Chapter 10: Untouchable
PART TWO
A/N: It took me FOREVER. I know. I had to perfect it. This was the hardest chapter to write; nuances and all. I wanted it to be good, not just passable.
Dec. 26th, 1999
04:01pm
St. Aumars cafeteria was emptier than usual for the late afternoon. The snowstorm that had been raging throughout the hospitals township since dawn had likely caused the absence of its routine patrons; local witches and wizards that were related to chronically ill patients.
Mildred, Dr. Grisham, and Ms. Hardbroom had settled themselves at a secluded table in the far corner of the hospital mess hall. The physician felt a bit uneasy in his company, his young patient and her professor seemed to have formed some sort of intimate bond with each other that he was not privy to. They kept communicating silently through meaningful looks.
Despite his apprehension, Dr. Grisham was at least relieved that the cafeteria's near-emptiness would allow them to speak freely of sensitive matters without the fear of being overheard.
"Mildred," he said softly, "are you comfortable with Ms. Hardbroom knowing what was discussed between Mrs. Molyneux and I?"
"Yes, it's fine," Mildred said stonily, and pushed her untouched lunch tray away from her.
"Alright, then," he said cautiously, "Mrs. Molyneux has already discussed the conditions of your release with you, correct?"
"Yes, didn't she tell you that already?" Mildred snapped, and made sure to fix Dr. Grisham with the most hateful glare she could.
Constance turned towards Mildred and broke her silence. "Watch your tone," she reprimanded, squaring her shoulders authoritatively, "He is only trying to help. He doesn't deserve to be spoken to that way."
Oh, so I only deserve caustic barbs when they are coming from you Dr. Grisham thought, irritated. "Ms. Hardbroom, I am hardly taking this personally," he said haughtily, and harshly brushed imaginary dust from the lapels of his coat, "I have had a great deal of experience with opposition and hostility."
Constance willed herself not to roll her eyes. "Be that as it may, I am Mildred's form mistress and reserve the right to redirect her behavior."
Dr. Grisham set his jaw. "Very well," he said stiffly, "then as her form mistress you should be informed that Mildred is only being released upon the condition that she will return to St. Aumar's for Mind Healing sessions three times per week. I, her surrogate guardian, will accompany her to them."
Constances' eyes gleamed confrontationally. "I believe it would be best if we alternated, Doctor. At present, she does not seem thrilled to be in your company and I think it is in her best interest to respect that."
Mildred's mouth nearly dropped open. Did Ms. Hardbroom really just use me as a pawn in this dispute?
"If Mildred feels that is best, I have absolutely no arguments," Dr. Grisham said through gritted teeth.
"It is settled then," Constance said proudly. She leaned back against her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face.
"Yeah, guys," Mildred said sarcastically, "it doesn't really matter what I want or anything. Just which one of you wins."
Like a needle, shame pricked the weak walls of Dr. Grisham's ego; causing instant deflation. He sighed, realizing that he'd disregarded the gentle handling of a traumatized child in favor of engaging in a petty argument.
"I apologize, Mildred," he said quietly, accepting the young witch's disdainful glare, "that was tactless of me. Of us, really." He nervously glanced to the woman at his side.
Constance hated losing, but she knew he was right. "I apologize as well, Mildred," she said candidly, then added, "for not consulting you about your wishes regarding who will take you to your sessions here. I do not, however, apologize for asking you to speak to the physician with respect."
Do as you say, and not as you do, huh? Mildred resisted the temptation to raise her left eyebrow in condescension. "It's alright," she grumbled, "I don't care who bloody takes me. As long as we can leave this place in the next hour."
06:12pm
A cloud of green and purple smoke appeared at the edge of mistletoe forest. The thick, colorful haze thinned to reveal the shivering forms of Mildred, Dr. Grisham, and Ms. Hardbroom.
Like a ball from a cannon, Mildred made a beeline for the Cackles Academy entryway. The two companions she had abandoned looked at each other exasperatedly; merely watching the young witch move so fast made the both of them tired.
"Come on!" Mildred whined impatiently from her standing spot just outside the closed doors of the castle. She bounced from foot to foot in a desperate attempt to raise her body temperature.
Constances teeth were chattering together so hard that she could not formulate a reply. She forced herself to walk towards Mildred faster. The increase in speed made her bones ache.
"Why couldn't you have materialized us right outside the door?" Mildred demanded, rubbing her hands together to re-establish sensation in her palms.
"Because," Constance said, burying her hands in her robe pockets, "you cannot materialize within the castles' parameters if you are bringing a passenger. Security reasons." Constance retrieved the heavy key ring from her pocket and brought it up to her line of sight, squinting. When she identified the appropriate key for the entryway door, she hurriedly stuffed it into its corresponding lock, granting the trio access to much needed warmth.
06:31pm
The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with the strain of the day's events. Mildred kept flicking green peas across her plate with her fork; turning her dinner into a game of miniature hockey.
"You aren't going to eat anything, Mildred?" Dr. Grisham asked quietly.
"We were just in the cafeteria two hours ago," Mildred quipped, launching a pea over her mound of mashed potatoes.
"You didn't eat anything then, either," the man across from her pressed.
Mildred narrowed her eyes at his untouched food. "Don't worry," she sniped, "I'll write a formal letter to the Magistrate that will strip you of any liability if I die of hunger on your watch."
"Mildred!" Ms. Hardbroom exclaimed, despite the fact that she wasn't particularly put off by Mildred's attitude. She was actually quite impressed with the sharpness of her student's barb; but she certainly couldn't openly praise the girl for it.
Mildred picked up on the fact that her teacher was putting on a show of reprimanding her, and consequently ignored her formidable potions mistress and continued to glare antagonistically at Dr. Grisham.
The physician smiled weakly at her. She could have sworn he looked stung for a moment. Mildred conjured up heated thoughts in order to repress the feeling of guilt that swilled in her stomach. I hate him for helping me. I didn't ask that arse to interfere in my life.
