Hello avid readers XD Have been struggling to write this chapter to its full potential for a while, but I hope I have done it some justice :) Thanks to all reviewers so far, it does make it worthwhile!

Enjoy the chapter, more to come soon!

Chapter 10

Winter crept up on the castle; a prowling lion crouching low amongst the trees in wait, until one morning the girls woke to see a thin blanket of perfect white embracing the once fertile landscape and a biting wind swirling through the bitterly cold hallways of the academy.

Miss Cackle looked out of her bedroom window and smiled warmly. She watched as the first years ran out into the courtyard, scraping desperately at the stone flagons to gather enough snow to throw playfully at their friends. The shrieks of their pure, untainted joy echoed across the rolling hills and although the trees shuddered, none of the girls seemed to feel the cold against their skin.

At any moment, Amelia expected to see Constance appear from nowhere with her booming voice sounding throughout the dormitories, as a warning to others and humiliation for the offending girls. It happened every year, a tradition in the first days of winter and although Miss Cackle did not have any issue with the girls playing in the snow, she knew that Constance had her reasons for disallowing it and permitted her to take charge on the matter.

But as the minutes past and the sun began to rise, a pale haze beneath a sea of cloud bobbing above the horizon like a cork on water, the girls continued to laugh in the snow. More joined them over time and Amelia waited for the deputy headmistress to appear; but she didn't.

Checking her watch, she felt uneasy as she read the time; the school bell was due to ring in a few moments and it was unheard of for Constance to allow the girls to participate in what she called 'careless acts of childish indulgence which only lead to cold and illness'.

She was on the verge of searching for her deputy herself when she saw Constance finally appear at the entrance. It was only when she felt the relief of the tall, lean black figure materialise before the main gates wash over her that Amelia realised how much she had sensed that something was wrong. Now, everything was as it should be and she braced herself, preparing for the fireworks which would follow.

Only they never came. The thundering tones of Constance Hardbroom would terrify the girls, particularly the fragile first years; but Amelia watched in awe as Constance quietly ushered the students inside in time for the bell and waved her hand to clear the courtyard of snow and ice. She retreated back into the castle without a word, her silence something Amelia had considered to be unprecedented not least in disciplinary situations.

Miss Cackle lingered at the window for a moment before walking to her first lesson of the day. There was something in what she had seen which did not sit right and she could feel it playing with her mind. Constance had always taken the same path where discipline was concerned; she made it clear in her blunt, brutal tone what was unacceptable and gave punishment as lines or detention as she saw fit.

In the many years she had known Constance, Amelia had never seen Constance let a child pass in the corridor that was not up to her exemplary standards, let alone allow a group of students to venture outside before morning lessons began. Rules and regulations were Constance's life; she abided by her own strict discipline and ensured that the students in her care followed the rules which they were expected to down to the letter. Her life was empowered by her decorum, with everything from her faultless magic to her plain black dresses and her scraped back hair perfect and orderly. In a life where what some would perceive as guidelines were sacred law, any disregard for such rules was a call; a cry for help, or a warning to those who knew her best that something was very wrong.

Xxx

The morning's incident had played on Miss Cackle's mind all day, drawing her focus from the classes she taught and the paperwork she had written to the subject of her deputy. She walked into the staffroom as the bell rang for lunch and muttered a few words at the fireplace which instantly ignited, the majestic flames radiating much needed heat into the icy room. Amelia was restless, choosing to pace rather than to sit as her mind worked in overdrive. She had to pick the right moment to bring up such a delicate subject, one which Constance would never appreciate the need to address and would fight until the bitter end.

At half past twelve, Miss Bat erupted from the cupboard. Amelia was startled at first to learn that the chanting teacher had been present the entire time, though she had come, over the years, to not to take Davina overly seriously.

'Afternoon Miss Cackle,' she said brightly. As always, there was a spring in her step and she hummed tunefully to herself as she made her way to one of the armchairs by the now roaring fire.

Miss Drill entered moments later, having finished her time observing the girls taking lunch in the dungeons.

'Tea, Imogen?' asked Davina as she moved to pour steaming water into a mug of what appeared to be shrivelled weeds.

'Yes please Davina. Have you seen Constance?'

'She was in the potions lab the last time I saw her,' replied Miss Bat, 'though she was going down to the dungeons after you left. She shouldn't be long.' Imogen sat on the long dining table, resting her feet on one of the chairs casually. She looked at the headmistress.

'Do you...think she looks alright, Miss Cackle?' Miss Drill asked tentatively; they all knew that these were dangerous waters to tread.

'No Imogen, I do not,' Amelia began.

