Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch

A/N: This is a bit of an AU.

It is inspired by the songs 'Send My Love (To Your New Lover)' and also 'Someone Like You' both by Adele.

Something Old

"Imogen?"

A familiar whisper of disbelief startled her and despite everything she felt her heart doing somersaults at the sound of the voice she had not heard in so long. Slowly, almost afraid too, she turned around.

She was a vision.

The dress accentuated every womanly curve of her hourglass figure; its ivory colour complimenting her skin perfectly and her long dark hair, which had been freed from its usual constrictive bun, hung in loose curls as it streamed down her back like an inky waterfall. The look, which was topped off with the most beautiful veil, was both classy and elegant; epitomising the woman down to a t!

All Imogen could do was stare.

"Constance! You look…" she stopped mid-sentence.

There were not enough adjectives in the world to describe how beautiful the woman standing before her looked.

It seemed Imogen was not the only one who could only stare as the mighty sorceress struggled to take in what her eyes were telling her; a part of her convinced she had finally fallen into the chasms of madness for what other explanation could there possibly be? But, no, it was right enough: Imogen Drill was indeed standing in front of her. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry as she silently congratulated the universe for screwing her over yet again, wishing that just one time in her life, something could just be simple.

"What in the hell are you doing here?!"

'Why on today of all days...'

The question left her lips laced with rather more anger than she had intended and she was unsure if that had been purely down to the sheer shock of seeing her ex-girlfriend or something deep in her subconscious as she recalled the actions of the blonde that had ultimately led to the demise of their relationship.

The potions mistress was not the only one who wanted an answer to her question but, in truth, Imogen herself did not know what she was doing there.

It was as if there had been some invisible force pulling her towards the castle and she had been completely powerless to resist. Despite knowing what day it was, she had somehow found her feet moving of their own accord, only realising what she was doing and turning around just seconds before the witch, by sheer chance, had stepped into the courtyard, needing a moment alone.

Maybe it was the need to see her one more time...?

Maybe it was to get the concrete proof that it was officially over...?

Maybe it was to punish herself further...?

Or maybe it was a mixture of all three.

It had taken just three words for her world to implode; for the fantasy she still half clung onto finally shredding away to leave nothing but a bleak and stark reality.

'She's getting married'.

Amelia Cackle had been reluctant to even tell her when they had met for tea, cakes and a long, overdue catch-up some months before. Her resolve only faltering as she had looked into the pleading green eyes that were staring back at her; she had sworn not get involved but she could not bring herself to lie to the younger woman, knowing that one way or another, at some point, the news would reach the P.E teacher's ears.

Although the elderly witch had been pleased when her two staff members had gotten together, she had also been somewhat sceptical and while the couple had indeed received her blessing, they had also received a lecture... of sorts, urging them to fully consider the implications of what they were entering into and, most importantly, what would happen if it didn't work.

Porcelain fingers had tightened their intertwined grip on tanned ones as both women looked her straight in the eye and assured that this was the real deal and it would work.

It didn't of course.

When it was good, it was very good; and when it was bad, it was very bad, but as things had turned sour, it was catastrophic. There was not a day that went by where she didn't wish she could turn back the clock. It was no secret that the headmistress looked upon her deputy like a daughter and Imogen couldn't help but wonder if she had ever truly been forgiven for breaking her little girl's heart...

She could have left it there.

She should have left it there. But, being her own worst enemy, she'd had ask.

Her false smile fading by the minute as the older woman had briefly explained to her that the woman in question was called Clemency Winterbourne, and they had met when Constance had been invited to guest lecture at Weirdsister College the summer before last.

What Amelia hadn't mentioned though was how afraid Constance had been to even consider saying yes when the professor had asked her out and how it had taken a rather long, late night conversation and a gentle but firm nudge by the elbow of the headmistress to get her to accept the invitation of dinner.

'She's getting married'.

