I Will Be Brave Enough To Fight The Creatures, a worst witch fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch'

A/N: So as today officially marks my 5th year writing fan-fiction and my 50th upload I thought I would celebrate with a little one-shot. I can't quite believe it myself, though I do like to think my writing has significantly improved since I first began, lol.

The discovery of fan-fiction - during some random googling - changed my life. Not only rekindling my love for a beloved childhood show, it gave me an outlet to vent emotion and explore creativity, but more than any of that, it led me to the most amazing group of people, and I am very good friends with many of you, outwith the fan-fiction world.

This fic, is hereby dedicated to that group of amazing friends, whose support-this past while especially- has been immeasurable, and has been appreciated more than they will ever know. It is also partly dedicated to everyone who has ever read, reviewed, favourited and followed anything I have written.

Love,

Princess Sammi

xxx

"When I grow up, I will be brave enough to fight the creatures that you have to fight beneath the bed, each night, to be a grown-up." –

When I Grow Up - Matilda: The Musical

I Will Be Brave Enough To Fight The Creatures

A seven year old girl ran excitedly through the park, her waist-length hair cascading down her back like an inky waterfall; the soft curls gently bouncing up and down as she moved, their glossy sheen only emphasised as they caught in the rays from the sun.

"Slow down, Connie!" her mother called out after her daughter, who was now strides ahead of her and not listening one bit, her brown eyes glinting with a knowing determination as she ran eagerly towards her destination. "We don't want you to fall and hurt yourself."

She ran past the duck pond and past the twins who were playing in the sandpit. She ran past the group of boys who were playing on the slide, rolling her eyes at the one who was in fact trying to climb UP the slide, while another attempted to slide down – it was surely ending in tears before bedtime. She bypassed the climbing frame and the roundabout, without taking so much as a second glance, before coming to a halt, having finally reached her favourite thing about the park: the swings.

She loved the swings; they made her feel as if she was flying, high up in the air, soaring among the birds and the clouds. Nothing could touch her up there; it was just her and nature, and it was so freeing.

There was something almost magical about it...

Tucking her hair behind her ears, not wanting to run the risk of getting it caught in the handle bars again, (it was uneven for weeks the last time!) she jumped onto the swing, kicking her legs up and down in her giddiness as she waited for her mother to catch up to her. "Push me, Mummy."

Having finally caught up with her daughter, Vivienne Hardbroom appeased the request, pulling the swing back before letting it go with a gentle push. However much she would tire of the same trip to the swings, day in and day out, the feeling would melt away instantly upon hearing how happy it made her only daughter.

"Higher, Mummy. Higher, pretty pleaseeeeeeee."

"Look, I'm flying, Mummy!"

"Higher."

Fifteen years later, a newly turned twenty-two, Constance Hardbroom was perched elegantly on her broomstick as she flew to Cackle's Academy for Witches, ready to begin her career as a potions teacher. This day marking, what was now regarded as, the first day of the rest of her life.

The sky was calm and clear but the same could not be said for her. On the outside, she appeared cool and collected but, under the surface, she was far from it; a whole host of emotions flooding her brain all at once and entangling themselves in her thoughts.

Fear…

Excitement…

Doubt…

Not for the first time, she questioned whether or not she had made the right decision. She didn't have to do this; she could easily turn back right now and go-

Where exactly did she have to go?

She shook the thought from her head, almost as quickly as it had entered, knowing full well opening that can of worms would prove to be an incredibly bad idea, serving only to unnerve her further and adding to her apprehension. Taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, she continued her course of flight.

She could have easily appeared in the grounds of the school in mere minutes - if not seconds - but she had decided that the broomstick flight was needed to allow time for some mental preparation. "Confidence and Control"; that's what it was all about. A slight shiver ran down her spine as she heard the words echo in her mind. It may have been the mantra she had now adopted as her own but the words had never been hers.

It wasn't as if it was an inconvenience for her anyway. She loved flying; it was one of the true symbolisms of her craft and, ironically, it helped to keep her grounded. Not everyone had the skills she did and, on occasion, she still felt shy when it came to showing them off. As she flew, the sun beating down on her in all its glory, she was reminded of all the times she had played on the swings as a child...how she had felt like she was flying, not yet knowing what life had in store for her.

