Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch, and the song 'Mad World' belongs to Gary Jules.

A/N: Hello folks *waves from roof of house* I thought I would show that I've not actually fallen off the face of the earth lol, I know I said I would still read some ff but I grossly underestimated how much work was involved in the 3rd year of my uni course, which needless to say, has taken up most of my time.

Still the semester has near enough ended now *yay* and with the exception of an essay and two exams *boo*, next month is shaping up to be a pretty fabulous one! I shall hopefully find some time to catch up with all the unread fics that have piled up and bombard people with reviews.

Anyway, about 12 weeks ago (funnily enough when I went back to uni. Bloody timing!) I came home one day and Dad was listening to 'Mad World' by Tears For Fears and it was the 'bright and early for the daily races' lyric that kicked this off in my head as for the rest of it … god knows where it came from lol but I had to write it, as it would be stuck in my head until I had done so and would (and has) consequently drive me insane. Granted its taken a hell of a lot longer than my usual 4 day average but I blame uni for that. :P

I decided to use Gary Jules version of 'Mad World' instead of TFF as 1) The tone of GJ I feel fits a whole lot better for the context and 2) I just genuinely think it's a better song. Dad doesn't agree with my second point, and we had an extensive debate over it. I won: D

This basically follows the same premise of the HB/BH format but is actually set mainly during Constance's time at WTC. In many aspects it's the usual theme but because of the song used I've – or tried to at least – put a different slant on things.

Thanks goes to HBR, who knows of the logistical problems I've had with this, for her kind words and advice. Many Thanks, hunnii. *Muwah* :)

Now I'm going to shut up and get on with it: P

A/N - Edited 2013- song lyrics removed. I've worried for some time about copyright laws and have thus made the decision to remove the lyrics from any writing I have done. :)

Mad World

Constance Hardbroom walked through the hallowed halls of Witch Training College. Like every day, the halls she walked down were the same, the faces she passed by were the same. After a while they didn't even register, instead just becoming a blur. Lost in a sea of black; a pit of despair; their outlines merging into the never ending darkness.

It was just another morning. The sun disappearing behind a cloud as rain plummeted to the ground unyielding; the droplets falling like the tears she could not cry. It was just another day. Another day where the seconds ticked by, each one feeling twice as long as the last. Another day when not one of them was allowed to go to waste.

If she'd had her way Constance was sure her tutor would've had classes starting at dawn; seeing anything that wasn't studying or preparing for the future, as a waste of time.

Every day was a battle, an uphill struggle; it was a fight to the death. If you didn't win, if you didn't succeed, then you failed. And if there was one thing Heckitty Broomhead couldn't abide, it was failure. To fail; meant you were weak, and the weak had no place within her college.

It was easy to spot a student under her tutelage. After all, they were all the same: sucked of all life; their expressions blank; their eyes empty; their emotions locked away, unable to feel, unable to think their own thoughts, acting only how they were told to, like a puppet on a string. In a crowd they all looked the same, but if you were to look a little deeper you would see there was one whose eyes were so much emptier than the others; so dark you could fall into them, whose soul was that bit more tainted and whose emotions were so much more guarded. It was she who Heckitty had singled out, it was she who Heckitty had chosen as her protégée.

The classroom was so quiet you could practically hear a pin drop. Apart from the ticking of the clock and scratching of quills against parchment, it was silent; void of sound. Each student silently praying for the bell to ring so they could escape from the lion's den. No one dare dreamed of passing a note during Heckitty Broomhead's lesson. Talking, whispering; even breathing too loudly was considered as risky.

The tyrant herself sat behind an old wooden desk as she watched her students work. Her gaze was so intense and unnerving as she watched their every move. It was almost as if she was daring them to make a mistake, daring them to make a sound. Her poisonous gaze travelling along the rows of students until it settled on one in particular.

Constance Hardbroom.

The minute she had first laid eyes on the young girl, she had known she was special; known she was gifted, an aura stronger than that of the most accomplished witches and wizards. The power radiated from the child, she would go far; under her guidance. After all, it was all about 'Confidence and Control' and if there was one thing Heckitty Broomhead loved, it was control.

