The tears were falling thick and fast down Imogen Drills face as she made her way out into the darkness. She and Serge had spent the evening talking, debating, trying to find reason, but alas they had resigned to the fact it was never going to work between them. Clenching her fists she made her way through the woodland and back towards the castle. She hadn't heard the rustling in the bushes and certainly hadn't expected what was to follow them. She'd known Tom from the village, they had met on several occasions, he was polite enough but Imogen thought nothing more of him. Grabbing her arm Tom came out from behind the trees, his breath smelt of whisky and his eyes were glazed. "Imogen…baby. How ya-bin? Ya, lookin' w-wonderful tonight." his words were slurred, barely coherent, but his grip was firm as she struggled against it. "I'm fine Tom and thank you. But, please, would you let go of my arm." Imogen pulled away, but Tom moved closer, his hand running up her side and finding its way up her shirt. "Tom! Let go, ouch, stop it, please!" This can't be happening, she thought, please God tell me this isn't happening.
Imogen was about to cry for help when a flash of blue light sent Tom flying backwards into the trees from which he had surfaced. A slender arm encircled her from behind and, before Imogen had time to scream, she was back in the courtyard of Cackles Academy. Feeling dizzy she looked upwards directly into the gaze of Constance Hardbroom. The upright potions teacher held out her arm to catch the swaying PE mistress, shaking her head Imogen was hit with the reality of what had just happened.
"Really, Miss Drill. You allowed yourself to get into quite a compromising situation back there. Heaven knows why you were even out at this hour." Constance's condescending voice rang clear as a bell through the night air prompting anger to rise in Imogens chest. "I didn't ask you to come charging to my rescue on your white broomstick. You're just like the rest of them, you know that? Think I can't handle myself just because I'm a woman or not a witch!Screw you Constance Hardbroom! I can handle myself just fine, thanks!" Imogen was very aware of the prickling in her eyes and lump in her throat, turning away she prayed she could make it to her room before the witch noticed.
Scampering up the staircase Imogen headed towards the East Wing. I can handle myself, I don't need her or Serge or anyone else. I'm fine! I'm fine…Closing the door behind her she couldn't contain the wail that escaped her throat. The tears which followed seem to sting as the rolled down her face and, throwing herself on the bed, she sobbed the next hour away.
Constance sat in the potion lab, her long dark hair cascading down her back, one solitary Bunsen heating her "restful sleep" potion. Sighing she stared down towards the bubbling cauldron before her, but her mind was not with the potion, it was with Imogen. To say she was fond of the non-witch may be considered an understatement, although this was never something to which she'd freely admit. Thoughts of the woman took up more time than Constance was willing to give, yet despite her best efforts she was unable to stop them. A knock on the door startled her as she stirred in the last of the valerian root. Who could be awake at this hour? "Come in." her voice rang across the class room, stern and strong, and following it a timid looking Imogen Drill came through the door.
"Ah, Miss Drill, how can I help?" Constance maintained her professional demeanour, but inside she felt her heart beat faster and her stomach churned in a way she couldn't ignore. Imogen was standing on the other side of the room, as far from Constance as possible, her gaze fixed to the floor. "I just wanted to…apologise, I suppose. For my behaviour earlier, it was uncalled for." Fumbling with the sleeves of her shirt she looked up towards the witch. Constance was consistently difficult to read, yet tonight she seemed even more so, her eyes filled with an emotion Imogen couldn't quite place. She pities me, Imogen suspected, I'm pathetic. "Well, that's all." Imogen concluded, turning towards the door, her hand on the handle she heard Constance clear her throat. "Is there a reason you chose 3am as the most appropriate time for your apology?"
"I'm sorry?" Imogen turned to face the witch again, confused by her question.
"It's 3am Imogen, you should really be in bed." Constance looked half concerned, but then that could also be a variety of other emotions, Imogen was never really sure.
"Yes, well, I couldn't sleep."
