ZeIncomparableEm: *blushes* Thanks! Apologies in advance for the lack of you-know-what. :D

Guest (and Guest? lol): Aw, I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story so much! Hope it continues.

TheWorstTwitch: Thank you for the reviews on the two last chapters! As I said, I'm using HP as nothing more than a template so hadn't made the connections quite as explicitly as you did, but there's truth in what you say. Especially Bat as Trelawney, lol. I can see that, actually…

This chapter provides a slight lull before things pick up a bit. It continues straight on from the last chapter so you might need to refresh your memories.

Enjoy!

Five

'Why—why are you asking me that now?' Constance whispered, the stricken look in her dark eyes piercing Amelia to the heart. 'You promised you wouldn't—'

'That was eleven years ago,' Amelia told her steadily. 'Things have changed. We both know there's a change of mood at the High Council, never to mention the WTC. The ridiculous new regulations show that; you said yourself they're verging on the draconian.' Amelia paused, studying her deputy. She knew this next piece of news would upset the younger woman, but she'd never inquired precisely why. 'Furthermore, since Tempe's retirement as head of the WTC we knew someone new would be appointed. This letter came this morning.' She reached into her cardigan and produced the official notification, printed on parchment as such notifications always were.

Constance eyed it as though it had fangs. 'Amelia—'

The Headmistress steeled herself against the unwonted note of appeal in her deputy's voice and placed it on the table. 'Read it, Constance.'

She saw Constance swallow as she obeyed, her hands trembling as she smoothed the sheet before her, her eyes already scanning its contents. When Amelia heard her breath hitch it took everything she had not to place a hand on the younger woman's shoulder; right now, she had to be Constance's employer, not her friend or surrogate mother.

'You understand.'

'Yes.' Constance sounded strangled. 'But—but how? Even forgetting her part in the war, she's ... Good God, Amelia, I know the girls think I'm harsh and unforgiving, but in comparison to Hecketty Broomhead I'm as flabby as Davina!'

Amelia pulled her cardigan closer. 'She has friends in high places.'

'The Hallows,' Constance spat. 'And the Paddocks and all their satellites. Why are the old families always full of such imbeciles?'

Amelia tried not to feel offended. The Cackles were an ancient family too. 'Centuries of inbreeding, my dear. You and I were lucky to escape; I, because since Hermione Cackle my family has been considered ... eccentric. And you, because—because, well...'

'Because my father's family had so intermingled with the non-magical population that the magical quality in our blood had almost disappeared,' Constance said bitterly. 'There's no need to gloss over it, Amelia, I know perfectly well what I am.'

'The most powerful witch it has ever been my privilege to train,' Amelia told her quietly. 'I know you suffered from the snobbery of your schoolmates, Constance, but that was a long time ago. At least even when the Morrigan was at its height, purity of blood was never an issue; that was perhaps our only saving grace. The Morrigan were only concerned with prowess and power, nothing else.'

'It amounts to the same thing in the end.' Constance rubbed her temples; in the dying afternoon light her pale hands looked ghostly. 'I am the exception that proves the rule.'

'Which even Hecketty realised, or you would never have studied under her.' Amelia hesitated. 'Constance, why—?'

She was unsurprised when Constance rose abruptly, her customary calm descending like a cloak. Amelia knew her deputy used it as a shield; had used it since her schooldays when only Ermen seemed able to break though. It hurt to think that Constance felt the need to use it now.

'If you don't object, Headmistress, I would like to go to Mildred before the supper-bell goes.'

'And the Register?' Amelia prodded when the younger woman turned. 'That was the point of this conversation. Hiding the truth for Mildred's sake is very commendable, but I'm responsible for the entire school. If our world is becoming dangerous once again, I have to know—I need to know without a shadow of doubt that our pupils are safe.' The Headmistress realised her hands were cold, and not just her hands; she was trembling inside at the memories of Cackle's as a sanctuary. And when that sanctuary was broken ... She shuddered. To this day she was haunted by nightmares.

And the Register was the very embodiment of those nightmares.

Constance was watching with eyes that had always seemed to see too much, even as a child.

'The Register is safe, Headmistress. I give you my word.'

