A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks, as always, to DreamsInLilac for playing ping pong with ideas with me :D


The next morning, Constance awoke from her metal bed with a very stiff neck no doubt caused by the rock hard pillow that she had been sleeping on. She stretched, rolling her neck to try and relieve the tension, and climbed out of bed. She had slept in her favourite pyjamas; a pair of stripy red and black ones with black ribbon tying the bottoms at the waist. Constance slipped out of these, folding them neatly under her pillow. The air was cool against her bare flesh as she walked across the bedroom to grab one of the purple towels that had been organised and placed in the cubbyhole at the top of the cupboard.

There were three bathrooms in the teacher's wing; one solely for Amelia and two others, shared between Constance, Davina and Patricia. All three bathrooms were very basic with steel bathtubs and porcelain toilets with wobbly wooden seats. The bathroom Constance was using also had a sink that was cracked just underneath the hot water tap so if you ran the water too quickly there was a chance you could get scolded (Amelia had warned her of this after Davina had been a bit overzealous playing with her new rubber duck, Lawrence).

Constance knocked on the bathroom door and, hearing no response, opened the door. She could hear a soft voice singing but she had no idea where it was coming from, perhaps one of the students was already awake and was singing out of her bedroom window. Constance removed her towel and placed it on top of the wide mahogany cabinet that was opposite the bath. She turned the taps at the foot of the bath and waited patiently for the water level to rise.

She listened to the voice, it sounded very close. It was one of the fourth year girls, Constance thought as she tried to tune the voice out, the fourth year corridor was just beneath the teacher's wing so no doubt she would be hearing a lot more than singing first thing on a morning as term went on.

When Constance was happy that the temperature of the water was right she eased herself into the bath and with a soft splash she sat down. The metal was cool against her skin, which was beginning to go red as it came into contact with the water. She scooped the water over her right thigh. The scars on her leg appeared scarlet against her skin. Water always drew them out, usually they were barely noticeable.

She traced them with her finger. She remembered when she carved the fine red scars into her skin; one for every time Broomhead beat her, one for every tear she shed, one for every anxiety attack, one for every time she wanted to feel human again. The sight of her blood as she took the disposable razor and pressed it against her leg, dragging it until she broke the skin, made everything seem normal, it made everything okay again. She could almost feel the blood trickling down her leg as she closed her eyes, remembering the sweet feeling of humanity, of control, that consumed her with every cut.

Constance was drawn out of her trance by a strange knocking noise coming from inside of the cabinet. With a slosh of water she climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in her towel again. She opened the cabinet door slowly and with a loud thud there was a heap of black shawls on the floor in front of her.

Davina flopped out of the cupboard, her crimped hair wild, her small spectacles sitting on the end of her nose as she rose to her feet,

"Oh, good morning Constance." Davina said quietly as she pushed her glasses back up her nose, pulling her shawls back over her shoulders.

Constance blinked at her, "What on Earth are you doing?!"

Davina smiled, turning to close the cabinet door, "The silence of the bathroom is so soothing for the soul. I tend to just sit in here and relax."

Constance rolled her eyes, "But why the cabinet?"

"It's out of the way and it has a pleasant echo so I can practice my chanting."

Sighing deeply, Constance waited for Davina to leave the bathroom and returned to her morning bath. She washed her hair and then returned to her bedroom to dry it off. Her hair was the only exception to her strict rules regarding the Foster's Effect. It wasn't trivial, nor was it selfish, to dry her hair using magic. She pointed her casting fingers at her long hair which dried before her eyes in her bedroom mirror. It had gone into soft waves that rippled down her back. Were it not for her fear of losing her hair again, Constance would have quite happily worn it down for the rest of the day. With another heavy sigh she pulled her hair into a ponytail and began to pin it into a bun using a handful of hair grips, braiding and wrapping a loose section of hair around the base of the bun to disguise the amount of pins that she had used to keep her hair together. She had decided to wear one of her new dresses today; a long black and grey striped dress that was quite figure hugging. Teamed with a pair of boots and a pair of black tights, she was happy with how she looked. She folded her arms and with a rush of air she appeared in the staff room.

All three women jumped as she materialised by the staff room door. Patricia squeaked in shock, spilling her tea all over herself and Davina. Both women look flustered as Constance sat down, pouring herself a cup of nettle tea; she needed to brew some more Wide Awake Potion but for now nettle tea would suffice.

"Good morning, Constance." Amelia said softly as she took a biscuit from the plate in the middle of the table, "Did you sleep well?"

"Not particularly. I have quite a stiff neck and the matter was not helped by finding Davina in the bathroom cabinet."

Davina smiled shyly as all eyes turned to her.

"Yeah, Davina 'as a strange habit of appearing in strange places, don't ye?" Patricia explained as she turned to her friend, running a hand through her hair (which had been gelled and spiked up today), "But how did you just-"

"Constance was taught by the best, weren't you dear?" Amelia squeezed Constance's hand reassuringly.

She was not reassured by this, however. The best was not the word she would use to describe the woman who taught her how to materialise out of thin air, "Really, Amelia," she said, forcing a humoured tone, "There's no need to be so... kind."

