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Chapter Text

In the middle of the staff room there was a whole cheesecake. It was Amelia’s favourite - baked, German, and on a butter-digestive base - Mrs Cosy had given it to her as a late birthday gift. She knew she oughtn’t to treasure foodstuffs so much, but god, there was nothing better than a mouthful of cheesecake. It was more magic to her than any spell she cast, or potion she brewed. Pushing her cat-eye spectacles up her nose, she conjured a knife to cut herself a slice.

‘Oh that looks delicious,’ Davina, conducting baton still in her hair, span into the room.

‘I’ll cut you a slice,’ Amelia smiled, ‘you too, Imogen,’ she said to the flustered looking PE teacher who’d followed Davina in.

‘Oh,’ Davina said, ‘much nicer than Yak’s milk.’

‘You don’t say?’ Amelia said, brows playfully raised.

‘Those first years are driving me mad,’ Imogen said, brushing a hand through her cropped blonde hair, ‘is this a Mrs Cosy special? It’s wonderful.’ Through the closed door the scuttle of school boots was heard, an followed by unmistakable clip of sharp heels. Miss Hardbroom slammed the staff room door behind her.

‘Oh, time for a cake break is it? While I’m left to deal with those chaotic first years,’ she said, the keys on her belt still jangling.

‘Care for a slice Constance?’ Amelia smiled, hoping Constance’s frustration could be eased by a sweet treat. Constance, closed her eyes briefly, and completely ignored Amelia.

‘Who exactly is meant to be on duty Miss Cackle?’ she said, and everyone followed Amelia’s guilty gaze as it landed on Davina.

‘Miss Bat, I know that - like Miss Cackle - you have some kind of strange compulsion about dairy products, but that’s does not excuse you from doing your job.’ Constance said, frustration and annoyance in every word. Miss Bat, mouth stuffed with cheesecake, sprang from her seat, knocked her half-eaten slice onto Constance, and squealed as she shut herself in the stationery cupboard. The white splat of the cheesecake contrasted starkly with the crisp black of Constance’s dress. She was too stunned to speak, and the plate fell onto the floor with the resonant crack of broken china. Imogen stood and said she’d take the duty; Constance folded her arms and disappeared.

Amelia slipped deeper into her armchair and loaded her plate with a second slice of cheesecake. What a bloody nightmare this school was sometimes, she thought. Something had to be done about Constance, she was always wound far too tightly, letting every problem boil-up to fever pitch. And Davina, well that was another matter entirely, the woman was unusual to say the least, and Amelia didn’t think any amount of kindness or firmness would change her. If only she could get Constance to be more patient, and maybe take the doors off the stationary cupboard too. An idea occurred to her, the end of term was coming up after all, perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone.

Constance had teleported herself straight to her room, where she’d immediately removed her cheesecake covered dress, and thrown it into the magic-washer-dryer she - and all the staff - had in the corner of her bathroom. Her wardrobe may have looked very monotonous to anyone else, black, black, black, black, black, black, black, but she had chosen it with care. She lived in this school, there was no off moment for her. If she wasn’t teaching potions, she was marking, and if she wasn’t marking, she was on duty, and if she wasn’t on duty, without fail some silly girl would get themselves into trouble and she’d have to go and deal with it. The girls wore uniforms, and so did she. It was easier that way, she didn’t have to think about what to wear in the morning and there was no variation in her appearance that would cause the titter of teenage gossips.

She was taking a black velvet dress off the hanger, when she heard Imogen’s voice in the courtyard. She could be firm enough to keep the girls in line and she was professional, even if she did teach PE. Constance heard a chorus of forlorn ‘yes Miss Drill’s and smiled, but then there was laughter from Imogen and the girls. If it’d been Davina, she’d have groaned and teleported herself down there to control it before it got out of control, but this was Imogen, and she managed something that Constance had never achieved: the girls liked her. She let go of the velvet dress and picked up another, still black, still high-neck and long sleeved, but in a light silk-blend with twinkling jet buttons. She was on duty tonight, so she might as well be in something breathable.

‘Constance, a word please,’ Amelia said as Constance came down the spiral stairs, ‘Imogen, you too.’ Constance didn’t look at Imogen and followed Amelia toward her office. The lesson bell rang and she turned on a pin; a surprised Imogen, who’d been following, walked straight into her.

‘What are you doing Miss Drill?’ Constance said with more projection than necessary.

‘I could ask you the same Miss Hardboom,’ Imogen said, Constance pursed her lips and neither woman stepped back.

‘You do realise my office is this way?’ Amelia said. Constance whipped round again and Imogen had to step back to avoid being smacked by her shoulders.

‘But Headmistress, the bell for lessons has rung, surely you don’t mean now?’ Constance said.

‘I mean now,’

‘But the girls,’ Constance gestured to first years trailing milling by her potions classroom.

‘I’m sure the girls won’t mind ten more minutes break time, will you?’ Amelia smiled, and there were gleeful shouts as the girls went back out to the courtyard. Constance rolled her eyes, those first years were never going to learn any sensible routines.

Whenever she had Constance in her office, Amelia wished the ceiling were a little taller, the room a little lighter. Her deputy seemed to droop whenever she had to go in there and it made her feel uncomfortable to see the tall woman dipping her head.

‘You’ll both be aware that it is the first years’ end of term trip this Friday. And you’ll both be aware that we’d agreed that Constance and I would accompany them,’ she said. Please, Constance thought, let her have changed her mind and send Imogen instead of me.

‘I suspect Miss Bat will need some support from a senior member of staff while with the rest of the school,’ Amelia said; Constance felt herself almost smile, ‘and I’m feeling rather exhausted. So I have decided to stay at Cackles, and Constance you and Imogen will take the first year trip.’
Constance felt herself sink, and looked over to Imogen beside her, the PE teacher was beaming.

‘Thank you Miss Cackle, I won’t let you down, I’ve always wanted to take the girls on a school trip.’

‘Miss Drill I think you rather underestimate the first years’ ability to bring anything other than chaos,’ Constance said.

‘Yes, well, between the two of you I’m sure you can more than handle it,’ Amelia said.

‘I’m sorry Miss Cackle, but I’m not really sure of what the plans are - could you update me?’

‘We’re leaving at 16:00 on Friday, where we’ll take a four hour coach ride, up to the sunny and absolutely never rainy west coast of Scotland. Where we’ll be staying in a youth hostel that’s no doubt even danker than here, and trying not to let the girls die of hypothermia when they inevitably try to swim in the North Sea.’ Constance said.

‘Yes, Scotland, it’s a charming place, I’m sure you and the girls will have a wonderful time. Now, I think those ten extra minutes of break are over, don’t you?’ Amelia said, and watched the two teachers leave her room; Constance far more annoyed than she’d expected, and Imogen absolutely elated. They were going to have a more interesting time in Scotland than she was at Cackles, of that much she was sure.

Chapter Text

Constance had given lights out to every floor now, and checked that all the trouble makers were in their beds. She hoped tonight would be one where they actually listened to her instructions, and for once, she didn’t have to stalk about in her pyjamas for a stray child. A whole night’s sleep was nice when she could get it. There were footsteps on the ground floor; someone was already up to mischief, she sighed.

‘Get to bed, at once,’ she boomed in the direction of the footfall.

‘I was hoping to get out for an evening run, you’ve not bent Amelia into instituting a lights out for staff have you?’ Imogen said, appearing on the steps below.

‘Miss Drill, I would thank you to not sneak around like a troublesome third year,’ Constance folded her arms, about to disappear herself to her room. Imogen reached out and put her hand on Constance’s arm.

‘Now wait a minute Miss Hardb-’ she began, but it was too late. Constance had already cast the spell and they were both teleported to her room.

Imogen felt like she was a tube of mentos fizzing out of a bottle of Coke. She’d been dissolved and reassembled in less time that it took her to tie her running shoes’ laces. She couldn’t stand up straight, and instead of doing what any person with an ounce of self-preservation would: getting as far away from a furious Miss Hardbroom as possible, she tumbled right into her. And Constance caught her firmly in her arms; she was not so unkind as to let Imogen break her nose falling face first onto the floor.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing Miss Drill?’ Constance said, voice softer than the one she’d use on the girls. Imogen grinned gormlessly up at her and swayed a little. Constance gently pushed her back and sat her on the edge of the bed, and then sat down next to the PE teacher.

‘You really shouldn’t have done that you know. The first time is bad enough for a witch, I can’t imagine how it’s making you feel,’ she said, lightly holding Imogen’s arm to steady her.

‘Is this your room?’ Imogen said, still swaying and clearly not quite in possession of all her faculties. She must be absolutely nauseated, Constance thought.

’Yes, I was hoping to get a bit of marking in before calling it a day.’

‘Marking! At this hour, you need to get a life Miss Hardbroom. Are those vinyls?’ Imogen tried to launch herself off the bed to look at the records, but nearly fell again and Constance settled her back on the bed.

‘Give yourself a minute before you try and stand, teleportation can wreak havok on your balance,’ Constance said. Imogen’s smile turned from gormless to wan and she held her head in her hands. Constance conjured a bucket in front of the now green looking PE teacher.

‘Yes, they’re vinyl,’ she said, ‘classical mostly, I find listening to anything with lyrics difficult if I’m trying to work.’ All she bloody did was work, Constance thought, if Imogen weren’t desperately trying not to vomit in a half-stranger’s bedroom she’d realise how boring Constance really was. Imogen nodded.

‘Not all though, I do have some Black Sabbath in there somewhere,’ she said. Imogen spluttered a shocked laugh, and looked up at Constance.

‘Black Sabbath? You?’

‘Surely it’s not so surprising that a witch who wears black all the time, might like a bit of metal every once in a while. Besides, their early work is very bluesy’ Constance smiled, a teasing edge to her words.

‘Next you’ll be telling me that you absolutely love Kylie Minogue or S Club 7,’ Imogen smiled.

‘Please, I have standards,’ Constance said, smiling again, and Imogen’s eyes seemed to dip to her chest. Without thinking, she fiddled with the jet buttons around her neckline.

‘How are you feeling now?’

‘Better, I think, I mean I’m almost sure I’m not going to be sick now, so that’s progress.’

‘Good,’ Constance paused, ‘now why did you do that? It takes a lot of practice to get used to. There’s a reason that Miss Cackle and Miss Bat aren’t constantly popping from place to place.’

‘But you do it all the time,’

‘I’m very practiced.’ Constance noticed that Imogen’s polo neck collar was standing up on one side; she wanted to flatten it. ‘Why did you try to stop me?’

‘Oh, it was something and nothing,’ she paused, ‘well, not quite. I wanted to speak to you about the trip, and then you shouted at me as if I were some badly behaved girl, and I was furious. I wasn’t about to just let you disappear. I wanted to make you talk to me.’

‘I see,’ Constance said, and she moved to stand by the mantelpiece, ‘well, you’ve certainly got my attention now. Even if it did nearly cost you your dinner.’ Imogen’s eyes roved over Constance and then darted around the room. Fuck, she thought, she was in Hardbroom’s bedroom. She was sitting on Hardbroom’s bed. She jumped up, sending th bucket at her feet off on a clattering roll toward Constance’s boots.

‘I’m feeling quite better now,’ she said, running a hand through her hair, ‘I’ll just be on my way.’

‘Didn’t you want to talk about the trip?’

‘Umm, yes I suppose I did,’ Imogen, who’d been halfway to the door, turned back to face Constance and found she was now standing far closer to the witch than she’d like. The jet buttons on her dress glinted with reflected firelight.

‘Well?’ Constance said, turning toward Imogen with a mixture of impatience and languidity, her shift in position silouhetting her body against the fire’s glow. Imogen felt her cheeks hot with blush.

‘Errr, well I just wanted to know if you had any tips,’

’Tips?’

‘Yes,’ Imogen pushed her hand through her hair again, ‘it’s just, well, I’ve never been on a trip with the girls before, and I want to know what to expect. Are there any logistics I need to be aware of?’

‘It’s much the same as here Miss Drill, but with worse behaviour because they’re all so excited about the change of scene. We’ll have even less free time than we do now. There’s nothing but vigilance on school trips,’

‘I take it you don’t enjoy trips then?’ Imogen said. Why was Constance even a teacher if she didn’t enjoy spending time with the girls? she thought.

