- Soon We'll Be Found -
(A/N)- This is a two-part, I would've posted the second part right away but it looks stupid and inconsistent due to the several days I have been without power, courtesy of Irene. As for my other fics, I am looking to update 'Hurricane' (HAHA ironic?) but the name may change. With college starting up, I will most likely get better with updates as I have a horrible tendency to write notes for fanfic other than class. Tee hee. :P
This was inspired by the song of the same name "Soon We'll Be Found" by Sia.
PART 1 - Let's Not Fight
She stepped into the cold room, her bare feet stinging as they hit the icy stone floor. She gasped quietly, gripping the door as she crept in, peering into the darkness as she allowed her eyes to adjust. The only light was the moonlight from the open window.
"May I help you?" Constance's sarcastic voice broke through the silence, making the gym mistress jump slightly.
"Miss Cackle said you were asleep," she replied quietly, looking into the darkness under the canopy bed. The witch's pale white skin shone in the darkness, her dark eyes piercing menacingly at her, like an animal protective of it's territory.
Imogen stood taller, determined to stand her ground, "She's busy with paperwork so she asked me to look after you tonight."
"I do not need anyone to look after me, Miss Drill," she replied forcibly, and pulled back her blankets, stepping carefully out of the bed. Her hands were shaking, but she was trying hard not to let them.
"Where are you going?" She stepped forward, closing the door behind her and leaning against it casually.
The older woman stood at her full height, throwing her silk robe on to cover her very bare arms. She took her sweet time, pulling her hair from underneath her robe and running her hands through it briefly. She seemed unaffected by the cold floor as she approached the non-witch in bare feet, her clothes flowing behind her as she walked.
"That would be none of your business, Miss Drill," she replied curtly, reaching for the doorknob. Imogen placed her hand flat on the wall to block her path, causing the dark-haired woman to look dangerously at her as she retracted her hand, flexing the spell-casting fingers that currently did not work.
"It is my business since I'm to look after you, and must you address me by name after each sentence?"
Constance eyes cut into hers, and she looked her up and down as if sizing her up, "I am going down to the Potions lab, if you really must know, Miss Drill."
"For what, exactly, Miss Hardbroom?"
She folded her arms, staring her down. She did not appreciate being toyed with. She wished she could just appear down there as usual, but her magic had not been functioning normally lately - she had attempted it two days ago which had resulted in her passing out in the staffroom. That was what had spurred Amelia to keep a much closer eye on her deputy.
She took in a deep breath and let it out slow in an attempt to clam herself down, "I need to brew a sleeping aid," she explained stiffly, "which I wouldn't have to do if you hadn't woken me up, Miss Drill!" she added in a deadly whisper.
"All right, enough with the Miss Drill thing, I've known you for three years I think it's safe for you to call me Imogen!" she snapped, getting fed up with this woman already. She shouldn't have agreed to look after her. She foresaw a night of fighting and little to no sleep, followed by a day of weariness.
"I can't allow you to brew anything, it's Amelia's orders," she said shakily, wondering if she could seriously stop her from leaving. She regained her confidence by reminding herself in her head that Constance would never harm her with magic no matter how much she despised her, and what's more she technically couldn't since she was currently magically indisposed.
"Amelia isn't here," Constance said in a sort of sickly sing-song voice, leaning towards the blonde as if she was speaking down to a child, "It will only take a few seconds, she will never know a thing …"
"I can't, Cons- Miss Hardbroom," she replied firmly, shaking her head.
She raised a brow, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, "And you really think you can stop me?"
"Yes," she replied firmly, standing her ground.
Constance gave her a concentrated glare for a moment before easily pushing her arm up and away from the wall. Imogen was determined not to give up, and she grabbed her by the wrist, causing her to cry out in surprise
"Imogen, what on earth?"
Constance reached her other hand across her stomach to grab the doorknob, and Imogen quickly snatched her other wrist up, grabbing her firmly but not enough to hurt her, although in the past simple skin contact appeared to cause the woman great pain.
She pinned the taller woman against the wall, holding her wrists at either side of her at eye level. Constance's eyes widened as she stared at her, and for a moment Imogen felt that she might actually be truly frightened.
Constance was frightened, not entirely, but she had greatly underestimated the sportswoman's strength. She felt threatened, and in that feeling, she briefly and unintentionally read the other woman's thoughts, wondering if Imogen truly meant to cause her harm.
Instead, she was surprised to read that Imogen had the sudden urge to kiss her. More surprising than that, she was beginning to feel like she actually wanted her to. These were suppressed feelings she had thought long since subsided since the non-witch began dating that ranger boyfriend.
