AN: Let's do a little maths here: this story takes place in the year 2000 (third season), even though it is not important to the plot or anything. Constance was born in 1959 as Kate Duchene was - and also as Kate Duchene I like to think it's January 5th because of HB's words to Miss Crochet 'Yes, and I was born under Capricorn...' (in season 3, episode 12: The Unfairground) and as you know, January 5th would make her a Capricorn. That means when this story takes place, Constance is 41. She's been at the Academy for fourteen years (from 1986) - the age of 27 and she graduated the Witch Training College (I will give it a proper name later) in 1984 when she was 25 (that two years gap will be mentioned in my story, too).

I am explaining all this because I think it's important I stick to the years since I am talking about her past and randomly mentioning it in the story and I find it only fair that you could place it in the right time, purely because I want it all to make sense to you the same way it does to me, the author.:)

Also, I made a trailer for this fanfic and you can find it on my youtube channel by searching for 'blondie0136'. Thank you so much for reading and all the amazing reviews - they do inspire me, really! I wanted to post this beta-read already but you've been waiting for so long, I just couldn't make you wait any longer! It will get replaced by the beta-read version at some point.:) And now, let's see how Imogen and Constance are doing, shall we? ^_^

Chapter 10: I Sleep Most Nights

The sunbeams gently caressed the sleeping witch, making her stir on the bed. She felt the warmth soaking through her skin, warming it up slowly, as if it intended to gently wake her up. After a few moments she surrendered and opened her eyes, just to close them again because the light was too strong. She lifted her head up from the bed and looked around, her heart caught in her throat when she saw that Imogen was not only awake but she was also watching her. She quickly stood up, her hand brushing Imogen's as she did so. The fact the woman was holding her hand – or was it Constance who was holding Imogen's hand? – surprised her and left her speechless. She just looked down at her colleague and stared at her, trying to pull herself together and calm down her racing heart. Moments like these made her wish she could control her body's reactions in the same way she could control her words and thoughts.

"Good morning," Imogen said and smiled at Constance.

"Good morning, Miss Drill."

The words were automatic, anybody would respond like that to a polite greeting. She was still confused about what to do and say but she tried not to let it show. The safest option was to comment on the situation.

"I see that you are awake."

Imogen nodded and sat up on the bed, looking away from Constance. She had been awake for some time now, just watching the older woman sleep, occasionally playing with her long, ebony hair (something she was sure the witch would never ever allow her to do if she were awake). She had seen the sun rise and the light slowly creep from the window onto the bed, waking the witch up. All that time she had not let go of Constance's hand, enjoying the serenity the touch provided her with. She looked back at the brunette and couldn't help it but wordlessly ask for an explanation for the witch's presence.

"I was assigned to look after you tonight," Constance said a bit too defensively, as if the question in Imogen's eyes offended her. "I shall go now and notify Doctor Cell that you woke up and that I am no longer needed here."

A small part of Constance wished the woman would stop her from leaving. However, Imogen just turned her eyes to the ground, a disappointed look crossing her face briefly. Had Constance known how much Imogen wanted her to stay, she would have understood why her lie about being assigned to be there hurt the younger woman so much. After the witch left, Imogen curled up in the white sheets and sobbed, the unexpected sadness she felt making her both angry with herself and upset. The lack of Constance's presence made her feel empty, just now realizing how foolish her thoughts about the woman staying the night because she actually cared for her were...

*

It was twenty minutes later when Doctor Cell appeared in the hospital wing. The redheaded woman smiled sweetly at Imogen, holding a tray with breakfast in her hands.

"Rise and shine, sweetie!"

Imogen managed to smile a little even though she did not feel like it.

"Aw, I am sure you can manage a better smile, Miss Drill. Here – I brought you something yummy. It's Miss Tapioca's best croissant in the world."

Doctor Cell sat on the right side of her bed and put the tray with milk and a deliciously smelling croissant in Imogen's lap. She was grateful the doctor did not sit on the left side where Constance had been earlier because that would make her think of the witch. Realizing that thinking about not thinking about Constance completely ruined the meaning of, Imogen sighed.

"So how are we feeling this beautiful morning?"

"Good, I think. To be honest, I don't really remember what happened. I remember the sound of gun and then I blacked out. I suppose I was shot?"

"Yes, my dear. It was rather unfortunate. The bullet hit you in the abdomen and caused quite a mess. If Miss Hardbroom didn't bring you in so quickly, you would probably bleed out to death. You were very lucky."

"Miss Hardbroom?"

"Oh yes, she brought you here last night. Poor thing, she was beyond herself. I don't think I had ever seen her so frightened before."

It was strange to believe that Constance was the one that caused her the pain and saved her at the same time. She knew it must had been an accident that the gun fired – she blamed herself for even having a loaded gun at school, what was she thinking?! – and she did not blame the witch for it. At the same time, however, she couldn't believe that the restrained woman would care whether she died or not. It was rather harsh to think that about someone and Imogen realized it, feeling a bit ashamed that Constance's actions surprised her. To save a life was human and after all, the witch was human.

"She begged me to let her stay with you the night," Doctor Cell added and patted Imogen's hand, the sweet smile never leaving her face. Imogen found it strange to associate the word 'beg' with Constance in any way. She wasn't that kind of person who would beg for anything, maybe not even if her life depended on it. She was too proud for begging.

"Begged? Miss Hardbroom – really?"

"Well, in her own way of course," winked the doctor and stood up. "Now, please, eat your breakfast and get some sleep. I will notice Miss Cackle about your condition and check on you later. I know it doesn't hurt any more but you need to take it slow."

"No, it doesn't hurt at all. It's very strange."