‘I prefer to take a proper break over the holidays and - whatever jovial moments there may be - a break these school trips are not,’ she paused, she could tell Imogen thought she was somehow unfeeling, ‘Amelia and I organise the trips for the girls benefit, not our own.’ Imogen looked over Constance’s shoulder to the maidenhair fern she kept on the windowsill. She looked after that plant better than she looked after the girls, Imogen thought.

‘Well I intend to enjoy myself,’ Imogen said tersely, ‘and for the girls to have fun, not be restrained by old fashioned ideas about discipline. Thank you for the bucket Miss Hardbroom.’
Imogen left and Constance closed her eyes in frustration. She’d only been honest, and if Imogen couldn’t handle that, she was in for a very long week in Scotland indeed.

Chapter Text

Imogen had tried her best not to think about the perpetually dour presence that was Constance Hardbroom. She tried not to think about the strangeness of her not only enjoying music, but listening to Black Sabbath; she tried not to think about how kind she’d become when she realised Imogen was feeling awful; and most of all, she tried not to think about Constance’s hard on her arm; the twinkling buttons on the front of her dress; the blush on her own cheeks as Constance had leant against the fireplace. Thankfully Constance was being irritatingly disciplinarian, and all of her shouts of frustration at the girls gave Imogen an instant reminder that there was no softness with Miss Hardbroom.

Lo and behold, the staff room door slammed open, and Constance came in with a stack of books.

‘Those first years are incorrigible,’ she dropped her books onto table, knocking the spoon off Miss Cackle’s plate. ‘Really Miss Cackle, I think the whole trip should be cancelled.’

‘A trip is just what they need Constance, dispel pent up energies and that sort of thing,’ Amelia replied, somehow managing to be unyeilding, kind, and suck a another bite of cheesecake off her spoon.

‘I agree Miss Cackle, in fact I had a look at the itinerary and I’d like to take one of the days to lead a trip over to Islay,’ Imogen said.

‘Oh now that sounds like a great idea Miss Drill,’

‘Yes, and I thought it could be a magic free trip - so that they get to spend some time building up their social skills with non-magical people. We’ll have to take a short ferry over to the island you see,’

‘Absolutely not, they’ll be enchanting seals to do backflips on the deck,’ Constance said, pursing her lips.

‘Now Miss Hardbroom, there’s no need for histrionics; Miss Drill’s idea has merit - goodness knows we need to try something different with the first years.’ Amelia smiled, and looked over at the dim shape of Miss Bath through the stationary cupboard glass. ‘Davina went on a chanting excursion to Islay once, and apparently it’s very beautiful.’ Miss Bat, popped her head out of the cupboard.

‘It’s stunning, even if some lesser witches can’t appreciate the wonders of seal singing,’ she turned pointedly to Constance and then shut herself back in the cupboard.

‘That settles it then, Imogen can have a day of the trip as a no-magic outing to Islay, and—’

‘But Amelia, I really must insist, this is a preposterous idea and those first years aren’t—’

‘No buts Constance, you are to fully support Imogen on the excursion and that is final,’ Amelia said, waggling her spoon at Constance.

‘Yes Miss Cackle,’ Constance said, annoyance in every syllable. She shot Imogen the fierce look she normally reserved Mildred Hubble, and disappeared herself out of the staff room.

‘Don’t worry Imogen, she’ll come round, all bark and no bite that one,’ Amelia said, holding out a platter of cakes, ‘cream bun?’

Imogen didn’t take the cake and she wasn’t half as sure as Amelia that Constance would come round. In fact, she was getting surer by the day that being in closer quarters with Constance was going to be an absolute nightmare.

—

‘Is it some sort of fancy dress trip, Miss, er, miss’ the coach driver said looking laughingly at Constance’s travelling attire of cape and pointed hat as she boarded.

‘Miss Hardbroom, Deputy Headmistress thank you very much. And no, it most certainly is not a fancy dress trip.’ Constance shot back at him, uttering the words fancy and dress as if they a particularly unpleasant smell. A muffled giggle came from the coach full of girls. Constance stood at the front of the coach and addressed the girls.

‘I don’t believe I made any jokes girls, or am I mistaken?’ Constance said witheringly.

‘No Miss Hardbroom,’ came the sullen reply of a coach full of girls. Constance gave them a prim nod, and took her seat beside Imogen.

Imogen, had already put her headphones on, and was resolutely staring out of the window listening to her Pulp tape. She felt Constance’s eyes on her, but didn’t turn. Good, Constance though, it would be too much to have to pretend to be interested in making conversation with the non-witch for hours. What would they even talk about? The weather?

Imogen must have turned her tape over at least three times when she felt something pushing against her shoulder. She expected to see an angry Constance wanting her to dish out some too-strict order to the girls. But Constance had fallen asleep, her head buffeting Imogen’s shoulder as the coach moved. Short dark curls had escaped her bun at the nape of her neck, and Imogen noticed freckles dotting the soft skin on her neck. If she weren’t so severe, Imogen thought and then caught herself, if she weren’t so severe then bloody what Imogen? She’d turn you into a toad before you even got close. And yet here she was, close enough to touch, close enough to see downy blond hairs on the Deputy Headmistress’ cheek.

‘Miss Drill, are we there yet?’ Ruby Cherrytree whined from two rows back, lazily drawing the s of miss out into a hiss.

‘No yet, but it looks like we’re loch side so it won’t be long now,’ Imogen replied, pushing herself out of the seat so she could see the girls behind her. The movement startled Constance who woke with a small snort.

‘How are you all?’ Imogen asked, ‘good ride?’

‘Pretty tired now miss,’ Ruby said.

‘Yeah, can’t wait to get to bed,’ Enid added. There was a shuffle beside Imogen as Constance sat up to look at the girls too.
‘Glad to hear it Enid Nightshade,’ Constance said stepping out on the aisle to address the whole class.

‘We will be arriving at Auchtermuchty House shortly. Please pack up your travel supplies and—’ the coach turned quicker than expected, and Constance swung into Ethel Hallow’s seat, gripping the top of the red and blue upholstery to hold on.

‘Hey, Miss whatever your name is Deputy Headmistress, you’re supposed to be in your bloody seat,’ the coach driver shouted. Constance righted herself and stalked down to the driver.

‘I have a job to do bus man, and you could be doing yours a little better I think? I don’t remember this private drive being quite so bendy before,’ she whisper-shouted into his ear.

‘Now girls, do as Miss Hardbroom says and start packing up, we’ll be pulling up very soon,’ Imogen said, hoping to distract them from the slew of insults Constance and the driver were now exchanging.

‘All women are the same, what exactly do you mean by that?’ Constance said bitterly as the bus came to a halt.

‘Look, you goth bint, I don’t care what sort of strange excursion this is, but I won’t be driving you back after the attitude you’ve given me,’ the coach driver said, pressing the button to open the doors.

‘We’re here! Girls get your bags, don’t forget to do a last check of your seats, and off you get,’ Imogen tried to get the girls out of the coach so she could contain the rapidly escalating conflict.

‘What’s all the fuss about? Bill, you’ve been brilliant this whole journey,’ Imogen beamed at the coach driver.

‘Glad to see one of you’s got sense,’ he said, ‘why d’you keep a battleaxe like her around? Must set a terrible example to all these young girls,’ Imogen looked at Constance, who was incensed - she’d folded her arms with her casting fingers ready.

‘Well, you know what they say horses for courses. Sometimes with kids you need the carrot and the stick,’ she tried a charming laugh.

‘You can say that again, the ol’ good cop bad cop routine,’ he chuckled, ‘best be careful you don’t take it too far,’ he said to Constance. Imogen stepped on her toe to stop her saying anything else.

‘It’s pretty easy to get carried away when you work at a boarding school - always on duty you know?’ She said. The coach driver nodded.

‘We’re hoping to leave around 4pm on Saturday if that works for you?’ Imogen said, hoping to god he wasn’t serious about not coming back.

‘Of course I’ll see you then ladies - or should I say Cagney and Lacey?’ He waved them off the coach, Imogen grabbed their things, even remembered Constance’s stupid hat, and pushed the potions teacher off the coach before she could say another word.

The girls flooded into the empty building, soon finding the bunk rooms and claiming beds for their own. Constance set out the sandwiches they’d ordered for their first night. She gave the girls clear instructions to wash up their own plates and cover any uneaten food, before heading up to find her own room and finally remove her cape.

‘What are you doing in here?’ Constance said to very sheepish looking Imogen, who was sat on the edge of the double bed.

‘There’s only one room,’ Imogen said, running her hand through her hair.

‘Well, there must have been a mistake, I mean I sometimes share with Amelia, butnever with a double,’ she sighed, she’d had enough of today there’d been too many annoyances already. ‘They must have made it up wrong.’

‘Yes, I thought that, but I’ve already tried it. There’s no way it can be split into two. It’s one bed frame.’

Constance made a groaning sound and flopped onto the opposite side of the bed to Imogen.

‘This’ll have to do then,’ she said, ‘for fucks sake.’

‘Didn’t think I’d ever hear that coming from you,’ Imogen laughed.

‘Yes, well, I’m not the Deputy Headmistress all the time. Even Hardbroom has her limits.’

Chapter Text

‘Now girls, sea buckthorn must be picked at precisely the right moment for it to be of any use in potion making. Can anyone tell me why that is?’ Constance said to the first years. They were enjoying picking herbs, sea buckthorn had brought them to a pale sanded beach, the morning sky was a crisp and cloudless, and the grey-green sea rippleless like a pane of glass. Ethel Hallow’s was among the outstretched hands, but she avoided it.

‘Maud Moonshine,’ she said.

‘It’s the light miss, too much light makes them have too much sugar,’ 

‘Very good Maud, and why is the sugar important?’ 

‘Is it because their magic gets used up? Like when you get tired after eating too many sweets.’ Mildred said. 

‘After a fashion, yes, if the berries have too much sugar then the magic components use their energy to eat the sugar and the berries become useless for potion making,’ Constance saw that Mildred, who always struggled to get anything right, was smiling, ‘well done Mildred, and next time put your hand up first.’ 

A squeal came from the girls at the back and they jumped up. 

‘Whatever is the matter Jadu?’ Constance shouted. 

‘There’s a crab miss,’ Jadu said, looking terrified. 

‘It’s got huge pincers,’ Enid added, hiding behind Jadu. 

Constance stood up from the stone she was sitting on, and the brushed creases off the front of her dress as she went over to the rock pool by Jadu and Enid. A small grey crab was scuttling about looking for a place to hide. 

‘Nothing to worry about girls, she’s more scared of you than you are of her. She just needs a place to hide,’ Constance lifted a rock to make a hiding place for the little crustacean. Under the rock was a string of golden lichen, it twisted and bloomed like drops of bright ink over the basalt. It reminded Constance of the way Imogen’s blond curls had shone in the strip of sun that came through their bedroom curtains. She’d still been sleeping when Constance woke. In her morning haze, she thought she was in her own room at Cackle’s, and when she saw sunlight catching a blond curl on the pillow beside her she almost reflex puffified it. Her brain caught up with her eyes, and she noticed how soft Imogen’s hair looked, how the longer stands coiled into perfect ringlets. She wanted to coil a curl around her finger. 

‘It’s alright Miss Hardbroom she’s found a hiding spot of her own, look,’ Jadu pointed at two small grey pincers disappearing into a crack in the pool. Constance still had the rock in her hand and she quickly put it back to cover the yellow lichen. 

‘Good. See girls, all that’s needed is a little confidence and control.’ 

Perhaps she could do with taking her own advice Constance thought, too often she felt like the little grey crab, scuttling - pincers out - from one hiding place to the next. 

—

‘For goodness sake!’ Imogen shouted from the galley kitchen. Her shout was accompanied by the chaos score of clanking metal. 

‘What is going on in here Miss Drill?’ Constance burst through the door. She saw Imogen looking forlorn over a pan of blackened carrots - lid rolling in the floor. 

‘Don’t you start. I am a PE teacher, not a cook. I’m doing my best,’ 

‘Yes, well’ Constance peered into the pan, ‘what exactly were you trying to cook here? Carrot à la charbon?’ She smiled with sarcastic glee. 