Now that she had grown up, it seemed like a distant memory and, wise beyond her years, having seen and been subjected to things that no child-or indeed adult-should be subjected to, she struggled to remember what it felt like to be innocent and carefree. Her years at witch training college had been, by far, the bleakest years of her life, darkening her soul and breaking her down until she was nothing.

Laughter.

It was such a simple sound yet it was one she had not heard, for a long long time.

Nothing about Witch Training College had given cause for even the slightest of sniggers let alone for laughter. She could not remember the last time she had laughed or smiled. She could not even remember when she had last shed a tear.

Over the years, she had slowly cut herself from her emotions, believing that if she gave nothing away, then there was nothing that could be used against her. Of course, it wasn't strictly true; there was always something that could be used against her, after all, it was Heckitty Broomhead's style. Exploiting the most minute of weaknesses and picking her pupils apart, until there was nothing left of them, until they were just a shell; a mindless drone.

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead"

"No, Mistress Broomhead"

"Three bags full, Mistress Broomhead."

Looking down, she came upon the source of the laughter, and realised that she was flying over her old hometown, instantly recognising the park she had once played in as a child. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she recalled the good times she had once spent there, so many good times; so many happy memories, until Heckitty Broomhead had walked into her life; her shadow like the Black Death, destroying everything she held dear in one foul swoop.

Almost as if making the choice for her, her broomstick gave a sudden jolt, as if it knew exactly where she wanted to go.

She felt a pang of envy stab at her heart as she watched how innocent and carefree the children seemed as they ran around the park, laughing, joking and playing happily, completely oblivious to the evils of the world. She had been like that once, but not now. And not ever again.

When Heckitty Broomhead had delivered that first blow, marking her youthful skin, she had cried for hours afterwards but eventually her tears had stopped. Eventually she lost count of the beatings, eventually her screams for mercy turned to silence, eventually the last of her remaining hope flickered out and was replaced with a simple acceptance; she was resigned to her fate.

What was done was done, and there was no point dwelling on it.

You couldn't change the past, all you could was learn from it: do things differently and change the future, and that was what she intended to do.

Being a teacher had never once crossed her mind. It had never been her intended path nor a particular life goal, but watching as others suffered at the hands of a tyrant, and as she herself had suffered, day in day out, month after month, year after year; one long life sentence of never-ending misery, she resolved to help the underdog. Vowing that under her watch, no child would ever come to such cruelty.

She watched on as a lone droplet of water fell from the sky, falling in slow motion, before it landed on the back of her hand. From there, the heavens seemed to open, the rain plummeted to the ground with an unyielding force as children and parents alike ran for shelter. Soon the park was deserted; soon the laughter was no more. Soon it was just her.

Alone.

She never understood why people always made such a big fuss about the rain, for her it was freeing; like a cleansing of the soul.

Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the swing and suddenly she was seven years old again. It was as if the past fifteen years had been wiped clear; as if they had never existed, and for a moment, one fleeting moment, she was Connie again: young and carefree. Connie, whose eyes had sparkled, as they looked up with wonderment at all the world had to offer, drinking in its sheer beauty and imagining the endless possibilities.

Higher, Mummy. Higher, pretty pleaseeeeeeee."

"Look, I'm flying, Mummy!"

She swung back and forth, and forth and back. From her great height, she could overlook the entire park: the slide, the other children, the ducks in the pond and the flowers, starting to open up after retreating for the winter; it wouldn't be long before they would be in full bloom, their bright colours and sweet smelling nectar marking the sights and the smells of the beginnings of summer.

She loved the summer; the sun shone that bit brighter, its bright rays sweeping across the sky in a blaze of glory. The nights got that bit longer so she had more time to play. Everyone seemed happier somehow.

Life got so much better and she never wanted it to end. She couldn't wait to grow up and experience all that life had to offer.

Very slowly, as if fearful of being caught and severely reprimanded, she tilted the swing back.

'There will be no more talk of swings or dollies. I want you to rid yourself of all that nonsense right now, girl! You're a witch! And by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be the most powerful witch of your generation.'

