In hindsight, she supposes she hadn't actually meant to cause the explosion.

It all seemed easy. Too easy, almost as if she hadn't done it herself. A swift change of ingredients, a purposeful stir, and a split second before the contents of the potion had violently expelled themselves at her, propelling her into the wall.

She just wanted to feel something other than the pit of despair that had formed in her stomach after Agatha's temporary reign of terror, after the school partially collapsed, after the chaos with the Founding Stone. She just wanted something to replace the permanent feeling of anxiety that had taken over her.

But in this moment, it seemed to have gotten worse.

The explosion hadn't left her too battered, but she still needed to spend a night in the Infirmary. After she had time to recover, Ada summoned her to her office. They sat across from each other, untouched cups of tea going cold besides them. Ada stared at her intently. Though the older witch's face was expressionless, her eyes were swimming in tears. "You," Ada started, her voice not quite sounding like her own.

"I told you," Hecate said softly, immediately reminded of her childhood and being punished by her governess. "It was an accident."

"You expect me to believe that?" Ada sounded hurt. "You never falter at potions-making."

For a brief moment, Hecate felt a swell of pride in her chest. Then, she realized that Ada's words were not meant to be a compliment.

"Ada," she said. "I made a mistake. I picked up the wrong ingredient, it was completely unintentional."

"You of all people know the potential reactions of mixing the wrong ingredients," Ada replied quickly, her tears threatening to escape. "You wouldn't make that mistake—"

"I know it's an awful example for the girls—"

"That's not what I'm concerned about—"

"I know you've been under tremendous pressure from the Witches' Council—"

"I could not care any less about the Council at the moment—"

"I know it's embarrassing—"

"I'm not embarrassed," Ada whispered, sounding appalled. "I'm worried."

"Worried about what?"

"I worry about you, Hecate!" Ada exclaimed. "I worry about you. You've hardly been the same since last term! I didn't know this was possible, but you have shut yourself off and guarded yourself more than usual. After today, I worry more and more about what is going on in your mind. I know you're not used to it, but you're cared for here, Hecate—but I need you to let me in!" Tears were now making their way down Ada's cheek.

Hecate stared at the Headmistress, trying to hide the fact that the words had stung her. Was she really that obtuse? For the last two decades that she had been at Cackles, she thought that she had opened herself up to Ada. In her mind, she was less guarded at the school than anywhere else, and she thought that her actions showed that. Did Ada think that she didn't respect her? That she didn't trust her?

"Hecate," Ada whispered, a desperate look in her eyes. "You know you can talk to me, you know that you can tell me anything. I'm here to help you, dear, I'm here for whatever you may need."

Hecate tried to smile, though it may have looked more like a grimace. "It was an accident," she said again, and almost immediately she could see the disappointment written all over Ada's face. "I had my ingredients too close together, and I accidentally used the wrong one."

"If you insist." Ada sighed.

-o-o-o-

Even days after their conversation, Hecate couldn't help but to be haunted by Ada's words, by her tears, by her disappointment. For the most part, Hecate kept to herself – locking herself up in her quarters after teaching and doing her rounds. She and Ada had barely spoken to one another since their conversation, and Hecate couldn't bring herself to look at the headmistress after the explosion.

Her mother had died in a similar explosion. Hecate was only four, but she could remember that vividly. At first, she had thought it was going to be such a special day. Her mother, who barely left her bed let alone the house, had taken her to the forest surrounding their home. She allowed Hecate to assist her in picking out potions ingredients, and even smiled when Hecate picked a small bunch of pretty flowers for her.

It's strange how the world works. How Hecate's fondest memory of her mother also stems from the day in which her mother took her own life.

Young Hecate had begged her mother to let her help with the potion. She had thought that since she was allowed to pick the ingredients, that mother would certainly let her help with the potion itself. But mother's already sad eyes looked even sadder, and she said no.

And then there was the explosion, and mother was gone.

Soon enough, Hecate's father sent her to live with the governess, where Hecate learned that in order for her to be a proper witch, she had to hide her emotions and focus on tradition and her craft.

In the face of emergency or tragedy, Hecate's instinct has been to hide. From a young age, she learned that emotions didn't do her any good, and that what was most important was the future of witchcraft. Her governess always told her that an emotional witch was a weak witch, and Hecate believed her.

Her governess also told her that she got in the way. Unfortunately, Hecate believed that, too.

It took a long, long time for Hecate to begin to doubt what her childhood guardian taught her. However, it was as though those lessons were burned in her brain. It wasn't until she had met Ada that she began to realize that soft, emotional witches could still be strong, could still be powerful. Since starting at Cackles twenty years ago, Hecate had thought she had changed. Recently, it was almost as though her feelings of being inadequate and being a burden were coming back to her at full force, crippling her with a fear of failure. However, Hecate still could not allow herself to crack. She couldn't allow herself to address or talk about her feelings. She had to focus on teaching and her duties as Deputy Headmistress, and she had been so set in her ways for so long, that she couldn't imagine being any other way.

Plus, she didn't want to get in the way.

Her entire life, she couldn't escape the fact that she was a burden. She was a burden to her mother, who was too sad to have her. She was a burden to her father, who never wanted her. She was a burden to her governess, who never asked for her. She was a burden to Pippa, who had better friends.

And she was a burden to Ada. She was a burden because she was often too strict with the other instructors and students. She was a burden because she was too set in her ways. She was a burden because she purposely exploded that damn potion. She was a burden because she needed Ada too much.

-o-o-o-

It was almost as if she had stopped thinking completely. One moment, she was in her office preparing her lessons, and the next she was standing in Ada's office.

Ada hadn't looked up. At this point, she had grown so accustomed to Hecate popping in that it no longer phased her. Hecate exhaled sharply, wanting the Headmistress to look at her.

Slowly, Ada's eyes left the document she was reading. "Yes?" She asked, no hint of coldness or anger in her voice.

"I knew what I was doing," she said matter-of-factly. "With the potion. I did it on purpose."

Ada looked unfazed, as if she knew that Hecate would eventually come to her with this. "I wasn't thinking," Hecate continued. "I wasn't thinking and it was inappropriate and I'm sorry."

After a few moments, Ada remained silent. Feelings of embarrassment flooded through Hecate as Ada looked at her Deputy with sadness in her eyes.

As Hecate turned to leave, she heard Ada say: "my dear, we still have such a long way to go."