This chapter continues straight on from the last, so you may need to refresh! Thanks so much for all the reviews and comments - they're amazing, and they're fuelling me through this in literally record time. I think I replied to everyone, but apologies and much grovelling if I missed you!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Miss Cackle acted immediately. 'I'll go and sort out a room. Girls, take Miss Hardbroom to - to our visitor, and give her whatever help she requests.' She bustled out of her office on the word, leaving her pupils and her deputy staring at each other in frozen silence.

Miss Hardbroom moved first. 'What are you staring at?' she demanded as she used her stick to push herself erect. 'Griselda – move!'

'Wh-what, Miss Hardbroom?' the Fourth year stammered.

The Deputy Headmistress heaved an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. 'I need you to show me where Miss Swoop is, if it is indeed she,' she added with a swift glance at Mildred, who still on the floor trying to untangle the unholy mess her bootlaces were in. 'I am not psychic!'

She turned away and Griselda muttered, 'You could've fooled me!' under her breath, eliciting a hastily suppressed giggle from Mildred as the latter finally got to her feet.

'I hope someone is bringing Miss – er – Swoop inside,' Miss Hardbroom commented grimly as they headed for the hall.

'Will you be able to help her, Miss?' Mildred asked, her anxiety displayed in her fingers twiddling with the ends of one long braid.

Her form mistress darted a glance at her. 'That I cannot tell you until I have seen her – oh, for heaven's sake!' she ejaculated as she saw tall Fenella manhandle a limp figure through the front door with the assistance of assorted over-enthusiastic First years and Jadu Wali. 'Griselda, go and help Fenella. Lay the patient down gently – gently, girls! Mildred, run up to the linen cupboard and grab some blankets – and make sure you double tie your laces before you come down again, girl! The last thing we need is you falling down the stairs!'

Mildred needed no second telling, moving with the fleetness she often exhibited in times of crisis. Miss Hardbroom mentally rolled her eyes as she laboriously knelt down next to the still girl on the cold floor.

'Was she like this when you found her?' she snapped out, shooting a fierce look at the nearest pupil, a tiny First year with a brown pixie-like crop of hair and a disconcerting degree of composure for an eleven year old.

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' the child told her calmly. 'We tried to wake her but it didn't work, so we put our cloaks over her and ran for help.'

'Very sensible of you,' the Deputy Headmistress approved with a nod, her fingers reaching for a pulse at the Pentangle girl's neck. 'Now go and get dried off.' She glanced up and frowned at the gaggle of First years remaining, clearly fixated by the whole scene. 'What are you children doing here? This is not a street show!'

'I'll move them, Miss Hardbroom,' Jadu put in hastily, doing just that.

'At the double, Jadu. Fenella and Griselda, stay where you are!'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' the Fourth years responded in dutiful chorus.

Constance was scarcely listening, all of her attention focused instead on the girl who lay before her. Mildred was correct, she noted: their unexpected visitor was Deirdre Swoop. She had distinguished herself on her last visit to Cackle's by getting involved in a magical row with Enid Nightshade, an altercation that culminated in Mildred inadvertently turning her into a chicken. Yet it was difficult to reconcile the bumptious sixteen year old Constance had met on that occasion with the beaten figure before her now.

Deirdre looked much thinner than Constance remembered, the hollows at her cheekbones and the circles about her eyes emphasising the girl's heavy bone structure. Livid scratches ran over every visible inch of skin, deep and angry against her pallor. Constance's gaze narrowed as she leaned closer to examine one particularly nasty gash across the girl's cheek, and she frowned. The unconsciousness, she hoped, was nothing to worry over: Deirdre's pulse was regular and strong, and she'd already emitted several groans that indicated she could be returning to awareness. The rest, however…

The sound of running footsteps made her look up, and she drew back as Mildred appeared, her arms full of blankets.

'I got them, Miss Hardbroom,' she panted, and Constance noted with relief that the girl had obeyed the order to tie her laces. 'What will I do with them?'

'Give one to Fenella, and help me lay the other across our patient,' the mistress instructed. 'That's it. Now go and find the rest of your class, Mildred, and staythere until you are ordered to do otherwise, do I make myself clear?'

