Author's Note:

Dear reader,

Thank you, yet again, for returning to read this story. I am very sorry that I did not update earlier, but yet again life interfered with my scheduled updates. I need to especially thank those that have read and reviewed every single chapter: Chrissiemusa, HB rules, Princess Sammi, and of course, the wonderful NextChristineDaae. Thank you for being together with me on this journey. I truly appreciate it!

Please note, before reading this chapter, that I have absolutely no preference as far as religious beliefs are concerned, and my comments about the Catholic Church are neither meant as offensive, nor do they reflect my beliefs in any way. That section is there to present a social issue and to serve as a way to advance the plot.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

PS: This chapter contains blood, mentions of abuse and sex and should not be read by people who are younger than 14.

FIRE AND ICE

BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR

Chapter 6: What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others (Pericles)

The priests' little wife

That's how most of the boys in the school called him and they were, for all intents and purposes, right. Ever since he could remember, the boy had been educated at a catholic school run by priests. It was a beautiful place with carefully tended gardens, spacious dorms and large classrooms. Every day, at ten past three in the afternoon, he would be taken from among his peers and led to a dark room, under the pretence that he would be helped with the practicing of his music. As he walked through the dark corridors of the school he could feel his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He knew what was going to happen. How could he not? Everyone knew. If the boy was tall or heavy that wouldn't attract him. He tended to take pre-pubescent boys that were rather slim built, whose bodies were showing the first signs of entering the awkward period of adolescence. For girls it was different. Being an all-boys school the man did not have a constant access to girls so only those young ladies that were part of the congregation were in danger. During mass, if you had a short dress, were under the age of ten, he might have been tempted to, and often did, raise your dress to get a glimpse of your underwear. In the girl's case the viewing was actually more arousing than the touching.

The boy entered the room his hands shaking involuntarily. There, the priest was, as always, waiting for him. In a matter of seconds he could feel the adult hands of the man rub against his back and his calloused lips kiss the nape of his neck. He fought the urge to close his eyes, for he knew that the man liked to be watched and failure to do so would result in a dire punishment. He could see him undress with deliberate laziness, relishing in the fact that the child was afraid of him. When all his clothes were lying forgotten on the floor, the man proceeded to undress his pray, his satisfaction growing with every layer of clothing he managed to take off. When they both were as naked as God had made them, he started the process of exploring the body of the child. His soft and delicate skin, his small hands, his underdeveloped genital area, they were all a mark of purity and the priest felt proud that he was once again the one to defile this said purity. With a malicious nod of his head, he motioned the child to use his hands to grow his private area and with unshed tears in his eyes, the boy complied.

He had tried to tell another priest about what was happening but that priest instead of helping him, said that he should keep the ordeal a secret. To be certain that the boy would not talk, he applied the Seal of Confession upon the conversation, which meant that the child should keep what was happening a secret upon pain of excommunication. Ever since he was young he had been taught that God and the Catholic Church should be the most important authorities in his life. He was being told that he should serve and bow to their unquestionable power and that loosing their love was as daunting as loosing one's life. He did not want to loose God's affection for he feared that one day he would stand judgement and be sent to hell, as such he never breathed a word. Yet, he could not help but wonder why God wanted him to never tell another soul. He knew that what the man was doing to him was bad and he could not understand why He allowed it to happen. Wasn't God almighty and all-powerful? Why would He let this man defile him in such a manner? Why would He even allow this man to be one of His most faithful servants? As he felt the priest's hands rub against his naked body he knew that he could no longer take it anymore. If God was too busy to get rid of this vermin, then he would do God's work and rid the world of him. With shaking hands he took the paper cutter from the desk and plunged its sharp end into the man's chest.

When the woman entered the room he was sitting naked on the floor listening how the priest was drawing his last ragged breaths. His tormentor was dying, by his hand, right in front of his eyes, but he could feel nothing but a perverse sense of satisfaction and righteousness. She came to where they were, the folds of her white robe sweeping the floor, and knelt in front of the child and the dying man. The boy could feel waves and waves of energy surrounding the woman and he wondered if she was a creature sent by God himself to help him in his predicament. To him, she looked like a colour version of the statues he saw every day during mass, but something about her made him feel uneasy. Despite the look of calm and serenity on her pale face there was something in her eyes that made him squirm. Although apparently gentle, her mesmerizing blue stare held a spark of something devious, as if the woman hid a certain amount of maliciousness in her soul.

"You aren't an angel…" he stated simply, looking at the stern way in which she watched the horrific scene.

"Why not?" she asked in a low soothing tone.

