Hello once again! This is the next chapter, one which reveals rather a lot but also has some hidden secrets in it to be revealed later :) Hope you enjoy.

Thank you to all those who have reviewed, and for the wonderful NCD who has been a great friend and without whom I wouldn't even have the confidence to publish.

Enjoy!

Chapter 5

Constance did not speak for the remainder of the tournament; she knew without question that her words would betray more than she wished to convey. It was the unbearable feeling of knowing that her colleagues, those who would usually look to her, who relied on her and respected her authority, were now watching her, checking up on her like an incompetent child; it was that which made her feel as though she was dying inside.

She wanted nothing more than to disappear, to shimmer away into the background where she could no longer be harmed by their judgements, but the knowledge of what they would whisper in her wake held her back. She had to stay, she had to pretend that everything was all right and be the figurehead that she had to be; if that wasn't who she was, if people did not believe that to be true, then Constance Hardbroom was only the echo of a person, of someone she had been, and she would not be able to go on.

More than once tears stung her like pin pricks in the corners of her eyes, threatening to reveal the truth that had been hidden for years; that she could feel, she could cry and she could hurt just as much as everyone else. And she did, more than anyone would ever realise and more than anyone could know. Looking down at her body, Constance felt as if it did not belong to her; she had once believed that she had the will power never to fail, though now she was even a failure to herself. She hadn't cried in twenty years and at that moment, all she wanted to do was let her tears fall for everyone to see just to prove that she could.

Xxx

The moment that the final match had ended, Constance rose to her feet with all of the dignity she could salvage and walked with false confidence towards the blissful seclusion of the castle. She didn't look back, knowing exactly what she would see and not sure that she could bear the sympathy which she could feel like a force radiating from the headmistress even now.

In leaving, she knew that they would talk behind her back but she had stayed, she had shown that there was nothing wrong and walked away with her head held high; lies that needed to be told. Yes, they would talk, but speculation was better than fact. They could only whisper suspicions, wonder if there was something wrong, though they would draw no conclusions and with this she was safe.

The wooden door closed behind her and Constance could finally let out the breath she had been holding since she had left the courtyard. The pain which had gripped her body, an unyielding hand crushing ever bone in her body, was ebbing away and now all she felt was an overwhelming numbness, the weight just of standing more tiring than she ever realised it could be. She could feel, with a level of relief in herself which she found sickening, the potion beginning to work within her veins and she prayed that it would last until she could retire to her room. For now, she had a job to do and a point to prove, if anything to herself.

Xxx

Amelia walked up to the staffroom, her mind buzzing like a swarm of blazing fireflies. She was half listening to a story from Miss Bat about the artistry of Mongolian opera, but her thoughts were elsewhere, with Constance, with the truth she was afraid to discover but needed to know. She had seen pain in her deputy's eyes, hiding beneath a smokescreen of feigned normality but bleeding through in her sorrowful gaze. It was not something that she would willingly discuss, but the headmistress felt that she had to try; if she didn't, then she suspected that no-one else would.

'Davina, would you assist Miss Drill with the refreshments for the girls?' she asked. Miss Bat looked for a moment at the headmistress, her face the picture of confusion. It dawned on her, like the rising of a new sun, and her expression softened. She nodded her head with a small smile, her eyes telling her to do what she had to with an understanding which even surprised Miss Cackle.

Davina lived in a world of her own for most of the time, a whimsical spirit who lived like a bird travelling wherever the wind cared to take her; many assumed that she was lost within her mind, a sensitive soul on the brink of madness, but they were wrong. She could see what others saw, sometimes in more detail, and she could understand more about people than they perhaps knew about themselves. They said she was mad, yet she spoke only the truth.

Constance was leaning against the table, taking in deep breaths calm her furious heart, when she heard Miss Cackle enter the room behind her. She straightened at once though her mind seemed no more willing than her body; she once again had to put on her mask, to pretend to be something she wasn't, though she wondered how much longer this facade could last. Every day it grew weaker, cracks splintering what had once been an unbreakable force, and it would not be long before there was nothing left behind which to hide.

'Miss Cackle,' Constance acknowledged, surprised by how little her voice had changed in spite of everything. Amelia offered no reply, but walked slowly closer to her with that air of sympathy and warmth which made Constance's stomach turn. She was tired, though she wouldn't admit it; the last thing that she wanted was the third degree from a woman who could never understand her.