The fact that she was spoke volumes in the blonde's mind as she knew it wasn't something that Constance would have entered into lightly.

During the inevitable discussion of their past histories, she had been gobsmacked when the witch had told her one night in bed that she had been engaged before, only to have her heart and faith shattered as she was left standing at the altar. It appeared to be a common theme in the life of Constance Hardbroom: the gods above deciding to test her at every turn, throwing more misery and crushing pain at her than most experience in a lifetime. Whilst the brunette hadn't exactly said she wouldn't ever consider getting married again, she alluded to it having to be someone very, very, very special and the need for an absolutely implicit trust to even bring the notion to her mind.

Upon hearing the confession, the blonde had felt her heart physically break for the woman next to her, unable to even begin to comprehend how humiliated and hurt she must have been made to feel, swearing to herself there and then that she would never unduly cause this wonderful woman to feel that way again.

"I know that I've said it a million times already but I am still so, so, so sorry; you have to believe me!"

Imogen stood in the doorway of the dungeon where she had known she would find the witch. She could practically feel the sadness and despair emanating from the older woman who was just mere feet away from her and yet may as well have been on the other side of the universe such was the distance between them.

It was a distance that was only growing wider with each passing day.

To look at them now, you would never have guessed that only weeks before, it had all been so different. They had been so different. Sure, there had still been disagreements but there had also been late night conversations and passion filled nights, an exchange of secrets and a promise made between two star-crossed lovers. Now it had all fallen apart and those memories were erasing themselves as Constance's defences kicked in, the wall around her heart beginning to rebuild; each bricking shutting Imogen out more and more.

"...If I could take it back, then I would."

Still, the brunette said nothing.

In fact, the only way you could tell she had even heard the words was from the way her hold on the stem of the glass had tightened; her grip so tight it was a wonder the glass didn't do what her heart had and shatter into a million pieces.

The blonde sighed internally.

Despite her girlfriend's lack of cooperation in proceedings, Imogen remained undeterred as she crossed the room and joined her at the table. Now that she was closer, she could physically see the hurt and anger clawing away within. It was like a knife in the heart every time she entered a room and the witch immediately left it but she knew that she really had no one to blame but herself.

This was all her fault.

One stupid moment of weakness and she had paid a heavy price.

She should have left the room when the artist had started to flirt with her and she should have ended that kiss as soon their lips had come together; she should have stopped when the hand had brushed her leg and she should have most definitely stopped as the same hand had slowly but expertly worked its way up her thigh...

...But she hadn't.

She had only stopped when the sound of glass smashing against the floor broke their heated moment and she had looked up to see the devastated look of betrayal burning in her girlfriend's brown eyes before the witch had vanished into thin air, leaving only the remnants of a sob in her wake. The broken wine bottle lay discarded on the floor. Its red liquid pooling across the tiles like blood; an irreparable act by one party, causing a wound that would set a relationship bleeding to death.

"Constance?"

Constance momentarily closed her eyes wishing she had just vanished as soon her girlfr - as soon as Imogen - had entered the dungeon. It still wasn't too late to disappear but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to move. The blonde's pleading tones sent shockwaves of agony through the heart she knew many believed was made of ice. She wanted to believe her, she really did but she could barely look at her let alone anything else!

"Connie… please, please...tell me how to fix it!"

The heavy silence was broken as the older woman emptied the dregs of the bottle into her glass. Setting the bottle down on the table, she steeled herself and finally looked up into what she had really thought could be her happy ever after, the shattered reflection of her dreams staring back and laughing at her.

"We can't fix it, Im," she replied, emotionally and physically exhausted after recent weeks, all her barriers breaking down in a final showdown. "I-I can't trust you anymore and I-I *need* to able to trust you; I want...but...I-," she stumbled over her words, her usually impressive grasp on the english language deserting her as the intensity of the moment proved too much emotional pressure for her to handle.

Imogen felt as though she had been drenched in ice-cold water, unable to accept the truth she knew deep down was staring both of them in the face.