"You have no wings" he said simply and the woman chuckled lightly. "God, would not forgive him! God would not send an angel for him!" he followed with conviction, his bloodied hands trembling uncontrollably. "Do you know how he does it? Do you? He comes up to them in church and starts saying things like: 'Hi dear, how are you doing? You are a sweetheart, you know that? Come here, give me a hug. I like you a lot' " he made a ridiculous impersonation of the priest, his voice heavy with tears "They all fall for it. Even the parents…" he finished bitterly and covered his face with his hands allowing tears of resentment to fall on his cheeks.

Hope looked at the boy and at the priest and sighed softly under her breath. She had seen many cases like this and whether it involved a parent, a sibling or some perfect stranger she could not help but feel sorry for the victims. It angered her that someone would abuse a child in such a way. It was sickening. Especially, if the abuser was supposed to be a spiritual leader. She was well aware of how situations involving the Catholic Church went. For the greater good and prestige of the institution, most of the cases never saw the light of day and that meant that the church was successful and that the victims were forced to silence for an indefinite period of time. Instead of excommunicating them, bishops moved molesting priests from parish to parish, leaving more and more children exposed to their advances. She supposed in this case parents could not exactly be blamed. After all they did genuinely believe that their child was safe in the hands of a good person who spoke the word of God every day. And yet, she could not help but wonder who the monster was: the one that committed the abuse or the one that witnessed it but did nothing to stop it.

"Child, leave!" she said with apparent calm while her eyes sparked with anger. That boy did not need to witness more than he already did. He did not need to loose the last trace of purity that remained in his soul. Sensing that she was serious and being afraid of the coldness of those blue eyes, the boy left the room soundlessly.

"Please…" the priest said in a raspy voice, blood oozing from his chest wound. Hope looked at the pitiful figure and extended her hand as if to place it on his forehead but after a moment's thought she retrieved it promptly and straightened herself up.

"No" she answered in a harsh voice filled with malice and bitterness. With swift movements she conjured a chair next to the bleeding man and sat on it gracefully. With a frightful glare in eyes that were blood red, she waited.

The sun was shyly piercing through the thick blanket of clouds marking the beginning of a new day. The deputy of Cackle's academy looked at this resurrection with intensity as she sat, as straight as ever, at her desk. A new day. On one hand, she felt a sense of extreme gratitude at being able to witness one more sunrise, to smell the fresh morning air embedded with the scent of rain, and to see the darkness of the night being conquered and consumed by light. On the other hand, she felt marginally sad and could not help but ask herself to how many dawns will she be able to bear witness. The fact that something was eating at her body from the inside had long ago become a reality that she had accepted. But despite appearances, that acceptance had not come with a sense of relief or calm. It had increased her turmoil, it had made her feel more aware of what she would be leaving behind and it had made her see all the things that she had yet to live, yet to experience. For her, logically accepting her own mortality came with a feeling of hopelessness that she abhorred mostly because it showed her how morally weak she was. Constance looked at the multiple bottles of pills crowding the small desk in her room and sighed. She was disgusted. Not with the pills but with herself and the frailty of her body.

"I should make a will…" she whispered softly to herself, more to dispel the morbid silence in the room than anything else.

She wondered if that would truly be necessary. Constance was aware that she did not own much and that her fortune amounted to her old parents' house, which she had not sold for sentimental reasons, some old family jewellery she had never worn, her rather vast library and a bank account containing her savings from a lifetime of teaching. She planned to leave every single worldly possession she had to the academy she had given her life to, and that should be legally noted somewhere. Not that Miss Cackle would have any challengers. She supposed that that was the benefit with having no family and no heir. Now, when she could feel the hour of her death draw near, and despite the doctor's positive outlook on her condition she could feel that it was probably going to happen sooner rather than later, she asserted the relationship she had with the other staff members in another light. She did not know if the headmistress or anyone else was aware of it, but the staff and students had become, throughout the years, a substitute family for her.

Amelia was certainly the mother figure, always there for her even if she did not realize it, Davina reminded her of the crazy old aunt she never had and Imogen was a perfect substitute for a sister. Constance had no idea when it had happened. She had no idea when she had started to form such profound bonds with them but throughout the years she did. And although she never expressed her feelings in words or gestures, she knew that, to some extent, the other three were aware of how she felt and was sure that the feeling was somewhat returned. Hence it pained her heart to leave them behind and to make them suffer. Amelia had no idea what kind of effect her tired, saddened looks had on her deputy. Every time Constance saw that gaze, she just wanted to embrace the headmistress and tell her everything was going to be fine. Yet she could not. Firstly, because she was not the kind of person to get physical, and secondly, because she was not in the habit of lying. The doctor had explained to the entire staff what Constance was going through and what the condition entailed, not only because they both felt that the other women deserved to be informed, but also because she needed a medical proxy, a caregiver, when she would become too ill to take care of herself. As such the other three women were fully aware of what was happening and Amelia had freely offered herself as the caregiver. Not in a million years would the potions mistress burden her headmistress in such a way and she did sincerely hope that it would not come to that. The older woman did not deserve to see her too weak to move, too weak to eat on her own, too weak to breathe. She did not deserve to see her dying and Constance was resolved, to the best of her abilities, to prevent Miss Cackle from seeing her in such a condition.

