to find fault; the tremble she could not shake from her voice every time she was addressed by her. She had escaped her clutches all those years ago and she had just about escaped them again today.
Sitting clad in her purple pyjamas, her long dark hair cascading down her back; the curls framing her face, at her dressing table she picked up another jotter from the neat pile of the third years work, still awaiting marking. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate she couldn't focus on what she was supposed to be doing, her eyes were on the page but she couldn't tell you what the words said. Her mind was anywhere but on the task in hand.
After reading the same sentence no fewer than five times she finally gave in, throwing the pen against the mirror, angry at herself for losing her composure. Resting an elbow on the table and massaging her temples she attempted to ease the pounding headache she was currently experiencing: it was as if an army of drummers were present in her brain, all playing along to the same beat. Her thoughts muddled as the rhythm danced in her head, the upbeat tempo drowning out her working mind.
She sighed before conceding and making her way over to the bed, pulling back the immaculately smooth sheets, she climbed in pulling the covers tight around her, but with little intention of sleeping. Her eyes heavy, begging for sleep; the exhaustion, overwhelming but she daren't close them. Each time she did she was thrown back into memories, memories she had tried her hardest to forget.
The foul play of dark magic filled the air, she could sense it, but she couldn't stop it. An invisible force forcing her eyes to close, she was powerless. It dragged her into unconsciousness as if it were dragging her down into the depths of hell, throwing her into a snake pit of nightmares. She writhed and screamed in a frantic attempt to escape from her nightmarish hell. The flashes brief, the images vivid.
Her usual calm and collected composure abandoned as she fought to regain control of her mind. The tears spilling down her cheeks, the glistening beads of sweat perspiring on her porcelain skin.
A clock … a chime … a scream … a knife …
Using all the willpower she could find deep within her, she fought hard to escape the invisible reins of her nightmare. Without warning, suddenly she was thrust back into reality; her eyes wide, the droplets of water running from them like a tap that had been left on; her throat hoarse from screaming out; her heartbeat racing, beating so fast she could hear it against her ribcage. Taking a few slow and very shaky breaths she tried to calm herself down. She could feel it; another's presence in her head, laughing in her ears: a maniacal; evil laugh. One devoid of any emotion; devoid of any kind of empathy.
This was down to her.
She knew it.
Heckitty was never going to let her win. She was never going to let her have control; she was never going to let her be free. She'd haunted her throughout her time at WTC, and she was still haunting her now. The poisonous voice pierced deep into her skull, still taunting her; the talons, still firmly grasping her.
It was at that moment that something suddenly snapped deep within her; whether it was the years of torture and anger building up inside her for all those years finally over spilling as it reached beyond boiling point; whether it her fear for the others at the Academy, she didn't know, perhaps it was a mixture of both? Her emotions tangled together in her mind.
Mildred Hubble came to the forefront of it, she would be loathe to admit it, but she saw so much of her younger self in Mildred and, though the girl had her faults, she showed so much promise and possessed such courage. The last thing Constance wanted was for Heckitty to get her poisonous claws into Mildred. She would destroy the girl; leave her nothing but an empty shell, a tortured soul, just like she had done with her. Sparks shot from her fingertips as her anger bubbled over, her eyes flashed furiously, the dangerous spark of a lioness determined to protect her young cub.
It was now or never. It was time. Time for the final battle: one would triumph, and the other would fall. Regardless of the outcome, there would be no going back.