This was it.

"No," she whispered disbelievingly, " no, I'll... I'll make it right again, I promise." She was on her knees now, literally begging the woman she loved not to give up on them, desperately clutching at her hand like a lost child, the tears streaming down her cheeks mirrored in the ones opposite her," Just please, please; tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

With her free hand, Constance removed the tanned hand from her own as though it were disease ridden, her eyes turning colder than Imogen had ever thought possible. So cold in fact, it sent a shiver down the blonde's spine with the sheer magnitude of hatred that was present. Ignoring the crestfallen face in front her and quashing her own feelings down deep inside her, the words left her lips; her voice cracking like broken glass as she wondered whose heart this was breaking more.

"I want you to leave Cackle's."

Even before they had gotten together, their relationship had never exactly been the easiest.

Complicated.

That was how she would sum it up. That alone should have been a telltale sign. Surely, if it had been meant to be, it would all have been so much easier than it was? Yet, nothing truly worth it was ever easy.

Was it…?

There had been others before her and there had been others since her but none of them could ever compare to the incomparable Constance Hardbroom. The mighty sorceress whom Imogen would have never guessed - not even in her wildest dreams - had wanted her: the ordinary mortal, but she had…

From the moment they had met they had clashed in a meeting of the minds and a disastrous first exchange had sealed their impressions of one another.

She had thought the super witch nothing but a super bitch ( an incredibly attractive super bitch albeit but a super bitch nonetheless) , convinced she got some form of twisted pleasure from making those around her suffer.

The witch hadn't exactly done much to detract her opinion, loathe to allow anyone to glimpse beneath the surface, even for a moment. Despite her best attempts, there were odd glimmers in the mirror's reflection of the soul: a rare laugh, a lingering sparkle in the dark eyes, a steely determination to get the best from her girls for her girls; all those little things telling that Constance was not as heartless as she had first thought.

In fact, she would soon learn that this woman had more heart than most.

"Well?"

Constance raised an eyebrow, indicating she was still awaiting an answer to her question. She was trying her best to remain impassive and in control of this situation but she was unable to keep her hand from shaking. The tremor was so slight that most people would have been none the wiser but Imogen Drill was not most people.

It was at that point the blonde seemed to realise where she was and just what she was doing, a scarlet hue creeping up and under her cheeks as she began to garble an apology. "Oh god! I'm so sorry, Constance. I'll leave... right away." Before she turned to leave, she couldn't help but share one final thought, "You look beautiful by the way...she's a lucky woman." With that, she turned around with the intention of fleeing the scene of the crime.

She had barely taken two steps when a voice called her name.

"Imogen, wait!"

She turned back, wondering what the witch could possibly want. Though she knew that the brunette would never hurt her, she couldn't help but feel the nerves that rose within her. Along with a flicker of hope.

As she waited, Constance faltered, nervously toying with the end of the ribbon on her bouquet as she played for time, "That wasn't supposed to come out so harsh. I just-I wasn't expecting to see you here... today but I'm glad you're here, actually," she set the flowers down on the bench in the courtyard and walked towards the puzzled blonde. "I-I want to apologise."

It was the last thing Imogen had expected and her eyes almost bulged out of her head upon hearing that, "Don't be ridiculous, Constance, you have nothing to apology for. After all, I'm the one who-" she stopped; neither needing a reminder of her actions.

"Yes," Constance agreed quietly. "But even still, how I acted...," she cringed internally as she recalled just how childish she had been, "it wasn't professional and it wasn't fair. I was mad. And I was hurt. I forced you out of the school, Imogen, and despite the... circumstances, that was wrong. And I'm sorry."

The blonde looked her ex-girlfriend straight in the eye, searching for any signs of insincerity, but all she could see was total honesty staring back at her, "I'm sorry too."

"I know you are."

Silence fell between and for a while they just stared at one another, each wondering what the other was thinking. Finally, someone spoke.

A confession.

