"Hecate," Ada summoned the woman from her thoughts. "Are you alright? You were quiet throughout dinner. I was just wondering." The headmistress peaked through the door of the potion mistress's office, finding Hecate with her head facing down peering at some document she held in her hand.

"Fine, Miss Cackle, quite fine," Hecate responded half-heartedly. Her ink-black nails tapped rhythmically on her dark walnut desk.

"Hmm…" the older witch murmured as she approached her colleague seated at her desk. "You look lost in thought to me," she observed kindly. "As if stuck in a memory." The headmistress smiled at Hecate.

"Memories," Hecate breathed - her voice barely above a whisper. "I do not have the most pleasant of those…things," she said with distaste.

"I know," Miss Cackle said, placing a tender hand on the form mistress's shoulder. "I know."

Hecate shook her head. "But you don't…not really," she sighed and then stood from her desk. "I appreciate your concern," Hecate met the headmistress's eyes, "truly. But, I think I should be making my rounds now to check on students out of bed before I turn in for the night." She glanced at the time on her pocket watch

Ada let Hecate pass by her but decided to ask again for good measure. "Are you sure you don't need to talk, Hecate?"

"Quite."

"You know," Ada ventured, "ghosts make the most unpleasant of companions."

"Perhaps," Hecate acknowledged, "but they are my specters to dispel or to carry."

"Wouldn't it be easier if two shared the load?" Ada asked, hoping to pry whatever it was that was bothering the form mistress out into the open.

"No, Ada," Hecate said sternly, "not this time." She clasped her hand, and with a flick of her wrist, Hecate Hardbroom vanished.

I hate it when she does that, Ada chuckled to herself.

Miss Hardbroom walked the corridor silently. The only noise was the faint click of her boot heels on the gray stone floors.

She heard no noise from the girls this night, and she was glad of it. Probably tired from their broomstick agility test Miss Drill organized, the potions mistress mused. Perhaps, she thought, it could be useful to double their training.

The peaceful corridor was a welcome respite to the normal giggles and sneaking to each other's rooms the girls usually pulled.

As Hecate continued her dormitory check, she paused at the door of one pupil.

And, to any onlooker's surprise, it was not the door of Mildred Hubble, the mischievous and accident-prone girl that she was.

No.

It was not Mildred Hubble's door.

Nor was it Mildred Hubble that occupied Hecate Hardbroom's thoughts, though she did fray her nerves.

The door belonged to Rosalie Relicta, a second-year transfer student from Pentangle's Academy

Hecate stared at the door, unable to move. Her mind reeled through the day's earlier events. Thank goodness everyone thought the spell had gone wrong.

She did not know what she would have done if anyone had noticed. And notice - no one did, or so Hecate thought.

Rosalie Relicta.

Miss Hardbroom shook her head, dismissing those memories she had long buried. It can't be. It just can't.

Turning her wrist, Hecate appeared in her bedroom.

Her cat, Morgana, left her comfortable pillow on Hecate's bed to rub against her mistress.

"Good evening, Morgana." Hecate smiled at her companion, picking her up and nuzzling against the soft black fur.

She breathed a sigh of relief to be in her own room, finding the soft gray, brown, and green tones of her room comforting - as if in a forest - secluded, hidden from the world.

"It has been an…" she searched for the word, "eventful day."

The cat purred as Hecate returned Morgana to the bed, a gentle hand scratching the feline's favorite spot under the chin.

Hecate quickly changed into her black silk pajamas and settled into her four poster bed, pulling the faded gray quilt up to her chin.

But, her mind could not shut itself off as she replayed the events of the day.

The second-years were busy making their family trees in the courtyard of Cackle's Academy. For most of the students, the trees had finally grown large enough to begin the manifestation spell, and the pupils were indeed amazed as the trees started to sprout limbs. Pictures of their parents magically appeared before their eyes.

Mildred huffed in disappointment. "More like a twig than a tree," she mumbled as she glanced over at Ethel's tree.

Ethel sighed - pleased with the great evergreen that grew before her, revealing a long line of distinguished Hallows. "And that's as it should be. Some of us are more witchy than others," she rolled her eyes at Mildred.

Rosalie looked at her friend, rubbing her forearm. "It's okay, Mildred, don't worry about old clever clogs over there." The dark-haired, brown-eyed girl gave Mildred a kind smile and laughed. "Anyways, at least yours is a twig. My little seed probably won't grow at all."

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," Mildred murmured. "I should have thought…You don't have any family…" Mildred slapped herself in the forehead. "I mean…drat! That didn't come out right at all! I guess I'm lucky when I think about it."

Rosalie laughed, pushing a stray strand of long brunette hair from her face. "Don't worry about it, Millie. I'm used to it. It's fine."

Miss Hardbroom and Miss Drill examined the trees of their pupils, watching as each student cast the manifestation spell to add family members to the shrub.

"Rosalie," Miss Drill announced, "you're turn. Cast the proper spell."

Rosalie took a deep breath and whispered the words. To the young girl's great surprise, the tree grew - tall and formidable - a grand oak if ever there was one.