"A letter would do no good, Mildred," Dr. Grisham said airily, lacing his hands together and locking them under his chin, "the Magistrate does not view you as the ultimate arbiter of who is culpable for a potential decline in your health."
Mildred opened her mouth, but before she could condemn the Magistrate, Dr. Grisham cut her off. "I assume that Mrs. Molyneux explained your 90 day probationary to you in detail?"
Mildred seethed, ready to spit a mouthful of saliva directly into his face. "Yes, I fucking remember," she said nastily, "the probationary charm you cast on me will alert you if I have injured myself for the next three months. If I do, I will be committed to the loony bin for three days and my 90 days will start all over again."
Constance's eyes darted between Dr. Grisham and Mildred. "Is this accurate, doctor?" she questioned.
"Yes," he said shortly, not sparing the woman next to him a glance.
Mildred dropped her fork onto her plate; the unpleasant sound of metal clattering against china resounding throughout the dining hall. Both adults shot her warning looks, which triggered even more resentment within her.
Her magic was dangerously close to spilling from her fingertips of its own accord, as it had the last time her father had violated her and she'd made all the glass windows in her bedroom shatter at once. "I'm going to bed," Mildred said resolutely, pushing herself up from her seat. The sparks of magic coursing through her bloodstream brushed against the inner layers of her blood vessels; eliciting a powerful tingling sensation.
Constance, used to establishing dominance over her obstinate pupils, figured that standing down from Mildred was the best course of action; as she recognized that something potentially dangerous to her person was brewing within the younger witch. The girl's hazel eyes had turned a deep violet color, and the progressively brightening white glow beneath her skin had caused all the freckles on her face to disappear.
At her side, Dr. Grisham's face paled, and his whole body went rigid.
"Alright then, Mildred," Constance said cautiously, hunching her shoulders to make herself appear smaller and non-threatening. "I will come up to your dormitory in a little while."
07:02pm
"Pardon me, Ms. Hardbroom,," said Dr. Grisham, settling himself on a laboratory bench opposite from Constances' desk, "but what the hell was that?" He had thought that the walk from the dining hall to the Potions classroom would have eased the effects of his surging adrenaline; but he found that the rises in his blood pressure and heart rate had not abated.
"Her magic is unbridled," Constance said stoically, "she is a much more powerful witch than I had previously thought. All of the chandeliers on the ceiling were vibrating. I doubt she even noticed."
Dr. Grisham tried to focus on the woman before him, but his pupils were so dilated that all he could see was a blur of ebony and ivory. "I haven't seen uncontrollable magic like that in nearly a decade," he confided. He undid the top button on his collar, allowing the cool castle air to soothe the flushed skin of his neck.
"What have you seen?" Constance questioned, thoroughly curious.
"I was treating a Russian wizard traumatized by the Great War," the physician began, and paused to let the intensity of his brief emotional flashback pass. He cleared his throat before continuing, "I was applying salve to a particularly garish wound on his leg, and I brushed over a sensitive area with my antiseptic solution. He cried out in agony and cowered away from me, begging me to spare his life. He thought he was being attacked again. I tried to re-orient him to his actual environment, but stopped when I heard a great rumbling sound. Initially, I assumed there was an earthquake. But when I looked up, I saw that the entirety of the stucco ceiling above us was covered with cracks, cracks that were expanding quite rapidly. I looked out the window, and saw that the east end of the veterans ward had collapsed. I materialized my patient and I out of the facility just before the room we were in followed suit. 408 people died that day."
A cold feeling burgeoned beneath Constance's ribcage. "That.." she hesitated for a moment to process. "That was the wizarding hospital in the Middle East. The one disguised as a shelter?"
"Yes, it was," Dr. Grisham nodded gravely, "The Magistrate and the Global Wizarding Defense Board worked tirelessly to ensure that the collapse was seen as the result of an airstrike by non-magical folk. It was one of the largest memory alteration campaigns in Wizarding history."
Constance winced. "Yes, I remember. Several of my old classmates from Weirdsister went to Iraq to help with the relief effort," she took a moment to quarantine the sudden grief that washed over her from her external affect. "Two of the five took their own lives after they returned home to Europe," she finished quietly, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress.
"Several colleagues of mine did the same," Dr. Grisham said distantly. And I was the first to find one of them, swinging from his garage ceiling. He closed his eyes briefly, needing to change the subject to regain a modicum of mental stability.
"If your former classmates went to help with relief, why did you not accompany them?" he queried.
"Believe me, I wanted to," Constance explained, "but I was not certified for Magical Disaster Relief."
"Magical Disaster Relief is one of the hallmark courses that is offered at Weirdsister" Dr. Grisham remarked curiously, "why did you not take it during your time there?"
"I had a form mistress that was rather…authoritarian," Constance said darkly, unfolding her arms. "She told me I was no good to anyone in need. And as young, naïve, and starved for approval as I was; I believed her." She set her left elbow on her desktop, and rested her chin in her hand.
The silken sleeve of Constances' gown hung loosely from her thin forearm, such that the symmetrical white scars marring her left wrist were exposed. Dr. Grisham noticed.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically, suddenly aware of how sorrowful her downturned eyes must have been.
After several moments, Dr. Grisham spoke once more. "Ms. Hardbroom, I am concerned that if Mildred does not get well, a disaster such as the hospital collapse I witnessed in Iraq will occur in the future."
Constance looked up at him. "But, Doctor," she exclaimed, "that was a massive incident. You surely don't think that Mildred is capable-"
"I know she is capable of that, Constance," Dr. Grisham's eyes (which had finally focused properly) flashed with intensity, "the Russian Wizard that destroyed that hospital did so with involuntary magic that was weaker than Mildred's."
"How…how do you know?" Constance asked; much too shaken to feel irritated that the physician had just used her first name.
"His eyes…the irises turned white," Dr. Grisham replied. Constance cocked her head to the side, and he explained further, "That is a physical marker of level two uncontrolled eruption. At level one, the eyes turn red. At level three, they turn violet."
