CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mildred and Maud crept down the stairs, placing their feet with care as they navigated the many weak spots on the old treads. Despite the fact that it was approaching mid-morning, their need for silence matched the brooding hush that lay over the castle, and most of its inhabitants were still asleep – or attempting to be so.

Mildred and Maud were amongst those for whom sleep was an elusive, taunting sprite. They had huddled together in Mildred's room, listening to Tabby's comforting purr and watching the bats resettle themselves on their perch, and finding some reassurance in these ordinary things. They had grown drowsy, but the blessed forgetfulness of true unconsciousness refused to come.

There was only one place they wanted to be, only one place they needed to be, so they made their way on quiet feet through the deserted front hall and to the door of the Great Hall itself.

Maud pushed the door very gently, and turned to look at the Mildred. 'HB's in there,' she murmured, her eyes wide and alarmed behind their newly donned glasses.

For a moment, Mildred quailed and found herself longing for the haven of her cold dormitory, and Tabby, and the bats. She hated to think of how their form mistress would react to their presence now, but –

Her chin came up. 'She's there for the same reason we are. She should understand.'

Maud looked politely sceptical at this, but Mildred prodded her forward, and the other girl had no choice but to move.

The door creaked as they entered, and Maud noticeably cringed – but Miss Hardbroom, seated near the dais on which the four victims lay, did not respond with even a twitch.

Cautiously, the two girls approached, their sock-clad feet making soft sounds on the polished floor.

She still did not turn.

Maud and Mildred exchanged looks of consternation, before moving with silent accord so that each stood on either side of their form mistress.

Mildred found that she was no longer concerned with Miss Hardbroom's reaction or lack thereof to their presence. Now that they were standing so close, the four still figures on the dais were inescapable, and her eyes were irresistibly drawn to them. Muggles would have covered the bodies, but that was not the traditional magical way. Each was laid out with their cloaks folded around them, like a baby's swaddling bands, but their faces were left uncovered.

Mildred's throat closed as she recognised them, rumour turning into reality: Miss Bat, a Fifth year, the little First year, Mary – and Clarice Crow, her bright hair turned into a fiery halo by the morning light. They looked peaceful, their features unmarred by any visible sign of how they had met their deaths, and Mildred gave a long, tremulous sigh of something very like relief.

'They wouldn't have felt it,' Miss Hardbroom said abruptly, causing the girls to jump violently. 'Don't allow that imagination of yours to get out of hand, Mildred Hubble. Death was instantaneous and painless. The Killing Curse is designed to do just that: kill. Nothing more and nothing less.'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' Mildred responded automatically, before continuing with, 'I mean, n-no, Miss Hardbroom,' and she came to a stop, looking as confused as she momentarily felt, the lump in her throat growing by the second.

'I know what you meant, Mildred,' her form mistress told her with that familiar weariness.

It was the last straw for Mildred's composure, as hot tears jumped to her eyes, burning them. She looked down on the floor, studying the grooves and scratches worn by the generations, and tried not to cry openly.

A gentle, barely-there touch on her arm made her raise her head. For the first time since their entry, Miss Hardbroom was looking straight at her, her dark eyes softer than Mildred had ever seen them, bruised-looking in a face that seemed to have aged ten years since last night.

'It's all right to grieve,' she said, her tone verging on tender, and Mildred nodded before shaking her head as the tears flooded anyway, regardless of her will.

'You too, Maud,' Miss Hardbroom continued. 'I know you were close to Miss Bat.' She paused before saying, tightly, in a voice that was only just under control: 'Davina Bat deserves all the tears you can shed for her. I – she – we were never friends, we were too different for that, but she is the reason that Cackle's is still in our hands this morning.'

Mildred sniffled. 'I thought that you –' she started, but Miss Hardbroom shook her head, her mantle of dark hair rippling around her as she moved.

'Only one thing can stop the Killing Curse, and that's when a person specifically and deliberately chooses to sacrifice themselves to save another. Willing sacrifice has enormous power; it's the ultimate expression of love, and that is something that dark witches and wizards can never understand, because to them life is cheap, and love worthless.'

'So that's why you were able to fight them,' Mildred breathed.