Any response Mildred might have made was covered by the arrival of Miss Cackle, trotting briskly across the courtyard. 'The room's ready, Constance,' she puffed as she came up to them, forgetting the formalities. 'How is she?'

Constance rose slowly to her feet, using the stick as a lever, and looked at the shorter woman. 'She does not seem to be in any danger at this time,' she said in a non-committal tone. 'However, she will be the better for a comfortable place to rest. Fenella, Griselda, you've done First Aid work – Mildred Hubble, why are you still here?'

Mildred blushed, but she stood her ground, her eyes going from her form mistress to her headmistress and back. 'Please, Miss Cackle, Miss Hardbroom, I was just thinking: shouldn't we get Miss Drill?'

'We can't, Mildred,' Miss Cackle told her kindly. 'She's not in school this weekend. Now off you go!'

'Honestly, that girl,' Constance muttered as Mildred finally obeyed. 'Just because she's got her head in the clouds doesn't mean that we do. You two,' she went on more loudly, turning the full intensity of her gaze on the pair of Fourth years, 'stretcher drill, now.'

'You haven't told us where we're going,' Griselda pointed out with the easy self-assurance that often verged on impertinence as far her deputy headmistress was concerned.

'It's the old still-room behind the potions lab,' Miss Cackle interjected. 'We don't want to take her downstairs in her condition, and there's a bed in there anyway.'

Deirdre moaned, her eyelids fluttering, and Miss Cackle bent down to pat her hand, hoping to rouse her further. 'Deirdre, can you hear me? Can you tell us what happened?'

The girl moaned again, and fell back into unconsciousness.

'Clearly not,' the Headmistress sighed as she straightened up, a line of worry deepening between her brows. 'All right, Fenella and Griselda. You may move her now.'

xxx

Once upon a time, an order given to the Fenella-and-Griselda duo would have resulted in an entire unspoken conversation between the parties involved. Not on this occasion; they simply moved towards the makeshift stretcher and lifted it with a synchronicity that spoke well of the hours they had spent practising under Miss Drill's watchful eye.

The walk was short but awkward when burdened with a stretcher, given the obstacles posed by uneven floors, jutting walls, and small groups of stairs. The girls were so accustomed to the varying sizes of the individual steps that generally they went unheeded, but this time they caused Fenella to stumble. She regained her balance instantly, but a quick glance showed that Griselda had noticed.

'Clumsy plonker,' Griselda muttered, her blue eyes hard and unfriendly. 'Can't you watch where you're going?'

'Sorry,' Fenella murmured, abruptly breaking their impromptu moment of eye contact. 'It was the step.'

'It was you not being careful,' Griselda said crossly as they manoeuvred their way down the rarely used narrow corridor that ran parallel to the potions lab and ended behind it. 'HB and Cackle'd have a coronary if we dropped Swoop.'

'The door's just behind you,' Fenella put in at that moment when her erstwhile friend seemed to be about to go past it, and Griselda rolled her eyes.

'Yes, I know that, thanks,' she said caustically. 'I've been here as long as you.'

She backed into the tiny room, dark and musty from years of disuse despite the unglazed window, and the two Fourth years gently placed their patient on the narrow iron bed.

Fenella cringed when it winced ominously as Deirdre's weight settled on it. 'I hope the bed doesn't go,' she murmured, half to herself. 'It looks even older than the ones upstairs.'

Griselda said nothing. She was fussing with the surplus edges of the blanket-cum-stretcher, trying to fold them back over Deirdre, her movements stiff with unease, and her very back proclaiming her unwillingness to talk.

Fenella sighed. 'Gris –'

'Don't call me that,' Griselda snapped back.

'Just tell me what's going on,' Fenella pleaded, several weeks worth of unshed tears threatening to rise and choke her.

Griselda turned slowly, and for a split second she seemed as anxious as Fenella herself was. 'I don't know,' she whispered, and when their eyes met it was as it used to be. Then Griselda blinked, and she once again wore the cold mask that Fenella was reluctanty becoming accustomed to.

'Just leave me alone,' Griselda snapped. 'I don't want –'

She was interrupted by a series of mumbles coming from the bed, and the two girls put their own problems aside and leaned over Deirdre.

