Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch and the lyrics used come from Lana Del Rey's 'Carmen'.
A/N: *waves*, yep I'm still in my Lana phase; just love her. This is probably my second if not top favourite Lana tune, there is something so haunting about it. Predominately it's about the culture; desire and downfall of fame, but there are a few lines in it, that to me at least, just scream HB. So I've picked them out and turned them into a little one-shot type thing. Hope you enjoy.
XxX
A/N - Edited 2013- song lyrics removed. I've worried for some time about copyright laws and have thus made the decision to remove the lyrics from any writing I have done. :)
Darling, Darling, Doesn't Have a Problem
Standing behind her desk she watched intently as little wisps of smoke rose from the cauldron, filling the air around her. Stirring it three times she breathed a sigh of relief she didn't even know she'd been holding as the contents of the cauldron turned the familiar colour of emerald green she had longed to see. Her brown eyes never leaving the liquid as she ladled some into a glass vial, being meticulously careful so as not to waste even a drop; almost as if she was transfixed by it.
Wide awake potion.
Her lifeline.
Holding the vial up to the light she let out a small sigh. Part of her knew she was treading on dangerous ground, and had been for a long time; many years in fact. Like most other substances, the danger lay in the prolonged use, and the usually resulting addiction, as well as the side effects that came with it: the nasty headache that always followed as the potion wore off; the way her hands would shake ever so slightly despite her best attempts to enforce her rigid self control; and probably the most important one, the slow poisoning of the bloodstream as the toxins seeped into her body.
The other part of her was trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind and instead listen to the one that had convinced her there was nothing wrong, that she wasn't using the potion as a way to mask her problems; covering the wound with a plaster, rather than extracting the venom from it; telling herself that she wasn't using it to avoid sleep and the nightmares that always came with it, the images that would plague her dreams and torture her mind. Memories of the past; memories she had unsuccessfully tried to bury.
Unwilling to let the past be known, she'd constructed a mask: a mask that hid the broken and vulnerable woman behind it and instead allowed for her to portray a strict façade, allowed for her to put on a front on a daily basis; a show for the rest of the world: the harsh tone in her voice; the piercing glare of fire that could melt ice; the smile that rarely graced her features, coupled with heavy use of wide awake potion, allowed her to conceal the truth.
She knew the girls probably thought she was just a miserable bitch who liked to shout and put a stop to anyone having fun but truthfully she really did care for her girls, it
was the closest thing to a maternal instinct she had and she would fight to the death to protect them. She wanted to help them to hone their magical abilities to the best standard they could but most importantly she didn't want them to end up like her.
Bitter.
Isolated.
Reluctant to trust in anyone.
She knew that the events of the past had helped to shape her future. Her experience under Heckitty Broomhead's tutelage whilst at witch training college had changed her dramatically. The tyrannical tutor had ruled with an iron fist and brutal force. Taking her anger and displeasure out on her young students and refusing to listen as they screamed their innocence and choked out pleas for mercy that would never be granted.
The images forever burned into her mind; the vicious onslaughts; the screaming; the scars still visible on her porcelain skin, covered up by the long, high necked dresses; concealing not only her body, but also the past.
Her spirit had long been crushed; her soul darkened, and the passion she had for life once upon a time practically extinguished. The flame still burned but it was nearly spent. And she never wanted that for her girls.
When she was teaching that flame burned bright and so high; it was her true purpose in life. Nothing else seemed to matter as everything negative seemed to dissipate from her mind. Imparting her knowledge and wisdom of her much loved craft to her students set something free inside her. When she spoke of pure magic her whole being lit up; her eyes sparkled. She felt such pride as she watched them take that seed of knowledge and apply it in their own style, forming their own opinions and conclusions.
She felt so alive.
The vial was still placed delicately between her thumb and forefinger as she fought the ongoing battle in her mind; the two voices competing for attention: one telling her she didn't need to use it, that she was strong enough to cope without it; the other telling her she needed it to ensure her own sanity, foreseeing the chain of events that would follow if she poured it down the sink.
The potion was her safety crutch, and to remove it would be catastrophic. The constant nightmares would gradually begin to wear her down; exhaustion would overwhelm her, affecting her ability to do her job and the mask she wore would crumble away to nothing, leaving her broken and vulnerable. Revealing exactly what she wanted to conceal from the rest of the world: the truth.
Closing her eyes for a few seconds she took a deep breath before opening them again. Catching side of her reflection in the glass of the cabinet she sighed.
Her decision was made.
She was doing the right thing, she told herself.
Whether she believed that or not was a different matter.