Thanks a million to ZeIncomparableEm and TheWorstTwitch.

TheWorstTwitch: This one is based around the 1998 series, with reference to the books and possibly the current series if it throws up new ideas/info about the characters. Also, I was reading TWW long before HP was released ('97, wasn't it?) so I do know TWW came first. My aim here is simply to take some of the ideas from HP (although as several people have pointed out, few of those ideas are truly original to JKR) and throw them at TWW and see what emerges.

I hope you enjoy! Lots of HB coming up...

Three

'Now, girls, it's your turn. Remember to measure out your ingredients carefully. Potions is not something to be messed with; if you do not exercise caution you could cause serious harm. Mildred Hubble, what have I just said?!'

Constance did not feel remotely guilty when the pupil in question jumped violently, a scared look coming to her eyes. Not even when the aforesaid jump resulted in her knocking over her empty vial and smashing it into smithereens. Exasperated beyond words that Mildred was once again staring out the window instead of concentrating on the lesson, Miss Hardbroom crossed to the bench shared by Mildred and Maud and favoured the pair with her most evil glare; the one that school tradition claimed as proof that she was actually a transmogrified basilisk. Not that Constance herself paid attention to such nonsense, of course.

'Well?!' she demanded, looming threateningly over the first years and allowing the answering silence to linger painfully. 'You don't know. Because yet again, Mildred Hubble, you have not been paying attention! When will you realise that this is not like your last school? Not paying attention in Maths is lamentable. Not paying attention in Potions could get you—or most probably someone else—killed!'

'That's not fair, Miss Hardbroom!' Maud's shrillness sent a hot stab through Constance's already aching head. 'Millie's not used to being a witch yet. You have to cut her some slack!'

'Oh, do I. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Maud Moonshine, I don't have to do anything of the sort. And to prove it, you've just won yourself a detention. Tonight. Five hundred lines of "I must not stick my nose in where it is not wanted"—and not another word or I'll double it.'

At least the Moonshine girl isn't stupid, Constance thought acerbically as Maud subsided, her eyes shooting poisoned daggers from behind her glasses. Her teacher ignored it; she was long since used to such glances, and while it was not true that they no longer held the power to hurt (she doubted anyone ever truly got used to being hated) she had learned to let them slip by, acknowledged but not absorbed.

After a final circulatory walk around the benches, Constance returned to her own desk. She could keep an eye on the class from there, and (admonitory lecture aside) there was very little that could genuinely go wrong with a laughter potion. Still, it was a good idea to get the girls trained in safe habits. She settled herself with a sigh and rubbed at the tightness in her forehead; honestly, she could swear she'd had more headaches since becoming Mildred Hubble's form mistress than in the whole of last year!

Don't exaggerate, Constance, Amelia's voice said in her head and she grimaced. It was all very well for Amelia to spoil the child and treat her like a long-lost granddaughter; she didn't have to be in her constant company, her very presence rubbing salt in a still-open wound. It wasn't that Mildred particularly resembled Ermen, it was just … Now and then Mildred would move her hands or turn her head in a certain way, or her eyes would sparkle in a manner that recalled her mother—and Constance would find herself thrown back in time, imprisoned once more by grief and guilt.

If I ever left, she admitted to herself now, watching as Mildred concentrating on adding a few drops of lemon balm to her potion, her tongue protruding while Maud hovered nearby, already her shadow as Constance had been Ermen's.

Their friendship had started here, in this very room, when their Potions mistress chose to punish Constance after the latter had accidentally broken three vials in a row. Mistress Broomhead had ordered her to remove her boots and stockings and stand on the shards of glass for the rest of that double lesson. A containment spell kept her in squarely within the radius of the shattered vials; every twitch she made simply resulted in the fine shavings being worked deeper and deeper into the sensitive soles of her feet. By the time the bell went Constance was standing in a pool of blood, tears streaming down her cheeks. Mistress Broomhead showed not a smidegon of concern; she simply dismissed the containment spell with a sharp flick of the finger and vanished. It was Ermen who helped Constance to a chair—the only girl brave enough to stay in the face of Broomhead's wrath—and Ermen who removed as much of the glass as she could before performing a healing spell.