"I see, yes, that is unfortunate. I am working on a restful sleep potion myself right now, if you wish to partake?"
"I have nothing better to do I suppose. " Imogen covered the distance between them quickly and pulled up a stool beside Constance. Watching the witch work was entrancing, the way she nimbly trimmed at herbs or added an ingredient at just the right time that the whole mixture changed colour. Constance Hardbroom truly was a master of her art. But this evening it was not this which had Imogen Drill so transfixed. The non-witch couldn't help but smile as she noticed the way the light from the Bunsen illuminated the older woman's face and hair, she was beautiful, but she didn't know it. Imogen wondered if anyone had ever told her how beautiful she was. She was caught off guard when the witches eyes darted to meet hers, trying rapidly to change her expression she realised before long it was too late. "Something amusing?" Constance's voice was quizzical, but Imogen suspected that the witch knew exactly what she had been thinking.
"I just, love watching you work Constance. It's very…therapeutic."
The witch did not respond, her brow furrowed in deep thought, her hand continuing to work at her potion. Both women sat in the uneasy silence for some time until, finally, Constance spoke. "I didn't mean to make you feel useless Imogen. You must know, I was very concerned about you."
Imogen stared at the ground to avoid revealing the blush which crept up her neck. "I know. And, I'm sorry, that I yelled at you." The non witch's fists were gripping the side of her stool, waiting for any sort of reply, recognition of her apology. The older woman's face was expressionless, her gaze focused on her cauldron, now a bubbling blue mixture. Imogen cleared her throat but Constance cut her off "I was so scared for you Imogen, the way he was looking at you, it wasn't right."
Constance turned her head to meet Imogens stare, her eyes filled with concern. Imogen felt her heart racing, taking the witches hands in her own, the prospect that Constance had been concerned for her endearing her more to the woman before her. "Thank you, for saving me."
The witches dark eyes rose to meet hers, letting out another gentle sigh. "Imogen…I…"but the younger woman cut her off, crashing her pale lips into the witches burgundy red. Raking her hands through long, dark hair a smile played at the non-witches lips. She's not resisting. In fact, Constance was far from resisting, reciprocating Imogens actions with even more valour than the non-witch herself. Moving her hands up the younger woman's back the witch groaned as Imogen pushed them closer together.
It was Constance who broke the kiss, looking slightly more dishevelled she turned to address the cauldron which was now boiling over. Smiling she said "I don't I've much use for this tonight anymore. Sleep seems, rather trivial." Imogen reciprocated her smile, her hands returning to smoothing the witches hair. I always loved this hair, she thought, but then I always loved Constance. Didn't I? A wave of fear rushed over her, she'd just broken up with Serge, could Constance merely be a rebound? She couldn't do that to her, she couldn't deal with inflicting even an ounce of pain on the perfect woman before her.
"I know what you're thinking Imogen." Constance's voice breaking her thoughts "And, you should really think more quietly, many witches are clairvoyant you know." Imogen opened her mouth to speak but she was cut off by another kiss. Breaking them apart the witch brought herself to her ear. "Imogen, I couldn't care less if this starts as a rebound, the fact is all I want is you. I'd take you right here, on this desk, if it weren't completely against the health and safety at work regulations." Imogens blush had turned her the darkest shade of red she ever imagined could exist, but still couldn't resist a small chuckle at the witches attempt at humour. "When I saw him in the woods, that look in his eyes, like he thought he could just have you, it angered me. I may have lusted over you Imogen but, I have thought very carefully about how you deserve to be treated." Her voice was little more than a low pitched growl now, the swelling between Imogens legs telling her she was more than ready to be taken by the witch, in whatever way she desired. "He did tell me I looked wonderful tonight." She retorted playfully, her gaze firmly fixed on Constances lust filled eyes.
Grabbing her tightly around the waist Constance simply purred into Imogens ear, "Darling, you look wonderful every night."