Constance felt as if thousands of small insects had crept through her vertebrae to invade and subsequently crawl up her spinal cord. "You mean to say…" she said hoarsely, "we could have died tonight had she been pushed further?"
"Yes, along with every non-magical resident of the village on the other side of Mistletoe forest," Dr. Grisham deadpanned. "The near-eruption I saw tonight coupled with the fact that she involuntarily cast Memorias Expulsor in your presence may very well mean that her magic exceeds the power of level three."
The blood drained from Constances' face. She clasped her hands together. "But she is just a child."
"I agree," the physician said gently, "and I doubt she'd ever wield her power with malicious intent."
"But that wizard that you treated did not intend to kill hundreds of people either," Constance said miserably, "and yet he is still a fugitive on the run from the Magistrate."
Dr. Grisham pursed his lips, and pushed his spectacles up his nose. Constance thought the gold rims framing the glass lenses complemented his crystal blue eyes quite nicely. "That is why we are not going to inform them," he asserted.
"I might have imprisoned you here had you said anything else," Constance commended, her voice thick with gratitude.
"As reckless as the law may see it," he said resolutely, "she is only as dangerous as others let her be. The fact that she has not killed her parents, and did not kill us tonight, is a testament to how much she can unknowingly will herself not to cause harm."
"Can she be taught to harness the power she has?" Constance implored frantically, "or do you believe that taking her out of harms way is the best approach?"
Dr. Grisham sighed, and stared down at the weathered lines that snaked across his palms. "I wish I knew the answer to that," he said sadly, "but I don't."
09:43pm
The sound of her dormitory door creaking open made Mildred jump slightly. The shadow of Ms Hardbroom's tall form fell across the foot of her bed. Mildred sighed in relief, her form mistress had actually kept her promise to tuck her in. She had not been expecting that; she figured she had drained enough of the older witches energy the night before and as a result didn't deserve any more of her attention.
"Mildred, are you still awake?" Constance asked, stepping into her room.
Mildred was shocked to find that her teacher had donned her silk maroon pajamas and had let her waist length hair down from its bun. Does she intend to sleep in my room for the second night in a row?
"Yes Miss, I'm still awake," Mildred breathed, touched.
"Excellent," Constance said quickly, and closed Mildred's door. "I apologize for taking so long to arrive."
"Uh..." Mildred uttered, dumbfounded. "It's...it's okay. You really didn't have to in the first place...but, uh, thanks. You don't have to sleep here if you don't want either."
"Oh!" Constance practically gasped, her voice uncharacteristically shrill. She knotted her fingers around the hem of her nightshirt. "I...I assumed you wanted me here...but I didn't even bother to ask-"
"No no!" Mildred interrupted frantically, sitting up on her knees, "that's not what I meant, Miss. I- I want you to stay. I just...I don't want to be...a burden to you, I guess."
Constance met the young witch's eyes. The sad realization that dawned on her was evident on her face for only a moment before her expression hardened. "Mildred Hubble," she said in a clipped tone, "if I ever hear you refer to yourself as a burden again I will have you writing lines for weeks."
Mildred sat back. She wasn't scared of her form mistress' reaction, she just didn't understand it. Why would anyone get offended that I called myself a burden?
"Now," Constance said with a barely detectable shake in her voice, "we both need to get some rest." She pointed her fingers determinedly at Mildred's nightstand, and transmogrified it into a fully made, twin-sized bed.
"Alright," Mildred agreed. Her chest hurt and she didn't know why.
Constance shuffled awkwardly through the small space in between their beds. As she pulled back her comforter and top sheet, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
Constance turned around. "What is-"
Before she could finish her question, Mildred had wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, burying her head in her abdomen.
"Thank you," the girl murmured into her pajama top.
Constance cupped the back of Mildred's head gently. She said nothing.
Dec. 29th, 1999
03:09pm
"Mildred, you may come with me now."
The young witch rose from Mrs. Molyneux's couch, and trudged across the carpet towards the familiar man in the office doorway. Dr. Grisham had the good sense not to guide her by the shoulder as they left the Mind Healer's office.
"Did you have a good session?" the physician asked casually, once they had travelled halfway down the deserted hospital hallway.
Mildred shrugged noncommittally. "She makes some good suggestions, I guess." Like to draw something or squeeze a cube of ice in my hand whenever I feel like cutting. "She also makes some stupid ones." Like to talk to a trusted peer or adult if I feel like hurting myself.
"Fair enough," Dr. Grisham acknowledged, tempering his long-legged strides so his patient could keep up with him.
So he's finally learned to shut the fuck up around me Mildred thought bitterly. She glanced at him sideways, noting his tightly reserved expression.
'Maybe you should consider 'vhy you are angry at a man who has done you no harm?'
Mrs. Molyneux's maddeningly profound words reverberated in the young witches' head. She began to viciously chew on one of her plaits. Dr. Grisham noticed her vigorous engagement in her life-long nervous habit; but chose to remain silent.
Mildred paradoxically found herself slightly offended that he was not pushing her for more information. What is wrong with me? I just want to stick to one emotional opinion, god dammit. The young witch was so lost in mentally scorning her emotional lability that when she made to clamp down her teeth on the damp clump of hair in her mouth she missed the mark and bit the inside of her lower lip.
"Agh!" she cried out in response to the harsh pain.
"Mildred?" Dr. Grisham asked worriedly. In an instant, he had managed to turn around completely and kneel down in front of her.
"Ugh…nothing," Mildred groaned, swallowing blood. "I just bit my lip."
He fixed her with a searching look.
"Really," she insisted, "I'm fine. I think it's bleeding a bit, but it's just a flesh wound."
Dr. Grisham's lips twitched. He raised his eyebrows. "Monty Python?"
Mildred nodded. "No one's too young for it."
