AN: Writer's block took its hold on Golden Dewdrop so I thought I'd try writing something new. A super special thank you to Princess Sammi for her advice and guidance *offers wine for the long university semester, roses and chocolate*
I do not own The Worst Witch or the song Only If For a Night. They belong to Jill Murphy and Florence + The Machine respectively. I highly recommend listening to their album Ceremonials :)
This is my first song-fic so please let me know what you think. Any mistakes are mine. Enjoy.
Title: Only if for a Night
Characters: Constance Hardbroom
Constance Hardbroom rarely slept, and, when she did, she rarely dreamed. More often than not each time she closed her eyes it was nightmares that plagued her vision and made her awaken gasping for air and covered in sweat. Morgana, her faithful companion, was the only one in the entire academy who had seen her inside this state and so, when Constance prepared herself to sleep by putting her book on the nightstand and didn't reach for her bottle of Wide Awake Potion she reacted appropriately - with alarm.
Constance scratched behind her ears to try and console her before blowing out her candle and letting the world fade to nothing.
And I had a dream
About my old school
Witch Training College was a frequent visitor to Constance's nightmares, the stage where her life's greatest tragedies were performed for the pleasure of just one person, Hecketty Broomhead. In fact it was because of her formidable tutor that she now knelt on the cobblestone courtyard outside, rain pouring from the heavens above as lightning formed bright cracks in the skyline. Her hair was a mattered tendril and her tears disappeared inside the tracks of raindrops.
And she was there all pink and gold and glittering
Constance didn't know whether she was a hallucination, created by her fraught and fragile mind to try and soothe her woes, or if it was real. It couldn't have been, her mother had died five years ago, that was why she ended up at this tormented establishment in the first place. But she had to find out. Forcing herself to her feet she ran forwards, landing at the figures toes.
I threw my arms around her legs
Came to weeping, Came to weeping
Tear after tear fell from her eyes as sobs wracked her body and laboured her breathing. She didn't know what to do, what to think, everything was such a mess and she was at the point of just curling up into a ball on the ground and begging whoever was above to kill her; to be merciful and let her die. Maybe that was why her mother had appeared, to relieve her of her suffering.
Then I heard your voice as clear as day,
And you told me I should concentrate,
It was the voice she had heard only in her dreams and yet it passed the lips of the ghost before her. 'Concentrate' just one word? Five years of torture at the hands of an evil personal tutor and that was all she got? 'Concentrate'.
It was all so strange,
And so surreal,
That a ghost should be so practical.
Only if for a night
But that one word was all Constance Hardbroom needed because she realised that her fate didn't lie in the hands of whoever hid behind the stars, her life didn't lie in the hands of her tutor, it laid in her own. Her innocent, teenage hands; she had the power to change her fate and now she knew what to do.
And the only solution was to stand and fight,
And my body was bruised and
I was set alight,
She had no choice. Either she made her escape from this retched place now, while she still had the chance, or she stayed there until she died. Her mother reappeared near the gate, urging her forwards and she couldn't help but follow it, until Mistress Broomhead entered the courtyard. Constance did the only thing she could do, she ran for it, straight towards the broom shed.
Hecketty reappeared behind her, grabbing her student by the shoulder and demanding to know where she thought she was going but she couldn't stop now. She couldn't let fear stop her. Constance closed her eyes, disappeared from her grasp, grabbed the nearest broomstick when she materialized and ran for it; back out into the bitter cold as even heavier sheets of rain cascaded from above.
She looked into the distance and saw her, still shining a glittering gold and begging her come.
But you came over me like some holy rite,
She had to follow it, whatever it was, real or unreal, she needed to follow it and anything had to be better than where she was now. Constance commanded the broom to hover before quickly mounting it but not quickly enough for Broomhead to pull her from it and onto the unforgiving stone floor.
Her head, her body, burned as new bruises formed over her older ones, as her ribs screamed out for relief, just one night where she didn't end up at her tutors personal punching bag, one night where she was free.