‘Just carrot soup, no fancy à la whatsits,’ 

‘Charbon, it means coal, because they're burnt. Oh never mind,’ Constance said. Imogen stared at her and rolled her eyes. 

‘Why don’t you just fuck off if you’re going to be a sarcastic prat,’ she said, reaching for some more carrots. 

‘Well pardon me for thinking a joke might lighten the mood.’ 

‘Your sense of humour is rather an acquired taste Miss Hardbroom,’ 

‘And I could say the same about your cooking no doubt,’ Constance smiled, dryly quipping again. ‘You might not think it, but I’m not bad in the kitchen. It’s quite similar to potions really.’ She reached up to pull a tin of butter beans off the top shelf, ‘let me show you.’ 

‘And leave the girls unsupervised? Hardly seems like you,’ 

‘Ordinarily no, but I let them drink the drafts of bliss potion they brewed, so they’ll be dozing until dinner’s ready,’ 

‘Bliss potion?’ Imogen said, eyebrows raised in concern. 

‘Don’t worry, totally harmless, a bit of a misleading name too, it just puts you into a meditative state for an hour or so - they can leave it at any time - but it can be really quite good for clearing the mind,’ 

Imogen looked at her as if she was reevaluating the witch, under her gaze Constance cocked her head wondering what exactly the PE teacher was looking at. Imogen’s eyes were very blue, she noted, and then felt the heat creeping up her neck. 

‘First of all, carrot soup is not enough for a meal,’ Constance said breaking eye contact to look at the sad carrots. 

‘Teach away my kitchen mistress,’ Imogen waved her hands in imitation of Constance’s spell casting fingers. 

‘Your kitchen mistress? Rather forward don’t you think Imogen?’ Constance said - repeating to herself: confidence and control, confidence and control. If she’d been blushing before, her cheeks were lividly rosy now, she turned to get some more vegetables from the other side of the narrow kitchen. 

‘If I am to be sous chef, it only seemed appropriate to clarify my superior,’ Imogen smiled, she’d been mortified when she’d realised what she said, but god was Constance actually flirting with her? Is that what this was? But Constance’s humour was a wry sort of thing at the best of times, this had to be a continuation of that. She was just sarcastically making fun of Imogen’s slip up. 

‘Sous chef, please open this can of beans,’ Constance said, tapping the tin with her hand. 

‘Surely, my kitchen mistress can zap that open for her lowly sous chef,’ Imogen said, again mimicking the casting fingers to zap the lid off the can. Constance dramatically readied her casting hands, moving behind Imogen to get a better look at the can in mock seriousness.

‘Alas, I’m afraid this task is outside of the Kitchen Mistress’s purvue. Wouldn’t want the Foster’s effect to have any unexpected consequences,’ Constance pursed her lips in pretend frustration, and Imogen noticed how tender they looked. 

Constance reached around Imogen to open the drawer on her left. She brushed her hand over Imogen’s back as she reached for the drawer, and moved closer to Imogen to reach further in. She could smell the freshness of Imogen’s hair.

‘Where is the damn thing?’ Constance said, rattling the utensils inside. Imogen felt on fire, Constance was a hair’s breadth behind her; her arm searching in the drawer had trapped Imogen against the countertop.

‘Is this something I can help you with, kitchen mistress?’ Imogen turned to face Constance and leant back on the counter. Constance stopped fiddling in the drawer, and her eyes widened in surprise. Imogen hungrily took in Constance’s body: the curve of her hip; the nip of her waist where the belt of jangling keys usually hung; the rise and fall of her chest; the buttons Imogen wanted to undo; the long kissable neck. Constance’s eyes dipped to Imogen’s lips, and she leant forward. 

‘The can opener’s here,’ she said pressing herself against Imogen to pull it from the back of the drawer. Before Imogen could wrap an arm around her waist, Constance had left the kitchen. A conjured recipe for butter bean cassoulet left in her wake. 

Chapter Text

Constance unfolded and refolded her pyjamas three times before putting them back into the drawer. She’d been awkward for the whole evening, falling back on the excuse of watching the mischievous girls, to avoid socialising with Imogen. Every time she made eye contact with her she felt that it was too much. Was she looking at Imogen more than usual, would the students think it was unusual? It was good the lighting in Auchtermuchty House was worse than Cackles, or her dinner-long blush would’ve been plain for everyone. It probably was anyway, she thought. She’d planned to be sleeping, or at least pretending to be, by the time Imogen had done the rounds. Now, pyjamas back in the drawer, it was very obvious that her thoughts were water pressing through a burst dam, they wouldn’t be stopped by sleep. She disappeared herself to the rocky shoreline.

The summer nights were short here, and the sun had barely even set. It sat low in the sky heavy with the gold light of evening; the sea’s gentle ripples reflecting yellow and orange back to the sky. It was clear enough to see the Paps of Jura looming on the horizon. Constance had always wanted to visit Islay, Jura’s neighbouring island, but not with a gaggle of girls in tow. Not when she had to be on duty for the entire visit, so all she was watching were bobbing heads, and not the beauty of the island around her. She wouldn’t be able to go to a single distillery either. She’d like to take Imogen out for a whisky, get her a flight maybe and see what sort of thing she liked. Constance bet it was a sweet highland dram, and smiled. 

She undid the laces of her boots and slipped them off, tucking them beside a dry looking rock, before setting off down the pale sand. She needed to get Imogen out of her head, a school trip was not the time for a dalliance. And there was no doubt to Constance that that was where this was heading. She’d meant to be playful, to show Imogen that she wasn’t all booming instructions and terse comments. She’d noticed how Imogen had looked at her when she’d accidentally been teleported into Constance’s room; she’d noticed the blush on Imogen’s tanned cheeks. So maybe she’d meant to flirt a little too, see how Imogen reacted, see if anything was there. It was clear now. Imogen had stalked her eyes over Constance’s body, she’d pushed herself against the kitchen counter into Constance’s front. Constance felt electric. She felt the firmness of Imogen against her; her sports clothes thin layers too tantalisingly close to bare skin. She’d been seconds away from kissing her. All after planning to flirt just a little, it was too much, unwise and unprofessional, not to mention she’d now opened herself up to Imogen trying to flirt back. What if Imogen tried to corner her in front of the girls, or distracted her when she should be doing her job? They’d lose Mildred Hubble down the Corryvreckan Whirlpool. 

 She felt the crush of a shell underfoot, relationships were complicated at the best of times and sleeping with a colleague when they both lived in a remarkably small castle full of gossiping girls, and far too curious staff, would make things worse. If it did ever happen, the whole thing would be under so much pressure it would be doomed to fail. Was that what she wanted, a relationship? With the non magical PE teacher of all people? She kicked a dry strip of bladderwrack. She made a pact with herself when she joined Cackle’s, her private life would be her own. It was the only way she could think of maintaining any independence or sense of herself as her own person, someone who wasn’t just a cog in a boarding school. Pursuing Imogen would be very much going against that, she’d have to open up, have to make space during an already packed schedule. Even if she had been good at doing casual, how could it ever be casual when you already lived together? 

Imogen knew next to nothing about her; they frequently wound each other up, and didn’t always bring out the best in one another. Judging by the whole ‘kitchen mistress’ flirtation, Imogen probably just had some kind of S&M kick. It’d be easy to see how someone could transpose Constance the disciplinarian teacher onto an idea of Constance the disciplinarian lover. A seabird called overhead and its black shape flew, silhouetted by sun, across the sky. Constance looked up and closed her eyes, letting the light warm her skin. She let down her hair and it felt stiff as the stands unravelled out of their bun. She ran her hands over her scalp to massage some the tension away. She looked at the horizon, Imogen didn’t know her as anything but Hardbroom, she was probably only interested in her because she wanted that dynamic. She probably wanted to Constance to fuck her over her potions desk and tell her what a naughty girl she’d been. Constance rolled her eyes.

The bladderwrack strip wiggled in the breeze. One thing she knew for certain: getting too close to Imogen on this trip would be a mistake. It was the sheer amount of time they had to spend together, and that bloody bed, making everything too intense.  She was in no position to have any idea whether this was something she wanted. 

It was grey twilight now and Constance stood in the glass clear sea. She was watching a small fish dart around her toes, wanting to stay longer, but felt her feet turning icy. There were goosebumps running up her calves. She dusted off her sandy feet, collected her shoes, and disappeared. 

Imogen was asleep when Constance materialised beside the bed. She didn’t notice the witch’s dark hair was loose and tousled, that the buttons of her neckline were open, or that she was barefoot as she took her folded pyjamas from the drawer. 

Chapter Text

Imogen’s run had been earlier than usual, she wanted to check all her plans and timings before setting off to Islay. She’d meant to be quiet but Constance’s grumble as she folded her pillow over her ears told the PE teacher she’d been unsuccessful. Energised from her speedy 5k, she sipped a coffee as she gave everything a once over.

08:00 Girls’ Breakfast
09:14 Walk to bus stop
09:25 Catch bus to Kennacraig Ferry Terminal
09:50 Arrive Kennacraig bus terminal
09:50 Get girls in a line and hand them their ferry tickets.
10:05 Catch the ferry to Port Ellen
12:15 Arrive Port Ellen
12:20 Girls given free lunch time
13:20 Meet at the roster point, and begin coastal tour
14:20 Constance to tell girls about Witch History
15:00 Tour bus to Port Askaig
15:45 Board return ferry to Kennacraig
18:00 Arrive Kennacraig
18:05 Take bus to Auchtermuchty House
19:00 Dinner

Imogen highlighted the itinerary in two colours. One for times she could miss or be late for, like the ferry departures, another for things she needed tickets for. She opened a red plastic wallet with five polypockers inside, the polypockets were labelled: outward ferry, bus etc. she opened each once and counted the tickets inside, 27 including her, Constance, and one spare. Coffee finished she left the papers on the kitchen table, so she wouldn’t forget them, and went for a shower.

Constance was in a towel, dark hair wrapped up in a turban, and water drops catching the light on her shoulders when Imogen came into their shared room. Imogen felt her mouth open, god Constance’s legs were long, how had she missed how wonderful her legs were?

‘Er Hi,’ Imogen managed to sputter out.

‘You’re not usually back this early,’ Constance said, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly. She pulled the towel tighter round her front, she’d meant to cover herself up more but the move only accentuated her shape more.

‘Yes, well, I, Islay, so,’ Imogen said, running a hand through her hair. Constance huffed and magicked herself clean, dry and dressed instantaneously.

‘Indeed, I, Islay also,’ she said dryly and pushed past Imogen to leave the room.
God the woman was infuriating Imogen thought.

Hard beads of water fell onto her skin. Constance was an enigma. Things had seemed good, or at least better than before, between them over the past few days. Constance was diligent, professional and far less snide that Imogen have ever known her to be at Cackle’s. She’d even made some comments that Imogen thought were downright funny. Imogen had begun to question if her snideness at Cackle’s was simply a misinterpreted dry sense of humour. Imogen dug her nails into the bar of soap, Constance had stopped being nicer to her since the kitchen incident. Imogen had clearly misinterpreted the signals. Constance must have been playing with her in some way. What other reason could there be for her to have trapped Imogen in her arms against the kitchen counter? She couldn’t really have just been looking for the can opener, could she? Imogen grabbed the towel off the rack forcefully.

Over her own cup of coffee, lightly dosed with Wide-Awake potion, a red plastic wallet caught Constance’s eye. Inside she found Imogen’s colourful highlighted itinerary, and the labelled bags full of tickets. Constance smiled, Imogen was prepared for this trip, there was even a selection of emergency telephone numbers and first aid instructions in the pack, a pack of plasters and a whistle too. Constance enjoyed the floral notes in the espresso she’d conjured; it made a change for someone else at Cackle’s to take teaching seriously.

The ferry port at Kennacraig was busy. Every waiting seat was full, and a longe queue of cars passed the window, drivers tapping their steering wheels are they waited to board. Imogen ran her hand through her hair and fiddled with the red wallet.

‘Line up by that wall girls,’ she said pointing at an empty space near the ticket check queue. ‘I am going to give each of you a ticket for the Islay ferry. You must not lose them or you will get stuck on the mainland,’ she said firmly, she ran a hand through her hair again and glanced at Constance. Miss Hardbroom had thankfully been quiet for most of the morning, keeping the girls in line with well placed glares. She pulled the ticket polypocket out of the red wallet. Constance lightly touched her arm.