The physician grinned broadly. He started to make a joke, but was quick to stop himself before he spoke once he remembered that his young patient had not been feeling particularly amicable towards him as of late.
Mildred caught the disappointment that flashed briefly across the physician's face. It felt as if the heavy guilt in her stomach had doubled in weight.
"Uhm, Dr. Grisham?" she said hesitantly.
He paused mid-rise from his stooping position. "Yes, Mildred?"
"I…I'm sorry or whatever. For being so…terse." And bitchy. And mean. And ungrateful.
"Apology accepted," Dr. Grisham acknowledged, a lighthearted bounce evident in his tone. "I don't blame you for needing to direct your anger somewhere." And I'm bloody relieved that you have the big heart I thought you did; since it's the only thing keeping you from reducing the United Kingdom to a vast wasteland every time you get frustrated.
"Okay," Mildred said shyly, clasping her hands behind her back and twisting her body from side to side like a young school child.
"Okay," Dr. Grisham said happily; feeling a small amount of the burden on his shoulders reduce.
The pair began to walk again.
Once they had reached the bottom floor of the hospital, Mildred asked, "So when are you going to ask Ms. Hardbroom out on a date?"
"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Grisham exclaimed.
"I think New Years Eve would be nice," Mildred continued conversationally, "or at least some time before she has to start work when winter term begins."
"Mildred, I understand that you've been through a lot as of late," Dr. Grisham sputtered, "but it is highly inappropriate for you to be making suggestions of that sort."
"So you aren't denying that you want to ask her out, then?" Mildred questioned, her eyes sparkling.
"I do not intend to engage romantically with your form mistress," he insisted, the sweat that beaded on his forehead giving him away, "and I would appreciate it greatly if you would drop the subject."
"So you don't intend to ask her out, but you definitely want to ask her out," Mildred sang, ignoring his request completely.
Dr. Grisham grumbled in defeat. "Cheeky brat," he muttered under his breath.
Mildred grinned and skipped ahead of him.
Once the two had made it past the boundary of St. Aumars vast, frozen courtyard; Dr. Grisham materialized them both to the edge of the forest bordering Cackles Academy. Mildred, intent on indulging herself with some much-needed alone time, began to bustle quickly towards the schools' wrought-iron gates.
"Mildred," Dr. Grisham called out to her.
She turned to face him. "Yes, Doctor?"
"Have you given any more thought as to whether or not you would like to attend your parent's trial?" he inquired.
His question hit her like a speeding bullet, she felt as if shattered metal fragments had scattered across her chest to pierce her heart and lungs. It terrified her initially; but that fear instantaneously morphed into the corrosive, monstrous rage that the thought of her parents always brought out in her.
She knew that the fury she shook with was born from the grudges she sowed and tended to like fragile children; grudges that the man before her was not responsible for. His eyes grew large, and he stepped back from her. It's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault she desperately repeated over and over in her mind like a prayer.
"I'm not angry at you!" Mildred blurted out, "I just fucking hate that I still have to deal with their shit!" She felt the ground shake beneath her. Dr. Grisham seized her arm and pulled her aside just in time to miss being crushed by the massive tree branch that had snapped and fallen from the oak tree above them.
Mildred deflated. She stared wide-eyed at the man who still held her arm in a vice-like grip. "Did I…" she croaked, barely able to find her voice, "did I do that?"
"You sure did," he answered, looking at her with a mix of admiration and terror.
"Fuck," Mildred cursed.
Dr. Grisham nodded his head, positively dazed. "Fuck indeed."
Mildred took it upon herself to take ten deep, slow breaths before speaking again. "I guess I could go," she offered, "if Ms. Hardbroom came with me."
"I think," he said carefully, "that if you work through most of your resentment during your mind healing sessions, that would be…appropriate."
"Don't sound so sure," Mildred replied airily, too shocked to take offense.
"Of course, I do not have a legal right to set those conditions," Dr. Grisham said quickly, hoping to avoid a second life-threatening incident,"you alone must make the decision of whether or not to attend. I just recommend that you work through your…frustrations." Also, I want to avoid having one of my patients committing involuntary mass murder in a courtroom in the middle of London.
"It's not a bad recommendation," Mildred said, trying to be kind. In truth, she loathed it when other people gave their input on her emotions, but the physician looked so worried that she wanted to soothe him in whatever way she could.
He simply nodded, his complexion waxy.
"I'm sorry I almost killed you with a tree?" Mildred tried.
Dr. Grisham let out a laugh that was more anxiety-ridden than jovial, and met her eyes. "It's alright," he said shakily, offering her a smile so manic it was nearly comical.
Mildred sighed to herself. She had been hoping to bring some real relief to him, and she had failed in that respect.
Oh well she thought to herself, at least he doesn't look like he's about to sick up anymore.
06:18pm
Mildred plopped herself down on the dining hall bench across from Ms. Hardbroom. She promptly began to devour her full plate of food.
Constance watched her in awe. "You had a pleasant day, I assume?"
Mildred looked up and nodded, her mouth so full of food that both of her cheeks resembled inflated balloons.
"You look like a blowfish," Constance observed dryly.
Mildred shrugged unapologetically, and continued to chew.
"I've been meaning to ask you something" Constance announced, before Mildred could take in another forkful of her pasta salad.
"Okay," her student assented, setting down her utensil. She met Constances' eyes almost…dutifully.
The older woman rubbed her hands together uncomfortably, and looked away. Why me, girl? Why would you trust a bitter old spinster? "Well," she said awkwardly, "I was wondering how you would like to celebrate New Years Eve."
"Uhh….I…" Mildred blabbered, so shell-shocked she could barely verbalize, "Are you…are you serious?"
Constance felt her cheeks grow inexplicably hot. Of course a teenager doesn't want to enjoy the holidays with her bitter old teacher! What were you thinking, Constance? "Well I wouldn't have asked if I was not serious," the older witch muttered with misdirected frustration, "have you ever known me to say things that I do not mean?"
