*Morgana's broomstick screeches to a halt and she promptly half leaps, half falls of it*

*holding the next chapter in one hand and a platter of chocolate coated cookies in the other, she performs a deep apologetic bow*

Sorry for the late update everyone! Life was rude enough to get in the way, and then I had a writers block.

I hope you like this chapter, as I am a bit unsure of how it turned out. Please let me know what you think!


Chapter 5

There was a lengthy silence. Amelia stared at Jason, trying to process what he had just said. Mildred. Mildred had lost her father, a father she had probably never known. Vaguely, she remembered that Mildred's mother was in fact a single parent. What had Mildred been told? Did she think that her father was dead? Or did she believe that he had left them? God this was so complicated.

Constance was also staring at Jason, open shock written all over her face. She had not been expecting that. She'd never really paid much attention to her student's personal lives, so this had come completely out of the blue. Then again, Mildred had never mentioned her father.

For one moment, Constance pictured her own father – a tall, athletic man with brown hair, hazel eyes and a crooked smile. For just a split second longer, Constance allowed herself to remember him. He'd been a musician, and also a wizard, and he had been a very gentle man – the only exception being when someone, or something, threatened his family. Constance hastily pushed him to the back of her mind as the memories started to slip through the cracks in her shield. Now was not the time to be thinking of her own father. She needed to think about Mildred. Mildred, the girl who had, just the night before, comforted her when she had nearly broken down, the girl who had had to face the reality that there were four witches after her, one of whom was very powerful. Would she be able to handle a revelation like this, and so soon after? Her thoughts also turned to Hope. The girl had never known her own parents, so how would this affect her? Constance had noticed that Hope and Mildred were already very close. Mildred would definitely tell her friends. Then again, Constance didn't actually know that much about Hope. It had surprised her a little at first when she had realised how well Hope had turned out. Constance had been raised by her own family for ten years, and she had known that what Hecketty did was wrong. But Hope had been in Hecketty's grasp since she was a baby. She had known nothing else, and it was completely possible that she could have turned out as a copy of Hecketty. But by some miracle, she hadn't. She must have had a fundamentally very good character.

'Constance?' The potions mistress jumped a little, startled. She had forgotten that she was not alone. Amelia was looking up at her, her brow furrowed, more with confusion than concern. 'Are you alright? Did you hear what I said?'

Constance schooled her expression, hoping that neither had been able to read what she was thinking. 'Forgive me Amelia, I wasn't really listening. What did you say?'

Amelia's frown deepened. She was starting to feel concerned. She glanced over at the doctor. Jason was staring down at his hands self-consciously rather like a little school boy, his brows drawn together in a fierce frown. 'I asked you what you thought we should do. I don't think that it's really very wise to tell Mildred, at least not just yet, considering what happened last night'.

Jason looked up. He didn't say anything; he seemed to be more interested in what Constance had to say. Constance considered Amelia's words, relieved to find that they had been running the same course as her own. 'I think…perhaps it is best if we wait, at least until tomorrow. Let the girl recover from what happened first'.

Amelia nodded, pleased with her deputy's agreement. The headmistress turned back to the doctor. The man looked very interested, as if he wanted to ask what had happened, but felt that it would be impolite to do so. There was also something else buried behind his eyes. It looked a little like relief. He also looked a little guilty. Amelia had heard about doctors who had been unable to save their patients, and who spent much of their time blaming themselves afterwards. It looked like Jason felt the same. 'Tell me Jason…you came here to inform us personally of this man's death… I take it you also wanted to be the one to tell Mildred?'

Jason hesitated. He had never been quite sure why he had had such a strong desire to be the barer of such bad news. He felt guilty, but it was more than that. Perhaps it was because he had thought, just for a little while, that the patient was going to recover. Perhaps it was to do with what had happened just before he died. 'I…yes, I suppose you could say that. I feel responsible for what happened and I feel that I have a responsibility to inform this man's daughter of what happened'.

While Amelia nodded in understanding, Constance narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She had sensed that that was not the only reason. What was this man hiding?