'Was there something you wanted, headmistress?' Constance asked impatiently, turning to face Miss Cackle with an expression which could have silenced thunder.

'You know very well what I want to talk about,' Amelia answered calmly.

'I do not,' Constance hissed, her voice as sharp and as bitter as venom, 'and if you insist on wasting my time with ambiguous statements then I will have to leave.' Amelia looked at Constance, wishing that she could believe such blatant lies. She could see the younger woman's defences locking into place, the inner workings of her mind plain to see as she attempted to defend the fortress which protected her soul; she was vulnerable, on the precipice of a great fall, yet still she tried to guard her honour even when it was clearly putting herself in danger.

Amelia moved a step closer to Constance and saw the flaring discomfort in her deputy's eyes.

'You can deny it until you are blue in the face but I won't believe it,' Miss Cackle assured her gently. 'I watched you at the tournament Constance, I could see that something wasn't right. Even now I can see it in your eyes; you can protest all you like, but your eyes don't lie.' Constance opened her mouth, though all of the lies she could have told seemed to choke her, constricting her throat in defiance. She sighed deeply, rolling her eyes and reaching her hand subconsciously to where pain throbbed at her temple.

'It really is nothing,' Constance insisted as she gave in and sat at the table massaging her aching head, 'I just haven't been sleeping very well.' Amelia shook her head, half amused by how her deputy continued to try to deflect attention away from herself. She could see how it pained her to be scrutinised, her every move watched by those who had always respected her. Somehow, to her, it was a betrayal of loyalty to care. She thought that by being concerned, those around her would lose respect for her; it was a sorrowful thing for Miss Cackle to watch, on top of everything, insecurity ravage a vulnerable woman, to see her try in desperation to hold her crumbling life together.

'How long has it been going on?' Amelia inquired, her voice soft and welcoming of a truth it would never receive.

'A few days,' Constance lied less than convincingly, but she knew that the headmistress would allow her some exaggeration; it was more than enough that she was talking at all. If she wished she could fold her arms and disappear into the ether, a prospect both women knew was a possibility if the situation was not handled with care.

'Even so,' Miss Cackle thought aloud, 'you looked ill, really ill. You could barely keep your eyes open but you seemed...'She trailed off, finding it harder than she had imagined to think of the white porcelain shade of death which had ghosted across her face in the courtyard.

'You seemed as though you were in pain,' she finished finally. Constance heard the catch in her voice and found herself wondering why the headmistress was even concerned. True, she had a degree of responsibility to ensure the wellbeing of her staff; yet it seemed to be deeper than that. It was something Constance couldn't comprehend. She didn't understand how anyone could care for her.

'I took a potion,' Constance stated simply, increasing the pressure on her painful temples. She begged, pleaded with her own body to at least last until the end of the conversation; she didn't think that she would be able to handle such burning embarrassment, such a betrayal of her character.

'What sort of potion would do that?' Amelia asked, almost disbelievingly.

'Indarra,' Constance croaked, before coughing painfully to clear her throat, 'an Indarra potion.'

Amelia stood for a moment, her mind not quite able to process what she had been told. An Indarra potion was the most powerful strength potion it was possible to take, using rare and potent ingredients which were widely accepted as contraband. She could not understand what would motivate Constance to take such a potion, one which was very much a last resort; Amelia could sense that the cause went far deeper than a troubled sleep.

'Why...why would...Constance, that potion-'

'I know what it does,' Constance snapped, resenting that her knowledge as well as her competence was now being called into question. 'Anyway it doesn't matter now; I won't be taking it again.' The headmistress had so many questions, so many worries and fears that her head could barely contain them all. Though she suspected that Constance was indeed relinquishing some truth, she knew that sleep was not the only thing which was playing on her mind. She had seen pain, deep and genuine, set in the younger woman's eyes. The headmistress could have asked so many different things of Constance, but there was only one thing she knew that she could ask even if the answer was not honest.

'Constance,' she finally asked, after a moment of lingering silence had stood in the stagnant air, 'who is she? Who is Adelina?' Constance's hands stopped working her forehead and froze, her entire body stiffening at the mention of that name, the name she had not, until that day, heard in years and the name which she could not bear to hear now. She had hoped that after Amelia had brought it up before that it would fade away again, a ghost dying for a second time and resting peacefully where it belonged: in memory, not in words.

