Chapter 10
April 1984
"Ah Constance, come in dear and sit down"
Constance walked across the Dean's bright office and folded her tall frame into a padded leather chair in front of her desk. The desk was set next to a leaded window which over looked the college quadrangle and the chatter and laughter of Constance's fellow students making their way between classes floated up on the spring breeze. Each student in the third year had received a note in their pigeon hole that week inviting them to an individual meeting with the Dean to discuss their future. Constance watched warily as the Dean reached for a file which was balanced on the top of a haphazard pile. Constance caught her name, written in a now slightly faded copperplate script on the front before the dean opened the file and placed it on the desk in front of her.
"You really are to be congratulated Constance" the Dean began, adjusting her spectacles slightly as she perused the file in front of her "Your academic record is quite exemplary. I think it is fair to say that we have every faith you will be passing your exams with first class honours in the summer"
"Thank you" said Constance quietly
"And your command of magic really is most impressive for your age" the Dean continued "I understand from your teachers that you are now using entirely non-verbal spells; some of our girls who go on to the fourth year do not quite master that before they leave us. I hear that you are also proficient in apparition spells. Of course, I know for Mistress Broomhead appearing and disappearing at will is quite natural but some witches never become skilled in it so to do so at 19 years of age is most unusual"
Constance gave a minute flinch at the mention of her tutor's name, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder as had become her habit when Mistress Broomhead's name was spoken. She had, of course, been able to appear and disappear since her first Summer at the college but she made no attempt to correct the Dean. To do so would seem like bragging; something which Mistress Broomhead disapproved of strongly, and regardless Constance was reluctant to bring further attention to herself. Her scholarly and magical achievements had served only to increase her unhappy notoriety as she progressed through the college.
Constance remembered all too clearly that first summer when she had learnt apparition magic. Constance never had any doubt that Mistress Broomhead had slipped a poison in her tea to prevent her spending the summer with her friends. Three days into the summer holidays, Mistress Broomhead had brought a second cup of tea to Constance's room and ordered her to drink it. Within a couple of hours, the fever which had so puzzled the college nurse had lessened considerably and after another few days of rest Constance was out of bed and able to walk around the college for short periods. By the next week, her tutorials with Mistress Broomhead had resumed and Constance's sudden illness was never discussed again. Constance found it did have some residual effects, her throat remained very tender and she found it difficult to swallow for some time afterwards. She also tired quickly, which seemed to weaken her magic for days after she was declared fully recovered.
It was perhaps because of this temporary weakening of her magic that she struggled so much on her first introduction to apparition magic. Mistress Broomhead had spent their first tutorial lecturing her at length on the theory of the magic before demonstrating the spell and ordering Constance to try it herself. The resulting attempt from Constance had been disastrous – no matter how hard she tried to apply both theory and spell she remained resolutely present on the spot where she stood. She had been angrily dismissed by Mistress Broomhead with a warning to improve her performance by the next tutorial.
By their next meeting, Constance had made little progress and was unable to meet Mistress Broomhead's demand that she appear at the other side of the classroom. Her irate tutor had seized her upper arm in a vice like grip and propelled her forcefully into the small potions store behind her desk. Constance had barely had time to regain her balance when she heard the door slam behind her and the key click in the lock with an unquestionable finality. Constance was now so used to Mistress Broomhead's methods that she required no explanation for her tutor's actions. Mistress Broomhead's instructions were clear without ever having been spoken; the only way for Constance to exit was for her to reappear on the other side of the locked door.
She was also acutely aware of her surroundings. The potions store was a tiny square room and the closed door left her in pitch darkness. She was, however, familiar enough with the room to know that she was hemmed in on the remaining three sides by ceiling to floor shelves which were packed with every ingredient imaginable. She knew all too well that any sudden move she made could disturb any number of delicate glass jars and phials which were filled with some of the college's most expensive and dangerous potion making materials. Terrified to move more than a few inches and still hindered by her weakened state, Constance tried in vain to exit the room by magical means.
Constance was unable to tell how long she had remained in there but after what seemed like an age, she heard the lock click once more and the door swung open, causing Constance to wince in the dimming light of the summer night. Constance stepped from the potions store to find the classroom completely empty. The room was bathed in long shadows and outside the window she could see that the sky had darkened to a deep, royal blue. The air had the resonant hum of suppressed electricity which told Constance a summer thunderstorm was imminent. Unsure of the reason for her sudden reprieve, Constance hurriedly made her way to the classroom door; keen to put as much distance between herself and Mistress Broomhead as possible.
In an attempt to escape her tutor's notice, she decided to avoid the main staircase, opting instead to take the slightly longer route across the quadrangle to access the back stairs which led to the students' bedrooms. As she stepped out onto the quad, the first bolt of lightning illuminated the college in a brilliant flash of white and Constance's eye was drawn to a movement on the north turret. The turret was the highest in the college and consisted of a dramatically slanting roof which reached a point at an ornate metal spike shaped in imitation of the college crest. At the bottom of this sloped roof was a narrow parapet, little more than a foot in width before the turret fell away again in a steep circular wall until it met with the college roof some forty feet below. There was a small black figure perched on the parapet. Constance knew immediately that it was Morgana. She also realised that it was impossible for her cat to have reached the parapet herself; someone must have used magic to put her there.
In the second flash of lightening that followed, Constance could see all too clearly how terrified the cat was. Morgana's back was arched, her deep black fur standing on end from the static charge in the air and her claws were grimly gripping against the stone of the weather worn parapet. Driven mostly by fear for the only companion who had remained constant throughout her young adult life, Constance closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Summoning all the energy and focus she could muster, she folded her arms, slowly spoke the incantation and, in a sickening lurch, vanished from the quadrangle. Constance reappeared on the narrow parapet, her limbs tingling and head reeling dizzily in protest against the new magic they had just experienced. Constance pushed herself backwards until her shins were leant against the severe slope of the turret roof before jerkily bending down to clumsily take Morgana in her arms. She straightened up painstakingly slowly, still feeling lightheaded.
Constance stood on the parapet, weak with exhaustion. She tried to force her mind to focus but she was all too aware of Morgana's claws digging deep into her slender collar bone as well as the sharp drop beneath her which seemed to loom ever further with each breath. It was only after two more lightning bolts had forked their way across the sky that Constance finally summoned the necessary energy. She somehow succeeded in vanishing both herself and Morgana back to the safety of her room; clutching her beloved cat to her hammering heart. Before she had managed to do so, the lightening had only too clearly illuminated the figure of Mistress Broomhead, watching Constance unwaveringly from the quadrangle below.
"Constance, dear, are you listening" the Dean's voice broke into Constance's grim reverie.
Constance blinked twice and the remembered summer night faded from her sight as the dean's bright office came back into view.
"I'm sorry" Constance answered "what were you saying?"