Amelia took her glasses off and polished them thoughtfully on her grey shirt. It was a regular habit she was unaware of having developed. She then pushed them back onto her head, pulling her grey hair away from her face. She looked at the doctor, a long calculating look, as if she was weighing her options. Then she said; 'Jason...would you mind staying here for the night? I think perhaps it would be best if you were the one to tell Mildred what has happened. Due to certain…unfortunate circumstances, neither Constance nor I believe that it would be a wise move to tell her what has happened just yet'.

Constance felt something like alarm bloom in her chest. It wasn't that she didn't believe that the doctor's intentions were good; it was more that she knew that he was hiding something, and she was a little concerned to as why. There was also that strange feeling that she should know him. She didn't understand it, and it was beginning to irritate her. Her headache, which had been no more than a minor throb during the course of his story, suddenly increased to a sharp pain behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth, waiting for the pain to ease.

Jason stared at Amelia, clearly surprised by her offer. 'I…if it wouldn't be too much trouble then I'd be honoured. What will you tell your students though?'

Amelia had already thought about this. 'There was an incident last night, one that the school is very aware of, and your presence here could easily be explained by that'. Amelia turned to Constance. 'Constance, would you mind showing the doctor to the infirmary? It would help our story if the girls were to see him go there'.

If she saw the irritation in her deputy's eyes, she didn't show it. Constance nodded stiffly and walked towards the door. Jason glanced at Amelia, perhaps noticing the reluctance in the deputy. He stood and nodded to the headmistress before following Constance.

As they walked, neither made any attempt to engage in conversation. Jason could sense that the woman walking beside him was in no mood to talk. He found Constance's ability to keep her face almost completely blank slightly unnerving. He was usually very good at reading people, it was a handy skill for any doctor, as there were many patients unwilling to admit that there was something wrong with them, however her emotions were nearly impossible to decipher. Yet he recognised that she was in no mood to socialise by the way she kept her eyes fixed ahead. He'd learnt early on his career that almost no one could hide their emotions completely, with one or two exceptions. The silence between them was thick and extremely awkward. He had the feeling that she was resenting his presence there. He didn't blame her really, if that was what she was feeling; she could hardly be excited about the fact that his news was likely to hurt one of her students.

Constance pushed the door to the infirmary open and stepped inside. Jason followed her, immediately looking around the sparse room. He'd been called out to schools before, and he was interested to see whether this one lived up to the others. He noticed that it seemed to really just have the bare necessities. There was a cabinet at the back of the room, which probably held most of the materials. His brow creased slightly. I hope they don't run into any sort of major trouble soon. That cabinet can hardly hold everything they would need. I wonder if this is the sort of school where they believe that potions and remedies can fix everything. While that was true for some scenarios, magic couldn't fix everything. There were just some things that were too…bad to be fixed with magic. Breaks, bruises and cuts, sure, but there were some things that just had to recover naturally.

While Jason examined the room, Constance stood stiff and straight, trying to ignore the cold thrill that tickled the back of her neck as she was drawn back to the events of the night before. Steeling herself, she turned away from that side of the room just as Jason spoke. 'If you don't mind me asking, what has happened here? Amelia seemed to think that my presence here would make sense to the students in regards to that but…' he hesitated as Constance regarded him through steely eyes. 'I can hardly confirm that if they ask me if I don't know why I am meant to be here'.

Constance sighed. He was right of course. She knew her students well enough to know that they would ask him questions, and if he had no idea what was going on then that story would go straight down the drain. She only had to tell him the basic points.

She walked over and sat down across from him. She tried to ignore the knowledge that she had sat in this exact chair the night before, opposite a frightened young girl who would never see her the same way again. 'Last night the school was attacked by three witches…'


Amelia stepped away from the black board and dusted the remaining chalk from her hands. Then she turned to the class. The second years were sitting straight and bright eyed. This lesson was a continuation of the previous class, one that involved a mix of non-verbal and elemental magic. Each student had an object in front of them that represented an element. They had had several days to practise a charm to present to the class, and they were all brimming with a mixture of eagerness, anticipation and nervousness.

