I needed a break from "Bellatoxica" – it's getting a bit intense; but I didn't want to end up with writer's block, so thought I'd put this together by way of creative exercise...

It will only be a couple of chapters long, and is dedicated to anyone who would love to spend an evening with Constance Hardbroom. It's not meant to be great quality, either. I wrote all of it in one sitting and have barely edited, other than to correct mistakes. Unfortunately, that won't account for the fact that FanFiction sometimes sticks two words together, so apologies for any such instances.

To Friendship

1

I pressed my foot lightly to the brake and Walker's Gate swung open, the full glory of Cackle's Academy looming ahead. The late afternoon sun glinted off the upper windows, and as I edged cautiously into the yard I saw Constance looking out from the potions lab. My face broke into a broad grin and I waved, enthusiastically. Constance merely nodded, half smiling in her usual non-committal way as the gates closed behind me with a wave of her casting fingers. Faces of young witches appeared at the windows, their expressions aghast. It always surprised me how amazed they were to see a car; but then again my reaction to their broomsticks never failed to be a cause of their own amusement.

The car crunched across the smattering of gravel which led around the side of the Castle to where Miss Drill parked her Toyota. I stepped out, remotely locking the doors of my own vehicle as I caught sight of yet another gash in the side of Imogen's electric blue Rav 4. For a woman with so many comparatively masculine pursuits, she never had mastered the art of driving...

x

It was Amelia I encountered first, her grey hair fanning out behind her as she scurried down the stairway in a manner which suggested she had every intention of reaching the canteen before the girls did. She did a double take as she saw me approaching.

'My dear! How lovely it is to see you,' she beamed, her eyes creasing at the corners. 'And to what do we owe this pleasure?'

I smiled, feeling myself blush slightly at the compliment.

'I'm here to deprive you of your deputy headmistress's company,' I replied, as she squeezed one of my hands warmly between both of hers.

'Of course, of course,' Amelia nodded vigorously in recollection, before glancing in the direction of the canteen as the first clatter of hobnailed boots emanated from upstairs. 'I must go, I'm afraid, duty calls!' She turned and hastened towards the canteen as her calf-length grey cardigan flowed behind her. 'Do have a wonderful time, won't you?'

I stopped myself calling words of thanks after her, realising they would go unheard, and turned towards the stairs to fight my way through the throng of determined pupils on the way to dinner.

x

'Seriously, Imogen,' I jibed, as the gym mistress stirred sugar into my tea. 'It sounds like you could've parked a bus in that space. How on earth did you manage to get pranged?'

Imogen sighed, making her way across the staffroom and placing the cup and saucer on the table in front of me.

'I don't know,' she said, helplessly. 'I'd been so distracted negotiating the parallel park, I just didn't notice the concrete bollard at the edge of the pavement, so when I swung the door open...' she thumped the sides of her fists together in midair, as if to indicate a collision. 'Who puts bollards that close to the kerb, anyway?'

I stifled a grin as I sipped my tea, catching Davina's look of "c'est la vie" from the other side of the table.

'Broomsticks are much safer, dear,' she affirmed, in a whisper.

'And you?' It took me a moment before I realised Imogen's question was directed at me.

'Oh, what - me? What?'

'Have you been on a broomstick yet? I'm pretty sure last time you were here you were saying you'd have a go before we saw you again.'

'Oh, well – no,' I lied, every ounce of my resolve focussed on stopping the mischievous smile from creeping across my lips. 'Although I did get hold of my mother's ornamental broomstick from the shed the other day – by ornamental I mean it's made in the style of a witch's broom, but without the intention for it to be sky-bound. And I placed it on the floor and asked it to hover, but,' I did a thumbs-down gesture. 'Nitto.'

'You can't just use any old broom,' Davina said animatedly, as if she thought I was hearing this information for the first time. 'Oh no, they have to be enchanted. I suppose it's like you Christians just drinking any old plonk at church. No no no! The communion wine must be blessed first!'

I frowned sceptically at Davina, my chin resting on my fist as it dawned on me that she really did think every non-witch in the world went to church on Sundays.

My musings were shattered by the door being thrust open, and everyone jumped as Constance swept in, her eyes acknowledging me momentarily before she deliberately turned her attention to the other two.

'Really,' she sighed, 'I have yet to come up with a way of entering a room whereby the two of you don't accuse me of giving you a fright.'

'I didn't even say anything!' Imogen rose to her feet with an air of confrontation that made me feel uneasy. Constance merely sneered at her from her towering height. She really was, I thought, quite magnificent when she was angry.

