Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with The Worst Witch. The title of this fic comes from a lyric in the song 'Nobody's Home' by Avril Lavigne.

A/N: Hi folks, this fic was heavily inspired by one of my infamous nostalgic music sessions. It is no secret that I have written many, many one-shots all based around Constance's thoughts the night before the inspection looms. In those, her fight instinct has always won out.

In this fic, it didn't. 3:)

I hope you enjoy. :)

What You've Left Behind

Chapter One

Haunted.

They all knew that she was haunted.

It was an unspoken, yet well-known truth. After all, despite the lengths she went to try and hide it, it was obvious.

It was present in the way that she permanently carried herself as though the world around her would suddenly implode if she dropped the act for even a minute. It was visible in the way that she would flinch, ever so slightly, if anyone got too close to her proximity — especially when the contact was not on her terms. And it was reflected by the look in the deep brown of her irises.

Haunted.

They all knew that she was haunted, yet none of them knew why. They had speculated, of course they had, but none of them had even scratched the murky surface. No one had any idea of the truth, until one day, a letter had turned up in the morning's post.

It told of an upcoming inspection, and beyond that, it told of something much deeper.

Carefully lowering herself onto the ground, her sensitive nose tingling as it picked up the scent of freshly cut grass, Constance Hardbroom let out a far from content sigh. Tears of frustration stung the back of her eyes, as they always did whenever she came here.

She had to stop doing this.

After the last time, she had promised herself that she would no longer come here, simply because it was just too painful. It was a promise made in vain though. Yes, she had made that promise to herself, already knowing that she could not keep it. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she knew that she would still return to this spot, time after time, and feel her heart ripping in two with every visit.

Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, she twirled it loosely around her finger. Despite having cut it a few years ago, she was still trying to get used to her shoulder-length hair. It felt … strange. After all, going back as far as she could remember, she had had long hair; there had never been cause to know any different.

Constance Hardbroom was by no means a vain person, but she really missed her long locks.

Although the Rapunzel-esque fantasies of one day being rescued had long since died, there had been something about those long, dark tresses that had acted as a sort of security blanket. Somehow, they had made her feel safer, and as if she was actually in control. Cutting them had been a whole lot harder than she had first anticipated, and it had in fact taken rather a few glasses of Dutch courage before she was able to make that final chop. Seeing the hair lying on the floor had been heartbreaking; it was as though she had just lost a part of her identity.

Then again, she always did have a hard time letting go of her hold on the past.

Or was it the past that had the hold over her?

She didn't know.

In all honesty, she felt like she didn't know anything anymore, and the more time she had to think about it, the more she concluded that she had never known anything to begin with.

Looking up to the sky, subconsciously searching for answers she would never find, Constance blinked away the loose tears that were threatening to fall, her dark eyes taking in the familiar sight of young witches flying across the sky. Even from her spot on the ground, her hawk-like vision could recognise the uniform of Cackle's Academy. A small smile had previously graced her lips as she had watched them soar, but as soon as her thoughts turned to Cackle's Academy, it disappeared to nothingness, and the ache in her heart increased tenfold.

Cackle's …

Though to some it may have seemed as if it were only yesterday, four and half years had actually passed since she had left Cackle's Academy. Or rather, four and a half years had actually passed, since she had fled Cackle's Academy. It had been a rash decision, made under a moment of suffocating fear, and was one that she had punished herself for daily every minute since.

Four and a half years.

Four and a half years of self-hatred.

Four and a half years of shame.

Four and a half years of regret.

And there was no one to blame but herself.

Selfish.

She had been so unbelievably selfish.

It was a quality that she had never associated with herself. Right from an early age, her own needs had always come second to the wellbeing of others; she was always ready and willing to sacrifice her own life, especially if it meant that somebody else's could be saved. But now, it was so true, she may as well have branded the word across her forehead.

Selfish.

She had just upped and left, in the dead of night, without even so much as a word, leaving them all to deal with the inspection, while she had taken the coward's way out and fled from the only real home she had ever known simply because it was easier than having to face the woman who was the source of her every nightmare.

Heckitty Broomhead.

The first time she had met her at the tender age of fifteen, there had been a feeling that she couldn't quite place. Her brain had all but screamed at her, trying to warn her that to trust this woman would prove to be her biggest mistake. However, the other choice - to stay with her mother - had made it the lesser of two evils.

Or so the teenager had believed.

Relentless.

Demanding.

Thorough.

Yes, Heckitty Broomhead was indeed the evil incarnate.

She had tormented Constance every single minute of every single day that had been spent under her so-called 'care'. And now, years later, the mere mention of the woman's name was still enough to send the younger witch into a panicked frenzy, immediately stamping out any confidence she had, and rendering her the stuttering young girl she had once been.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It twisted her insides into knots so tight that it made her feel physically sick.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It stoppered her ability to breathe, like a bony hand crushing down on her windpipe and cutting off her oxygen supply.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on red alert.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It sent a fear coursing through her veins that was colder than any ice could ever be.

As past memories took hold, she gently closed her eyes, only able to watch as the all-too-familiar horror show played out before her. The images were hazy and broken as they flashed in her mind, flicking from one horrific memory to the next with no respite in between.