Mildred sat in her usual seat, beside the window. There was a glass of clear water on the desk in front of her. She drummed her fingers nervously on the worn desk wood, bitting her lip. After all that had happened, all her practise had gone out the window. Hope sat beside her, her expression a careful mix of bewilderment and curiosity. There was a single lit candle on her desk. The expression she wore was crafted from what she knew her fellow class mates would expect her to feel. Of course, none of them had any way of knowing that she was miles ahead of them when it came to this sort of spell. She had memorised this before they had even begun going to Cackle's.

'Now, does anyone want to remind the rest of us about what these objects are for?' asked Miss Cackle, looking around at her students expectantly.

If Ethel had moved any quicker it was likely that her hand would have been fried by friction. Amelia nodded. 'Yes Ethel'.

Grinning triumphantly, Ethel began to recite the words she had learnt by heart. 'All magic comes from somewhere. You can't bring magic into being without taking it from somewhere else. It's the opposite of banishing something; when you're banishing something you're sending it to somewhere else. For instance, if you conjured a chair, that chair would have had to come from somewhere. It's the same with elemental magic. Eventually, you can learn to perform elemental magic by using the miniscule atoms in the air. Fire can be conjured by manipulating the atoms on an object, or the particles in the air, to rub together, increasing the friction until sparks form, which can then be increased'. Ethel took a deep breath; she was aware that she was elaborating to the extreme, but she was enjoying the looks of deep annoyance on her classmate's faces and Miss Cackle's impressed one. 'Basically, these objects are here to provide us a source'.

Amelia smiled. 'Very good Ethel. Perhaps you would like to begin the presentations?'

Ethel smirked and extended her hand to the lump of rock sitting in front of her. Concentrating hard, she touched it lightly on the top. A spark jumped from her finger to the rock. The surface of the rock shifted inwards and twisted, bending in on itself. After a moment, the rock formed a small, nearly perfect replica of a witch's broom. Ethel let out a small sigh of relief. She had spent hours memorizing the exact shape of her own broom. For one moment, she'd nearly forgotten it.

Miss Cackle led the grudging applause. 'Well done Ethel! Almost a perfect copy!' Amelia looked around the room, searching for any volunteers. Everyone shrank in their seats feeling their confidence slip away at the sight of Ethel's transformed rock. Finally, Amelia's eyes landed on Mildred. 'Mildred, how about you?'

Mildred swallowed and groaned internally. Just my luck. She stared at her glass of water for a moment, calling the spell to mind. The problem, she had quickly found while practising wasn't performing the spell, it was keeping her mind focused on the object she wanted it to reflect. More than once she had ended up with some strange version of HB and Tabby. Mildred had also been given one of the more difficult elements, as she had to find a way to make sure that whatever she made stayed in that form. Miss Cackle had kindly previously suggested solidifying the liquid particles to from some sort of ice sculpture.

'Pretend it's something you're going to draw'. Hope's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

'What?' just so that no one would notice anything, Mildred extended her hand over the glass of water and let a couple of sparks dance across her palm, letting the spell seep to the pads of her fingers.

'You're a good drawer Millie; imagine that what you're trying to do is simply a drawing on a piece of paper'.

Briefly, Mildred wondered how Hope knew that she could draw. She shot a quick glance upwards and was slightly reassured to see that Miss Cackle was still smiling patiently. Closing her eyes, she smoothed all thought from her mind, imagining that it was a pristine white canvas. In her imagination, she picked up a brush, and began to paint. The spell flowed from her fingertips as the mental brush moved up and down the canvas, painting the picture she had spent so long memorising. Finally, as she completed the picture in her mind, she leaned forwards slightly, eyes still closed, and breathed on the object floating in front of her. There was a faint 'clink' and Mildred felt that it was safe to open her eyes. Her sigh of relief was drowned out by the collective gasp from the rest of the class.

Resting in Mildred's glass was a perfect ice replica of a rose in full bloom. The stem was long and slender, dotted here and there with several deadly looking thorns, and two leaves curling delicately from the centre of the stem. The lush petals were spread wide so that you could see right down into the crystallised centre. The light played in the crystal, sending darts of colour up and down the sculpture. Mildred found herself smiling. She didn't think she had ever been more proud of a piece of magic.