Another factor that had become increasingly important in her preparation to deal with death, was Noah. She had no idea when and where along the past short days Dr Elwood had become Noah, but each of his visits reminded her that underneath the façade she displayed to the world, there was still a beating heart who wanted, craved, some sort of tender feeling. She was practical and pragmatic and, as such, did not believe in ridiculous notions like love at first sight. She did believe in attraction though, and to her shame, she could say that she did find the man very attractive both physically and spiritually. Although Constance hadn't known him for too long, she could sense that there was something more about the man than his gentle, sweet disposition and half smiles that never managed to make his incredibly green eyes sparkle. Maybe if the circumstances were different, if her life had been different, she would have wanted to pursue a relationship with him. But, taking into account the present developments, it would sadly be both improbable and unfeasible.

She suddenly felt claustrophobic, the walls of the dingy old room closing on her and the air thinning considerably. She wanted, needed, to get out. With as deep a breath she could manage, she crossed her arms on her chest and willed herself to disappear. As she stood in the middle of the forest closest to Cackle's, gasping for breath, she thought about how ironic it was that an action that had been like a second nature to her was now so very draining. To her upmost displeasure, not only was her health failing but her magic as well. Simple spells that she had known for years were suddenly too much for her and she had to resort to doing a lot of things the non-magical way. She was planning to investigate why this was happening at some point, but during the past few days, everything that had her out of bed seemed to render her tired in no time. The only time she felt moderately comfortable was when she was resting and her lower stamina, coupled with the fact that she still insisted to keep performing her teaching duties and her duties as a deputy, left her completely drained at the end of each day. It certainly did not help that some nights her sleep was restless and plagued by dreams that she only confessed to her faithful Morgana.

Once again, as she could barely take in the fresh smell of the pine trees, she felt confronted with the limitations of her body. She did not want to give up but she feared that she did not have the strength to carry on any longer. To be reduced to such a weakened state was, for her, worse than being dead and buried. It was almost inconceivable for her, the one that was always a pillar of strength for others, to be forced to depend on those that used to rely on her. With a flick of her wrist, only to prove that she still could, she magically converted her tight-fitting dress into something more flowing. Then, under the cover of the forest she did something that she hadn't done for almost twenty years. She ran. It did not mater that searing pain was building up in her chest, it did not matter that an all too familiar weakness was engulfing her knees, and it certainly did not matter that her lungs were screaming for air. It was stupid, foolish and so unlike her, but she needed it.

Only when her body could not take anymore, she allowed herself to gracefully fall on the ground. Tears welled up in her hazel eyes and she allowed herself to cry.

The woman that came out of the black car was the kind Amelia would have never expected to see in her school. She was very tall and thin, her long, almost endless legs were emphasized by the moderately short, cream skirt she wore and the tall, red stilettos. The Victorian style white shirt that highlighted her bosom in a delicate manner was complemented by a long golden necklace that gave a nice touch without being overbearing. The woman's raven hair was styled in perfect curls that reached the nape of her neck and her clear blue eyes were accentuated by both the tastefully done make up but also by the vibrantly red lipstick she wore. Despite being delighted with the appearance of her new witch student teacher, Amelia could not help but feel that the woman was in deep contrast with her surroundings and that if indeed she lived the lifestyle her upscale clothing suggested that she did, then she would be sorely disappointed with life within the academy. Another of the headmistresses' concerns was invariably Miss Hardbroom. She knew that the moment her deputy saw the woman, based on appearances only, she would dismisses her as a mindless silly girl who had no business teaching her third years. This could be a problem not only for the girl but also because it couldn't be good for the condition Constance was in to get angry. Wishing groundlessly that the woman had chosen to wear something different for her first day of teaching, Miss Cackle walked towards the girl rather dejectedly.

"Good Morning! I am Amelia Cackle, headmistress of Cackle's Academy" she said courteously and extended a polite hand which the woman took pleasantly in her own perfectly manicured one.

"Very nice to meet you, Miss Cackle. My name is Hope" she replied with a beaming smile on her face and Amelia could almost literarily feel the easy confidence she exuded.

