Snigs 'n'snails and puppy dog tails: In which basically Cackle and HB take non-witch transport to a non-witch hospital to congratulate a new set of non-witch parents on their sweet little newborn non-witch, have a cup of tea and then ironically leave with a feeling that's pure magic.

This (rather AU and OoC) baby fic is dedicated to me wee god-daughter who I haven't seen enough of recently. Or it least it will be when she's old enough for me to get her into Worst Witch. He he just kidding but she's an evil little genius so she'll fit in perfectly with us lot!

But its just a bit of sappy fun with a practically perfect child, a scene in the middle lovingly ripped off from - I mean, inspired by 'New Tricks' and a quote from Tracy Beaker. I know Serge and Imogen isn't an earth shatteringly awesome pair so bear with me on that one as it was a bit tricky trying to write them as a proper couple, especially as romance isn't my forte. Also I'm not sure whether I spelt Surge's name right correct me if I'm wrong on that front.

Jill Murphy owns everything bar St. Mungos, the National Health Service and the nursery rhyme, see below, this story was named after (Miss Bat even mentioned it in the series so it fitted rather nicely). And cheers to Aleksandra Hardbroom for helping with me brainstorming. Blunt works for me dear, just went from a different angle if that's okay with you. But shh, enough blabbering, the baby's asleep. Enjoy.

What are little boys made of, made of?
What are little boys made of?
Why, Snigs 'n' snails
And puppy-dog tails,
Cause that's what little boys are made of…!

"Alright. So like, how d'ya spell that then?"

"D-ri double L then, Oh um." Amelia Cackle fumbled. "D…erm E-?"

"Dubois. D, U, B, O, I, S." Her deputy cut in, much to Amelia's relief, barking out the letters of the tricky French sounding Canadian finish to the double-barrelled name as though she'd been asked something simple like 'cat' or 'ball'. "Would you like help spelling her first name as well?"

"Nah Thanks. I think I got it, taa." The receptionist scoffed, typing it in to the computer at such a speed Amelia felt even she could have completed the task faster. Constance impatiently tapped her foot a little, wanting nothing more to force the receptionist to spit her gum out into the nearest bin. The temp behind the desk was lucky Miss Hardbroom was in such a good mood otherwise there would have been a great spectacle of public humiliation. Which might have actually been a good thing, as it probably would teach the girl some manners and may have even livened up the dettol fumed waiting room for its nervous and/or bored occupants.

Eventually the pride of the NHS' data base system decided it might as well do what it's budget paid for it to do and (after a few even-though-it's-loading-I'll-double-click-anyway jerks courtesy of the receptionist,) it finally brought up the required details needed for the witches to visit their friend and colleague, along with her long awaited arrival that their student's had dubbed 'little Surgie'.

"Kay. I'm guessing you'll be wantin' the maternity ward, yeah?"

"Giving that Imogen Drill-Dubois primary came here to have her first child that shouldn't be such a great surprise." Constance sighed dramatically. If it was possible for this one sentence from the witch to cause the receptionist to become any more slack-jawed, it did. But Amelia paid neither much heed, and told the girl behind the desk that yes, they were after the maternity ward and could she possibly tell them how to get there.

"Take that corridor there, right? left at the end thu' them double doors like, then turn right an ya go up to level eight then ask at the desk there and they'll sort it out 'kay?"

"Down the Corridor, right, left, though the double doors, right then upstairs and-" Amelia repeated, more to herself.

"Nah I said left-"

"But you said-" Amelia started but Constance had already turned on her heel, leaving her elder no choice but to dash after her or be left alone in the medical maze. "Oh never mind, thank you anyway."

The receptionist looked as though she couldn't even be bothered to mutter 'Whateva' and went back to her filing. Had she seen it, Miss Hardbroom would have pointed out that the temp might have got more work done if the girl would put away the nail file. But being Constance, she was focused with the task at hand of locating the ward, looking very much like the Grim Reaper or Deaths grand-daughter, despite the small splash of colour provided the large shiny gift-bag she was carrying. It probably didn't help that she was wearing another of her many black dresses and a travelling cloak, the dark material billowing out behind her like a storm cloud, while Miss Cackle had bundled up hers under her arm, hoping she didn't put it down some where and loose it. Not being one to abandon magical traditions, Constance would have probably insisted on wearing her witches hat as well, had the typical 'gale force-winds-garenteed-to-give-you-that-windswept-look-the-one-time-you-want-to-apper-at-your-best' British weather not made it impossible to wear any form of head gear on the journey.

