Author's Note

Dear Reader,

First, it is my duty to once again humbly thank you for returning to this story. You have no idea how much it means to me that you are reading it. I also, once again, must thank those who went the extra mile and sent me their wonderful reviews: Chrissiemusa, HB rules ( I strongly advise you to read her story, War of Dominion, as it is an excellent piece of fiction), chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom and blue4. I also need to deeply thank the wonderful and patient NextChristineDaae, who is one of my favourite authors, and extend my apologies for neglecting her in favour of this chapter.

This third chapter has been the bane of my existence in the past few days. It has, most literarily, haunted me every single moment. Although I did not plan to post it until the beginning of next week, I felt it would be most unfair to you, my friends, to let you hanging in suspense longer than necessary. As such, I proudly present the product of two sleepless nights and an indecent amount of coffee.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

PS: this chapter contains blood and mentions of suicide and should probably not be read by people younger than 14.

FIRE AND ICE

BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR

Chapter 3: Only those who have not completed their perfection must suffer the wheel of rebirth (Jean Paul Richter)

She had always wanted to be a bird. A quick sparrow, a gracious swallow or maybe something really exotic and colourful like a parrot. She had always dreamt to taste the ultimate freedom. To soar through the sky. To never have a care in the world. For a moment, she imagined being weightless and allowing herself to be carried by the wind. Where would the wind take her? She certainly hoped it was far away from here. She looked down at the sleeping city of London and it seemed so far from her, so out of reach. It was as if an invisible screen stood between her and those sleeping Londoners. Then, she looked at the sky, the stars seemed so close to her, and maybe, just maybe, she would touch one tonight.

The figure that sat next to her was that of a young woman, dressed in white, with pale skin and big blue eyes. She wore an impassable expression on her granite-like face and an inhuman fear gripped at the girl's heart. She dangled her legs against the border of the fifty stories apartment building she lived in with her parents, and refused to look at the woman whose posture was incredibly straight and unmoving.

"Are you here to tell me that I am wrong?" her voice sounded foreign to her own mind, and once again she was convinced that what she was about to do was the right course of action.

"I am here to tell you nothing" the figure said coldly and looked at her with unblinking eyes.

"Are you here to stop me?" the same foreign sound. Who was the person muttering those words? Although she could feel her lips moving, she was convinced it wasn't her own voice.

"Do you want me to stop you?" the woman replied with a hint of derision.

"No" it was a most sincere, heartfelt response. She did not want to be stopped. She did not need a saviour.

"Enlighten me, why do you want to jump?" the woman's tone had lost its hint of mockery and contained pure curiosity mixed with anger. "No. Don't tell me. Your parents are cutting your allowance? Or maybe the store didn't have the dress you wanted? Or no…Maybe your fifth grade boyfriend is finally seeing some other girl…" she snapped, irritation clear in the blue glare.

"You don't get it…" the girl whispered, turning away from those eyes. Those judgemental, furious, cold eyes whose stare seemed to piece right through her soul. She had seen those eyes before. Every day, in fact. Everywhere she went. Every single person she met seemed to have the same judging stare. Yes, what she was about to do was indeed the best possible course of action.

"Don't I? You are young and in decent health. You have no cuts or bruises which means you haven't been abused and your clothes are of the finest quality indicating substantial wealth… You have absolutely no reason to jump." the tone was becoming increasingly aggravated and the girl wished the lecture would be over soon. Although not much older than herself, the woman had started to sound like her mother, or maybe like one of her teachers.

"What do you expect to find in death? Why do you want it so fervently when others would give anything to be in your place? What do you expect to leave behind?"

Like so many times before, the girl felt it would be pointless for her to explain. It would be pointless to tell a perfect stranger that she wanted to find freedom in death, that she would gladly switch places with anyone less fortunate and that she expected to leave nothing behind. Yes, maybe her parents will cry for a bit. Just to let the press know that they were mourning the loss of their daughter. Of course, her mother would wear her waterproof mascara so shedding some tears would be ok, appropriate even. Or maybe she would faint at the funeral. That would get the press going.

"If you cannot realize how lucky you are, how fortunate and blessed you have been, then I urge you to jump. I urge you to fall fifty stories down and smash your skull on the pavement!" the woman said with spite, her blue eyes shining maliciously "And if there is something beyond, I pray that you will be in such torment that every single minute you will look upon what you have left behind and cry bitter tears for what you have lost" the tone had changed once again. It had lost it angry quality and now it was dripping with venom.

"Shut up!" she snapped and suddenly rose to her feet, her entire body being dangerously close to the border of the flat roof.

"You are a fool" the woman said with a touch of finality, between clenched teeth, seeing in the girl's eyes nothing but irrational stubbornness. "I'll be waiting for you when you get down"

With those words, the figure disappeared into nothingness and the girl wondered, for a second, if she had been the product of her imagination. Maybe it was her conscience telling her how stupid she was. Or maybe she was finally going mad. It would certainly explain why her parents insisted to spend half her free time with various pompous psychologists. But it didn't matter anymore. In a few minutes she would finally be free. She once again looked at the buildings and streets of London and at the starry sky. Those concrete constructions looked so ugly, so tainted while the sky looked so beautiful, so inviting. Yes, she had definitely made the right decision. Maybe, just maybe, if she extended her arms hard enough she would catch a star on her way down.

