(A/N)- Trying to think of a better name for this fic. Here's the second part. Going to have several more. Enjoy! And if you like it please review! Thank you so much LongVodka for being my sole reviewer! LOL! I know I'm asking for it continuing a fic that just got one review, but what the hell - I'm having fun with this one.

Please note that this has implied femslash and is not beta'd and the end was finished up around 3 am so any spelling errors or stupidness please forgive!

- New Heights -

"You should've let me do the presentation," Davina murmured to Constance as they headed out towards the clearing to mount their brooms.

Constance didn't respond, she just stared icily back, lips pursed.

The presentation had been a disaster. The reputation of Cackles' Academy lay in shambles. Constance, more than anyone present, was very furious with Mildred, so furious in fact that she hadn't said a single word to reprimand the hopeless girl. So furious, she couldn't even find the words to express her deepest apologies to Miss Cackle, let alone the Grand Wizard.

"Davina," Imogen called quietly, causing the old witch to look over at her.

"Don't."

"But I was just-"

"I know," Imogen replied, "Not now." Her green eyes met Constance's for a fleeting moment, and in that moment she could've sworn that she appeared somewhat appreciative of the non-witch.

"Want me to fly you back, dear?" Davina asked quietly in a feeble attempt to prevent Constance from overhearing her offer.

"No thanks, I've got my bike."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine, Davina, really ..."

"Miss Bat," Constance snapped irritably, "Shouldn't you be leading the girls with Miss Cackle?" She raised a finely arched brow at her. Davina scowled at her a moment before patting the gym mistress on the arm, "See you later, have a pleasant trip!" she whispered, before making her way to the front of the group as quickly as she could.

Imogen glanced down at her bike beside her as she walked along, gripping the handlebars briefly as she tried to focus her attention away from the witch beside her as they swept through the deep patches of dry leaves. She wondered if she should just hop on her bike and take off for the school without them. It would be rude somehow, but she could always make an excuse that she wanted to catch up on sleep. What she really wanted to do was to find those suspicious-looking witches she'd spotted earlier in the wood. What were they up to? And should she warn her colleagues about it? Perhaps she was only making a mountain out of a molehill ... perhaps it was nothing to worry about. It was Halloween, after all. Plenty of witches about.

"It would be safer if you flew with us," Constance said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Huh?"

"It's much too dark to be riding a bicycle. Rather unsafe, don't you think?"

"And teetering on a broomstick in midair, that's safer is it?" she asked sarcastically, but was only met with a serious glare.

"Afraid of heights now, are you?" she asked teasingly, "And here I thought you were our sports mistress!"

"I'm not afraid of heights," she retorted calmly, "It's the thought of being suspended in midair without much to hold on to that irks me."

"Magick, Miss Drill," Constance reminded, "That's what keeps us from falling to our deaths."

"Yes, and I'm not a witch, so I'll surely die."

Constance snatched hold of her handlebar, stopping Imogen before she could take off into the night. The action made them incredibly close to one another, but Constance did not falter. She simply stared intensely back into her green eyes.

"I won't let you."

"Pardon?"

"Die, I mean. You won't fall. I won't allow it."

Imogen was momentarily touched, but she shook the feeling off, "Guess I should catch up with Davina then ..."

"No, you'll definitely fall if you fly with her as her broom's about as old as she is," she brushed off carelessly, "No, you'll fly with me," she said sternly and casually as if she was asking the most ordinary of things, as if the two had never fought in their lives or had a single reason to not be in such close proximity to one another.

"Are you sure?" Imogen asked in a small voice, immediately wishing she hadn't asked that lest she think it over, so she asked another question, "What about my bike?"

The witch carelessly pointed her spell-casting fingers at the bike, causing Imogen to jump and drop it as she zapped it, making it shrink down to the size of teacup. Imogen knelt down and picked it up, holding it in the palm of her hand as she hid her amusement with a sigh, "Of course." She pocketed her miniature bike and looked over at the witch, catching the faintest hint of a smile before she continued on her way, swiftly catching up with the group.

They finally arrived in the clearing, and they all mounted their brooms. Constance perched elegantly on hers, hovering in midair, and for a brief moment Imogen thought this was some sort of trick, that the witch was going to take off without her. "Are you coming or what?" she snapped in her usual manner, causing her to jump slightly. She couldn't shake off the feeling that the witch wasn't really angry with her, that she was probably just playing with her ... gods ... the thought of that woman being playful with anyone! She could only find it conceivable in a mean sort of way. She decided Constance was just being snippy because she was still upset about the presentation going to hell.

Imogen let out a restless breath and awkwardly hopped up beside Constance, sitting near the top of the broom as the witch indicated, and as soon as she sat down she felt her entire body begin to slip backwards. She would've fallen if the witch hadn't grabbed her, her warm cloaked arm wrapping around her waist.

