I had to take a while to think if exactly what would happen in this chapter, but I think I have the next few lined up in my mind so the delay shouldn't be toooo long, bearing in mind my exams start on Monday (aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!)

Anyway this has been a good chapter to write but there is so much more to come! Thanks to all reviewers, you have been so lovely and have helped me to form my ideas which is saying something as they haven't been readily presenting themselves of late.

Anyway enough pointlessness, enjoy!


Chapter 4

Constance could feel the watchful gaze of Miss Cackle follow her down the corridor until she turned the corner. There, confident that she was alone, she vanished the papers which would reappear conveniently at her desk and walked briskly through a wooden door, taking the spiralling steps to her only undiscovered sanctuary: the dungeons. She sat at the wooden bench and let her heavy head fall into her hands, her mind a vast chasm of bewildered thoughts running aimlessly in panic.

She wanted to the tears falls gracefully down her face like melancholy rivers of emotion stroking her cheeks in comfort, but she wasn't even sure that she could anymore. She wanted to tell the headmistress everything, to share the burden of her terror with another and feel the weight of the world lifted even for a moment from her shoulders. She had tried to cope with this on her own, whatever this was, because she couldn't ask for help and she knew that she never would; as long as her life still held some meaning, she would never ask.

Without looking at the clock, Constance knew that she had soon to go back and face a classroom of rampant teenagers, lying to herself every second that there was nothing wrong. Anyone else would have...but no, she wasn't anyone else. She was Constance Hardbroom and she had a duty to her pupils, a loyalty that she would honour to her dying days whether they knew of it or not.

The silence of the room was a gracious relief; the calm which followed the storm and preceded another was a curse of inevitability as much as anything, but a few stolen moments of blessed release were paradise for Constance. The piercing thud of the drums in her head began to ebb away, the waves of pain receding like the calming of the tide. She rose from the bench, the feeling of reluctance at leaving the safety of her private space strong in her heart, yet the knowledge that she had no choice but to carry on forced her away; the rationality of her mind had always triumphed over her heart, so much so that there was no longer a contest.

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Miss Hardbroom walked briskly into the potions laboratory and every one of the third year pupils fell immediately silent, as though unable to speak in the presence of their teacher. They sat straight-backed in their chairs, ready to take in her every word and follow it at the risk of the deathly stare and barking voice of a woman they all feared to cross.

Mildred Hubble sat near to the back, more self conscious than all of the other girls surrounding her. She was infamous as a student who got things irreversibly wrong she knew as well as anyone the wrath the followed impertinence. That afternoon, however, she sensed that something was different. She watched Miss Hardbroom walk to her desk and begin writing the name of a potion on the board, trying to see the difference she could not quite place. She could see that her teacher was not able to meet the eyes of any of her students as she spoke to them about their assignment that day, and there was something behind her dark eyes; a truth that needed desperately to be told.

'Mildred Hubble!' She realised at that moment that she had not been listening, completely subconsciously staring at her teacher rather than taking note of what was being said.

'Y-yes Miss Hardbroom?' replied Mildred cautiously, already aware of exactly what would come next from the potion mistress' mouth.

'This potion is difficult, Mildred, and with your track record I would rather advise that you take note of what I am saying rather than gawping into space!' Her sentenced was harsh, loud and startling even for her; she knew that Mildred had not been staring into space but at her and it was not something she appreciated.

'Sorry Miss Hardbroom.' Mildred kept her eyes down on her work from then on, concentrating her gaze on the frothing mixture before her and trying to avoid the urge to watch Miss Hardbroom again.

'What do you think is up with HB?' she asked Maud Moonshine, her short bespectacled friend of three years who was stirring her own concoction to Mildred's left.

'What do you mean?'

'Can't you feel it?' Mildred inquired, stunned that only she had noticed the change in their teacher's demeanour.

'Feel what? It's just the same old HB, bossing us around and-' her sentence was cut short as Miss Hardbroom's head snapped in her direction. No-one knew the full extent of her capabilities, and Mildred thought it best to stay quiet for the rest of the lesson.

Constance sat at her desk and waited for the girls to finish their potion, wondering how Mildred could tell that something was wrong. The other girls were oblivious and despite the dull ache beginning once more to pound in her skull, she was aware that she was hiding her discomfort well. Mildred was an anomaly, a girl with the potential to be a very good witch but with the clumsy misfortune of an unstable child; yet Miss Hardbroom did not underestimate her. She had learned over the past few years, watching the girl escape the most difficult and unusual of situations, that Mildred Hubble was someone to watch.

Yet still the question burned in her pounding head: how could she tell? Even without this inquisition to bother her she could still see the cogs of the girl's mind working as she stirred, thinking of her; it unnerved her more than perhaps it should have.

Xxx

'Have you noticed it too?' Miss Drill whispered to Miss Cackle, leaning across the scrubbed wooden table.

