Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.

After The Rain

If Hecate Hardbroom is at all startled by the whisper of a familiar voice in her ear, then her body does not let it show. There is no flinch in fear, no gasp in horror, and no yelp of surprise. She is a true picture of calm.

Or at least, she is until she turns around.

The level of inner turmoil is evident in every inch of her being: from the flicker of her eyelids as she blinks in total disbelief to the creases in her forehead as she desperately tries to process the mind-blowing information that is in front of her. In fact, her expression is so pained that it could break a heart of stone. Words form on the tip of her tongue only to dissolve into an instant nothingness.

She can't move, she can't speak, and she can't think.

All she can do is stare.

"Perhaps I should have knocked first?"

The suggestion is offered, knowing full well that it would have made little to no difference. Still, there's nothing more that can be done for the time being.

Her visitor smiles kindly before making their way to the seat opposite her own. A gentle wave of the hand conjures a fresh pot of tea and two cups, along with a rather generous side order of biscuits.

With the tea poured, they simply wait.

They are actually in the middle of trying to fish the remains of a Rich Tea biscuit from their cup — having held it for one count too long — when the Hardbroom finally snaps out of her trance. Her porcelain skin has paled dramatically, and her eyes are wide and dazed. It's almost as though she's seen a -

Of course!

She internally berates herself for not having realised it sooner; Merlin only knows what this witch has done while she's been stationary!

And, yet …

Even as she's saying it in her head, her heart knows that it's not the truth.

It's the eyes.

No one has kindness in their eyes like -

"Ada?"

The youngest Cackle smiles kindly, outwardly relieved that the dark-haired woman has finally spoken. It suddenly strikes her that this is the first time she has seen Hecate Hardbroom rendered speechless, and she has to admit that she finds it more than a tad disconcerting.

Hecate doesn't return the smile; there's no real need.

Ada Cackle has known her friend for long enough to know that though she may not wear her heart on her sleeve, that doesn't necessarily mean that she's not feeling it all inside. On more than one occasion, she's heard the word 'heartless' used in regard to the younger witch, and it truly saddens her.

One day, they'll realise that Hecate Hardbroom has more heart than anyone.

"I am truly sorry, my dear. I never meant to startle you as I did."

Another smile helps to mask her own uncertainties. Even now, she wonders whether or not she has done the right thing in coming here. But what else can she do?

Her girl needs her.

"No, it's-" Hecate starts, and then she immediately stops again, her doe-like eyes silently pleading for the help they both know she will never ask for. Frustrated with her own failure at such a basic task, she tries again, only to befall the same fate. "I don't …" she swallows hard. The slight crack in her voice is the gateway, and before she can stop it, a solitary tear has trickled down her cheek.

She doesn't cry often, but whenever she does, it really tugs at the heartstrings.

"How?"

"Come now," Ada says gently, though she is unable to keep her hand from shaking as she reaches out and wipes away the stray tear. "Let's not turn on the waterworks or you'll set me off too — and this biscuit is already soggy enough, thank you very much." The small joke does its job perfectly, alleviating any awkwardness that may linger in the air.

Hecate still isn't exactly sure what is happening. She doesn't know how she is in this situation or if she is in this situation, but her usual rationale is overpowered by something much greater: the want to believe.

A deep breath steadies her composure.

For all intents and purposes, it is just a regular Wednesday afternoon. And on Wednesday afternoons, they have tea and biscuits, and they talk. It's how it has always been, so why change things now?

She flicks her hand gracefully and a fresh pot appears.

"I must say, Hecate, it rather suits you."

"What rather suits me?"

"Being on that side of the desk."

"Oh,"

The twinkle in the aged eyes dims as soon as it becomes apparent that her successor does not share in her sentiment. Ada sighs, utterly dumbfounded. She'll never understand how a woman who is so damn intelligent and who appears to have so much outer confidence and bravado, can hold such little belief in her own self-worth.

Sadly though, it's not overly surprising.

When her sister, Agatha, tried to take over the castle by posing as her, in the hopes of making the school look bad in front of the great wizard, it was nothing compared to the number she had done on the deputy head. Even now, it physically broke her heart to know that the Hardbroom's first thoughts upon hearing "her" harsh words, were not that something may be amiss, but instead simply that Ada did not want or value her.

How could she ever think such a thing to be true?

To just dismiss herself like that. And so easily too …

"Hecate?"

There is no immediate reply, but Ada knows that she's been heard. Remaining undeterred, the Cackle tries again.

