A/N: Thank you sooooo much to everyone that read and reviewed! Glad that you guys are enjoying the little journey that I've taken us all on, I feel like a wee tour guide.

Again, you all know the drill by now! Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes and enjoy ;)

This installment is a mixture of flashbacks, nightmares and Constance' (well technically my) twisted imagination, so scenes may seem confusing or not right! This world is not based in reality so anything can happen and I hope that the characters don't appear too OOC! Still trying to keep true to the original based characters with the exception of my own created characters...

*Another dark chapter* Just to be on the safe side, I've changed the rating. Not over detailed but I try to do everything in taste and there are suggestive stuff which can be incorporated differently by you guys reading this. So well, that's my warning! (Hint: You'll cringe at a particular scene...I cringed writing it but well, there warning, number two!).

Again, I'm not exactly happy with this chapter either. It took hours despite have a mental picture and plenty of notes prior to starting this...

Enjoy

Chapter Five: There Is Only Me

Imogen felt like one of the students as she crept along the empty corridor.

A few moments later, she reached a door and gently knocked against the aging oak, she silently exhaled; unaware that she had been holding her breath. Lavina opened her bedroom door, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Is everything alright?" she murmured, voice still thick from sleep

Imogen motioned Lavina to keep quiet and gently pushed past the tired witch. The heavy door clicked shut and she leaned against it.

"We need to do something." started Imogen

"You have a plan then?" asked Lavina, remembering their hushed conversation from earlier

Imogen made a face, "Well...not exactly!"

She sat down, less than gracefully on the edge of her bed, "Constance would know what to do." she sighed looking at the non-witch who was thinking the same

"Constance has been awfully distracted...putting it politely," began Imogen, "All I know is, that we can't sit around and continue to do nothing! Is there a way to get in contact with Amelia?"

What she would not do to have powers of her own or a working mobile phone but she had neither so Imogen turned to Lavina.

"There may be a solution..." smiled Lavina

The residents of the academy peacefully slumbered with the exception of one.

Unaware to everyone, the powerful potions teacher reluctantly found unconsciousness once again, having survived one terrifying nightmare only to be thrown into the wake of another more hideous nightmare. Her room was encapsulated with a powerful privacy spell, making it virtually soundproof. Any sound that escaped her sleeping lips would simply fall on deaf ears, no matter how loud her screams or how much she sobbed for mercy. Trapped like the proverbial fly caught in the web of nightmares, the hungry spider was often the face of the past or represented the image of lack and loss of control. The spider would eventually devour her. The question was would she be strong enough to free herself from the web?

The image that she portrayed and the silence spell, if her voice could somehow breakthrough and be heard, would anyone help. Come running to her aid? She was confident, all powerful and cold which was merely a front, her mask and a tough exterior but what lurked beneath? Constance did not let any get close or past her armour and no-one ever asked or took the time, all for the exception of Amelia Cackle.

Her eyes rolled behind closed eyelids as she fell deeper into more repressed images and memories. The relentlessness and never ending torture that her unconscious mind unraveled and forced her to remember and relive. The unconscious mind continued to battle the spell. Fighting for freedom and demanding its release. A spell had been put in place for the sake of her sanity and well-being. It had been Constance that begged and pleaded all those years ago. Be damned about the consequences, she turned to the one person that she knew would never betray her confidence or abandon her.

But like all magic, the effectiveness eventually weakens before everything returns to as it was once before, there were associated risks and the foster's effect. Chaos would soon reign supreme, after all chaos can not be controlled and powerful chaos could destroy.

But even in the confines of her own room, she loathed to loose control. How could she? The mask that she permanently wore was part of her now and she had forgotten a time when she did not need to wear her armour, to always be hiding.

Morgana watched with concern for her mistress. She moved from her usual position at the bottom of the bed and sat beside the door. Occasionally, her claws extended and scratched at the heavy oak door. Constance' screaming scared the normally unfazed animal.

Her knees buckled, her arms barely had the strength to prevent her head from connecting with the unforgiving solid floor, "Not this...anything but this." she sobbed

Her mother and father, Lawrence and Cynthia Hardbroom stood in front of their fallen daughter but they were not as she remembered them. The giveaway was their eyes which once danced with love and affection for each other and their daughter but now devoid of all emotions and warmth.

Constance squeezed her eyes shut, waiting and wanting another nightmare, anything but her family that she had lost at such a young age. A tiny cry caught her attention but curiosity forced her to acknowledge this version of her parents. Instantly, her watery eyes fell onto what looked like a shawl in her mother's arms. Cynthia smiled "Our little grandson."

Constance let a hand cradle her permanently flat abdomen, she never had experienced the joys of impending motherhood. Her unborn baby died as did a part of her soul when she soon discovered that she would never be able to have children. The news itself was like a knife embedded in her heart.

"A boy?" she whispered, "My baby was a boy...a son!"

At the revelation of her lost unborn baby, she lay curled on the floor. Fresh tears trickled down her face and her only comfort was the cold floor. The only thing that was colder than her.

