Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone for their kind reviews on the previous chapter. My muse decided this was what was going on in this one, so I had no choice but to obey, lol.

I hope it's okay. :)

Love In The First 39 Degrees

Chapter 13

"When you find the one, you'll just know."

Serge Dubois had once scoffed at that saying.

It went right up there with "love at first sight" but the first time he had met Imogen Drill, everything just seemed to fall into place. At last, he had found himself understanding the meaning within all those famous love ballads; life suddenly began to make sense, and he knew right away that she was 'the one'.

She was gorgeous: a seriously striking combination of tanned skin and green eyes. Truthfully, it was her eyes that had first caught his attention, they were the most captivating shade of green and he could have stared into them forever. Like tiny emeralds they seemed to sparkle in the sun, even more so when she was happy.

He could still remember sitting in that small cabin, huddled together as they had tried to find a solution to the double-booking issue that had arisen, technically forcing one of the groups of young teenagers to leave the campsite. Not wanting to ruin their respective charges trip, and not wanting to run the risk of never seeing her again, he had put forward that they shared the campsite and their activities. With that decision in place, the rest of the time had been spent getting to know one another. Time seemed to slip by in the blink of an eye as they had discussed adventure and extreme sports, all the while those eyes glistening intently, truly showing the passion the blonde before him held for the great outdoors.

Everything had been so perfect.

Then she had crashed through the door.

Sweeping in with an air of icy indifference, telling him in no uncertain terms to pack up his stuff and get lost! And whilst she hadn't used those exact words per say; he knew that's what she had really meant.

Constance Hardbroom.

From the word go, the woman had been a complete and utter hindrance in his forging a relationship with Imogen.

That bloody witch!

Even now, he could feel the frustration rising within him as he thought of her, his grip involuntarily tightening around his wine glass as he tried to contain his fury. As a Canadian, he was easy-going, pleasant and mild-mannered by nature, but there was *something* about 'the Ice Queen' - as he had christened her- that just rubbed him up the wrong way.

She was the only thorn in his otherwise perfect romance.

There was no denying that Constance Hardbroom was a very pretty woman. He had seen the picture Imogen had of the staff, taken at the Halloween Celebrations the year before last and between the witching robes, long hair cascading down her back and that feline stare, he knew that had she wanted, she could have had any man. Men fell to their knees for woman like her: attractive, confident, powerful and unavailable.

Not him though.

His heart beat for Imogen and Imogen alone and he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, even if it meant he had to compete for a place in her heart. At first it had been like a dagger in his own heart but now he had reluctantly come to accept it

She was worth it.

She was the one.

The only real saving grace in the whole sorry mess was that whatever…feelings his girlfriend unwittingly harboured for the potions mistress, the witch would never return them. He doubted the ice maiden even knew what feelings were - she was so cold; so unapproachable, and he truly failed to see what she had that made Imogen's eyes sparkle more than they ever did when he was with her.

Reaching out, he took her hand.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said softly.

Reaching up, she took hold of the porcelain hand, a direct contrast to her own tanned skin. As she brought it down to rest, their fingers gently interlocked. It was only for a brief second, but it had felt good.

More than that, it had felt natural.

His fingers closed around his girlfriend's, feeling the small tremor beneath him as he took hold of her hand, pulling her closer to him.

"Are you warm enough, babe?"

The warm Canadian tones broke into her mind, bringing her out of the trance she had obviously been in. She only hoped that she hadn't been too obvious. "Fine, thanks," she replied, flashing a quick smile and taking a large gulp of her wine in an attempt to steady her nerves. She really didn't know why she felt nervous; she had been alone with Serge before, hundreds of times, but there was something different about this time.

He smiled at her, cupping the side of her face and turning it gently so that she was facing him.

Those beautiful eyes.

His fingers gently stroked her right cheek, running his fingers across her perfectly flawless skin.

Tucking a few strands of the luscious dark tresses behind the brunette's ears, her fingers lingering on her face for a few moments longer than they should have, she found herself softly brushing against the porcelain cheek.

Partly aware of what she was doing, she prepared for the inevitable magical annihilation, but was instead stunned into silence as the brunette's eyelashes gently fluttered closed and she appeared to lean into the touch, just for a second, before slowly pulling back; almost as though she was only doing it because she felt she had to and not because she really wanted to.

She could feel her heartbeat increasing with every second that ticked past; her palms becoming clammier by the second as their eyes locked.

Maybe it was because she kept replaying her almost moment with the potions mistress or maybe it was the look in his eyes.

Maybe it was the fact that he had brought her to Murdoch McFee's Adventure Centre; the place they had first met, the place that the past near two years of their lives had been borne, following that one moment of chance.

She didn't know, but whatever it was, it made her feel uneasy.

There were questions unanswered and a sense of expectation dancing in the air.