Right - penultimate chapter up at last. There will be one more. Thanks to all who have reviewed - it's been wicked fun and there will be plenty more.

I don't own anything.

Chapter 12- Revelations

They had found Constance in her room which, as Imogen had suspected, was an exact replica of her own, sparsely decorated with a dressing table to one side and a desk to the other. At the farthest end was a bed big enough for two (why they came as standard for the staff Imogen could only guess – Miss Cackle was hardly likely to permit 'significant others' to spend the night in the school), and off to the corner was a small, ensuite bathroom.

Constance was sitting at the dressing table which was as uncluttered as only Constance Hardbroom's dressing table could be, in front of her standard-issue three-pane mirror. Only a handful of items of note could be seen in the reflection: a small, anonymous tub of foundation, a couple of make-up brushes, and three small black pots which Imogen imagined contained the lipstick, mascara and eyeliner that Constance herself concocted.

The deputy headmistress's fingers were steeped as she observed the two of them behind her in the mirror. Amelia, who regarded the room with the sort of disinterest of someone who had been there before, sank wearily onto the end of Constance's bed and rubbed her eyes as she began to speak.

Imogen barely paid any attention to the headmistress's monologue about the mess Constance had got herself into. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the reflection of Constance, the tips of the deputy's fingers caressing her bottom lip as she returned her gaze thoughtfully, seemingly mulling over unanswered questions in her mind. Glancing beneath the dressing table, Imogen noticed two neatly packed bags. Flicking her eyes back up to meet Constance's, she silently implored her to change her mind…

'…and then,' Amelia was saying, 'there's no telling how long Imogen will be able to perform magic, whether or not she chooses to. Didn't you even contemplate the consequences that could have for the school?'

'And what would you have suggested, Headmistress?' Constance spoke stoically, keeping her eyes on Imogen. 'That I turn a blind eye and leave Serge to his reign of terror?'

'Of course not!' Amelia snapped. 'But you could have come to me. We could have sorted this out one way or another – at least not like this.'

'You seem to forget, Miss Cackle, that I did seek your permission to carry out Thought Intervention on a previous occasion –'

'At which point you had already started!'

'If I may finish… and you gave me your approval – if a little reluctantly – in the interests of Miss Drill's safety.'

'Constance, can I just –' Imogen interjected, before Amelia cut her short.

'Please, Imogen – if you don't mind – this is something I need to address with Miss Hardbroom.' Imogen blinked at the headmistress, whose words had been more irritable than she supposed she'd meant them to be. Amelia continued. 'There were plenty of other ways he could have been dealt with – and not all of them magical. If Imogen had felt she was in danger I'm sure she would have let someone more suited to dealing with the situation know.'

Constance rolled her eyes. 'You're missing the point.'

'Don't speak to me like that, Constance!' Amelia rose from her seat and whipped her glasses off, angrily. 'You seem to forget at times that I am still headmistress here and you are my deputy!' She punctuated the words by jabbing a finger repeatedly in Constance's direction. Constance instinctively rose so that she towered as usual above Amelia, rage flashing in her eyes.

'And you seem to forget that I learned my craft from the best! Broomhead may be the most vile, iniquitous woman ever to have darkened my door but God knows she taught me when to trust my instincts!'

A deafening silence was suddenly upon the room, like a cloying fog that had descended from nowhere. Constance never spoke about Hecketty Broomhead unless it was unavoidable. Nobody knew or dared to ask what had happened all those years ago when Constance had been under her tutelage; but they were all astute enough to know that they had been the most miserable years of her life and that, had things been different, Constance might be an entirely different person today.

As Imogen watched the potions mistress walk restlessly to the end of her bed and grip the bedstead as though she might collapse without it, she thought for a moment of placing a comforting hand on her colleague's shoulder – but Constance's unblinking, slightly alarmed gaze told her that she was desperately trying to avoid tears and would not react well to unwanted affection. Instead, Imogen allowed Amelia the time to thaw back to her usual, maternal self. The headmistress walked to Constance's side and, resting a hand on her forearm, she spoke softly.