Amelia blinked several times to wipe the look of surprise from her face. She had been prepared for Mildred to not be able to do it, simply because of what had happened the night before. In fact, when Mildred had first entered the class room Amelia had taken her aside and asked whether she wanted to sit out. Mildred had declined, her jaw set with an expression of fierce determination Amelia didn't often see from her. It seemed that the girl had once again managed to surprise her. 'Well done Mildred! It's beautiful!'

Mildred closed her eyes and let her body relax back into the chair. 'Well done Millie'. Hope's voice was impressed and also very amused.

'Thanks for the suggestion. I probably wouldn't have been able to do it otherwise'.

Amelia turned to Hope. 'Hope? Did you learn any of this?' when Hope nodded Amelia smiled encouragingly. 'Would you like to try?'

Hope hesitated, but only for a moment. Instinct and memory was taking over, twisting Miss Cackle's voice into a sarcastic threatening tone. Swallowing hard, Hope raised her hand so that it rested just over the flame, close enough that she could feel the heat, palm up. Then, concentrating hard, she let her hand fall slowly. The candle flame made contact with her skin, licking under the back of her hand onto her palm, dancing along her fingers. Amelia swallowed as Hope raised her hand again, the flames still curling over her skin. She knew how risky this type of elemental magic was. The slightest slip in concentration and Hope would be left with a severally burned hand. Amelia had had very little time to talk to Hope, and the only private conversation between them had taken place when she had accompanied Constance that morning. Hope had struck her as a very reserved girl, not surprising given what had happened to her. Constance had informed her that Hope would be miles ahead when it came to her skills in witchcraft, yet the headmistress couldn't help but be a little concerned.

Mildred watched with a mixture of fascination and worry as the flames completely encased Hope's hand, turning it into a flaming gauntlet. The flames moved then, dancing over her wrist and down towards her elbow. The flames were nearly white, tinged with orange and yellow around the edges. Hope's eyes had taken on a glazed look, and she was staring at the rising fire as if her very life counted on them continuing to move. Quite suddenly, Mildred realised that Hope had completely forgotten where she was. In her mind, her life probably did depend on what was happening. And she would probably continue until the flames encased her whole body.

Mildred shot a quick glance around the class. Everyone was staring at Hope, transfixed by the fire. Mildred didn't know what else to do, so she reached under the table and gripped Hope's other hand and squeezed it tightly. Immediately, Hope blinked, snapping out of her strange trance just as the fire reached her elbow. She clenched her fist and the fire winked out of existence, almost as if it had never been there.

There was a stunned silence. Enid stared at Hope's hand, now resting on the desk in front of her, half expecting to see it burned badly. Instead, the skin was completely unmarred. It was almost as if the flames hadn't been touching her hand. Enid frowned slightly, remembering Hope's words to her earlier that day. Home schooled? She had believed the girl without question, yet now she was beginning to wonder. Whatever Hope had just done was obviously extremely advanced magic, if Miss Cackle's expression was anything to go by. No one that advanced could have been home schooled. And then there was the flash of alarm that had crossed Mildred's face. That brief second where her friend's eyes had darted around the class, almost as if she was worried what they would think. And, just before she'd managed to hide it, Hope had looked strangely guilty. And afraid.

So the question was; if Hope hadn't been home schooled, then where had she gone? More importantly, why did she see a reason to hide it?

And if Mildred knew the reason, why hadn't she told them the truth?


The grand old house seemed to glow as the sun rose over the horizon. The roses, in full bloom at this time of year, lent splashes of colour to a blanket of rich green hills and tall trees. The white wicker fence was low, low enough for the dog to jump, though he never ran away. A bubbling stream ran beside the fence, snaking through the back garden before unfurling back into a larger river further into the hills. A large tree stood outside the fence close to the river. A large tree house had been built in its top branches and a swing hung from a lower bough.

A young boy sat in the branches above the tree house, a make shift telescope set to his eye, gazing out towards the horizon. He had wild dark brown hair and his body was thin and lean. The rising sun lent a fire to his pale skin. The world tilted back and forth as she gazed up at her brother from her position on the swing.