"Get up girl!" Screamed a familiar voice

"Please...anything but that...not him." She pleaded and opened her eyes

The image of her parents had faded and unraveled a new hell for her to experience all over again. Professor Hector Blackstein grabbed her rag doll like body from the floor and threw her into his desk, her body slammed into the solid construct before falling onto the unforgiving floor. Her body already acquiring a vast number of injuries in such a small amount of time, she wondered how much more her body was capable of being subjected too.

His hand connected with her face, her cheek tingled angrily feeling the lingering force that had graced her face.

Hector was relentless, unknown to him, like his counterpart Hecketty who preferred to toy with her victims mentally, toying with them and leaving no evidence of her work. Hector preferred the good old fashioned ways of discipline and punishment, least this way his handiwork would remain for sometime afterwards and serve as a reminder.

As powerful as Hector was, he rarely used his magic and felt a more hands on approached satisfied his sadistic needs. Magic was too easy, where was all the fun? Although, he reminded the students that entered his office of the consequences should they try to talk to someone about their ordeal and demonstrated a little taster of his powers. No-one dared speak out of turn, fearing the wrath of his anger and god-like magic.

Constance flinched when she felt his powerful hands, gently caress the cheek that he slapped. The weight of his body pinned her to the desk and he leaned into her ear "Such soft...youthful and resilient skin..." his voice trailed off hypnotized by his own thoughts of torture and pleasure

Eventually agony soaked screams left her lips; it was like music to his ears. The glee and madness clear in his voice and eyes. He truly was a monster.

Her head whipped from side to side as her heavy limbs feebly attempted to fight off the invisible forces of evil. She screamed loudly in her nightmares but in reality her voice had given out hours ago the only noise capable of escaping her parched throat was an exhausted moan. Sweat and tears collided. Her long, beautiful locks of hair now sprawled over the pillow and clung to her perspiring face. Her pyjamas tighten and constricted around her body. The sweat made the normally light material cling to her frame.

A window opened and into the midnight sky flew a bird. Attached to the leg was a desperate plea to the headmistress of the academy to return. Imogen and Lavina smiled at each other, more than pleased with their handiwork.

In another room of the academy, Mildred Hubble lay awake in bed, the glow of her bracelet keeping her from sleeping. Tabby did not have that problem, curled up in a ball near the end of the bed. She signed and toyed with the bracelet. If only the powerful potion teacher had freed her from her restraint.

Very early the next morning, Constance sat with perfect posture in the chair facing the mirror of the small dressing table. Carefully and with surgeon like precision, her glassy eyes inspected her face and applied the thinnest layer of make up to hide any imperfections that may have been noticed under the relentless and ever watchful eyes of Mistress Broomhead.

Satisfied that she met visual standards, she turned her attention to the little drawer. Unable to believe her own eyes, she gasped. Constance had been preoccupied and failed to notice her dwindling supply of ready made wide awake potion now only two vials rattled in the drawer. A twinkle of optimism danced in her eyes as she thought of Amelia.

The sad mirrored reflection told another story. The short lived optimism died and her eyes returned to that of a sad, emotionless china doll. Amelia was never returning. She would have to accept the painful truth. A part of Constance was still secretly hoping for a miracle of biblical proportions to save her.

"I need you Amelia," losing all hope, "I can't do this myself...not anymore." whispered Constance, reaching out for her own mirrored image, trying to gain strength from something, somewhere

Once again, Hecketty had summoned Constance into the office. Imogen and Lavina glanced at each other awkwardly, knowing that she was purposely isolating Constance from the other members of staff. Hecketty chipped away at her own ice maiden creation and now only a strategic tap would shatter the slowly cracking figure.

"Make up AND Perfume, Constance?" she questioned as her nose twitched

Constance remained perfectly still and silent. Hecketty smiled at her former student, it was the correct answer. She leaned closer and deeply inhaled the intoxicating scent. Constance kept her trained eyes focused on the window. She was anywhere but in this office, her own personal hell with Hecketty as the devil, himself.

She gasped loudly and flinched with paralyzing fear and overwhelming sickness. Constance cringed inwardly when she felt the wetness of Hecketty tongue taste her neck. The taste of bile lingered, tasting the disgusting bitterness. She clasped her hands together tightly to mask her shaking.

"Why are you doing this?" spoke Constance and braced her self for the punishment of speaking out of turn

Hecketty smiled, knowing that it had taken Constance a great deal of courage to find her tiny stuttering voice, "Because I can." she replied

Constance cleared her throat, "I would prefer if you would not. Hardly professional!" her tone suggested that she had tapped into some form of strength and was drawing from it

"Fight me then," she challenged, "Push me away...make me believe you do not want this."

In some deranged part of Hecketty's mind, she actually wanted Constance to fight her. She was still infatuated and obsessed with her former student, unable to forgive and forget that soft rejection but in her mind, if Constance now not as an unsure, undecided teenager would show her that she was not playing hard to get and truly wanted her to stop the never ending chasing, hunting her down then she would.

Constance looked down at the ground. Her posture showed that she could not. Hecketty laughed in her face, "You can't ever humor me?"

"It's not that I can't...I won't." replied Constance