Hope watched the fall with mild interest. The girl was tumbling and turning as air was hitting her mercilessly, her arms extended slightly as if to grip something that wasn't there. Then with a thud, she collided with the pavement and her bones cracked loudly, breaking upon contact. She had wanted to stay up in the sky, but the sky had rejected her and she was returned with promptness in the concrete and steel confines of the human world.

"Foolish child" Hope muttered under her breath as she touched the bloody head of the girl. For a moment the girl's charcoal eyes flicked open and, as she finally realized what death was, her face became a disfigured, bittersweet grimace. With a flick of her wrist Hope cleaned the corpse of the blood that seemed to be coming out of its every pore. The child's parents didn't need to see her like that.

"CONSTANCE!" Miss Cackle's shout pierced into every soul present with the fierceness of an already bloodied dagger. It was the scream of an animal in pain.

Amelia had never felt the need to have a more athletic figure, but upon seeing her deputy drop to the ground like a dying leaf, she cursed her plump frame with all her might. She should have been able to break her fall. She dropped to her knees and crawled to the potion teacher's motionless figure, hair splayed widely on the pavement in the courtyard and skin so pale. So very pale. After she reached her, Amelia cradled the younger woman to her chest, resolved to never let go. She felt the woman's cold skin under her own flushed one, she could see the bluish, unhealthy tint to her face and her usually so very expressive features set into a mask of blankness. With horror, she realized that Constance wasn't breathing. The headmistress and her deputy looked like some grotesque pieta, the older woman holding the younger in a strong grip to her chest, rocking her back and forth, much in the same way that a mother rocks her child to sleep.

As soon as Amelia's blood curling scream was heard, Imogen also turned towards the deputy and ran various scenarios in her head. She knew that, if it wasn't too late, the woman needed a hospital, a doctor or at least some form of medical help. In that respect Cackle's was sadly unprepared, the person currently lying on the pavement being the only one who had a modicum of medical training. Although it was a school and accidents were bound to occur, in the academy's entire existence nothing beyond the occasional scratches or colds ever did happen. As such, none of them had felt the need for a nurse or for some basic CPR training. So between Davina's wild cold remedies, Imogen's knowledge of sports injuries and Constance's ability to deal with cuts, bruises and mild illnesses, the girls had been safe. But, she instinctively knew that at this time, all those would be insufficient. She felt her throat constrict and felt, for the first time in her life, completely and utterly useless. Yet, with the presence of spirit that ever so often characterized her, Imogen knew that the first thing they were supposed to do was check her pulse. It was with that idea in mind that she knelt next to Miss Hardbroom and extended her hand towards the woman's pale wrist.

"Don't touch her!" Amelia snapped, eyes widened in horror, as if Imogen was about to desecrate something that was beyond sacred.

"But, Amelia… we need to know…" Imogen replied with a slight tremble. They needed to know if she was still alive. They needed some form of certainty. She needed it.

"I said: DON'T TOUCH HER!" the headmistress yelled, tears coming on her wrinkled cheeks, a wave of energy striking the non-witch and forcefully pushing her to the opposite side of courtyard.

"She will be fine… Right, Constance?" Amelia said more to herself rather than anyone else, being oblivious to Imogen's shocked expression. "Yes… You will be fine…"

Evan, who was looking at the unfolding events with concealed amusement went to the gym mistress and offered a hand, which she accepted with silent gratitude. He could see a myriad of feelings appearing in the woman's eyes: anger at being unable to do anything, uncertainty at not knowing what was going to happen, pain at what was occurring and a hint of betrayal. He supposed that, not having magical powers, she had always felt like the underdog and now, to not only be discarded completely but to also be removed, without her consent, by magic, justified her feelings of betrayal. In a gesture of solidarity, Evan put his arm round her shoulders and at the contact, the woman turned and buried her face in his shoulder, hot tears coming in a rapid succession. "It's ok. She will be ok" he whispered softly in Imogen's ear, although he hoped, with all his might, that he was wrong.

Davina, in a rare moment of complete lucidity had the inspiration to send all the girls out of the courtyard and inside the castle. After some quiet protesting on the part of the students, and some very hysterical shouts from their chanting teacher, they were all ushered into the decrepit old building, which did not exactly prevent them from witnessing the spectacle, with morbid curiosity, form the windows of their rooms. Feeling that she did as best as she could and seeing the state that the headmistress was in, the chanting teacher decided it would be prudent to join Imogen and observe what was happening from a safe distance. It truly pained her heart to not only see Miss Hardbroom lifeless, but to also be a bystander to Amelia's grief. She wanted to do more. She wanted to have some wise things to say. She wanted to go to the headmistress and tell her everything was under control and that Constance would be fine. Unfortunately, she could not. Thus, with a sigh, Davina stood next to Mr Mallard and Imogen and watched what looked like a scene from a Greek tragedy rather than an instance in real life.

