Just some little bits I wrote about the wonderful combination of HB and Drill. Aren't they just so adorable?

Moment the First: Detention Tonight, Imogen

"You may have recently ended your relationship with that immature creature you called a boyfriend, Miss Drill, but I hardly feel that gives you the right to be so argumentative."

"I'm not being argumentative, and it has nothing to do with my love-life. I'm merely stating that your ideas on discipline are complete and utter insanity."

"Oh, they are, are they?"

Imogen Drill and Constance Hardbroom regarded one another furiously over their morning cups of tea; the atmosphere in the staffroom was frankly thunderous. There had been a staff meeting the previous evening; there had been some manner of disagreement between the two colleagues, though no one knew exactly what about. It was suspected that even Imogen and Constance themselves were fast forgetting.

"Well, you can't give me a detention for answering back!" protested Imogen, "I'm a teacher, for goodness' sake!"

"There is nothing in the Cackle's Academy Rulebook," said Constance, with the air of one who had often studied the volume in question in great detail, "To suggest that detentions must be limited to those who are students of the Academy."

"I know what the Cackle's Academy Rulebook says!"

"Frankly, Miss Drill, I don't believe you do. If you were to examine Chapter 6..."

"Look," interrupted Imogen, "If you can give me a detention, then I can give you one. Detention tonight, Constance, for insolence and answering back."

Miss Bat stifled a giggle behind her hand, despite the stormy atmosphere. Miss Hardbroom, meanwhile, looked ready to explode with sheer rage.

"Don't be a fool, Miss Drill!"

"I'm not foolish. The rulebook clearly says..."

"I am a senior member of staff! The hierarchy..."

"...doesn't apply in this case. Any teacher can give a detention to any member of the academy. And if you think that applies to other members of staff, then I can give you a detention just as much as you can give me one. I will expect you in my classroom this afternoon at half past three."

Miss Hardbroom looked on the verge of apoplexy as Imogen swept from the room.

"You would have thought," she said, with barely suppressed rage, "That she could have come to my detention first!"

Xxxx

Next morning.

A piece of paper dropped into Constance's lap, narrowly missing her tea.

Sorry for being an idiot, it said, and for setting you lines last night. Still friends? I. D.

Producing a pen from her pocket, she scribbled a reply, and passed it across to Imogen.

We will discuss the matter tonight, while you are in detention - after you've written your lines, of course.

Imogen sighed.

Moment the Second: Accidental Passion

It had all been an accident, a terrible, terrible accident. It had been one of those awful accidents that you know you should regret, and yet somehow, despite it all, you just can't.

There had been a party. Wasn't it always the way? There was nothing like a party for romantic confusion. Maybe that was why people liked the damn things so much. There were those who thrived on romantic confusion - if not theirs, then other people's. Thank God the gossips hadn't got hold of this, anyway.

At least, she hoped they hadn't.

No, they couldn't have. It was too strange a match; inventive as gossips often were, it would never occur to them to think of it.

They had both been tipsy. There had been a lot of wine on offer, and neither of them held their drink well. Everyone had been tipsy, provided they were old enough; Miss Cackle had been attempting to twerk, for goodness' sake. There had been wizards playing Sprout Roulette, and far too much karaoke - definitely signs of widespread inebriation.

They had ended up dancing together, the two of them; Imogen didn't really remember having had much of a choice in the matter. She had been grabbed and forcibly foxtrotted with (who knew HB knew how to foxtrot? She clearly had a hidden past), and she had enjoyed every damn minute of it.

That wasn't all, of course. If only it was - no, thank goodness it wasn't - oh, who knew what to think any more? One thing had led to another. Things had been done, and things had been said. It would have been bad enough if Imogen had said things she didn't mean, but it was far, far worse than that - she had said things that she definitely did mean, and, even through the fug of alcohol, she was quite sure that they both knew she had meant them.

"I've wanted to do this for so long..."

"I've always had a thing for you..."

"Oh, God, I love you, I do..."

