Two

Excitement fuelled Mildred through packing (such as it was) and farewells, but once she was safely belted up in Miss Drill's old-fashioned runabout and they were about to be on their way a shyness that was almost paralytic descended.

Not that the other girl in the car seemed to care.

She'd joined Mildred in back without allowing the other girl to say yay or nay and checked her seatbelt with a short nod that made her curly pigtails bounce around her head.

'Ready, girls?' Miss Drill called.

'Ready!' the other girl agreed with an exuberant bounce that was echoed by the pigtails. They seemed to have a life of their own, Mildred thought.

Once the car had left Box Close behind, Mildred found herself staring. Her new companion was short and stocky, with glasses framing wide blue eyes and a generous dusting of freckles across her nose. That wasn't the odd thing, though; it was the birthmark on the other girl's arm, just above her wrist. A purple birthmark just like Mildred's, in the shape of a pointy witch's hat.

'I'm Maud, by the way,' the pig-tailed one said, and Mildred's cheeks flamed when she realised she'd been caught staring. But Maud didn't seem to mind; she caressed the birthmark with a forefinger and directed another of those blinding grins at Mildred. 'Where's yours? The Mark?'

Mildred blinked, one hand going involuntarily to her forehead. 'Mark?'

'Yeah, we all have it,' Maud went on chummily. 'The Witchmark.'

'Witch?' Mildred's head spun. The boys were right, after all ... 'There's no such thing as witches.'

'Course there is. That's why we're going to Cackle's. Hungry?'

Startled at this change of pace, Mildred managed a nod. She was hungry; it'd been impossible to eat with her aunt and uncle given the atmosphere.

Maud grinned. 'Me too. For chocolate.' She leaned in to whisper, 'They say the food in Cackle's is terrible.'

'I heard that, Miss Moonshine!' Miss Drill called and Mildred cringed, but Maud was not noticeably discomfited.

'It's true though, isn't it? Miss Drill, my auntie Matilda says she was in the same year as you and—'

'OK, OK, just keep your stories to yourself, Maud Moonshine,' Miss Drill interrupted. 'And I'll turn a blind eye to whatever you're doing back there. Just you remember it won't do you any good; you'll still be starving when we arrive.'

'What does she mean?' Mildred whispered.

'Magical food is ... junk food,' Maud said. 'Which is just as well, 'cos I'm gonna...' And she closed her first two fingers and thumb together, causing them to sparkle ... and when the sparkles died Mildred's eyes nearly fell out of her head, for in the space between them there was the most humongous box of sweets she'd ever seen.

'D'you want any, miss?' Maud called.

'No thanks, Maud. I draw the line at junk food, even magical junk food.'

'Excellent,' Maud whispered. 'More for us. Dig in!'

Mildred didn't need to be told twice. She 'dug in' with fervour and her shyness vanished naturally in the process of hoking through the box for sweets she thought she'd like.

'What else do you know about Cackle's?' she murmured under cover of the newly switched on radio. 'I don't know anything.'

Maud's eyes turned rounder than ever. 'Not a single thing?' and Mildred gravely shook her head. 'Wow, that's ... but you're Mildred Hubble!'

Confused, Mildred nodded.

'Your mum was only, like, one of the most powerful witches in her year, and your dad wasn't far behind!'

'My dad was a witch?' Mildred was incredulous.

'Wizard,' Maud corrected through a mouthful of toffee that Mildred had already discovered was every bit as sticky as the non-magical variety. 'He went to Cackle's sister school—or should that be "brother"?—up there.' She pointed to the mountains in the opposite direction to where they were driving. 'That's Hellibore's, only they call it "Helliboring"—or that's what my brother says.'

'Oh.' Mildred was literally incapable of saying anything else. All she knew about her parents was that they'd died in a tragic car accident. Aunt Hilda and Uncle John had always refused to discuss the matter, and Mildred was only dimly aware of what her parents had looked like, thanks to an old and blurry photograph taken shortly after her birth.

'Did you really not know any of this?'

Mildred shook her head and Maud's round face fell.

'That's awful. I can't imagine—oh.' She pushed her sliding glasses up her nose and her other hand shot out to grab Mildred's wrist. 'Does that mean you don't know anything about HB?'

Mildred's mouth was too full of toffee to answer, but her popping eyes spoke for her and Maud sighed.

