Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch

A/N: I know it has been ages, but I got inspired on my day off from work et voila!

I cannot believe this is my first publishing in the 98' category of 2017! I really must rectify that! :P

Also, I have never been as starstruck in all my life as I was back in March when my lovely friend and myself met Kate Duchêne after going to see her on stage!

*my heart*

What You've Left Behind

Chapter Seven

Constance moaned in pain, the sound leavng her lips little more than a whimper as she tried to stifle a scream. Every nerve-ending in her body felt as though it were on fire, and her head was pounding, a cyclone of dizziness sweeping its way mercilessly across her vision, making it near impossible for her think straight let alone to do much else.

She had to try and fight though.

Out of the corner of her eye, she espied the phone, but she knew that there was no point. It was way over the other side of the room, but even if it wasn't, just who exactly could she call … ?

She truly wanted to cry. The taste of forbidden tears pricked at her eyes as the reality of her plight fully hit home: she was trapped.

Once again, she was at the mercy of pure evil, and once again, there was no one to save her.

Heckitty Broomhead simply stood there admiring her handiwork, observing the younger woman who now lay in a pathetic, shivering heap at her feet — a direct result of the unpleasant concoction she had brewed especially for this very moment. She watched on like a hungry spider as Constance fought — and subsequently failed miserably — to retain even a morsel of control over her non-compliant body.

Each time the brunette would try and push herself into a standing position, Heckitty would stick her foot out, sweeping the younger witch's hands out from underneath her, causing the weakening arms to buckle under the pressure of her trying to support her own weight, and for Constance to ultimately crash back onto the floor defeated.

Oh, how victory was sweet!

She had waited a lifetime for this moment! And she was determined that she was going to savour every last bite of the cherry. After all, it wasn't every day that you finally cornered the one witch who had dared to try escape you.

The first time she had lain eyes on Constance Hardbroom, she had known instantly that she was special. Most fifteen year olds did not possess the sheer level of power that the teen appeared to. In fact, most fully grown adults, not even with the greatest training — from herself, of course — would likely ever possess that kind of power throughout their entire life.

No, this girl ... she was something else entirely, and she knew that handled the correct way, she could persuade Constance to help her to do unspeakable things without her having to break so much as a fingernail. And if they got caught, well ... that was just a risk Constance would have to be prepared to take.

Breaking the teenager down should have been easy, but there was a resilience in this young girl and no matter what Heckitty did or said, somehow, she would always find the strength to get back up and carry on. It was somewhat admirable, but it was mostly stupid. It also forced the tutor to become more and more creative with her punishments, resolutely determined to destroy the young and impressionable witch.

She succeeded in the end — she was Heckitty Broomhead after all, and she was certainly not going to be bested by a child! Not even one who was as powerful as Constance Hardbroom.

She taught her everything she knew, and by the end of it, Constance was one of the most powerful witches in the country, if not the world. She slowly broke her down, chipping away bit by bit, until the strand of hope her heart had always held was no more. Finally, she shattered her like glass before rebuilding her as a carbon copy. If anything, the girl she created was icier: a withering gaze, the absence of smile, a wardrobe of black, and a life of emptiness.

Over the years, she had lain dormant in waiting, secretly watching as Constance had tried to put her life back together after leaving witch training college, the invisible — and visible — scars making the process a near impossible challenge. Deciding to bide her time, she would wait in the shadows, all the while destroying her every ounce of happiness. Constance had abandoned her, and for that she didn't deserve to be happy.

The inspection at Cackle's Academy was to be her crowning glory. She would enter the safe haven that the potions mistress had founded for herself and she would tear it to shreds. Whether it was warranted or not, she would ensure that Cackle's failed its inspection and she would take great pleasure in informing them she was revoking their G.A.S, and then ... then she would turn her attentions towards Constance …

It never went to plan though for when she got to Cackle's, she found that cowardice had won out: Constance Hardbroom had fled.

The official story was that she had left citing "a family emergency", but she knew that was a lie - Constance had no other family. Her father had died from a heart attack when she was a child, and her mother had ultimately drunk herself to death.

Heckitty had to admit, she was extremely surprised to find that the younger woman was heading down that exact same path as her guilt and loneliness became too much for her to handle. Constance was so close to breaking point that Heckitty knew she wouldn't even need to be the one to pull the trigger - Constance would hit self-destruct all on her own.

She always had been her own worst enemy.

Ever since Constance had eluded her, she had spent years trying to track her down. Finally, seeing the pattern form: each time they would announce an inspection at a school, its potions teacher would suddenly quit out of the blue. The rest of the guild thought it merely coincidence, but Heckitty Broomhead did not believe in coincidences. She knew it was her ... it just had to be.

She had tried frequently to scry for her, but the clever little witch had somehow managed to mask her magic signal which made her all the harder to find. Harder, but not impossible …

This time, when it had come time to look at the latest list of schools to inspect, Heckitty had held off sending the letter, instinct alone telling her that this was the one. Instead, she had stalked the school, her eyes fixed firmly on the prize, unable to believe just how royally Constance had actually managed to screw up the past few years of her life. She had watched and waited for weeks, and then only when the time was right, she had followed her home.

This time, she would not have the chance to run.

Deciding that Constance had suffered enough ... for the time being at least, Heckitty Broomhead magicked a vial of silver liquid in her hand and passed it to her, rolling her eyes dramatically as the potions mistress eyed it suspiciously before eventually conceding defeat and drinking it; her mistrust was clear from the outset.

Almost as quickly as it had come on, the effects of the potion calmed instantly.

Constance felt her heart rate calming back down, the muscles relaxing in her body, and her vision de-clouding. As soon as it had completely cleared, she was face to face with a pair of yellow eyes boring into her own.

"What do you want, Heckitty?"

"A cup of tea would be nice.

Constance didn't move.

"Honestly, Constance. You're really no hostess, are you?" She flicked her eyes to the kitchen, and the younger woman slowly got to her feet. "Oh, and Constance? It's 'Mistress Broomhead' to you. Mind your manners, girl. You weren't raised in a barn!"

" ... Yes, Mistress Broomhead."

Constance stood in the kitchen, her hands resting against the unit as she waited for the kettle to boil, her whole body shaking in disbelief. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just, and yet here it was. After all this time, she was right back where she started, and this time, she knew there was no way out.

She momentarily contemplated spiking the cup of tea, but the woman was watching her every move like a hawk so she dismissed the idea as quickly as it had entered her head. Tensions in the room were slowly rising, and much like the kettle boiling, things would eventually come to a head.

For now though, she was going to have to play the long game.