'You needn't have,' Constance retorted. 'The two of you jumped like a couple of comprehensive-school teenagers caught in flagrante behind the bicycle sheds.'

As I bit back a snigger, I was sure Constance shot me a glance of satisfaction at her own quip.

'Perhaps quietly is the key word here,' muttered Davina into her knitting. Constance bent down so that her face was level with the chanting teacher's.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Bat?'

'I simply meant, Constance, that via a door... in the customary calm way... and not out of thin air...' she visibly withered under the deputy's glare, her voice reducing to a quivering whisper. 'That's all...'

'Hmm...' Constance rose to her feet, folding her arms and turning her full attention to me for the first time. 'Shall we?'

x

It came as no surprise to me that Constance still did not know how to buckle the seatbelt of a car. She fumbled impatiently with it, several times declining my offer of assistance until she gave up, sitting back in her seat with a huff and apparently mentally counting to ten, her eyes flashing wildly somewhere in the middle distance. Biting my lip, I dared to reach around her, sliding the belt across her front and clicking it into place as she surveyed me closely.

'Thank you,' she said, without a hint of gratitude. I rolled my eyes and turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life and a multitude of lights illuminating the dashboard. Constance always seemed so intrigued by these, and she studied them intently as I nudged the gearstick effortlessly into reverse.

'Stop!' she commanded, and I slammed my foot on the break so that we were both momentarily thrust forward.

'What?' I shrilled, the horrifying image of a witch's cat lying slain beneath the tyres hurtling through my mind's eye.

'I've forgotten something. Wait here a moment, will you?' Constance was now faffing to release the seatbelt, and after yet more assistance from me she disappeared into the castle, emerging moments later with her broomstick. She opened the front passenger door and bent down to address me.

'Where can I put this?'

I eyed the broomstick with what I hoped was a good impersonation of incredulity, before Constance reprimanded me for gawping "like one of the third years". Sighing, I stepped out of the car, walked around to the boot, and beckoned Constance to hand me the broom.

x

It wasn't quite the relaxing journey I'd had planned. Having a yard or so of twigs between one and one's passenger wasn't particularly conducive to conversation. Plus Constance had an unnerving habit of drawing a sharp breath and clutching the seat at every slight meander in the road, which I always took to be a reflection on my driving skills (or lack thereof), before I reminded myself that, as a witch, her exposure to automobiles was minimal to say the least.

As dusk fell we crossed the bridge into Henley, the town's lamps already glowing topaz in the half light. The traffic lights turned red and we both gazed in silence at the irresistible sight of the Thames, its rippling surface shimmering as a family of swans drifted gracefully along, disappearing into the shadows of a willow tree.

We pulled up to the restaurant, and after Constance wrongly observed that I would "never get the car into that space", I impressed her with my parallel parking. As we walked in, I felt her heady presence behind me. I cast my eyes over the already seated diners and observed how their attention turned from me to the impressive woman behind me, all eyes filled with tentative awe. I smiled to myself. My "date". I felt a brief flutter at the word, wondering what Constance would think if she knew.

'Table for two?' enquired the waiter, young and dark and smiling politely. Somehow he reminded me of a jockey – I didn't know if it was his demure stature or the gleaming, Frankie Dettori eyes. 'Have you made a reservation?'

I turned my head so that I could read the handwritten list on the counter in front of him, pointing a finger at my name. He nodded, drawing a ball-point line through it, grabbing a couple of menus and gesturing with his hand. 'Follow me, please.'

Even I, at my relatively meagre height, had to duck my head slightly to miss the faux-foliage that had been wound around the original beams. Constance, no doubt, would think it all rather frivolous and inconvenient and would no doubt tell me so when we sat down. The waiter stopped abruptly at a cosy corner table, neatly set with a well worn candle in the middle and napkins folded like origami, where I stood aside to let Constance choose her seat, taking the one opposite her. The waiter took my jacket and Constance's cloak and I watched him as he examined it, discretely, folding it neatly and disappearing off towards the cloak room. Constance seemed to notice.

'He probably thinks I'm an academic from Oxford,' she said, pulling her seat a little closer under the table and eyeing the wine menu. 'Now – red or white?'

It was a rhetorical question – Constance never drank white. At least, she never had when I'd been with her. It was Cabernet Sauvignon all the way, or maybe a nice Rijoca. 'As long as it's dark, rich and full bodied,'she'd said once before, 'It will go down very nicely indeed'.

A short while later, the waiter produced a bottle of vintage French red and poured a small drop into one of two large glasses. Constance took a sip, considering for a moment.

'Very good,' she said, not making eye contact with him as he continued to pour two generous helpings, a linen napkin folded neatly around the bottleneck. As he left the table, Constance raised her glass.