"Come on… Wake up…" the head of Cackle's let out a whimper, gently caressing the woman's forehead. She was so very cold. Why was she so cold? " Constance… wake up….Please…. " Why would she not wake up? Constance was powerful. Constance was indestructible.

"You are on dorm duty tonight…" she whispered, mechanically caressing the pale face. Her skin was so very soft, her black hair was like silk and for a moment, the headmistress appreciated how peaceful her deputy looked. "You need to wake up… The girls will make a racket if you don't… " she said more forcefully, chocking on her own tears. No. Constance could not look peaceful. Constance needed to look stern and powerful and angry and… alive. "Please… We need you… I need you …" she followed with a tone of finality, placing a soft kiss on the wax-like forehead.

For an eerie moment, the silence that had taken hold of the courtyard was broken by a shrill. It hurt their ears. It was a cruel, destructive, horrible shrill but it also had an odd melodic quality to it. Above the academy, a bird with a colourful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet could be seen, stripes of fire shooting out with every flap of its wings. Some meters above the fallen woman, the bird started to spin in what seemed to be a tarantella of madness. A passionate, macabre, bittersweet, relentless dance of life and death. The creature was spinning and shrilling. And in its shrill such extraordinary sadness could be heard. Spinning and shrilling. Such pain and misery. It seemed endless, eternal. As it was spinning, its wings were converting the air around into thin stripes of fire which, like their creator, moved erratically and so very gracefully. The bird seemed to be drawing something, using the black sky as its canvas and fire as its paint. There was something oddly poetic in the way in which the thin flames gracefully formed the Key of Life; it was so beautiful and so mesmerizing, that all those present could not take their eyes away from what was happening in the sky. When the symbol was finished the bird stopped moving and everything was once again plunged into silence. With another desperate cry, it burst into flames.

The symbol descended in all its fiery glory towards the deputy and placed itself on the woman's chest. An unnatural heat was coming from the woman and the headmistress had to let go of Constance for the contact was mercilessly burning her flesh. The stripes that had formed the Ankh were untying their knots and pure scarlet fire was engulfing the black figure of the teacher, and for a moment Amelia was scared that, like the phoenix, Constance would give a last cry and burst into flames. Yet, to her surprise, the potion mistress' body seemed to absorb the flames and the bluish tint to her face seemed to be replaced by a much healthier colour. When the last of the flames disappeared, the hearts in the courtyard and at the windows all beat in unison, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

"Headmistress can I be excused for dorm duty tonight?" the voice escaping the pale lips was weak and feeble, but it brought such relief to all present that the tears of concern were immediately replaced with tears of joy. "I do feel a bit out of sorts…"

Noah felt that he was loosing his grip on reality at an alarming rate. First when both him and Hope had reached Elwood Manor, planning to try an explain to his mother that he will be gone for a while, the girl had given an unceremonious "fuck" and with no further explanation ran towards his office. By the time he had reached the room she was sitting cross-legged on his black leather sofa, eyes closed and long pale fingers forming a circle, connected to a sphere of white flames. As soon as his friend closed her eyes, his mother started to scream. An unbearable, incoherent yell, which not only pained his ears, but also pierced his heart. He found the woman that had given life to him in a most deplorable state. The still-ginger hair, which was usually neatly plaited, was limply framing a flushed face and falling into black eyes that had an insane shine to them. While she was screaming, the woman stood on the carpeted floor, short fingernails scratching it mercilessly, touching one of the walls and repeatedly banging the back of her head against it. She was doing it so forcefully, that Noah was surprised to see that apart from her bloodied fingertips, his mother didn't sustain any further injury. A black bruise on his left cheek and two shots of sedatives later, Noah was back in his study waiting and praying to all gods in heaven that Hope would soon wake up from what seemed like a trance.

He was pondering the benefits of throwing water at his friend, when she suddenly opened her blue eyes and, with a grave expression, dashed towards the bathroom on the first floor. Dutifully following her, the man could hear his friend emptying the contents of her stomach and swearing loudly, while muttering something about "self-righteous bastards" and "retarded children". For the second time that day, Noah felt left out of the loop. First, his mother never behaved like that without provocation. Actually, as far as he could remember, her episodes of insanity had never been so violent. They were usually quite quiet, the woman preferring to sing to herself rather than shout. Then there was Hope. Not only had he been almost sick with worry, but he also had the uncanny feeling that his best friend knew more about everything than she let on. He could at least wish that she would voluntarily offer an explanation for her moment of unconsciousness. When she came out perfectly composed, offering a cheerful smile, Noah fought the urge to throttle her. How the hell could she smile at him when he had just had the worst few hours of his life?

"Care to offer an explanation?" he snapped while preparing a stiff drink for both of them.