It had been the most amazing night of her life. She still felt dizzy with ecstasy just thinking about it. She had thought, in all the confusion, that it must be Constance's magic that made it feel like that, like vibrations, like sparks; she had muttered something to that effect, and the murmured reply had come: "No, dear, I think it must be something else."

She'd called her "dear". That had to mean something, right?

Then again, so did the fact that Imogen had woken the next day and found her bed empty. That clearly meant a great deal. And the fact that she had been nowhere to be found that day...that Imogen hadn't seen her properly since...

Where was she?

She was probably just where she usually was. She often had her meals in her room, and she spent most of her time when she wasn't working in the library or performing esoteric experimentations in her Potions lab. She was writing a book, it was said; and if she wasn't, she was teaching, marking, writing lesson plans. She lived a life surrounded by paperwork. She was a solitary sort of creature, fond of her work.

What could ever come of this?

They'd known each other for years, worked together at the academy for over a decade. It was strange how much you could get know of someone from attending the same staff meetings - how much, and how little. She'd never known that she was...that way inclined, or indeed any way inclined. She hadn't known it, but she'd always cherished a little hope, a little fantasy, to that effect.

"Oh, God, I love you, I do..."

The old proverb was true, then: in vino veritas. Trouble was, there were quite a few other things in vino too, and Constance Hardbroom was a difficult woman to read at the best of times.

Imogen let out a quiet scream of sheer frustrated distress, much to the alarm of a passing black cat. She'd faced up to it at last: she, Imogen Drill, PE teacher and total non-witch, had had a night of passion with Constance Hardbroom, the dark handsome Potions teacher widely known as Cackle's Academy's most terrifying member of staff.

And she was in love with her.

Yes, in love with that renowned harridan, that sharp-tongued and austere creature who read the Cackle's Academy Rule Book for fun and was so enamoured of discipline that she gave out detentions even to her fellow members of staff. The one whom even her superiors and equals deferentially called Miss Hardbroom. The one who struck terror into the heart of even the most rebellious pupils. The one who was also beautiful and clever and irresistible - to Imogen, anyway.

It was a match made in Hell. It was a match that didn't bear thinking about. Anyone who had heard tale of it would have either laughed uproariously or run screaming from the room.

Moment the Third: Loving Constance

Loving Constance Hardbroom was exhausting, exhilarating, terrifying, enough to drive a woman mad, and to make her enjoy being driven mad. Imogen had lost her heart to Constance already, a long time ago, and now it seemed her mind was going the same way.

But she loved her, oh, how she loved her! And by some strange miracle, Constance seemed, in her own inimitable aloof way, to love Imogen too. There was such vulnerability behind her habitual confidence; it was a wonder that anyone could be so adept at magic and so in need of lessons in love. Imogen took her out to dinner that night; Constance wore a black dress that showed her knees (or would have done, if she hadn't been wearing thick tights); her dark hair was partly loose for once, and she hardly looked like the Constance that Imogen knew. There was a bracelet on her wrist, and a locket at her throat. She seemed uncharacteristically shy, as if she was unaccustomed to going out for food. Perhaps she was - certainly in establishments with cosy tables for two and soft candlelight.

Over dinner, Constance spoke in the manner to which Imogen was accustomed, and talked with the usual animation of her passion for magic. Imogen looked at her across the table and felt inclined to worship her; the things she said, though no doubt interesting, went in one ear and out the other.

As the evening drew to a close, she became suddenly shy again; it seemed impossible that a woman so ruthless should give such gentle kisses.

"Darling Constance!" Imogen said, impulsively, somewhere around what had better be the last glass of wine for the evening.

Constance recoiled a little. "I wish you wouldn't refer to me so fondly in public."

Imogen only laughed and reached across the table to capture Constance's hand in hers; she yielded it gracefully enough, and even smiled a little.

"Constance, I think I am in love with you."

"That is another thing I wish you wouldn't say in public, and certainly not so loudly," she said; but she smiled as she said it, and raised Imogen's hand to her lips - and Imogen had the feeling that, whatever happened next, she had - whether for one night only or forever - found true happiness.