'Honestly.' She sent a wary look towards Miss Drill before leaning in. 'Miss Hardbroom. She's Deputy Head at Cackle's and my cousin says she's always the first year's form mistress. She says the idea is to scare us silly when we start so we don't cause trouble later.' Maud munched thoughtfully for a moment. 'Can't see it's made much difference to Edie. Anyway, Auntie Matilda says HB wasn't always so scary, when she was a prefect she was strict but ... nice-ish. Your mum and HB were like, best mates, so close that everyone talked about them like they were one person, you know? But when She came everything changed and HB went bad, they say. She—'

'That's enough chatter, Maud!' Miss Drill put in. Maud rolled her eyes and mouthed 'typical' at Mildred, but Miss Drill was still talking. 'We've still got a while to go and there's the robing ceremony at midnight. I suggest the two of you settle down and have a nap. Wouldn't want to drop off later, would we?'

'No, Miss Drill,' the girls parroted obediently before snuggling down. Maud conjured pillows with a simple flick of her fingers and Mildred had to force herself not to gape.

I'm a witch as well, she reminded herself once soft snores starting drifting from the other side of the car. One day I'll be able to do all this stuff too.

But as she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come, one question remained: What had really happened to her parents? And what role had Miss Hardbroom played?

It lacked but an hour to midnight and all the girls had arrived for the new term, some (most) flying themselves via broomstick and others coming by car or train. Once upon a time it was traditional for new girls to win their place at Cackle's by proving they could get a broom up and over the walls of Castle Overblow itself, but the war that ended eleven years before had put a stop to the practice, and it was never renewed.

Constance, standing at the staff room window watching the arrivals greet each other in the torch-lit courtyard below, knew that her refusal to push for the reinstatement of the tradition puzzled her colleagues, but the very thought of it made her uneasy. After all, it was she who had advised Amelia that allowing the girls to catapult (in some cases literally) themselves over the walls constituted nothing more or less than a full-blown magical assault on the academy's protective wards and should thus be discouraged forthwith. Still traumatised by the war, the Headmistress was only too eager to agree—and if anyone argued, both Head and Deputy Head could point to the fact that not one pupil had died in the years since the inauguration of the new rule. Sadly, such tragedies were all too common before, even without the death and destruction spread by the Morrigan.

The peace of the staffroom was disrupted by the cupboard doors flying open and a little lady with frizzy grey hair skewered with a conducting baton exploding out of it.

'Is it time yet? Is it time?'

Constance whirled to face her so quickly that her unbound hair flew around her like a cloak. 'There is a clock on the wall, Davina. You can read it as well as I can; does it look like the witching hour to you?'

The little lady vibrated like one of her beloved musical instruments. 'But Constance, there isn't a clock in the cupboard!'

'Oddly enough. As it's a stationery cupboard,' Constance responded drily, and Imogen Drill sent her a reproachful look.

'Never mind her, Davina.' She patted the empty seat beside her. 'You're just excited because it's a new year. A whole lot of new girls—'

'Including Mildred Hubble,' the Herbology mistress observed, her round face creasing in a kind smile. 'I wonder how she'll get on.'

'H'mmm.' It took all the self-control Constance could muster to avoid stiffening at the name. She summoned a smile; as Amelia never tired of reminding her, Herbology was closely related to Potions and it would benefit them all if the Potions mistress and the Herbology teacher could stay on good terms. Constance had no quarrel with that on principle, but the truth was she found the endlessly cheery Mistress Comfrey wearing on the best of days.

'I'm sure she'll be fine,' she heard Imogen say, with the hitched inflection that indicated a swallowed yawn. 'She's a nice kid. Seemed to hit it off with Maudie Moonshine too.'

Unseen by her colleagues, Constance's lips twitched but she spoke with her customary sternness. 'Let's hope our newest Miss Moonshine isn't as prone to trailing chaos in her wake as her relatives.'

'You would say that,' Lavinia Crotchet, the junior chanting mistress, chuckled. 'Still haven't recovered from Edith's destruction of the potions lab three years ago?'

'It was a comprehensive destruction that required a lot of time, money and magical energy to put right,' Constance said, turning to glare at the older woman.

