A\N sorry for the wait, its been a hard chapter to write. I'm sorry about the confusion between Imogen and Constance but everything will be revealed in the next cchapter xxxx I will love you forever if you review xxxx ( Hermione Jean McGonagall, thank you for the reviews, they are actually keeping me writing this, so thank you xx)
The worst thing about her room, was that it was on the very top floor. Of course, she had first thought it was to purposefully make her late to class, giving old Hecketty Broomhead a perfectly good excuse to put her on detention. But now, she had decided that she was all the way up there to make it near impossible to escape. Constance had tried to run away more than once, first through the dungeons, then through the witches and then even right through the main doors, and each time she had been caught with more severe consequences than the last. She hasn't pursued the common goal of escaping for six months now, and it was high time she tried again. With her few possessions tucked up in a satchel alongside spare clothes,a bread roll she secretly took from dinner that day ( wrapped up in a napkin ) and Morgana ( her sleek black cat) purring fondly, nestled in her clothes, Constance sat on her windowsill gathering her courage. All she had to do was jump... Slide down to the gutter, climb down, fetch her broom from the shed and she was free... What could possibly go wrong? Well a number of things, and that included a very angry tutor bursting into her room before she could set off, and unfortunately, that was exactly what happened.
The faintest noise alarmed the young girl, the unmistakable notice of someone either appearing or disappearing, and before she had time to turn and examine who could possibly be hindering her, two familiar iron-grip hands had caught her shoulders in a vice lock clutch, pulling her roughly back inside, Morgana yowling in surprise. How could Broomhead possibly have known? It was hours past lights out. It was almost as if she could see the future... Before her mind could catch up with her, she suddenly found herself being thrown to the floor, banging her arm sharply on the corner of the foot locker, sending a jolt of pain coursing through her arm.
" Constance Hardbroom, you surprise me," the old witch murmured icily, yet she didn't appear very surprised, it almost looked as if she had expected it. " were the results of your previous failed attempts at running away not enough to make you learn your lesson?" The brunette cowered into the corner.
" I wasn't running away, mistress Broomhead, I was merely sitting on the windowsill " her shallow tentative voice broke, as she held back a nervous whimper.
" with your cat and your clothes? Do you think I am stupid?" Hastily, she shook her head, as Morgana jumped out of her satchel, scampering under the bed, leaving her owner alone.
" N-no Mistress broomhead" it tore through her that she had been so close to escaping... So close, yet so far. A burning sensation overwhelmed her, as the iron like hand came into rough contact with the side of her face, and the young witch fell on all fours, a soft cry emitting from her pale lips. Suddenly her head flew back, as her long sleek, midnight hair was caught in the unyielding grip. "I-Im sorry M-miss... It'll n-never happen a-again" she managed through short, feverish gasps. Her heart beat frantically, as the long sharpened nails trailed an odd pattern down her neck with slow anticipation.
" didn't you say that last Time Constance?" Salty tears brewed in the dark innocent eyes as pure specks of red contrasted on pale white where the nails dug a little too hard. Scratches. They were always the worst, and the fresh red lines streaked all the way to the back of her neck, stinging like nettles.
" P-please!" She begged strongly. The moonlight reflected in the tear tracks down her innocent face, making each new stream glow silver.
" Up!" She barked cruelly and a shaky Constance struggled to her feet, Hecketty pulling her up the rest of the way by her elbow.
In a flash, the surroundings changed, and the young girl stood, shaking like a leaf in the witches office. She was bound to have bruises on her elbow tomorrow morning from the woman's steel grip that left her lower lip trembling as she tried not to whine. She was being steered toward the locker.
" Miss, Please!"
" Silence!"
The locker was just a cupboard built into the wall, just big enough for around five brooms, or perhaps three boxes of students files. But this one was empty, it was saved for the students themselves, not their files. There were no windows or holes, so the place was cast in eternal darkness. Not to mention in was so cold. Mistress Broomhead always kept the window of her office ajar to let in a draft. Rumor had it that she would send messages by birds to other evil witches, but no evidence had ever proved such a theory. However the fill from the window crept through the millimetre space between the door and the floor, freezing the cupboard as well. And finally, there were no meals and Heckety could keep a pupil in there for as long as she could see fit.
Constance hit the opposite wall before she hit the ground, and before she could even sob, the lock twisted, and she knew there was no use in pleading, so she sobbed into her knees quietly. The four walls seemed to close in on her, making her realise how abandoned she actually was...
"You're a disappointment, Constance... Your mother would be ashamed." The voice drawled and the girl hung her head. Her mother had died only three years ago, and she had sworn to her mother she'd try her best to do her proud... "Remember Constance, when someone breaks the rules..."
" Someone gets hurt" the brunette whispered. The statement had been drilled into her mind, as she curled up, hugging her knees, and wondered how long she'd be in there for.
Constance couldn't think.
Constance couldn't move.
Constance couldn't do anything but sit stiffly, her dry, trembling lips open slightly in shock, her eyes swimming wildly with fear. She could feel her pulse beating in her ears, blocking out all other sound except the breath that was raggedly moving in and out of her mouth at regular, gasping intervals. A feeling of dread crept up from the pit of her stomach, a cold wave embalmed the potion mistress as the hairs rose on the back of her neck and her mouth ran dry. Miss Hardbroom was paralysed to the spot, the menacing aura holding her in a tightening grip. She couldn't believe her eyes. She didn't want to anyway! Her heart was beating frantically like the wings of a hummingbird. Never in her whole life could she have anticipated she would ever again, be in the presence of the woman who stalked her dreams like a cat in the shadows. She felt helpless, like she was caught again in her fifteen year old self, powerless and alone and the worse thing was... She really was alone. Davina had flown off, the only other witch on the premises and her timing was just put! 'Very convenient,' Miss Hardbroom thought, when she could finally think again, panicking stressfully. And That left Imogen, who, one, had decided would take her run two minutes ago, and two, was a simple non-witch, so had she currently been there, Constance was afraid her old form tutor would just 'dismiss' her with ease. Besides, Imogen obviously didn't even care like she let on, after all, in her own words she had said " mean I loved her at first, but now... " she had never thought Imogen would feel that way with anyone, much less her!