‘Perhaps it would be easier if you held onto the tickets. You can join the queue in front of the girls and count the tickets out with the person checking the tickets. I’m sure they get school trips all the time. I’ll take up the rear - make sure there’s no mischief,’ Constance said in a voice low enough so the girls couldn’t hear it. She smiled slightly as she nodded approval to Imogen. Her hand was still on Imogen’s arm, what had changed the witch’s mood she wondered?

‘Yes,’ Imogen slipped the tickets back into the wallet, ‘that makes a lot more sense, thanks.’ Imogen glanced at Constance’s hand, and the witch removed it as if burnt.

‘Girls, Change of plan, you will line up behind me and follow me into the ferry queue. Miss Hardbroom will be the last person in line, so no messing about.’ The girls lined up as directed, and the ferry boarding went without a hitch.

Constance stalked over to a group of girls squealing and peering over the boat’s edge to the sea below. She’d heard Mildred and Ethel say wow suspiciously close together; the two were very rarely in agreement about anything. Maud Moonshine had bent so far over the edge she looked about to fall in.

‘What exactly is going on here, hmm?’ She said, ‘get those feet on the floor Maud Moonshine, I’ll not have anyone joining the selkies today.’ Maud stopped leaning and the full group: Jadu, Ruby, Ethel, Maud, Drusilla, and Mildred whipped round to look at HB.

‘They’re looking at some silly fish,’ Ethel said, nose in the air with hauteur.

‘They’re not fish! They’re dolphins Miss,’ Maud said narrowing her eyes angrily at Ethel. The girl would be formidable one day, Constance thought. Constance approached the edge and looked into the inky sea.

‘Are these invisible dolphins, Maud Moonshine?’ She said drolly.

‘Look Miss, the bow,’ Mildred shouted, ‘they’re playing in the waves.’ At the tip of the navy-hulled CalMac ferry were three dolphins, or maybe porpoises Constance wasn’t sure, duping and diving into the waves the ship made on its way through the water. Their grey bodies shone with white streaks of sun as they twisted to leap through sea spray.

‘Aren’t they beautiful Miss?’ Jadu said, smiling with delight.

‘Indeed they are,’ Constance nodded, ‘we may see seals on the beaches when we get closer to Islay.’

‘How long until we get there Miss?’ Jadu asked.

‘Oh another hour yet, have you found all the answers on the ferry treasure hunt sheet yet?’ Imogen said, her body silhouetted against the sun, Constance noticed.

‘No Miss Drill,’ Jadu said glumly.

‘You’d best get to it then, there’s a prize for the team with the most right answers at the end,’ Imogen said.

‘Yeah Miss, but is it a good one?’ Ruby said.

‘What imperti—,’ Constance began, but Imogen raised a hand to stop her.

‘Fair question Ruby,’ Imogen laughed, ‘it is - how shall I put this - the best prize a girl at Cackle’s could want.’ The girls ruffled with excitement and pulled pieces of paper from their pockets; Ethel and Drusilla drifting into a secretive looking pair as they all went to solve the quiz. Imogen looked down onto the sea, her hips grazing Constance’s as she leant onto the balustrade beside her.

‘I had no idea there was so much wildlife out here,’ she saw the nub of a dolphin’s fin above the water, ‘well, I mean I did, I just thought we’d never see it. That’s usually the way with descriptions of holiday places. They see you’ll see lions, rare birds or some exotic creature, but you never do,’ she sighed.

‘We’ve been exceedingly lucky weather-wise,’ Constance looked down as a dolphin leapt out of the water, ‘you wouldn’t see them if it was as rainy as it usually is on the West Coast.’

‘Been here often then?’ Imogen said, looking at Constance in profile as the witch kept looking at the sea. Was that a blush or the wind making her cheeks rosy?

‘Ah, well, Amelia and I do take the first years to Auchtermuchty House every year,’ she looked away from the sea to Imogen, ‘but I sometimes come up over the summer, it’s usually so peaceful here. Plus I do rather like a peaty whisky, my Grandmother always called them burning-boot-rubber, Islay is famous for them. Shame there’s not time for a distillery tour really.’

‘A distillery tour, now that would be fun. Not sure I like the idea of burning-boot-rubber as a flavour though. Sounds like your Grandmother might’ve shared your flair for,’ Imogen pushed a loose curl off her face, ‘the dramatic.’

‘She was certainly an unusual woman. Strong willed and contrarian, which I suppose you and the pupils at Cackle’s might say is very like me,’ Constance turned to look at the sea again. Imogen opened her mouth to speak but Constance continued. ‘She hated all whisky, particularly the boot-burning kind, it’s probably part of the reason I like it so much,’ she smiled mischievously and Imogen was taken with the idea of a rebellious young Constance sneaking whisky into her Grandmother’s house. ‘She also liked to use whisky to clean her cauldrons, and added a drop to all her potions for flavour. She had an unusual sense of the world,’ she said.

‘Your Grandmother was basically Davina? That is what I as a non-witch am taking from this,’ Imogen said and Constance laughed.

‘Davina on simultaneously her most batty and most irritable day,’

‘You know there’s an hour for lunch when the girls are off the boat, why don’t we go to a distillery? There’s one in Port Ellen isn’t there?’ Imogen said, running her hand through her hair, what was she thinking? Asking Constance if she wanted to go to a whisky distillery in the middle of a school day, she must be off her rocker.

‘I,’ Constance bit her cheek, ‘on any other day that would be lovely, but unfortunately we’re about to release twenty-odd wild young witches on Islay, the island isn’t ready for it. Not without our supervision at any rate.’

Imogen caught a black whizz of Cackle’s uniforms out of the corner of her eye.

‘No running,’ she shouted, ‘Islay definitely is not ready for that lot Miss Hardbroom,’ she smiled back to Constance. Perhaps she would be able to convince Constance to have a drink with her after all. 

Chapter Text

‘Due to unforeseen weather events, there will be no ferries leaving the island today. Caledonia MacBrayne will count all tickets to Kennacraig as valid when services resume,’ a tired looking Scot zipped his CalMac fleece up as the wind and the crowd waiting to get off Islay stormed around him.

‘When will the next ferry be?’ An American tourist shouted above the furore.

‘We hope it’ll be tomorrow, but with the currents doing what they are, we cannae say for certain,’ the man looked at the darkening sky.

There were shouts of different accents and questions; people wanting to know when they could leave; people wanting to know where they would sleep for the night, would CalMac pay for the accommodation? People wanted to know about food; about any guarantees CalMac could give for the services tomorrow; people asked about compensation; people said they would miss appointments on the mainland; one woman was crying - worried she’d miss her father’s funeral in Lochgilphead. The Cackle’s lot had hung back away from the chaos, but now Constance confidently strode into the mêlée. Jesus, Imogen thought, the last thing this situation needed was an acerbic and angry witch.

‘Quiet,’ Constance boomed over the crowd - she was even louder than usual. Magic amplification, Imogen wondered? ‘I believe this Caledonia MacBrayne representative has told you everything you need to know. There is a storm, the boats cannot sail today. There are buses available to take us to suitable accommodation, which will be provided at discounted rates. I suggest, rather wasting energy shouting at this man, we find accommodation for the night and take any further complaints up with the company tomorrow,’ Constance pointed toward the buses.

‘And who put you in charge?’ A woman with drawn on eyebrows said, eliciting grumbled from the crowd.

‘I am not in charge, it’s very much up to you what you do. But I for one don’t want to stand out here and be soaked to my skin when the storm hits land,’ she looked dramatically at the sky, ‘which it will any minute. I think we’d all rather be on a bus, dry, and on our way to accommodation than collecting ourselves like some ridiculous human windbreak on the ferry port.’

The people followed Constance’s lead and looked up at the blackening weather, the growing waves and their ferocious white tips. There were nods and the bubble of annoyed conversation as people got onto the buses. Rain burst overhead, and came down hard, anyone unsure about getting on the buses quickly joined the queues.

‘Imogen, please get the girls onto that bus,’ she pointed at the shabbiest and therefore emptiest bus, ‘and save me a place.’ Imogen nodded, her hand over head to shelter herself from the rain. The PE teacher lined the now squirming and irritated girls by the bus doors and started to count them in. Constance was speaking to the CalMac man, but she couldn’t hear what the witch was saying.

‘What seems to be the problem?’ Constance asked the CalMac man, the wind now at such a pace she had to brace herself so she wasn’t blown over.

‘Weather’s taken a turn, nothing to be done,’ he said, clearly fearing another attack.

‘Yes, I can see that, but what exactly is the problem? How did the storm happen? It seems quite out of the blue?’ She said, trying to sound curious rather than extremely frustrated.

‘Are you some kind of weather nut?’ He asked, pulling a waterproof hat from his pocket and tying the chin strap tightly to stop it blowing away.

‘You could say that,’ Constance paused, ‘meteorologist actually, out here to study the weather’s effect on currents,’ she said.

‘Aye, well there’s plenty of those out here. That stupid whirlpool has tourists doing mad things all the time,’ he said, ‘nobody expected this kind of weather today, it came out of nowhere. The pressure dropped off the scale - the boat to Jura had to turn back, the winds are like some kind of twister out there.’

‘Where did the boat have to turn back?’ She said.

‘You’re nae planning on going out there are you?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, but it helps to know so I can,’ Constance paused, what would a meteorologist need to know for? ‘So I can get high quality information from the weather board for my study - when it all dies down.’

‘Good, because you’ll get yourself killed if you go out there now. Our boats can withstand almost every storm these treacherous seas can throw at them. If CalMac won’t run then it’s one of the worst storms we’ve had here in years.’ Constance was soaked now, she could feel herself starting to shiver, goosebumps on every inch of flesh. ‘The boat had to turn back between the island and Kilberry point - a part of the route the Islay boat takes too,’ he added, ‘now get yourself on that bus before you freeze to death!’ He pointed at the bus full of Cackle’s students.

Constance walked as quickly as she could to the bus. She would have to do some sort of subtle drying spell when she got onboard, she couldn’t sit in this sorry state for long.

‘Stop staring Miss Drill,’ Constance said sharply, Imogen’s eyes raked over her - and Constance quickly realised that being soaked to the skin meant her long black dress was even more form fitting than usual. Imogen couldn’t take her eyes off the dripping Deputy Headmistress; the wind had pulled wet fronds of dark hair from her usually skull-tight bun, the strands framed her weather-blushed face. The bun had survived the storm, but it was a mess fuzz. Her velvet dress was slick with rain, and it stuck to her skin as if she were a selkie, part-clad in black seal skin.

‘Drive,’ Constance shouted to the bus driver, ‘I’m the last one, and I would like to be somewhere storm free as quickly as possible.’ The witch slipped into the seat beside Imogen. She tutted as she felt her hair; she pulled it free and gently shook it loose with her hands. Hair down her shoulders, she slumped back into the old bus seat, closed her eyes and let out a small sigh. Imoden touched her arm, she wanted to help Constance in some way, offer a towel or something, but she didn’t have anything with her, and besides Imogen thought, Constance was a witch.

‘What’s the matter Imogen, never seen a wet witch before?’ Constance said quietly, mischievously. Imogen spluttered, not getting a full word out. ‘Speechless are you? Did you lend your tongue to a cat, perhaps?’ Constance said to Imogen, she closed her eyes again and wordlessly cast a drying spell. Imogen watched, as Constance’s hair shifted from wet tendrils to rich voluminous waves, the velvet of her dress puffing back to touchable denseness. Imogen pressed her hand firmly into the short hair on her neck. Constance lightly smiled, enjoying the warmth, she opened her dark eyes and looked at Imogen.

‘I’m going to need your help tonight,’ Constance said, brushing her fingers through her hair.

‘And what kind of help would that be exactly?’ Imogen pressed a finger to her lips in mock thought. Constance raised a brow.

‘That storm is a single Foster. It’ll keep going in perpetuity unless something is done about it,’ she ignored Imogen’s innuendo, she ignored the part of her that wanted to play along.

‘A single Foster? I thought it was the double Forster’s effect?’

