Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. This chapter also took inspiration from: 2 Broke Girls, Matilda, Tangled and Bad Girls, so I don't own any of them either.

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews. Things get a little darker in this chapter. I blame my keyboard. LOL!

Love In The First 39 Degrees

Chapter 5

Placing the cloth in the water basin, she was slightly unsure of what to do next. She had never been in the chambers of the potions mistress before and she couldn't help but feel like a naughty child, sneaking into a forbidden domain: one who was about to be caught and severely reprimanded for her actions. Despite this feeling, she could not help the curiosity that overtook her as she cast her eyes cautiously about the room, drinking in its every detail. Not that there was much to see.

All the rooms at Cackles were the same, though the teachers were granted a little more luxury than their pupils were, with their chamber containing not only a bedroom but also an en-suite bathroom and a small sitting room. Imogen hadn't known what she'd expected to find but Constance' room was exactly as she had always imagined it to be: a place for everything and everything in its place. It was such a contrast to her own room, but while her own felt lived in, there was a certain air of emptiness in the room of the potions mistress. And it wasn't just down to the lack of possessions out on display.

She turned her attention to the impressive bookshelf, the only real thing in the room that marked it as belonging to anybody, her eyes widening in awe as she glanced at title after title – half of which she could barely pronounce, let alone even imagine understanding. Towards the end of the shelf, near the bottom, the magic theory tailed off and there were a few of what Imogen would call the "classics" – including the book she herself had given the sorceress a couple of years ago as a Christmas gift. Picking it up, she took the chair from the desk and brought it over to the bed, settling herself down with the intention of reading. As she did so, something fell out from between the pages.

Bending down to pick it up, she saw it was an old photograph and upon closer inspection, she recognised it to be a photograph of a young Constance – there was no mistaking it. Even at 4 years old (she hazarded a guess) Constance had that trademark stare down to a fine art as she gazed into the camera, her wide grin displaying true child happiness. In the picture with her was a woman, whom Imogen presumed was her mother, noting the more than striking similarities the two beauties possessed.

Gazing at it for a few moments longer, she couldn't help but smile at how adorable the deputy once was. She knew Constance would obliterate her if she heard the "A" word, especially in regards to herself but she couldn't help it.

There was a slight moan from her left, causing her to jump guilty, though perhaps a little too prematurely. In fact, the moan had been so quiet; she wondered whether she had actually imagined it because when she glanced over Constance appeared to be sleeping soundly.

She turned her attention back to the book, missing the lone tear that trickled from the deputy's eye.

Tucking the photograph back inside the book, feeling more than a tad guilty for invading the privacy of the potions mistress, she soon found herself engrossed in the realms of the story. It had been years since she had last read it but now it was all coming flooding back to her: the white rabbit, the magic potions, the Mad Hatter's tea party…

Soon, she was lost in a fantasy. Until she was sharply brought back to reality when a hoarse scream shattered the silence of the room.

Her already tired eyes felt heavy; so very heavy. It was as if they were weighed down by a ton of bricks and the effort to keep them open required more energy than she currently possessed. Still, she fought against the onset of unconsciousness, her fear overriding any rational though telling her she need sleep to aid her recovery. She couldn't give into it. The minute she closed her eyes on the outside world, she lost all control. She wouldn''t be able to stop the nightmares from rearing their ugly head as they encircled her in her sleep-cocooned state.

She would simply be a mere spectator, forced to stand by and watch as the sorry tale of her life played out in front of her again and again. The little light that had once been there turning to darkness, blocked out by the dark clouds that rolled overhead.

Abandoned.

Neglected.

Mistreated.

Forced to stand by and watch, knowing full well she couldn't stop it nor change it.

Fear put up a strong fight but exhaustion was to win the battle.

"Alright, there we go. Snug as a bug in a rug." Vivienne cooed as she tucked her four year old daughter into bed for the night.

"Don't forget Brambles, mummy." She gestured to the brown teddy bear she was holding."

"And Brambles too, of course." She responded. Placating her daughter by giving the bear a kiss on his forehead to emphasis she was sorry.

"Better?"

Constance nodded, grinning happily.

"Good." Her mother smiled back at her.

"Can I have a bedtime story, mummy?"

"You can indeed, poppet. I thought you might want to hear mummy's favourite story from when she was a little girl.

In her hand, she brandished a copy of 'Alice's Adventures In Wonderland' by Lewis Carroll.

An involuntary smile flashed across her face. She hadn't dreamt about her mother in a long time; it was bittersweet.

"Please, Johnathan, don't let her do this."

The woman begged. Mascara trailing down her cheeks as she attempted to appeal to her husband's better nature. "I swear it'll never happen again."

He looked into her wife's eyes, desperately trying to find even a trace of the woman he married all those years ago, but there was nothing left. She had tainted their marriage; she had broken that sacred bond. The first time, he had forgiven her, the second time too, but enough was enough. The trust was gone and without trust then they really had nothing. No foundations on which to build the rest of their life together and yet… he couldn't help but feel partly responsible. Wondering if he had spent less time in the office, trying to make his fortune and more time at home with his wife and daughter, then she wouldn't have felt neglected and found solace in the arms of someone else.

His expression softened, his instant anger dissipating leaving a sense of regret in its place.

"…And the Oscar goes to-"

"Mother!"