'And that's what happened to Harry Potter,' Maud supplemented, and Miss Hardbroom nodded, and proceeded to explain for Mildred's benefit.

'Indeed, Maud Moonshine. Harry Potter's mother was given the choice: to step aside and allow Voldemort to kill her son, or to die defending him. She chose to die, and her sacrifice protected baby Harry and temporarily defeated Voldemort.'

She hesitated before adding, with difficulty: 'Something similar happened last night. Miss Bat sacrificed herself for me, and in doing so, she granted me temporary protection against the Killing Curse. Fortunately, her act combined with your show of unity to finally unblock my – our – magic, and that enabled me to reflect our opponents' curses back at them.'

'I'm glad we helped,' Maud whispered, wiping away the tears from where they had gathered in tiny pools on the bottom rims of her glasses. 'But why did He Who Must Not Be Named target us, Miss Hardbroom? No offense, but we're nothing much, are we?'

The mistress stared at the dais, at the tangible evidence and cost of their round with Voldemort, and sighed. 'Ah, that's the question, isn't it? I have my suspicions, but they are only that: suspicions.'

'What did Ethel have to do with it?' Mildred burst out.

'I don't know. I do know that she can no longer be trusted.' Miss Hardbroom's lips twisted into a parody of a wry smile at the glance the girls exchanged at that.

'Oh, I know what you're thinking,' she added in the omniscient tone that usually made them shake in their boots. 'Perhaps on this occasion I will concede the point. Essentially: Ethel revoked any allegiance she might have had to Cackle's, and Sybil disavowed her family. She's claimed sanctuary from Miss Cackle.'

'Ugh,' said Mildred incomprehensibly, too shocked to be coherent.

'Wow,' Maud muttered, evidently in like case.

'I don't know whether Ethel played anything more than a – a bit part in last night's events,' Miss Hardbroom reiterated. 'However, I am certain we will find out.' She sighed. 'As Miss Cackle would say: you must brace yourselves, girls. I fear that this is just the start, for those of you who stay.'

Maud shivered. 'At Cackle's – or the wizarding world, Miss Hardbroom?'

There was no reply.

xxx

The atmosphere in Miss Cackle's office was charged with grief, and regret, and anger. The Headmistress sat behind her desk, her fingers furiously pounding on her typewriter, whilst tears leaked in a constant but variable stream from her eyes. From time to time her body shook with a poorly repressed sob.

On the other side of the desk was Miss Drill, her usually healthy complexion bleached to a sickly sallow tone. She was putting the newly typed letters into envelopes, the task taking longer than it should as her fingers ceaselessly trembled and fumbled.

She had just dropped a letter for the third time when Amelia pushed the typewriter away, a half-written letter still in it, and covered her face with her hands, her fingers pushing her glasses so that they rode up her face and fell off, dangling forlornly by their chain.

'Just leave it, Imogen,' she said, resigned. 'I don't think we're fit to deal with it today.'

'You said we need to do it now,' Imogen responded flatly. 'The girls' parents need to be told.'

Amelia rubbed her eyes. They were hot and gritty from lack of sleep and too much weeping. 'I think this is a time for other methods of communication.'

The younger woman's eyes widened in a manner that would be comical at any other time. 'The telephone? What will Miss Hardbroom say?'

The Headmistress made an odd sound. 'Do you know, I don't think she'll care – not today. Besides, I didn't mean the Muggle telephone – or not entirely.' She peered at Imogen, a thought occurring. 'You know how to work them, don't you?'

Imogen blinked. 'Of course I do!'

'Good, good.' Amelia stared into the middle distance, trying to persuade the cogs of her brain to move. 'That's what we'll do. You can telephone the parents of the Muggle girls – there's only a handful, after all – and I' – she sighed – 'will get started on the others, using the floo.' She grimaced in distaste at the thought.

'You'll use the – the what?' Imogen asked, shaking her head slightly. 'Honestly, Miss Cackle, even after all this time –'

'The Floo Network is a magical method of direct communication across distances,' Amelia explained. 'Most uncomfortable it is, too. One must crouch at the fire –'

'The fire?' Miss Drill repeated incredulously. 'Isn't that a bit risky?'