"You know I thought at one point we might have ended up here."

"...really?!"

The brunette nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Another lifetime maybe?"

Constance gave a small smile, "...Perhaps."

A single tear broke free from the dark eyes.

"Please don't cry, Constance."

Imogen quietly opened the staffroom door. She had just awoken from a rather graphic nightmare and was reluctant to go back to sleep straight away. Although it was the early hours of the morning and she didn't expect to find anybody else there, she still tiptoed in, her subconscious aware of the need to be quiet so as not to disturb the rest of the school by clattering around like an elephant or Davina Bat.

She stopped short, taking in the figure that was sat at the table. The room was in darkness bar the glow of a single candle.

"Miss Hardbroom!"

There was no response.

The witch had her back to the door so Imogen couldn't see her face but she could see the way her body was shaking.

"Are you alright, Miss Hardbroom?"

Still, there was nothing.

Reaching out, she gently touched her shoulder, "...Constance?"

Ever so slowly, the potions mistress turned around. It wasn't until she had lifted her gaze and their eyes met that Imogen noticed she had been crying, faint trailings of smudged eye make-up visible in the candlelight as the tears continued to stream silently down her cheeks.

For a moment, the blonde didn't know what to think as shock penetrated her whole system. It occurred to her that in all the years she had been at Cackle's', she had never, ever seen Constance Hardbroom cry. Even in situations that would have pushed most people to breaking point, Constance had remained as granite-like as always; the sky could have been falling down around her and she would not have faltered, instead simply restoring the natural order of things without breaking so much as a fingernail.

This was something new. A clear chink in the mask that the witch wore.

She had to admit that there was something rather unnerving about seeing such a strong woman in such a state of distress and yet…it was somewhat satisfying to see that she actually had the emotional capacity within her to cry! As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Imogen felt beastly; witch or not, of course Constance had feelings. She was human, just like she, and through past interactions and observations, she suspected Constance Hardbroom was not nearly as infallible as she pretended to be.

Yet still, 'I'm fine' dripped from the burgundy lips with the ease and execution of a longterm actor. One who had mastered their lines without the need to refer to the script.

Never one to ignore someone in pain, she gently sat down next to her, concern immediately rushing through her, intermingled with thoughts on how breathtakingly beautifully vulnerable the witch appeared in that very moment, salty tears clinging onto her long eyelashes.

"Hey, what's all this?"

"It's…nothing. I'm fine, Miss Drill, really. Now, go back to bed."

Imogen Drill didn't budge.

She could be just as stubborn as the woman sitting next to her.

Reaching into her tracksuit pocket, she pulled out a tissue and handed it to the older woman who eyed it reluctantly before conceding defeat and wiping away any evidence of her crying.

"Is this to do with that inspector woman who is coming to the school tomorrow? What's her name again... Heckitty Broomhead?"

The dreaded name pierced the silence of the air like a call of death and she didn't miss the witch flinch.

"Who is she?"

"I've already told you that she was my tutor at Witch Training College."

The PE teacher recalled the words that had been used to describe the woman in question: Relentless, thorough, demanding…

She recalled the squeak that had fallen from Constance's lips the minute her identity had been revealed; the quickened steps and panicked breathing as they had chased the potions mistress down the corridor; the glazed look in her eyes as she had fought back the tears...

"That's not what I mean, Constance, and you know it."

"What are you doing here anyway?" the brunette asked, changing the subject altogether in a bid to shift focus before she spilt her guts and said too much.

"I couldn't sleep." Imogen replied. "Had a nightmare… what about you?" She knew fine well what the witch was trying to do and wasn't letting her get off so easy.

Constance remained worryingly silent.

Concern lingered in the green eyes staring back at her and she felt a spark of warmth deep within her frozen heart. With a heavy sigh, she answered the question. "Sometimes, Imogen, even when we wake from the nightmare, there is no true escape from it."

