Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch'.

A/N: I've finally gotten around to doing a little updating! *Yay!* (I may edit later on) I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up but *hopefully* it shan't be too far away. I found all my notes for 'Goodbye Kiss' yesterday, so I am planning to go back to working on that as I feel an update is long overdue. I hope you enjoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be hiding from HB for a few hours. Does anyone fancy coming with me? Cocktails are on me! ;)

Love In The First 39 Degrees

Chapter 10

Her eyelids flickered as she murmured quietly to herself, the long lashes fluttering ever so slightly as she attempted to open her eyes, each time deciding that the light was in fact too much to bear and so retreating to the comforting darkness that currently enveloped her.

Somewhere, buried deep within the confines of her conscious, she got the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Though she could not pinpoint the specifics, it was a feeling that she did not overly care for. It reminded her all too well of her time spent under the iron first of Heckitty Broomhead and the way that her tutor's snake-like eyes would watch her every single move, deeming her a failure at even the simplest of tasks.

Failure was unacceptable, and Heckitty Broomhead had had no qualms whatsoever in letting her fury be known.

Each minute seemed to last a lifetime. Each second stretching out in front of her was so painstakingly slow that it was as though time itself had come to a complete standstill. It made her feel uneasy and ashamed, as though she was being judged for her body's own weaknesses.

Ignoring the overwhelming dizziness that swept across her vision, threatening once again to overcome her and send her back to the welcoming black abyss, she forced herself to open her eyes. Recognising the dimly lit features of her own bathroom, she instantly felt confused, a hot embarrassment creeping into her cheeks as she found herself unable to recall how she had ended up in the bathroom.

Had she passed out again?

The last time she had woken up on her bathroom floor had been a few days before the end of term. She had stayed there for as long, the cold tiles providing a welcome relief against the fever that was firing through her veins. She hadn't really the energy to move but, true to form, she was reluctant to admit it and equally determined to at least hold it together until the castle had emptied. Stifling a scream she had managed to drag her aching limbs off the floor and claw her way to a standing position, willing with everything she had that her body would comply for just a few more days.

Of course, it hadn't.

It took her tired and usually infallible mind a lot longer than normal to process her surroundings but more worryingly than that, the fact that she was sitting in her bathtub, the coldness of the water causing her to involuntarily shiver as it touched her bare skin, caressing it gently, like the lover she had never had.

She swayed slightly, still entrapped by the clutches of dizziness, as she willed for her mind to concentrate and clear the haze of fog that currently resided in it.

'Wait…bare skin?'

Then that meant that she was…

…naked.

At this realisation, she felt a bout of nausea rising and burning in the back of her aching throat as she forced herself to swallow it. She couldn't breathe. It was as though the air around her was thinning. Her lungs were on fire as she desperately tried to force the dwindling atoms of oxygen back into them, each gasp she took becoming more difficult than the one before; emotion after emotion flooding her mind: horror, shame, weakness, embarrassment…

Whomever it was that had put her in here had undressed her, and whoever had undressed her would have seen her scars. This person – whoever they were - had seen everything: every scar and every burn. Every mutilation of hardship she had suffered but strove to hide from the world, choosing instead to cover her body up with long high-neck dresses, a steely glare and a feigned indifference, rather than let her past define her. It was all she knew. It was all she had known for so long now that to try to change was just too hard - she would not even know where to begin.

Wrapping her thin arms around her chest, she felt exposed. Not just her body but the very essence of who she was – who she actually was, and not just what she was pretending to be – had been put out there, on display, for the whole world to see, like a caged animal in a zoo.

Tears stung at the back of her eyes, leaving faint lines as they trailed down her burning cheeks. She just wished that there were something, anything that could cover her modesty, allowing her to claw back at least an ounce of her dignity and self-respect; to be Constance Hardbroom, fearsome deputy head and potions mistress, but the clear waters offered her no such shield nor shelter.

Casting her eyes blearily around the room, they eventually fell on some blue material that was scrunched in a heap on the floor, as though it had been hastily discarded. Slowly looking up, almost with a sense of dread, knowing what she would find, she saw that Imogen Drill was sitting nervously on the edge of the toilet lid, watching her intently.

The second their eyes met, a glimmer of fear flashed amongst emerald green.

"Constance, I-"

Imogen spluttered her words, immediately trying to justify her actions to the witch, knowing, full well, that she had overstepped the mark. Massively. In fact, she was so far over the line that the line was now no more than a dot to her; a mere speckle on the spectrum. She didn't get very far however as the sorceress cut across her, her eyes more ferocious than Imogen had ever seen.

"Get out!" Constance ordered through gritted teeth.

"B-but, Con-"

"NOW!"

It was supposed to be a command, but it came out as little more than a plea, the words whispered from her trembling lips, her previous anger now lay forgotten. There had been a hint of desperation tinged in her tone that she could not quite disguise, but the look in her eyes said more than any words ever could.

Standing to her feet, and without looking back, Imogen quietly left the room.