Amelia was having slight trouble keeping up with Constance, who was determined to waste no time striding down the corridor at almost twice her usual speed, almost leaving her elder behind. Thankfully although the hospital was a busy place she wasn't having to push past or negotiate the buzzing corridor. Much like at the academy, Constance had an aura, a natural talent of parting crowds like the red sea, as always allowing the headmistress a calm current to sail though. The taller witch's presence alone was seemed enough to send other hospital visitors, patients, nurses, and cleaners scuttling this way and that, even making a pair of large porters with armfuls of tattoos shrink away to let them though. But the lack barging and scrums didn't mean Amelia wasn't having to pause here and there to catch her breath.

Stopping again and actually thinking about it, there was something about her deputy today. Constance seemed even more keyed up then usual. Rather reasonable really, anticipation was contagious. Amelia too had butterflies and was excited at the prospect of meeting the newborn. But try as she might, She couldn't imagine Constance being to keen on being surrounded with the modern non-witch technological approach to healing and had been pleasantly surprised the younger witch had agreed to occupy her on the trip, despite knowing due to the proximity of the local hospital to the nearby airfield and 'fly-over' they'd have to make their journey partly via public transport, though HB had defended her decision all the way on the number seventeen double-decker, ("It would be heartless not to go. Just because some ridiculous fool decided it'd be a good idea to fling jets and gliders about in the way hardly a valid excuse to be rude.") Or maybe she just doesn't like hospitals full stop, Amelia sighed. Again it was perfectly understandable. Miss Cackle herself wasn't keen on them. Even Saint Mungos didn't agree with her, and you read all sorts of things in the news about hospitals what with cuts and nasty 'bugs'.

Still, at least they where here on a happy occasion…

And thankfully Miss Hardbroom had the sense to follow the brightly coloured signs rather then the receptionist's directions. Constance now was waiting patiently (Well, as patiently as HB could!) at the double doors, and held it open for the headmistress.

"Shall we?" came the rhetorical question as they approached the foot of stairs.

"I've a better idea, actually." Amelia smiled, reliving Constance of the presents and carried on past her, to where a row of lifts stood and called one down with a touch of a button rather then a wave of magic. Her deputy glared at it, appalled.

"It was bad enough coming part way by bus-" she started.

"It's either the lift or the stairs, Constance." Amelia interrupted as the doors opened. "You might be able to come and go as you please, but I'd rather not climb up that many floors. If you want I'll meet you up there. "

"But Miss Cackle! -"

But Miss Cackle had already stepped inside, leaving Constance fuming silently in the hallway. Amelia merely chuckled and held the doors open a little while longer with another button looking up at her deputy over the top of her glasses until Constance grudgingly got into the lift, glancing about warily about the steel box closed and they set off once more.

"You know," Amelia suddenly said for what must have been the hundredth time (and Amelia swore she saw smirk flickering at the corners of the younger woman's mouth for a brief moment, having guessed what she was going to say.) "I still can't believe it…"

Truth be told, it still hadn't settled in yet for either of them. It'd been seven, nearly eight years since Imogen had started working at Cackles Academy and a few months since she'd left on maternity leave, yet oddly it seemed the other way round. In fact, to Constance it only felt like yesterday she'd accompanied the then-gym mistress and the now almost twenty-year old girls on that somewhat disastrous camping trip where they'd been introduced to Surge Dubois, Imogen's very own Canadian price charming, purely by a twist of fate and failure on the cabin owners behalf.

Her thoughts where interrupted the headmistress, ratching though the bag making sure the bouquet of pretty flowers hadn't been crushed amongst the other gifts. Constance rolled her eyes as Amelia rearranged her packing then examining the little bear that been the bane of the journey making sure it wasn't damp or stained. Trying to keep Teddy safe and secure inside the decorative bag during typical-doesn't-stop-tipping-it-down-till-your-at-your-destination British weather wasn't an easy task, weather on a bus or a broomstick. Partially when the bear seemed determined to make a bid for freedom having spent quite a while in Miss Cackle office for storage and had to be rescued at least twice.

"Do you think they'll like it?"

"It's a teddy." Constance stated plainly. "What's not to like?"

"But it's yellow."

"And?"

"Well it's not quite the right colour is it?" Amelia sighed suddenly rather unsure about the gift. "I mean, pink for a girl, blue for a boy and white's unisex-"

"As is yellow, I believe."

"Yes but whites traditional and is meant to bring good luck. Yellow just looks like we didn't bother to check first-"

"We didn't need to, they called to let us know remember?" her deputy countered. "And after all it's not like it was picked out at the last minute."

"But-"

"Yellow is fine, Amelia, I doubt at that age any child will have a preferred colour choice." Constance reassured her as the lift came to a halt at the designated floor.
"Besides, Imogen will just be happy to see you, never mind the bear. In fact it'll probably be a welcome relief from all the blue proclamations of 'congratulations it's a boy' they've probably been swamped in…"

Suffice to say me dears, that temp on the deck was indeed temporally…