They'd played pirates that day.

Constance frowned in her sleep and rolled onto her side, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her to ward against the cold. The storm that had visited the castle the night before seemed to be continuing. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead and lightning lit up the dark castle.

A large library with shelves that towered up to the roof. It was never quite silent in the library, even if she was alone. Sometimes, she could almost hear the words in the books, the stories they wanted to tell, whispers of adventures in faraway lands. She sat in the window seat, her feet curled under her as she turned the pages, entirely absorbed by the story she was reading. It was a story about a young apprentice who discovered the excitement of controlling immobile objects. Frowning, she lifted a hand and concentrated. The books began to shake in their shelves. Soon, the room was thick with flying books as she laughed in delight, sending the volumes spinning head over heels around the room.

The dream changed.

She was lying on her back in the flower bed, gazing up at the clouds. She traced the shapes with her finger, explaining what she could see to someone outside her vision. She heard laughter, childlike and delighted. She sat up and turned to face the person sitting next to her.

The dream changed.

A small white hand, her hand, held a deep purple rose. It was important. Something that she had cherished.

The dream changed.

Fire. Flames licked over the outside of the house, orange and yellow and white hot, burning everything they touched. Smoke billowed into the sky from a gaping hole in the roof, obscuring the stars. The burning wood groaned under the strain of the crumbling house. It sounded like the house itself was dying. She was standing on a hill overlooking the house, far away from the dangerous flames. And yet her clothes were singed and the smell of smoke was thick and heavy in her nostrils. A hand, harsh and clawed, gripped her shoulder, sharp nails digging through her shirt and into her skin. She was steered away against her will, even as she struggled to get back to the people left in her house.

A thunder clap roared overhead and Constance jerked away, her heart pounding against her ribcage as the last lingering smell of burning wood faded from her nostrils. Her head was pounding, the headache that had previously faded that evening having returned at full force. Breathing heavily, she put her hands up to her head and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to banish the images from her mind.

It had been three years since she had last dreamt about her childhood.

There was a loud knock on her door. She inhaled sharply and sat up straight, smoothing her hair back from her face and pulling her blanket more tightly around her. Once she was sure that her expression would give nothing away she called out, 'yes?'

The hinges creaked as the door opened slightly. To her surprise, Jason poked his head around the small opening. His hair stood up around his head and his eyes were heavy, as if he had been asleep, or on the verge of sleep. There was also a red mark on his cheek, as if he had fallen asleep leaning on his hand. He stared at her for a moment before he spoke. 'Are you alright Constance? You were…screaming'.

Damn it. This is why I don't sleep. 'Umm…it was nothing, just a nightmare'. She winced, squinting slightly as the headache continued to pound behind one eye.

He frowned, noticing the slightly pained expression, much to her annoyance. 'You alright?'

'Headache'. His eyebrows went up, and she remembered that she had said the same thing when they first met.

His lips quirked in an amused smile. 'Well, I hope you sleep well now'.

She nodded, remembering her manners just before he closed the door. 'You too'.

The door shut with a click and she let her head drop in her hands. That had been embarrassing, but her more pressing concern was this confounded headache. She couldn't even remember what she had dreamed about now.

A scream, high and terrified, ripped through the silence.

She was on her feet and tugging her nightgown around her shoulders when the door flew open and Jason stood in the doorway, his expression shocked. 'That wasn't you, was it?'

She shook her head, yanking the nightgown around her properly and moving forwards into the hall. They stood in the hallway, trying to make sense of where the sound had come from, when another scream shattered the shocked atmosphere. Without thinking, Constance reached out and grabbed the doctor's hand. 'That came from the second year dormitory. Come on'. She sped down the corridor, tugging the doctor after her as the doors to the other teacher's rooms banged open. In the chaos, she seemed to have forgotten to let go of his hand.


By the time they reached the second year floor (Constance having released his hand), almost every second year seemed to be awake.

They were all crowded around one door, and when she realised whose it was, Constance felt something like dismay. 'Alright, everyone back to bed, please!' The students hurried to obey their form mistress, scrambling away from the door and into their own rooms as fast as they could. Imogen and Davina, having arrived by then, helped to hurry them along.