Mildred cringed. She hadn't meant to offend her. "No, that's not it at all Miss!" she insisted, "I didn't think you were having a go at me. I'm just a bit…surprised." Surprised that you would be concerned about my happiness during the holidays. Even more surprised that you would ever consider celebrating anything.
"Partaking in festivities just seemed to be something that you have enjoyed," Constance explained, "I simply thought that you would be interested in finding something…fun to do."
"I-I…I appreciate that, Miss," Mildred offered, feeling incredibly embarrassed for a reason she couldn't quite pin down. "But I'm content to just sit on the castle balcony and watch the fireworks that Mistletoe Village sets off."
"I see," Constance said reservedly, "that is what we will do, then." She felt stung that Mildred was not in a better mood, then angry at herself for feeling stung in the first place. How could you possibly expect her to open up to you about her desires? She only engages with you because you were the first warm body to comfort her without asking anything in return; her attachment to you is on the whole unhealthy and transient.
Across the table, Mildred felt overwhelmed with guilt. You have to offer her something in return, she's obviously upset because you keep taking from her like an entitled little brat. She offered you a fun time, now you offer her a fun time. "Uh, Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred asked delicately, desperate to wipe the injured expression off of her teachers' face, "do you think we could invite Dr. Grisham over for New Years Eve?"
Constance looked at her like she had just proposed dying her hair fuschia.
"Oh come on," Mildred intoned, her eyes twinkling, "I see the way you look at him."
"You are being outlandishly presumptuous, Mildred Hubble!" Constance nearly shrieked, two spots of color forming on her pale cheeks, "not to mention wrong."
"Hey, okay, okay," Mildred raised her hands in a gesture of truce, "I believe you."
09:08pm
Bent over her desk in her dormitory room, Mildred smiled mischievously at the piece of parchment in front of her:
Dr. Grisham,
I am writing this letter to you in the hopes that you will join Ms. Hubble and I at the Academy Castle for dinner on New Years Eve. I am trying to encourage her to partake in festivities; and believe it would be much more enjoyable for her if there was another adult besides me present. If you are able to attend, please be punctual and arrive at 5:30pm sharp, as we usually eat dinner at 6pm. Perhaps you can bring some champagne.
Sincerely,
Constance Hardbroom
Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy
Mildred rubbed her lips together thoughtfully, re-reading the letter several times until she was convinced that no further editing was necessary in order to ensure that the invitation was written in a convincingly Hardbroom-ish fashion. She carefully folded the piece of parchment in half, and placed it in an addressed envelope. She would take it to the postage owlery the following morning before sunrise.
Dec. 30th, 1999
02:00pm
"Dr. Grisham has a crush on Ms. Hardbroom," Mildred said happily, "and I think Ms. Hardbroom fancies him too." She practically bounced on Mrs. Molyneux's couch with excitement.
"Mmm," the Mind Healer said thoughtfully, and crossed her legs. "'Vat makes you say zat?"
Mildred shifted uncomfortably. She didn't even crack a smile. I guess I should have expected that. Shrinks get paid to fix patients with creepy stares until they start blubbering about their childhood. "Well...he can barely speak to her without turning red. And she tries to use a bunch of big words and prove herself right every time she talks to him."
"You may be right," Mrs. Molyneux said slowly, "but zen again, you may be wrong. People can act in zertain ways for any number of reasons."
"Oh," Mildred said conspiratorially, "I know I'm not wrong. I could cut the sexual tension between those two with a knife. "
"Mmm," the woman across from her acknowledged neutrally, "iz it important to you zat you are reading zis situation correctly?"
Mildred frowned. "Stop speaking in riddles. What are you asking me?"
Mrs. Molyneux looked at her imploringly. "Do you 'vant zem to be attracted to each other?"
"I..." Mildred began hesitantly, "I guess I would like that to be the case. Well, it is the case." She fingered a loose thread on the couch cushion. If she could only see the way they talk to each other…she would know that I'm right Mildred thought vehemently. I definitely don't intend to tell her that I invited Dr. Grisham over for New Years Eve.
"And 'vhy do you like 'zee idea of romance between 'zem?"
"I don't know!" Mildred threw her hands up in consternation. "Because it's nice to see people fancy each other? Hundreds flock to the cinema to see romantic films, I'm no different from them. There's nothing wrong with me."
"Mildred, I did not zay anyzing is wrong 'vith you," Mrs. Molyneux reminded her softly, "I just 'vonder why an attraction between zee two particular people you speak of has you so exzited."
"Uggghh!" Mildred groaned, closing her eyes and resting her head back on the couch cushion behind her. "Do you have to ruin everything?"
"Zat is not my intention," the Mind Healer responded candidly, "but is often unpleasant to look at zee deeper meanings behind 'zertain emotions, even exzitement."
Mildred huffed. "So what exactly," she half-growled, her eyes flashing with antagonism, "is the deeper meaning behind my excitement, Doctor?"
" 'Vell, I cannot speak for you but-"
"You're going to," Mildred muttered, crossing her arms dejectedly.
"I 'zink it is possible zat you hope that your doctor and instructor 'ave a potential relationzip because it would fulfill zee need you 'ave for functional parental figures," Mrs. Molyneux asserted, unperturbed by Mildred's prior interruption.
She's gone completely fucking mad. "I respect your opinion," Mildred grumbled, not even trying to pretend that she was mulling it over, "but that doesn't change the fact that it's nutters."
" 'Zat is definitely a possibility," Mrs. Molyneux replied pleasantly, and suppressed a knowing smile.
"Oh, stop acting like you know everything!" Mildred spat. "No one has functional parental figures. And besides, I can't wait to be rid of the two wastes of space that attempted to raise me."
"I respect your sentiment," Mrs. Molyneux said in a low voice, and pondered her next statement. "Do you 'vish to attend your parents trial?"
The acids in Mildred's stomach began to churn. "Why the hell is everyone so keen on asking me that lately?"