Constance briefly glanced up to look at the blackboard and immediately regretted her action as her deep brown eyes locked with her tutor's. She could feel her stomach knot and the nausea rising in the back of her throat, and swallowed in an attempt to keep it at bay: it burned in her throat in the same way that Heckitty's eyes burned into her own. Those eyes bore into her like a laser; piercing right into her very soul, damaged as it now was.

Keeping her gaze firmly fixated on Constance, Heckitty could see the pure fear present in her eyes. She could see it, and she relished it; her thin lips curling into a smile that wouldn't have looked out of place down in the depths of Hell, before she turned her attention to the clock on the wall. Her snakelike eyes watching as the hour struck.

"Class dismissed. And Constance?" Constance looked up upon hearing her name. "Don't forget you have your private tutorial with me tonight. Be there, 8 o'clock sharp!" With that, she disappeared into thin air.

"Yes M-Mistress B-B-Broomhead" Constance practically whispered in her wake. She could feel the beginnings of tears prick at her eyes and blinked them away; refusing to show weakness; refusing to let them fall, but a solitary tear found its way down her cheek and as if in slow motion splashed onto the page in front of her, causing the ink to smudge as it mixed with her sorrow.

She had never been a selfish person, her instinct always to protect others first and herself later, but at that moment she wished so hard that there was someone who could protect her, someone who would come and save her from this hell. She had always tried to be strong, but when it came down to it, she was still just a child. And that child inside her, the one who had once upon a time looked up at the world in wide-eyed wonderment didn't understand. What had she done so wrong?

'Why me?' She thought sadly,' what have I ever done to you?'

The harrowing scream which had reverberated around the room echoed in her ears. Her scream. A scream for the mercy she knew she would not be granted. A scream she had tried not to let pass her lips, but eventually she'd had to give in; the pain was unbearable, the agony like nothing she had ever experienced as her own magic was used against her. Usually her magic was a comfort to her; a safety blanket of protection, but now it felt more like a dark curse. She cried out again as yet more power was torn from her, it was agonising; a feeling of her insides being ripped apart tore through her organs, before it engulfed her all over at Heckitty's command.

Her vision was starting to blur but she could make out the red glow of light as it danced from her tutor's fingertips; she could hear it as the raw energy crackled and fizzled in the air; and she could feel it as it dispersed within her like a current of electricity, but not before giving her a shock of what felt like at least a thousand volts. It coursed through her body like a fire spreading its flames of destruction.

She could no longer scream, she couldn't breathe; her throat constricted as she fought for each and every breath, her efforts proving futile as she found herself unable to take more than shallow and ragged gasps; her chest became tighter and tighter as she struggled to find the oxygen her lungs desperately needed. The air in the room thinned as the walls seemed to close in around her. Her limbs felt disconnected from her body as her mind flicked between reality and the dream-like state she was fighting but inevitably entering into.

Her eyes felt heavy, so very heavy. It was almost as if some unseen force was manipulating them; forcing them to close, and she was powerless to fight against it. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before becoming still.

She could hear a voice faintly calling out to her but could see nothing of her surroundings except from a pure whiteness as she drifted along in a sea of rare calmness and peace. As far as she could see, she was the only person there, she was alone. Again; it was a feeling she had long gotten used to.

Constance didn't know how long she had been in this place, there was no concept of time; it could've been minutes, hours or even days and she would've been none the wiser. Ever since she was little she had always sought comfort in the darkness, and especially since she had been at WTC. At least when it was dark the monsters that cast their shadows on the walls couldn't be seen but, in strange way, the whiteness was almost comforting; it was like a blank canvas, a chance to start anew. She felt weightless as she floated through the vast atmosphere. She felt free; there was no hurt, no pain, and most of all, there was no Heckitty Broomhead.

The voice was still calling out to her, disturbing the tranquillity, breaking the silence. It had been distant at first but now it was definite, and gaining in volume and malice; the venom in the tone slowly poisoning her surroundings, like a boa constrictor choking its victim to death.