'You worry too much, Con,' Imogen said airily and Constance's jaw tightened. As always the woman was deliberately provocative. 'Maudie's not Edie. Tilly says she's a much more cautious child by nature; I'm sure your beloved Potions lab is safe!'

'Oh, Matilda—' Constance sneered while Lavinia said, 'Unless Mildred Hubble proves to be a blunderbuss'—and the thought deprived the Deputy Headmistress of breath as she drowned under a wave of memory.

Ermen, laughing through their years at school, her bright hair an eternal beacon for her darker, warier friend. Ermen quietly putting Constance's mistakes right before Miss Broomhead noticed, because Constance was growing too fast and it made her clumsy. The supportive squeeze of her hand as they went up to the dais side-by-side to receive the cloaks that proclaimed them fully professed witches. The glow on Ermen's face as she announced first her marriage and then her pregnancy; her insistence that Constance, her oldest and most beloved friend, should be the child's godmother. And the last memories, the ones that haunted her nightmares: Ermen, incandescent as she channelled power that was not hers to use—and spreadeagled across the snow in a horrible travesty of a snow-angel, her hair a red-gold halo, dead at Constance's hand.

Ermen was many things, but she was never a blunderbuss! old love and loyalty made her want to scream at the innocent and unknowing Lavinia. How could her daughter be? But she did not; as she'd done so many times over the years, Constance inclined her head in tacit acknowledgement (but not agreement) and summoned her hat. A glance at the clock showed her it was now after half eleven; soon the girls would be coming down and the staff would need to be in the Great Hall to greet them.

'Miss Cackle will be with us shortly; I suggest we move this to the Great Hall and check everything's in readiness. Ephedra, did you get the uniforms?'

'I did,' Lavinia volunteered before the Herbology mistress could answer. 'Ephie was away, so Amelia said—' but Constance cut her off with a wave, suddenly weary.

'Never mind, so long as it's done. And the cats?'

'Right here, Constance,' Amelia herself said, entering the room whilst waving a large hamper in front of her. Constance moved to help lower it safely to the floor. 'Actually, we may have a slight problem there—'

Constance glanced up from undoing the buckles that kept the lid in place. 'Not enough kittens?'

'Not enough black kittens,' the Headmistress corrected with a smile as Constance flung the lid back. She reached in to caress the tiny tabby kit's head with a gentle finger. 'And I think I know just the girl to take charge of this special little misfit, don't you?'

Mildred had to remind herself to breathe as Maud towed her into the Great Hall at Cackle's Academy. She felt as if she hadn't taken a proper breath all day; the increasingly incredible things she'd seen kept knocking it out of her!

First, there was Maud's own small displays of magic, which Mildred were impressive enough. Then there was the first sight of Castle Overblow, the ancient building that had been Cackle Academy's home for nearly three centuries. Mildred had always dreamed of living in a castle (not a pinky princessy castle, but a proper grey witchy one like Castle Overblow) and now it was going to happen! As if that wasn't enough, she'd found herself staring drop-jawed at the girls flying in, poised on their broomsticks with such perfect grace. And the cats! They just sat on the broomstick brushes as if that was a perfectly natural thing for cat to do! ('It is,' Maud had pointed out. 'If you're a witch's cat.')

And then there was Miss Hardbroom. Mildred chose not to attempt to define the Deputy Headmistress just yet; there was something about the terrifyingly tall, grimfaced woman who'd greeted them on their arrival that struck her as indefinable.

Miss Cackle, on the other hand ... Mildred loved her at first sight, just as she'd done with Maud. The Headmistress met her with a grandmotherly hug, her whispered, 'Welcome home at last, Mildred,' bringing unexpected tears to her new pupil's eyes. Mildred had buried her nose in Miss Cackle's shapeless woollen cardigan, savouring the rare feeling of being cherished and protected, until Miss Hardbroom urged her to get on.

'Time to settle down, girls,' that lady said now, breaking into Mildred's reverie. 'The robing ceremony is about to begin. First years, you are to sit at the front. Fenella Feverfew, make sure of it, will you?'

'That's the head of the second years,' Maud murmured as Fenella directed an older blonde girl to lead them to their places. 'Edie says that she and Griselda Blackwood are like, the school geniuses. Even HB likes them.'