"Well... I made contact, I suppose…" Hope said calmly as she gracefully sat on the same leather sofa accepting the glass of whisky he was offering.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" uncharacteristically, he rose he voice above his usual calm baritone, probably the effect of the adrenalin still coursing through his veins. "No riddles, Hope… I am seriously in no mood for riddles" he gulped down the first glass and after a moment of thought he poured himself another one. He deserved it.

"I felt something was wrong with her as soon as we came back." She started to explain in the same even voice, taking a small sip and grimacing at the bitter taste of the alcohol. "So, I decided to take a look…"

"Take a look?"

"Well yes… In theory, there should be a mental connection between the two of us. But, as I found out, that woman's mind is so twisted and complicated that it is really hard to establish a connection. Every time I tried I would hit a block of ice. Most literally." She answered, gently tracing the pattern of the glass with her fingers "I have no idea what she has been through, but it makes her put amazingly strong barriers around her mind."

"So? I thought you didn't exactly want to associate with her anyway? Why would you want to get into her mind?" he continued asking, mentally damning Hope and her twisted train of thought.

"Because of what happened tonight. Had I been able to actually get into her mind, I wouldn't have had to resort to more extreme measures…" she said evenly but upon noticing the blank look on Noah's face, she decided to explain further. "She was dying. I could feel her life force slip away so fast it was almost…. unbelievable. Had I been able to get into her mind, I could have stopped the process internally, or so I hope... But as I couldn't, I had to resort to using something that I usually never have to use. "

"Was it because of Evan? Or because of…" he trailed deep in thought, once again pondering

his friend's talent to get into trouble.

"Neither" she answered bitterly

"What do you mean neither? If it wasn't Evan and if it wasn't the curse then why would she be dying?"

"I have no idea. But what was killing her tonight was so strange… it had a really unique magical imprint. It felt like it was old and young at the same time. New and ancient, extremely good and extremely evil…" she sighted softly finally decided to gulp down the remaining drink.

"Damn. As if taking care of Evan wasn't enough… now we have to deal with… whatever that oxymoron is" he said bitterly taking the glass from her hand and putting it on his desk.

"Well, at least we know what to do…"

"We do?" quite frankly after three glasses of whiskey and Hope's riddles, Noah was rather slow on the uptake.

"Yes… find the castle, go there. I get to establish a connection with the woman, so we don't have a repeat of last night and… " she started to explain

"But if Evan is already there…" he interrupted, his voice sharpening considerably when pronouncing the man's name.

"Evan knows that because of what I did tonight he cannot touch her for a while" a pleased, and rather smug, smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Do you care to explain what your little trick involved?" he asked although he probably knew the answer. Hope wasn't one to talk about what she could or could not do.

"All in due time, my friend… all in due time…" she predictably answered, a joyful glint appearing in her eyes.

"Anyway, next time when you decide to randomly leave your body…or whatever you just did, please give me at least a few minutes' notice" he said in complete seriousness "And mention when you are coming back, as well!" he followed and Hope merely laughed.

Evan felt the urge to bang his head against the wall. Hard. After he had gallantly offered to carry the deputy head of Cackle's, bridal style, to her room, he had left the woman with the other three teachers and had returned to the staff room to ponder what had trespassed mere minutes before, in silence. He knew what Hope had done and he didn't like it one bit, for two reasons. First, his inability to lay a hand on Constance Hardbroom for an indefinite period of time was a huge hindrance in his plans. Yet, this hindrance could be trespassed. He had watched the woman carefully. She was strong, strict and unyielding. A nature such as hers was bound to attract enemies, so Evan supposed that it would not be exceedingly hard to track one of those and make them do what he could not. Or even if he could not find one that was willing to embark onto his little project, he could always create a new enemy. He did have some perfect candidates in mind. Yes, in that respect, the opportunities were unlimited.

It was the second reason that bothered him the most. The ritual that Hope had invoked, which required more than magic and far more than elemental power, proved how strong the woman was. He knew that Hope was childish and hated to lose, but she wasn't stupid. As such he could infer, with a certain degree of confidence, that her little stunt with the Phoenix did not endanger her, otherwise she wouldn't have resorted to it. How did she get such power? Quite frankly it was beyond him. And he needed to investigate the matter further.

"How is Miss Hardbroom? Is she better?" Evan asked automatically as he heard soft footsteps enter the staff room.

"I don't know… Amelia and Davina are with her." Imogen answered, tiredly slumping on one of the shabby armchairs. "But I don't think that they understand much of what's happened either…"

"And you? How are you holding up?"

"I don't know… I honestly don't. I mean, we've never been close, Constance and I. We always had our differences and we always clashed, but seeing her like that, tonight…" her voice trailed, slightly trembling, vivid images of the deputy lifeless coming to her mind. "She's always been here, you know. Always. Unmoving. Like a very steady point of reference… "

"I see… " Evan whispered softly and laid a hand on hers, in what he hoped to be perceived as a comforting gesture. "If there is anything I can do to help…"

"I doubt there is…" Imogen answered sadly, and as the man sat on the armrest of the armchair she leaned into his embrace, drinking in his powerful, manly scent.