'Magical fire, Miss Drill,' the Headmistress clarified. 'You throw powder on it; it prevents the fire from burning. Anyway, you crouch by the fire and stick your head through to – to the other end, wherever the other person is,' she ended confusedly.

'I see. It all sounds very strange, but –' Miss Drill lifted her shoulders. 'I should be used to that by now.' She began to play with an envelope, her fingers tracing the Cackle's crest on one side. 'What do you think will happen? After – after this?'

'I'm a witch, not a clairvoyant,' Amelia told her, more sharply than she intended. She repented at once when she saw how Imogen's face fell. 'I'm sorry, my dear, it's just – The answer is that I don't know. I'm expecting to lose a number of girls, at the very least; I think that's unavoidable.' She glanced at the Games mistress. 'I assume you're aware Ethel Hallow has gone, but Sybil will remain here indefinitely.'

'I heard,' the younger woman said soberly, before 'I can't believe Ethel turned on us like that!' burst out of her.

Amelia lifted tired shoulders. 'Be that as it may, she's no longer with us. I assume that she was taken away last night by Voldemort's followers.' Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. 'I shall be very pleased if I never lay eyes on that young woman again, but I will do my best for Sybil.'

'She'll be here over Christmas,' Miss Drill realised. 'Won't that be miserable for her?'

'Not if I can help it,' Amelia told her firmly. 'Now, Imogen, I have something to say to you.'

Absently, she reached a finger up to push her glasses up her nose, and frowned in puzzlement when they were not where she expected them to be. Almost at once, her face cleared and she returned the spectacles to where they should be, settling them securely on her nose and peering over them.

'Imogen,' she repeated, 'I think it might be time for you to consider if you want to remain with us. Last night was terrible, and I fear – I very much fear – that it was only a first strike. You are without magic and are thus uniquely defenceless: are you certain you want to stay?'

Imogen opened her mouth to reply at once, and Amelia raised a finger to halt her. 'Don't tell me now. I don't want an indignant reassurance that of course you'll stay. This place has never been as safe as we'd like, but it's about to get a lot worse. Take your time; think about it, and let me know.'

Imogen nodded.

'Good.' Amelia managed a smile, and rosely stiffly to cross the room to the battered filing cabinet under the large master timetable. She turned to look at her colleague over her shoulder.

'If I give you the details, could you take a walk down to the village and make those calls? Tell the parents that we'll be sending the girls home earlier than usual. I don't think the atmosphere here is good for them right now.'

Some of the strain left Imogen's face as she nodded her agreement, and Amelia congratulated herself as she used a spark of magic to unlock the drawer where sensitive information was kept. The Games mistress could always be comforted by the Great Outdoors; when she returned, she would be more like herself. The Headmistress was acutely aware that they needed Miss Drill to be as much like her usual self as possible for the funeral that evening.

'I'll go and do this right away, Miss Cackle,' Imogen promised when Amelia handed her the sheet containing the contact details of Muggle families. She glanced at the paper, and then up to meet the Headmistress's eyes.

'D-do you mind if I'm a wh-while?' she choked, her blue eyes welling up.

Amelia patted her gently on the shoulder. 'Take all the time you like, my dear.' She smiled through sudden tears of her own. 'Get some … greenery, if you can. It doesn't matter what, even if it's only a branch from a fir tree. I - I think Davina would like it.'

'With berries and double cream,' Imogen agreed with a half-laugh, half sob.

Amelia's smile remained fixed in place until the door closed behind the younger woman. Only then did she collapse into the nearest chair, her face crumpling as she thought of all they had lost.

Of Davina, who had started teaching under Amelia's Granny Cackle. Of the flame-haired, freckle-faced Clarice Crow, who would be so dearly missed by Sybil Hallow, especially now. Then there was Mary, one of the most endearing eleven year olds Amelia had seen in many a long year. Even the stern Constance had not altogether been proof against the good sense and enthusiasm of the small girl. And finally, she thought of the Fifth year girl who had died, Ernestine Speedwell. Ernestine had never been the brightest or boldest of students, but she had honestly tried…

Amelia squared her shoulders and wiped away her tears. It was time to husband her resources and put her headmistress mask on.

