Hello again! *waves enthusiastically*

Thanks to DissectingPomegranates, Princess Sammi, Guest, and the amazing NCD for reviewing the last chapter! It gave me encouragement and spurred me to write faster! :D

By the way, did you know that you can actually check how many people have viewed your story? That encouraged me to, because I was a little worried that there wasn't much interest in this story. :)

Anyway, on to the third chapter!


Chapter 3

'So let me get this straight. This girl, whose name we don't even know, came here to warn us that Hecketty Broomhead has teamed up with Agatha Cackle and they both want to destroy the school?' Imogen couldn't help the incredulous note in her voice. While she had taken an instant dislike to Mistress Broomhead when she had come to inspect the school, she couldn't help but feel that the assent from wishing to close down the school to destroying it had escalated rather quickly.

Constance narrowed her eyes, hackles rising at the tone in Imogen's voice. She knew perfectly well that her story sounded slightly insane. She had told them everything…well, almost. She had left out the part about the scars on the girl's back. And though she had told them that the girl had most likely been tutored by Hecketty, she had not told them what that probably meant. So, a part of her reasoned that the other teachers had a right to be concerned, and a little doubtful, but the other, more dominant part of her, the part that was exhausted and still wanted to flee to the sanctuary of her room, was in absolutely no mood to deal with their scepticism. She just wanted them to believe her, no questions asked, so she could return to the girl and find out whether her suspicions were correct.

'It all seems a bit farfetched to me'. Davina flinched, instantly wishing she had refrained from speaking as Miss Hardbroom shot her a death stare. The tension in the room was rising dramatically, and Davina cast a longing glance at her cupboard. She would have fled there long ago, if not for the fact that Constance was standing in front of it.

'I don't understand why you're finding this so hard to believe! Agatha wants revenge on this school. So does Hecketty Broomhead – '

'But why Constance? Don't get me wrong, none of us doubt Agatha's motives, but why has Broomhead suddenly gone from wanting to close this school down to wanting revenge? Hasn't that escalated a bit quickly?' Imogen tried to use her most soothing voice, but she could tell that it was having very little effect on the witch. Constance was clearly hiding something, and none of the teachers had missed the tell-tale signs of recent tears on the deputy's pale face.

Constance ground her teeth. 'Do I really need to sit down and explain her motives? We humiliated her. We succeeded where she failed. That is something she cannot forgive. She has this…obsession with perfection, and therefore failure. It's been a long time since anyone ever openly defied her, much less triumphed against her. In her eyes she is the model witch; emotionless, powerful, stern, she never fails! And now an entire school, not just one person, has made mockery of her. Do I need to continue?'

Davina cringed. It had been a long time since she had heard Constance sound so angry. Or so scared. And she knew that what she was about to say would not help matters. 'Is that all? All she wants is revenge? Nothing else?'

Me. She wants me. And she wants Mildred. Constance shook her head. 'I don't know. Mildred said that the girl was trying to warn her that she and I specifically have to be careful. Why I can't explain'. Because I am the only person, excluding this girl, to have ever escaped her clutches. And Mildred is Mildred; a girl with more spirit and heart than Hecketty could ever dream of. A heroine. Hecketty must have felt that when she first came here.

The two teachers glanced at one another. They knew that Constance was leaving something out. But what could they do? They knew from experience that pushing the potions mistress would get them nowhere.

Amelia removed her glasses with a sigh, polishing them absentmindedly on her frilly blouse before replacing them. She looked over the top of the cat-eye frames at her deputy. 'What would you suggest we do, Constance?'

Constance breathed a sigh of relief. 'We must put defences up around the school. Let no one in and no one out. No more daily trips to Cosy's. No more herb picking at dawn. No more gruelling runs up the mountain where the girls could potentially fall behind and be picked up by any unpleasant witches'.

Imogen rolled her eyes at this; of course she had to throw that in. Constance continued as if she hadn't noticed. 'We have an advantage, but it won't last long. Agatha knows that the girl managed to get here, so it stands to reason that she will soon inform Hecketty Broomhead. We need to act while we have the upper hand, however slight it might seem'.

