Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch
A/N: Hello :) I've finally found some time to do some uploading.
She Sits Amongst The Broken Glass
For a moment, Hecate swears that she has gone back in time.
Thirty years, to be exact.
Everything unfolding is so reminiscent of her teenage years that it's as though she has accidentally stumbled through the Mists of Time and somehow wound up in the past. Granted, the damage isn't actively her fault this time around, but that knowledge certainly doesn't make her feel any better.
In fact, if anything, it only makes her feel worse.
Joy couldn't save her best friend either.
She would try, of course, but it would in fact be many years later before she would finally be able to begin to right her wrong.
While she unknowingly waited for that day, Hecate — who would quickly come to lose the joy from her life in more ways than one — would dedicate her life to following the practice and teachings of the same Witches' Code she had once made a complete mockery of. She would study hard. Become the most powerful witch she could be. Ensure she would never again lose anyone she loved to bad magic.
As yet another reversal spell falls flat though, Hecate Hardbroom begins to fear that she already has.
It doesn't matter what she does or how badly she wants it, the shattered pieces of Cackle's headmistress simply refuse to gel back together.
Still, the lifeblood of the school remains unmoving, fragmented.
Silent.
Hecate shakes her head.
This isn't right.
Ada Cackle isn't silent.
She hums nonsensical tunes as she wanders through the corridors, making up annoying little ditties that absolutely don't get stuck in Hecate's head for days on end. She thinks aloud, often answering herself before anyone has a chance to respond to the posed question. She talks to her plants, Cordelia and Petula. Coos to her familiar, Pendle, in the same way a mother might coo to their baby.
No, Ada Cackle is most definitely not silent.
She's there with a willing ear, always ready to impart her pearls of wisdom to those poor souls in need. Telling them not necessarily always what they want to hear, but instead what they need to know to help them move forward and grow.
Moving forward is the absolute last thing Hecate wants to think about right now.
She wants to go back.
Back to the other morning when her dearest confidante was not smashed to smithereens before her very eyes. Back to a time when their faithful leader could still offer up some insightful piece of advice. Because if the elder witch had one talent above her many, it's that she always knew how to shine a little light in the darkness.
'Has.' Hecate quickly amends, unable to bring herself to think of the Cackle in the past tense; to speak of her like she is already gone forever. 'Ada has that talent.'
Still, as she closes the book over, her search proving fruitless once more, Hecate can't help but wonder how even Ada could find hope in this increasingly hopeless situation.
Ada.
The jar containing her superior now sits on the desk. Light reflects off the delicate glass within. A myriad of pinks and blacks, and blacks and pinks. It's really quite spectacular to look at, and under normal circumstances, she might have found herself secretly transfixed by the beauty of it all.
If one were to look closely enough though, then they would see the faint streaks of red that taint one shard in particular. Those dried in flecks of blood telling of how the distraught deputy had cut herself as she painstakingly picked up each individual piece by hand, fearful that this time magic might actually do more harm than good.
Hecate briefly closes her tired eyes and massages the pounding headache that is starting to build. She's long since lost track of the hour. Only knows it's been too long since Ada has last stood before them all. She checks her timepiece, notes that she has missed at least five meals over the course of the past two days. As if reminding her of that fact, another small plate of food suddenly appears before her. Grateful as she is for Mrs Tapiocah's unusually caring sentiment, the smell only serves to increase the nausea rising rapidly within her.
The plate vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
She can practically hear the tut of disapproval that echos around the room.
'I know, I know,' Hecate whispers softly, carefully runs a manicured finger along the edge of the glassware. 'I will eat something later, Ada. I promise. For now though, we keep trying.'
The jar remains silent.
She's fast approaching breaking point herself now.
Beginning to consider the very real possibility that maybe, just maybe, they can't reverse this curse after all.
No.
There's a way, she knows there is.
All she has to do is find it.
Exhaustion creeps over her, but she pushes through it. Works her mind and fingers to the bone as she examines each and every minute possibility.
Her beloved books are strewn haphazardly across the desk, discarded one right after another, only once she is sure they will not aid in their plight. The wastepaper bin overflows with tried and tested incantations, failed words scribbled out so harshly they tear clean through the parchment.
Every time Hecate's mind begins to lag. Every time her body comes close to wanting to rest, she sees Ada shatter all over again, and it spurs her on.
She has to keep going.
She has to bring Ada back to them.
Back to her.
'I will fix this.' Her words are strong, definitive, and yet her hand trembles as she draws the jar closer towards her heart. 'I don't know how yet, but I will fix it.'
'Joy, I know this might be hard to hear, but some things are not so easy to mend.'
'... But I have magic.'
'That may be, dear, but even we witches can only control so much. Sometimes, the magic is just too powerful. Too strong. Sometimes, some things, once done, cannot be undone. No matter how much we may wish for it. What I mean to say is that even the purest of heart and intentions isn't always enough.'
'Please, Miss Cackle. She was my best friend ... I would give anything to have her back.'
Anything.
Something.
The only thing she has left to offer.
With a wave of her hand, and without another second's thought, five cauldrons appear on the ground before her. Hecate works quickly, yet diligently, knows that this is likely their final chance to right this terrible wrong.
The school will learn to cope without the deputy head's firm hand, but Ada Cackle is the beating heart of this institution. Without her, Cackle's ceases to be what makes it Cackle's.
A magical storm rages outside as Hecate begins to chant.
Mother Nature herself, bent to her will.
She calls upon thunder, lightning. Upon the roughest, most tempestuous seas. Tells them to drain her power. Every last drop. To take it, take it all.
To bring Ada back to her.
She senses the magic build. Feels that familiar thrum beneath her veins before it bursts forthwith. Streams of pink energy go soaring high into the mighty Heavens, only to quickly come hurtling back down to meet with the emptiness of Earth.
As her last remaining flicker of hope extinguishes into the quiet darkness, Hecate slumps forwards, utterly defeated.
The magic she has just tried to rid herself of crackles and fizzles. It will take it's time to settle, she knows. Ultimately, for now, her magical reserves are depleted. In a few hours though, she'll still be as powerful as she ever was.
As powerful as always.
Yet never so powerless.
One minute.
They don't even give her one minute to grieve before she's called upon to go and deal with yet more stupid drama. Murmurs of a misused Happiness potion later assault her ears, but she finds she hasn't the will to go and chastise the culprits.
It's not as though it really matters in the grand scheme of things.
Nothing matters anymore.
Ada is still exactly where she left her. Safe within the realms of a protective spell to stop anyone from taking her.
Hecate barely registers the pain as her knees crash unforgivingly onto the laboratory floor. Remains unaware when her tears begin to fall. Whispered, nonsensical apologies fall from her lips as she clutches the jar like a child clutching a treasured cuddly toy. She sobs, screams, howls in anguish.
Giving up her magic was their last shot.
It should have worked.
Why didn't it work?
Pippa Pentangle had once called her the witchiest witch.
Surely though, if that were even remotely true, then Ada would be standing here now, alive and well, and not as broken pieces of glass in a jar.
Hecate shakes her head.
She's not the witchiest witch.
She's ... the worst witch.
She closes her eyes, thinks of Ada. Thinks of Mildred Hubble. Of how she sent her away. Thinks of Ada again.
As Hecate finally bows to her overwhelming exhaustion, she swears that she can hear Ada's voice whisper that she has nothing to be sorry for.
She tightens her grip around the jar.