Hope looked around at her surroundings and could not help but mentally sigh at what she saw. The castle, a building whose bricks seemed to have witnessed too many winters and whose roof was in danger of loosing some tiles, looked worse than the shabby inn she had spent her past weeks into. Yet, despite the sorry looking appearance of the place, the pretend potions student teacher could say that she was pleased. As soon as she had entered through what she would later find out that was called Walker's Gate, a wave of magical energy powerfully hit her. She could almost smell the scent of raw, untamed power that was embedded in the old walls and above all, she could sense, albeit faintly, the magical signature she had been looking for. After muttering some foreign words inaudibly under her breath, she quickly established that the magical signature wasn't that of the headmistress of the academy.

"I am surprised you haven't come by broom, my dear" the headmistress said in a conversational tone, leading the younger woman inside the castle, towards the staff room.

"I am not that much of a skilled flyer. I am not too fond of heights and as such I prefer to drive whenever possible…"she half lied, a red blush creeping on her pale cheeks. Truth be told, she had no idea of whether she was a skilled flyer or not, as she had never mounted a broom in her life. Not that she ever wanted to.

"I see…" Amelia's eyebrows shot up in surprise but made no further comment as to not embarrass her new teacher. It was truly odd to find a grown witch who did not have a propensity towards flying.

Hope could tell that her answer had raised some suspicions in the mind of the headmistress but upon looking at her kind and motherly face, she instinctively knew that the head of Cackle's would not be a threat as long as she did not attack one of her own. Her dealings with people had made her, over the years, gain a wonderful insight in the mind of human beings and allowed her to categorize everyone she met with tremendous accuracy. Miss Cackle, from the moment she had met her, had been nothing but polite and caring, although some sort of sadness seemed to be hidden in the gentle old eyes. She, of course, knew from Noah what the source of this sadness was and she could not help but feel a pang of jealousy. From what she had heard from her best friend, who took his mission as an inside man quite seriously, the person she was looking for, despite her dire predicament, had the emotional range of an ice cube and never showed any kind of feeling towards those that cared for her. Noah had tried, in the light of his newly found and well-hidden affection for the said individual, to sugar coat this fact and to try to venture certain guesses as to why the woman was so very cold, but truth be told Hope did not care. She had met both Miss Bat and the headmistress and neither deserved to be shut out. She thus felt jealousy that this woman, who was so very private, borderline misanthropic in her opinion, had people who were caring for her while she had nought.

As soon as she entered the staff room, which wasn't in a better condition than the rest of the castle, Hope had her hands full with the chanting teacher. Quite literarily. As if they were old friends, Davina Bat found it appropriate to jump from her cupboard and hug the life out of the younger woman. Hope had been taken by surprise at first but returned the affectionate gesture with a moderate amount of passion. Although she did like the warm welcome she was receiving, she wasn't the kind of person that liked to be touched too much. It wasn't because she was snobbish, or tried to distance herself from people, it was merely because she wasn't exactly used to such tactile gestures. Growing up without the affection of a mother and with a father that was as stern as he was loving, she did not get the opportunity to be hugged too often. As such, she relished in the close proximity of another human being who, for a change, wasn't dead or dying.

"Come… I saved you some of my special fruit salad... "Miss Bat said excitedly taking the girl's hand in her own and dragging her towards a small oak table where some potted plants were artistically placed "But first, I want you to meet my special friends…"

"Thank you, Miss Bat…" she answered, offering the woman a genuine smile.

"Unhand that poor girl immediately, Davina…" a powerful voice boomed behind the chanting teacher and a squeak escaped her lips.

Hope looked towards the source of the voice and saw a tall straight woman whose stature had once spoke of power but now seemed too frail and weak to inspire strength. Checking discretely for the magical signature of the woman confirmed what she already suspected. This woman was indeed the one she had been looking for.

"Constance, let her be. I don't think Hope minds…" Amelia gently addressed her stern deputy who was eyeing the pair with a suspicious, albeit tired glare.

"Hello, I am Hope Hawthorne" she said with a sweet smile, offering Constance her hand.

Constance accepted the extended hand with caution and could not help but notice that those were not the hands of a future potion mistress. It was common knowledge that as a student at a potions course you were prone to accidents and those accidents affected your hands, leaving them if not coarse and dry, at least scarred by cuts and minor spills. Yet, the girl's hand was perfectly soft, her skin looking as if it had never touched a burning hot cauldron. Furthermore, the girl's nails were rather long and styled with a perfect, red manicure which was yet again showing that she had never worked with ingredients. Every potion mistress in her right mind knew that having long nails while cutting, chopping and adding volatile or poisonous substances was not only impractical but downright dangerous. What if particles of such a substance got stuck under your nails and then inhaled or accidentally ingested the spores? The consequences could be awful and Constance could infer two things: either that the woman had an absolute disregard for her safety and the safety of others, or that she had never made a potion in her life. Considering the circumstances, the deputy did not know which one was worse. If it was the first one, then she would have to have a serious talk with the girl and monitor her carefully, making sure that she did not put the third years at risk. If it was the second one, it meant that the woman had an ulterior motive for coming to Cackle's.