She lifted the white hospital gown and looked at her abdomen, noticing a few almost invisible scars. She couldn't believe she was ever shot there: if it wasn't for magic, she would probably be in a lot of pain. She was used to pain – as anyone who climbed and run would be – and it was difficult for her to accept the injury without it.

"The magic healed you but that doesn't mean your body understands it, darling."

"What does that mean?" Imogen asked, curiously tracing the scars with her fingers.

"You see, magic is very powerful. It can heal the wound and close it but usually leaves the body confused. Especially when you are a non-witch. You don't feel it now but there will be times in your life when you will. Anything can trigger the pain – a sound, a sight, a strong emotion connected to the injury."

The blonde looked at her with a confused expression. Doctor Cell took a deep breath and tried to explain it some more:

"Have you broken a bone before?"

Imogen nodded.

"Sometimes, even after the bone is healed, you can be sensitive to – for example – weather changes. This works a bit like that. Even though the wound is healed, sometimes you will feel the pain because your mind connects the pain with the memories of the accident. You will think the pain is real because for your mind it will be. In my opinion, the non-witch way of healing people is better: you suffer a few weeks and then it's gone. Magic makes you not suffer at all at first and then bear the pain for the rest of your life."

Doctor Swapna Cell took out a small bottle from her pocket and put it on the tray, saying it will help Imogen sleep. Imogen noticed there was another bottle, a blue one, placed on the bedside table.

"Shouldn't I drink this one first? It's been here from the moment I woke up."

The doctor grinned, remembering what she had said to Miss Hardbroom last night about it being essential the PE teacher drinks the potion. Oh, she was such a good liar.

"No, it's alright. It's a Healing Potion and you do not really need it anymore. Actually, I don't know what it's doing here!"

The patient nodded and took a bite from the crunchy croissant. It really was the best croissant she had ever tasted! The redhead smiled as she was leaving, feeling refreshed and full of energy. If only she could get such a good night sleep like that every night. If only everybody was so easy to trick into doing her job instead of her as Miss Hardbroom was.

*

There were no pupils roaming the corridors at that time but they soon would be. The sun warmed the castle up, summoning a seemingly calm atmosphere. At this particular morning, however, Constance did not stop to admire the magnificence of the Academy and rushed up stairs to her chamber as fast as she could. Once in her room she could afford to panic a little and paced back and forth, trying to sort out her feelings about the situation she found herself in.

First, she had to be clear on what the situation was. After thinking it over, she realized that her only problem was with herself: she was mad at herself for showing Imogen that she cared, which – as the witch was convinced – made her appear weak in the woman's eyes. She did not like to appear weak, especially not to a non-witch.

Second, she needed to categorize her feelings. In the world of Constance Hardbroom there was no room for confusion and everything had to fall under a known category: feelings were no exception. The woman stopped and leaned against the stone wall, cooling herself down a bit. She felt scared but did not know what of; she felt guilty but it wasn't about the gun accident; she felt ashamed but had no reason to be; she felt jealous but could not figure out of what or who. She felt all these things at once and it confused her – ruining her system of the imaginary boxes labeled with the names of emotions she had in her head.

Above all, she could still feel the warmth of Imogen's body beside her and that, oh that made her head spin.

She decided to skip morning notices that day – lying to herself that it was simply because there was no point in showing up when Imogen was recovering and Davina would be hiding in the cupboard and there would only be Amelia. It would be completely pointless to only talk to only one person and even if the headmistress wanted to share some news with her, she would call her to her office later. At first she felt a little guilty for not going - breaking her 9 years long record of not missing a single morning notices gathering - but then she thought about how Imogen doesn't show up almost every other day (because she was running in the forest and forgot the time) and how Davina spends most of the in the cupboard anyway and that made her certain that she could afford not to go this one time.

Instead she opened her wardrobe and examined the black dresses. They all looked the same at the first glance but she knew that every one of them was unique in its own way – from the satin one with a one of a kind pattern to a special leather dress from India. Each one somehow reflected her mood and after some time she learnt to actually adjust her mood to the dress she chose in the morning. It was very strange in a way and she realized it must had been one of the side-effects of the potion (or maybe it wasn't a side effect but the consequences of what she wanted). It was a very rational way how to dress because when she knew what would the day bring (and she knew because the days at Cackle's were not all that diverse) then she could choose an appropriate dress which would remind her to act according to her pre-planned mood. That way she didn't have to be distracted by random thoughts or unexpected emotions.

The moment she found herself staring at the dresses, not knowing which one to choose, was the moment when she realized the potion was slowly leaving her blood stream. Any other day she would have no problem to choose one and to get dressed in approximately 4 minutes (that was the average time rounded, the average was actually 3, 48 minutes…yes, she had calculated it). That morning, however, she was clueless. Fashion was not one of her strengths and when there was no rational reason on which to base her dress choice, she was perplexed.

After a few moments of utter confusion she closed her eyes and took out the first dress she grabbed. It was the purple taffeta one with some sort of Gothic pattern. Her eyebrows came together in sheer disapprovement. She couldn't wear that, it was too dramatic. She would look like an attention seeker. She had to choose something else. She took another dress out and examined it, shaking her head no again. It took Constance Hardbroom twenty more minutes to get dressed and to brush her hair, leaving the room in a hurry because the first potions class was about to start. She was nervous and trembling but refused to show it to the girls. She had to maintain her authority and continue with her lesson plans. It was a blessing that the headache from yesterday was gone and she was glad that there were no withdraw effects from the potion.

Maybe if she wasn't in such a hurry, she would remember that the serve headache was a first symptom and that paranoia, along with irritation would soon follow.