"Constance! Please! At least tell us who this woman is for goodness sake!"
Amelia Cackle felt a flutter of panic as she watched the tall, imposing and usually unflappable figure of her deputy retreat rapidly away from the staff room door. Amelia hurried her pace as her decidedly shorter legs struggled to keep up with Constance's long and rapid stride. Miss Bat and Miss Drill pursued them, the four women's footsteps creating an unruly symphony on the stone flags.
"If she has a reputation Constance," exclaimed Miss Bat "shouldn't we be warned?"
Constance Hardbroom stopped abruptly, inhaled deeply and whirled round to face her colleagues
"Mistress Hecate Broomhead" she began, struggling to keep her voice even "was my personal tutor at witch training college; she more or less taught me everything I know. She was quite the most thorough, demanding and relentless witch I've ever come across"
September 1982
Hecate Broomhead surveyed the three rows of new undergraduates sat before her, each returning her stern gaze with nervous expectancy. The college didn't have a uniform beyond the cloak and hat for formal occasions but the girls were expected to wear black – the cloth of their calling. Already Hecate could see which girls were going to attempt to push the boundaries of this dress code. Her eyes scanned the room for the three girls of interest. Usually she wouldn't pay any attention to the new undergraduates – preferring only to teach more advanced magic, but this year's class had three promising talents. Hecate selected only the most talented girls to come under her personal tutelage; an honour she generally only bestowed upon third year girls who showed enough promise to proceed on to a further fourth year of additional study. On rare occasion she had been known to take on a second year a little early but it had never been heard of for her to show interest in the first years.
What happened in Hecate Broomhead's personal tutorials was largely unknown even to the college faculty. Girls who were selected to be tutored by undeniably one of the most accomplished witches of the age were sworn to secrecy about Mistress Broomhead's methods. The staff, however, caught enough in what was said or, rather, what wasn't said, to know that Hecate had some unorthodox and highly demanding methods. Indeed, the Dean of the college on more than one occasion had been tempted to step in but she could not deny that Hecate produced the college's most successful witches and the prestige that these accomplished alumni went on to bring for the college was not something they could afford to lose. However, when Hecate had expressed her interest in the new intake of witches there had been some disconcerted mummers. A more mature witch of twenty one with proven talent was thought far more able to endure the demands of Mistress Broomhead for one or two years if they went on to postgraduate study. New young witches, fresh from school were another matter entirely.
Hecate had needed to use all the persuasive tools in her power over the Summer break to get the dean to agree that she could meet the first years but she was unwilling to allow Hecate tutelage of all three girls at such an impressionable age. She finally agreed that Hecate could select one girl from the class who she could tutor initially on a six month trial basis. Hecate's steel gaze now scanned the class in front of her to identify the three girls which had been the subject of her summer long campaign.
The first, Celeste LeFey was easy to identify. She sat in the centre of the second row; her penetrating green eyes and cascade of auburn hair standing out starkly in the group of black clad girls. While the other girls sat upright, Celeste was leaning on one elbow, supporting her chin in her hands and she had about her the unmistakeable air of someone who was longing to escape the confines of her classroom for the late summer air. Celeste came from a highly renowned family of nature witches and had until this moment been entirely home schooled. In normal circumstances, Hecate would have been entirely against a home schooled witch being admitted as she felt they lacked the discipline which was instilled into girls from the best schools. However, it could not be denied that Celeste had excelled at the entrance examination and there were rumours circulating that she had performed magic in a style which none of the staff had seen before. This was enough to pique Hecate's interest although she had to admit that the girl's liberal upbringing, for which the LeFeys were renowned, alarmed her. She was uncertain that the girl had the discipline to abide by her rules and teachings. If there was one thing Hecate Broomhead detested, it was unruly and opinionated young witches.
The second girl was sat on the front row. Blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail and an unbowed and alert posture which indicated a childhood of privilege. Dorothy Pendle-Jones had achieved top marks from one of the most famous and expensive witching schools in the country. She came from a long line of well-educated witches. Her father was a magus on the wizarding council and her mother had inherited the Pendle family home from her doting father and had invested her not inconsiderable talent in becoming the witching world's most influential socialite. Her expensive hothouse style education would make her a perfect candidate to continue to expand her skills under Hecate's programme of study. Hecate was however slightly wary of such pampered girls who initially acted compliant in order to earn their tutor's favour but were often unwilling to bend to Hecate's rigorous regime and iron will.