A sharp pain jolting through her ribs brought her back to reality and out of the whiteness she had found herself in. Constance didn't want to open her eyes; keeping them closed seemed so much more inviting, so much safer. She wasn't even sure she could open her eyes, they felt weighed down and she was finding the effort all too much. Her eyelids flickered a few times before they finally opened.

No sooner than they were open she wanted to close her eyes again, everything around her went into overdrive as her senses assaulted her with sound, sight and pain. It was like the whole world had been shouting at her and she'd only just taken her fingers out her ears. Everything sounded so muffled as it all blurred together, merging into one, whirling around her like an out of control tornado.

It took her a few moments to regain her focus and process what was going on around her. Constance realised she was still in the classroom; her body instantly coming into contact with the cold stone floor now spattered with droplets of her own blood. She watched it fall, drop by drop, falling in perfect sync with the ticking of the clock; as if mesmerised by the pattern it formed as it hit the floor. She could feel her tutor watching her, without the need to turn around and see her.

Even when Heckitty wasn't there, she was always watching her; always breathing down her neck. Where Constance was concerned she seemed to have some sort of radar, as well as the tracking device she had clamped around the child's wrist in her first week in WTC.

Slowly raising her head Constance met the gaze of the woman she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life, and the eyes that would be with her and judge her until her dying days. The first time she had looked into them she knew she had sealed her own fate. She had heard in the past that the eyes were the window to the soul, but there was nothing behind Heckitty's; they were empty. There was no warmth, and no sign of any ever having been there. There was no colour to them, but fire and pure evil danced within them.

Tears pooled under Constance's eyelids, blurring her vision. Tears she couldn't let fall. To show emotion, to cry; was a sign of weakness and Heckitty despised weakness almost as much as she despised failure. In fact, to her, they were one and the same. Weakness wasn't tolerated, weakness was punished; mistakes weren't made and perfection was demanded at all times.

With an expression not too dissimilar to a cat who had got the crème de la crème of cream, and the whole dairy factory thrown in Heckitty tossed an old cloth rag at her.

"Satisfactory Constance", she never praised success. It didn't do to let the students get complacent for standards would slip, mistakes would be made and time would be wasted.

"Now clean yourself up and get out of my sight this instant!"

Reaching out for the leg of the desk knowing it was the only chance she stood of being able to stand Constance went to pull herself up from the floor, her fingers just curling around it and no more when Heckitty grabbed her wrist tightly, digging her fingernails deep into the porcelain skin and drawing blood.

"On your own" she hissed.

Trying to ignore the pain shooting through her wrist, as well as every other bone and fibre of her body and using all the sheer willpower she could find within her Constance managed to stand and slowly made her way to the door of the classroom. Once she was outside, she had barely taken two steps before she doubled over in agony clutching her aching ribs, she was sure one was broken.

The floor beneath her dipped and swayed as her vision swam with dizziness. It was so strong and so prominent she could barely see, like a tornado was spinning around in her mind; manically rising out of control. And with the dizziness, came the headache.

The corridor was silent but her head felt every noise, every vibration, every movement and every twinge. There was a sharp stabbing pain between her eyes, and her legs felt like they were going to give way on her at any moment. If she managed to make it up the stairs to her room then it would be nothing short of a miracle.

Placing a foot on the first step and with a tight grip on the banister Constance began the long ascent. It seemed there was twice as many stairs as usual. It was mocking her, deeming her failure at the simplest of tasks; even climbing a flight of stairs. The staircase was old and spiral uneven steps paved the way, steps so old they were beginning to crumble away to nothing. She lost her footing; the corners of her vision blackened as unconsciousness consumed her.

Then it all went dark.

Birthday

The day a person celebrates the date of their birth. For a child it is often with a party, surrounded by their friends and family; often with presents and games and birthday cake. A time when a wish is made and hopefully makes all their dreams come true.

As the clock struck midnight and the chimes rang out across the whole building Constance whispered 'Happy Birthday' to herself. Not that there seemed much point. After all, it was hardly going to be a happy occasion, there was hardly cause for celebration. Her birthdays had once been such a happy occasion; full of love and laughter, but now it was just another day in a seemingly never ending year.

Last years' had been the worst, when news of her Mother's death reached her she had been devastated, and it only worsened with the news that she was now left in the care of the woman who had been made her official guardian, Mistress Heckitty Broomhead.