She was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the staffroom door as Constance strode in. Every time she walked into a room, her presence was felt immediately. The aura she emitted was strong and confident, her power portrayed even in the way she moved; Amelia wondered whether the others could see it too. It could have been a lack of conviction, or perhaps a slight tilt in her otherwise inflexible posture; whatever it was, although as ever she made her presence known to the other members of staff, she also incoherently amplified whatever problem she was suffering.

Amelia looked at Imogen, as though asking for guidance. Miss Drill was an extremely pro-active person; she refused to stand by whilst things happened which were beyond her control. In this case, however, she was unsure. Her eyes only told the headmistress, as softly and supportively as possible, that she did not know what to do.

As a relatively new member of staff, she only knew Constance to the extent of the conversation they had shared; these had been few and far between. Their conflicting personalities clashed, and all that Imogen had seen of the deputy headmistress was a fiery temper and a need for control. Thinking all too vividly of the possible reactions Constance could have to various methods of approaching her questionable health, Imogen had to relinquish control of the situation to the higher authority and the person who had known Constance the longest.

The pregnant pause which hung in the air a little too long was shattered, to the great relief of many, by a knock at the door. Miss Cackle answered it and allowed a deceitful smile to spread across her face.

'Ah, Mrs Tapioca,' she said warmly, 'thank you for bringing all of this.' The tray which lay out before them was the same as every Wednesday. There was a variation of foods to acquaint the differing diets of the staff members, with a bowl of fruit for Imogen and a vase of tulips for the eccentric chanting teacher. Imogen jumped off the table and took her usual seat, realising how hungry she was as she helped to lay out the food. Miss Cackle conjured a blue striped tablecloth and cutlery, which laid themselves out of their own accord.

Constance had forgotten that it was midweek once again. Every Wednesday the staff took lunch together in the staffroom, a trivial tradition in Constance's view which had little practical use. She sat at the end, a seat which lay slightly further away from the others as was her custom, and summoned the book she had been reading previously from her desk. She found her mind distracted by the incessant chatter of her colleagues and struggled to force her mind to focus.

Giving up, at least for the time being, on the book Constance looked briefly at the food ornamenting the table. Although she was aware that she had not eaten all day, her stomach churned at the thought of food and she simply sat sipping water as the other teachers ate and talked.

Miss Cackle knew that Constance thought she hadn't noticed. Constance never ate very much, though she had never seen her not eat anything at all. The way she sipped her water, barely taking in any of the pure transparent liquid, told her that she was simply using it an excuse to be at the table at all and not raise suspicions.

'Are you not eating anything Constance?' It had been Miss Bat who had finally asked the question burning in the air, though she appeared not to register its significance.

'No, Davina, I am not.' Constance replied curtly; she was not about to justify her eating habits.

'Const- Imogen started hopelessly.

'No,' interjected Constance sternly, 'there is to be no questioning of my health or my habits, Miss Drill, I am simply not hungry. Let that be the end of the matter.' Imogen looked away, avoiding confrontation by becoming suddenly interested in her spaghetti.

Constance looked once more at the food, wondering if she should eat something just to satisfy her colleagues. It had become increasingly easier of late to do what people expected of her and not to draw attention to herself, something which she had never been fond of.

Her gaze lingered over a pasta salad for a moment longer than the rest of the food. She felt dizziness envelop her mind, an uncontrollable sensation which made her head feel heavy on her fragile neck. Nausea rose in her throat, threatening the stoic composure she fought so hard to keep and everything seemed to ache to the point of pain. Constance closed her eyes and gripped the table lightly, hoping that it would pass. She could feel the burning looks from her colleagues and tried to open her eyes, though a bolt of pain shot through her head at the mere thought.

It caught her attention at once. Amelia looked across at her deputy and saw that all of the colour had drained from her face, which was now the soft and chilling colour of a corpse. Her chest rose and fell in short bursts and Miss Cackle could see her grip on the table, firm yet hidden, and felt powerless, unable to help her.

Constance opened her eyes and knew at once that the feelings were not going to pass. She excused herself and stood up, though her legs momentarily gave way and she fell backwards, caught at the elbow by the swift and agile Miss Bat. Jerking her arm away in disgust at her own humiliation, Constance folded her arms and disappeared, reappearing in her room where she promptly staggered to the bathroom.

'You'll have to talk to her,' said Imogen to Miss Cackle. She simply nodded sorrowfully,

'I know. She can't go on like this.'

Xxx

Materialising in the potions laboratory, Constance began to mix a swift sickness remedy to remove the vile taste from her mouth. Even now, she felt light headed and the fumes from the bubbling concoction were beginning to become overpowering. She ladled a spoonful of the dark mixture into a vile and set it aside to cool.

