Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch

Hey, folks.

I found this in my old files and decided to go back to working on it because I 've sort of lost EVERYTHING current from my memory stick!*sobs*

Firstly: I myself have been fortunate enough to have never had the flu, so I apologise if my medical stuff isn't quite right. My knowledge essentially came from a bit of googling and from good ol' Wikipedia.;)

Secondly: My music of choice whilst writing my notes for this has been the 'Stronger' album, by Kelly Clarkson: 'Dark Side' & 'Standing In Front Of You' are especially, to me at least, very HB/Drill.

Thirdly: This fic is for typicalRAinbow, who has always been a lovely reviewer and an even lovelier friend. I can't promise I'll finish it dear, what with my track record, lol, but I shall aim to try.

*blows a kiss*

Hope you enjoy :)

Love In The First 39 Degrees

Chapter 1

"That sounds wonderful, Davina!" exclaimed the headmistress, as she finished off her cream slice and then surreptitiously looked at the plate, as if contemplating having another. "I do hope you have a lovely time." Her hand hovered over the plate of cakes as if fighting a battle with temptation; it was a battle temptation was quickly set to win. "What about you, Imogen?" Amelia Cackle enquired before taking a massive bite of cake, "do you have anything nice planned for over the summer holidays?"

"I'm off camping with Serge." She replied, hoping that her excitement had come across as believable and not too false.

Truthfully, she was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

Recently, things between her and Serge had started to change; arguments had become all the more frequent and all the little habits she had once found adorable now just irritated her. While people would most likely say it was only because the so-called 'honeymoon' period was now well and truly over, she knew it was more than that. In fact, she wasn't even sure whether she...

She was jolted from her thoughts as the door opened and in strode the deputy head, Constance Hardbroom. The woman had such an imposing presence that you could not help but not notice whenever she entered a room. It wasn't even strictly to do with her great height and instead was more to do with the power, which practically radiated from all around her, and the confidence she oozed in a seemingly effortless fashion.

Imogen noted, with some surprise, that confident and effortless fashion seemed to be taking that bit more effort than usual to carry off.

It was as if all her muscles were protesting under the strain of carrying her tiny weight and, despite the lengths, she was going to try to hide it, a flicker of exhaustion passed briefly across her features, as she sat down in her usual spot. She didn't know whether or not it was just the way the sunlight happened to be hitting that side of the room but she noticed that the older woman's complexion seemed slightly flushed and upon closer inspection, there was a slight look of glassiness to her brown eyes.

In fact, if the woman in question wasn't Constance Hardbroom, then Imogen would have sworn that she was coming down with something.

She jumped guiltily as the witch suddenly looked over in her direction and locked eyes with her own. Glassy or not, there was still one hell of a glare coming at her; as if she was daring the gym-mistress to make some comment.

Shrinking back under the gaze, Imogen quickly looked away, suddenly finding herself heavily engrossed in a picture she had never even noticed before, let alone bothered to look at.

"Constance?"

" Yes, Davina?"

"I said could you pass me the 'Witch Weekly' over please?" the chanting teacher asked again, as she gestured to the magazine lying on the table next to the potions mistress.

Lifting the magazine from the table, Constance stood up; wavering a little on her unsteady legs as she discreetly clutched the edge of the table for support. Not discreetly enough though.

"Are you alright, dear?" Amelia asked her, starting to become rather concerned for her deputy's well-being, as she noticed for the first time just how flushed the woman's porcelain skin seemed.

"Perfectly fine, headmistress", came the automatic and expected reply to the question.

Reluctantly, she uncurled her fingers from the table's edge, releasing her grip slowly, before standing to her full height. She had barely taken two steps forward when she felt the room spin; the corners of her world were quickly blackening.

The magazine fell from her grasp and landed with a thud as she collapsed on the floor.