The next days would be difficult, and even after that, she and Constance would have to find a way of dealing with the Hallow girl. And then there were the worries about next term. She had already lost one staff member, and she fervently hoped that Imogen would see sense and not return after the holiday. Even with a potentially smaller number of pupils to begin with, could she and Constance do all that needed to be done between them?

She pulled her grey woollen cardigan tighter around her plump form and climbed clumsily to her feet, suppressing a muted groan as exhaustion came to nip at her like a worrying terrier, causing her to long for an hour of rest.

She pushed the longing away and prepared to spend some hours at the fireplace, placing the calls that no teacher should ever have to make to a parent. Then she would go to garb herself in the robes of the fully professed witch she was, and there would be the ceremony to preside over.

It was the last thing she could do for Davina and those three girls; she would not fail them now.

xxx

It was late afternoon, and the winter sun had started its slow descent into night. Inside the castle the girls gathered quietly in the Great Hall, dressed in full uniform. Cloaks had been dusted, hats straightened, and boots gleamed in the candlelight. They wore their hair down, as was usual on formal occasions, and stood in clustered in their form groups, eyes skittering feverishly at every sound, for few had recovered from the trauma of the night before.

The dais was empty. The devastated families of the girls who had died had already collected their bodies, leaving only Davina Bat to the school.

Miss Hardbroom eyed the girls from the door where she stood flanking Miss Cackle. Miss Drill stood on the Headmistress's other side, dressed in a cheerful outfit that struck a deep contrast with the dark shades worn by the witches.

When Constance protested, Miss Drill's answer had been simple: 'Davina loved colour. She told me she liked this, so I'm going to wear it.' The tone had been so flat, so adamant, that even Constance had said no more.

'Girls,' she called, her voice reaching easily all the way across the Great Hall, arresting wary eyes. 'We're going to be going down to the lake to say our final goodbyes to Miss Bat. Before we do, I advise you all to cast a warming charm, just in case the enchantments in your cloaks have not yet reactivated.'

There was the sound of murmurings and rustlings as the girls obeyed. Constance watched them, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of difficulty in performing the spell. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a First year attempt to cast three times, and she was about to go to the child's aid when Amelia halted her with a touch.

'Wait a moment, Constance,' the Headmistress murmured. 'Let her try for herself. If she fails, it's better if – ah, that's what I was hoping for.' She smiled, and Constance rolled her eyes a little as she watched Jadu Wali assist the girl.

'If we wait for everyone to help everyone else, we'll be here all night, Miss Cackle.'

'We've got the time,' Amelia reminded her with a second smile, this one wavering at the edges. 'Davina wouldn't mind.'

Constance huffed silently at this, but she said no more; Amelia was right.

Finally, the rustlings settled and the girls quietened, their gazes fixed on their teachers, and Miss Cackle stepped forward.

'We have gathered here tonight to say goodbye to one of our own,' she began soberly. 'Davina Bat came here more than forty years ago, when my own Granny Cackle was still Headmistress. In those days, chanting was considered a difficult, complex discipline, involving the teaching of music together with many aspects of magical lore and myth. As you all know, Miss Bat loved music, but she struggled with the other things Granny Cackle expected her to do. She never said, but I think it was a relief to her when Granny died and left the school to me; as you know, I am no musician!'

The school tittered awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to a humorous comment at such a time.

'Go ahead and laugh,' Amelia urged with a gentle smile touching lips and eyes. 'Davina loved to see you girls happy, and I'm sure she would prefer the sound of your laughter to any tears. She could be ridiculous, but I think she was aware of that. She was honest, even to me and Miss Hardbroom, although we must admit to being frustrated with her: she would unload her unvarnished opinion and then disappear into her beloved cupboard in the staff room, leaving us sometimes literally foaming at the mouth!'

Constance's lips twitched as she remembered one such argument, when Constance had entered the staffroom 'with authority', and frightened Davina into watering Miss Cackle along with the plants. Miss Cackle ended up being watered twice, she recalled, for Davina had insisted on re-enacting the scene before vanishing into the cupboard.

Miss Cackle was continuing with her eulogy.

