Chapter 19
February 1985
Constance would never have risked trying one of the spells on Mistress Broomhead if it hadn't been for "the accident".
Constance Hardbroom's accident had been the topic of much conversation around the college. The story spread almost like a mist, sweeping out through every corner of the college with swift efficiency. Everyone quickly seemed to know that the sling Constance appeared in at breakfast was because she had burnt her hand badly in Mistress Broomhead's potion lab the previous evening. Rumours and gossip had spread around the college at an unbelievable speed. Some believed the official story that it had merely been an accident, that Constance had slipped or become distracted while brewing a potion and caught her hand in the flame beneath the cauldron. Others claimed that the aloof fourth year had been brewing some forbidden or dangerous potion and things had gone wrong. There were even a small number of students who adamantly claimed that they had heard raised voices coming from Mistress Broomhead's classroom that evening and that perhaps the burnt hand wasn't an accident at all. Although everyone enjoyed the enticing drama of these rumours they were always ultimately shouted down as too fanciful. Mistress Broomhead surely could not get away with burning a student and even so, Constance would surely have said something. She certainly wouldn't have calmly accompanied Mistress Broomhead to her study after breakfast the very day after it happened.
In the months leading up to the accident, Constance had spent every spare moment studying the almanac. Sometimes she found herself still perusing it when the weak winter sun rose in the morning. She hadn't yet attempted anything from the anarchy section but she had made use of several of the unruly spells. The spell to divert attention in a crowd was particularly useful in diverting the unwanted stares that seemed to accompany her about the college. Short of wandering around the corridors completely invisible, which was forbidden, she could not think of a more effective spell. Her fellow students would turn towards her as they naturally did but their glances seemed to roll off her, unable to focus on her as she walked by. She had also more than once made use of the spell to save an extra minute, which seemed to slow everything around her to a quarter of its normal speed. More than once the spell had prevented her from being late for Mistress Broomhead's tutorials.
The preface of the almanac cited the all too familiar words of the witches' code: "magic is not to be used for selfish or trivial ends". The author, rather over piously in Constance's opinion considering they had written a book of unruly spells, cautioned the reader that they used the spells in the almanac at their own risk. So far, despite using several of the spells she seemed to have escaped the complications of the Dr Foster effect but Constance knew it was probably only a matter of time, and so had limited herself to using the spells infrequently and in moderation.
It was now several weeks after the accident and Constance's hand was now sufficiently healed that she needed only a thin gauze to protect the tender skin on her hand. Constance was attending Mistress Broomhead's third year potion class; they were practicing the complex potions needed for their final exam and Mistress Broomhead had demanded Constance attended to assist them with additional ingredients and "answer their stupid questions". Constance had been in the classroom since seven o'clock that morning, each pair of cauldron partners was required to make a different potion and there had been countless ingredients to prepare. She was just laying out her carefully tied sprigs of leaves on the final bench when the students began to file into the room in solemn silence as Mistress Broomhead surveyed them over her folded arms from the front of the room.
"This morning we will begin the first of our advanced practice sessions for your final exams." she began, sweeping the class with a stern glare "I say practice, but I expect the highest standard of work otherwise you will incur my displeasure. Each of you will make one of the potions from the list I gave at the beginning of term. As you will see, Constance has laid the necessary ingredients at the end of your benches."
Constance flinched involuntarily at the mention of her name, stumbling ever so slightly as she slid past the seated students towards her own seat in the far corner of the room.
"Take care Constance" said Mistress Broomhead with small, sardonic smile "We wouldn't want you to slip and burn yourself would we?"
Constance's cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger as the class around her broke out into whispers and the third year students stole furtive glances in her direction. A single glare from Mistress Broomhead was enough to silence the hushed gossiping immediately, but Constance silently seethed as she sank down into her seat. As Mistress Broomhead began making a demonstration potion for the class to identify, Constance suddenly recalled a simple spell she had read in the almanac just that morning. She closed her eyes and the page rose in up immediately in her mind, as if she had the book open before her: a spell to make any temperature of liquid boil over.
Constance waited until Mistress Broomhead had turned away from the cauldron to gather the final ingredients. She began to silently recite the spell and immediately the deep crimson potion rose up in a lively cloud of bubbles, writhing up over the sides of the cauldron and landing on the work bench below with a fierce hiss. The class gave a collective gasp. Mistress Broomhead whirled round immediately and for a moment she appeared to be slightly stunned. Constance saw her give a brusque shake of her head and mouth silently under her breath before jerking her head to scan the shocked looking faces of the students before her. Quite suddenly she disappeared, reappearing instantly just inches in front of Constance who gave a small start of alarm. Mistress Broomhead's eyes bored into her own and Constance desperately tried to keep her mind clear under the foreboding glare. She found herself silently reciting the spell to hide the truth from prying eyes, hoping it would work as efficiently on her thoughts as it had in hiding her letters.
Finally, Mistress Broomhead tore her eyes away. A flicker of annoyance passed across her face as she did so which told Constance she had been successful in keeping her thoughts to herself.
"Well Constance" said Mistress Broomhead in a voice low enough for only her to hear "don't just sit there. Clean it up"
Mistress Broomhead promptly reappeared at the front of the class. Constance exhaled gently and rose to her feet. As she made her way towards the store cupboard at the front of the class fetch a cloth, she tried to ignore the nervous tingling spreading across her skin. Mistress Broomhead could not possibly prove that she had anything to do with the cauldron boiling over. Nevertheless, she immediately regretted her moment of temper. It was less than a year since she had last let her anger get the better of her in this very room, and the consequences of that reckless spell had not ended well at all. Constance was completely caught up in the swirling of her own regretful panic and paid little attention to Mistress Broomhead or the class as she made her way towards the small store room.
It was only once she stepped over the threshold into the store cupboard itself that she realised her mistake. She felt a sudden draft of cold air on the back of her neck and moments later the door to the store cupboard swung shut. It was accompanied by a neat click as the store cupboard key turned in the lock with an all too familiar finality.