'Deirdre?' Griselda coaxed softly. 'Can you wake up now?'

'Mmmmmmnnneeeugh,' Deirdre responded unintelligibly. Her head moved from side to side, and her hands grappled with some unseen enemy. She started to wail, a keening wail that sent a shiver through the girls' spines, and the two Fourth years jumped back – but not quickly enough. One of Deirdre's clawing hands grasped Fenella's tie above her tunic and pulled.

Fenella attempted to disengage herself, but Deirdre's grip was surprisingly strong, and Fenella gasped as her school tie turned into a noose that began to tighten about her throat.

'He-' she tried, but Griselda was backing away, her eyes wide and appalled.

'Gris-' Fenella tried again as she struggled to loosen Deirdre's hold, but the resistance only seemed to strengthen Deirdre's pull, and Fenella blinked as black spots started to dance at the edges of her peripheral vision as the pressure around her neck increased.

Comequickly,HB, she thought desperately, as the black spots coalesced, obscuring her vision. Dimly, she was aware that someone – could it be Griselda? - was shouting, and trying to move her hands, but the roaring sound that filled her ears was too loud, and the darkness too enticing…

xxx

When Fenella began to emerge from her tunnel of unconsciousness, it was to a chorus of cacophonous noise that made her momentarily wish for renewed oblivion. Someone was shouting 'They're coming, they're coming!', someone was crying, and someone was demanding instant silence, now.

Fenella's overwhelmed mind latched on to the last sound, taking comfort in its familiarity. 'HB,' she murmured, still not entirely with it.

Miss Cackle's kind face came into her field of vision, its creases deepened by concern. 'Yes, Fenella, Miss Hardbroom and I are here. Are you all right, my dear?'

Fenella swallowed and grimaced as the action hurt her. 'My throat,' she whispered. Her hands shook at they went to the neck of her blouse, now open and entirely tieless. 'It's gone,' she went on numbly. 'Where'd it go?'

'We took your tie off, Fenella,' Miss Cackle told her patiently. 'It was choking you.'

'Yeah…' Fenella agreed drowsily, her eyes drifting shut. 'Hurt.'

'Fenella –' Miss Cackle said, sounding panicked.

''S OK,' Fenella mumbled. 'Gimme minute. Tell HB to turn that yelling off,' she ordered as her head throbbed with every shout of 'They're coming, they're coming!' that came from the bed, although the volume was slowly decreasing.

Her eyes popped wide open. 'Griselda!' she croaked, remembering the look on the other girl's face. 'Is she -?'

'She's fine,' Miss Cackle assured. 'She came running for us and we sent her to Miss Bat. You'll see her later.'

'OK,' Fenella agreed, the sore place in her heart easing a little from the knowledge that Griselda had done something. She tried to move and winced as various parts of her body protested. She must have bruised herself when she fell.

'Just stay where you are for now,' Miss Cackle fussed. 'You can sit up against the wall if you like, but no more,' she added, emphasising her point with a particularly headmistressy glance over the top of her glasses. 'Come on; I'll help you.'

Fenella had to admit that she felt a little more like herself sitting up, even though her pounding head disagreed. Still, it was better than lying prone on the floor, especially when Miss Hardbroom was trying to navigate the tiny room whilst leaning on a stick.

'How's Deirdre?' she asked after several minutes of watching the mistresses confer, Miss Hardbroom nodding slowly while Miss Cackle's hands flew as she talked.

'She's not well,' Miss Hardbroom answered, interrupting her superior to look sharply at the Fourth year. 'We think she's been cursed, but it's impossible to tell until she wakes up properly.'

'Oh.' Fenella's brain churned sludgily over that information for a time before throwing up a second question. 'Who's coming?'

'We don't know,' the Headmistress answered softly. 'We don't know.'

'They're coming!' Deirdre said again, but now it was a moan rather than a shout. 'They'recoming, I've got to warn them…'

'Deirdre Swoop, snapoutofit!' Miss Hardbroom ordered. 'Come on, girl, wake up and tell us what you're talking about!'

Fenella was privately certain that tone could wake people from deep coma, and she was not surprised when Miss Hardbroom's demand was followed by a long pause, and a weak voice asking, 'Where am I?'