As she came out of Constance's room, Davina pondered the benefits of locking herself in her cupboard and never coming out again. She was a chanting teacher, and thus an artist and firmly believed that nature didn't endow her with the skills to properly react in a crisis. As such, in the light of the current events, the prospect of her closed, sheltered space seemed increasingly more inviting as time passed. The other members of staff didn't understand why she kept locking herself up and automatically blamed the action on pure insanity. But despite appearances, she regarded the cupboard as her protection mechanism, and merely did, in a more eccentric fashion, what they all did. Yes, they all had some form of defence system in place and when times got hard, like the chanting teacher, they metaphorically locked themselves up. Imogen had her jogging under the cover of the woods, Amelia had her cheesecake, or any form of cheese for that matter, and Constance had her work. Poor Constance. How Davina pitied the woman that was so very different from herself.

In all the years that she had been at Cackle's, Davina had never seen the woman leave the school for longer than a day. During the summer, when Imogen was with her boyfriend, when Amelia was visiting one of her countless relatives and Miss Bat herself was on one of her exotic chanting expeditions, the stern, straight-laced woman stood behind, claiming that she had work to do and that someone needed to take care of the school while the others were gone. Although she had never, for obvious reasons, asked, Davina knew that it wasn't the true motivation. She knew that most likely, outside the school Miss Hardbroom had no one. No friends, no lovers, no family. Ironically enough, the terrifying potion teacher was using Cackle's Academy the same way that Davina herself was using her cupboard. Maybe they weren't so different, after all.

While walking to the staff room for a well-deserved cup of tea, Miss Bat briefly wondered if there was something, apart from work, that Constance was passionate about. With a certain degree of sadness she realized that in all the years she had known the potion mistress, she had never seen her do anything that could be regarded as a pastime. Of course, she knew that Miss Hardbroom was an avid reader, but she always read potion books, and she suspected that the woman enjoyed taking walks in the forest, but she only went there for potion ingredients. She lived, breathed, and embodied her job every passing day, hiding her all that she felt under the black dresses and the tight hair. Constance, what a beautiful and appropriate name for someone who was the personification of constancy.

Davina entered the shabby staff room only to see Imogen leaning in Mr Mallard's embrace and she fought the urge to snigger slightly at the sight. They looked good together. Both blond and toned, they looked like one of those fanciful fashion advertisements in the centre of London. Had it not been for the dire situation in which they found themselves, the chanting teacher would have speculated more, possibly even visualize their future children. Yet, as it was, she could not help but wish that she had, at least once, seen Constance as relaxed in the arms of a man. She could never understand the deputy's dislike for men, and she suspected something in her past had occurred that triggered an immense distrust for the male species, but she had to admit to herself that someone like Constance with someone like Mr Mallard would make an even better couple. The deputy was beautiful, with her dark eyes, flawless shape, long flowing hair. She had an air of mystery about her and had she not been so authoritarian and austere, probably men would fall to their knees for her favours. Davina sighed quietly, moving towards the tea pot. There was so much that Constance hadn't lived and hadn't experienced.

"Davina, any improvement?" Imogen asked, slightly startled by the appearance of the chanting teacher.

"She woke up briefly to tell Amelia that she was fine, but was unconscious again in seconds" she answered while pouring herself a cup of hot tea and adding a considerably amount of sugar.

"And Miss Cackle?" Evan inquired, still not releasing his hold on the gym mistress.

"Thank God, she is calm now" Davina didn't want to be reminded of the earlier display of grief. The wound of seeing her dear friend in such a state was still too tender, too fresh. "Tea? Evan? Imogen?" at their twin nods she poured two more cups and handed them swiftly to the couple.

"Ladies, I am afraid that I have matters of extreme importance to attend to, in the morning, so I must away" he said calmly, sipping the way too sweet liquid that had been handed to him. "But, I will return as soon as possible, to make sure everything is alright" Evan added upon seeing the slight disappointment on the gym mistresses face, his hand gently tracing circles on her back.

Mildred entered what she knew to be Miss Hardbroom's room with a gentle, quiet step and was surprised to see that it was not much different than her own. The walls of the room were gray and the furniture was sparse, consisting of a wardrobe, a desk, a chair, a bed, a mirror and an impressive bookcase filled to the brim with leather-bound volumes. There was absolutely no trace of personal items, save for an aging photo on the desk and a black cat purring softly in one corner. In the double sized bed, her potion mistress lay motionless, and the flicking light from the candle on the desk made dancing shadows appear on her pale, wax-like face. She was wearing her infamous purple pyjamas, her hair had been plaited at her side and the red covers of the bed were drawn to her middle. As Mildred approached with caution, she could see how frail her teacher looked and it scared her. Miss Hardbroom, although utterly despised by all students was after all the most reliable of the teachers in Cackles. She was the one that could solve any problem, protect them from any harm, and prevent any disaster from occurring. But Mildred doubted that the woman lying prone in that bed was able to do such things. She looked too weak, too fragile, and too human. She wasn't HB anymore.