More than twenty five years later and Constance still cringed at the memory of that day, shrouded as it was in humiliation and pain; she and Ermen had never spoken of it again. There was no point. Miss Cackle was away taking care of a sick aunt and Miss Bat—dear and sweet as she might be—was an incompetent temporary Headmistress at best. Even then Constance and Ermen had known their Chanting mistress was no match for Broomhead.

Precision in all things, that's the key to success!

An involuntary shiver ran through her. That was Broomhead's mantra, both then and years later when Constance—to her unmitigated horror—found herself under her once more at Witch Training College. By then Constance was well on the way to becoming a powerful witch in her own right, her strengths different but complementary to Ermen's, but the scars from that incident in Cackle's potions laboratory went both sole and soul deep. The young woman Constance became was incapable of rebelling against authority in any way, shape or form. Even when she discovered, entirely by chance, that Mistress Broomhead was a ringleader in a cult that believed that magical mediocrity in whatever form should be weeded out without mercy; in their eyes, such a failure merited only death.

A burst of giggles roused her from her memories and she glanced up. Most of the class had apparently succeeded in making their first potion and were laughing, giggling or chortling as it took them. Only Maud and Mildred remained comparatively sober and Constance repressed another sigh, her feet bringing her once more to their bench.

'Well?' she prompted, something in her twisting when she saw how they quailed at her approach. 'Your potion hasn't worked then, has it.' She carefully refrained from adding, you've failed.

'I can't imagine why, Miss Hardbroom,' Maud said earnestly, eyes like blue saucers. 'We did everything you said. Honest, miss.' A statement which Mildred endorsed with a single definite nod.

'H'mm.' The mistress's experienced gaze roved the bench, seeking some clue. The children hadn't failed; as far as she could see their potion had worked to a point. They just hadn't finished it. She restrained herself from rubbing that sore spot between her brows before reaching for their worksheet. 'And did it occur to either of you to … turn the page?' She did so herself, emphasising the additional instructions with a sharp tap that sent scalding colour up the young faces before her.

'Sorry, Miss Hardbroom,' Mildred offered, sending Constance a timid look through her lashes that struck the older woman to the heart. 'Can—can we try again?'

'May we, Mildred,' Constance corrected, but granted the request with a nod. 'I'm going to check on everyone else. You have until I'm finished.'

'Thanks, miss,' the pair chorused and Constance left them to it, hoping her relief did not show too obviously as she hurried in her stately way to check on Ethel Hallow and Drusilla Paddock. Their work was exemplary and as Constance checked potion after potion and found them exactly as they should be, her mood improved. Even Mildred and Maud managed to complete theirs with five minutes to spare, and Constance brought the lesson to a close.

'That was a good start, girls,' she commended, ignoring the exchanged glances of surprise. 'Keep on like that and I'm sure we'll get on very well indeed. The bell's going to go at any moment and I suggest that you consider your lunch choices very carefully.'

('What lunch choices?' she heard someone mutter, but deemed it wise to ignore it. There was no point in ruining her mood.)

A tentative hand went up and Constance tried not to sigh again. It was that girl. 'Yes, Mildred?'

'What are we doing, miss?' The brown eyes facing hers were anxious. 'It's just, if we're going somewhere couldn't you tell us now? Because I get frightfully travel sick—'

'The only place you're going, Mildred Hubble, is up and away,' Constance told her with a smirk. Ethel and Drusilla tittered and the mistress's humour vanished. Contrary to general belief, she did not enjoy sycophancy.

But Mildred was staring in frank bewilderment. Constance was about to speak when Ethel beat her to it, dripping condescension as only a Hallow could.