According to most studies people's number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. From this, Jerry Seinfeld inferred that that to the average person this means that if you go to a funeral you are better off in the casket than doing the eulogy. This surely applied to her for she could certainly deal with death. Hell, she did it on an almost daily basis. Public speaking on the other hand, especially in front of hyperactive teenagers with shorter than average attention spans, she was not so certain about. It wasn't that she was shy or that she had a natural aversion towards communicating with people, far from it in fact. She liked associating with others and in her limited circle of friends she was quite popular. Her apprehension streamed from two other causes. It is with this thought in mind that Hope entered the potions lab prepared to deliver her first lesson and subtly surveyed the young faces that were looking at her with curiosity.

"Good Morning, girls!" she said pleasantly, letting out a breath she had been holding "My name is Hope Hawthorne and I will take your potions classes for the following two weeks"

"Good morning, Miss Hawthorne" the class chorused and she offered a beaming smile towards them.

"Now, I understand that you are studying concealing methods" she said in her best professional tone and yet again smiled upon seeing their nods. Thank god Noah had been right about what the girls were studying and that he had forced her to read and learn their third year text book. She made a mental note to give him kudos for his abilities as a spy "There are various ways to hide your presence from prying eyes. There are the obvious ones like the Invisibility Potion or the Chameleon Potion that literary make others unable to detect your presence. The caveat of such potions is that while they deceive the visual sense well enough, they are unable to trick other senses. For example, even if you are invisible, if you make noise or if you are wearing a strong perfume, the person who is looking for you will be able to find you easily enough. Hence, today we will be studying another form of hiding your presence, and that is blending into the environment by becoming a part of it. Basically today we are going to be studying turning into trees. Please open your books to page sixty eight for the method and ingredients of a Tree Potion" she recited what Noah had made her learn by heart during the past few days and was pleased to see that none of the girls seemed to be confused.

Hope gracefully sat at the desk opening the third year potions book and revising the contents of the potion she had just assigned, making sure that she did not forget to mention anything important. From the corner of her eyes she could already see the girls busying themselves with cutting roots or crowding towards the ingredient cabinet, the sound of a mild chatter coming from the group. She smiled discretely at the sight, thinking about how lucky they were to be so free and without a care in the world. Although she would have been a hypocrite to pretend that her own teenage years had been a bad period in her life, she had never had the luxury of being as careless as they were. As soon she could talk and think for herself, Hope had been introduced, more or less abruptly, in the art of elemental magic and then, death. It wasn't that she blamed her father for never allowing her the freedom to be a proper child, but she did resent him for taking away a part of life that she would never have the opportunity to regain. Of course, she was aware that her father, bless his soul, had done the best that he could considering the situation. After her mother died in childbirth, he was left with an infant daughter whose powers and mission was beyond his understanding. He was left with a child that stirred an equal amount of love and fear into his soul. An abomination of nature he had to teach how to harness her amazing power.

Mildred was beyond ecstatic that for once she did not have double potions with Miss Hardbroom. The cause of her excitement wasn't the fact that she was treated so harshly by her regular teacher. After three years, Millie had become accustomed to that and took it in her stride as a given, rather than complain about it. The cause was that she did not have to face her form tutor for another two weeks if she played her cards right. Her reluctance to meet Miss Hardbroom had its source in what had happened nights before when she had dared to invade the woman's personal space and hugged her. Although the teacher did not seem to mind, and she did not make any kind of comment regarding the incident, Mille was still mortified. It also did not help that both Enid and Maud had intensely interrogated her about it and that she couldn't provide them with a satisfactory answer. As much as she wanted to explain why she had hugged the potions mistress, both for the benefit of her friends and herself, she found that she was unable to justify her peculiar action. All that she remembered was that, at that specific time, it had felt like the right thing to do. That, coupled with an atypical feeling of ultimate safety and belonging while Miss Hardbroom had responded to her affectionate gesture, gave a whole new surreal dimension to what had happened that particular night. While her form tutor was indeed a powerful witch and had been the one to always rely on in a crisis, she was by no means a calming or nurturing person. Moreover, when Miss Hardbroom had her off days, she even scared Mildred out of her wits. As such, the student was pretty much certain that under normal circumstances she would have never sought comfort from the severe witch. Her feeling of uneasiness was magnified tenfold by the fact that no matter how hard she tried, she could not recall the subject of her dream. Mille had a nagging feeling that whatever she had dreamed about had been important and that her dream had been the cause of her out of character behaviour. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to rack her brains, she could not remember.

