Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch
A/N: Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews in the previous chapter. I reckon two; maybe three chapters at most, shall tie it up.
As I have said to a few people, I felt that poor Constance had suffered enough, physically at least, so I have time-jumped this chapter on by about a week. Hope you enjoy. :)
Love In The First 39 Degrees
Chapter 12
Throwing the last of her clothing into her rucksack, Imogen Drill zipped it closed, fastening the clasp very half-heartedly. She really did not want to go camping, at least not with Serge, but she knew if she told him that then all hell would break loose. It was just easier to keep the peace, for now at least. She was all too aware though that she would soon have to make a decision, and she feared that 'soon' would be sooner rather than later, given her boyfriend's somewhat cryptic text messages over the past week.
She had already been putting it off for days now and was now officially out of believable excuses as to why she needed to stay at Cackle's Academy for just a bit longer. She was not even sure herself why exactly she was finding it so hard to leave the castle in the first place. Actually, she did know the answer to that question; it was because of Constance Hardbroom.
The PE teacher had told herself that she was reluctant to leave because the witch might need her but she knew this was not the case. The potions teacher had been back on her feet for almost a week now and if anything, seemed to be going out of her way to avoid her. Gone was the emotional instability of the previous week, replaced with that formidable air that just radiated from the deputy.
She both loved and hated that air in equal measures.
The PE teacher had also tried to convince herself that the deputy was avoiding her simply because she was embarrassed. It would have made a lot of sense. For years, Constance Hardbroom had been a completely closed book and the last week had just revealed more of the story than the blonde could have ever imagined. She knew that Constance would no doubt find it patronising and would probably scoff at such a notion, but she really did feel that she understood the enigmatic brunette so much more.
Whilst this reasoning was in part true, it too was a lie.
After what had happened – or rather, what had almost happened, she had thought she would have been out of there like a shot, desperate to keep as much distance between her and the potions teacher as possible. Instead, she had hung around the past few days, like a lost puppy dog, hoping against hope that the older woman might want to deal with it, rather than brushing it under the carpet.
It was clear, however, she did not.
Imogen sighed; she honestly did not know what she had been expecting. She had thought that after all those years, maybe, just maybe, they were finally getting somewhere, but she had been wrong: Constance Hardbroom would always be Constance Hardbroom; she would never change.
'And you wouldn't want her to'.
The little voice in her head spoke up again.
She had been trying to silence that voice for days.
Unwrapping one of the chocolates she had pinched from the staffroom earlier that morning – with Davina Bat away for the holidays, she actually had a half-decent chance at getting at least one of her favourites from the tin – she sat down on the edge of her bed nibbling away before tossing the rest in her rucksack to eat later on. Picking up her phone, she quickly texted Serge, telling him that she was ready. A reply pinged back almost instantly.
That's great, babe. See you soon! Xxx
With a small sigh, she set her phone down on the bedside table and picked up a magazine to flick through until he arrived; whilst time-keeping was not her strongest point, he was always bang on time, sometimes even early. She could not help but wonder where they were going. All he had told her was they were going camping; the rest was all a big secret, and that was what she feared.
Reading back over what she had written for her speech at the Witch Education Conference later in the week, Constance Hardbroom internally groaned as she glanced up at the clock on the wall and noted the time. Four hours she had been at this and all she had managed was an eight-word introduction, and if that was not bad enough she noticed, upon closer inspection, that she had in fact misspelt her own name. Throwing her pen down in her frustration, it bounced off the desk before rolling onto the floor. Now annoyed with herself for losing her composure she bent down to retrieve it, slamming it down with such a force that everything else on the desk vibrated under the tremors.
'Get it together, Constance,' she hissed under her breath, her fury apparent in every syllable.
Massaging her temples with her left hand in a bid to shift the dull ache her recent bout of influenza had left, she sighed. Despite the residual dregs still circling her system, leaving her more tired than usual, she was just glad to be on her feet again – or out of bed at the very least. The deputy headmistress rarely got sick but when she did, it knocked her off her feet for about a fortnight. Though she was the first to admit (to herself at least) that the flu clouded her ability to think as logically as she would when compos mentis, it did not usually turn her into such an emotional wreck!
No, that had been something entirely new altogether…
Mortified did not even begin to cover how she was feeling. Even now, she could feel her cheeks reddening as she recalled what she could of the previous week, almost feeling glad that a large chunk of time was no more than a blurry haze. Yet, at the exact same time, she was terrified at what she could not remember.
She was even more terrified at what she could remember.
It was partly the reason she had been avoiding Imogen since the beginning of the week. The potions mistress was not stupid, far from it. She knew how it would look to an outsider; she knew how it would look to Imogen herself. The kind PE teacher had delayed her camping trip with her boyfriend to witch-sit and now that the Wicked Witch of the West Tower was back to normal, it was business as usual, but that was not the case. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful to the blonde for all her help, she was, she just didn't know what to say to her; how to act around her.
Especially not after…
Given all that Imogen had witnessed, it was obvious that the 'Queen Bitch' act was no longer going to wash with her and that scared her. Her façade had now been in practice for so long that it came effortlessly to her, and without its safety net, she was lost.