'Miss Bat was a true artist: temperamental and high strung. You could never tell how she would respond to even the most casual of comments. As Fenella and Griselda reminded me earlier, she could be enormously open minded, happily conducting the choir in anything from the most traditional of chants to Amanda Honeydew's latest 'hit'. She believed that every girl could contribute, no matter how great or little her talent. And most of all, she believed in the school, and what we try to do here.' Amelia stopped, and Constance saw her take a deep breath in an effort to steady herself. 'S-she gave her life so that Cackle's might continue as it has always done. No matter what comes, regardless of what people might tell you outside of these walls, remember: Cackle's matters, and so do you. Don't let Davina Bat's sacrifice be in vain.'

The silence in the hall was absolute, broken only be the occasional rustle of cloaks, and the odd sniffle.

'All right,' the Headmistress said, her tone changing. 'It's time to go. Line up according to forms and march out to the courtyard. Mr Blossom and Charlie –'

'Charlie!' Mildred Hubble exclaimed, startled into speech.

'He asked to come,' Miss Cackle told her gently. 'Miss Bat had no family, but she was always kind to him, so he asked to come. As I was saying, Mr Blossom and Charlie will lead the procession to the lake. They, together with Miss Hardbroom and I, will walk beside the bier.'

'What will we do?' Fenella asked. 'We'd like to do something too, Miss Cackle.'

A low murmur of agreement rose from the girls, and Miss Hardbroom felt that unaccustomed surge of pride and affection for her pupils once more. Despite all her complaints, they really were good children, she thought with a warmth she could only rarely show.

'You can sing,' the Headmistress told them, smiling even though her eyes were visibly wet. 'I think she'd like that.'

'All right, girls, let's start with the school song!' Griselda called. 'Fen, Maud, take it from the top: Onwards, Ever Striving Onwards…'

Constance watched as Griselda, singing, linked arms with Fenella, their coolness evidently a thing of the past, and led the school out to the courtyard, the young voices fading as they moved.

Miss Cackle came to stand beside her, absent-mindedly dabbing her eyes with her cloak. Without a word, Constance handed her a pristine handkerchief, and Amelia nodded her thanks.

'Shall we go?' Miss Drill prompted.

Amelia sighed, tucking the no-longer pristine hanky into one sleeve. 'Yes. Let's do this.' She straightened her hat, lifted her chin, and marched out of the hall, a staunch, stout, dependable little figure in black.

Constance exchanged a long look with Imogen before they fell in behind her.

xxx

The red sun floated lower, casting streaks of rippling red, gold and orange in the lake below. The edges of the water were frozen, but the middle remained liquid, flowing westward into the local river and from thence ultimately to the sea.

Davina Bat was ready to take her final journey. For the moment, her bier lay on the edges of the lake, half floating and half supported by the skin of ice. She was lying garbed in hat and cloak, her gold framed glasses on her nose and her frizzy grey hair on her shoulders. Her hands clasped around her broomstick, and at her feet was her cauldron, much blackened and burnt. Around it twisted a holly wreath, the leaves and berries collected that afternoon by Miss Drill.

The girls were told they could file past, if they so wished, to say their last goodbyes.

'She's ready to go,' Mildred said when it was the Third's turn, one arm around a sobbing Maud. 'Look at her, Maudy. Doesn't she look happy?'

'How can she be happy, she's d-dead?' Maud choked, lifting her head from Mildred's shoulder.

'She looks happy,' Mildred insisted. 'Almost as if she's smiling.'

'I think she died smiling,' Enid put in pensively. When the other two looked at her, she explained. 'I heard Drill telling Cackle, after she was brought in. Drill said she looked as if she was smiling.'

'Maybe she was,' Mildred said. 'She deliberately threw herself in front of that spell. She wasn't afraid, she knew what she was doing.'

'M-may we all be so lucky,' Maud sniffed, pulling herself together. She stepped away from Mildred's supporting arms, and lifted one hand to wipe her nose. The other was firmly clenched along something slim and black.

'They forgot something when they were g-getting her ready,' she said, stepping closer to the bier. She looked at Miss Cackle, who was standing several metres away. 'May I -?'

'What-' Miss Hardbroom began, her arms folded across her chest as if this was a Potions lesson and Maud had asked for more pondslime, but Miss Cackle seemed to understand. She nodded, and Maud sniffed again.