'Some people are so ignorant,' she said with an exaggerated eye-roll. She turned to Mildred. 'It's our first flying lesson, you stupid freak.' The bell rang as she ended and Ethel was away before Constance could reprimand her.

When Constance departed for her own lunch she carried the memory of Mildred's recoil at Ethel's words, her pinched white face, and—worst of all—the look of hurt betrayal she'd sent her form-mistress as she left the room, an indignant Maud trailing in her wake.

Mildred stood quietly amidst her excited form as they gathered in the courtyard, ready for their first flying lesson, and cowered against the stone walls in an attempt to disappear. It was futile; she was still head and shoulders above everyone else, and in any case, Maud would not allow her to fade into the back.

'Are you excited, Millie?' she asked, beaming up at friend. She was clutching her own broom in a businesslike manner, while Mildred's was leaning lackadaisically against the wall and in imminent danger of falling over. 'Miss Drill's supposed to be really good. Aunt Tilly says she was testing for the flying squad before …' Her voice dropped. 'You know, before she lost her magic.'

Mildred frowned, remembering Maud's reference to this on their drive to Cackle's. She was about to ask for more when a murmur from the others made her look up. Miss Hardbroom was flying in on her own broom, dressed in full regalia and looking uncannily like the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz.

She gulped, wanting nothing more just then than to be safely in her cupboard at Aunt Hilda's.

Maud tugged her cloak. 'You've got to watch, Mil! Aunt Tilly says that Drill was the fastest flyer—but HB was the best.' Privately, Mildred was starting to get tired of Aunt Tilly. Blithely unaware, Maud continued. 'Look how gently she's coming down, just a like a bird … I mean, did you even see her feet touch the ground? Every time I land I roll straight off.'

That jerked Mildred's attention back to her. 'You can fly already?'

'Course I can!' Maud squeezed her arm. 'I'm not a nasty snob like Ethel, but the Moonshines are old. Like, dead old. We're not swanky rich but I've been flying since I learned to walk.'

By this time Mildred was starting to regret her lunch. She was miserably certain she would make a fool of herself and vindicate Ethel's 'stupid freak' comment of earlier. Even Miss Cackle wouldn't keep a witch who couldn't fly. And Miss Hardbroom—

'Quiet, girls,' the lady herself ordered at that point. Mildred contemplated sinking to the ground for better invisibility, but Ethel chose that moment to turn and hiss, 'Get ready to fall on your face, freak.'

'Miss Hardbroom, I can take over from here,' Miss Drill interrupted, running lightly across the cobbles towards them. 'I'm sure you're very busy.'

Miss Hardbroom eyed her askance. 'Not at all. I've timetabled this—'

'Really, it's quite all right,' Miss Drill insisted with forced grin and narrowed eyes. 'I'll manage.'

The first years instinctively clustered together like a threatened flock when their form mistress drew herself up to her full height. 'Miss Drill, must I remind you that preparing for the Basic Broomstick Apitude Test is an important part of our assessment procedures for new girls. As Deputy Head—'

'I'm the Games mistress here, Constance,' the first years heard Miss Drill say through that clown-like smile. 'I know I'm not good for much these days, but I can still do this.'

Miss Hardbroom looked down her long nose at the shorter woman. 'And what if there is an accident? Some of these girls are novices.' She did not look at Mildred, but Mildred felt her words as a barb all the same. She started creeping along the wall with the idea of slipping into the castle through the double doors.

She was forestalled by Ethel saying loudly, 'Where are you going, Mildred?' and froze, turning slowly just as Miss Hardbroom said, 'Yes, Mildred. Where are you going? Come to the front where I can see you, please.'

Fairly trapped, Mildred had no choice but to obey. Miss Hardbroom tutted. 'Honestly, girl, can't you take a bit of pride in yourself? Look at you! Your hat is about to fall off. Your bootlaces are undone and your hair—did you even put a comb through it this morning?'