And although I was burning,
You're the only light
No hovering this time, Constance used as much of her might as she could, she held her spell casting fingers in position and emitted as much of her magic as she could spare, sending the witch flying down the courtyard where she landed in a heap. Breathing heavily Constance grabbed her broom, quickly mounted it and flew, aiming for the stars, hoping that where ever the ghost below would guide her it would be far away from here.
Only if for a night
Flying high above the trees she watched the figure guiding her path below when they suddenly stopped. Constance landed her broom satisfied that she was far enough away from Witch Training College not to be recognised.
Landing on the ground she saw she was in a graveyard.
Standing as testament to those who had died were the tombstones engrained with the memory of those that passed. Some had photographs, a few lucky graves had been visited and now they were adorned with beautiful arrangements and flowers. Then Constance saw her mother linger at one particular grave and she walked forwards, past row after row of the dead.
Then she looked down and saw it 'Katherine Elizabeth Hardbroom' written in nearly chiselled scrawl.
It hadn't been swept of dust and had cobwebs lingering between any available edges. Overgrown weeds had begun to sprout at the bass and Constance remembered the day of her funeral, the day that everything changed forever.
The grass was so green against my new clothes,
It was a beautiful day for a funeral, not that any day should have been good for one because of what it meant. Though Constance had resided to the fact that they would all die eventually, it was just a matter of how and when. She kept positive, believing that the funeral directors choice to make it a 'celebration of life' would suit her mother's caring personality more than 'funeral'.
And I did cartwheels in your honour, dancing on tiptoes
My own secret ceremonials before the service began,
In the graveyard, doing handstands.
She felt so care free, dancing bare footed along the grass, feeling the soft trimmings beneath her feet and enjoying the cool breeze she created with every twirl. The cemetery wasn't nearly as full back then. The chairs were set, the pulpit ready, the service men and women had arrived and the tombstone had been put into place. The guests however were the last to arrive so she decided to dance, the only thing she enjoyed more than casting spells, both to calm her nerves and as a silent goodbye to her mother.
And I heard your voice as clear as day,
And you told me I should concentrate,
But now, looking at the beaten down, dusty and cob covered stone Constance realised just how long it had been since she was taken away and how long she had been standing in one place. The ghost ushered her forwards and Constance followed, hovering her broomstick and floating just above ground level as they disappeared in the trees. The ghost was right, she had to concentrate on what was important, getting somewhere safe.
It was all so strange,
And so surreal,
That a ghost should be so practical.
Only if for a night
For a moment Constance wondered if what she was doing was right, it felt cowardly, running away and hiding in the woods like some kind of criminal who escaped from jail, but it was necessary. One day life would have to pay her back for all the tragedy, one day it would have to give her a chance at living an ordinary, successful life, one that she ruled herself and one that was commanded by no one.
And the only solution was to stand and fight,
And my body was bruised and
I was set alight,
Her body had been bruised, broken, healed and then broken again. Old bruises had only just healed before others appeared in their place. Broken bones were fixed with the aid of magical potions but were snapped several times and beyond repair but it wasn't just the physical trials, it was her emotional ones as well.
But you came over me like some holy rite,
And although I was burning,
You're the only light.
This phantom, this spirit, had given her a new purpose, had finally set her free until she stood outside a large castle wall and Constance halted her broom. She dismounted. "Where am I?" She asked. The figure pointed to a small plaque on the wall. 'Walker's Gate,' she read as the rain finally began to subside.
She watched the figure shake her hand and begin to fade away, making Constance lunge forwards, trying to stop her from leaving. She was the only thing keeping her from falling apart, her guiding light through the darkness. She couldn't just leave. Just as Constance's knees crashed into the muddy earth below it vanished.
Only if for a night.