Amelia's internal shaking was now convulsing her entire body. She hated to push this but it was necessary, even at the cost of Constance's affection.

'I'm afraid that isn't good enough.' She winced when Constance recoiled, as from a slap, and the words tumbled out. 'Please understand. If it was just us, I'd trust you, I'd trust you with everything and everyone ... but Constance, if there's the slightest chance ... any chance at all ... that that accursed thing could find itself in the wrong hands—'

'Then they would have to go through me,' Constance said. 'And I mean that quite literally.'

Amelia clasped her hands. 'What if you're not here? Or—or ...' She couldn't finish and Constance, watching her, seemed almost amused.

'Or dead?'

'Or dead,' Amelia agreed although the words physically hurt her to say. Some of the stiffness went out of the younger woman's frame.

'Then the knowledge of its whereabouts will die with me.'

Amelia shook her head. 'I'm sorry—'

'Is that still not enough, Headmistress?' Constance's voice was taking on the icy quality that Amelia had heard directed at the girls, but never before at her. It made her flinch; ice burns. 'I have it with me always. Furthermore, you have seen it more than often than you know.'

'But—'

'Here.' Constance reached to the bundle of keys that that were as much a part of her daily garb as her tightly coiled hair. 'This one...' She touched a key that was as average as it could be; it was neither new nor old, large or small, unduly bright or unduly tarnished. There was, in fact, nothing remarkable about it at all.

'You transmogrified it?' Amelia was both alarmed and impressed but her deputy was shaking her head.

'Not just that. The Register itself is hidden behind many spells; forgive me if I do not tell you how many. If someone manages to break through those and the half dozen or so hexes ... the Register can only be fully accessed through my magical fingerprint—or yours.'

Before Amelia could respond, Constance inclined her head in the old-fashioned gesture of obeisance she sometimes used and was gone.

The keys at Constance's waist hung heavier than their actual weight as she made her way to Mildred Hubble's dormitory, more shaken by the encounters in the staff room than she cared to admit. The confrontation with Imogen Drill was bad enough but what followed afterwards with Amelia ... She pushed it from her mind. She could not dwell on it or she would break down, and that she would not risk until she was safely in her room for the night.

Girls swarmed around her, most diving out of her way with rapidly muttered apologies as they headed for the nearest dormitory. When Constance realised that one of the girls was Maud Moonshine, she stopped.

'Maud.'

The first year looked wary, even afraid. 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom?'

'Is Mildred in her room?'

'Yes, Miss Hardbroom.'

'Is she alone?'

Maud wilted. 'Yes, Miss Hardbroom. She—she won't come out.'

'I see.' Constance glanced at her watch. 'The gong's about to go for supper. You'd better get down or you'll be late.'

'What about Millie?'

'I will take care of Mildred. Go on.' When Maud still hesitated Constance allowed her tone to harden. 'At the double, Maud Moonshine!' and the girl scuttled down the corridor as fast as her legs would carry her.

Constance watched her go until her pig-tailed head had vanished out of sight. Only when she was certain that the corridor was deserted did she rap lightly on Mildred's door.

Silence.

Constance rapped again, this time more sharply.

'Go away, Maud! I'm not hungry!'

'It isn't Maud.'

A pause. Then, 'I'm sorry, miss. Miss, I don't feel very well. Can't I miss supper?'

Constance let the second hand on the clock on the far wall tick around its face twice before she said, 'May I come in, Mildred?'

The door opened a chink, revealing a sliver of damp and suspicious first year. 'You don't usually ask.'

Constance closed her eyes and summoned every shred of patience she possessed. 'This time, Mildred Hubble, I am. May I come in?'

For a moment Miss Hardbroom thought Mildred would refuse. Then common sense (or the desire to survive the night without being turned into something amphibious) made her slowly pull her door wide and step back.

Her form mistress scanned both girl and room in silence. It was cold and damp as these first year dormitories always were, but Mildred's dampness came from prolonged crying. The room was a mess and so was the child; the very bed was pointed askew, the thin covers twisted in a heap.

Constance was aware of anxious eyes glancing at her as she took this in, but she refused to meet them until she was ready. In truth, her heart was racing and her hands unpleasantly clammy; this sort of conversation with one of her pupils did not come naturally.