Amelia looked at Constance with her twinkling blue eyes, "Now, Constance," she stated, changing the topic, "About your first years. They will be in the potion lab waiting for you after breakfast and assembly. You do remember the way to the potions lab, don't you?"

Constance furrowed her brow. Of course she knew where the potions laboratory was, she had spent most of her time in there with Amelia before the start of term, talking about how they could improve the way things were laid out. Despite her organisational skills, Millicent Monkshood apparently forgot to label her ingredients. That was obviously why there had been so much money spent on replacing the benches during her employment. Amelia had said they used to have to order a new bench every week because a student had put the wrong ingredient in her potion. That was all going to change with Constance. She had filed and labelled all of her ingredients and organised them alphabetically in the glass cabinet at the back of the classroom, to minimise the risk of the girls creating another explosion.

After breakfast (which ended up being cold grey porridge) Constance took her place on the platform at the front of the great hall. She sat beside Patricia today, who was wearing a rather demure black suit with a frilly blouse, and listened as Amelia told the students about various different events that would be going on in the school.

Once the students had finished droning the last note of the school song they silently filed to their classrooms. Constance materialised at the front of the classroom as her first years were finding their seats. Caitlyn Shepherd sat beside Isla Moonshine at the back of the classroom, Laura Snowdrop with Margaret Hay and Delia Willow with Julia Chestnut. The girls jumped at the sudden appearance of their form mistress and they fell silent.

"I'm sure you are all hoping that today you will be brewing potions," Constance began, looking at each of the girls individually, "Instead of brewing potions we are going to be studying the basic rules of potion making. It is important to know the do's and don'ts before you endeavour to use any form of magic. Delia Willow," Delia's ears pricked up as Constance placed a pile of small books on the bench in front of her, "You will be passing these copies of The Witch's Code out to your classmates. You will find the rules regarding potions towards the back of your books."

The girls were silent throughout the class, meek as lambs in Constance's opinion, apart from Caitlyn who was constantly whispering to Isla. Constance bit her tongue, fighting the urge to tell the girl to stop talking, remembering what Patricia had said about being too strict. Despite this, she had never seen a class of young teenagers be so well behaved and as they filed out of the classroom after the bell she called after them, "Great lesson today, girls."

Caitlyn turned around, her long red braid whipping her back as she did so. She smiled slightly at Constance and then she was gone, heading towards Patricia's jewellery making class.

Next it was time for Constance to teach the third years. They were a quiet group too, no doubt used to Miss Monkshood's strict methods. She had prepared to teach them how to brew an invisibility potion. The bell rang again, this time for break, and Constance made her way to the staff room for a cup of tea and perhaps one custard cream.

Amelia had her head in the paper, Patricia was using the back of a spoon to re-apply her hot pink lipstick and Davina was, yet again, dancing to another song. Davina was shaking a tambourine, swirling her shawls as she screeched about a welsh witch called Rhiannon. Were it not for her colleague ripping her vocal chords apart, the song was actually quite pleasant on Constance's ears. The singer had a husky voice, which Davina would have afterwards if she didn't stop shrieking.

Constance sat opposite Amelia who had already poured her a cup of tea.

"How did your first lessons go, dear?" Amelia asked, her kind eyes glistening.

Constance nodded as she sipped her tea, "I think it went really well. I took your advice, Patricia," she shuddered at the thought of this as Patricia turned to look at her, "I tried not to be too harsh on the girls."

"Well the first years seemed very nervous when I had them," Patricia explained, blotting her lips on a napkin, "It could just be first day blues, though."

The rest of the day went quickly; after break Constance had the third years again and then she had another form group lesson with her first years. After lunch (which was two hours long) she had the fourth years and then her final class was with the second years.

As she returned to the staff room after her final lesson she realised she felt quite tired. The staff room door was ajar as she approached it and she found Amelia, all on her own, with the newspaper in her hand.

"Is everything alright, Amelia?" Constance asked as she sat down at the table. Amelia looked up at her, her usually kind eyes were filled with a look of great despair. Obviously there was something very wrong, "What is it?"

"Constance, I want you to know that you are an excellent member of staff and I'm glad I chose you to take over from Millicent," This was it. Constance felt the bile rising inside of her, she knew she was going to be sacked. She could feel the words coming.

"Please, Amelia. If there's something I've done wrong-"

Amelia raised a hand, telling Constance to be quiet, "Oh my sweet girl, no! You don't need to change anything... You don't know?"

Constance furrowed her brow. Amelia moved to sit beside her and wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug.

"Sweet, sweet girl..." She whispered, rocking Constance who was very confused.

"What has happened, Amelia?" Constance asked in a low voice.

"Antonin Hardbroom is your father, isn't he?" Amelia asked, looking at the newspaper that she was still holding tightly in her hand.

Constance nodded, wondering what her father had to do with any of this. The last time she had spoken to her father was a week before she had graduated from Weirdsister College.

"Constance. I'm sorry, my dear," she said softly, placing a hand on Constance's shoulder, "He's died."