He opened his mouth to continue but the sentence never was completed, his eyes shifted to the ground as he looked at his feet, shuffling them nervously. "She's right, Viv. I think it's best you go."

"But- b-b-, what about Constance? You can't take her away from me, I won't let you... I'm her mother... "

"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you dropped your knickers." Cecilia Hardbroom retorted back. She was a formidable woman and conniving when it came to protecting the interest of her family. In society, she was highly regarded and as statuses went, she was classed as Queen Bee. One word from Cecilia Hardbroom could instantly see you ousted from society.

"I bet you are loving this. You've never thought I was good enough for your precious son!"

And I was right. I had you pegged the minute I first laid eyes on you. Gold digger."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?

"How dare you! Just you remember who you're talking to, Vivienne…"

"That's right, becau-"

A seven-year-old girl sat halfway up the stairs, clutching onto an old but well-loved teddy bear with her hands clamped over her ears as tears ran silently down her cheeks. She didn't understand what was happening but she just wished they would stop shouting. They had been shouting for hours now. Bad words had been screamed, dishes had been thrown, and a lot of crying had been done. Then, after her Grandmother had turned up, things only got worse.

A small sniff halted the adults in their tracks as they looked over, spotting the dark brown eyes through the gaps between the staircase. They had forgotten about the little girl.

"Connie, sweetie, why don't you go and play upstairs? There's a good girl."

"I want to play with mummy." She whispered sadly into the fur of her teddy bear. The request was so innocent it could have broken a heart of stone.

"I'll be up soon, Princess. Now come and give me a kiss."

She jumped up from the stairs and ran, practically leaping into her mother's arms, the two of them enveloping each other in a bear hug. "I love you, Connie."

"I love you more, mummy"

"I love you most, my darling."

"Will you really come and play, mummy?"

"I promise."

Wheeling her suitcase down the garden path, Vivienne took one last long back at her home, her eyes meeting those of her only daughter who was watching her from her bedroom window, her tiny hands pawing at the glass as she tried reaching out to her.

"I'm sorry," Vivienne mouthed, her tears mirroring her child's. She held the gaze for a few moments longer, drinking in every inch of her child, before she broke the gaze and her heart by walking out of her daughter's life forever.

A lone tear fought its way free from her closed eyes, trickling down her cheek and onto the satin of the pillows.

Her tutor's grip was vice-like. Her sharp nails digging deep into the wrist, an unnecessary applied pressure piercing the flesh and breaking the youthful skin, leaving a mark. Her expression was like stone, the only sign of life shown in the madness that danced in her eyes. Dragging the girl along the corridor, she ignored the garbled protests of innocence and stuttered apologies. It was too late.

A lesson had to be learned.

Entering her office, she reached for her set of keys, snatching them up from off the desk with one hand while the other continued to hold the girl, stopping her from running off. In actual fact, it was probably the only thing stopping the girls shaking limbs from completely giving out on her and sending her crashing onto the flagstone, her eyes widening in terror as she realised where this was headed.

The punishment closet.

The punishment closet took pride of place in Heckitty's office.

Situated in a dimly lit corner of the room, it was a tall and narrow cupboard, with a heavy iron door. Barely 10" each way, it gave the unlucky victim the unsettling feeling of being buried alive, as they were forced to reside in the small, dark, hot and sticky coffin-like space, until Heckitty found the morsel of humanity in her and granted them their freedom. Sometimes you could be in there for days.

"In." She growled, her eyes flicking from the girl to the closet and back again.

The girl didn't move. Her feet were practically rooted to the spot in utter terror.

"I'm sorry, did you not hear me the first time? In. Now!"

Still the girl didn't move. Her whole frame was shaking beyond her control and her watery eyes silently begging with her tutor; pleading.

"I said, "she grabbed for her wrist again "in, now!" before pulling the terrified girl forward and pushing her into the closet with such a force that the girl winded herself on impact, doubling over in agony.

Making use of the lapse in concentration, Heckitty slammed the door shut tight before turning the key in the lock. Locking her in and leaving her to her fate.

"Oh, and Constance? I wouldn't bother screaming, if I were you; you might want to save on the oxygen."

She cackled loudly, a laugh that wouldn't look out of place in the depths of hell.

The clicking of her heels grew more and more distant until, eventually, it stopped altogether and a silence befell her. With that, Constance knew that she wasn't coming back for a long time and was all too quickly beginning to face up to her predicament.

She was trapped.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she slowly opened them again, hoping against hope that this had been nothing but a horrible nightmare and she would soon wake to find herself in her bed at WTC, but when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. All she could see was darkness.

She was doing her best to keep calm, knowing it would only make things worse, but there was spike in her heartbeat as absolute terror kicked in.

She was going to die in here.

In the dark and all alone.

Feeling her way around the space she could feel nothing but the four walls that surrounded her, encasing her in her tomb. Desperately she scratched at them, frantically trying to claw her way free, ripping her fingernails to shreds in the process, before realising that her attempts were in vain.

There was no way out.

She tried to breathe steadily but her heart rate was going too fast, each breath she took becoming more strained than the last as they came in short shallow gasps for air.

There was no hope.

"LET ME OUT!"

This was it.

"HELP ME. PLEASE!"

Her torn fingernails ran down the door as she fell forward, her eyelashes fluttering as they began to succumb to the enveloping darkness.

"Help me, please."

"Somebody."

"…anybody."