She drew her card out of the pack and stared at it, twirling it around in her fingers. The ace of spades. That was her all over. A solitary battle-axe.
She'd seen the way Miss Drill had looked at Serge. The way that the older girls eyed up the wizards. The murmur of appreciation when they looked at a man. Constance couldn't fathom it. That DJ had put his hand on her leg and she couldn't see why. Now she understood the reason for Miss Drill's mirth. It wasn't just the way she'd casually zapped his chair away, it was that she'd been oblivious to his advances. As always, she'd arrived too late to that conclusion.
Men were creatures she could barely abide at the best of times. The touch of a rough male hand made her twitch with irritation. But for the first time in her life, she entertained the idea of feeling wistful at the thought of the girls growing up and discovering the world ahead of them. She'd seen it with her peers when she was young, only to make her way alone with no thought to anyone else. Had she missed out? Perhaps she had. But nothing was more difficult than visualising the idea of sharing herself with another person. To compromise on things that mattered to her. It just wasn't in her nature. She had a niggling feeling this wasn't considered normal.
The spade looked as if it were shimmering and for a second she felt heat sweep over her as she held the card. The feeling went away in a few seconds but she couldn't help staring at it.
After a few minutes in deep thought, she decided that she was what she was and who better to focus on such an important job than her? Potions were her life and love and her calling was to teach. She was a fool to worry. She never felt like she had to worry about herself before and she wasn't going to start doing it now.
She pinned the card to the back of the drawer.
No more pointless doubts, she was who she was. And Miss Hardbroom wasn't going to waste time on being something she could never be.