Mildred took obvious fright. 'I'm, I'm sorry, miss. I'll tidy up, I'll—'

'Leave it, girl. Leave it.' Constance sent a spark of wordless magic around the room, instantly transforming it. Bed and bedclothes straightened, random socks strewn across the flagstone floor put themselves away, and even Mildred's boots shuffled until they were standing like a pair of soldiers, their laces neatly tucked inside.

It was a very minor display but Mildred's eyes were almost out on stalks and Constance's lips thinned, from sadness rather than anger.

This is what you did, Ermen, she thought. Mildred should have grown up with this. She should be learning these spells herself, not gawping like a non-magical child at a circus!

You're her godmother, Constance, Ermen's voice murmured in her mind. You promised to teach her if I could not—

'Miss Cackle and Miss Drill are worried about you,' Constance started crisply, anxious to drown those mental reproaches. 'They say you haven't been yourself; likewise, Maud.'

The small freckled face before her flamed. 'Miss—'

'Sit down, Mildred.' Constance sat on the bed and patted a spot beside her. 'Here.' When Mildred hesitated she glared. 'For goodness sake, child, you're not in trouble—for once. Just sit.'

Mildred obeyed, looking petrified. Constance refused to think how that made her feel.

'Let me see your arm.' Mildred proffered it and her form mistress took it gently, using her magic to sense what lay beneath the bruised and swollen skin with the lightest of feather touches. Mildred giggled—quickly choked off, but Constance glanced up in surprise.

'It tickles when you do that,' Mildred explained and Miss Hardbroom allowed herself a small smile.

'Better that than pain. Well, it's definitely not broken, the Headmistress was right about that.'

Once Constance released her, Mildred cradled the affected limb. 'What's wrong with it? Can you fix it?'

'Just a bad sprain. Keep it strapped,' Miss Hardbroom instructed. 'When's your bath night? Tonight?' Mildred nodded. 'Wash it gently and come to me before assembly in the morning and I'll strap it up for you. That will help it heal and allow you to get some use out of it in lessons.'

Mildred's face fell. 'But I can't do anything right with it, Miss Hardbroom. And it's not like I was doing brilliantly anyway.' She sounded worried and her form mistress eyed her in surprise; in her experience most eleven year olds did not tend to worry unduly about their schoolwork.

'Hmmm. Well, it's true that you're limited as that's your writing hand, but if you're willing there is something you could do with the time.' Mildred looked up and Constance continued: 'You've been at a disadvantage from the start. Because you didn't grow up in our world you're lacking most of the basics, the general magical knowledge that children like Maud or Ethel will have picked up without realising. A course of selected readings would help with that. Most of it would be during your free time, of course, but I would be willing to allow you to read during your potions lessons whilst we wait for your wrist to heal.' She gave the girl a thin smile. 'We do not wish to risk further explosions, I think.'

Mildred shook her head so fiercely that her ribbons gave up the ghost and slipped off the bottom of her plaits. Constance sighed and tutted, leaning forward to pick them up.

'I'm sorry—' Mildred squeaked and Constance twirled a finger, indicating she turn around. It was the work of moments for the Deputy Headmistress to tie the ends tightly and once she was done she tapped the girl's shoulder with a forefinger. When Mildred twisted to face her, she nodded in satisfaction.

'Now you're tidy—and for goodness sake, try to stay tidy until your bell goes at nine. The way you stumble around here is a disgrace. All it requires is a little effort and discipline. Maud and the others will help you if you need it.'

'Thanks, Miss Hardbroom.' Mildred picked up the ends of her plaits, examined them, and directed a toothy beam at her form mistress, who blinked. She was not accustomed to receiving smiles like that. 'I really do want to try, miss. I'll—I'll do the readings but ... what if I don't understand them?'

'Ask Maud,' Constance told her, standing. 'Failing that, Fenella or Griselda should know. Those two generally do. You could research it yourself in the library but if it's important and you cannot find help elsewhere, you may come to me.'

'Thanks, miss,' Mildred said again, bouncing to her feet. 'I feel better now. I—I think I'd like to go down after all.'