‘The Forster’s Effect is an umbrella term Imogen. The double Foster is when multiple spells with the same intention are cast, leading to expansion infinitum, and the single is when one spell is cast so inexpertly - usually something made up by inexperienced magic users,’ Constance glanced over at the girls, ‘that it is self-referential. A spell to dogify dogs or change something that’s already changing, that sort of thing.’ Imogen nodded slowly, ‘anyway, the point is that self-referential spells create magical vortexes. Much like the one that mysteriously appeared off the coast of the mainland today.’

‘Christ,’ Imogen touched the window, looking out to the blackened sky, ‘what do I need to do?’

‘Keep the girls settled and calm while I go to deal with it.’

‘What exactly does you dealing with it entail?’

Constance took a deep breath.

‘I’ll fly as close as I can get to the vortex and cast the reversal spell,’ she said, looking at the ceiling.

‘Not a chance, you are not going flying on some rickety broomstick off into gale force winds at night, bloody hell Constance.’

Imogen’s blue eyes full of worry. She ran a hand through her short hair, ruffling it into spikes, she rested a hand on Constance’s arm again.

‘I’m a witch Imogen, this is what we do,’ Constance pulled her hair back into its bun and sat up straight. She looked away from Imogen and out of the window across the aisle.

Chapter Text

Imogen read ten across again: a Greek goddess, bewitching, 6 letters. Bewitching only made her think of Constance and neither that nor Hardbroom were six letters long. She scribbled on the page and looked at the clock. Constance had been gone for an hour now. A sharp gust rattled the tin walls of the static caravan.

The bus journey has brought them to a dead static caravan park, thankfully Constance had been able to decipher the - very sweet looking - owner’s thick Glaswegian accent and handed them a cheque. The potion mistresses long cursive hand made Imogen worry the cheque was some kind of magical fraud. Surely Constance didn’t have a cheque book? Did she? Imogen looked up at the cream stucco ceiling, why had she just gone along with it? Why had she let Constance go out into the storm alone?

Before she’d left the Deputy Headmistress had rifled through all the ferry quiz sheets and found the magic traces quickly.

‘Ethel Hallow,’ she’d said triumphantly as she dropped the paper in front of Imogen. Then, seemingly thinking nothing of the weather, she’d thrown the door open and the wind lifted the rest of the papers off the table in a swirl. They went all over the caravan’s grey floral cushions. One went in the sink. She’d marched over to the caravan Ethel had been assigned to, Imogen had to jog to keep up. She’d then promptly told Ethel that she was ‘an inexperienced, unethical, magic user of the lowest order,’ and given her two sets of 1,000 lines of: ‘I must not cheat’ and ‘I must not create stupid cheating spells’. Constance then disappeared, leaving Imogen to clean up the mess of ferry quiz sheets alone.

She looked at the crinkled pile on the kitchen counter. She’d put a half-filled mug on top of them for good measure. She let her head fall into her hands, what was she even doing here? She was Imogen Drill, PE teacher from Kent, there was nothing extraordinary about her. She hadn’t even been fast enough to qualify for the national middle distance running team. She was a county record holder for six months, nothing more. She wanted adventure, to learn new things about the world, not to sit in a sodding static caravan alone. She’d turned all of the limited heating inside to max and it was still bloody cold. She went to the bedroom and tore open her hold-all; she pulled out every warm layer she had and put them all on. As she wrapped the scarf her mum had knitted for her around her neck, she noticed a small black bag beside her own. Constance’s bag.

Why had the witch left her bag here? There were two bedrooms in the caravan. They didn’t have to share anymore. Constance probably wanted the double to herself, Imogen thought. Well good luck to her, Imogen could be just as unbending as the Deputy Headmistress when she chose, and she was not getting kicked out of a room she’d gotten to first. Not after Constance had disappeared on some crazy endeavour with no warning and very little information about what she was doing. Her hand hovered over Constance’s bag, meaning to put it in the other room, but instead sank onto the bed beside it.

Constance was more of a puzzle than that stupid crossword. She was brusque and rude almost all the time, full of wry little insults that no one else laughed with. She seemed to absolutely despise Cackle’s, with an impatient bitterness that Imogen found difficult to swallow. She was ruthlessly direct with Miss Bat, even when she knew the Charms teacher’s delicate disposition and penchant for solitary confinement in the stationery cupboard. She gave no one any benefit of the doubt, no margin of error, and no smiles to raise morale. And yet working with her on this trip hadn’t been as difficult as Imogen’d thought it would.

She’d been helpful getting the girls onto the ferry, she’d not rolled her eyes once at any of Imogen’s rules and instructions for the girls. She’d even - sort of - helped the CalMac man by dispersing the crowd. She’d given Imogen a recipe for Butter Bean Cassoulet that had actually resulted in Imogen cooking something edible. She’d joked along with the kitchen mistress flirtation, she’d pressed Imogen against the counter, and Imogen had melted, pushed her further, felt sure that she was about to be kissed. She’d seemed genuinely disappointed when she turned down Imogen’s suggestion of lunch via a distillery. She’d flirted with Imogen again on the bus this evening, and the way she’d shook her hair out had felt too luxurious to be an act of pure pragmatism. She’d known Imogen was watching. Imogen flopped back to lie on the bed. She’d always thought Constance was attractive, but her austerity made her physicality strange and cold. Her appearance a perfected shield to go with her barbed words; another tool to make you nervous, to humiliate you with.

She touched the soft suede of Constance’s bag. It was tender, giving, and the deepest black she’d ever seen. She pressed the bag’s sides like a Christmas present, trying to work out what secrets were it held, but the suede was firm, it revealed nothing about what Constance had packed inside. Other than the basic necessities, she’d no idea what Constance might bring on a trip like this. Were there books in there? What might Constance read in her spare time, if she did read anything other than potions textbooks? Was there a travel cauldron? Did she have, as Imogen did, emergency period supplies? Did she have a brush, a face towel, a spare pair of socks?

Imogen paced the caravan’s tiny corridor as the wind howled.. Even if she was being her disciplinarian worst, even driving Imogen completely up the wall, there was something about Constance that Imogen couldn’t help but enjoy. Maybe she wasn’t wrong when she thought she’d misjudged a dry sense of humour. Whatever was going through Constance’s mind when she shared slivers of mischief with the PE teacher, it wasn’t a power play.

The wind rattled the caravan’s thin walls, Imogen stopped pacing and ran her hand through her hair. She looked at the clock again, Constance had been gone for nearly two hours now. It was too long, she could easily have drowned out there by now. Imogen pulled the caravan door open, and hesitated. What was she doing? She had no idea where Constance was, or where she should go to find her. She searched the purpling sky and watched as a stray towel from someone’s washing line blew by. She pulled the door closed behind her and ran toward the sea.

Chapter Text

Constance struggled to keep her broom steady in the storm as she flew across the shore. She swooped low to avoid a nasty pocket of wind, and saw the unmistakable blonde head of Imogen Drill running across the sand. Constance landed in front of Imogen with as much elegance as was possible in the weather.

‘Constance, thank god!’ Imogen said.

‘God has nothing to do with it,’ Constance said, ‘and what on earth are you doing out here, and why,’ Constance looked Imogen up and down, ‘are you dressed like that?’

Imogen felt her cheeks grow warm, she was still wearing all of her jumpers, two scarves, and had tucked her joggers into a pair of knee high hockey socks.

‘That caravan is bloody freezing, and I’ she grabbed her scarf to stop it from blowing away, ‘I was worried about you.’ Constance looked up as a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. She closed her eyes before she looked at Imogen again.

‘Why were you worried about me?’ She said and Imogen laughed in disbelief.

‘Why was I worried about you? Constance you disappeared off in the middle of a huge storm to fly your broom out to sea! Anything could have happened. You’ve been gone for hours, you could have drowned, you could have been thrown off your broom in the wind. You could have died about a hundred different ways,’ Imogen shouted over the wind. Constance stood her broom up beside her.

‘You needn’t have worried, it was all perfectly under control, and it’s dealt with now—’

‘And how exactly was I supposed to know that? By using a fucking crystal ball?’

‘If you would let me finish, I was going to say that I didn’t realise you would be worried. If I had thought my disappearing off would be concerning I would have given you more information.’

‘It didn’t take a genius to work out that I was unhappy about whatever, and I still don’t know what you’ve done by the way, your plans were.’

‘No, but I took that for annoyance. Funnily enough I seem to annoy a lot of people, so I’m rather used to ignoring it.’ Constance folded the arm not holding her broom in front of her, and smirked. Clearly she was trying to be funny again, Imogen thought. Constance looked up at a space between the clouds, Imogen’s eyes followed hers. There was a small cluster of stars peaking through.‘I flew as close as I could to the vortex, and cast a simple reversal spell,’ Constance said, looking down at Imogen, ‘It was rough flying, but nothing I’ve not flown in before, and I’d cast several protective spells as a precaution. Even if I had fallen I would never have drowned, or hit the ground,’ she looked up again, ‘I’m sorry I worried you. It’s easy to forget that you don’t know about these things, but that’s not a very good excuse.’

‘Thank you,’ Imogen said pulling her many jumpers closer around her in the cold, ‘I was annoyed, but I was worried too. I didn’t want you to get hurt.’
Constance put her arm around Imogen. Imogen leant against her.

‘You’re freezing, let’s get back. Even if the caravan is cold it’s better than here. Let me fly you back, it’ll be much quicker.’

Imogen nodded as Constance instructed her broom to hover. She sat onto the broom as the softening wind whipped her skirt around her legs.

‘You’ll need to sit here, and hold on tight,’ Constance said, casting a warming spell onto Imogen as she gingerly sat onto the broom.

‘Oh that is lovely, I didn’t know brooms kept you warm!’

‘That was me, sous chef, not this little stick,’ Constance tapped the broom.

‘Sous chef ? Didn’t realise we were cooking ag—’ Imogen squealed as Constance took off. She gripped Constance tightly around the waist, hiding her face in the witch’s back to avoid looking down. She felt Constance’s hand on her own, the witch gave her a gentle squeeze.

‘It’s quite safe,’ she said.

‘I’m sure that’s what Mildred Hubble thinks when she’s hanging on for dear life,’ Imogen said, she could feel the rise and fall of Constance’s breathing.

‘Mildred has a lot to learn; I’m a much more experienced pilot,’ Constance ran her thumb over the back of Imogen’s hand.

‘Quite unlike any BA flight I’ve ever been on, complete lack of in-flight service,’ Imogen peeled her face away from Constance and looked at the twinkling island below.

‘What this flight lacks in in-flight entertainment, it makes up for in personalised service,’ Constance recast the dwindling warming spell over Imogen.

‘It’s beautiful up here,’ Imogen said, ‘and all those stars, seems like your spell did the trick, it’s calm out there now.’ Without fully meaning to, she cuddled into Constance as she gazed up. Fuck it, she thought, she was already clasping the witch’s waist, Constance’s hand was still on hers.

‘My spells always do the trick,’ the witch said, ‘I’m going to land us by that courtyard, so hold on.’
She dipped the broom's nose and descended at a far less steep incline than she would usually. She smiled at the idea of diving down and making Imogen scream, making her grab even more tightly onto Constance.

They landed by a circle of log seats at the edge of the campsite. The pale sand was bright in the moonlight, and the waves susurantly lapping the shore. The caravans’ windows were dark; their residents safely asleep. Imogen saw an unlit fire pit in the middle of the log circle.

‘Can you light that?’ She said, copying Constance’s casting finger motion, ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, running off to the caravans. The potions mistress sighed as she dusted off a log and sat down, whatever Imogen had in mind was surely a bad idea, she thought. The fire pit roared into life, and she disappeared her broomstick away. She didn’t have to stay, she could tell Imogen she was tired and take herself to bed, she could disappear herself and come back only when the girls were awake and the threat of romance had gone. She looked at the popping fire, its flames curling in the black night air. Imogen had been worried enough to run out into a storm looking for her. Constance could sit around a fire with her for a little while.

Imogen had shed her many jumpers and the long hockey socks; she was wearing a grey cable knit jumper and the navy jogging bottoms she’d been wearing all day. Constance noticed how the fabric stretched tightly over Imogen’s toned thighs. Her blond hair glinted in the warm firelight.

‘It’s not a distillery tour, but I did find a nice little bottle in Port Ellen,’ Imogen said, holding up a half-size bottle of amber liquid, ‘the man in the shop said it was the smokiest one, it’s called la frog, or something like that. I’ve not quite got the pronunciation sorted.’