Imogen had found her in such a vulnerable place; a place that she herself had never wanted to revisit, let alone for anyone else to see her in such a state. Despite their admittedly frosty working relationship, she had told the blonde things - things she had never told anyone. Her childhood, her mother, Witch Training College, all things she had buried deep within the confines of her mind, swearing to never again open that box, yet she had told Imogen Drill… and she believed that she did not regret it.
She felt confused.
The confusion that had been bothering her for the past few days now and, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself otherwise, her mind kept returning to one certain point in time.
"God, Constance, will you stop fussing."
Imogen snapped, her tone holding more authority than the deputy had ever thought she was capable. "I'm not arguing with you," she reaffirmed, making it clear that she was not for budging as she brandished a hairdryer, preparing to tap into the little electricity the castle was fortunate enough to possess. Sensing that she wasn't going to get anywhere, the blonde decided to change tack, knowing how important the other woman's work and research was to her, "Unless you want to catch pneumonia and have to stay in bed for another week!"
Remaining, what could only be described as a combination of unconvinced and insulted, the potions mistress slowly raised her right hand, clearly intending to dry her hair with the aid of a quick spell. Whilst any other time the blonde would have found this little skill to be of extreme benefit, she figured it might not be the best of ideas: with Constance not in perfect health, there was no telling what might happen.
"I don't think that's a good idea." Imogen said softly.
Reaching up, she took hold of the porcelain hand and gently brought it down to rest.
Her mind was still reeling from the sparks that had jumped through her fingers as soon as Imogen had touched her. She had felt her heartbeat increase from the sheer shock alone but the reaction had not been her defensive magic kicking in.
No, this had been something else.
She flinched as the PE teacher took hold of her hair, gently running the hairdryer over the long locks. It had been a long, long time since anyone had touched her and she could not stop her body from tensing up at such unfamiliar contact. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, praying that it would soon be over, attempting to distract herself by throwing her mind into reciting every single spell she could think of, but to no avail.
She was all too aware of what was going on.
Eventually, somehow, she could feel herself actually beginning to relax into Imogen's touch, the feeling of the blonde's fingers running through her hair becoming rather therapeutic.
Even now, she could still feel those fingers as they ran through her dark tresses.
Tucking a few loose strands behind her ears, the PE teacher's fingers lingered on her face for longer than was strictly necessary, softly brushing against her cheek in a way that was too much, and at the exact same time, not enough.
She could feel her heartbeat increase and her palms becoming clammier by the second. Their eyes locked and both could feel a sense of anticipation dancing in the air.
"Const-"
Her words were cut off as her mobile phone rang out; shattering the moment and snapping them back to the present with a sharp thud. Looking down, she saw Serge's name flashing furiously across the screen, flickering away, serving as an ever-present reminder that she was spoken for.
"Excuse me."
The brunette mumbled her apologies as she got to her feet and practically raced into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
Constance Hardbroom would certainly never claim to be an expert on romance and in matters of the heart but it had certainly seemed as though Imogen had been about to kiss her before her phone interrupted the moment, and she was unsure how that made her feel…
The deputy had always known that she was attracted to women but she had never once acted on any feelings she may have held out of a fear of being rejected, a fear of being abandoned; a fear of being judged, it just wasn't worth the risk. Instead, she had closed off any feelings and had resigned herself to living in solitude.
It was simpler.
It was safer.
She had always been the outsider.
The girls in the neighbourhood had never let her join in their games. They had said she wasn't pretty enough, they had said her Mummy was a whore, they had said her Daddy didn't love her… that nobody loved her.
"Constance?"
A voice broke into her thoughts, startling her so much that she accidentally elbowed her teacup, knocking it off the desk. It was only when it hit the floor and shattered into pieces that she snapped out of her reverie and back to the present.
"Imogen," she all but whispered, taking in the blonde standing in front of her, before she found her voice, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"God, I'm sorry Constance. I didn't mean to scare you."
Whether she did not hear the comment or had merely chosen to ignore it, the brunette never replied. Setting her rucksack down on the ground, Imogen bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken cup, at the exact same time Constance did. Their fingers brushed against one another and the deputy shot up as though she had been burnt.
"LEAVE IT!..."
Hurt instantly appeared in the emerald green eyes, making the older woman feel instantly guilty.
"I just- I don't want you to cut yourself."
Imogen simply nodded, picking her rucksack back up and hauling it over her shoulder. With a quick flick of her wrist, the brunette sent a quick spell in the direction of the cup and within seconds it was as good as new. The irony that she could fix anything that was broken, except from herself, was not lost on her.
"You didn't 'scare' me. Now, what is it?"
"I- just erm…wanted to say that was me leaving now. I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Thank you."
A heavy silence fell between them, the ticking of the clock serving as the only proof that time had not stopped altogether.
"Right then, I guess I'll be on my way." The blonde turned her back and headed towards the door, her hand just gripping the handle and no more when a voice called out her name.
"Imogen?,"
She turned around, daring to hope they were finally addressing what had occurred between them. Dark brown irises met with emerald green in a mesh of conflicting confusion.
'Ask me to stay'.
'Ask me to stay'.
'Ask me to stay'.
"I-"
'Stay'.
'Stay'.
'Stay'.
"Have a nice time, and give my regards to Mr Dubois."