Constance was about to dismiss her to the dining hall when she paused. 'Mildred, you should know we're not blaming you for what happened during the broomstick test.'

Mildred eyed her for a long moment before blurting, 'It wasn't an accident, miss. I mean, I didn't do it without meaning to.'

'I know.' Constance indicated the door with a brief nod. 'Go on; we'll talk as we walk. This time. No, it was perfectly obvious that someone or something was in control of your stick—'

'I knew it!' Mildred burst out. 'But who? Maud says it's cos of who my mum was but ... that doesn't make sense! Whatever happened was ... ages ago!'

'People have long memories,' Miss Hardbroom said. Once they reached the foyer between the stairs and the Great Hall she stopped. 'Mildred, remember what I told you last week in class. Magic is not a toy; it can indeed be a dangerous business. However, there's no need to fear. Miss Cackle and I are watching.'

After Maud's comments that day in the infirmary, Mildred lost no time in telling her friend that she'd been wrong about HB.

'You weren't there,' she insisted triumphantly when Maud looked politely sceptical. 'She was so nice, Maudie—'

'HB? I don't believe you.'

Mildred waggled a braid end at her. 'She was. Honest. She fixed my hair and checked my wrist and everything.'

'She gave you extra work to do too,' Maud reminded her. 'That sounds like the same old HB.'

But Mildred shook her head. 'You weren't there. She was different.' She glowed with hope. 'Maybe some day I'll be able to ask her about my mum—' but Maud choked her off by clapping a hand over her mouth, blue eyes round with horror.

'Don't even think about it.' Her eyes skittered furtively across the room. 'And don't talk about it either, you never know if she's listening.'

'You talked about it,' Mildred pointed out as she ripped Maud's hand away.

'That was different.' Maud really did look anxious. 'That was before sh-someone-jinxed your broom.' She shuffled closer so they were squashed together on the narrow bed like sardines in a tin can. 'What if HB's being nice on purpose?'

Mildred pulled her grey nightie down over her knees and hugged them. 'Why would she do that? Why would anyone?'

'To make you drop your guard, of course. Think about it. If you wanted to hurt someone, and you'd nearly managed it once, wouldn't you want them to not think it was you?'

Mildred hunched down, her tummy churning. It sounded convincing. 'You're scaring me.'

'Good! 'Cos you should be scared! I am.'

Mildred felt like a pricked balloon; every light, happy feeling was draining away, leaving her flat and empty.

'I suppose you're right.' She sniffled and Tabby, curled in a tiny grey ball at the end of the bed, came to investigate. She lifted him to snuggle him under her chin, finding some comfort in the absurdly loud purrs that vibrated through her jaw. At least Tabby would never pretend to be something he wasn't.

'What should I do?' she said at last when she was sure she could speak without bawling.

Maud linked an arm through hers. 'You'll just have to be more careful, Millie. Even more than before, 'cos you heard Miss Hardbroom, she says she's going to be watching you. If you put a foot wrong—' The implied threat of that unfinished sentence sent a shiver rippling down Mildred's spine.

'I won't. I'll try ever so hard in class. I'll do those readings she wants me to do. I'll, I'll even out-Ethel Ethel, if I have to!'

Maud giggled softly. 'Well, maybe you don't need to go that far.'

'But—'

'Millie! If you start sucking up, she'll know we're onto her. She's not daft. No. Just be careful and you've got to practice flying, Mil, 'cos if you don't you'll catch it at the test at Halloween. There's no point in just … handing yourself to you-know-who on a plate. Do the reading; that's a good idea, actually. You might learn something we can use—'

'U-use? F-for w-what?' Mildred's teeth had started chattering, and not just because of the frigid autumn winds blowing through the open casement.

'For proof, silly,' Maud hissed in her ear. When Mildred drew back to stare, her friend smiled her most beatific smile. 'That's all we need to put a stop to her. Get proof she's tried to kill you—and then we can go to Miss Cackle!'

TBC

Next Time: The staff discuss, Mildred & Co. prepare for Halloween, and Ethel drops a bombshell.

Don't forget to let me know what you think. Also, any ideas on elements of HP, book TWW, or either of the tv shows that you'd like included … chuck them out.