The final girl was something of a dark horse. Sat in the back corner of the class room, Constance Hardbroom was a thin, pale girl with dark hair piled on top of her head in a severe bun. The hairstyle and her plain black dress had a slightly old fashioned air which made her appear much older than her seventeen years. Constance was a year younger than the other first year girls, having been skipped forward a year early on in her schooling. Her father was a rather well known inventor who was employed by the government and spent much of his time abroad. The girl's mother had died when she was an infant and her father, devastated at the loss of his wife and disappointed that he did not have the wizarding son he craved to continue his work, had enrolled the young Constance into boarding school as soon as he was able and accepted a government commission to the Amazon. This was the last Constance or anyone else had heard of him for many years. The young girl had spent her school holidays with under the care of an elderly great Aunt until she had passed away three years previously. This left Constance entirely alone in the world and her last three Summers had been spent largely secluded in the safe haven of her school library. She had attended the kind of school that Hecate Broomhead entirely disapproved of. It was far too common in Hecate's opinion for a witch with reasonable talents and a soft heart to pass these castle schools down the family line and run them with the minimum requirement of qualifications. Witches who did not strive for perfection in their own teaching could not be expected to instil excellence in their students. These witches had a tendency to coddle their students in Hecate's view, focusing more on their care and development than on the transferring of knowledge. However, on this occasion, she had to admit the school in question had exceeded her expectations. Constance Hardbroom was not only the youngest witch to ever be admitted to the college, she also had achieved the highest mark on the entrance examination for three decades.
The girl was now staring at Hecate entirely impassively, her dark eyes taking in the classroom without giving any indication of how she was feeling. Hecate cleared her throat and the volume in the classroom dropped from hushed anticipation to complete silence.
"Good morning. I am Mistress Broomhead and for most of you this will be the last time you enter my classroom until you study Level Six advanced spells and potion making in the third year. That is, those of you who make it that far. However, as you will be aware, each of you are assigned a personal tutor to guide you through your studies and a small number of students are given the honour of coming under my tutelage. Make no mistake, I only select the best and most promising witches, and this year I have decided to select one girl from the first year class. The girl who is chosen, if she applies herself, will remain under my tuition for the next four years. I do not have the time or patience for lazy, weak willed or undisciplined students."
Hecate surveyed the young witches in front of her once more. Some, like Celeste, were looking pale and worried while a small number, including Dorothy Pendle-Jones were looking back at her with calculated eagerness. Only Constance Hardbroom appeared unmoved, sitting at the back of the class so still and silent that she was almost invisible to her fellow classmates.
"In order to select the witch, I am going to test your magical abilities through a light conjuring spell. So far, your schooling will have involved the reciting of incantations and production of potions, and some of you may have even experimented with the production of artificial light. A light conjuring spell, however, is one which comes from within the witch herself and requires not only the learning of the correct incantation but also a measure of both physical and mental exertion. Such spells are generally considered too advanced for classroom magic. Have any of you come across this spell before"
Immediately, Dorothy Pendle-Jones thrust her hand into the air.
"And you are?" Hecate inquired, keeping her knowledge of the young witch to herself for now
"Dorothy Pendle-Jones, Mistress Broomhead"
"You claim to have come across the spell before?"
"Yes, Mistress Broomhead. I won the national schools spelling contest last year and light conjuring was the final round"
"I see, and you were successful in this task I take it"
"Well, almost successful Mistress Broomhead. My attempt was considered far better than my opponent's which was why I was awarded the title."
"But you did not actually produce any light?"
"No Mistress Broomhead"
"All of you should take heed of this. In your schooling, you will no doubt have heard many such phrases almost successful, a fair attempt, good try; in my classroom we call these things what they are – failures. My students strive for perfection and anything else is simply unacceptable. Is that clear?"
Dorothy Pendle-Jones was now looking at Mistress Broomhead with something that bordered closely on resentment. Hecate deliberately caught the girl's eye and she quickly adjusted her expression to a well-practiced look of keen and earnest interest.
"Now, since none of you have ever produced a light conjuring charm before I shall show the incantation required. Pay attention, as I will show this only once and know that remembering the incantation will not be enough. Only those with the mental strength and application are likely to succeed. Light requires a modicum of the witch herself"
Mistress Broomhead, lazily placed her outstretched palm before her and said clearly "Fortus illuminatum!" Immediately, a large sphere of white light appeared, suspended in the air above her hand. She closed her palm and the light at once was extinguished.
"Now" she addressed the class "you may try"
There was a moment of hesitation as the class looked at each other nervously, then the thirty witches began to stretch out their palms and in slightly quavering voices, spoke the incantation. As Hecate expected, the majority were unsuccessful. Some succeeded in producing a flash or a spark that died out as quickly as it had appeared. Only four witches succeeded in producing a sustained light. Three were the previously singled out pupils and the final was a girl sat on the opposite end of the row to Constance Hardbroom. She had short cropped hair, an unsupressable wry smile and was slouched in her seat in a way which suggested she was not taking the class as seriously as her fellow first years. Hecate frowned, she looked like a cheeky girl and Hecate could not abide cheeky girls.
"Very well, the four girls who have produced the light may remain. The rest of you can get out"
There was a scraping of stools and scrabbling as 26 girls gathered their belongings and hurried from the classroom. A small number looked disappointed but most were relived to leave the stilted atmosphere of Broomhead's classroom behind them.
"Now that we have separated the wheat from the chaff" Hecate addressed her remaining four students when the final girl had left the classroom "we will see what you can really do…"