The Mind Healer shrugged her shoulders casually. "Because it iz an important upcoming event in your life 'zat 'zose who care about you 'vant to know your thoughts about."
"Oh please don't pretend like you actually care about me" Mildred growled. "Besides," she said haughtily, turning up her nose, "I've already made a decision about the trial."
"Oh?" Mrs. Molyneux asked in a voice that had risen in pitch.
"Oh?" Mildred mocked her callously, "Oh, yes. I will go to the trial if Ms. Hardbroom comes with me."
The older woman considered her for a moment. "Ms. Hardbroom," she said thoughtfully, "you 'avent discussed her once 'zince we began our sessions. Yet, she is 'zee one you feel comfortable with witnessing one of 'zee most intimate moments of your life."
"Don't tell me how I feel!" Mildred yelled. In the far corner of the office, the porcelain statue of Buddha on Mrs. Molyneux's desk began to shake. The young witch forced herself to take several deep breaths to calm herself. Destroying my shrink's office will definitely get me locked up. Relief washed over her when the statue stopped vibrating and it did not appear that Mrs. Molyneux had noticed her near-eruption.
"Besides," Mildred mumbled, eying white Buddha nervously, "I doubt she'll come to the trial anyway. She's not that important to me."
"Your Professor must be important to you if she is 'zee one you are considering bringing to your parents hearing," Mrs. Molyneux challenged, sitting back in her chair. " 'Vhy don't you 'zink Ms. Hardbroom would be 'villing to accompany you?"
Because I'm a burden. Because she's angry that she has to keep acting like she cares about me. She's only compelled to fake it because she pities me. But I bet she resents me too.
"I just don't think she would" Mildred whispered, her expression morose. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. About anything."
Mrs. Molyneux noted her patient's hooded lids, the blood-shot whites of her eyes, and miserable frown. In her professional opinion, she thought it would be wise not to push the girl further. "If 'zat is what you wish, Mildred," she said gently, "we can end early for today."
The surprise and subsequent intense gratitude that flashed across the girl's eyes suggested that she was not used to having her feelings acknowledged, let alone respected.
Dec. 31st, 1999
05:36pm
What on earth? Constance made her way towards the resounding knock that had been resounding throughout the Academy hallways for the past two minutes. When she reached the double doors at the front of the Castle, she stopped in front of them.
"Who is it?" she called to the anonymous visitor on the other side of the oak doors, her hand resting lazily on the inside knob.
"Uhm…It's me, Ms. Hardbroom," Dr. Grisham's familiar, confused voice answered, "I'm sorry I'm several minutes late."
Constance curled her fists into tight balls. That little, meddling savage. She wrenched the front door open furiously, and beckoned the shivering physician inside.
"Ms. Hardbroom?" he asked tentatively, brushing snowflakes off the shoulders of his tweed coat, "is everything alright?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "I was not expecting you," she said through gritted teeth, and eyed the champagne bottle he had cradled in his left arm, "but I suppose that you assumed I would be."
The physician was at a loss. She looked positively irate, and all he'd done was respond to an invitation. "But you sent me a letter-"
"I did not send you a letter!" Constance abruptly cut him off, "I am not the only one in this Castle that is capable of writing!"
"Ohh," he said slowly, as realization dawned.
Constance tapped her foot angrily, waiting for him to become enraged at the fact that he had been duped by a thirteen year-old. Much to her frustration, an amused smile spread across his face. "Well, her hearts in the right place at least," he commented with a slight chuckle.
"It has nothing to do with heart!" Constance shrieked, "it has everything to do with manipulation! She feels humiliated, and wants to humiliate us in turn! The nerve of that girl, I swear I-"
"I understand that you feel disrespected," Dr. Grisham interjected, "but I hardly think she set this up because she simply wanted to play a trick on us for her amusement."
Constance said nothing; not because she agreed, but because she knew that expressing her desire to strangle an abused child to said child's doctor was probably not the best of decisions.
"Ms. Hardbroom" Dr. Grisham continued, "I really don't think it was malicious on her part. Perhaps she thought she was setting us up for something…enjoyable?
Constance folded her arms across her chest, and gripped her elbows with her hands. "I suppose she did implicate to me that she thought I would enjoy your company on New Years Eve," she muttered sullenly, glaring at the floor.
"Was she correct?" he blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Constance felt an unwelcome fluttering behind her ribcage. "That," she bit out, much less venomously than she intended, "is a monstrously inappropriate question to ask."
Dr. Grisham knew he should feel some shame given the circumstances; but all he managed to feel was elation in response to the fact that she hadn't said no. He shifted the champagne bottle to his right hand, unsure of what to say next.
Constance gave him a once-over, and broke the silence. "Since you are already here, I suppose it would be acceptable for you to stay for dinner."
Dr. Grisham looked up at her, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the torchlight. "Thank you, Ms. Hardbroom," he said, nodding humbly.
As reserved as he was attempting to be, Constance could sense his heightened spirits. As much as they infuriated her, they also served as tools she could use to rationalize his continued presence for the evening. What a maddeningly strange emotional dichotomy. "Come along then," she said hotly, antagonized by her own excitement, "our meal should be ready shortly
"Of course, Ms. Hardbroom." Dr. Grisham followed her down the hallway, smiling.
06:03pm
"Dr. Grisham!" Mildred said in mock-surprise as she strolled into the dining hall. "I was not expecting-"
"You most certainly were expecting him," Constance snarled.
Mildred saw a rather prominent vein on her potions mistress' forehead pulse, and swallowed. She knew the woman across from her would never harm her, but that did not make the Hardbroom Glare any less intimidating.
"I-I'm sorry if I angered you-"
"If you angered me?!" Constance yelled, "you impersonated me, you forged my signature, and you convinced Dr. Grisham that he was receiving correspondence from me! In situations more grave, those sorts of shenanigans could get you arrested!"