She leaned down over the bier, precariously close to the lake's edge. 'Goodbye, Miss Bat,' Mildred heard her say, and she turned and was back with them, tears once again streaming down her face and pooling in the frames of her glasses.

'What-?' Mildred began, leaning forward to see, and nodding in understanding when she saw how Maud had slipped Miss Bat's conducting baton beneath her fingers, against the wood of her broomstick. 'Oh. Good for you, Maudy.'

'Yes, indeed,' said Miss Hardbroom's voice behind them, and the girls jumped and turned to see their form-mistress standing there, but looking a tad less grim. 'Very well done, Maud Moonshine,' she said – and then she was back where she was, next to the Headmistress once again.

'Bless HB,' Enid remarked. 'Come what may, she never changes, does she?'

'I hope she never does,' Mildred said fiercely. 'You can count on HB to always be the same.'

She had not intended the comment to be a dig, but even in the dimming light she could see the colour rise on Enid's cheeks.

'I said I was sorry,' Enid retorted with only a little heat, and Maud shook her head.

'We'll always be your friends, but you can't expect us to just forget about it, can you? Even if we do know you were under the influence of the virus.'

Before Enid could say any more, Miss Hardbroom called for quiet, and the girls had to step away from the bier, returning to their allocated places with the rest of their form.

Miss Cackle spoke. 'This is it, girls,' she said, her tone neither happy nor sad, but simply stating a fact. 'Miss Hardbroom is going to cast the spells that will literally send our dear Davina "into that good night".'

An indrawn breath rippled along the girls; this was magic that few of them had seen before, for Muggle burying practices were becoming increasingly common even in the wizarding world.

They became silent, waiting.

The Deputy Headmistress went to where Maud, Mildred and Enid had been standing moments before. She raised her hands, and held them there, her figure picked out in gold as the sun continued in its path towards the horizon.

Her hands began to move while her body remained almost entirely still. Her voice swelled out, every syllable rich with power.

'Inciendo!' she ordered, and several girls – Mildred amongst them – gave shocked gasps as the wooden frame of Miss Bat's bier went on fire, the flames licking slowly at first, but increasingly orange and fierce as the seconds ticked by.

When the flames were high enough that they could no longer see Miss Bat, Miss Hardbroom moved her hands again.

'Mobililectica!' she cast, and the burning bier began to move slowly in the direction of the setting sun.

A dirge began to play, and Mildred saw Maud twitch.

'It's Sybil,' the other girl mouthed, and Mildred nodded, thinking Of course.

Accompanied by the haunting strains of a song that was half improvised, they watched until the bier had disappeared, until it was only the hint of a flicker in the night. When the light went out, the keening music stopped, the last note fading with the gentleness of a dying flame. They returned to the castle in thoughtful silence, hand in hand and arm in arm. One thought recurred in many minds as they thought of the future: we must stick together, for united we stand…

INTERLUDE

This fic was always intended to end here, for Miss Bat's death and the manner of it was one of the first things I planned. However, the idea for a sequel came about partly because I realised that I couldn't possibly do justice to Miss Bat's funeral and answer all the outstanding questions in one chapter, but neither did I want the story to continue past this point. There's a reason for that. When I was in Upper Sixth/Year 13, a group from my year went to Venice on a Business Studies trip. Whilst they were there, one of them died in his sleep. As some of you know, I went to a tiny boarding school. As you can imagine, we were all devastated, and the atmosphere throughout the place until we broke up for Easter was… eerie. I've tried to show something of that here, but I don't really think I've succeeded. Anyway, this story is dedicated to the memory of James Bainbridge and Rose Fenney, and to all those who try to hold kids together when disaster strikes.

On a happier note, this story may well end up being the first of a trilogy since I've realised that even with a sequel part two will only take us to the end of the year that's covered by Half Blood Prince in Harry Potter. If I want to follow through to the end of Deathly Hallows, there'll need to be a third fic, but… we'll see. It might be possible to do it in two. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favourited, and if you've been lurking but never popped in, now's your chance. Also, if there's an outstanding question (and I know there's many!) that you'd really like to see addressed, make sure you mention it. I know the threads I'm picking up for Of Divers Hallowed Things, but there might be something I've overlooked, so don't hold back!

Until next time,

Lisa.