'No-one,' Constance said, her voice monotone with no hint of emotion, 'she's no-one. It's just a ghost of a name, it means nothing anymore.' Constance looked up at Miss Cackle and the headmistress could have sworn that she saw the flash of a tear glimmering in the half light. Her eyes pleaded, such innocence and vulnerability shining in the deep brown pools; she had never looked so human, so shaken and so terribly mortal.

'Leave it,' she whispered, 'please leave it; she isn't worth the trouble.' Folding her arms and still holding Miss Cackle's gaze she disappeared, the echo of her plea ringing long after she had gone.

Materialising in her room Constance stumbled towards her bed and fell hard against the iron bedstead, sliding in pain to the floor as her legs became unwilling to keep her standing. Holding her aching ribs, she felt the memories of Adelina flood her thoughts relentlessly until her face was all that she could see. She saw flashes of a fresh, happy young face laughing, the sound of birds chirruping in the morning light and choirs singing songs of praise, with dark hair cascading down her back and bouncing as she ran through the grass.

'Come on Connie, catch me! You'll never catch me!'

It was as though she had no control. The tears came like an army, taking command of her eyes as they ran down her face. She hated them, the mirrors reflecting her weakness which no-one else could ever see, yet she could not stop them from falling; they had taken control and she was powerless to stop them. She cried for herself, for the imperfection she had tried so hard to avoid which now seemed to be becoming part of her, but also for Adelina.

Constance had never allowed herself to cry for her, for the girl she had lost too early on and for whom she should have helped when she had the chance. She couldn't understand why anyone could care for her, could feel anything but hate towards her, because that was what she felt for herself; she hadn't even been able to care for the person she was closest to in the world and it had been her fatal downfall.

Xxx

Constance sat at the long table in complete darkness, staring at nothing in particular as she listened to the beginnings of thunder rumbling in the distance. The clouds were even darker than the night sky, the impenetrable black of ebony or jet, gathering to capture the moon and to silence the stars as they rallied in preparation for the oncoming war. Constance sighed, pushing her long dark hair behind her ears and placing her heavy head into her hands.

The purple silk which had once been soft and smooth against her skin seemed rough and punishing as it moved across her skin, though she barely noticed. Pain had become part of her day, part of her life, but she would not let it become part of who she was. It would not defeat her; she knew that if nothing more, even if it brought about her demise.

Amelia opened the door without allowing the briefest of sounds to permeate the air. She watched Constance, like a mother watching over her child. It was hard to pretend that she did not think of her deputy as something closer than a colleague. She had known Constance for almost fifteen years; Amelia remembered their first meeting well.

She was young, only twenty years old, yet she had the maturity and responsibility of women far older than her limited years. Despite her age, she was bright and she had a way with students that the headmistress had never seen. She commanded their respect without needing to establish a relationship, instilled fear but compliance from her first day where others would simply have succumbed to the daunting pressure of a class of judgemental students.

Constance was a force, of power if not nature, though Amelia had always known that this would come at a price. She never let anybody in, never dropped the barriers which surrounded what the headmistress guessed was a fragile heart. Mistress Broomhead was the only person she had ever seen invoke emotions other than anger or frustration in the deputy headmistress, the fear in her eyes like nothing Amelia had ever witnessed. There were demons in Constance's past that had never been released, which had been hidden to torture a soul masked from the rest of the world by an unyielding expression and commanding tone; Amelia knew that there was more to Constance than the eye could first establish.

Looking out of the window now, the last light of a dying moon shining against her face, Constance appeared more of a ghost than a woman. Her porcelain skin was luminescent in the eerie rays of the night, her eyes glinting with sadness to which no tears could ever do justice and her thin arms looked as though they would snap under the lightest pressure. She was thin, no more than skin and bones beneath the purple material which barely managed to conceal the horrible way her body was wasting away, screaming out for help though her mind would never allow anyone to listen.