Feeling as thoroughly beaten as that day in the woods, Mildred murmured, 'No, Miss Hardbroom' before panicking and adding, 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom' on general principles.

Her form mistress gave her a long look before deciding to move on, much to Mildred's relief. 'Miss Drill, if you would.' She gestured with exaggerated grace.

'Before you can start training with your kittens you need to be safe flyers yourselves, girls—so let's go back to basics! It's very simple,' Miss Drill went on, holding her own broom and ordering it to hover. It obeyed (although with a noticeable lack of height) and Mildred's eyes went wide. If Miss Drill could do that with very little magic, then perhaps she—? But the Games mistress was still talking.

'You sit on it.' Miss Drill's mouth twisted. 'Miss Hardbroom, perhaps you could demonstrate.'

'Of course, Miss Drill. You sit gracefully, girls,' she added, doing so herself. 'Note the sidesaddle position, one foot neatly behind the other. It's not just how it looks; it's about balance, too.'

Miss Drill folded her arms. Mildred thought she looked as if she wanted to cry and her heart went out to her.

'And?' the Games mistress prompted. Miss Hardbroom gave a slight nod and continued.

'Broomsticks are magical objects, like our hats, but they have no power of their own. They channel ours and it can take a while for a broomstick and its owner to …'

'Bond?' Miss Drill suggested.

'An imperfect comparison but it will do. A sharp tap, like so, and tell it up and away!' Miss Hardbroom suited the action to the words and her broomstick lifted several metres higher. She flew with enviable ease around the courtyard and brought to her broom down to a carefully measured and elegant stop. 'Now you try.'

'Spread yourselves out, give yourself space to work,' Miss Drill cautioned and the girls obeyed.

Mildred found herself once again contemplating the double doors, but Maud distracted her by making her command 'hover' until her broom could reliably do that at least. Getting the confidence to dispose her long legs and arms in the fashion Miss Hardbroom had decreed was something else, and Maud was in the process of literally moving Mildred's limbs into place when Miss Hardbroom called the class together.

Predictably, Ethel was the first to be called upon to show her prowess. Also predictably, she was commended for it and it was Drusilla's turn. She too did well and girl after girl was able to successfully demonstrate a working hover, up and away, and achieve at least two metres of liftoff. Miss Hardbroom was less satisfied with their positions but Miss Drill did not allow her to linger, putting the class through their paces at a cracking rate.

Eventually, the mistresses turned their joint stare on Mildred. Maud pushed her forward.

'Go on, Millie. You can do it, you just have to believe in yourself!'

Shaking so violently that her knees were literally knocking together, Mildred ordered her broom to hover and sat on it as best she could. Miss Hardbroom clicked her teeth and instructed her to carry on.

Mildred took a deep breath and tapped the broom sharply. 'Up and away!' The broom shot off at low level and flew with unerring accuracy into the bins, where its owner was dumped ignominiously amongst the kitchen scrappings.

Bruised literally and metaphorically, Mildred scrambled to her feet, hoping that was it. No such luck. Her brows drawn together in a straight black line, Miss Hardbroom ordered her to try again.

The second attempt was marginally better, in that at least this time Mildred achieved the best part of two metres of height. However, when Miss Hardbroom told her to control the broom, everything fell apart once more and she found herself dumped painfully on the roof of the broom shed.

'Come on, Mildred, we haven't got all day,' her form mistress called and Mildred tried to obey, she really did. She crawled forward as quickly as her trembling body would allow—but when she reached the roof's edge she froze, her stomach seeming to leap from its proper place to her throat and back.

'What is wrong with you, girl?' Miss Hardbroom demanded, materialising beside the broom shed in the fashion that made Mildred's tummy flip without fail every time. This time it was too much and she was sick over the roof's edge. Thankfully, as Maud would remind her later, not over Miss Hardbroom.