Mildred's cheeks reddened. The sharpness of the woman's tone and the piercing intensity of her eyes struck her painfully. The pain was not born of fear, nor of uncertainty; it was born of a bruise to her ego, a bruise formed by the knowledge that she had worried someone that cared for her.
"Look, I didn't mean to insult you," Mildred said remorsefully, rubbing her clammy hands together, "I just thought you'd want some company that wasn't just me on the holiday."
"That is not something for you to determine!" Constance exclaimed, "nor am I particularly insulted by your gesture. I am livid that you would take an action that has the potential to land you in an immense amount of trouble, and didn't think twice about protecting yourself from the consequences of your own actions!"
The older witches' face was so flushed with emotion Mildred took a small step backwards. She did not know how to deal with being scolded; most adults in her life responded to her self-destructiveness with nonchalance or pitying sighs…but never anger.
"If consequences come, I can deal with them," the young witch murmured. I always have.
"You are immensely weaker than you think you are," Constance hissed scathingly, "and for you to even suggest that you can take care of yourself is evidence that most of your actions are driven by nothing more than adolescent stupidity."
Mildred felt a small amount of indignation stir in the pit of her stomach, but resisted letting it pour out of her mouth. Normally, if she felt that an authority figure sought to reprimand her in the slightest, she would lash out so harshly that said figure would feel it a hopeless endeavor to attempt to reprimand her again. But the fact that this was Constance Hardbroom gave her slight pause.
"Nothing to say now, Mildred Hubble? Does your witty tongue need a rest period?" Constance bit out, her anxiety heightening, "Or are you simply biding your time until you can run away to your room and plot your next self-endangering scheme?"
She sounded like a hysterical mother…a wounded mother; disappointed in her daughter. Mildred floundered, her feet rooted to the floor.
"Are you completely blind to your own limitations?" Constance asked, the fury in her tone dying out to reveal something akin to desperation.
Mildred forced herself to look the older witch in the eye; she forced herself to accept her punishing words, and the shame that accompanied them. "No, Miss."
Constance let out a deep, shuddering breath. Her lungs hurt. Her heart hurt.
"I'm sorry, Miss," Mildred whispered, trying like hell to convey her remorse through her expression. She hated to admit that she was wrong; but she hated the thought of pushing Constance away even more.
"You should be," Constances' insult was softened by the hand she placed on Mildred's shoulder. It was almost too much for the young witch; being cared for despite her disobedience, being disciplined out of love rather than malice.
Constance looked over at Dr. Grisham, who had remained silent throughout their entire exchange. He nodded at her as if to say, 'you handled that correctly. You handled her correctly.'
The potions mistress gave Mildred's shoulder what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. I will still be here for you, no matter how angry I get.
Mildred's eyes flashed to meet Constance's. I know.
10:17pm
"Do you intend on opening that?" Constance asked Dr. Grisham, eying the champagne bottle he had set on the coffee table besides the game of Witching Monopoly they had been playing with Mildred for the last hour.
"At some point, yes," he answered, "but if you are uncomfortable with that, I'll refrain."
"Oh, don't refrain," Mildred jumped in, "you both could use a bit of letting loose in your lives."
"Mildred," Constance warned, silently condemning the physician for snorting openly at the young witches' joke.
"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled, and rolled the two dice in her hands. "Six, alright then."
Mildred moved her game piece (a small silver broom) six places. Constance watched her with a predatory grin, rubbing her hands together delightfully when she landed on 'Palacial Potions Avenue', a game property she owned and had bought several hotels on.
Mildred groaned loudly. "That," Constance said smugly, holding her hand out to her student expectantly, "will be 1200 pounds, please."
11:08pm
Constance rarely drank, but the bubbles in Dr. Grisham's champagne flute looked more enticing by the second. Furthermore, she had more than enough reasons to justify needing a drink. Much more valid reasons than my father ever did; he needed a drink every time he stubbed his toe. Which usually happened once a day.
"Doctor?"
The physician started at the timidity of her voice. "Yes, Con-" Stop, the drink is getting to your head you dolt. "Yes, Ms. Hardbroom?"
"Please pour me a glass of that," Constance requested, puffing up her chest. She was prepared to challenge any protests he might have against her deciding to partake, even though the likelihood of him protesting was practically non-existent, considering he brought the damn alcohol.
"Of course!" he obliged enthusiastically, and retrieved a champagne glass from his medical bag.
Constance raised an eyebrow in amusement. And I was worried about seeming like the lush here.
"Uh, Miss?" Mildred piped up from her sitting position on the floor.
"Hmm?" Constance queried absently, transfixed by the drink Dr. Grisham had began to pour.
"Do you think…" Mildred nervously organized the contents of the trios' finished game of Witching Monopoly in its respective box, "maybe I could have some?"
Dr. Grisham and Constance snorted in unison.
"Absolutely not," the potions mistress said definitively, taking the glass the physician held out to her.
Before Mildred could open her mouth to protest, Constance cut her off. "Nice try, Mildred. But save your breath. Regardless of what you plan to say about this issue now or in the future, my answer will still be no."
The young witch huffed.
Constance smirked, and brought the glass of champagne to her lips.
11:36pm
Mildred lost herself in the breathtaking view of the castle courtyard, bordered by the expanse of snow-capped pine trees that seemed to stretch for miles. The clear night sky was packed with thousands of glittering stars, their light illuminating the three figures that admired the scenery from the balcony that opened up from the top floor of Cackles Academy.
"Mildred, how are you liking Mizz Molyneux?"
The young witch turned to the source of the slightly slurred voice. "She has good intentions," she said to Dr. Grisham.
"Right, but how are you liking her?" the physician pressed, urging her to join him in the alcohol-induced camaraderie he was feeling.
Mildred's eyes darkened. "Her people ruin everything. And that's all I'm going to say."
Dr. Grisham clammed up after that, not wanting to subject himself to another life-threatening event catalyzed by her unpredictable, magical eruptions.
Ms. Hardbroom, however, did not share his fear.