"You'll have to lean into my shoulder a bit to keep balance. Don't sit facing forward; lean sideways with your knees bent, looking in the direction we're flying."

She wanted to remind the woman that she'd overheard her give flying lessons to the first years for two years now, but she felt mentioning it would just make her sound like she was looking for a fight. Besides, she seemed to lose the ability to string two words together, let alone an entire sentence.

"Keep both hands grasped on the broomstick," she ordered sternly, her warm breath tickling the younger woman's ear, sending pleasant goosebumps down her spine. "Any questions?"

Imogen opened her mouth to say something, but resolved to simply shake her head as she looked at the ground below, trying to mentally prepare herself for how far down it was going to look within the next couple of seconds.

"Hold on tight," she breathed in her ear once more.

The next thing she knew, they were ascending steadily into the sky, the ground below her getting further and further away. Imogen gulped, and averted her gaze to the skies, but the sight of the open air only made her more uneasy. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, her grip tightening on the broomstick. She slid slightly down the broom as it tilted upwards, and she fell into Constance. The witch didn't budge, nor did she snap at her for it. In fact, she instead leaned into her, and Imogen felt that she was just as much Constance's anchor as Constance was hers.

Imogen tried very hard to ignore their closeness, reminding herself that she was a non-witch and would never be good enough for Constance even if she had any interest in her whatsoever ... she looked up in the direction they were flying, but the sight of Constance's pale hand near the top of the broomstick kept catching her eye and she found herself looking at it instead. Her tan hand was beside it, and even though she was gripping the broom so hard it made her knuckles white, she still looked very dark in contrast with the witch's off-white skin. She wondered how it would feel against her own skin, if it was indeed always as cold as it looked ...

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her head. Stupidly, in her frantic attempt to get her mind off of her colleague, she wound up looking down at the forest below. For a fleeting moment, it made her slightly dizzy and a shiver of fear swept through her, but then she remembered those suspicious looking witches she'd seen in the wood earlier. Perhaps she could catch a glimpse of them ...

Her green eyes scanned the landscape, and in her concentration, she didn't seem to notice she'd loosened her grip. All it took was for her to loosen it slightly, and she fell forward. A barely audible cry escaped her throat and she gripped it tightly again, but not before Constance threw her other arm across her middle, stopping her fall and bringing her into a sort of odd embrace.

She expected the woman to yell at her, and she wouldn't blame her from doing so. She didn't yell, but she wasn't pleased with her either. Against the whipping wind, she hissed into her ear, "You're going to get us killed!" followed by a slightly gentler tone laced with concern more than anything, "Just don't look down."

"Sorry," Imogen answered, her heart pounding madly in her chest. It took her a couple more seconds before she realized the witch's hand was tightly over her own, and as soon as she saw this, Constance released her, resuming her original position at the top of the handle. Imogen couldn't help the blush that crossed her features.

It wasn't long after till they landed in the castle courtyard. Imogen, eager to have both feet back on the ground, jumped off the broom at a greater height than normally deemed safe, earning a shout from Constance, which she ignored. She thought the woman was coming over to berate her some more, but she swept past her, making a beeline for Amelia as she ordered the girls to put their brooms away and head straight to bed.

Imogen suddenly remembered something ... fumbling around in her coat pocket, she jogged up to the castle doors, "Miss Hardbroom!" she called, careful to use formalities for she knew even Amelia didn't always address her by her first name.

The witch's intense brown eyes locked on hers, almost threateningly, as she approached. Any kindness Imogen may have felt she received earlier vanished within an instant. Constance said nothing, she just stared her down, lips pursed in irritation. Imogen offered a meek smile, which of course was not returned, and held out her shrunken bicycle in the palm of her hand.

"Could you -?"

The potions mistress zapped her magickal fingers at the bike in a flash of blue light, causing it to resume it's normal size rather abruptly, catching Imogen off guard as the bike that was once in her hands was now overbearing in her arms. She awkwardly set it to the ground, and shot an annoyed look at the brunette, who appeared amused with herself.

"Off to bed now, girls, classes start after lunch!" Miss Cackle ordered, her humiliation no longer apparent and now it had been replaced with anger that could match Miss Hardbroom's even on her worst days.

The deputy head shouted for the rest of them to hurry up as she clasped the doorknob, almost wordlessly threatening to leave them outside if they didn't hurry it up. Imogen waited too for them to pass, as it would be difficult to try and pull a bike through a crowd of tired young witches.

And so, Imogen was the last to enter the building. Really, the very last, for Constance had entered before her and let the door slam shut behind her. She hadn't locked it as well, thankfully, but it still left Imogen feeling even more ticked off at the witch than she already had been.

"Knew it wouldn't last," she muttered under her breath, wrenching the heavy door open and lugging her bike in behind her.

(A/N) - Please review I will love you forever!