'You're at Cackle's Academy, dear,' Miss Cackle said loudly, slipping past her deputy to perch precariously on the edge of the bed. 'Do you know who I am?'

Another pause, then: 'No.' Fenella could see Miss Cackle's shoulders slump. 'I know who she is, though,' Deirdre's voice went on. 'She's Miss Hardbroom.'

If Fenella had been feeling more like herself, she would have laughed at that. As it was, all she could manage was a soft giggle.

'That'll do, I suppose,' Miss Cackle said, a tad grudgingly, Fenella thought.

'Why did you come here, Deirdre?' Miss Hardbroom asked, looking as formidable as ever despite her stick. 'Who are you trying to warn?'

'And what in Merlin's name happened to you?' Miss Cackle supplemented.

'The WTC closed Pentangle's,' Deirdre began, her voice thready but determined. 'They said it was because we didn't deserve to be a witches' school anymore, but that was just the start…'

She stopped to cough, and in the tiny pauses between each cough Fenella thought idly that if she concentrated enough, surely she could hear the heartbeats of the other women, so quiet was it.

'Why didn't you deserve to be a witches' school?' Miss Cackle demanded. 'Much as I hate to admit it, Pentangle's has always been top of the Witch School League Tables.'

'Because Miss P-Pentangle decided that being top in magic wasn't enough,' Deirdre explained hoarsely. 'She wanted to be top in o-other things too, like Games and Maths and music of all kinds, not just m-magical chanting.'

'She brought in non-witches, didn't she?' Miss Hardbroom asked, casting a swift glance at Miss Cackle.

'Y-yeah. We had an inspection the week after we came here,' Deirdre continued, her voice starting to shake. 'We got a warning, a-and then everyone got sick, and when we g-got b-better we c-couldn't do magic a-any m-more!'

'That's just like us,' Fenella pointed out, startled and disconcerted, but Miss Cackle put a finger to her lips in a shushing motion, and Fenella took the hint and subsided. Her head was starting to clear, and she didn't want Miss Hardbroom to notice her presence and order her out of the room.

'Did you have a second inspection?' Miss Hardbroom demanded, her expression so fiercely penetrating that Fenella shrank back against the wall.

'…Yeah,' Deirdre said, after a long pause. 'Yeah, we did. Just several days before – before they came.'

Fenella watched as Cackle's two senior mistresses exchanged a meaning look.

'Who was your inspector, dear?' Miss Cackle enquired softly.

'Mistress Broomhead,' Deirdre told her shakily, and Fenella had to suppress an exclamation, even though the lack of reaction from the mistresses indicated that they had expected this response.

The Headmistress patted Deirdre's hand in a reassuring fashion. 'Where is Miss Pentangle?'

Deirdre said nothing, and Miss Hardbroom moved as though to speak, but she was prevented by Deirdre bursting out, 'She's dead! They killed all of our teachers, and made us watch….'

The shakiness turned into outright sobbing, and Fenella had to strain to catch the other girl's words as they tumbled out of her, a flood of undammed agony.

'They used the Killing Curse on Miss Newt, … meant it … Torture… the screams… on and on…The little ones…'

Fenella listened, her quick mind putting the words together to form a sickening ugly picture of what had occurred at Pentangle's. Her stomach – already unhappy from the attempted strangling earlier – churned, and she took several deep breaths in an effort to stem the nausea. Her gasps must have been louder than she intended, for Miss Hardbroom swung to face her for a moment, and any confidence Fenella might have had that Cackle's could Pentangle's fate disappeared.

In her four years at Cackle's she had seen a number of moods and emotions from the Deputy Headmistress. She had seen exasperation, fury, wry amusement, and recently, exhaustion. She had seen her quail when confronted with Mistress Broomhead, but she had never seen her look so nakedly afraid before a pupil.

Fenella lost the contents of her stomach all over the stone floor, a profound shock in itself. She was never sick. As Miss Cackle fussed around her, trying to tidy her up, Fenella could only tremble, unable to escape Deirdre's continuing litany of horror in the background.

We're next, she thought numbly, Deirdre's voice eclipsing Miss Cackle's feeble attempts at comforting platitudes. We're next.