The thought made the younger witch shudder, the chill sweeping gracefully through her bones, brought her back to her senses.
Hecketty Broomhead hadn't changed.
Well, she had gained a few more lines that etched deeply into her face, as if someone had personally engraved them with a stylus. A sign of old age, and not laugh lines, for the potion mistress could've sworn the old woman hadn't laughed a single day in her life...
No that was false, she laughed once or twice when superior to a young dark haired witch that she took so much pleasure in hurting... But that was it. No traces of joy ever penetrated those, ice cold shallow eyes. Her eyes alone could strike fear into a lion's heart. The light beige glassy eyes were the sort you could find on a scorpion, raising its tail preparing to sting... Also like a crocodile, eyeing up the prey as it barely broke the surface of the water, waiting... Watching. Her thin, pale lips were cracked like a seriously sun dried riverbank, pursed tightly as she grinned cruelly.
" M-mistress Broomhead" it was impossibly difficult to maintain a steady voice as Constance sat, shocked that even the tips of her fingers drained of feeling, leaving her with a vague numbness. After all these years why now was her personal demon back?
Imogen hadn't the slightest idea why the witch had been behaving so abrupt and over reacting? What had she possibly done wrong now? Why had Constance slammed the door on her... Shouted at her? How different everything would be if she was a witch. Constance would regard her as an equal... She could've made Davina forget what she saw... She could have... Why she could've healed herself that night, no! Had she been a witch she wouldn't have even been flying that night any way! And upon figuring so, for the first time in her life she was glad she was not a witch.
Still, she had called her childish, maybe she ought to go back?'No you just WANT to go back," the voice in her head chided, sneakily.
" to make sure she knows I'm sorry," it took her a few seconds to realise she had spoken aloud, before she cursed herself mentally, looping around and jogging back to Barron Overblows castle.
Imogen didn't know why she was running so fast, it was only Constance, had it been Davina alone in the castle she'd be sprinting like this. Had it been Davina, Miss Drill wouldn't feel safe leaving the room if Miss Bat was alone inside.
' Just say you're sorry, say you were wrong, she likes you being wrong doesn't she?' That voice at the back of her mind came forward again as she ran. In truth she never wanted to leave her Constance, not even for a jog.
" Wh-what are you doing here?" The potion mistress squeaked, in a vain effort to speak, still purely horrified of whose presence she was in.
" You're my Trinket, Constance, your tutor. -"
"My EX tutor," she reminded hastily
" Don't interrupt! Have you forgotten what I spent years drilling into you?" Miss Hardbroom bit her lower lip in an attempt not to laugh at the lexical choice, before the unwelcome chuckle turned into a half hearted sob, at the fact her ex-lover was somewhere deep in the forest by now. " each of those times you tried escaping back at school..." She drawled viciously, reminding the woman of all the times she longed to forget. " and I was right there waiting for you..." The times flashed before her eyes, each time the ice that ran down her spine upon figuring Broomhead was always a step ahead of her. " I have a very close friend, Miss Kane, and she is a witch, who, quite rarely, has a gift, a gift of foretelling the future," Constance was too busy adding two and two together to congratulate any Miss Kane. That explained entirely why mistress Broomhead showed up only seconds before she escaped... But she had moved on, why was she here now? And if her colleague had seen the future, did that mean she knew about the blonde gym teacher? It was possible, probable even, but Constance didn't want to dwell in it, she was already getting a migraine.
" yes... But why are you here now?" the brunette managed a full sentence without stuttering, an achievement that brought her confidence.
" Oh, I simply came to give you a gift." 'Hecketty and gifts', where heard in the same sentence as often as 'mice and mountains' it was likely that old Broomhead hadn't given a gift in her whole life, and the fact she was giving one to the potions mistress, put the younger witch on edge.
She held out an open palm before a small glass jar, with a punctured lid appeared suddenly. Upon closer inspection she could identify a brightly coloured green frog, hopping, crouching terrified in the drying leaves. The old witch tipped the contents onto the floor.
"Reversus Revolvus, Returnus Resolvus, Illio, Allio, Transfutato Temporus," constance murmured as soon as the animal was out of his prison, so it wouldn't hop away.
Maybe it was someone she knew? 'Oh Bats! What if it's Miss Cackle?' She thought. 'Or imogen, Does she know?" But those fears were soothed as the figure grew taller than both of them , and was just about the same night as Constance herself. There was now a young man standing in front of her. She was sure she had seen him before, his face was so familiar. He had thick, fair mid length hair black as Morgana. His face was rather pale in contrast. He wore odd slacks, as if somebody had closed their eyes and picked two items from a cupboard. A beige robe that matched nothing but his eyes. She gasped.
The eyes. They were like sparkling emerald, deep and caring, but such a brilliant green, she knew the face, because it was like Imogens... This must mean this was Imogen Drill's long lost brother. This mean her parents were innocent. This, was Marcus Drill.