The moment their temporary potions teacher entered the room, high heels clicking on the stone pavement, Ethel Hallow was enthralled. The woman held herself with such grace and deportment and her clothes were so very glamorous, that the girl could not help but assimilate the image of Miss Hawthorne with that of the Barbie dolls she used to play with when she had been a child. She wondered for a moment if their new teacher would mind terribly if she asked her to show her the contents of her wardrobe. Judging by what the woman was currently wearing, Ethel was almost certain that such an experience would be like looking into a veritable treasure chest. She did realize that she was probably being incredibly superficial, but the student could not help it. Although she had been raised in a family that was more than well off and had a certain amount of prestige, Ethel wanted more. She did realize that while at Cackle's the Hallows were considered as superior, and certain allowances were made because of that, when she would ultimately leave the protective confines of the academy, she would be on her own. Hence, she ardently aspired one day to be part of the true aristocracy of the magical world and to have people respect her everywhere she went, not only because of her talents but also because of who she was, and what she looked like. She wanted people to turn their heads when she walked in a room, much in the same way that they had turned their heads when Miss Hawthorne came into the potions lab. As soon as the teacher started to speak with precision, a distinctive aristocratic accent clear in her low tone, Ethel not only decided that one day she would be exactly like her, but also realized that she had seen the woman before.

Imogen Drill fumbled with her small, black cell phone wondering if she should press "Send" or not. Although she did find it rather inappropriate to break off her relationship with Serge via SMS, she thought that keeping the man that had more or less devoted two years to her any longer in the dark was cruel. She did not know when and where their relationship had lost its spark. In all honesty she could not remember even having said spark in the first place. Of course, when she had met him during the girls' great outdoors expedition she had been impressed by his good looks, by the similarity in their preferences and by the way in which they seemed to share a parallel outlook on life. When she had allowed him on the last night at the camping site to come into her tent and spend the night there, she surely did not expect that one night stand to turn into a two year relationship.

Truth be told, Imogen was afraid of being alone and that one day she would wake up to see that her life had passed and that she would die in solitude. She admired the Constance Hardbrooms of the world who seemed to have given up on male affection and found meaning in their lives through other means. But she was not one of them. While the Academy played an important part in her life and she did feel a tremendous amount of devotion towards the girls, Imogen still hoped that one day she would have a husband and children to claim as her own. From this wish, or better said need, streamed her relationship with Serge. Her track record with the opposite sex wasn't exactly perfect. Her first crush had been the ginger-haired kid that tended to her mother's roses. He had also been a compulsive shoplifter. Her first real love had been during college, in the form of a married man and before she found out that little detail he had taken away everything she had: her chastity, her purity and her dignity. The only normal relationship she could pride herself on was that with a London attorney who represented her former school, Havisham High. He was charming, he was smart and he definitely was a man that any woman would want to marry. But at that time, she was still young and had aspirations of her own, which meant that she wasn't ready to give up on her own life and become a full-time wife and mother. She then regarded relationships and, why not, sex as something to fill the time, a means of having fun and fulfilling certain necessities. Thus, after almost three years when he wanted to take things to a more serious and formal level, she broke up with her lawyer and left Havisham High for Cackle's Academy. She was looking for a new beginning, a fresh lease on life.

The pitfall of teaching and living in an all girls academy was that there were virtually no men. While in the beginning Imogen wasn't desperate to find a partner, after a while the fact that the only contact she had with the opposite sex was Mr Blossom was a bit unnerving for her. The second problem in this respect, which was restricted strictly to Cackle's, was Miss Hardbroom. From the first moment she had met her, Miss Drill had been certain that she did not like the woman. She was everything that Imogen wasn't and for that, in the beginning, she had resented Constance. Yet, as time passed, despite their frequent clashes, she had learned to accept and respect the woman for what she was and what she represented. That did not mean that she condoned Constance's desire to keep the opposite sex away from her and from the school. As such, after years of being without male comfort, Imogen felt increasingly desperate, bitter and ready to engage in a relationship. That was when she had met Serge. He had come waltzing in her life at a moment when she had been emotionally vulnerable and had offered everything she wanted and needed at that time. Yet now, that was no longer enough.