She wasn't allowed to cry at the funeral.

The cold wind blew from outside, but compared to the bitter coldness emanating in her small bedroom it was nothing, and compared to how frozen and cracked her heart had become, it was like a burning brazier, offering warmth to those who needed it.

Going over to the small window she looked out, noting how the sky seemed empty; the luminescent moon which usually offered her a little comfort was nowhere to be found and the absence of the stars in the sky made it feel all the more darker and on this night, made her feel more alone than ever.

And in all truth that's what she was.

Alone.

The students at WTC didn't know her; yes they exchanged pleasantries in the hallways, but no one really knew her. They had never bothered to find out, and she wasn't willing to share, believing that if she built an icy wall around her heart she could keep people at a distance. And keep herself from being hurt.

She wasn't even sure she knew who she was, she certainly didn't recognise the girl who stared back at her in the mirror, she didn't recognise her, and she couldn't stand her.

Heckitty had changed her into somebody she never was. She didn't see Constance as a child; a girl or even a person, she just saw her as a plaything; something to toy with purely for her own sick amusement. Like clay she had squashed Constance, crushed her spirit and then remoulded her into the perfect protégée. Constance's opinion didn't come into it. Not once. Heckitty didn't ask Constance what she wanted. She didn't care. Constance bent to Heckitty's will or she suffered the consequences.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her and gently traced the scarring that covered her arms. They no longer hurt to touch but she could still remember it all; the method; the screams; the tears. Her physical wounds would heal but her emotional ones would remain, forever embedded like tiny shards of glass that were too deep in the skin that to remove them, would only cause her more pain.

Her anger mixed with her emotional turmoil caused a burst of her magic and sparks outwith her control shot from her fingertips and across the room shattering the ornate mirror in the corner. She leant against the door, cursing herself for losing her cool before sliding down it into a heap on the floor. Pulling her knees tight to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sat and cried. The minute that first tear fell it was like a floodgate had been opened; as the tears poured down her cheeks with an uncontrollable force. Her sobs heavy and caught in her throat. Her long dark hair falling over her face like a curtain; loose strands tickling her nose and others sticking to her tear stained cheeks.

She stayed there, curled up in that position and eventually at some point in time, somehow, she fell asleep, her dreams were not pleasant and were far from sweet.

They never were.

Dreams were just an unconscious state of reality; the darkened dreams of a broken childhood. Constance didn't know which she preferred. It seemed there was just no escaping from Heckitty Broomhead: She was always there; always watching; always judging, be it in day-to-day life or in slumber. Sleep, when one could escape from their problems, evaded her. Every time she closed her eyes she was haunted beyond belief with nightmares; memories of just what the woman had shown herself to be capable of, memories so vivid she felt like she was reliving them there and then.

She would wake up drenched in sweat; eyes wide with terror; throat hoarse from screaming out in her sleep. Screaming for her to stop, screaming she was sorry, though it fell on deaf ears, screaming for somebody, anybody to help her. Of course no one came. No one ever did. Sometimes she thought it would be easier if she didn't wake up...

Constance awoke in the dim morning light to find herself leaning back against the door. Wiping the sleep from her eyes she craned her neck and rubbed it, trying to ease the stiffness that had set in overnight. The room was deadly silent and then she heard it: the sound that made her heart stop and chilled her to the core. It was the sound of worn out heels advancing down the corridor getting closer and closer with each step. There was only one person who they could belong to …

Quick as a flash she hastily scrambled to her feet to change into her uniform and make her self look presentable; a smart appearance had been lesson one. She had just finished sliding the last hairpin into her hair securing it in its tight bun and pointed a finger at the mirror: the shards of broken glass flying back towards it and back into their place like a jigsaw puzzle, within moments it was as good as new, when the sound of a key being placed in the lock was heard and the handle was turned. Constance stood straight-backed, head held high, but not before her eyes did a quick scan around the room, hoping that nothing was out of place, not that Heckitty ever needed a reason to pick fault where she was concerned.