The words echoed in her mind, that all too familiar voice finding its way to the forefront. The clipped tones instantly conjuring up the unpleasant memories she had unsuccessfully tried to bury.

'Most powerful witch of your generation'

The price paid was a heavy one and there were still times where she wondered whether or not it was truly worth it.

Syllables of poison continued to drip into her ear, drop by drop, the vehemence was clear in every word spoken.

'I think it's time to teach you a lesson once and for all.'

'Don't test my patience girl, and don't you ever think of disobeying an order again.'

'I own you, Constance Hardbroom; never forget that.'

Snake-like eyes burned into her own as the pressure around her neck increased; she couldn't breathe. She clawed at the rapidly thinning air as she frantically tried to remove her tutor's hands from around her throat. She could hear the sound of blood rushing in her ears and she could see her vision as it started to blur. The floor dipped and swam before her; spectrums of black sweeping past the corners of her eyes before dissipating again. Everything in her was fighting it, but she knew deep down that she would not be able to hold out for much longer.

The pressure released and she could not stop her legs from giving out on her as she collapsed onto the flagstone, coughing and spluttering, massaging her swollen throat. She struggled to draw a single breath, the effort alone agonising from the fire burning in her lungs.

"Pathetic."

Her eyes filled with the forbidden taste of tears, she looked up at her tutor and directly into the gaze of death and at the smirk of malice that was grinning back at her, instantly tolling the silent bells; warning her that the worst was yet to come.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she fought to block the voice from her mind; whispering over and over again that was all it was: just a voice in her mind. She couldn't hurt her; she wasn't really there. Her subconscious didn't subscribe to this theory as her grip on the handles of the swing tightened, her knuckles almost white from the increased pressure she was applying as she battled the demons in her mind and her rising state of emotional turmoil.

Ever so slowly, the tip of her toes left the ground beneath her and she began to swing back and forth. The action was so slight that if you were to look at her you wouldn't think she was moving at all. Still she refused to open her eyes.

She prepared for the bony hand that would touch her shoulder; she readied herself to be thrown from the swing, engulfed in hot flames of black magic. She braced herself for the verbal onslaught of cutting words that would soon stab at her heart, malice dancing in Heckitty's eyes, before the punishment turned physical, but it never came; none of it came and, ever so slowly, she dared to open her eyes.

The rain was still beating down heavily, soaking her right through, but she barely registered it. A single tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek, falling and mixing with the rainwater as it hit the ground.

No longer was she under the iron fist of her tutors' rule. No longer was she set to spend her every waking moment living in utter fear for her life, paying the consequences for daring to put even one toe out of line. She was...

...free?

For the first time, in a very long time, a small smile ghosted across her features. It was a smile of overwhelming realisation.

She was free.

The swing gained a little height each time as she swung back and forth. Most other people would consider the height relatively low, but for her it was such an achievement: it was higher than she dared to go in fifteen years. It was higher than she ever believed she could go.

Gradually the swing descended in height and soon her feet were firmly back on the ground. Her mind was spinning. She couldn't believe that she had just done that.

It was a massive act of defiance, going against everything that had been drummed into her during never-ending time under Heckitty's tutelage. She couldn't quite explain it. For so long everything had been dictated but now she was the one in control; decisions were hers to make: her life was her own, and it felt...good.

Strange, but good.

Another smile graced her face, this one reaching her eyes. The rain eased off, the sun gradually breaking through the dark clouds, and it was as if everything was finally falling into place. She stood from the swing, drying herself off with a quick flick of her wrist, before heading towards the park gates.

The swings would always hold a special significance to her. They were where she had had so much fun as a young girl, they were the place she would go in her mind all those nights at witch training college, when she had she cried herself to sleep, nursing yet another injury, wondering what she had possibly done to deserve such cruelty. They were the place that, somehow, she knew, she had to visit one last time.

The place where everything had to come full circle.

As she mounted her broomstick, she took one last look back at the past, before taking off towards the first step in the future. She no longer felt afraid; she felt ready. This was her future, and she would be damned if she was going to let anybody take it away from her.