Constance slammed her fists to the mud. It was over, there was nothing left for her, the entire journey had been in vain and now she knelt before this one gate. Why was this place so special? Why would her mother direct her here? Just then the door opened and an earnest woman appeared through the rain with a lantern in her hand.
She had old grey eyes and strangely grey hair but a kind smile on her face. Carefully she knelt before her making Constance lift her tired gaze.
My doe, my dear, my darling,
Tell me what all this sighing's about,
Tell me what all this sighing's about.
"How about we get you inside dear," she offered helping Constance to her feet and picking up her broomstick. Supporting the younger girl's weight against herself, her lantern held before them, they reached the main castle doors where another witch stood nervously. As soon as Miss Cackle appeared before her she raced forwards, taking the broomstick and moving it to the broom shed.
In the staffroom with a towel draped over her shoulders Constance stared at the cup of warm tea sitting inside her hands, as the two older witches before her both exchanged a glance. Candles burned offering the only source of light and the lit fireplace warmed her body. They seemed kind enough, Constance mused, but she still wasn't sure of what significance this place held.
The witch who introduced herself as Amelia Cackle talked about how this place was named Cackle's Academy. Not the best name for a witch school but it would do, anything had to be better than Witch Training College. They educated young witches for five years until they sat their final exams and received their Higher Witch Certificates and graduated. She asked Constance what she was doing in the rain so late at night, how she got there, what she was doing with only a broom and a cloak...but she didn't answer.
And I heard your voice as clear as day,
And you told me I should concentrate,
Miss Cackle tried to trigger her memory, ask her more questions about the odd cut or scrape that she had on her arms, about how lovely her hair was, anything to try and get a response, to make her concentrate on particular details and get a reply but none came. Eventually she resided to the fact that it had been a long day and she probably needed rest.
It was all so strange,
And so surreal,
As Constance stepped into a large room with a bed on her left, book shelves and an ensuite to her right, she couldn't help but wonder how these people could be so kind. She hadn't said a word to them and yet they were caring for her, giving her a place to rest for the night. "Dear can I ask what your name is?" Amelia pushed, when the young girl turned to face her.
"Constance Hardbroom."
That a ghost should be so practical.
It was a name that later became legendary. The potion teacher, the Deputy Headmistress, the pillar of strength and resilience, the major influence in enforcing and creating school rules, the teacher that all students feared the most... and the one with the darkest past. The ghost of her mother, whether it was a figment of her imagination or real, had brought her to the only place that they knew she would be safe, the one place that she would truly shine as an example to others.
Though when she laid her head down and Miss Cackle left her alone for the night, Constance could sense someone else's presence. Opening her eyes she saw Hecketty Broomhead standing at the end of her bed, spell casting fingers at the ready and Constance immediately ran to the door only to find it locked. "It's time I taught you a lesson for disobeying me!"
Only if for a night
Constance awoke with a start, her lungs heaved oxygen from her surroundings as she sat up, watching Morgana's head lift in alert. Broomhead was not in her room and she wasn't an innocent teenage girl anymore. She wiped the sweat from her brow in time to see the first rays of sunlight entering her room through her shutters. Forcefully she moved out of bed, spelled her hair into its traditional tight bun and got herself dressed.
With her hat and cloak intact she crossed her arms and disappeared, taking her broom from the broom shed and commanding it to hover.
Silently she flew across the morning sky, watching the stars slowly disappear and the moon retreat while the forest below awoke for another day. After travelling for about half an hour she finally spotted her desired location and landed gracefully. With broom in hand she walked through the aisles between tombstones and stopped at her mother's grave.
Bending down she used magic to sweep away the cobwebs, weed the sprouting grasses and remove all dust and debris. Constance waved her hand and caught an appearing arrangement of flowers before laying it before the stone with solemn eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. The sun's rays eclipsed the sky entirely and the schools bell could be heard chiming in the distance. "Thank you." And with those words Constance mounted her broom once more and disappeared into the morning sky.
Only if for a night