I wonder if she'll like me? Mildred wondered anxiously as she took her allocated seat. You'd think she would if she was my mum's best friend—

Do you really want her to, if she did go bad? another part of her argued. She looks dead scary. She looks like she could kill. Maybe—

'All right, girls, settle down,' Miss Hardbroom ordered, her resonant voice cutting through Mildred's thoughts once again. 'I can assure you, I won't ask it again. That does include you, Edith Moonshine!'

Taking the hint, the girls quietened, all eyes turning towards the dais at the front. Mildred's eyes went round as she took it in; the great Cackle's crest hanging suspended above, the ornately carved lecturn in the centre, with the teachers flanking it at both sides. They too looked incredible. Garbed in black robes and crowned with their pointed hats, they looked tall and imposing, even the round little witch at the far left of the lecturn. Their hair lay unbound on their shoulders, thrown into sharp relief by the coloured lining of the hood on each cloak.

'Green for Potions and Herbology and sciencey stuff,' Maud whispered into Mildred's ear. 'Gold for Spells and Charms and History of Magic, that's what Miss Cackle's wearing. Runes, too. Chanting and Arts is pink. Natural Magic and sporty stuff, that's blue. That's what Miss Drill should be—'

'Shhh!' a sharp-nosed girl on Maud's other side hissed. 'Shut up or you'll get us all off to a bad start.'

Maud grimaced and obeyed as the little witch at the piano started playing and they had to stand for the school song. The tune sounded like school hymns everywhere, Mildred decided, but the words certainly weren't, sending a chill finger running down her spine as she heard:

Onwards, ever striving onwards

Proudly on our brooms we fly

Straight and true above the treetops

Shadows on the moonlit sky.

Miss Cackle processed slowly up the centre aisle, looking unwontedly impressive in her robes of black and gold, bearing not a broomstick but a staff of office; it too was gold, gleaming in the candlelight like a living thing.

She reached the lecturn and clasped it, beaming over it in a fashion that transformed her from that remote figure of a moment ago into the kindly woman who'd welcomed Mildred so tenderly a short while before.

'Well, here we are! It's the start of a new year for all of us, but it's the start of a new life for new first years, and I'm sure they're very excited for what lies ahead. But first ... The robing.'

She leaned forward over the lecturn, almost seeming to go on tippy-toes so that she could smile at the youngest girls in front of her.

'You're all wearing the basics of our uniform,' she went on. 'Our lovely traditional gym slips and shirts, but you're not properly dressed—or pupils of Cackle's—until you're given your ties, cloaks, broomsticks, hats and—last but by no means least, your cats.'

'And it is at that moment that you become trainee witches,' Miss Hardbroom added, coming to stand beside the Headmistress. 'From then on, you are no longer children. You are witches in training and you are bound, as we all are, by the Witches' Code. It is a grave responsibility and not one to be undertaken lightly.'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' the school murmured as one and Miss Cackle looked at them over the top of her glasses.

'It's late and I'm sure you're tired, so let's move on, shall we? First years, get into line. Drusilla Paddock, isn't it?' A redheaded girl several rows in front of Mildred nodded. 'You're first, dear, and Mildred Hubble, you're bringing up the rear. Now, stand!'

Perhaps Miss Cackle was right and everyone was tired, or perhaps it was just that they were intimidated at being so directly under Miss Hardbroom's stern eye. Whatever the reason, the first years got themselves sorted out and in line in record time, and the Headmistress was able to nod at her deputy.

'Miss Hardbroom, if you would.'

'Thank you, Headmistress.' Miss Hardbroom stretched out a hand and snapped her fingers; a stool materialised in front of her, whilst to one side a mistress with a pink hood was standing with a pile of black in her arms. Near her stood a positive tower of hats, each carefully inserted into the other (Like ice cream cones! Mildred thought)—and then there was a hamper. A hamper that seemed to be making noises.

'Drusilla Paddock!' Miss Hardbroom called and while Drusilla was being robed Mildred took advantage of the mistress's distraction to whisper, 'What's in the basket?' to Maud.

Her friend smiled, her eyes sparkling. 'Why, Millie, it's our cats, of course!'

'We get cats?' Once again, Mildred thought there just didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air today.

'Of course we do. Where'd you think the others got them, earlier?'

'From home,' Mildred answered numbly, her eyes fixed longingly on the front where Miss Cackle was gently lowering an adorably sooty kitten with huge green eyes into Drusilla's waiting hands.