‘Laphroaig?’

‘That’s the one,’ Imogen leant the little bottle by the log, and put two glasses down in the sand, ‘would you like some?’

‘After today, a whisky is just what I need,’ Constance smiled, ‘not more than a finger’s worth though. You never know what mess those first years might suddenly need helping out of,’ Imogen nodded and pulled a bag of pink and white marshmallows out of her pocket.

‘And I’ve got these incase the horrible burning boot taste is too much,’ she handed Constance her glass, and sat down beside her. Imogen looked at the whisky in her glass, she swirled it around and watched as a few spidery streaks of amber slipped down the glasses side. What was she supposed to say? She’d got Constance Hardbroom to have a drink with her and she had no idea where to start. She ran her hand through her hair.

‘Those are the legs,’ Constance said.

‘What? What legs?’

‘When you swirl your glass like this,’ she twisted her drink to make it catch the glass’ sides, ‘the small stripes of whisky that drip down are called legs. The more legs the lighter the whisky, or so it goes.’

‘You are pulling my leg,’ Imogen said

‘I wasn’t aware I had a third hand,’ Constance said, lifting up her glass in both hands; Imogen rolled her eyes. ‘It works the same for wine I think,’ the witch said.

‘Did your Grandmother hate wine as much as whisky?’ Imogen asked, and Constance laughed.

‘Absolutely not, she loved wine, a lot,’ she smiled, ‘she had a long running thing where she’d terrorise local churches.’

‘Churches?’

‘Witches tend to think a little differently about churches. Let’s just say our profession makes it difficult to respect them. And my Grandmother liked to cause chaos in them. She looked like this sweet old lady, she wore a tartan shawl, she’d smile at everyone, conjure some £50 notes for the collection, and when it came to the communion she’d solemnly wait her turn, then ceremoniously announce she was praying for a blood transfusion for her sick cat. She’d kneel before whichever vicar, priest or pastor it was, and drink her cup of wine dry. But she’d cast a refilling spell on the cup, so as soon as she finished it, it filled up again, she’d finish it and it’d fill up again. The vicar quickly lost his mind, and the whole congregation started screaming about the miracle of Christ and the saviour of her sick cat. She’d finish by making the wine jug miraculously tip over, spilling all over the floor or whoever was holding it. And she always ran out, hands in the air, shouting ‘god save my pussycat’.’ Constance laughed, stretching out her legs toward the fire.

‘What a woman, that is excellent, I can’t believe she did that,’ Imogen laughed, ‘all those stiff vestments she must’ve ruined.’

‘Oh she loved ruining the fancy garb, and she loved it if they started speaking in tongues too,’ Constance sipped the whisky, enjoying the richness, ‘this is delicious, thank you.’

Imogen smiled and sipped her own glass. She coughed and tried to smile.

‘Wow,’ she said, ‘that’s bloody strong. I can see what your Grandmother meant about the burning rubber,’ her nose wrinkled.

‘It’s definitely an acquired taste,’ Constance conjured two slim sticks and pointed them at the marshmallow bag that was now floating between them, ‘a sweet side dish?’

‘I’d love that,’ Imogen said, taking the packet and sliding a marshmallow onto one of the sticks. She leant over the curling flames of the fire, and held her marshmallow into the heat. She looked beautiful, Constance thought, as she leant forward with her own stick.

‘What sort of things do you like to drink?’ The witch asked.

‘Water generally does the trick,’ Imogen said.

‘You know what I mean,’ Constance nudged her with her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

‘I’m a bit boring really, I like a nice pale ale, easy drinking wine, G&Ts on a hot day, and if forced to do shots I will pick tequila.’ Imogen leant back to eat her melty marshmallow. Constance stayed, letting the outside of hers get fully blackened. Of course she’d like them bitter and burnt, Imogen thought.

‘That doesn’t seem too dull to me, witches usually drink wine and spirits - there are definitely many who are functioning alcoholics - so I don’t know much about beer. Well, other than it’s made from the same grains as whisky,’ Constance sat back onto the log, blowing out her fully flaming marshmallow. ‘And never drink any of Amelia’s punches made to Granny Cackle’s recipes. The things are always pure ethanol with a splash of lemon juice.’

‘Thankfully, I’m clearly not on the invite list for whatever parties Amelia is serving this deadly drink at,’ Imogen replied wryly.

‘Ah well,’ Constance looked at the fire, ‘that’s probably because I told her I’d quit if she didn’t start behaving more professionally and holding her events outside the school grounds.’ She twirled the marshmallow stick slowly, and Imogen grimaced. ‘I was in a particularly sour mood that morning. She, Davina and some rag-tag wizards they’d found god knows where started chanting at 3am, and were dancing on the tables in the potions classroom at breakfast,’ she ate the marshmallow and grinned, ‘who wouldn’t be annoyed by that? Who wouldn’t find it deeply enjoyable to call them tuneless toads and watch them all slink off in shame?’

‘God I hope I never give you reason to comment on my drunken singing,’ Imogen laughed, taking another sip of whisky. It wasn’t quite as bad this time.

‘Providing it’s not within earshot of a schoolful of impressionable young witches, you, Amelia, Davina, can all do as you please. When we’re at Cackle’s we’re responsible for those girls, annoying and mischievous as they may be.’

‘I don’t think you’d have liked me as a student,’ Imogen laughed, shaking her head, ‘I was not interested in academics at all. My whole life was athletics, and I was a real brat about it sometimes. I remember once telling my poor maths teacher that I had more important things to do than his homework. The poor man absolutely shrank.’

‘I wouldn’t have let you get away with that cheek,’ she looked at Imogen with a smirk.

‘What were you like in school?’ Imogen put two more marshmallows on sticks and handed one to Constance.

‘Very uninteresting, I read a lot and tried to avoid too much attention. Thankfully I didn’t stand out enough to be teased, I kept to the back of classes and did well in exams, much to my parents displeasure,’ she put her marshmallow in the fire again.

‘How were your parents not pleased by good marks?’

‘The Hardbrooms have a reputation for mayhem in the witching world. My Grandmother’s church exploits being one example. So a stellar student who was a bit too shy to play tricks on anyone, didn’t quite fit the mould,’ she blew out her flaming marshmallow, ‘but that’s not to say I am without mischief,’ she grinned at Imogen.

There was a sooty streak on Constance’s jaw, Imogen noticed. She leant forward and brushed it away with her thumb. God, what was she doing? She thought. She felt Constance stiffen, holding her breath, under Imogen’s touch. Her skin was soft, warm. Imogen leant in further, pushing her luck, her stomach alive with nerves.

‘You ought to be more careful with those marshmallows,’ she whispered to Constance, grazing her lips over the tender skin between her jaw and ear. Constance said nothing, moved nowhere, the rise and fall of her fast breathing unmistakable.

‘You don’t want to get soot anywhere it shouldn’t be,’ Imogen moved along her jaw toward the witch’s lips, and left another grazing kiss. She put her arm around Constance’s waist, holding her firmly, as she moved down her jaw in a series of delicate kisses. Constance tilted her head back, and sighed breathlessly. She dropped the marshmallow stick she’d still been holding and pulled Imogen closer. Imogen sat onto Constance’s lap, one leg on either side, and brushed their noses together. She leant forward to kiss the witch, but Constance’s hand stopped her. She looked at Imogen with dark unsure eyes. 

‘Constance, I want to kiss you, and I think you want to kiss me too. If I’m wrong then we can stop,’ Imogen softly rubbed her nose against Constance’s, ‘but if I’m not, let’s enjoy this moment.’

Constance kissed Imogen. It was delicate at first, but deft, Imogen muttered her name against her lips as Constance’s hands traced the skin of Imogen’s neck and ran hungrily through her blonde hair. Imogen felt as hot as the fire beside them. The witch pulled Imogen’s head back and kissed down the length of her neck, slipping her hand under the cable knit jumper onto the goosebumped skin of Imogen’s bare waist. Imogen groaned, and raked her fingers through Constance’s tight bun.

‘Undo it,’ she whispered darkly into the witch’s ear, kissing her jaw again. She felt a buzz of magic as Constance’s hair tumbled down in dark waves. She pressed closer to Constance, their bodies touching at every point. Constance was losing her grip on anything other than physical sensation as Imogen kissed her deeply, pulling at her hair, her hand moving to cup her breast through the plush velvet.

A girlish scream came from the caravan park. Jadu Wali was banging on their caravan door, expecting her teachers to be inside, ‘Miss Hardbroom! Miss Hardbroom!’ she shouted.

Both women froze. Constance disappeared and Imogen fell into the space where Constance had been with a thump.

Chapter Text

Constance loitered on the pebble path between the girls’ caravans and the one she was sharing with Imogen. She looked up at the sky, it shone with stars even brighter than those at Castle Overblow. They were far from cities here, far from anything but capricious seas.

Jadu had only been frightened by a spider, and Constance had dealt with it quickly, sending Jadu back to bed with a reminder not to be so silly; spiders were harmless. A light wind rippled through her hair; she wondered what she must look like and was glad it was dark. She moved her hands in and out of her casting gesture, hovering over hair, her sides, her no doubt smudged lips. She looked to the smouldering, empty, fire and to the dim light in the caravan living room. In the firelight, things had seemed very far from Cackle’s, from their lives as Deputy Headmistress and PE teacher. Jadu’s shout, a ringing reminder that their lives were not so straightforward, that their time was very rarely their own.

Imogen looked up as the door closed with a click. Constance flattened herself against the saccharine peach plastic, hand hovering over the handle. The woman in front of Imogen was well-kissed. Her dark hair fuzzed in finger teased waves, her cheeks bloomed rosily, her lips full and flush; the collar of her dress ruffled and folded where it had been pushed down.

‘What was it?’ Imogen said.

‘A spider,’ Constance said, closing her eyes in something like restraint, ‘we shouldn’t have been distracted.’

‘It was only a spider Constance, we don’t have to be on duty every waking moment. Besides, I rather liked being distracted,’ Imogen walked over to Constance, standing close.

‘I know we’re not on duty, but I,’ she looked at the horrible stucco ceiling, ‘it’s our job to keep them safe. I know Cackle’s might feel like a cavalier place for young girls to be, but I do everything I can to make things go well for our students. Magic can be dangerous, especially with all the misguided thinking of teenagers.’

Imogen caught Constance’s hand and held it softly.

‘Misguided teenagers who are terrified enough of a spider to come screaming for you,’ she smiled, ‘it was only a spider Constance. No one’s been hurt.’

Constance pulled Imogen closer and kissed her tenderly.

‘And what if she’d seen us kissing in the firelight?’ She said against Imogen’s lips, feeling the warmth of Imogen’s body press her flush against the door. She nipped a kiss on Imogen’s neck and ghosted her hand under the hem of her jumper.

‘Girls come up with all sorts of strange gossip. Miss Hardbroom and Miss Drill making out by a campfire? I don’t believe it,’ Imogen tried sarcasm, but Constance’s touch made it come out as half-gasp.

‘I suppose you’re right, you’d have to be particularly delusional to believe that,’ Constance hummed into Imogen’s ear. Imogen kissed the neck of Constance’s dress further down, and pressed her knee between the witch’s legs. Imogen felt Constance arch against her, a soft sigh slipping from her lips.
‘Imogen, I,’ Constance said breathily, ‘I need this to stop.’

Imogen moved back from the witch as if stung.

‘I was under the impression you were enjoying it,’

Constance pulled Imogen back to her.

‘I am enjoying it,’ she kissed Imogen, ‘very much,’ she rested her lips on the PE teacher’s forehead, ‘but I’m absolutely exhausted from flying out in gale force winds,’ she took a deep breath, ‘and I think we should talk before we go any further.’

Imogen nestled into Constance, nodding.

‘God knows I’d welcome a good night’s sleep,’ she looked up at the witch, ‘still sharing a bed?’

‘Still sharing a bed,’ Constance smiled.

On a hard caravan mattress with cheap sheets, Imogen curled herself around Constance, and Constance didn’t once think of her unmarked books as she fell asleep under the corrugated tin walls. And as the sun angrily broke through the papery curtains at some godforsaken hour too early for their alarms, Constance stroked Imogen’s hair as it caught gold rays.