Amelia sighed again and picked up the letter that had been lying open in her lap, preparing to drop a bombshell into the already highly strung room. The three teacher's eyes were immediately drawn to the crisp white paper, as if they knew it could mean little good. 'We may have a slight problem there. It seems that when the post last arrived I…neglected to notice this letter. It seems rather important'. She felt extremely stupid and very guilty. Of course the day she happened to notice the letter was the very day they needed to place tighter security around the school. Sometimes she wished that she did have an organised filing system. She had been so on edge after checking and rechecking the locks around the school that she had sat down and started absentmindedly sorting through a pile of unopened letters on her desk. She had read and reread the letter in her hands so many times that she almost knew it by heart.

Constance strode over and took the letter from the headmistress, scanning it quickly. She was halfway down the page when she was forced to back track and begin again.

Dear Miss Cackle,

I am writing to inform you that I must speak with you on a matter of some delicacy concerning one of your students. Would 12 o'clock on the 17th be appropriate? I will be passing through your area around that time, and as this is a matter of importance and urgency, this date would be convenient for those involved.

Yours Sincerely,

Dr Jason Sage

By the time she had read it through several times, the level of concern and trepidation she felt had risen considerably. The letter had been written in some haste, as the writing, though neat, bore signs of the urgency described in the letter. It was rather awkwardly written, as if the man had been unsure how to find the right words. The overall feeling she got from the letter was not a good one.

Constance handed the letter over to Imogen and cast an incredulous glance at Amelia. It was clear that the headmistress was just as perplexed by the letter as her deputy. Amelia was watching her with some concern, as if she expected her to explode at any minute. After glancing at the clock on the wall, Constance understood why. It half past twelve in the morning. It was already the 17th. They had less than twelve hours before this doctor turned up. Constance closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to not – what was the saying? 'Lose it'. Why does everything half to happen at the same time?

Imogen was less restrained. 'Oh hell! As if we didn't have enough on our plates, something like this has to happen!'

'What do you suggest we do, headmistress?' asked Davina, who had been busy reading the letter over Imogen's shoulder.

'Let it play out. If this is as urgent as he says, then we can hardly refuse. As for the rest, we do what Constance said. We prepare. Plus, I think we ought to warn the girls, just so they don't do anything…' Amelia searched for the right word.

'Foolish, Miss Cackle?' Constance was standing by the mantelpiece, leaning against it with one hand, eyes still closed. She sounded more exhausted than angry.

'What about this girl though?' Imogen couldn't help feeling that they'd missed a rather important element. 'She can't exactly stay in the infirmary, and her presence will have to be explained to the girls. Unless you think we should tell them the truth?'

'Absolutely not'. Constance was sharper than she intended to be, but she wanted to make sure there was no room for argument. 'Explaining that the school is in danger is one thing, but it would be very foolish to say that we are going to extreme measures to protect the school on the word of an unknown witch and a student that many would say has a very fanciful imagination. I can think of at least one or two students that would disregard our warnings and get themselves into trouble if they found out'. Constance hesitated but then pressed forward, realising that she had to give some reason for her caution. 'If there is one thing I have learned, it's that Hecketty Broomhead does not do anything without motive. There must be a specific reason she decided to tutor this girl. Perhaps her magic is powerful; perhaps she has an unusual gift. Whatever the reason, we can't let Hecketty get her hands on her again'. Even if it's just for her sake. Constance knew perfectly well what would happen to the girl if she fell back into Hecketty's grasp. It wasn't a nice thought. She opened her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the curious gazes her colleagues. 'If I may make a suggestion, Miss Cackle? Introduce her as a new girl. Put her under Mildred's care, you could say that she did so well with Enid that you think she is the perfect choice. Mildred knows the truth about her, and as the girl seems to know who Mildred is, it may be prudent to keep them together'.

Amelia nodded, 'you may be right Constance. Though, I think we should advise Mildred to keep her friends in the dark, at least for the time being'.

Davina stood. 'Do you want me to search for some spare uniforms Miss Cackle?' the chanting teacher felt a little useless and wanted to do something to be helpful.

'Of course dear, that would be very helpful'. Amelia watched Davina float out the door with a small smile on her face before turning to the P.E. teacher. 'Imogen dear, would you mind checking the second year dormitory for any spare rooms? I can't remember off the top of my head'.

A long silence followed Imogen's departure. Amelia picked up the letter and reread it once more, though her mind was not on the words at all. Her mind was on her deputy. She wished, more than anything at that moment, that Constance would allow her walls to fall, if only for long enough to let the headmistress comfort her. She desperately wanted to know what Constance was neglecting to tell them, desperately wanted to know why her sculptured cheekbones still glistened with tears. She wished that Constance would allow her to be a friend for her.