Feeling a new wave of courage flooding her at the realization of her teacher's humanity, Mildred stepped closer to the bed and in one of those irrational gestures that were proof of her impulsive character, took the woman's hand into her own. She had such beautiful, pale hands. Thin and feminine, having small almost invisible scars on them, probably courtesy of the woman's trade. But what surprised Mildred most, was how soft those hands were. Never in a million years would the girl have expected something about HB to be soft. She wondered how many of her assumptions about her form teacher were wrong. She wondered if Miss Hardbroom ever felt hurt when she heard the students spit her name out in spite or swear at her behind her back. She wondered if HB had always been like this, or if there had been a time when the woman had smiled. As she continued to hold that gentle hand, Mildred sincerely hoped that there had been a time when her teacher had known pure joy.

"Mildred, what are you doing here?" Miss Cackle emerged through another door, which the student suspected it lead to a bathroom,

Quite frankly, Mildred didn't know how to answer the headmistress' question. As she was neither suicidal, nor terribly masochistic, the girl would normally have never been caught, after curfew, near HB's room. But this was not a normal situation. From the moment that she had seen Mr Mallard carry the deputy inside the castle she knew that she had to see her teacher. She had no idea why, but she just knew that she had to see for herself if the woman was safe.

"I just wanted to make sure that Miss Hardbroom was safe." Mildred opted for the truth still holding the teacher's hand in her own, her blue eyes widened with worry as she looked at her teacher. The hand was a bit warmer than before.

Miss Cackle briefly raised her eyebrows in surprise at seeing the how carefully the student was holding Constance's hand and realized what a poor judge of characters her deputy was. Out of all the students in the school, Mildred Hubble was certainly the one that had incurred most of her formidable potions teacher's wrath. And yet, it was Mildred Hubble that stood there, holding her hand. Amelia appreciated the bitter irony as she pulled the chair from the desk next to the bed, on the opposite side of the girl and sat on it.

"Miss Hardbroom is a strong woman, Mildred. I am sure she will pull through." Amelia answered, forcing an encouraging smile on her features. Oh, how she wished her words to be true. "And you, my girl, need to go to bed."

Mildred thought about protesting but decided against it. She knew that she had broken about ten school rules in coming to the room and after all Miss Cackle was still the headmistress. As she carefully placed Miss Hardbroom's hand back onto the covers, she wondered if she should tell the headmistress about what had happened in the potion lab. Taking one last look at her teacher she decided against it. It wasn't her secret to tell, anyway. Plus, above everything else, she craved, now more than ever, the potion mistress' trust. With a muttered "Good Night" towards Miss Cackle, the girl made her way out of the room as quietly as she had entered. Unbeknownst to anyone, as Mildred closed the door behind her, the pendant resting on Constance's barely moving chest, glowed red for a moment, before turning to its normal golden colour.

After making a list of all the castles in the country, cross-referencing with locations and photos, and exhausting his entire library, Noah was frustrated that it was Hope that had found what they were looking for. Purely by accident. Like all families of noble-birth, the Elwoods received, every year, promotional catalogues from the Witches Guild that listed various schools in the country. He supposed that it was either a way for the Guild to attract finance towards their schools or to ensure that young witches and wizards from prominent families did not go without a proper education. It was while being bored out of her mind with their tedious work and randomly looking through the most recent catalogue, that Hope found the same castle Noah had seen in his dream. It was shabby, run-down by years, and apparently a school called Cackle's Academy.

"Why would anyone send their child to this place?" the girl wondered in amazement as she took a closer look at the small picture of the ruined old building.

"Hey, don't be so quick to judge. Maybe it's a good school…" he said absent-mindedly, while trying to look up more information on what was apparently known as Overblow Castle.

"I seriously doubt it. I mean, I wonder why the building isn't condemned. The roof does look like it's about to fall off…" she answered more for the sake of conversation than nothing else. Quite frankly, if the person she was looking for was inside that building she couldn't have cared less about how it looked.

"Well, my darling, apparently we are going to Wales…" he cut her musings short, finally managing to find a proper address for the school. Like most witch schools, Cackle's was usually easy to find by broom but hard to pinpoint by more conventional ways, mostly because the paranoid witches at the top of the guild were afraid that too many non-magical people will find their schools and start a witch hunt. Noah hardly imagined that their fears were founded as most people nowadays not only embraced magic but wanted to come into contact with it as well. Moreover, in addition with its less than clear location, the school was at the top of a mountain. As Noah, like most wizards, had a natural fear of broomstick flying and he doubted that Hope would ever mount a stick in her life, he was becoming increasingly upset with the fact that the school was not only in the middle of nowhere but that it was also at the top of a bloody mountain.