Constance entered the room and stopped, taking a moment to take in the scene. Hope seemed to be having some sort of nightmare. She was thrashing around in her sleep, struggling against the people who were attempting to hold her down. Enid and Maud stood at the end of the bed, leaning on Hope's legs to stop her from kicking out. Mildred and Ethel were attempting to hold Hope still at the head of the bed.

Constance was a little surprised that Ethel was there. She had heard about the confrontation between the Hallow and the new girl, the whole school had by that time, and she knew how hard Ethel held on to something like that. However, all thoughts of that incident seemed to be very far from the young witch's mind as she attempted to get a grip on Hope's flailing arm. There was a bruise forming on Ethel's jaw, as if Hope had hit her in her sleep.

Mildred, who had been the first into Hope's room when the first scream had jerked her awake, saw the teacher's crowding in the doorways with extreme relief. 'Miss Hardbroom, Miss Cackle! We can't get her to wake up!'

Constance crossed the room and approached the girl cautiously, wary of the flailing limbs. It was very clear that Hope was having a nightmare, and considering what she knew from personal experience, she wasn't at all surprised that the girl was reacting this way. She reached over and placed her hand on Hope's forehead, concentrating hard. Hope went very still, a small whimper escaping her lips.

Amelia gestured to the four girls, and they ran over, all with the exception of Mildred, who remained stubbornly by Hope's bed, watching anxiously. Davina hurried the others to bed, despite the protests of Enid and Maud, though Ethel went willingly. It had scared her, despite her attempts to persuade herself otherwise, and she was anxious to get away from that room as quickly as possible. She rubbed the bruise on her jaw, wincing slightly, and shut the door behind her. Something had disturbed her about the experience, though she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

Constance removed her hand from Hope's forehead and the young girl opened her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she sat up. Hope's gaze travelled from Mildred, to Constance and then to the teachers standing in the doorway. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Jason before traveling to Amelia. 'Sorry. Nightmare'.

Jason raised his eyebrows. That was the second person to be having violent nightmares in the same night. Perhaps it was the storm. The doctor crossed to the bed. Amelia had taken him around to every class soon after lunch to explain his presence in the school. 'I can give you something for that if you like'. He reached into the pocket of his black woollen dressing gown and extracted a small vile of clear liquid. 'Dreamless sleep potion. It should help'. He glanced at Constance and noticed her slightly apprehensive expression. 'You can't overdose; it cancels itself out if you take too much'.

Hope hesitated. But then she reached out and took it. It might do her some good to have at least one night without vividly detailed dreams about her future. She wasn't even sure if that one had been about her future. In fact, she was pretty sure it was about her past.

She glanced up at Constance. The older woman was watching her with a calculating expression, as if she knew, or suspected that that hadn't just been a dream. Constance arched an eyebrow, a question that didn't need to be voiced out loud. Hope set her jaw, indicating that she wasn't going to answer. 'I'm fine'. She glanced at Mildred. 'Really. I'm sorry I woke you'.

Mildred reached out and squeezed her hand, deciding to leave her questions for later.

Later, when everyone had left her alone, Hope reached into her bedside cabinet and withdrew her drawing book. She frowned as she sketched the scene. She hadn't dreamt about her past, at least, the past before Hecketty, for as long as she could remember. In her dream, she had seen a young man running through a wood, holding a small bundle in his arms. The bundle had been her. The young man had clearly been running for his life, his face transfixed with fear and despair, shooting spells over his shoulder at every other step. In the end, a spell had hit him in the back. He'd twisted as he had fallen, landing heavily on his back. A woman dressed in severe black with a broom in one hand had stepped out of the trees and stood over him. The lightning had lit up her face.

That was when she had screamed. It seemed that she hadn't been given to Hecketty. She'd taken her by force from a man who had been too dazed to defend himself. Thinking about it, Hope couldn't help but feel a little relieved. It was something of comfort to know that her parents hadn't willingly given her up to a woman who had spent the next decade and a bit making her life a misery.

