Glinda woke in the middle of the night, head full of fearful dreams, of Elphaba falling into the Suicide Canal, of another thunderstorm, death by fire and water.

She woke drenched in sweat and fumbled for the lamp on her nightstand. Elphaba was still curled up with her back still to her, and Glinda couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not, for she gave no response.

She couldn't do this. Couldn't keep sitting idly by while Elphaba did all the work, all the while insisting she was capable.

She had to do something.

Quietly, the way Elphaba had so many nights before, Glinda slipped out of bed. She put her shoes on and took a cloak from Elphaba's closet, watching for another minute at the other girl's sleeping form.

She hoped she was making the right decision, but she didn't know what that was anymore.


The grounds were eerily quiet as she made her way across them, no evidence of the earlier storm. She knew, subconsciously, where she was going, but it wasn't until she arrived on the steps of the administration building that what she was about to do really hit her.

She shivered and pulled Elphaba's cloak tighter around her. It was warm, and it smelled like her, and it was that that gave Glinda the courage to push open the door.

She'd only been in this building once before, at the start of the semester when she'd requested a new roommate. But it was as if some invisible force was pulling her along, because she found she still knew the way to the Headmistress's office.

The light was on, the door cracked as if Morrible was expecting her-and Glinda had the sneaking suspicion she was. When she pushed open the door, the Headmistress was already staring up at her, lips curled in a small smile.

"Miss Glinda. It's quite a time of night for you to be out."

"I thought I would clear my head, Madame," Glinda said, hating how her voice shook.

"Is something troubling you?" She asked this with an almost flat tone, looking at Glinda as if she were almost bored with their conversation.

Grommetik whirled forward from its place in the corner, holding a tea tray. Glinda fought the urge to shrink back from it, wondering if it had been watching them in the library earlier.

"Tea?" Morrible asked. The kettle she was using to boil water caught the firelight, looking to Glinda all too sinister.

"No thank you," Glinda said. Morrible nodded, and took a cup for herself as Grommetik wheeled over to her.

"Have a seat, dear," Morrible said, and something about the tone of her voice made Glinda feel like it was a requirement rather than a suggestion.

Glinda sat. She fiddled with the hem of Elphaba's cloak, watched as Morrible stirred three lumps of sugar into her tea.

"I do hope you didn't get caught in that dreadful downpour earlier," the Head said casually.

"N-no," Glinda stuttered. "I was inside." Madame Morrible made a noise in the back of her throat, but she didn't say anything else. She took a sip of her tea, eyeing Glinda over the mug, who repressed an urge to shudder.

What was she doing? Here? With a woman who had, most likely, tried to kill Elphaba earlier, had certainly killed Doctor Dillamond. A woman who may have been working for the Wizard?

She swallowed. She was in over her head, and she knew it. She should just turn around now, go back to bed.

But back to what? Elphaba, who was so hell bent on protecting her all she did was push her away? Back to trying to prove herself capable and constantly being ignored.

Well, here was her chance to do something, wasn't it? She had to take it.

The Head kept stirring her tea.

"What can you tell me about Doctor Dillamond?" Glinda blurted. Morrible raised an eyebrow. "About his death, I mean," Glinda amended.

"I don't know why a girl like you would want to hear about such dreadful things," Morrible said. "Or why in Oz you would assume I would know anything?"

Glinda bit her tongue. "It's just curious," she said finally. Morrible said nothing, just stared intently at her over her cup.

"How are your studies coming?" she asked abruptly, standing and setting her saucer on her desk.

"Right now they aren't—but it's break," Glinda said. "And I… I'm taking sorcery with you next term, since I declared."

Since you made me declare, she thought, but didn't say it.

"My offer to find you a new roommate whose interests line up with yours still stands, you know," Morrible said, almost casually.

"Elphaba and I are… well. I've grown to tolerate her," Glinda said, her heart pounding. Morrible turned back to her.

"I don't see how you could develop a tolerance, when she hardly seems to care about you," she said, flashing a dangerous smile. Glinda thought she'd heard wrong.

"Madame?"

"You're not nearly as naive as you would have everyone believe, Miss Upland," the Head said, her voice growing cold. "It's obvious to everyone how you feel. How she feels about you—or doesn't, rather. You think I believe you want to know what happened to poor Doctor Dillamond out of curiosity? You think I don't know you were sneaking around the library earlier?"

Glinda couldn't move. Not because she was paralyzed by fear, or maybe because she was, but she couldn't move a limb. Could barely try.

"You want to know what happened to Doctor Dillamond? To students who dare to cross me? You want to know why I haven't decided to put an end to you and Miss Thropp's little games of playing detective? It's because, Miss Upland, I think you will be useful to me."

Morrible turned to face Glinda, and her expression was something fearful and terrible.

"Doctor Dillamond," she said, "knew too much. Was too close to discovering something we couldn't let him discover, something that would set back years of the Wizard's progress. Because that's what this is, dear—progress. And in every example of progress, sacrifices must be made. For the greater good."

She smiled, and it was wicked.

"And you, Miss Upland, can be the greatest good of all."


She didn't know where she was.

They found her later, the boys, wandering by the Suicide Canal in Elphaba's cloak. Crope took her back to his room, because she balked at going back to Elphaba.

She couldn't remember a thing.