"Wales? Really… it could have, at least, been in a drier place…" she said with derision, looking over Noah's shoulder at what he was furiously writing. "Do you really need to make a list of what we need and what we need to do?"

"Hope, you are my best friend and a really powerful witch, but you suck at organization and planning. If it were up to you, we would charge headfirst in out nightwear in the middle of the night." He replied and she mockingly pouted while leaving his side and throwing herself on the couch.

"What do you suggest, genius? How will we infiltrate the place?"

"Listen up. I have a plan…" Noah raised his head from the paper and looked into his friend's eyes, a satisfied smile forming at the corners of his lips.

Miss Hardbroom's fainting spell and subsequent amazing resurrection was the talk of the school. As usual, rumours ranging from their teacher being immortal to her being a zombie were spreading like wildfire. Bets were made on how long their teacher was going to be confined to her sick bed and people wondered if they were ever going to take potions again. Despite their teacher's dire predicament, most of the student body could not help but feel relieved at having some days without the stern witch looking down at them. They knew that nothing truly awful could happen to HB anyway, she was HB after all, so a few days of no one appearing out of nowhere on them, of no one handing out random detentions and of no one shouting, seemed like an inviting prospect. Only one girl knew better.

Ethel Hallow had always been proud of her family's status. It not only meant receiving instant respect everywhere she went but it also meant her meeting interesting people and going to exciting events. It was a bit like being at the centre of the world. And at one such event, despite the unfortunate circumstance that had caused it, Ethel was certain that, on a smaller scale, she had seen the same thing happen. She didn't exactly remember everything from that day as she had been only five, but she did remember that when her nanny didn't show, her mother announced at the breakfast table that Ethel and her sister were to go with them to a funeral. Ethel had never been to a funeral before. She, of course, knew that it was when people who had died where being buried, but she had never attended one. Hence, clad in a brand new black dress and her dirty blond hair pulled in to a ponytail she felt a tremor of excitement while holding her father's hand. When they reached the graveyard, that excitement disappeared.

Five year old Ethel decided, then and there, that she hated funerals. Everyone was so very sad, especially the deceased's family, everyone was crying and such stifling despair was surrounding her, that the girl had to desperately fight the urge to scream and run in the opposite direction. She could not remember who was being buried, she only knew that the person had been a close acquaintance of her father's, but what she could remember was seeing the bird. She recalled that after a particular embarrassing display from one of the mourning family members, she noticed the phoenix soar through the sky in all its scarlet glory. Like the previous night, the bird was shrieking as if in pain but no fire was emerging from its wings and Ethel was surprised that no one, but herself, had heard that awful shriek. She watched it in fascination and horror as it circled the grave twice and then disappeared into nothingness.

Later, when they arrived home, Ethel tried to ask her parents about it. While a proficient witch, her mother knew little about magical creatures and was unable to give her daughter a proper answer and her father, bless his heart, was, as always, clueless. So the girl went to her family's extensive library and read about it. Not much was written about them; apart from the fact they died in flames and were reborn from their own ashes. People said that phoenixes were a symbol for rebirth, that they were soothing and healing. But Ethel knew that there had been noting soothing or healing about the bird. It was as if watching the bird didn't mean watching the cycle of life, but the cycle of death. She suspected that, in both instances, the bird didn't come as a symbol of rebirth but as a symbol of fatality. And if her suspicions were correct, Miss Hardbroom wasn't as indestructible as everyone thought.

"Drusilla, let's go ask Mr Blossom for some flowers for HB…"

Amelia had been watching her deputy for hours and every time Constance's chest went down she desperately hoped that it will rise again. Although her potion mistress had always kept her, and everyone else for that matter, at an arm's length, the headmistress had grown to be attached to the firm lady. What she felt for the younger woman wasn't friendship, it was beyond that. It was more like the affection that a mother bears for an accomplished child. With some sort of maternal desperation, Amelia stood by and watched the state to which, the woman she had started to regard as a daughter, had been reduced to.

Amelia never pried in the staff's personal issues, but she always hoped that they would trust her enough to come to her with their problems. With each of them she had forged a different relationship based both on respect and mutual feelings of friendship. When Imogen's father died, she was the first one to know. When Davina lost her last remaining family she came to her old friend with her sorrow, rather than lock herself up in the closet. They all, both old and new, came to her and spilled their grief, and for her part, Amelia did her upmost best to help them, even if it sometimes only meant providing a compassionate ear and a hot cup of tea. All but one. She had known that her deputy was unwell. She had seen in her shaking hands and heard it in her shuddering breaths and yet the woman didn't come to her. The head of Cackle's didn't know whether it was because Constance was used to dealing with everything on her own or because she didn't trust Amelia as much as she trusted her. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

A soft knock was heard at the door and within seconds, Evan Mallard, stood in the middle of the deputy's room in all his manly glory. He had taken a shower, so his hair was wet and stood at odd angles, and his brown costume was replaced by a much more casual attire, a pair of blue jeans and a green sweater. He smiled briefly at the headmistress and took a long look at the motionless figure on the bed.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Cackle, but I wanted to pay my respects before I left."