*

‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, there are no sausages on the menu Drusilla Paddock,’ Constance said as Drusilla approached the kitchen hatch, ‘Mrs Kerr has been extremely practical to provide porridge, and we cannot be late for the ferry.’ She cast a hard glare over rows of girls sat around a makeshift canteen of wonky wallpapering tables. ‘Anyone caught dawdling will spend the rest of their term cleaning Mrs Tapioca’s cupboards,’ she landed her gaze pointedly on Mildred Hubble.

Jadu got her bowl of extremely grey looking oats and sat down next to Maud.

‘I can’t eat this, it’s like glue,’ Maud said, holding her spoon up, letting the porridge drip slowly off it.

‘I can’t believe you got HB to deal with that teeny spider,’ Enid teased.

‘It was not teeny, it was some kind of freaky Scottish monster,’ Jadu said and Enid rolled her eyes.

‘HB’s the real monster,’ Enid said, ‘making us have this horrible slop,’ she pushed her bowl away, ‘I can’t eat it.’

‘There was something weird about her last night,’ Jadu said.

‘Weird how?’ Maud asked.

‘I don’t know, her hair was all messy and her dress was wrinkled, she seemed surprised?’ Jadu said.

‘Wow, so weird, Jadu,’ Enid rolled her eyes again.

‘No, I know it doesn’t sound much, but I don’t know, something was definitely different. Like she’d been caught somehow?’ Jadu looked furtively up at Constance who was talking to Mrs Kerr, ‘I thought she might have been kissing someone.’

‘And who do you think’d be kissing HB? Miss Drill?’ Enid burst out laughing. ‘Not like that Miss Drill, you must maintain the standards, or you’ll have 1000 lines of ‘I must not kiss like an undisciplined toad’,’ she mimicked Constance, sending Maud, Mildred and Ruby into hysterics. ‘You are stupid Jadu, no one in their right mind is kissing HB.’

Enid caught Constance’s eye, and the girls stopped laughing at once, they looked down at their porridge and started enthusiastically shoving it into their mouths.

‘What exactly is going on here?’ Constance said, peering over them.

‘Nothing Miss Hardbroom,’ Maud said.

‘Nothing indeed,’ Constance looked at Enid, ‘and what is so very funny Enid Nightshade?’

‘Maud made a joke about Jadu being scared of spiders miss,’ Enid said and Maud nodded fervently.

‘Hmm,’ Constance said, she looked at Jadu, the girl was blushing furiously and hadn’t taken her eyes off her porridge. It was a shame Jadu Wali didn’t have kinder friends, she thought and made a note to keep an eye on the girl. ‘No more jokes, and you must eat every spoonful of porridge in your bowls, do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes Miss Hardbroom,’ they chorused unhappily.

Constance looked up to see Imogen backlit against the small window, she smiled slightly and turned back to oversee breakfast. She’d have to be particularly stern this morning if the girls were to eat anywhere near enough of Mrs Kerr’s grey slop to constitute a decent breakfast.

Chapter Text

The last day of the trip was fraught. Tensions ran high between the girls and teachers as they’d jumped from bus to ferry, to bus, to very speedy lunch and pack up at Auchtermuchty house. They’d nearly missed the bus from Kennacraig after Mildred had lost her bag and they’d done a loop back to look for it. Constance hovered by the doorway of the girls’ bunk room like an unwanted cloud.

‘Count everything into your bags,’ she shouted, ‘we wouldn’t want to lose anything now would we Mildred?’ She saw Ruby stuffing her uniform into a ball to pack. ‘And fold your clothes girls, you’re not urchins,’ she tutted.
Constance fiddled with the hook on her belt where her chain of keys usually were. A flash of bright purple caught her eye.

‘What is that Mildred Hubble?’ She said.

‘Just a silly game for the coach,’ Mildred said, she looked apologetically at Ruby as she slid the gameboy out of her pocket. Constance pursed her lips in fury and zapped the gameboy out of Mildred’s hand.

‘You have been told explicitly not to bring electronic games to school. Yet you continue to disobey the school rules, why is it that you think rules should apply to other people, but not to you Mildred?’ Constance had meant to sound firm and controlled, but she knew she was shouting.

‘I’m sorry miss,’ Mildred practically whispered, ‘it won’t happen again.’

*

Constance moved frenetically around their room, packing some things with her hands, and sending other things flying into her bag with magic. There were only twenty minutes before the coach arrived, and lateness was not an option. Lateness was never an option if you had to shepherd a class of teenagers around, and doubly so if you had a reputation for strictness to maintain.

Imogen was nearly hit in the face by a flying hairbrush.

‘Constance,’ she said, pulling the brush out of the air, and throwing it down on the bed, ‘what is going on? Surely you can pack without giving me a black eye?’

Constance whipped her head up from the bag she was pressing folded black clothes into.
‘There precious little time before the coach leaves and I do not intend to leave anything behind,’ she pouted. Imogen looked far too cute with her little spikes of blonde, she thought, it was annoying.

‘You’ve got to be the most irritatingly punctual person I’ve ever met Constance,’ Imogen handed the brush to the witch, ‘you’re not going to forget anything.’

Constance took the brush, she touched the back of Imogen’s hand, and almost smiled.
‘Unfortunately punctuality is not a fixed thing, I have to do everything in good time,’ she packed the brush into the bag. She appreciated Imogen’s reassurance, and at another time she might have kissed the PE teacher, but now she was too wound up by the tight schedule their unplanned night in Islay had caused, and the many hours of coach journey left before she’d finally be able to have time away from the first years. Imogen took off her fleece, and Constance thought about how she’d like to push her onto the bed and trail her lips over Imogen’s bare stomach. For goodness sake, why did the woman have to crop tops to work? Constance thought. Imogen pulled a rucksack with a study looking hip strap out from under the bed.

‘You haven't packed?’ Constance said.

‘Not yet,’ Imogen said, grabbing a couple of folded piles out of the drawer.

‘So while I was watching the first years then, you were merrily wasting your time? Knowing we have a schedule to keep?’ Constance bristled.

‘I was checking the rest of the house, making sure there were no stray copies of The Witches’ Code, or Hags and Horrocks receipts left lying around,’ Imogen said tersely, collecting her toiletries bag from the bathroom.

‘You ought to make better use of your time, not waste it on frivolities,’ Constance tutted.

‘Wasting my time on frivolities? Is that what you think I do, Constance, when I’m not under your disciplined eye?’ Imogen gathered up a book, a tartan eye mask and her jewellery from the bedside table and stuffed them into the top of her bag. ‘I’m not one of the girls you so like to terrify and cowe. How I chose to spend my time is quite frankly none of your business,’ she slung her bag onto her back and left.

Constance’s toothbrush drifted across and hit her face, she scrunched her nose and waved it away into her bag. She’d made a bloody mess of that, but there was no time for messes now, and certainly no time to tidy them up. All that was to be done was pack her things, make sure the girls were ready, and steel herself for the bus.

*

‘EWWWWWWWWWWW,’ Ruby screamed from the back of the bus and a long string of green slime flew down the aisle landing on the top of Constance’s bun. She prowled down the bus, and Imogen peered over her seat to see what was going on, but thought better of joining Constance. The witch was in a terrible mood today, and that was unlikely to be helped by Imogen falling on top of Constance as the bus turned a corner, or Constance getting into a fight with the bus driver again. They’d probably all get chucked out on the hard shoulder and have to hitchhike their way back. She turned the Pulp tape over and slumped back into her seat, had she really been kissing Constance last night, or was it some kind of magic induced dream? Constance might as well have turned Imogen into a toad and kept her in her pocket for the whole trip for all that seemed to have changed between them. She looked up to the witch, she was holding onto the top of Mildred’s chair for balance while the girl held up something that looked suspiciously like a pot of slime.

Constance looked back to where she and Imogen were sitting and smiled slightly as she saw the PE teacher peeking over her chair at her. Imogen blushed and brushed a hand through her hair.

 
‘How is it possible that you didn’t know what was in a box that said slime in large green letters on it? Have you lost the ability to read along with your ability to follow school rules?’ Constance said to Mildred with mocking mirth.

‘No miss, I just—’

‘No miss, I haven’t lost my ability to read, and I’m sorry I brought this disgusting substance on the school trip, is, I believe what you intend to say, Mildred.’

‘Yes miss,’ she sighed, resigned to whatever punishment Miss Hardbroom was going to give.

‘I want an essay titled: ‘Why Slime is a Pointless Waste of a Young Witch’s Time,’ on my desk on Monday morning.’

’Yes miss.’ Mildred looked down at her undone bootlaces.

‘Oh no, no Drusilla,’ Ethel shouted, and thick green slime started to rain down from the coach ceiling.

‘It’s not me, Miss Hardbroom, it’s her,’ Drusilla pointed at Mildred, who was still looking at her laces.

‘A likely story,’ Constance glared at Ethel, ‘you will tell me exactly why there is slime dripping from the ceiling Ethel Hallow, unless you want to spend the rest of term in detention.’

A glob of green goo slapped onto Imogen’s Walkman, that couldn’t be good.

‘What’s going on here Miss Hardbroom?’ She stood behind Constance.

‘Some imbecilic girl has decided it would be fun to make it rain slime,’ the witch said, reaching a hand out to stop Imogen from falling as the coach went over a bump.

‘I thought I told you last time to stay in your flaming seats,’ the coach driver shouted.
Constance’s head whipped round, clearly about to shout something eviscerating in response.

‘Let me deal with him, you sort out this,’ she said, ‘and if I hear any of you have been up to more mischief, you’ll have cross-country every morning to add to Miss Hardbroom’s detention.’

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, taking the single seat behind the driver, ‘a girl’s been sick, and we’re just trying to deal with it. Nothing to worry about,’ Imogen smiled.

‘Kids are filthy animals. My own son used to try and eat dog doos off the pavement when he was small, nutters they are,’ he said, thankfully keeping his eyes glued to the narrow road ahead. Imogen glanced back and saw Constance stagger as she conjured a large bucket.

‘Not long now. How’d a pretty woman like you get to teaching in such a dull place? I’d have thought it was a convent if I didn’t know better,’ he said.

‘Ah well, I taught at the comp down in town for a while,’ she heard a slop and saw the girls all furiously brushing slime into the conjured bucket. The bus driver began to turn at the sound, and Imogen moved to block his vision with a charming smile. ‘I was never really challenged at the comp, I’m a PE teacher, and I like to get the girls outside, run through the woods, keep fit, that sort of thing. You couldn’t really do that in the comp, it’s got one big tarmacked playground and that’s it. Sad really.’

‘I’ll say, kiddies should learn more discipline, keep them out of trouble.’

Constance recognised the drive to Cackles immediately, about bloody time, she thought, the sooner she could get off this slime bus the better.

‘Is that all of it?’ She said to Ethel who nodded sheepishly. Constance raised her casting fingers and washed a cleaning spell across the ceiling. The coach turned sharply and Mildred fell across the aisle into the side of the bucket, sending it hurtling toward Constance who - though she wanted nothing less - was covered, bun to boot, in the sticky green slime.

‘Mildred Hubble,’ Constance boomed loud enough to disrupt any semblance of chatter Imogen was trying with the driver, ‘you will clean this mess up at once.’

The coach slowed, and the bus driver grimaced as he saw the slime covered Constance.

‘Well, I’m glad to be dropping you lot off,’ he said as he parked the coach in Cackle’s courtyard, ‘and even gladder not to work with her,’ he gestured to the witch.

Constance grabbed her bag from the luggage shelf and left the coach as soon as the door opened. Her dress dripped splats of green slime onto the cobbles.

Amelia raised a cautious brow on seeing her soaking Deputy Headmistress.

‘Hello Constance,’ she said, and as she expected, given her sopping state, Constance gave Amelia the briefest of nods before walking straight past her. What Amelia didn’t expect was for Imogen to be running after Constance. It seemed unusual to the Headmistress that Imogen could be responsible for the slime situation, but she could think of no reason other than apology for the PE teacher to be running behind Constance.

Constance stopped in the empty doorway.

‘Why the hurry Miss Drill, aren’t you supposed to escort the girls back inside?’ She said, feeling cold, and miserable, and extremely annoyed, and why did Mildred fucking Hubble have to bring slime of all the childish and irritating things?

