Chapter Text
Miss Drill's old, yellowing radio sat in the center of the staffroom's table, surrounded by several empty coffee mugs and bottles of Wide-Awake potion. The staff of Cackle's Academy had huddled around it to listen to the announcer in tense silence, ignoring the rings of the wall clock that signaled each new hour. Miss Bat, however, was the only staff member not seated before the radio. She had fumbled and retreated to her wardrobe the second she heard the announcer's first statement:
"The world's population is declining rapidly."
Miss Cackle's shoulders were shaking, her lips pursed and her eyes fixed on a lone crumb on a plate. Her hair trembled with her, making her discomfort all the more noticeable. Miss Hardbroom held her hand, though her death grip told Amelia she needed the contact just as much. The announcer attempted to deliver his harsh words in a calm manner, as if he were discussing something as simple as the weather.
"After direct contact, the virus spreads quickly through its human host. Side effects include-" Static momentarily interrupted the broadcast, much to their dismay. "Head to the nearest port, boats will be-" More static. Frustrated and impatient, Miss Hardbroom snatched the damned contraption and fidgeted with the antenna, hoping to get some result.
Miss Drill's heart was beating much too fast. She bit down on her knuckles and tapped her foot anxiously on the floor. "The nearest port is seven hours from here. We can't possibly get all the students there."
"We could fly," Miss Cackle suggested, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling.
Miss Hardbroom shook her head, crossing her arms tightly. "Not all of us," she said, with a sideways glance at Miss Drill. "Some of our girls aren't yet at that skill level. Half the first years can't even get their familiar on their brooms."
"So what should we do, then?" Miss Drill asked worriedly.
The threat loomed over their heads like some unknown, incoming storm. An international disease that could wipe out half the world in just a few days, and no healer (magical nor ordinary) had developed any sort of medicine. There was a city not too far from the academy, already overrun with the virus. Cackle's magical staff could theoretically leave the academy on their own, but that would mean abandoning the girls, as well as Miss Drill, Miss Tapioca and Mr. Blossom. That was out of the question.
After a moment of deliberation, Miss Cackle looked at the others with a grave look in her eyes. "We go on lockdown. Miss Hardbroom and I shall cast a protective veil over the academy. Miss Bat, I believe we have a two-way radio in the storage closet near the mess hall. I want you to bring it here. Hopefully, we can contact the Magic Council. Miss Drill, as you know how to navigate the ordinary world better than any of us, I need you to head into the nearest town and gather anything you can find; Food, medicine, bandages. Anything that might be useful."
"With what money?" Miss Drill said, baffled.
"The school has some savings, and-" Miss Cackle was interrupted by Miss Hardbroom clearing her throat. She drummed her fingers against her forearms.
"When we visited Rowan Webb's Riverside Retreat, his apprentice magicked up a feast. I'm sure he could-"
"They are dead, Constance.”
Miss Cackle's eyes were tired. Miss Hardbroom was rendered speechless.
Before another heavy silence could fall over the room, Miss Cackle continued her words. "As I was saying, Miss Drill will use these savings to purchase supplies. Mr. Blossom and Miss Tapioca will gather all students in the mess hall and inform them of the situation. We must act quickly."
A quiet sniffle came from the wardrobe. Reluctantly, Miss Hardbroom slipped her handkerchief into the crack between the doors.
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"Millie?" Maud cried, thrusting open the window shutters. She shook her friend's shoulders forcefully. She hadn't even had the time to comb her hair. "Millie, wake up! This is important!"
Mildred groaned and burrowed even deeper into the comfort of her blankets. The light from the window blinded her. "Maud, what time is it?"
"It's five in the morning, and they're calling everyone into the mess hall. Classes are cancelle— Mildred, don't go back to sleep!"
Enid, who had been standing by the doorway, stamped her foot in frustration. She marched right up to Mildred and seized her by the arm. "For goodness' sake! Get out of bed, there's no time to get dressed!"
Mildred finally rubbed the sleep from her eyes, registering the agency in Enid's voice. She followed her friends, although she was heavily disoriented from being awoken so suddenly. Hurrying downstairs, she found the rest of their students in their nightclothes. The sun was just rising over the horizon and half the students were already dozing off. Miss Tapioca and Mr. Blossom stood at the pedestal, shushing the girls into a relative quiet.