Amelia noted how she must use powerful spells to hide how she appeared during the day; even in her fitted velvet dress she had never seemed to lose weight. Now, under the revealing light of the moon, the headmistress could see the true Constance Hardbroom, the one that no-one else was allowed to see. She wanted nothing more than to take her in her arms, to comfort her in a warm embrace and to make everything all right for her; she would have given anything to be able to do such a simple thing to a woman who so clearly needed it. Tears prickled at her eyes as she wondered if her deputy, her friend and the closest she would ever get to a daughter, was walking the slow and painful path which led to death.

'Adelina Hardbroom,' Constance said wistfully. Amelia realised that she had known that she was watching her; of course she had. She had forgotten that, no matter how close Constance was to any sort of weakness, she was still a teacher. She was the woman who the students feared above all others, who they knew that they could never fool, and if she ever stopped being that person then Amelia knew that nothing more could be done to save her.

'She was my sister.'

Was. The word rang like a chiming bell in Amelia's head, so many meanings yet she was afraid to ask in fear that she already knew.

'Your sister?' she asked, moving further into the room and locking the door with a swift movement of her hand. Constance nodded dreamily, as if her mind was somewhere else.

'She was only a few years younger than me, but she always looked up to me. When she was younger, she wasn't...wasn't quite right. I had to look after her, to make sure she didn't get into trouble; she listened to me, and only to me. I think she wanted to be like me in a way; but when I told her that I was going off to the Witch Training College...'

She broke off for a moment, the memories of that day on the bridge flooding back and playing over and over in her mind. Her screams still echoed in her ears as she begged her sister not to jump, the cries of frustration as she pulled Adelina away from the edge kicking and screaming and held her close, promising her that she would come back for her, that she was doing this for her. They had stayed for hours, locked in each others' embrace until the sky had turned dark. Constance had whispered hushed words of comfort to her, had stroked her cheek and told her that whatever happened she would always been there. She had saved her, but at that instant she had also condemned her.

'Adelina was unstable. Her moods would change in an instant and I was the only one who could calm her down and when she found out I was going away then she couldn't handle it. But I had to go; I had to go, because otherwise...' The reason was too painful for Constance to admit. She was bearing her darkest truth, but she could not relinquish something which only she and her father knew, which he had taken to his grave; she had vowed to do the same.

'I did it for her, but she couldn't understand.'

Amelia felt hot tears rising and falling down her face. She had never known, never asked, and now she was hearing the truth it was unbearable; how could one woman's life be such a tragedy?

'Three months after I went to Witch Training College, she ran away; my mother went after her, but she couldn't keep up. She went to the bridge and she...and she jumped. I wasn't there to stop her, I could have stopped her, but I was too busy.

'Mother died shortly afterwards and I just blocked it all out, pretended that I never had a family; by then I was under Mistress Broomhead's care and I wasn't allowed to leave. So, now you know the truth about who I really am.' Constance's voice never broke as she told her tragic tale. Amelia looked at her through her watery eyes and she walked over, placing a hand gently on her far too bony shoulder.

'It's not your fault,' she whispered.

'Isn't it?' Constance asked, a question to which she felt there was only one answer. 'I could have saved her.'

'You don't know that,' Miss Cackle assured her.

'I do.' Constance said resignedly. She knew what she knew, she could feel it with every beat of her heart. The locket which she had not had the heart to throw away was still in her room, her sister's locket, bearing the very initials of the young girl she had let down so many years ago. Someone was mocking her, dragging her past from where she had tried with everything she had to bury forever, and it seemed that they would not rest until she was punished.

They didn't know that she punished herself every day, every waking moment, for something which was not even her fault.

The storm clouds rumbled, the growl of lions before they charged into a fearsome battle to the death. Lightning flashed, burning through the sky as it showed off the power it held with every finger with which it touched the Earth. Constance looked out, wishing that she was someone, anyone else and knowing that she would pay for what she did. She would pay for crimes for which there was no justice, would stand on trial for the murder of her own sister. Adelina was gone, and all she craved was that it had been her in her place falling towards the ground with no apparent means of escape.

Justice would be served, vengeance would be taken, though it would not be just. It would not be fair, and an innocent woman would fall at the hands of someone who knew too little and could not understand the sacrifices which had been made for her, the life which had been lost for her and the happiness which had been relinquished just so that she could live a normal life, a life which she had taken for granted.

Though I would go and give it a bit of an ambiguous confusing end ;) Anyone want to give HB a hug now? XD

Hope you enjoyed, please review if you have comments it means loads :)