Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch' and the title comes from a little band known as ABBA... ;)

Hey folks :) This was borne from seeing Mamma Mia at the Novello Theatre, in Laaandaaan Town, all the way back in February and since then I've been back and forth with it - numerous times. I still haven't made a final decision on what to do with part two yet, but I'll work it out... :)

It isn't technically a song-fic but if it was then it would probably be a mash-up of 'Chiquitita' and 'Under Attack', both by ABBA.

And as for the actual musical itself...

It was good but I still feel there was *something* very lacklustre about the whole performance. The fact it was all ABBA music did save it though...

...and also got myself and my friend a telling off from the usher for singing 'too loudly'. Oops... ;)

Doing this via the iPad first time so if the format totally screws up, I'll sort it out when my laptop deigns to work.

Now I See You've Broken a Feather

Part One

Standing in the corridor as she peered through the slightly ajar staffroom door, Amelia Cackle bit down gently on her lip; she was growing ever increasingly concerned for her deputy by the minute and also growing angrier with herself for not having acted sooner...

Nearly three full weeks had now passed since they had thwarted Heckitty Broomhead's plans to take over the school as its permanent headmistress and things had more or less returned to a state of normality: lessons continued, the detentions –usually involving Mildred Hubble- continued, and Amelia's thrice-weekly trips down to Cosie's cafe, for cream teas and cheesecake, continued.

In other words, the world carried on turning...

...for all but one.

Constance Hardbroom, fearsome potions mistress and deputy head of the school, able to strike fear into the hearts of her students with one withering glance, was a force to be reckoned with - it was a simple fact and one that no one could deny. With a command of the craft stronger than that of most and a seemingly immeasurable power and knowledge practically radiating from her every fibre of her being, she was not to be messed with. She was the Academy's tower of strength. It was an unspoken yet well-known truth: she was the one who sheltered the school from evil, she she was the one who everyone turned to in times of need for protection, and for guidance.

Now, she was the one in need of guidance.

Not that she would ever admit it.

Instead she continued to hide behind the façade, her mask of indifference remaining perfectly in place as she maintained the illusion that everything was 'fine'; the cracks were beginning to show through however and it was becoming more and more apparent that the sorceress was in a state of deep distress.

Recent weeks had clearly taken their toll on the witch; the dark circles ringed under her eyes, not even make-up could fully cover, indicated that even the few hours of broken sleep she usually did manage to get, had dwindled away to nothing. Her normally well-sculpted cheekbones seemed gaunt from a loss of weight and her deep brown eyes - eyes that once held a flicker of a spark- were empty, replaced by a dead-behind-the-eyes expression as she worked her way through the pile of homework jotters on the table. It was as if she simply did not care anymore; as if she had just given up. Even her razor-sharp command in the classroom hadn't been as on point as usual - something that had not gone unnoticed by the inhabitants of the castle.

She had been so withdrawn as of late and while she could never be accused as one to hog a conversation and steal the limelight, she had never been known to be so quiet. When Imogen Drill had raised an enquiry at the staff meeting earlier in the week about spending some of the school budget on some new PE equipment, she hadn't kicked off as she usually would have done - there was no diatribe about how sports were a waste of the schools funds' and there was no crossed swords between the two of them, she hadn't batted an eyelid; she wasn't even listening. Instead she continued to stare off into the distance, the glassy eyes looking at nothing in particular as she remained lost in her thoughts.

It was obvious that her mind was elsewhere, enchained by a deep sorrow that had sharply entangled itself in every part of her being and, refusing to let go, it weighed her down like a heavy shackle locked tight around her dainty ankle; the burden slowly beginning to drag her under.

Amelia's concern was further fuelled as she witnessed the younger woman reach for her handbag and retrieve from it a glass vial of potion. It was a potion she had come to recognise straight away. It was a potion she had spoken to Constance about on several past occasions, about an overuse.

Wide-awake potion.

While wide-awake potion was not a banned substance, it was not exactly an encouraged one either. Short-term use could be considered acceptable but, like most substances, the longer it was used, the least effective it became – and the least effective it became, the more the user would intake. On their own, the properties of the potion were relatively harmless, but coupled together and they had the potential to be lethal; creating a toxin that slowly seeped into the bloodstream and poisoned it from within.