Amelia stood, unsure of what she was intending, when Constance took a step back, arms folded over her chest protectively. She had sensed Amelia's train of thought. She had been trying not to intrude, but some of the words had slipped past the walls in her mind. It wasn't that she wished to shun the older woman' s offers of friendship, it was more that she had no desire to talk about her past. Not while there was a high risk that it would bring her to tears, especially in her current emotional state. Clearing her throat, and looking a little like a dear caught in the headlights, Constance said hastily, 'Miss Cackle, I think I should go check on Mildred. The girl may have awoken. If she has, I will inform her of the plan and try to find out a little more about what is going on'. Her tone had returned to a more formal and business like voice, in an attempt to hide the discomfort she felt.

She watched as Amelia's face clouded with a mixture of sadness and disappointment. The headmistress nodded however and Constance dematerialised hastily before she could change her mind. Amelia sighed heavily and sat back down, shaking her head slightly. Sometimes she wondered if what the girls suspected was true, whether Constance could actually read peoples thoughts, or whether her feelings were really that clear on her face.


Mildred sat on Hope's bed, watching as the other girl sniffed wearily at the steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Hope narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the brownish liquid and shot a glance at Mildred. 'What is it?'

She couldn't help it. Her jaw dropped and her eyebrows shot high up her forehead. She could tell just by the perplexed expression on Hope's face that she wasn't kidding. And there were so many things wrong with those three words that it brought all her anger at Hecketty Broomhead rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. Of course she doesn't know what it is, if she was raised by Broomhead and that woman was the one who inflicted those scars on her back, of course she's never had hot chocolate.

Mildred shook herself mentally, becoming aware that her mouth was still hanging open. Hope was frowning at her and her expression gave the impression that she was vaguely worried for her sanity. Mildred shut her mouth with a snap. 'It's hot chocolate. You'll like it, trust me'.

Hope studied Mildred's face for a moment, clearly still slightly suspicious. She turned her attention back to the hot chocolate and sipped it experimentally. Her eyes lit up in pleasure as the hot chocolate slid down her throat and her face split in a wide grin. It was the first real smile Mildred had seen from her, and the change was startling. Her stern beauty was suddenly swept away, replaced by a look of pure delight that made her youthful lovely face glow. For some reason, the change seemed very familiar to Mildred, though she couldn't quite place why.

A few seconds later Hope lowered the now empty cup and smiled at Mildred. There was a hot chocolate moustache on her top lip. Mildred lost it. The high strung emotions, the tensions, the shock, all of it bubbled to the surface and burst out of her in the form of hysterical laughter. Hope stared at her in confusion, and Mildred gestured wildly, trying to smother her laugher.

Hope wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She stared at the smudge of hot chocolate for a moment and then looked back at Mildred. Mildred's face was contorted into a scrunched expression and she was beginning to turn blue from the effort of containing her laughter.

Hope exploded into a fit of giggles. At the sound, all efforts to contain her laughter failed and Mildred fell back onto the bed, clutching her stomach, legs flailing in the air above her. Hope bent double and slid off the bed, shaking with silent laughter.

Tears were streaming down Mildred's face by the time she managed to stop. She lay on her back breathing heavily, grinning widely, feeling light headed. After all the tension and worry and fear, it felt good laughing. She sat up, and her smile slowly slipped from her face. Hope was lying flat on her back, hands still pressed to her stomach, her dark hair fanned around her head. But she wasn't smiling. Her eyes were fixed on the roof and she was frowning slightly. Twin tear tracks leaked out from the corners of her eyes and disappeared into her hair. Somehow, Mildred doubted that they were tears of laughter.

Mildred slid off the bed slowly, unsure what to do. It was such a sudden change that she was completely unprepared for how to help. I don't even know her. Maybe she doesn't want me to help. After a brief inner struggle, Mildred's desire to help won out over her other concerns and she lay down beside Hope. She didn't say anything, just lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

The silence between them stretched on until Mildred wondered whether she would have to break it herself. Then Hope stirred. It was a small movement, so small that if Mildred hadn't been lying so close she wouldn't have noticed. A ripple seemed to run through the other girl's body as she gave her shoulders a tiny shake. 'Thanks, Mildred'. It was a mere whisper of a sound, and Mildred could feel her ears straining to catch more.

Mildred rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her elbow so she could look at Hope properly. The girl had not taken her eyes off the ceiling. Mildred touched her hand lightly. 'For what?' As far as she was concerned, she had done very little.