Rosalie stood open-mouthed. She didn't know any of her relatives. How was it possible her tree grew?

As the first image on the tree began to appear - a fuzzy image - too difficult to make out - as if someone had erased something - as if the picture could not appear.

Miss Hardbroom did a double-take. Her eyebrows raised, and she quickly crossed her arms and shook her head.

And then as quickly as it had grown, the tree died, reverting back to the sapling it had been.

"I knew it was a fluke," Rosalie said, a bit downtrodden, but used to the disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," Miss Drill said. "Perhaps, the spell went a bit wonky. Try again."

Rosalie summoned up all the power she thought she could muster.

But, again, no result.

The seed did not grow.

"I thought I said it right the first time," Rosalie supplied, looking from Miss Drill to Miss Hardbroom.

"Evidently not," Miss Hardbroom replied, eying the girl.

"The spell only manifests those family members that we know or know about - our history, our lineage," Miss Drill explained.

"Well, I don't know anyone," said Rosalie plainly. "I didn't really expect anything to grow either. I guess I must have said something wrong the first go-round."

"Well," Miss Drill replied kindly, trying to avoid the topic of the family or Rosalie's lack-thereof, "it's quite okay. You're still learning. That's the point of this exercise - to learn. You may not have expected anything, but there is something there. And now you do know the spell, so you can always use it for future." Miss Drill examined Rosalie's seedling, still laying in its planter.

"Yes, Miss Drill," Rosalie replied, unconvinced.

"Shall we continue to the other pupils?" Miss Hardbroom interjected. "We do need to finish sometime today," the potion mistress asserted.

"Very well," Miss Drill said, "okay, Felicity, your turn."

Rosalie took a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders. Mildred placed a hand on Rosalie, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay, Rosalie. We match us too - twig and seed. Could be our nicknames!" Millie laughed, jumping up and down excitedly - her pigtail braids bounced as high as the girl.

Rosalie pushed Mildred jokingly. "Maybe for you, but I'm not fond of being called Seed."

"How about seedling?" Mildred asked.

"Nope."

"Sapling?"

"No."

"Umm…kernel?" Millie continued.

"Okay, Twig," Rosalie chuckled, "you're starting to push it."

"Come on!" Mildred exclaimed, "It's almost time for dinner anyway. Race you to the great hall."

Rosalie took off sprinting. "You'll have to keep up, Twig," she shouted.

And it appeared as if Rosalie had forgotten about her family tree.

But appearances can sometimes be deceptive.

It was no use; no matter how Hecate lay she could not sleep. With the flick of her wrist, the candle at her bedside table lit. She glanced at her pocket watch resting on the table.

3:42 am.

She let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax her shoulders.

There was too much on her mind. Too many ghosts that would never leave.

Some she wanted to banish.

And others she could never let go.

She stood and walked swiftly over to a corner spot of the room. Her bare feet tread softly over the cold stone floor.

And, in the light of the candle, Hecate carefully removed one stone out of the floorboard.

Tucked away in a small box underneath the floor were the memories of one - Joy Hardbroom.

Not Hecate.

Joy.

The woman she once was.

The woman he had loved.

The woman who got him killed.

Thirteen Years Ago - The Dark Woods

"You know, I quite like this place," said the man as he lay on the forest floor with a woman resting on his chest. "Peaceful," he murmured, glancing down at the raven-haired beauty.

"Yes," she answered, snuggling against him. "I wish we could stay here forever."

"Joy," he whispered, "I do love you." He placed a kiss on top of her head.

"You know," said Joy, "you're the only one who ever calls me that." She smiled as her fingers absently picked at the moss underneath them.

"It's what you bring to me," he whispered softly. "And it's your name," he chuckled.

"I suppose. I quite like yours better," she sighed, a hand touching his chin, luring him to meet her eyes.

"Gray," he said. "You like the fact that my name is Gray," he laughed. She always surprised him.

"Mmm…hmm," she murmured. "It's unique - unlike any other I've known." She looked at the stars above them - shining like luminous petals of silver.

"What are you thinking about?" Gray asked Joy.

"The stars," she answered. "How they sometimes look like flowers - silver flowers."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I…suppose…they do."

"I never really got to look at the stars when I was with her," Joy voiced, fear quaking behind her words. "I'm so glad I came to Cackle's and met you."

"Me too," Gray admitted. "And you don't mind that I'm just the groundskeeper…a wizard I may be…but I am still no famous one. A humble gardener - would you have me?"

"Always," Joy replied. "I just never thought I would be happy."

"She can't hurt you here - not anymore," Gray promised - his voice solemn as he gave her small frame a gentle squeeze.

And Joy felt comfort in his embrace. She felt love.

She was home.

"How do you know?" Her eyes - so full of trust for him - met his.

"I just know. Broomhead will never harm you again," he promised.

It was a memory Hecate held dear. She looked at the single picture she had of Gray stored in the tiny box.

He was handsome. Rugged. His light stubble. His chiseled jaw. Hair as dark as Hecate's. And his gray eyes - striking, piercing, knowing.

But for that one good memory - she paid dearly.

And the happiness she knew never did last.