'Constance – I'm sorry. You know I'm a stickler for caution. It's not like you to deviate from the regimented rules of the Witches' Code, or the Witches' Guild Order of Practice, or any other enforced regulations, for that matter.' She looked cautiously over her shoulder at Imogen, before turning back to Constance. 'But – as much as it goes against my grain to say this - I've come to my conclusion. I know why you did it. And I can honestly say that I can't imagine this school without you.'

Imogen bit the inside of her cheek as she caught the crack in Amelia's voice. She felt utterly helpless – this was all down to her, and yet ultimately her opinion was futile.

'What I'm trying to say, Constance, is that – if you are prepared to put your conscience to one side – I will go to whatever lengths are required to pretend none of this ever happened. Goodness knows you took a foolish risk that could still cost all of us our jobs - but you've made your sacrifices and now I'm making mine.'

Imogen could have kissed Amelia.

'Impossible.' came Constance's quick response.

In that split second Imogen's hopes were dashed and she swallowed hard to soothe the lump in her throat.

'Please, Constance…' she whispered. The potions mistress turned to face her, having regained her composure.

'Imogen, my dear – I am afraid you could not possibly understand these matters.'

'Actually, I do,' Imogen said, trembling at the danger of confronting Constance. 'Now you're the one missing the point – or at least refusing to face up to things. There's another reason you want to go, isn't there?'

Constance ignored the confused glances of Amelia as she continued.

'I will say again, Miss Drill – there are things which you simply do not understand about the –'

Imogen sighed heavily over her words.

'Stop using that as an excuse not to face up to things!'

'Is this about Serge?' asked Amelia, hurriedly.

'No, Amelia, but Constance won't let me –'

'Because I thought he'd been dealt with?'

Constance glared at the headmistress. 'Don't say it like I've "bumped him off"!'

'Oh if only…' Imogen muttered.

'Funnily enough, Imogen, my duty of care for my colleagues does not stretch to murder!'

'Will you two shut up!' snapped Amelia, hunching her shoulders against the pair of them as she slipped her glasses back on. 'You sound like an old married couple!' Imogen's stomach lurched as she noticed Constance's scrutinising gaze.

'Amelia – would you mind giving us a moment alone please?' Imogen couldn't look at Constance as she spoke, but felt the vibes of unease emanating from her as the headmistress looked confusedly for approval. Constance nodded hesitantly, and Imogen fixed her eyes somewhere on the rug as the headmistress left the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Several silent moments passed, during which time Constance took her seat at the dressing table again, facing away from the mirror as Imogen sat on the floor by the door with her knees drawn up and her arms hugging them to her. Letting her head fall to her knees, she began.

'Look. I know you don't have to leave, Constance. I'm not stupid. You're using this whole Thought Intervention thing and your conscience as an excuse.'

Constance examined her fingernails, remaining silent.

'You know Amelia can't manage this place without you. You know that whatever you did, she'd back you up...'

Met by more silence Imogen contemplated whether to continue - but decided she had hesitated long enough.

'And I know… I know you know how I feel about you.'

Raising her head, Imogen's vision was slightly blurred where her closed eyes had been resting against her knees. There was short sharp sniff from Constance, who sat stiffly at her dressing table, avoiding Imogen's gaze.

'Say something - please?' Imogen implored. Constance fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve, something Imogen had heard her reprimanding students for before now. Letting her head lull back against the hard stone wall, Imogen signed.

'I never intended you to find out. I would never have told you, or done anything to put you in an awkward position, or set about changing the way things were between us. I've always known the school is your priority, and the reason you've sacrificed the sort of life every other woman wants. But it's not my fault you found out how I feel about you. I didn't ask you to read my thoughts. OK – it was a side effect of the Thought Intervention. I know you're not nosey and you wouldn't have deliberately invaded my mind. But taking it out on me in this way isn't fair.'

'And how precisely is my leaving the school "taking it out" on you, Imogen? Indeed you could credit me with improving your prospects within the Academy and giving you a better quality of staffroom life, without me there to disagree with your non-magical, newfangled teaching methods...'

Imogen's mouth hung open with indignation. 'I think we're past that now, aren't we? I know we've had our moments but I have the utmost respect for you, Constance, and I know they don't always show it but the girls do too. The sort of respect they'll never have for me.'