A small sad smile curved Hope's lips. 'I've known you for less than half an hour, and you've already shown me two things I've never experienced before'.

'Two things?' the words slipped out before she could stop herself. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to hear the answer.

Hope finally turned her head to look at her. 'Hot chocolate…and laughter. Before today I never had any reason to laugh'. And she smiled, a real smile, not a sad one, the same transforming smile that made her look almost like a different person.

Mildred did her best to smile back, though inside she was absolutely horrified. Hot chocolate was one thing, but laughter? It was the third greatest gift in the world! Without quite realising it, the hand that had been lightly resting on Hope's had suddenly tightened, lacing their fingers together. At that moment, Mildred swore to herself that as long as the girl was still at Cackle's, she would try her upmost hardest to make her laugh as often as possible. She didn't say that though. All she said was, 'you shouldn't really thank me for the hot chocolate; it was Miss Bat's idea'.

Hope raised an eyebrow, 'Miss Bat?' she sounded amused.

Mildred grinned. 'She's a bit…odd. Batty'.

'You know, Mistress Broomhead hates Bats'. Hope smiled widely, her eyes sparkling. 'I'm sure I'll love her!'

Standing, Mildred extended a hand to help Hope up. The other witch took it without any hesitation and Mildred pulled her up. They both plonked down onto the bed again. 'I have bats. There all over the school. There really quite nice'. Mildred knew subconsciously that she was avoiding the elephant in the room. She still had yet to ask exactly what Hope was doing there, or how she knew Mildred and why she had heard her voice in her head.

As if reading her mind, Hope sighed heavily. 'I will tell you what's going on, I promise, but it's a story I only want to tell once, and Constance – Miss Hardbroom – needs to hear it too. I'm hardly going to tell you that you have to be careful because Agatha Cackle and Mistress Broomhead want to take down the school and that they have their sights on you and then not explain what's going on'.

Mildred couldn't help but stare. It was as if Hope had literally just read her mind. She opened her mouth, suddenly determined to ask about it, when Miss Hardbroom materialised next to them. Mildred, who with everything that was going on had almost forgotten about Miss Hardbroom, shrieked, overbalanced and fell onto the floor with a thump. Hope's reaction was far less amusing. Her entire body went stiff as a board and she snapped her head around to stare at Miss Hardbroom with eyes that did not see. Her hands were flung up in front of her, crossed over her chest, as if she was preparing to ward something off. Her palms crackled with gold sparks.

Constance, whose mind had been lingering on her rather awkward conversation with Amelia, started back in surprise, momentarily shocked by the snarl of anger on Hope's face, and then cursed herself. Of course the girl would immediately think that she was someone else. She should have known better than to materialise in the room, when the only other person the girl could possible know that could do that was the very woman she was running from.

Mildred scrambled upright, recognising immediately what was going on, and grabbed Hope's arm forcefully. 'Hope!' Hope blinked and seemed to snap out of it. She lowered her arms slowly, her expression apologetic yet still wary. Her eyes raked Constance from head to toe, mentally noting down how Hecketty had obviously influenced her. Constance found herself doing the same, noting the girl's ramrod straight posture and the almost imperceptible mental barrier around her mind. She winced inwardly at Hope's name. She could imagine what the girl must have gone through under Hecketty's iron grip with a name like that. Hecketty hated names like that – she would have called them frivolous and unbecoming to a respectable and powerful witch.

Mildred watched the exchange with some worry. She kept her hand on Hope's arm, acutely aware of the tension in the girl's body. She also noticed that her face had closed again, her expression blank. Miss Hardbroom was standing in her trademark position, arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression carefully neutral. Mildred was starting to realise that that stance was more defensive than threatening. And, in some ways, Hope was a threat to Miss Hardbroom. She was a link to her past, a girl with more knowledge about the deputy than possible anyone in the world, aside from Hecketty herself. Of course HB would find that threatening.

Hope looked down at the hand resting on her arm and then back up at Mildred. A smile flashed briefly across her face, lifting the mask again. Then she looked back at Constance. 'I need to talk to you'.

Constance nodded slowly. She took two steps back and folded herself gracefully into a chair. 'I believe you do. If you feel up to it that is'. Usually, Constance probably wouldn't have added this last sentence, but she recognised that the girl had been through a lot and might not be feeling up to it.