'Yes, though she hides it well from the girls. I just wish I knew what was wrong!' Amelia had lines of worry etched in her soft, kind face as she nursed a cup of cooling tea.

'You mean she hasn't told you?'

'No,' admitted Miss Cackle, wishing that she was not as ignorant to the full picture as she knew that she was.

'You've known her for years, wouldn't she tell you if it was serious?' Miss Cackle gave a weak smile at Imogen, who was as naive to Constance's ways as she had ever been.

'I have known her for fifteen years, since she graduated top of her class from Witch Training College and accepted her position here at Cackle's, but the thing that you must know about Constance is that it doesn't matter how well you know her, she keeps herself to herself. She is the most private person I have ever met and God help you if you question her on it. She has to be perfect, a force to be reckoned with not the subject of pity or sympathy; it destroys her.'

Imogen didn't know what to say. As a non-witch in a witch's school she felt out of place at the best of times, but she felt more useless now than she ever had before. She jumped slightly in her seat as Constance materialised at the urn, beginning to pour herself tea without seeming to acknowledge that she had moved.

The difference was more apparent to Imogen now than it had ever been, though she had no idea what was causing it. It was almost a look of defeat which Constance wore, though defeat to what? Her eyes were not as sharp, a hint of sadness pervading the usual dispassionate glare she kept at all times and her body looked exhausted, her posture less than its usual rigidity.

Constance pretended not to notice the other women in the staffroom. She had stopped reprimanding her colleagues about watching her with such a concerned gaze and simply wished to take her tea and leave for an evening of peace and quiet. The headache was more than returning now, but growing like a tumour in her head and it was all that she could do not to gasp in pain, but she could not let this rule her life; it was fine.

Miss Cackle shot a worried look at Imogen who reciprocated with a mirrored one of her own. Without words, the headmistress asked her to let her speak alone with Constance and Miss Drill understood, making a mumbled excuse to leave.

'I know what you are going to say, headmistress,' warned Constance, watching the grains of sugar dissolve at the mercy of the boiling liquid as she stirred.

'Well then answer me honestly and I will stop asking,' replied Amelia wisely, 'is there anything wrong?' Constance sighed,

'There is nothing wrong which should concern you, headmistress.' It wasn't a no. Amelia registered this immediately and heard the chorus of alarms ringing.

'I can see it in your eyes; it's why you won't look right at me,' said Amelia, forcing herself to remain calm. Constance couldn't bring herself to seek the headmistress' gaze as she knew it would give her away more completely than her appearance already managed.

'I am fi-'Constance never finished the sentence. A spasm of pain, alive only for the briefest of moments, forced her to stop and concentrate all of her energy into staying upright. The fire coursed through her blood, that one moment lasting one hundred years as her body struggled to cope. The cup she had been holding began to fall and, as she regained some of her strength, she cast a wordless spell to prevent it hitting the ground; but it didn't work. The cup ignored her magic and fell, shattering on the floor and spilling the dark contents onto the carpet like a pool of blood staining the material.

Constance stared for a moment at her baron fingers, the feelings pressing down upon her chest indescribable. She flexed her hands nervously and pointed at the cup, which vanished with its contents into nothingness and breathed a muted sigh of relief. She had simply been too slow to react, she told herself, though life be damned if she believed it.

Miss Cackle had been watching, not sure of what exactly she had seen but knowing that her deputy could be the only one to explain. Constance looked at her, the naked vulnerability in her eyes frightening.

'I can't...not now,' she said quietly. One hundred questions ran through Amelia's brain, but as she knew each would be too invasive to a place within Constance that had not been disturbed for so long, she restrained herself and simply nodded.

There was a pause, a moment of silence which lasted long enough to create distinctive awkwardness. The light of day was fading outside the castle walls, the weakened sun retreating to the power of the black night, with the moon hanging in ridicule as its foot soldier. Constance knew that she would have to tell Amelia, but she did not think that she could bear it, not yet at least. Admitting that there was something happening, even if Miss Cackle had already known, had taken more than she knew she had to give and both women understood where they were headed soon enough.

'I think that I will retire for the evening,' said Constance finally.

'Very well Miss Hardbroom. Oh, by the way, I received a letter from the grand wizard today. He has a gift, a donation to the school and he is coming to present it next week; I just thought I should let you know.' Constance nodded to Miss Cackle before striding swiftly from the room. That was all that she needed, the added hassle of a visit from Egbert Hellibore who would no doubt bring a sense of disorder and frivolity to the girls who idolised him. As she sat in her room, watching the death of the day from her window, she knew that she would not receive the fulfilling night of sleep that her body craved. It was a curse of which she had no control, she could admit that to herself, but she just wished she knew what it meant. Why her, why now? So many unanswered inquiries that she feared would stay unknown until the day when she could stand it no longer; and she feared with dread churning in the pit of her stomach that the day would come sooner than she was ready for.


I would love some reviews, as I have a very stressful weekend ahead and I much appreciate the feedback :):)

HB rules

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