In any other situation, Constance may have not minded it. But right now, she felt incredibly vulnerable. Not only was she in a sorry state, but her silk shirt was cut far too low, and her robe had fallen to her elbows, leaving half of each arm bare. That, on top of her inability to perform magic without wearing herself out drastically, made her completely and utterly afraid. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gulped audibly. She laid there flat against the wall, breathing in sharply through her nose, watching the other woman and waiting … but nothing happened.
Imogen released her wrists, and Constance let them slowly fall to her sides, never breaking eye contact.
"We are not trying to hurt you, Miss Hardbroom," she said softly, "We just want you to get better."
Constance sighed deeply, not wanting to admit it but she would never get Imogen to fully understand her unless she said it.
"I've been having nightmares, Imogen," she said sincerely, and Imogen's heart fluttered at the continued usage of her first name, "I've been having nightmares, and that's why I need to make a potion."
Imogen was quiet for a bit, and she folded her arms across her chest, forgetting about blocking the door.
"Well … have you talked to Amelia about this?"
"Amelia doesn't know," she said, shaking her head slightly, "I didn't want to trouble her more than she's already been." She took a deep breath, resting her hand on the doorframe, "You're the only one who knows, and you can't tell anyone."
Imogen nodded, looking down, "I'm sorry, but I still can't let you drink any potions. Amelia said-"
"I can't sleep, Imogen!" she cried hysterically, almost pleading with her.
"You said you were sleeping just before-"
"Barely!" she threw up her hands, "Every time I fall into a deep sleep, she's there, I can't escape her. I should've left during the inspection, it can't be undone now, she knows where I live …" she held her hand to cover her eyes as she felt tears begin to form, and she removed her hand once she had regained her self control.
"Hecketty Broomhead," Imogen realized, barely under a whisper. Mistress Broomhead had finished her inspection of the school exactly a week ago to the day.
Constance looked back at her with teary eyes, and looked away, taking a shaky breath as she hugged her stomach protectively.
"She's the reason you've been like this?"
Constance rolled her eyes, ashamed of herself, "It's mostly stress but yes …"
"Is it just the nightmares, or can you not sleep at all?"
"I can sleep, I'm just afraid to because every time I do, I have another nightmare …" she sighed, "She's sending them magically. She's getting revenge since we'd made a fool of her."
"It's not your fault, though," Imogen asked, unable to see how this punishment was rational, "You can't be held responsible for the stuff she pulled when she was a young girl!"
"Everything is my fault with her, Imogen," she said calmly, resting the back of her head against the wall and looking to the ceiling.
"How'd you manage last night?"
"Amelia's a heavy sleeper," she said with the hint of a smirk, "I managed to get past her."
"Lovely," Imogen said exasperatedly, "And this potion, did it really work?"
"It's wide-awake," she said, "The dream potion wouldn't work so I've had to resort to staying awake in order to evade her …"
"No wonder you haven't been getting better!" she replied mournfully, taking her by the arm and leading her to her bed. Constance, in her surprise, allowed her.
"You need to get some rest," she said, "I can watch over you."
"What about you?" she asked incredulously, stepping out of her gentle grasp, "You need your sleep almost as much as me."
"I'll sleep in the chair," she said, motioning to the armchair that Amelia must've slept in herself the previous nights.
"How can you watch over me if you're asleep?" she asked nastily, and closed her eyes, shaking her head restlessly, "No, I'm just going to stay up the whole night as usual."
"I'm a very light sleeper, Constance, trust me. I wake up at the slightest movement."
She looked at her in disbelief, her lips pursed, but she said nothing as she did not want to argue any further - a rarity for her, as she always did love to put up a fight. Instead, she tucked herself away under her covers, not bothering to take off her robe. Imogen looked shocked at this behavior, but she shook it off and sat down in the chair beside the bed, pulling the purple afghan blanket over her.
Constance promptly turned her back to the gym mistress, making sure she was as close to the opposite wall as humanly possible.
"I'll wake you if you like, if you appear to be having a nightmare," Imogen offered shyly.
The witch turned to look at her with an amused smile on her face that intended to mock her, "Miss Drill, it's a magically induced nightmare, you wouldn't be able to wake me from it."
She turned back around, tucking her blanket close to her face as she curled her legs into a fetal position. Imogen glared at the back of her head. She wanted to say she'd figure out a way to wake her even if it involves pushing her off the bed and onto the floor, but she refrained, tucking her own blankets close to hide from the cold air of the bedroom.
"Good night," she muttered, more to herself than to the raven-haired witch, who didn't acknowledge or return the gesture.
(A/N)- Please review, you have no idea how much they mean to me.