The Worst Witch

Disclaimer - These Women are not Mine

Beyond Her Barriers

Slamming a heavy book on the staffroom table, Constance Hardbroom wearily sat down in her usual place - the castle's oldest and least comfortable armchair, resting her head in her hands. Another work-filled day at Cackle's Academy was now over at last. One time, when she first qualified as a teacher, she would not have had it any other way. Discipline. That was what the young girls' inquisitive minds required for structure. It was how she had been taught, and few who had met her could deny she was the most powerful witch of their acquaintance.

However, ever since the recent visit of her former mentor, a Miss Hecketty Broomhead, Miss Hardbroom could see the fine line that existed between discipline and a dictatorship. She could not honestly say for certain if she had crossed it. Her current third year girls would not believe it, but in previous years she had been even stricter, even harsher. She had softened slightly through her time spent with her colleagues –particularly kind-hearted Amelia and the younger, good-natured Miss Drill. While she could not call them friends exactly, she was aware of their regard for herself and although she never allowed them past her ever-present barrier she appreciated their well-meant attempts. Also, the girls' introduction to Mistress Broomhead taught them one thing. Their deputy headmistress was not as fearless as they had naturally assumed.

Constance sighed audibly. With no-one in the room to question why, she could show how she felt: exhausted and miserable. Magically summoning her black handbag with just one flick of her hand she reached inside for her bottle of wide-awake potion. Another sigh. Typically, it was empty, just when she needed it most if she was going to patrol the castle corridors throughout the night.

She allowed herself to sink into a more easeful position as she conjured her back-up elixir, a potion for dreamless sleep. She drained the vial of its contents and closed her eyes, permitting herself a rare hour or two of relaxation. She knew the usual troublemakers wouldn't get restless until she called 'lights out'.

As unconsciousness took her there was a noticeable change. As her breathing became slower, deeper, the signs of worry left her face. Sleep erased the expressions that she shot at pupils and staff alike in daylight hours. She was peaceful. But more than that, she was beautiful.

This was the thought that overcame Imogen Drill as she entered the room, silently closing the door behind her.

She stood for a moment, captivated.

She had always found Miss Hardbroom attractive, but always from a distance. She had never before had the opportunity to look at her properly, unguarded in this way. Constance's almost black hair was in such contrast to her pale skin and her dark eyelashes were long and feminine. Imogen found herself admitting her previously subconscious desire. She wished to gaze upon the woman awake, to see the eyes she knew were brown but never had the chance to memorise without risking her colleague's formidable anger.

Moving closer to sit at the table, she placed her bag down and noticed the discarded vial and shook her head in sorrow. She knew Miss Hardbroom pushed herself too hard. It was obvious, even to a non-witch like herself, that powerful magic requires a lot of effort and strength. She worried. She knew it was out-with her control, out-with the control of even Amelia Cackle. Nevertheless, Imogen cared. Although she accepted that she might never reach a friendship status with this striking witch, she still felt a strange compulsion, a need to protect.

Constance shifted in her sleep, now facing Imogen directly. Imogen gasped, scared she had been awoken. If she saw someone watching her in this vulnerable state she would be extremely unamused. This reminded Imogen of how ridiculous her feelings were. She would never need to protect someone who could reduce her to secret tears with just one sarcastic comment. Despite the pain she had sensed in connection to their recent inspector, Imogen knew that Miss Hardbroom's very nature would prevent her confiding in anyone, least of all the non-magical P.E teacher who she seemed to have very little patience for.

Imogen crept a little closer and wondered if she had the courage to make Miss Hardbroom a little less uncomfortable. She quickly yet quietly undid Constance's hair from its usual harsh style, allowing the soft curls to flow and frame her slender face. An ethereal beauty that greatly contrasted with Imogen's own good looks, short blonde hair and tanned skin. She fetched a blanket from the staffroom cupboard and gently placed it over her.

She moved towards the door, then looked back momentarily.

"Sweet Dreams." she whispered softly, promising silently to deny these new feelings, even to herself as far as possible.

She then left to meet her boyfriend.

As she did so, Miss Hardbroom's eyes opened. She looked down at the blanket and ran one hand through her loose hair.

'Who on earth...?' she wondered, surprised both at the fact that it had went unnoticed and more so at the fact that someone had shown compassion towards her. She glanced at the table. Miss Drill had forgotten her bag.

She knew now who had been present.