Ever since she had met him, Evan Mallard had managed to fulfil pretty much every single fantasy she had about the ideal man. He was charming, he was the perfect gentleman, had a certain wealth and knew how to please a woman both physically and spiritually. For Imogen, whose pragmatic mind sometimes ventured into the realms of romance, she was certain that Evan was her Mr Darcy, or maybe her Rhett Butler. She blushed when thinking about their beautiful dates that ended in tumultuous love-making sessions. It was like nothing she had felt before in her life and she was pretty sure that if that if it wasn't love already, she could see herself falling in love with Evan. With a sure hand she pressed the small "Send" button and, feeling liberated, she walked inside Cackle's with a joyful step.

Hope could sense danger brewing up in the air and as such, she reacted quickly with the agility she knew she possessed. With a wave of her hand she placed a barrier of red flames between the exploding potion and the terrified student and watched how bits of the potion hit the barrier with an angry hiss. When she felt it was safe to do so, with the same ease, she lowered the flames and looked upon the shocked expressions of the pupils. She felt certain that none of them had seen such an impressive display of magic before and she could understand the awe with which they were watching her. Yet so, she could not say that she felt entirely comfortable under their scrutinising gaze. Firstly, because she wasn't used to people watching her quite so intently and secondly, because she had not intended to show her command of elemental power.

"Class dismissed…" she said sharply, yet kindly and the girls all crowded out too excited about what happened to be quiet. "Not you, Mildred…"The teenager turned from the door and threw her friends a worried look. Although Miss Hawthorne did not seem especially frightening, and she did not shout like HB, her display did prove that she was a powerful witch and that slightly unnerved the student. After all, she did not know her at all and she did not know what forms of punishment the new teacher saw fit to apply.

"I am sorry, miss…" she said in a shaky tone, her eyes wondering longingly towards the door. Why did it always have to be her? Why did she always have to be the one that screwed up?

"It's alright, Mildred… I suppose I should have warned you about putting too much bindweed in the potion…" she said calmly and smiled at the girl. "I didn't ask you to stay behind because I wanted to chastise you, but to ask you if you are fine"

"I am alright, miss…" she said softly, finding that her undone shoe laces were suddenly much more interesting. Trying to occupy her hands she twisted and turned her potions notebook until she unwittingly dropped it. Hope sighed for a moment and bent over to where her student's notebook had fallen and opened to show a most beautiful line-art drawing.

"This is a most wonderful drawing, Mildred…" she said with genuine amazement looking at the well-drawn picture of the tabby cat. Feeling an impulse to touch the black ink lines, she gently put her hand over the black drawing and fought the urge to let surprise show on her face. There, underneath her fingers, she could sense air pulsating gently, making the drawing feel almost alive.

Hope looked up to see the face of the girl she had disregarded before as a mere student. The girl looked frightened and ashamed. It was clear because of her hunched back, and her awkward stance, that, despite being told that she would not be punished, the student still expected some sort of reprimand for her actions. During the morning, the headmistress had been kind enough to walk her through the class registry and provide descriptions and names for each student. She had also warned her about Mildred's unfortunate clumsiness and how that tended to get in the way of her potion brewing. Yet, upon seeing the girl so very subdued she could not help but wonder if the student's clumsiness was the only thing that prevented her from brewing more effectively. Hope only had a limited amount of knowledge about potions and teaching, but she was a tremendous judge of characters. As such, based on the girl's stance and on what she knew about their regular potions teacher, she could infer that the pupil was used to be reprimanded and punished. Maybe if Mildred had been encouraged rather than chided, her brewing and her overall performance would have greatly improved. Under normal circumstances, Hope wouldn't have exactly cared about the welfare of any of the girls, but in Mildred's case, there was the drawing to take into consideration. The beautiful drawing of the tabby, which was so very life-like.

"It looks like it's going to leap off the page…" she followed in the same controlled voice, her fingers stroking the lines gently.

"Thank you, Miss" Mildred answered with genuine gratitude. No one had ever praised her drawing skills before and it felt nice that she was being commended for something she was good at.

"You should keep drawing, Mildred. You are really good at it!" Hope said with a smile, pleased that her words had such an effect on the girl. "Now, run along. I believe you have chanting next and Miss Bat would be most displeased if I keep you longer than necessary…"

News of the disaster in the potions lab and the way in which casualties had been avoided travelled with the speed of lightning among the student body before it reached the ears of the staff. The staff room was empty apart from the dour potions mistress, who was sitting before a mount of paperwork at her desk in the corner, and Hope took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was going to come.

"I heard that you had a bit of an accident today in potions, Miss Hawthorne" the figure clad in black said sternly upon hearing the door close, without turning to face the person that had entered.

"It was nothing… Just a potion gone astray…" Hope answered in a detached tone, calmly hoping that the severe woman would not want to dissect the accident too much.