'I think its best we get this over with', said Hope wryly. Constance smiled slightly at this, immensely relieved that she didn't have to wait to find out what was going on. She was not a very patient woman. Constance turned her gaze to Mildred and raised her eyebrows, clearly inquiring about whether she was going to stay. 'I promised Mildred that I would tell her what was going on. She's in danger here as well'. Hope spoke firmly, yet there was a question there was well.

Constance dipped her head slightly. For Mildred to have the best chance at survival, she needed to have some idea of what she was up against.

Hope hesitated. Now that she was actually about to explain what was going on, she felt a little…nervous. The similarities between Miss Hardbroom and Mistress Broomhead were setting her teeth on edge. She could sense however, that Miss Hardbroom was a generally good person, who like her had been exposed to far too much hardship at a young age, and had simply hardened over time. It was comforting to know that one could escape Hecketty's grasp – at least in some ways. If she could just focus on telling the story, not the words themselves, this would be over far sooner than it would otherwise. Hope rolled her shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension in her muscles, and began.

'It's a very long story, how this all came to happen. I don't even know the details of how it began, really. I was…given to Hecketty Broomhead when I was very young, a baby I think, because I don't remember any other upbringing'. She paused and looked at Constance. Constance was steeling herself for a rather gruesome story. 'You've probably guessed that there is something a little…different about me, haven't you?'

Though that could have been referring to many different things, Constance understood the meaning behind the words. 'If you mean that I guessed you must be a very powerful witch, or have some sort of special power, then yes. Mistress Broomhead never apprenticed ordinary witches – and with the exception of you and me she never… raised any of them'. Constance winced inwardly, raised really isn't the word.

Hope took a deep breath and plunged onwards. 'I'm psychic'.

For a brief second Mildred witnessed the mask slip from Constance's face and saw a flash of astonishment and something like disbelief before Constance managed to school her features once more. Mildred said, 'What's a psychic?'

Hope turned her attention to her. 'There are two types of psychics, generally speaking. There is the type that can see glimpses of the future – they're generally referred to as Seers. Usually, those visions occur in dreams. The dreams – or visions – revolve around the Seer themselves and the people they meet, are going to meet, or may meet. They can change; they depend on the choices that people make. The other type of psychic is usually called a telepath. They can talk to people inside their minds; hear people's thoughts, read people's minds and theoretically they can also manipulate people's minds to an extent. Some telepaths can't do all of those things and some can. Most of them can also shield their minds and other peoples, and some can also emit strong telepathic blasts'. Hope took a deep breath; she'd barely paused for breath.

Mildred frowned slightly, finding it difficult to process all the information at once. 'So… which one are you?' she guessed, just from when she had heard Hope's voice in her mind, that Hope was a telepath.

Hope hesitated for a brief second before she said, 'I'm a telepath'. The hesitation was so brief that Mildred didn't notice. But Constance did.

'So can you do all of those things?' Mildred also suspected that Miss Hardbroom was probably a telepath as well, seeing as she always seemed to know exactly what was going on in the school.

'Well that's the thing; I don't know yet'. Hope sighed and massaged her temples. This was starting to get complicated. 'Up until around three months ago, I didn't even know I was a telepath. After the…incident with you', here Hope turned her attention back to Constance, 'where you…left unexpectedly, Hecketty decided that she needed to keep me on a much shorter leash'.

Constance was very glad that Hope was avoiding what had actually happened with her, though it was obvious that she knew all the details. She felt her eyebrows go up at the idea that Hecketty could have anyone on a shorter leash. There was practically no leash to start with.

'Anyway, she kept a block on my mind to prevent me from using my telepathy without her permission. She was teaching me how to use it, and then preventing me from remembering afterwards. I don't know exactly what she intended to do with me afterwards; I assumed she intended to make sure I was completely under her influence before she let me use it fully'. That wasn't exactly the truth. Hope did know what Hecketty had intended to do, but she had no intention of giving Mildred nightmares. Constance could guess - if she didn't have some idea already.

'So what happened?' asked Mildred.

Hope smiled slightly. 'Ironically, it's thanks to Hecketty that I discovered it. She was teaching me how to materialise'. Here she hesitated. She wasn't sure whether she needed to go into the details of what that had involved. She glanced at Constance out of the corner of her eye, silently asking her opinion. Constance shook her head ever so slightly, briefly projecting her thoughts so that Hope would hear them. We really don't need to tell Mildred more than she needs to know. Let's not give the girl nightmares.