'It's tradition,' Maud explained as they shuffled forward. 'Even witches' cats need training, and where better to train them than here, at Cackle's?'

Unsurprisingly, Mildred had no answer to that. Her entire attention was fixed on the front to where girl after girl was robed, hatted, and given one of those gorgeous kittens for her very own. Her spirits soared; she'd always wanted a cat but Aunt Hilda would never hear of it.

'Nasty creepy things,' she'd say with a shake of her head. 'Especially them black ones.'

But Mildred had never begged for a black one. Oh, she loved them, of course, but she'd never dreamed anyone would give her something so lovely as a shiny, sleekly black cat. And now here she was!

'Mildred Hubble,' Miss Hardbroom announced as Maud brushed past on her way back to her own seat, a black kitten cuddled close. 'What are you standing gawping for, girl? Come!'

Trembling from a stomach-churning mixture of fear and excitement, Mildred obeyed. Miss Hardbroom's hand on her shoulder encouraged her onto the stool; Mildred was startled to find that her touch was warm through the thin fabric of her school shirt. HB seemed so icy that she wouldn't have been surprised to the find the woman was literally made of ice.

But she was Mum's best friend, she thought, half-disbelieving as Miss Hardbroom carefully draped her cloak around her, lowered her hat on her head, and handed her her broomstick. The latter was purely ceremonial in purpose and taken away again as soon as Mildred rose in response to a sharp tap on her shoulder.

'Just one thing left to do, Mildred,' Miss Cackle said, smiling her gentlest smile. 'Now, there's something I need to tell you,' she went on, putting an arm around Mildred's shoulders and drawing the girl aside. 'Something very important.' She paused and Mildred's heart thumped painfully in her chest; was the Headmistress about to say that they were mistaken? That Mildred couldn't have a cat? That she couldn't stay and become a witch?

'Yes, Miss Cackle?' she prompted when the older woman hesitated.

For answer, Miss Cackle lifted a hand and stroked a flyaway tendril of hair behind Mildred's ear. 'You lived so long away from our world, my dear. I think you understand better than anyone else here what it's like to be the outsider. To be different. And that is why I have chosen you for our last kitten. This little one was the runt of the litter. He isn't very big,' Miss Cackle went on, drawing Mildred closer to the hamper from which a single solitary cry now sounded. 'I don't think he's very brave, he hasn't tried to get out. He isn't even black—'

'He's tabby!' Mildred breathed as she looked into the hamper and saw the minuscule kitten cowering within. 'Oh, look at him. Oh, Miss Cackle, is he really mine?'

Miss Cackle's eyes were very bright behind her glasses. She crouched to lift the kitten, but instead of waiting as the other girls had done, Mildred knelt beside her. She heard Miss Hardbroom sniff in disapproval behind her, but just then she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was giving the frightened kitten waiting alone in that hamper the reassurance he so obviously craved. She put a hand into the hamper and ran a finger down the kitten's black spine.

'Can I—?'

'Of course you can, dear. He's yours!'

Mildred extended her fingers underneath the tiny soft striped body and lifted him carefully until she was able to tuck the kitten into the safety of her cloak. Even then she could feel him shake.

'Poor kitty, he's so scared—'

'You'll have to help him get over that,' Miss Hardbroom observed as she helped Miss Cackle upright. 'A witch's cat must be absolutely fearless.' Her eyes bored into Mildred and the girl lifted her chin.

'He'll do it. He will, and so will I, you'll see!'

There was an indrawn breath from the rest of the school and even Miss Cackle sent her deputy a wary sideways glance.

But Miss Hardbroom seemed oddly amused. 'See that you do, Mildred Hubble. Just see that you do.' She indicated the other first years. 'Go.'

Realising that in this case discretion was unquestionably the better part of valour, Mildred obeyed. When they were dismissed at last, Mildred Hubble and her tabby kitten went to bed, happier than they'd ever been.

TBC.

These first two chapters were written in two days, thanks muchly to the incomparable Em for being the unwitting inspiration! ;) I love this idea, I really do, and I'm excited by it and hope that if you've got this far you're excited too. BUT ... a bit of feedback goes a long way and will keep me on track, especially over the next weeks as work piles up once again. In the meantime, I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter out this week!