Strands of dark magic filled the air. Their sparks twisting and turning, this way and that, hissing viciously like a venomous cobra that was about to swallow its prey whole. She could hear the sparks of electricity as they crackled and fizzed around her, and she could see them clear as day as they danced through the air in a display of graceful anarchy, but she could do nothing to stop them. Nor could she prevent the inevitable.

Still weakened from Heckitty's previous onslaught, she lay helplessly sprawled across the flagstone, tears stinging her eyes as her every muscle and nerve-ending burned in a pure and unrelenting agony. Her vision was tunnelling, and her exhausted mind teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. As they flew towards her, she was unable to move out of the way, and as they quickly engulfed her all over, she hadn't the energy left to even scream.

All that she was mildly aware of was the cold, cruel laugh that reverberated around the room.

Tears …

Begging …

Pleading …

Harsh words ...

Maniacal laughter ...

A scream ...

Blood pooling across the flagstone …

Snake-like eyes burning into her own like a laser beam, before reaching in and tearing out her very soul ...

Broken glass littered the floor, glistening like hundreds of tiny diamonds under the sun. Next to the broken glass, lay the stopper for the vial.

The vial containing the deadly poison that she had just been force-fed.

Yellow eyes simply looked menacingly at her, watching on in sheer amusement as she struggled to breathe, as she coughed and spluttered, her eyes growing wider with terror with every second that passed. Offering no assistance, they continued to watch as she frantically clawed at the thinning air around her, desperately trying to force some oxygen back into her constricting lungs, before the owner and their eyes left the room, turning off the light and locking the door behind them as they went.

Leaving her to her fate.

Visibly shaking under the weight of her own emotions, Constance slowly opened her eyes, cursing as a tear finally broke free from its barrier and trickled down her cheek. Gazing silently at her reflection in the still waters of the river, she wondered when exactly she had become so weak.

Maybe Heckitty had been right about her after all.

Wiping fiercely under her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to rid herself of any evidence of her crying, scared to be caught in a moment of weakness or give anyone ammunition that could potentially be used against her at a later date, she swallowed the rising lump of emotion in her throat.

The guilt was still immense.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

She tried.

She had tried so very hard, but as soon as she had heard the identity of the mysterious inspector, it had been like a ticking timebomb just waiting to explode. And all the while, that same voice had rang out in her mind: 'I'm coming to get you'.

Before she could stop it, her level of fear had risen so far that it was completely outwith her control. Her terrified eyes fixated on the clock on the wall, watching the hands go round, watching as the hours slowly passed by, and as her day of judgement drew ever closer. Watching until she physically couldn't take it any longer.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't face her …

She had to get out …

She had to leave.

After she had graduated from Witch Training College, she ran, vowing to never look back and determined to make something of her life — or what little of it she had left —but it had all been so much harder than she had first anticipated.

She had been lost, so incredibly lost, and then right at her lowest moment of despair, she had found so much more than she could ever have hoped for, than she could have ever dreamed of.

She had found Cackle's Academy; a rare beacon of light in an otherwise darkened world.

There she had found her sanctuary. She had found a sense of belonging and a purpose, but more than any of that, she had found something much more precious: she had found a family.

Slowly, the wounds of the past had begun to heal a little more each day, and eventually she started to regain some hope, feeling as though she was finally starting to move forward, taking tentative step by step each day to put the past behind her and lay old demons to rest. The re-appearance of Heckitty Broomhead had not only opened those wounds again, but it had set them bleeding so much that it just wouldn't stop. Soon, she had found herself running again.

Only this time, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and no one to come and save her.

'Failure, Constance ... you'll always be destined for failure'.

Humming a new composition that she was in the midst of working on, having been struck by a sudden flash of inspiration earlier on that morning, Davina Bat skipped merrily through the forest clearing. Her footing was light and child-like as she bounded along, full steam ahead, the trees whizzing by her in a blur of greens, browns, and yellows.

Today was a good day, she had decided. And there was just so much to be thankful for: the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the flowers were in full bloom once again, and what's more, they tasted utterly delicious!

As she exited the forest, she stopped, taking in the view of the majestic castle that lay in the distance beyond. It was strange how different Cackle's Academy looked, when one was looking at it from the other side of the river. Nevertheless, it still managed to make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She loved Cackle's Academy more than anything. It was her home, and it was where her family was. She couldn't even imagine not being there.

Gazing at it for a few moments longer, she smiled to herself, before she turned her attentions back to the small wicker basket, already imagining the tasty delights of flower petals that she would soon be consuming once back in the sanctuary of her cupboard.

Her mind had been full of nothing but flowers and sweet harmonies until a sudden thought had entered it and now it nagged away at the forefront of her mind, just demanding attention. She was about to dismiss it altogether when something inside had stopped her, telling her instead to trust in her instincts. Slowly, she turned her attention to the river bank.

There had been a lone figure sat there when she had first arrived. She hadn't paid much attention to them at the time, but now she took the time to survey them properly ...

Her eyes widened in disbelief as shock permeated her whole system. The basket fell to the ground, flowers spilling out in all directions, yet she didn't even notice. The basket was now completely and utterly forgotten about as she slowly approached the figure, her mind absolutely reeling from her latest discovery.

"Constance?" she questioned, tentatively.