There was something so defeatist in her tone and demeanour that the blonde was at a complete loss of what to say or what to do, She briefly considered going to get Miss Cackle, knowing that the headmistress probably had the best understanding of Constance Hardbroom but she knew the witch would never forgive her.

What had happened to Miss Super bitch that she'd fought with only the day before?

This wasn't the woman she knew...?

Then again, Imogen reflected sadly, she really didn't know Constance at all. Likes?, dislikes? Her favourite film?... Did she even have a favourite film?! Constance kept the details of her personal life and her past so closely guarded that the younger woman had often suspected that she was running from something.

Or from someone...

"If you don't tell me what is wrong then how can I help…?"

Choking back a bitter laugh, mixed with what sounded like a sob, the brunette replied, "Oh, you can't help me. No one can."

"That may well be but let me at least try."

Splash.

The witch cursed as another tear trickled down her cheek.

Slowly reaching out, Imogen wiped under her eyes, removing the trace of her tears, her fingers lingering as she gently stroked the porcelain skin, "Please don't cry, Constance."

The heavy silence was electric as both women stared into one another's eyes.

Time seemed to come to a complete standstill as their lips met in the most perfect kiss.

It was somehow fitting that the moment where it all started was the moment where it finally ended, things having come full circle, the two now free to go their separate ways with no ill feelings between them.

Before she could stop herself, Imogen reached out and gently wiped underneath the dark eyes, the moment so reminiscent of all those years ago, "Please don't cry, Constance," The pair of them realised the irony of the situation and choice of the words so she quickly added, "you'll ruin your make-up for starters."

Despite herself, the witch laughed slightly, extremely grateful for the break of tension, "Quite."

Reaching into her bag, Imogen handed her compact mirror to the brunette who took gratefully took it, magicking an eye pencil. Once she had finished, she stared into the compact as though looking for the answer to the question in her mind. Guessing what she was probably thinking, the blonde answered the question she hadn't asked.

"Does she make you happy?"

The surprise question brought Constance out of reverie as she nodded, a smile appearing on her lips, "Very much so."

"Well then," Imogen said kindly after a moment, handing her the bouquet,"Your answer is simple: you marry her, sweetheart. And if she breaks your heart then I'll kill her," With a gentle kiss on the cheek, she brought the veil down over Constance's face. "

The witch held out the compact mirror but the blonde shook her head,"You keep it, Connie. It can be your something borrowed..and its blue."

"Im, " Constance began, fresh tears shielded by the veil but the emotion evident in her voice.

There had been a point where she'd hated Imogen Drill, thinking that sports was a waste of time and had no place in a magical education establishment. That hate had grown to a tolerance, eventually turning to a quiet like and then that like had changed to love before returning to hate again. Only this time, the hate was different; borne of an anger and hurt over what she knew to be true and not from misconceptions she'd previously made. And yet... despite everything, there had remained a lingering of love. Even now, there was a part of her that still loved Imogen and if she were truly honest with herself, she knew there would always be a part of her that would love Imogen.

The difference now though was that she was no longer in love with the blonde.

She sighed. Theirs had always been such a complicated relationship and since the younger woman had left some years before, she'd wondered if that was always how it was destined to end.

The happy ever after that wasn't quite what it ought to have been.

In some ways, it was perfect; right until the end, it was so them.

"...Thank you."

Imogen just nodded, struggling to hold her own emotions together. This was by far the hardest thing she'd ever had to do and it was taking every ounce of willpower she had. She wanted to beg the witch not to go through with it. She wanted to tell her to choose her; to marry her, to let her make her happy but she knew she didn't have the right to make such a request.

Her Grandmother had once told her that if you truly love someone, then you set them free.

Despite the heavy battle weighing itself in her head and her heart, she knew what she had to do because this wonderful woman standing before her, she deserved everything and so much more.

"Goodbye Constance, I wish you both nothing but happiness."

With that, she turned on her heel and without looking back, walked away from the only woman she had ever truly loved.