'To... oh, I don't know...'

'Friendship?' I finished her sentence, and she looked a little taken aback, as if the word hadn't occurred to her, but she approved nonetheless. Her eyes glimmered slightly as she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

'Yes. To friendship.'

Someone once told me that it was good luck to hold eye contact when raising a toast. As our glasses chinked in midair, I realised Constance must have heard that one, too.

x

'So what does it actually feel like?' I leant forward slightly across the table as soon as the remains of the main course had been removed, my eyes on Constance's spell casting fingers as she flexed them in that absentminded way she always did. The wine had heightened my courage, aided my confidence at asking this enigmatic woman questions I was usually too reserved to ask. Her brow furrowed as she considered her response.

'It's difficult to describe,' she sighed, perusing the coffee menu. 'It's something I've had all my life, and I don't know how I would feel without it. So I have little to compare it to.'

'Does it feel like electricity?' I said, tilting my head inquisitively. 'That's what I always imagine. Jolts of electricity buzzing along your arm and out through your fingertips. Like when you hit your funny bone, but a thousand times stronger.' I felt myself blush as I caught the expression on Constance's face. It was the sort I imagined she'd give a pupil who had been put on the spot to answer a question to which they had not been listening. I smiled apologetically. 'Or maybe not...'

'I doubt it very much. Not that I have a vast experience of electricity. No. It's quite the most intense feeling. Empowering, I would say.' Constance placed the palms of her hands together, her fingers interlocking as she rested her chin on her knuckles, her eyes thoughtfully on the middle distance.

At that moment, the waiter reappeared.

'Dessert?' he asked, more to Constance than to me. Constance glanced in my direction, and I bit my lip to suppress a giggle.

x

By the time we emerged back onto Hart Street, it was almost dark. The evening air was cool, pleasant...

'Just the sort of evening for a stroll by the river,' Constance announced, as though reading my thoughts. 'Open the car for a moment, will you?' I did as she asked, flicking the switch on the key remote and watching as Constance clicked open the boot door, before –

'Oh no, Constance, don't!' I hastened over to her, almost losing my footing as the air and the alcohol combined and caused my stiletto heels to misjudge the kerb. 'Not here! People will wonder what the hell –'

'Then let them wonder,' Constance said, calmly, holding the broom back so that I couldn't grapple for it. 'I am not about to forsake the cloth of my calling just because we happen to be in a non-magical area.' I sighed, reluctantly stepping back and smiling apologetically to an older couple who I recognised from the restaurant, as they strolled past arm in arm, expressions of puzzlement on their faces.

'Can't you at least conceal it, or something?' I hissed.

'No, my dear, I cannot.' Constance turned on her heel and was making her way towards the river. 'Well? Are you coming or not?'

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' I called after has as I hastened to keep up.

x

Fortunately, the riverside path was not lit, so the occasional passer by - if they even noticed at all - seemed to shake off the image of the imposing woman striding along with a broomstick at her side as if it were some trick of the light. The water glistened to our left as we walked in silence, the only glimmer of light coming from the occasional houseboat we encountered along the bank, the grandiose houses on the other side of the river, and the stars in the ink-blue sky. I stole a glance up at Constance. I had tried to savour every moment of her company, delightful as it was and so painfully infrequent – yet the after effects of the alcohol, I realised, would do one of two things. They would blur my appreciation of the evening, or worse: they might encourage me to do something stupid, and then I'd lose her forever. Biting back the negative thoughts, I took a few deep breaths, determined to sober up before I spoke to her again – when at that moment, she stopped abruptly, turning to me.

'Well, come on then,' she said, holding her broom in front of her and instructing it to hover.

'Sorry?'

'You can hardly drive again tonight,' she said, as she positioned herself side-saddle on the broom, jerking her head to indicate I climb on with her. 'You've flown in aeroplanes before, haven't you?'

'Yes, I have, but–'

'And you'd had a little go on this one,' she said, tapping the side of the broom.

'But -'

'But what?'

I eyed the broom for a moment, before shrugging. 'I just don't understand how they stay up, that's all.'

Constance rolled her eyes.

'They "stay up" with magic, my dear. Magic can be trusted implicitly, unlike engineering, which cannot, as you will see if you research the history of aviation.'

After further consideration, I walked reluctantly around to the side of the broom, lowering myself cautiously onto it and gripping the handle at either side of my thighs.

'Up and away!' Constance commanded, and as we sped forwards and upwards, I cried out in fright and flung my arms around Constance's waist, hearing her click her teeth at my ineptitude to simply hold on.