Constance shifted in her seat. 'And for you they have the sort of affection they'll never have for me.'

'You underestimate yourself.'

'That's one thing I do not do!'

'I don't mean your abilities. I mean you're loved more than you could ever know - more than no end of Thought Intervention will tell you.'

Constance stiffened and, as Imogen had anticipated, said nothing. Imogen ran both hands through her hair and turned her face up towards a window. The morning haze had lifted and matured into a chilly yellow sunlight, and she suspected Constance's restlessness was partly down to her self-inflicted obligation to be keeping order somewhere by this time. She continued, regardless.

'I might not understand witchcraft, Constance, but I understand teenage girls and I know they'd be devastated if you left. You're their pillar of strength and confidence, and they needthat now. There's no one else here who can give them that.' Imogen drew a deep breath. 'And as for me, I think I know what your problem is.'

'And what - exactly - do you think my problem is, Imogen?' Constance enquired, coldly.

'You're freaked out.' The potions mistress raised an eyebrow at the colloquialism. 'That's why you want to go. You want to escape my feelings. But you can't keep running from the things in life which make you uncomfortable.'

'It will make things difficult.' Constance faltered.

In a moment of courageous madness Imogen sprang from her position against the wall and dropped to her knees in front of the potions mistress, taking her cold, unyielding hands in her own.

'It doesn't have to make anything difficult.' she pleaded, desperately.

Constance looked with unease down at Imogen's hands as they clasped her own.

'Are you not going to say anything at all?'

'It puts me in a very difficult position, Imogen.' she spoke as though her entire being were rigid.

'But why?'

'Because – whether you admit it or not, it changes things.'

Imogen sighed. 'Are you telling me you've gone through life completely oblivious to people's feelings towards you before now?'

Constance smirked. 'I think we can safely say that several years at Cackle's Academy provides the perfect barrier from irksome, lecherous males, don't you?'

'Oh come on! You honestly think none of the girls has ever had a crush on you?'

Constance's eyes flashed as though she'd never heard anything more preposterous. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't come.

Imogen couldn't suppress a laugh. 'I don't believe this! Either you're an incredibly good actress or you're incredibly naive. And have you never had feelings for anyone?'

Constance sneered. 'Hecketty Broomhead bottled my affections and keeps them in her potions cabinet.'

Imogen's eyes widened in amazement.

'Oh, of course she didn't, girl!'

The brief moment of enlightenment was a welcome distraction from an otherwise awkward exchange. Imogen had always been stirred by Constance's dry sense of humour, and the fact that she could make a joke about something as painful as her Broomhead years only served to draw her even closer. Her heart sank as the vague smile faded and Constance's dark thoughts became apparent in her expression.

'Constance –'

'There's nothing more to say, Imogen. I have arrangements to make. Would you please excuse me.' And just as she slipped her hands gently from the clasp of the gym mistress's, she flinched as they were seized again.

'No, Constance – I need to say one more thing. One more thing, I promise.'

Constance relented and, drawing in a deep sigh, she nodded reluctantly. Imogen racked her brains for the words she had rehearsed time and time again in the past few hours.

'Constance, I know this goes against every grain of your professional integrity, but please don't go like this. I knowit will be uncomfortable for you at first, and I'm really, really sorry you found out how I feel. It's completely inappropriate and nothing can ever come of it, I know that. But just remember this before you make your decision – that I'd rather be here with you forever than anywhere else in the world, even if you never so much as look at me again.'

Her heart pounded as she concluded, unable to remove her gaze from that of Constance, who seemed almost petrified to the spot. Imogen was filled with a cleansing sense of relief that took the place of the demon that had just escaped her.

Constance released a deep, trembling sigh, as though she had held her breath throughout the whole of what had been the closest thing she had ever received to a declaration of love.

Glancing nervously between the door and her packed bags, she eventually said: 'I trust you will let yourself out.'

'What?'

And in a moment, Constance had disappeared, and Imogen was left kneeling helplessly in front of the deserted seat in Constance's cold, empty bedchamber.