"Hecate Anna Hardbroom!" Her tone is soft, yet still details that effortless note of authority; a gentle reminder that being kind is not the same as being weak. "I want you to look at me, now, please."

Ever so slowly, the dark brown eyes rise to meet with her own.

"Do you honestly think for one moment that I would hand the reins of the school, of my school, over to you if I wasn't absolutely certain that you were up to the task?"

Hecate appears to become even quieter — if that's at all possible — as she carefully considers the question, hating herself for even daring to think it over. She's never once doubted Ada's judgement before, knowing that even if her decisions may seem unusual at the time, sooner or later, they will always prove to be justified.

Or at least, she knows that ... in theory.

This time though, a large part of her can't help but wonder if the elder witch has truly made the right decision.

From a magic based point of view, and indeed an administrative one, the Hardbroom knows she can likely run the school with her eyes shut. In fact, she's already taken on the role of head on several occasions before (usually when Ada is otherwise engaged with external educational commitments, and then there was that time when the Cackle was laid up in bed with a nasty flu ...), and while she can't exactly deny having enjoyed the challenge, it's almost like she's only been pretending.

Truthfully, it is nothing short of relief when she gets to hand the keys back to their rightful owner.

Ada Cackle is the true headmistress.

The title just doesn't fit anyone else: Ada always knows exactly what to do, and much more importantly, exactly what to say. So how can she, Hecate Anna Hardbroom, ever be worthy of filling the shoes of such a treasured spot?

The indirect absence of an answer tells Ada all that she needs to know.

Actually, it tells her more or less precisely what she figured it would. She knows better than to try and push though. Past experience has taught her that Hecate will speak when she is good and ready, and not a minute before. For now, all she can do is wait patiently. Not saying anything, but offering a simple nod of encouragement every so often.

"What if I'm not though?"

And there is it is.

The vulnerability practically burns in her brown irises as Hecate finally whispers the question that has been going round on an internal loop for weeks. Then, there is a slight pause, and for anyone else, now would be the perfect time to interject, but Ada knows her better than that.

"I mean ... you were so kind and caring, and I'm-"

The Hardbroom sighs, uncharacteristically shrugging her shoulders, not completely sure where the sentence is even heading.

She's spent more hours than she cares to recall, pretending not to listen while the rumours spread like wildfire, and fact changes to fiction like a game of Chinese Whispers, as immature, young minds judge that which they do not yet understand.

Do they really believe her to be so ... heartless?

Her reverie of self-hatred and regret is interrupted by the reassuring hand that is carefully placed atop her own. She's not exactly a touchy-feely person, but there is something so comforting about it; something so achingly familiar. Despite the unusual circumstances she's found herself in, Hecate can't help suddenly being mortified at the current state of her normally immaculate nails. She surreptitiously curls her fingers in on themselves, hoping that the other woman has not noticed.

Of course Ada notices: the elder witch has always kept a close, yet subtle eye on her dearest friend. Ordinarily, she would playfully tease her, but it's not the right moment.

It's not what she needs to hear.

"You've always been so much more than you believe yourself to be, my dear. Why not look on this as a fresh start? The beginning of a new legacy here at Cackle's Academy? I trust you, Hecate; you'll do what's right."

There is nothing outwardly obvious to suggest that her words have been heard, but she knows that they have.

She can feel it in the way the porcelain hand has stiffened under her own and she can see it in the ever-so-slight tremble of the woman's bottom lip as she struggles to maintain her fast-unraveling composure. The sheer gratitude and understanding are there, nestled in the saddened half-smile that graces her exhausted features.

Tentatively, Hecate reaches out, and slowly places her other hand on top of the one currently covering her own, hoping that Ada will recognise how big a step this is for her. "I'd much rather you were here though."

She can hear the childish quality in her own voice and is surprised to find that she doesn't care. The final frontier is slowly melting and there is now nothing left for her to cling to.

'I don't know if I can do this without you.'

"I know, my dear," the Cackle says softly. A reflective smile plays on her face as she casually gestures to the worsening weather outside. "But remember, we can't have a rainbow without a little rain first of all. Bad things will happen in life; it's the only real certainty of it, but that's only to remind us to always treasure the good, and the world will break our hearts to show us how strong we truly are. And you, Hecate, are by far the strongest woman I know, but you aren't infallible ... it's okay to admit that you aren't always okay. Though you may not see it, the staff and the students all care deeply for you."

"Ada, I-"

"Then there is Miss Pentangle …"

Hecate's cheeks automatically redden at the mention of her pink-clad best friend.