That lady sighed noisily. 'I think that's enough for one day.'

Mildred could only nod in weary agreement as Miss Hardbroom helped her down with a firm hand. To her dismay, Miss Drill objected.

'I don't think that's wise. She needs to get straight back on if she's ever going to fly.'

'Miss Drill—'

'It's my decision when they're ready for BBAT, Miss Hardbroom. And in my opinion Mildred is nowhere near it.'

Miss Hardbroom had an arm around Mildred; not from kindness, the latter was sure, but simply because Mildred was still shaking so badly she doubted she could stand without the mistress's support.

She felt Miss Hardbroom begin to withdraw and for a moment contemplated the insane action of throwing herself into the older woman's arms. Had it been Miss Cackle, she would have.

'Remember what I said,' Miss Hardbroom told her in a low tone. 'Confidence and control, that's the thing. You do have the power, Mildred, you would not still be here if you did not. Cackle's is not a charity. Now you must channel it and make that broom do as it's told!'

Mildred nodded, taking her broom in a firm grip. The rest of the class went quiet, all eyes fixed on her.

'Hover,' she ordered, and the broom did. She managed to seat herself reasonably securely, albeit not in a perfect sidesaddle position.

'Go!' Miss Drill commanded and Mildred took a deep breath and expelled it with an 'Up and away!' that carried as much force as she could muster.

The broom obeyed, rather more literally than was intended. In other words, it shot straight up until Mildred found herself above not only the courtyard—itself a terrifying prospect for someone who was afraid of heights—but above the very turrets of Castle Overblow. Instinct alone made her fix her eyes on the flags that fluttered on the breeze; she knew that if she looked down on the little black figures below she would fall.

'C-confidence a-and c-control,' she sobbed under her breath and managed a wild swing. The aim was to bring to broom lower, but instead it seemed to develop a life of its own, swooping around the turrets at a speed that made Mildred scream.

Her grip on the broom was not as secure as it might have been; her hands were slick with sweat and her back ached from the awkward and unaccustomed sidesaddle position. Increasingly desperate, Mildred tried throwing her weight forward to see if that would prompt the broom to head back to the courtyard.

Once again it worked—but too well. The broom streaked towards the courtyard, towards one of the towers at full speed. One moment Mildred was high above; the next the castle walls were frighteningly near and she was coming in too fast. She could hear someone yelling instructions but they made no sense, all she could think was I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead. The sight of Mistress Comfrey's horrified face through the staffroom window seemed to agree and Mildred squeezed her eyes shut in terrified anticipation— and stopped.

Millimetres from disaster, her broom just stopped.

One moment Mildred was convinced death was inevitable. The next, she began to float gently (and safely) downwards.

'Nearly there now, Mildred,' she heard Miss Drill call. 'See if you can bring her down nicely. You've got this far; you can do it.'

The words sent a surge of warmth and strength through the trembling girl. Drill was right. She'd been terrified and absolutely clueless, but she'd managed to hang on. She'd survived. After what she'd just been through, landing should be a piece of cake.

And by now Mildred really, really wanted to get off.

Her lips pressed together in an almost Hardbroom-like line, she very gently pointed the broom downwards, hardly daring to breathe. The broom obediently started sinking and she allowed the air out in a slow breath, her death-like grip easing.

And the thing shot off again, this time homing like a bullet shot at point-blank range towards the patch of courtyard where Miss Drill and Miss Hardbroom stood. Realising that this time there would be no reprieve—she was already too close; she could see the dawning horror on the mistresses' faces—she hunched down on her broom, her eyes once again slammed shut.

Collision.

Yells.

A horrid, horrid sinking feeling, as if everything inside was draining through the soles of her feet.

Fade to black.

TBC

Whew. That was nearly 4000 words. If you've got this far a review would be lovely!

(Shameless, I know—but it does result in more!)

Next Time: Constance gets suspicious