Though she had never been entirely sure she'd often wondered what could possibly have driven such a strong dependence on the potion – especially from a witch of Constance's calibre –a niggling feeling had always told her that it was more to aid the mind than for anything else. She knew Constance knew how dangerous it was and could not begin to fathom the demons she must be battling, beneath the surface of perfection, which could drive such a heavy dependence: a dependence that was nearing crossing over to substance abuse.

It wasn't until last year however, when Heckitty Broomhead had come to inspect the school, that she had got that teeny bit closer towards finding her answer – and the massive chink in her usually impenetrable deputy's armour.

She had never-as she could recall- seen Constance look as terrified as she had done at the mere mention of the inspector's name. They had practically chased after her as she fled the staffroom; desperate to know why she had reacted the way she had. She hadn't told them much, keeping the details to a minimum and the conversation as short as she could out of a fear she would lose control over her emotions. It was what Constance hadn't said though, that was what had concerned her; the shaky tone in her usually confident voice, the tears threatening to fall from her eyes as she'd fought to keep them at bay.

The fear in them...

...a look of pure unadulterated terror.

She watched on as Constance held the vial of potion between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it as if it was her last lifeline; her tired eyes unblinking, never leaving the contents as she fought against the ongoing battle in her mind and she silently willed for her not to use it. The battle was lost though as Constance gave in and stirred the potion into her tea before taking a sip, hating herself for doing it and throwing the empty vial against the wall in her disgust and shame, not even flinching as the glass smashed into smithereens.

It was clear that whilst she was incredibly talented, Constance was still deeply haunted by the dark demons of her past.

Amelia knew that their encounter on the day of the WTC graduation had happened for a reason. Some may have said it to be fate, others would simply have said it a coincidence and even now, almost twenty years on, she herself was not exactly sure what that reason was but all she was sure of was that it was out with her colleague's teaching abilities and even out with magic itself. For it was clear that while Constance Hardbroom was an incredibly skilled and intelligent woman, it was not only power that radiated from her.

There was a strong and lingering smell of pain.

Somewhere was a deep sadness that resonated within her and the first time they had met, Amelia had picked up on it. She could not explain it but she had immediately felt a gravitational pull of motherly love towards her and, not blessed with any children of her own, over the years had come to think of Constance as her daughter.

Someone who she could take under her wing and take care of; showering her with a love and protection she suspected she had been denied for so long yet so desperately craved. She had watched on proudly over the years, like a mother watching their baby take their first steps, as Constance had grown from the young woman she had been back then, just starting out in her teaching career, to the woman she had come to know today.

A woman whose name the field of potions and magic was legendary. One of the most powerful sorceresses of her generation, dedicating her life to moulding the young minds of her girls and watching on, with a gentle but firm guidance, as they developed into the next witches of the future.

Most of the girls thought she was a bitch but Amelia knew otherwise – behind the snappy retorts and withering glares, she could see the truth; beneath the layer of ice, she could see the little girl lost.

For nearly twenty years now, she had tried to coax Constance to open up to her, never pushing her and offering only encouragement, waiting until the witch came to her and left in the meantime with only knowing odd pieces of a very complicated jigsaw puzzle. There had been a point where she had believed she was finally getting somewhere, slowly and carefully breaking down the barriers that her deputy had built around her; the protective defences that kept anyone from being able to get too close, but then had come the news of the inspection and the minute Heckitty Broomhead's name had been mentioned there was a change in Constance, it was as if that external wall had hardened; becoming tougher to break down, whilst her internal resolve had crumbled as its very foundations gave way.

It pained her and it angered her.

When she'd received the letter at her Great Aunt Gertrude's, telling her just who her replacement was, she had dropped the letter to the ground in absolute horror, her senses barely registering anything that was going on around her, the only thing running through her mind was to get back and save her school from falling into the clutches of evil but more importantly than that, it was to save Constance. It was to save her daughter.

And that's what she had done.

Yet over the past few weeks, she had pushed that motherly instinct to the back of her mind. It had not been an easy task, not by any means; her instincts practically screaming out at her, desperately wanting just to take the younger witch in arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright.

She'd fought hard to ignore it as she knew how Constance would react and the last thing she wanted was for her to close off even more than she already had; she felt her slipping further and further away as the distance grew. For almost three weeks, she had ignored that overwhelming instinct but now she could fight it no longer. She couldn't stand by and watch as her most treasured friend and beloved daughter continued on her path of self-destruction.

She had to do something...

...anything.