‘I wanted to see if you’re okay?’ Imogen touched Constance’s arm, ‘if there’s anything I can do to help. I am, thankfully, quite slime free, so if you needed anyone to share the slime load with,’ she shrugged with a smile. The witch reached her hand out to Imogen, but brought it back as soon she saw how gooey it was.

‘Better keep you slime free, it’s horrid and cold,’ she said, ‘thank you for asking though. I am covered in slime, very annoyed, but okay.’

The tired chatter of girls who’d been travelling all day grew closer.

‘And I really can’t deal with any more silly girls today,’ Constance smiled weakly and disappeared.

Imogen watched the girls file in, and then she dragged herself up to her own room, flopping onto the bed in exhaustion. She wasn’t sure she even had the energy to slip into her pyjamas, so she laid there stiffly knowing she should sleep, but not having the energy to get up. She closed her eyes, just for a minute, she thought. She imagined the feel of Constance’s body pressed against her in the caravan, and the pleasing heaviness of her sleeping beside her. She remembered how sharp Constance had been when they were packing; Imogen could explain it away: Constance was tired, she was worried about the timings, she was feeling the pressure of being away from home and perpetually on duty. All those things were likely true, but Imogen knew still that she didn’t like it. And that if she wanted anything more than hot kisses to happen between her and Constance, she’d have to tell the witch she couldn’t speak to her like that.

Maybe she was making a fuss about nothing. Constance had already said they needed to talk, and she was probably going to say that it was over - had it even really started? - anyway. Imogen punched her pillow with a tight fist, and finally peeled herself off the bed to brush her teeth.

Chapter Text

Sleeping potion glistened on the surface of the bath water in a shining purple slick. This was Constance's second bath of the night, and after the first, she'd blasted the slime that clogged the plughole away with an irritated blast. It had left a - no doubt - a permanent ring of scorched ceramic on the tub floor. She sank down into the warm, slime-free water and closed her eyes. She let her limbs sag under the water, relaxing into tiredness and feeling herself unfurl now that she was in her own space. Morgana, her black cat, slinked beside the tub and nuzzled her head into Constance's hand that hung over the side. 

'I missed you too, darling,' she said, scratching Morgana under her chin. 'It's all over now, I'm home.' 

Home, she thought, she'd never before thought it strange that a school was where she called home. She found it difficult, yes, and living in her workplace gave her little personal time, but she'd always wanted to teach. Followed it with a zeal her own teachers thought was unusual, that her parents thought a waste of any real talent she might be hiding under her bushel. But she remembered sleeping beside Imogen, feeling wanted while beside her in that beaten old caravan, and it made her life at Cackle's feel small. It made her think of everything she had stopped herself from doing. Imogen wasn't the first, of course, but she was someone who Constance couldn't box away into her limited life outside the castle's walls. 

She opened her book on 13th Century Potion Policy, and her eyes scanned the page. She got stuck on one page, reading it repeatedly to force herself to understand it. Her thoughts reeled in other directions; she read one sentence and remembered how terse she had been to Imogen earlier in the day, and then she was at the end of the page again. She smacked the book on her forehead and dropped it on the floor. She sank deep below the bathwater and imagined herself dissolving into the sleep potion that clouded it. She waved her fingers and cast a soothing spell into the gloam. 

-

Imogen still couldn't sleep and decided she would damn well have that talk with Constance now. She wasn't a plaything to be kept waiting. 

She walked to the witch's door, Constance Hardbroom, on the simple slate nameplate. She raised her hand to knock but hesitated; she should wait. Constance had said she was tired and that she would talk to Imogen. She needed to take her at her word, even if it filled her with dread. She raised her hand to knock again. She needed to speak to Constance, and if this was ever going to go anywhere, she'd get nothing from burying her worries. She knocked. Nothing happened, and she could hear no clues from behind the door. Fine, she thought, if she was going to be ignored, this was already over. But as she was about to turn, the door opened with a scuttle. 

Constance peered out of the open door, looking a little dazed. Her dark hair was wet and had been hastily shoved into a claw clip, and strands escaped in delicate curls down her neck. Droplets of water collected on her chest, and her black silk robe dappled with deep patches where it touched her damp skin. Imogen bit her lip. 

'Imogen,' she said, looking back into her room and then to Imogen again. She opened her mouth but didn't say anything. 

'I was hoping we could talk,' the P.E. teacher said, feeling her stomach shaking with nerves she didn't think she should have. 

'I'm sorry I was rude to you today. I know I'm difficult; my reputation as the most hated teacher is probably deserved,' she fiddled with the tie of her robe, 'but I'm exhausted.' She touched Imogen's cheek and pulled her into a soft kiss. 'This is important to me, but I need a little space tonight. Is that okay?' Imogen nodded against the bare skin at Constance's neck. 

'Just don't leave me hanging for weeks; I don't do well waiting,' she said. 

'It's safe to say patience isn't my strong suit either,' Constance smiled wryly. 

And when Imogen flopped back onto her bed, she melted into sleep like hot butter. 

-

Thunder tolled deeply in the midday sky; rain would soon follow. Constance had taken Imogen to the bare mountain behind Castle Overblow. The wind was biting at the edge of the picnic blanket she had laid out for them, a thermos filled with tea close to tipping its boiling contents onto them. 

'I am not good at doing casual,' Constance said, putting a jam jar on the blanket's flapping edge. 

'Is this casual?' Imogen said, screwing the lid on the thermos. 'Is that what you want? Something casual?' 

'No,' Constance frowned, 'I just said I am not good at it. Why would I want it?' She looked up at the sky, 'I want to see where this goes, but that can't be a take it or leave it thing for me. We can't see other people,' she fidgeted, 'I've done that before, and I go to pieces. Not for me.'  Imogen blinked, and she thought a droplet of rain grazed her nose. 

'So you want to be girlfriends?' She smiled. She should never have expected anything but forthrightness from Constance. 

'Yes,' the witch said, touching Imogen's hand, 'I like you. You're interesting to talk to, funny, and I,' she looked away from Imogen to Cackle's on the horizon, 'feel like I am myself when I'm with you. I didn't want to go any further until we'd talked because, well, if you do want something less committed - which is fine - then we can leave it here. If you'd like, I can even go back to glaring at you from the other end of the staff room. I could even steal Davina's spot in the stationary cupboard.'  Imogen smiled and moved onto Constance's lap to kiss her. 

'You're charming, you know that? Absolutely delightful. I almost can't imagine you calling anyone a tuneless toad now,' she laughed, 'I want to see where this goes too. I can hardly believe I'd get to have a witch as a girlfriend. Does this mean you'll magic away all my chores?' 

'Not a chance,' 

'I think you're the most extraordinary person I've ever met,' Imogen said, 'intelligent, gorgeous and far funnier than I'd given you credit for,' she ran her thumb along Constance's cheekbone. 

Purple lightning cracked through the sky, and the rain poured. 'Shit,' Constance shouted as she leapt up and started frantically packing the picnic paraphernalia away. Imogen rolled up the blanket and tucked it into her rucksack. They ran toward the trees for shelter. The white birch bark seemed to reflect the steel of the storm sky above, and rain hammered the ground. The leaves kept the worst from their heads but couldn't stop it all. Imogen tucked her rucksack and Constance's basket behind a thick oak trunk; she pulled Constance deep into the wood. 

'Best to stay dry,' she said, wrapping her arms around the witch, 'and, of course, conserve body heat.' 

'Conserve body heat?' Constance scoffed playfully, 'And here I was thinking you were just trying to cosy up to me.' 

'Me? I'd never need such a terrible excuse,' Imogen pulled Constance closer and kissed her tenderly. The rain rattled through the leaves above them, dappling them in cold drops. Constance kissed away a bead that landed on Imogen's collarbone, nipping lips along her neck. She unzipped the P.E. teacher's jacket and slid a hand under the hem of her t-shirt, running the pads of her fingers over the soft skin of her back. Imogen brought Constance's lips back to her own and pushed her against the craggy bark of the oak; she pressed their bodies together, her hand massaging light scratches into the witch's scalp. She undid the bun, and Constance shook out her dark hair, which fell in waved curtains by her ears. Imogen raked her fingers through it and then kissed her jaw, her hands opening Contance's jet buttons, finding more skin to taste her lips to. Through the thin fabric of her bra, she felt Constance run her thumb teasingly over her breast, and Imogen gasped. 

'Do you think you could handle being teleported again?' Constance said, voice dark and half kissed into Imogen's neck, 'because I'd rather continue this somewhere dry.' Imogen nodded fervently, Constance cast an anti-nausea spell on Imogen for good measure, and they disappeared. Their rucksack and basket were left behind the old oak in the falling rain, a corner of chequered picnic blanket flapping out of its half-closed zip. 

It was a good thing the next morning was Sunday; in a tangle of warm limbs, they both slept through Constance's alarm. The lazy morning sun woke them in a wash of early afternoon gold.

—

Amelia had set out a platter of eclairs in the staff room; she'd organised them in neat lines on her great-granny Cackle's best plate - it was painted with little scenes of witches turning witchfinders into pigs. The plate was probably bad taste now, she thought; there were no witchfinders anymore, and half the girls came from non-magical families. Maybe she should sell it, she thought. It might raise enough at Hags and Horrocks to pay for the old hall to be repointed. 

'Tea, Miss Bat?' she said to Davina who sat twirling a waterphone by the fire. 

'Oh yes, Miss Cackle, I'd love one. Camel's milk, please.'

Amelia made up a team and handed it to Davina, 'We don't have any camel's milk, I'm afraid.'

'Never mind, the fourth years are gifted with the waterphone you know,' she said swirling the waterphone, and coming perilously close to spilling the boiling tea that Amelia had just handed her. 'I'll have to get some more bows for next week.' 

Amelia nodded. Charms had never been her strong suit, and she was simply grateful that waterphone - if that's what the strange pronged thing was, made a less offensive sound than the Llangollen ear flutes that Davina had been enamoured by the month before

'What exactly did you do to the fourth years?' Constance stalked into the room, keys jangling on her belt.

'Me?' Davina smiled, 'I've liberated them from the constraints of metred time, all thanks to this wonder,' she twirled the waterphone and it let out a soft bending howl. Constance opened and closed her mouth in disbelief. 'It is their final exam in two weeks; they need routine and dedication if they are to pass well.' 

Imogen's head popped round the staff room door.

'Davina, it's your duty, isn't it? The first years are going wild out here,' she said, and Davina leapt from beside the fire, sending the waterphone spinning into flames as she twirled out the door. 

Constance caught the waterphone and put it in the stationery cupboard. 

'That's got to be the least horrible instrument she's had in weeks,' Imogen said, slipping into the moth-eaten armchair. 'Are they eclairs Miss Cackle? Could I have one?' 

'How's the morning been so far Miss Hardbroom?' Imogen smiled at Constance.

'The fourth years aren't ready for their exams,' the witch leant against the mantelpiece, 'I wish there was more time.' 

'You know, it's funny, sometimes the things you least expect are the right things for the moment,' Amelia said, handing a plate and eclair to Imogen, 'Davina's methods may be unconventional, but she gives the girls space to relax. And relaxation is just as important as discipline, Constance, something you might learn from.' Constance rolled her eyes. 'And Imogen, physical exercise is a good release too; perhaps you should take Miss Hardbroom out for a run sometime?' Amelia said, and Imogen half-choaked on the piece of eclair she was eating. 

'Take Constance out for a run?' the P.E. teacher sputtered. 

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Amelia put her cat-eyed glasses on her head and grinned mischievously at Imogen. Imogen swallowed the bit of eclair and looked at Constance, who was smiling into the fire. 

'Don't be ridiculous, Headmistress,' the witch said, 'Imogen has quite enough on her plate,' she looked at Imogen with her dark eyes, 'and besides, I'm sure I tire her out enough as it is.' And then she disappeared from the room. 

'What on earth was she talking about?' Amelia said, biting into another eclair.

'Oh, you know Constance, probably some', Imogen bit the inside of her cheek, 'some jibe about a thing only she'd notice,' she smiled brightly, hoping Amelia bought it. 

Imogen was going to bloody murder her, the infuriating, funny and beautiful witch she never wanted to leave.