Hope continued as if nothing had happened. 'When I managed to successfully materialise, it was as if I... it's hard to explain – it was almost as if I left the barriers behind in the other room. One moment I was in some sort of submissive daze, the next the world was alive with a sharp clarity. I could hear Hecketty's thoughts and I could hear the thoughts of the mail man down the street. I knew that I had had a barrier around my mind moments before. I remembered Hecketty teaching me how to use it and how to hide it. So I did, I hid the fact that I had control of my telepathy. I pretended to be as submissive as I had been'.

Mildred frowned. 'But didn't she know? I mean, couldn't she feel that you weren't under her control anymore?'

'Hecketty herself wasn't actually psychic. There are spells and charms that involve blocks and memory charms. She would have had to check them manually to know whether they were still there, and once I shielded my mind she couldn't. She taught me how to use my powers mainly through books about them. What you have to realise is that Hecketty's greatest flaw is the belief that everything she does is perfect. She's vain. She could never imagine that I might break through the barrier of my own accord'.

That's true, mused Constance. If Hecketty has one weakness at all, it is over confidence in her own abilities.

Hope took a moment to gather her thoughts. 'As I said, that was about three months ago. I spent the next few weeks planning to get away. I needed to get as far away from Hecketty as possible, to somewhere she couldn't find me. I worked hard to develop my magic. My aim was to find somewhere unpopulated. I was thinking of going to the Scottish highlands. You see, I feared that if Hecketty did find me she would be able take me back because she was my legal guardian'.

'She wasn't though, was she?' Constance had once thought that, and it had opened up a whole lot of possibilities when she had discovered it was a lie.

Hope shook her head. 'I never dared to look into Hecketty's mind. Though she wasn't psychic, I assumed she had ways of shielding herself. I only found out that she wasn't my legal guardian when Agatha came into the picture, which was about a week ago'. Hope's brow furrowed as she struggled to remember exactly what had happened during her last days as Hecketty's 'apprentice'. It had been such a whirl wind of fear, hope and planning and rushes of adrenaline that her memory was somewhat clouded. 'I don't know how she and Hecketty made contact. The day it happened, Hecketty locked me in my room and spent the entire day plotting with Agatha. Of course, I listened to the whole conversation through Agatha, who probably had absolutely no idea what a mind shield was - never mind how to use it. They discussed me briefly; they talked about using me to attack the school while everyone was asleep. That was when Hecketty mentioned that she was not my legal guardian, though she didn't say how she got her hands on me. Knowing her, it probably wasn't pleasant. I heard them talking about their plans for the school, what they intended to do to you two, and I made up my mind to stop them – and to warn you'.

'So what do they actually want with us?' asked Mildred. Though she had been listening intently to Hope's story, she had noticed that she hadn't actually said that they wanted.

Hope sighed. 'In all honesty, I don't really understand what Hecketty wants with you. Agatha wants revenge because you've spoiled her plans before. From what I could gather from their conversation, and the ones that followed over the next couple of days, Hecketty holds some sort of personal grudge against you, though I have no idea what it is. As for you…' she hesitated as she looked at Miss Hardbroom. She was beginning to wish that the older woman was not so good at keeping her emotions behind a blank mask. It was harder to judge what she could say and what she couldn't.

Constance raised an eyebrow. 'They want me dead, yes?'

Hope pinched the bridge of her nose. She had never been around so many people at once, and she could hear the distant dreams of every student in the school, even though she tried to block them out. She had read that dreams were harder to block than thoughts, because no one could control their dreams. It was giving her a headache. 'To put it bluntly'.

Constance nodded - a sharp birdlike motion of her head. It was what she had expected. 'Very well then, it certainly helps to have an idea of what is coming'.

Mildred yawned abruptly. She had been so caught up in the rapidly unfolding events that she hadn't really noticed how exhausted she was. 'What now, Miss Hardbroom?'

Constance stood, suddenly brisk. 'Now, you go to bed Mildred, it's far too late for you to be up. I shall inform Miss Cackle of what we should expect. I take it that Coldstone and Bindweed are working for Agatha still?'

Hope stood, diminishing the height difference somewhat. She didn't like being looked down upon, though Constance could still do that even when she was standing. It made her feel vulnerable, like she was some sort of prey. 'Yes. They didn't want to have anything to do with Agatha after her last failure, but they're too terrified of Hecketty to back down now'.