Ever so slowly the door opened; the creaking of the hinges in need of a good oiling, sounded like nails being scraped down a blackboard, the little light that had been in the room was choked as it suddenly darkened when Heckitty stepped from the shadows. Constance held the breath that was caught in her throat; she didn't dare let it out. She stood perfectly still, as her tutor walked round inspecting the room and her, trying to stop her legs from shaking and keep her standing upright. Not a word was said, but the silence could be cut with a knife.

Almost seeming disappointed at not finding any dust or anything wrong Heckitty turned to leave, she approached the door and at the last minute turned around and back-handed her student with such a force it knocked her off her delicate frame and sent her sprawling to the floor, smacking her head off the stone floor in the process.

Heckitty walked around her like a lion circling its prey then raising her foot booted Constance hard in the stomach, pleased when she doubled over in pain. Mores blows were delivered to her stomach and her ribs again and again. Ignoring her pleas she dragged Constance to her feet by her hair, her grip was so strong that the bun started to come loose and clumps of hair came out in her hand; as if they were infected with some deadly disease Heckitty flung them to the floor, and then grabbed her right wrist and started to twist it until she heard, and Constance felt, the bone snap and Constance screamed out in pain. Letting go of the grip on her hair she knew Constance's shaking legs couldn't support her and watched with great satisfaction as she fell to the ground once more, tumbling down like a house of falling cards. Heckitty delivered one final blow in the ribs before leaving her broken, bloodied and bruised on the floor; in pain, in agony, in darkness and alone.

"You have potions in ten minutes. Don't be late."

Not for the first time since she had been at WTC, Constance considered telling somebody what Heckitty was like, but deep down she knew it would be useless. People knew what Heckitty was like; people knew what the WTC was like. It was a well-known and yet unspoken truth; when you entered those gates you left the old you at the door, and when you left you were a shadow of your former self. A gaze vacant, like something was right in front of you, only you couldn't see it. Those who did believe her would be too frightened to stand up to Heckitty and god knows what Heckitty would do to her when she found out. You didn't cross Heckitty Broomhead and live to tell the tale.

Those were the words Heckitty whispered to her one night. She would never forget the callousness glee in her eyes and tone as she chillingly added "maybe if your mother had learnt that earlier she would still be with us today …"

Managing very slowly to crawl to the bathroom, like someone crawling through a hot sandy desert desperately trying to reach water but only ever seeing a mirage and using the sink for support Constance very unsteadily got to her feet and sitting on the edge of the bath began to tend to her latest lot of injuries.

She looked in the mirror and saw her tutor's face staring back at her, laughing in her face; telling her she was weak, telling her she was a failure, telling her she would never amount to anything. Then she looked again, looked at her sorry reflection staring back at her: the dark eyes, the bright red mark on her cheek where Heckitty's palm had struck her, the cut above her eyebrow slowly dripping blood down her face, her cut lip and the blood running down her chin. Holding her aching sides with one arm, she turned on the tap with the other, and wet her facecloth with icy cold water before holding it against her cuts, wincing a little as it stung.

She couldn't be weak she realised. No matter what Heckitty said, she knew deep down she wasn't. Day in day out she was beaten, tortured, belittled and broken down and each time she had picked up the pieces, clambered to her feet and continued on. It took an incredible strength of the mind to be able to do that; an incredible resolve, an incredible determination.

It was the love of her craft that kept her going through it all; when she spoke of or was learning magic her whole being lit up, the dampened sparkle in her eyes shown through, it was little and hard to spot, but it was there, even if only for a split second.

In that moment she decided.

She would learn from Heckitty. Learn of the craft; learn the skills she needed, and develop each one until her skills and abilities were honed beyond perfection, until she had surpassed even Heckitty in the magic field. Then after she graduated she would escape, she would run from her tutor's twisted clutches.

She would seek to become a teacher, to pass her knowledge and pure admiration of the craft onto young girls and help them to become the best witches that they could be. She would never become like Heckitty. She would never raise her hand to a student; she would never use magic to hurt them, and she would fight to the death to protect them.

And as she stood years later in the potions laboratory of Cackle's Academy behind her desk watching the girls as they worked away at their potion, a ghost of a smile graced her face as she realised she had done just that.