Winter's breath clings to the window pane in the early morning hours before the sun dares to even show it's face. The brisk temperature is hardly even a blip on Hecate Hardbroom's radar this morning. She stands in front of the mirror that hangs above her bathroom sink. Her dark locks offer a hint of grey at the roots. Her expertly secured hair is the least of her troubles this morning. She applies a second coat of concealer in an attempt to mask the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her typically onyx fingernails are coated in a slightly more subtle shade of navy blue as she attempts to secure her belt corset. The ends of the corset refuse to marry themselves together.
She casts the garment aside in frustration. The typically cool potions mistress tucks her button down into the waist of her skirt. After the third round of dissatisfying blousing she tugs the tail of the shirt from her waist in defeat. At a snail's pace with seemingly as much motivation she drags herself from the en suite to her wardrobe. The doors hesitantly open. The neatly arranged hangers offer little selection. On an adjacent wall she begins to rifle through her bureau drawers.
After an earnest amount of regret she tugs on a pair of black slacks that do not threaten to cut off her circulation, or interrupt her respirations. The last garment in her bottom drawer glares up at her. She rescues the rarely worn black t-shirt from its resting place. She inwardly groans as she unfolds the ghastly shirt. A remnant of her past she would like to remain forgotten taunts her. The screened t-shirt reads, Cackles Academy for Witching Excellence Summer Softball League 1999. As she flips the shirt to the back she is reminded that her last name is screened onto the fabric in bright white lettering.
The deputy headmistress takes a seat on the edge of her bed, after successfully applying the vintage t-shirt. She shakes her head in disbelief as her eyes can't help but fixate on the rounded edges of her abdomen.
"So much for my dignity."
HB is notably absent during breakfast. When the fifth year pupils arrive HB is neatly tucked beneath her desk. One by one the girls take their seats and wait for her to instruct them on which page to turn to. Some questioning looks are exchanged as HB's long locks hang freely this morning. Mildred Hubble finds herself fixating on the fact that the deputy headmistress appears to be wearing something that nearly resembles street clothes. It is quite evident that she has donned a t-shirt this morning. Hecate clears her throat, but does not rise from her seat.
"Ladies I implore you to stow your books for the remainder of the class."
Ethel furrows her brow, and is the first to offer dissent, "Miss Hardbroom we have already suffered through one of your more unconventional lessons, perhaps we should just stick to what can be learned within the pages of our text."
Her sharp look quickly softens as her glance falls upon Maud Spellbody, "Miss Spellbody please offer Miss Hallow a skill that is important for a witch to possess that cannot be garnered from your text."
Maud subtly nods, "I assume you are referring to a skill other than tact."
"Indeed Miss Spellbody," she nods at the fifth year, nearly smirking at the snub she has lobbed in her pupil's direction.
"Critical thinking skills come to mind," Maud offers.
"The lesson for today revolves heavily around critical thinking skills. We will focus on unintended consequences. Miss Hallow would you like to begin?"
Ethel offers an audible gulp, "I am not entirely certain I understand the premise."
Mildred rolls her eyes, "I will readily admit my mis-steps. For example I once turned Ethel into a pig."
Ethel touches her nose as she recalls this example.
"Miss Hubble what valuable lesson did you learn from your unintended consequence?"
"If you mix practice with belief in yourself eventually you will locate the confidence to achieve whatever task is at hand. Additionally with the number of detentions I have attended in this room I find that I am quite efficient at housekeeping duties."
Ethel rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, "What does any of this have to do with witching? Are you off your rocker? Last I recalled this is potions lab. I don't see the point."
"Miss Hallow as deputy headmistress it is my duty to ensure that all of you are fit witches when you exit this academy. Life will offer you many lessons in unintended consequences. I find certainty in saying that I needn't remind any of you that I was not allowed to leave these grounds for thirty years. Whilst punishment for violating the code is far less severe in modern times there is no avoiding the summation of the actions you take. Not a single witch in this room can say they have not at some point cast a spell, concocted a potion, or a scheme that did not result as intended."
"That is what antidotes, and apologies were crafted for," Ethel argues.
"The end of the story is not in the sum of the equation. At the end of the day the painful lesson in growth is how one chooses to balance the equation. I, for example have always been known for quite maladroit posture, but it offers a unique opportunity to see the world in ways other do not," Mildred interjects.
"I believe the point that is trying to be made is that buoyancy is not necessarily wholly reliant on how you steer the ship, but also how you adjust your sails," Maud summarizes.
Ethel huffs, and stomps her foot. "Could we talk about anything other than unintended consequences? If we are going to veer from your originally intended lesson plan would it be possible to discuss why you appear to be wearing a t-shirt?"
"My attire is primarily related to unintended consequences."
"Is this where you preach preparedness to us?" Ethel queries.
Her pupils eyes watch in silence as the potions mistress carefully pushes her seat away from the desk. Several of them fully expect her to materialize next to Ethel. The reality of the situation is far more off-putting, they realize as she rises to her feet.
Hecate Hardbroom stands before her fifth year pupils in charcoal slacks, and a vintage softball t-shirt feeling completely exposed. The t-shirt clings to her mid-section before the garment terminates. Mildred Hubble, with her fair share of awkward moments tries to lessen the gravity of the situation, at least temporarily.
"This is your way of announcing your hidden softball talents?" Mildred winks.
"I am quite adept in the art of securing the bench," Hecate counters.