'I thought that I might find you in here.' Constance spun around to see Miss Cackle hovering at the doorway, her face too kind and painfully pitiful for Constance's liking.

'Headmistress, I really don't think this is necessary,' she tried, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

'You can't go on like this Constance. What's wrong?'

'I...don't know what you mean,' said Constance evasively, her eyes not able to meet Amelia's as she pretended to wipe the bench clean.

'You know perfectly well that something is wrong! The girls can see it, let alone Davina and Imogen; something is wrong and I have a right as your headmistress...' Amelia dared to move forward a step, knowing that she was impeding on Constance's territory, '...as your friend. Please.'

Constance took the vile from the windowsill, and drank it down in one, fighting not to flinch against the vile taste. She looked at the headmistress, for once allowing a flash of vulnerability to appear in her usually indecisive eyes.

'I...I honestly don't know, Amelia,' she said finally, 'and that worries even me.' With that one definitive act of honesty, Constance folded her arms and vanished, leaving Amelia wondering whether she would ever be able to ask what she needed of those around her.

Xxx

That evening, Constance sat once more at the desk in her room staring at the envelope given to her a month before. She had not opened it, the curiosity never presenting itself in her disciplined mind; though she would be lying if she said she had not considered what could lie within its contents. Whatever it was, Mistress Broomhead was behind it and would not rest until it was complete. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She alone knew what that woman was truly capable of, the extent of her power and influence reaching far and wide though her alliances were made mostly through fear. She had become tangled in Hecketty's web of deceit and cruelty from a young age, and it seemed far from likely that she would escape from its clutches at any time soon.

Morgana, Constance's sleek black cat, wound its way reassuringly around her mistress' legs. She could always tell, as witches cats could, when their owners were worried or stressed. She purred, the low rumbling sound a comfort that everything would be alright.

She picked up the envelope; the paper felt warm beneath her fingers and she turned it over, examining the seal as she debated whether to release its contents. Night fell swiftly, the darkness taking hold outside as she sat in wait for her mind to decide on a course of action. The Earth seemed silent, as though lying in wait to hear her decision, and not even a gentle breeze could carry a whisper through the night to break the calm.

Her fingers slid easily to break the envelope's seal and she took a single piece of stained brown paper from the packaging, a page removed from an ancient text which bore the words of a spell.

Mater virtus, viribus demat

Pariet parvalus,in fortitudo et gaudium

Et erit mihi

The words were familiar, as though she had heard them before and she recalled that evening, the night of her birthday, with the words ringing in her ears as she slipped into an endless sleep. Staring at the letters, she searched for a meaning. It hit her faster than the bullet of a hunter's gun, the shock resonating throughout her body as fast as the icy chill which coursed through her veins and pumped in her thumping heart. She knew what the forbidden words meant, what they did, and she suppressed the urge to scream. It couldn't be so. No-one would do that to her, not even Hecketty. There was no reason, no motive and no morality in such a senseless act.

She needed to know. Standing and folding her arms, she appeared in the potions laboratory and began to fix the potion which would tell her the final answer. Constance barely took note of what she was doing, adding ingredients almost subconsciously to a simmering cauldron whilst her mind was bombarded with a thousand thoughts, sounds and feelings she had not known she was capable of. For so long her demeanour had been unbreakable; now, it was falling apart.

Constance stared at the beaker of bright electric blue liquid before her and she could feel her heart beating hard against her ribs, egging her on. Taking one of the pins from her hair, she pricked her finger and allowed a single scarlet droplet of blood to fall into the mixture, rings reaching out to the where the liquid met solid glass before they vanished.

She waited, an agonising wait, though as the potion slowly changed in colour she knew what had happened to her. The blue pigment disappeared, the mixture turning slowly transparent as her eyes widened in horror and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. No. It could not be true, it was not true.

Picking up the beaker, in a moment of emotion and rage, she flung the glass across the room where it shattered into one million glistening diamonds and the liquid fell pathetically to the floor. Constance breathed deeply, trying to get her head around her discovery. As she collapsed into the chair at her desk, her sorry head fell into her hands and she silently allowed the first tears of thirty years to fall into her lap.

Xxx

Back in Constance's room, the writing on the torn page glowed a blinding white before the letters began to shift and change. Another message was being written from the remnants of the spell which had ruined a life. This was only the beginning. Somewhere far in the distance, miles away from Cackle's Academy, Hecketty Broomhead laughed. It was the sound of malice, of pure evil as she delighted in her plan beginning to unfold...

OK so when I said all would be revealed...thought I'd leave you guessing for a while! XD Hope you liked it, would love a review!

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