"What does Pips-I mean ... Miss Pentangle have to do with anything?"

Ada chuckles merrily in amusement over the new headmistress's futile attempts to cover up something that is so completely obvious to everybody.

Well, everybody bar the new headmistress, it would seem.

"She loves you, Hecate," Ada says simply, metaphorically striking her with cupids arrow. She watches the reaction carefully, looking on as Hecate's expression goes from surprised to terrified, and through a whole host of other emotions, before eventually landing on something akin to hope. The elder witch has one more arrow left to fire. "And what's more, I believe that you love her."

"I think I always have," the dark-haired woman whispers, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Well, there you go then. Now, I want you to promise me something?"

"Anything, Ada?"

"I want you to promise me that you won't let that brilliant mind of yours sabotage your own chance for happiness, because no one deserves it more than you do."

" ... I promise."

With her final task now complete, the Cackle knows that the time has come.

Reaching out, she checks the hour on the elegant timepiece that seems to have hung forever around the Hardbroom's neck. It was a gift from herself when the woman first became the deputy headmistress of the school. It all seems a lifetime ago now, and she could not be any prouder of how far her girl has come.

"My goodness, is that the time? I really should be going."

"No, wait!" A distraught voice cries out, grabbing onto the sleeve of the pink cardigan of the fast fading form. Tears stream relentlessly down Hecate's cheeks as she struggles to catch her breath. "I-Ada ... please don't leave me."

Gently, but firmly, Ada loosens her friend's vice-like grip. Crossing to the other side of the desk, she places a soft kiss on the porcelain forehead; it's the last gesture she will ever give.

"Oh, Hecate," she whispers. A final smile. "I won't ever leave you, my dear ... not really."

Hecate awoke with a start, her panicked eyes darting furiously around the surroundings of her office. A strangled gasp fell from her lips as she noticed the teapot and two matching cups that sat innocently mocking her.

'Two cups ...'

She took a few deep breaths, desperately trying to calm her nerves and process thoughts that were currently more jumbled than the ever-growing pile of paperwork scattered across her desk. Her usual methodical organisation was in chaos, her mind was in chaos, everything was in chaos.

Nothing, made sense anymore, and everything just felt ... empty.

Empty, and wrong.

The sudden whisper of a familiar voice in her ear caused her to physically jump back in fright, and she span round in her chair, her brown eyes wide and terrified by the blur of pink that had just flashed across her vision.

"Pippa! You almost gave me a heart attack! What in Merlin's name are you doing here?!"

Pippa Pentangle quickly tried to hide the crestfallen look from her face. Rather expertly, she turned it into her usual award-winning smile — it always could fool most people.

The problem was though that Hecate Hardbroom was not 'most' people.

Guilt instantly spread across the tall witch's face as she saw the flash of hurt appear. It disappeared almost as fast, but she knew it was still secretly present. She sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that she was better versed in social situations. Granted, she had made some progress in recent years, but she felt like she was still way off the mark.

"I'm sorry, Pipsqueak. I really didn't mean for that to come out the way it did." Hecate quickly swept up a pile of papers; trying to get back to some semblance of a system. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Pippa began, nervously playing with her pendant, "you still haven't returned any of my mirror messages, and well ... honestly, I was starting to get worried, so I thought I would just come and see if you needed any extra support — or anything, really. I know it has been a tough couple of weeks, and I - are you sure you're okay, darling? You do look awfully pale!"

"I-Ada ... she-"

Overcome with both emotional and physical exhaustion, and a little afraid she was losing her grip on what was real and what was not, Hecate's resolve shattered and she burst into tears.

The blonde stared at her in complete shock for a few moments before she finally sprang into action. Gently, but with a sense of purpose, she took her best friend in her arms. After a minute or two of initial stiffness, Hecate leaned into the embrace and sobbed out four weeks' worth of built-up emotion.

As she cried, Pippa just held her, occasionally rubbing a hand up and down her back in a bid to soothe her. "I know you miss her, but it will be alright, Hiccup," she said, placing a soft kiss on the pale forehead as the woman's erratic sobs finally calmed, her breathing regulating once more. "I promise you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hecate could see the faint markings of a rainbow sweeping its way across the sky, and for the first time in as many weeks, she smiled.

A/N: I wrote this as a sort of tribute to my wonderful mum, who sadly passed away a few weeks ago. Her passing was somewhat expected, but it was very, very sudden, and nothing prepared me for the pain it has left behind. :'(