Abruptly, she was possessed by the strangest feeling, as if she was being watched. It crept down her spine like a cold hand and the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. Hope jumped out of bed and ran to the window, and was just in time to see a black shape dart up into the sky. Narrowing her eyes, she could just make out that the thing had been no more than a bat. She frowned. It was odd, but she had had the strongest feeling that the bat had been watching her.


Hecketty opened her eyes and leaned back against the tree she was sitting under, keeping her face carefully blank. It wouldn't do for these meagrely skilled witches to see how much that last journey had exhausted her. It would have been a lot worse if she hadn't had the foresight to instruct Agatha and her crones to carve those runes around the school the night before. Out of all her students, Hope had always been the most resourceful and one of the more determined. Hecketty had tried her hardest to squash that part of her personality, but she had had to resort to a level of control gained through administering potions, and even then she'd never really had full control. It had to be something to do with her powers. So she had instructed Agatha to carve the runes, having guessed that Hope would get to the school without much difficulty. She had been furious when she had heard that Agatha had managed to hit Hope; she needed the girl alive, not dead.

The runes had been relatively simple. The runes were of the type that was naturally warded, therefore they would be impossible to detect unless you actually found them, and that was unlikely given their position. The purpose of the runes was quite simple; namely, they created a hole in any ward placed around that area afterwards. So, the wards that Constance had inevitably cast around the school had weaknesses that could be successfully exploited.

What had exhausted her had nothing to do with the wards. She had taken control of a bat flying overhead, an unpleasant chore, but a bat had been her only option at the time. After transferring her consciousness to that bat, she had flown through one of the holes in the wards and proceeded to cast several spells around the school. Casting a spell through another creature, especially one that couldn't actually speak, was taxing, even more so if the spells were powerful ones. It ran along the same line as casting non-verbal spells, just far more complicated.

'Well?' her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh impatient voice to her left.

Hecketty opened her eyes and regarded the other witches with some distaste. Having to work with witches who lacked great magical and mental skill was tiresome to say the least. Their general untidiness irritated her as well. She was only working with them because she knew they wouldn't give up. Well, they wouldn't now. There were some advantages to being a powerful witch, aside from the obvious, and one was the fear you could install in the lesser skilled of your kind. She straightened her already ramrod posture. 'It's done. Tomorrow, at a quarter past noon, the wards will be weak enough for you to break through. You will have half an hour to do what you must, and then you have to get out, otherwise the defence mechanisms will kick in and you will be stranded. Do you understand? No more than half an hour'.

'How do we know they will be outside at the time?' asked Bindweed, or Coldstone, she never bothered to even attempt to tell them apart. It simply wasn't worth her time.

She said, in a very condescending tone, 'It will be lunch time, and I have a way of ensuring that they will all be outside when you break through'.

Agatha rubbed her hands gleefully. 'I can't wait to see the look on that little brat's face'.

Hecketty turned a hard stare on her. 'Remember, if you don't take care of Constance you won't get the opportunity to see the look on that little brat's face. And remember, you are not to kill anyone, at least not Constance. I need her alive, and you are certainly not to touch the girl'. She never said Hope's name if she could help it. It irritated her greatly. Hope had simply been 'girl' when Hecketty had been teaching her. 'Now leave me in peace, if you please'.

The three witches departed, muttering under their breaths. They didn't like the way Hecketty treated them, but they could do little about it.

Hecketty turned her attention back to the castle, silhouetted against the dark blue sky. She narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingers on the boulder she was sitting on thoughtfully. After she had finished the spells, she had taken a brief look around the castle. Hope had clearly been having a vision, and it was frustrating being unable to find out what it had been about. Then there was the other concern. That blasted doctor. She had no idea what he was doing here, but it couldn't be anything to do with that. She had insured against that long ago. But his presence here was…concerning to say the least. What she had done was not failsafe, and the longer they were around each other the more likely it was that the charms would break. Looking back, she probably should have killed him when she had the chance. She bit her lip in an unusual display of emotion. She just had to hope that the headaches hadn't started yet.


So what do you think? What do you think will happen next? What do you want to happen? Please review!

*Morgana places the plater of cookies down on the table and nudges them closer to the reader*