"You should know that it happens a lot during our third year classes. Mostly because of…" she said sternly not liking the calm voice her new colleague employed. She chastised herself for not warning the woman properly before going to class.

"Mildred Hubble?" the younger woman replied with a hint of derision in her voice and noticed that Miss Hardbroom had turned from her paperwork to face her.

"I gather that the headmistress warned you already…" So if this girl knew already, why hadn't she paid more attention to what was going on in the class room? Someone could have been badly hurt.

"Yes and no…" she answered in the same eerily calm voice. It was true that sometime before going to her first class, she had been warned by the headmistress of potential dangers, Mildred included. "I talked to her after the incident and she acted like she had expected the potion to go wrong…"

"What are you trying to say, Miss Hawthorne?" the older woman asked in an ice cold voice, knowing fully well what the girl was implying.

"Maybe she lacks the encouragement she needs…" Hope was unnerved. It was ironical, for her, out of all people in the world to be unnerved by something as mild as a stare but she found that she was.

"Are you criticizing my teaching methods?" Constance asked with the same steeled tone but although she could feel the younger woman was somewhat intimidated, she refused to lower her blue eyes.

"All that I am saying is that, maybe, she would perform better if she wasn't punished all the time" Hope replied in the same calm, almost monotone voice, looking the deputy in the eye.

"At Cackle's we try to take a firm hand with the girls and not coddle them. We are trying to prepare them for the world" Miss Hardbroom stated simply and coldly as if what she proclaimed was a universal truth, her tone involuntarily rising up a notch.

"By bullying them?" she asked with a certain amount of derision and although she was angry, Constance could feel a flicker of respect for the girl. She admired the fact that she was not intimidated by her words or gestures, a feat that was hard even for the other staff members, who had known her for years. Whoever Miss Hawthorne was, she certainly knew how to stand up for what she believed in, and that was something that Constance admired.

Their discussion was interrupted by a slim figure coming into the room. The blond gym mistress entered the staff room in a hurry, a black mobile phone in hand and quickly looked through the morning's mail. Finding what she was looking for she offered a brilliant smile to the two women and left in an equally hurried pace. Her contact with the woman had been limited to a pleasant exchange of introductions and some hurried advice about the third years, but that was enough for Hope to recognise her as the person that had been attached to Evan's arm the previous day. She would bet her life on the fact that the letter Miss Drill was so very pleased about was from the aforementioned man and she could barely contain her urge to snort. She knew Evan very well. She had known the man for years and years and was aware that there was only one woman that Evan had ever loved, and would always love. The others were just his playthings. She knew how charming and glamorous he could be when he wanted to. She knew how easily he could sweep a woman off her feet and make her feel desired. She knew all his antics and was afraid that, like so many other girls, Imogen Drill was one of the many moths drawn to the flame.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Hardbroom?" Hope asked softly cutting her musings short, looking at the way in which the straight woman slumped on her chair for a moment

"Yes…" she answered plainly, in a tired voice, and the younger woman offered a sympathetic smile. Hope closed her eyes for a second and tried to imperceptibly penetrate the woman's mind. She sighed in frustration as the familiar wall of ice appeared in her view. Yet, she could not stifle a slight smirk upon seeing that the ice was slowly, but surely, melting away.

The woman was screaming in pain, covering the excited encouragement coming from both her husband and the midwife. They were both yelling at her to push harder and harder but she felt as if her body was being snapped in two by the searing pain. It was as if the child refused to part with his mother's womb. With a final effort she managed to get the baby out. She immediately panicked when she heard no scream. Trying to fight the unconsciousness that threatened to envelop her, she looked at the midwife who was holding the small bluish form of a new-born. Instinctively knowing that something was wrong, she tried to reach for the frame of her son or daughter and yet her efforts proved futile for, in a matter of moments, oblivion enveloped her.

Considering the general excitement in the adjacent room, the tall man with blond hair and hazel eyes that entered through the doors, invisible to the doctors that were giving their upmost to revive the mother, seemed eerily calm. With long strides that made his white robe gently sweep the floor, he came to the crib where the child lay as if asleep. Such a small, pure creature deprived of a life which never had a chance to begin. With a soft sigh, he placed his large hand upon the baby's small forehead.

The dark room came alive with the sound of a baby's cry.

Author's Note:

Thanks for having the patience to read yet another chapter! If you feel so inclined, you can send any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have through your reviews. I will reply to them as soon as possible.

As you already know, here comes a sneak preview from the next chapter of Fire and Ice:

Life at Cackle's becomes increasingly interesting. Miss Bat causes a misunderstanding. Evan plots intensely and Noah becomes aware of certain things.