'Hmm. Well, I believe there is a spare room in the second year wing. Perhaps you would be kind enough to show Hope where she will sleep tonight Mildred'. Constance walked towards the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at them. 'Oh, and Hope, Miss Cackle has decided that you are to be introduced as a new girl tomorrow. We think it's best if the rest of the school doesn't know about you, so to speak. You will be placed under Mildred's care. I believe that Miss Bat has found some spare uniform, which should be in your room. We would appreciate it if you don't tell your friends what is going on, Mildred'.

'So you're not going to tell them anything? Shouldn't they be warned?' asked Mildred.

Constance had to refrain from rolling her eyes in exasperation. 'Of course we're going to warn them Mildred. We're also going to place barriers around the school. I just mean that it would probably be best if Hope's… connection to Hecketty is kept in the dark'. Constance hesitated. Despite how much she seriously just wanted to retreat inside herself, she did know that Hope had been through a rough experience and that Mildred was probably absolutely terrified. She felt that she should say something reassuring. But just because she had let Mildred see past her walls for a moment and that Hope shared a… unfortunate connection to her did not mean that she had suddenly become good at comforting people or expressing her feelings. 'Do try and get some sleep. You might need it'. She winced inwardly at the rather bad attempt. Feeling extremely awkward, Constance folded her arms over her chest and vanished.

Mildred stared at the spot Miss Hardbroom had been mere seconds before. She wasn't sure why she felt so surprised. She had seen a completely different side to Miss Hardbroom, but that didn't mean she was going to suddenly change. Once, she might have put it down to Miss Hardbroom being cold and, well, being HB, but now she recognised that it Constance was really just beating a retreat. It was as if the wall Constance kept around her had become slightly transparent, allowing Mildred to see some of the true meanings behind her actions.

She turned suddenly, pushing her musings away to think about later. Hope was standing behind her still, hugging her arms to her body. Her gaze was distant, as if she wasn't really aware of where she was. Mildred touched her lightly on her arm. 'Hope?'

Hope started and blinked, her eyes coming back into focus. 'Hmm? Sorry, did you say something?'

Mildred smiled gently. 'No, but I think we should go to bed. Come on, I'll show you where your room is'. Hope snatched her wet cloak off the bed before following Mildred out of the room.


Hope sat on the thin mattress of her bed, head cocked slightly as she listened to Mildred's retreating footsteps. There was a candle by her bedside and a spare uniform was hanging on a coat rack on her wardrobe. The shutters of her window were firmly closed. When she could no longer hear Mildred, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to stretch out. Once she was sure that Mildred was not going to get out of bed to talk to her, and that Constance was busy talking to Amelia, she stood and locked the door. Then she raised her hand and pointed it at her candle. The candle flame sparked and spluttered and detached itself from the wick. It rose above her head and grew larger, until it cast the entire room in a soft orange glow.

Hope turned back to the bed and spread her cloak over it. The still wet material dried at her touch. The cloak was worn and a little faded, fraying around the bottom. In the centre of the cloak, where the small of her back would rest when she had it on, was a roughly sewed on pocket. Hope sat down on the bed and reached into it. She withdrew a tattered leather bound book, tied closed by a piece of string. She opened it and flicked through the pages, skimming over detailed drawings. When she came to a blank page, she pulled a led pencil out from the binding and began to sketch what she had seen when she was unconscious. She had found not long ago that she had a natural drawing talent, and had soon discovered that it was the best way of keeping track of her dreams.

A little later, she laid down her pencil and gazed at the three pictures she had drawn. The first was a detailed sketch of a girl with a haughty nose. The girl's expression was unnaturally blank. Her eyes were staring straight ahead. There was a strange look in the girl's eyes. They brewed with a flaming vicious anger that did not match her expression. And behind the anger, there was a look of absolute terror.

The second sketch was of a man with a strong, open face and intelligent eyes. He was smiling, and he had a stethoscope slung around his neck.

Hope stared at the third picture, swallowing hard. The picture depicted Constance lying on her side on the cobble stones, facing away. A dark stain was spreading from underneath her over the ground.

With a snarl - more of desperation than anger - Hope threw the notebook onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, entwining her hands tightly in her dark hair in an effort to steady herself. She felt sick. 'What have I started?'


So what do you think? Please let me know! What do you think of Hope so far? What do you think is happening in the last scene?

Constructive criticism is welcome as always! Please review!

Morgana