"Girls, girls!" Mr. Blossom shouted, raising his palms in the air. "Hush now, we've got something to-"
"There are zombies!" Miss Tapioca cried out hysterically, her hands trembling. The students gasped collectively and muttered to one another in hushed voices. Somewhere in the room, Sybil Hallow broke down into a sobbing fit. The cook continued her melodramatic screaming. "Oh, I knew this day would come! I knew it!"
"Hey!" Mr. Blossom shouted again, silencing the crowd. "The teachers are handling it, so calm down! We are all staying inside the academy."
The girls called out questions, their voices filled with fear.
"What about our families?!"
"Where's Miss Cackle?"
"I want to go home!"
Mr. Blossom sighed, hugging himself tightly. The truth was, he hadn't the faintest idea what to do and barely had enough answers. His nephew was missing, the staff were stressed out of their minds, and all the information they had to go off were the broken words of a radio broadcast. He felt like cowering under a desk and hiding away from the world. "Girls, quiet! The staff are handling it. Just sit down and— Oh, I don't know— Play patty-cake!"
"We will not be playing patty-cake while the world burns, Mr. Blossom!" Ethel scolded him, followed by the murmured agreement of her peers. While Ethel was disliked by the majority of students, her words held truth; The girls couldn't stand idly by. They had the ability to help, if only the adults could see that.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
That night, no one slept within their own quarters. Students and staff alike slept on the floor of the mess hall with their blankets, the quiet occasionally interrupted by the soft, stifled cries of the girls. Miss Hardbroom couldn’t rest, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, and busied herself with a rifle the students had found in one of the castle's many closets. It had belonged to Hermione Cackle, Miss Cackle's ‘highway woman’ ancestor whom the students so admired. Although Miss Hardbroom hadn’t the faintest idea how to use a gun (for she never had the need for one), she was a witch who liked to be prepared for the unexpected. She’d seen ordinaries using such contraptions in a couple of old movies, but the idea of herself using it on a former human being seemed… Gruesome.
Not too far from her, Mildred lay wide-awake, listening to the quiet clicking of the rifle. She had handled wicked witches invading the school, a wizard-turned-frog, a dragon lord and a pop star, but real life suddenly felt too real. She never thought about what would happen if these wonderful witches passed away, especially in a brutal manner.
The sound of Miss Hardbroom's rifle filled Mildred with dread. Each click was a constant reminder of impending danger. She couldn’t close her eyes for fear of something happening when she did.
”Mildred Hubble?” Miss Hardbroom’s low voice drifted across the room, hushed lest she awaken any of the others. It was hard to ignore Mildred's heavy breathing; It was as if she had just run track. “Why are you not asleep?”
Mildred would've squeezed her eyes shut if she had felt safe enough to do it. Unwilling to lie to her teacher, she sat cross-legged where she was and hugged her blanket to her chest. ”I’m scared, Miss Hardbroom,” she admitted, rubbing the soft blue fabric between her fingers.
Miss Hardbroom pursed her lips and stared at her blankly. “Scared,” she repeated, as if it were a foreign word.
”Yes, Miss Hardbroom.” Mildred swallowed dryly, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I don’t want anyone to die.”
There was another silence between them. The austere woman sighed and beckoned Mildred towards her with a wave of her hand. The girl complied, clutching her blanket while stepping around her sleeping peers like a small child during nap-time. For the five minutes it took Mildred to shuffle towards her, Miss Hardbroom’s heart ached strangely. The ache became even more noticeable when Mildred sat down by her feet. She did not sit too close, but refused to sit too far. And she looked up at her teacher with those damned doe eyes that always seemed to soften her somehow.
”Rest here.” Miss Hardbroom told her, her words oddly gentle. “I am keeping watch, Mildred Hubble, and no harm will come to you or anyone else tonight.”
When Mildred yawned and buried into her blankets, Miss Hardbroom was left alone again. Her eyes scanned the mess hall and watched as the witches’ bodies rose and fell with their breaths, resembling some human wave. It gave her a strange sense of comfort to see it. Perhaps it comforted her to know everyone was alive and well. Or perhaps it felt comforting because she wasn’t alone on this sinking ship.