"Leaving us so soon, Mr Mallard?" Amelia asked out of politeness as she could not care less if the gentleman stayed or left.

"I am afraid I must do so. But, if it isn't much of an imposition, I would like to call again, to see how Miss Hardbroom is doing" he answered smoothly, with a reassuring smile on his face.

"Of course, Evan. You are welcomed at Cackle's at any time." She responded with the same involuntary civility. With a nod, he walked to the headmistress and handed her an envelope. He smiled encouragingly as she took it.

"This is for some initial repairs and of course, to take good care of your deputy. Next time, when hopefully things will be calmer, we will have a more formal encounter and see what needs to be done around the school." He explained softly, inclined his head and left the room without giving Amelia a chance to say anything else.

Out of curiosity, the headmistress opened the envelope. Inside, there was a check, with colonial writing and a flamboyant signature at the bottom. Upon seeing the sum written on the check, Amelia gasped. It was too much, far too much. With that amount of money they could repair the entire roof, repaint the entire school and refurnish the classrooms. Either Mr Mallard had no idea what the value of money was or he wanted to buy their affections. If it was the former, she could not help but think how oblivious the young man was, but if it was the latter she could not help but wonder why.

"I can't believe we are picking flowers for HB!" Enid muttered in dissatisfaction as she tried to reach a particularly beautiful bluebell.

"Enid, that's poisonous!" Maud admonished slightly seeing the flower that her friend was reaching for.

"Well, it's not like she's going to eat them…"the girl said in frustration.

"Yes, but she will know that it's poisonous… She might think we tried to poison her or something." Mildred agreed with Maud, holding a wide array of colourful flowers in her left hand. "We should try to find a pretty ribbon for them…"

"Why do you care so much, Millie? You, of all people, should be glad that HB is out of action for a few days." Enid had given up on the flower and now sat unceremoniously on a mound of dirt.

"Well… I think she is really sick… and we haven't been exactly supportive of her up to now … and she is our form teacher…" Mildred tried to explain but found that she was unable to. Her newly found attachment to her teacher was a mystery to herself as well. Although she supposed, or hoped, that it was because of what had happened the past day in the potions laboratory, she felt like there was more to it. Anyway, at that particular moment, for reasons that were beyond her, she felt fiercely protective of her potions teacher.

Maud and Enid exchanged a knowing look but didn't question their friend any further. They both knew that Millie sometimes had some sort of hunches, more like premonitions, and that they made her act in ways that sometimes were beyond them. And yet, every time, Mildred, against all odds, had done the right thing. It was as if she had a sixth sense in identifying the right course of action and taking it. Unbeknownst to all of them, even to herself, she had become the leader of their small gang and they trusted her judgement above every one else's. Hence, if Millie said that they needed to pick flowers for HB, they would deplete the entire forest if necessary.

"What colour should the ribbon be? " Enid asked for the sake of conversation while looking for something to transform into a ribbon.

"Black?" Maud suggested, clearly thinking of Miss Hardbroom's choice of attire.

"No. Blue." Mildred answered dreamily. "I think she would like blue."

When she opened her eyes properly, Constance felt the light of the sun bother her eyes and wondered for how long she had been unconscious. Trying to lift herself up, but finding, to her utter annoyance that she didn't have the strength to do it, she looked for a moment around the room. A chair was pulled next to her bed, indicating that someone had been there with her and two bunches of flowers were placed in a vase on her desk. One of them contained wild flowers picked from the woods and was sloppily made while the other one was neat and precise and was made of the white roses that Mr Blossom grew at the back of his greenhouse. She briefly wondered, groggily, who had brought them.

"Oh, you are awake." The headmistress emerged from her bathroom with a glass of water in her hand. The woman looked tired and was still in her formal robes, so the deputy supposed that she was the reason for the chair. "The third year girls thought you might like them…" the headmistress explained, seeing her eye the flowers and Constance weakly smiled. She felt so tired.

"I do like them" she whispered softly. She feebly raised her hand to indicate that she wanted the vase and Amelia quickly obliged, bringing it to her. The woman painfully lifted herself up and took the bunch of wild flowers. They were so messy and sloppy, but they smelled like the woods they had been picked from. She inhaled their scent deeply and she could imagine herself outside, under the clear sky feeling the autumn sun on her skin. The ribbon was ridiculously tied, as if someone had put way too much effort into making it look artistic but its colour was wonderful. It reminded her of the sea. Inhaling the powerful scent again, Constance smiled slightly. Although she wouldn't admit it in a million years, she loved her girls.

Author's note:

Well, my friends, we have come to the end of the third chapter. I hope this chapter rose to your expectations. Please send any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have through your reviews. I do read, appreciate and reply to them all.

If you still wish to read this fiction, here comes a little sneak preview from chapter 4:

Noah and Hope put their plans into motion, Evan develops his relationship with Imogen and the students have different reactions to their potion mistress teaching again.