"It might do you well, my dear," she in a chipper tone, draining her second glass of champagne, "to trust those who want to help you. It can be very painful to live your whole life shutting all the good people out. Don't make my mistakes." The potions mistress attempted several times to set her empty flute on the balcony edge, but it was clear that her blurred vision prevented her from accomplishing her goal.
"Uh-huh," Mildred said dryly, and took the glass from Constance's hand. She set it down on the small table beside her, right next to the half-empty champagne bottle. "I'm think I'm ready to go to bed," she informed the two adults, forcing out a yawn.
Constance furrowed her brow. "But didn't you want to see the fireworks, Mildred?"
"I did," Mildred replied, averting her eyes. But I really don't want to watch the two of you get sloshed, unless I'm allowed to as well. "But I'm too exhausted to stay awake another moment."
Constance clumsily caught her on her shoulder as she turned away. Mildred violently flinched out of her drunken grasp. Constance recoiled her hand immediately, as if she had been burned.
"I'm alright, Miss," Mildred said coldly, her eyes challenging Constance to argue with her. She won't win if she does, she doesn't have the damn capacity at the moment.
"If you say so," Constance said doubtfully. Her student bid them both a 'goodnight' nod, and disappeared into the Castle.
Constance stared at the sliding glass door that Mildred had just left through, the fuzziness in her brain not allowing her to comprehend what had just happened. Beside her, the flick of a lighter startled her out of her confused daze. She turned to discover the man next to her taking a long, slow drag of a cigarette.
"Aren't you 'sposed to be a doctor?" the potions mistress questioned him.
"Mmmhmm" he responded, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Only when I'm sober, Ms. Hardbroom."
"Oh, give me that," Constance reached for the cigarette, which he handed to her with a look of surprise.
After satisfactorily filling and emptying her lungs with and of tobacco smoke, she explained herself. "I smoked a lot in college. I quit ten years ago, but the smell of a freshly lit cigarette is always a temptation."
As much of a temptation as you are? Dr. Grisham thought helplessly, taking the smoke back from her offering hand.
There was a pregnant pause.
"Do you think Mildred's a racist?" Constance implored, her forehead creased with confusion.
The question had caught Dr. Grisham mid-inhale, and his urge to laugh caused him to swallow, rather than inhale smoke, resulting in an intense coughing fit.
"W-what? Mildred, a racist? Whatever made you think that?" the physician spluttered when he had regained his composure enough to speak.
"Well, she said that Mrs. Molyneux's people ruin everything," Constance explained, "and that woman is French, is she not?"
"Ohh," Dr. Grisham replied, "I think- I think she meant that therapists, or head shrinks, if you will, ruin everything."
"Aha!" Constance giggled, shaking her head. "I can't believe that I thought-" she snorted, "how ridiculous of me."
Dr. Grisham grinned. She looks beautiful when she laughs.
"Oh well," Constance said, leaning back on the balcony exaggeratedly, "it was probably my upbringing. My father used to call the French 'cheese-eating surrender monkeys'".
Dr. Grisham snorted loudly before he could stop himself, then composed his face to what he hope conveyed a grave expression. "That is vile, Constance. So vile."
"Eh," she shrugged, waving her hand lazily, "everything about my father was vile." The potions mistress nearly clamped her hand down over her mouth once she realized how much she'd unwittingly confessed. Sensing that the physician was waiting for her to elaborate, she aimed to change the subject.
"So we shouldn't inform her that Mildred has the potential to reduce St. Aumars to smithereens?" Constance asked pointedly.
Dr. Grisham opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by an incredibly loud crack that sounded from above them. The two whipped around to face the forest. The celebratory fireworks had begun.
Jan 1st, 2000
12:00am
Three glowing lights traveled upwards, each transforming into bursts of technicolor light above the treetops of Mistletoe Forest. The fireworks briefly changed the color of the snow beneath them; the spider-like legs of each sparking brilliantly before cascading down towards earth.
Constance rested her elbows on the balcony railing, waiting for the next set of colors to explode across the sky. She felt a warm hand graze the small of her back. Inhibitions gone, she let out a hum of approval. Another round of fireworks sailed into the heavens, bursting into thousands of glittering turquoise and purple particles that danced among the stars.
Dr. Grisham snaked his arm around Constance's waist, and in one swift motion, turned her to face him. Her long, pale fingers met his broad shoulders.
"Happy New Years, Constance," he drawled in a low baritone that made her head swim. The physician fixed her with a look of pure adoration.
The same look of pure adoration her father had drunkenly fixed all of his ex-girlfriends with mere nights before he had reduced them to bruised, sobbing messes that tearfully begged for the prince charming version of him to return.
Constance felt her blood run cold, sobering her momentarily. She would not be like those women.
Dr. Grisham leaned in, intending to bring his hungry lips to hers. She flattened her palms against his shoulders, and pushed him away.
He shot her a confused look, but respected her need for space and maintained his distance.
"I'm sorry," Constance said, her voice shaking, "But I can't." I can't let you draw me in just to hurt me. Just to control me.
"That is perfectly alright, Constance," he said with forced pleasantness, burying his disappointment.
"I-I…" she stuttered, feeling her stomach heave, "I have to go."
Without another word, Constance disappeared into the Castle, leaving a very confused physician in her wake.
Well contempt loves the silence,
It hides in the dark.
With fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart.
They say that promises sweeten the blow.
I don't need them,
No I don't need them.
Cause I've been treated so wrong,
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable.
A/N: I re-edited this chapter a number of times to make sure I had realistically depicted the emotional turmoil of my two protagonists. Sorry it took so long. I wanted to post on the 30th, but I read it through and neurotically had to change a bunch of it. I get a bit overly-perfectionistic. ALSO: THIS STORY WILL NOT BE CENTERED ON ROMANCE. THE PROSPECT OF A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP IS JUST A LITERARY TOOL I'M USING TO EXPOSE CONSTANCES' INTIMACY ISSUES.