Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, lived a witch. She had a small cottage at a swamp in the woods, where few dared to enter, lest they be gobbled up or turned to toads—or so the legend told. She brooded away her days, mixing potions, wandering off through the trees in search of children to add to her big bubbling cauldron.
In another kingdom, perhaps a little further away, lived a princess. Locked high in a tower, guarded by a dragon, and surrounded by lava, she was a dream come true for every young knight out to prove himself. Time and again, they failed to succeed, and so she remained locked away, waiting for the day her true love would come and set her free.
Hecate locks her muscles into place, needing total concentration in her quest to extract the liquid from an eye of newt in just the right way. One false move—she’s learned the hard way—and it will end up everywhere but the inside of her cauldron. She has no interest in ruining yet another black dress. So carefully, with as much controlled precision as she can muster, Hecate sets about steadily piercing it at just the right point to avoid—
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Squirting herself.
A sigh of the utmost displeasure curls through her lips as she drops the offending object to her table and swivels towards the door. She has eye juice on her forehead, but that’s less pressing than the knocking that seems to only grow louder with every frantic pound.
There are two kinds of visitors Hecate gets, and neither are particularly welcome.
The first, and arguably least threatening, are teenagers. They usually come alone, shaking head to toe, on some dare to go see the witch, or steal one of her socks, or a bat wing, or any number of frankly ridiculous things to prove their bravery to their friends. Sometimes Hecate takes pity on them, gives them a temporary pig’s tail or turns them green. Harmless stuff that wears off, really, but it usually keeps them from trying again. Other times they’re already running away before she’s fully opened the door.
The second are the ones with fire in their eyes, and sometimes on the ends of their torches as well. They come with raised voices and accusations. She’s been blamed for everything from an ingrown toenail to eight months of drought—as though Hecate would ever waste her magic on those so hostile against it. Sometimes she simply waves them away with the flick of her wrist, transferring them to some other part of the forest. Sometimes she stays still and lets them yell.
She flicks her fingers and the door slams open, just the way she likes. Frustration is still pumping through her, ready to strike at the unlucky soul who has dared to interrupt her delicate potion process.
Hecate blinks, a little surprised by the sight of a small girl, no older than ten perhaps. She doesn’t often see children in her part of the woods, for parents warn them off with stories of how she’ll eat them, cook them into stews in her big black cauldron.
Hecate’s always scoffed at the stories. As if she’d ever use her cauldron for cooking.
She clicks her tongue, taking in the fearful eyes before her, the way the girl tugs anxiously at her braids, and waits for the worst.
“Please help me!”
It’s not what she expects, and Hecate blinks slowly as though to clear her mind better.
“They’re coming, I need to hide, please!” the girl begs, practically bouncing in her doorway, eyes flitting nervously around.
The sound of shouting in the near distance reaches her ears, making Hecate wince. She’s all too familiar with the mobs that spew from nearby villages. It’s a foolish idea to let this strange child inside her home, but she knows that fear in her eyes, knows the wrath of these men, and it makes her stomach churn.
Spurred on by a sudden momentum, she grabs the girl by the shoulder and tugs her in, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Get in that closet and stay very quiet,” Hecate orders briskly, wasting no time. One or two men might avoid her home, but a mob will consider it a bonus outing.
The girl, trembling, does as she’s told.
No sooner has she shut the door behind her than does another knock sound from outside, this one booming.
Hecate takes her time, clears the throat, rolls down her sleeves, and straightens her spine. She summons a handkerchief and wipes the eye juice off her brow. If they want to interrupt her with some foolish child hunt, she won’t make it easy.
“Can I help you?” Hecate asks with her best menacing glare as she flicks the door back open. There’s at least a dozen men, some angry, but all a little frightened by her blatant display of magic. She feels it build in her, thrilled, and stands blocking her own doorway like a gargoyle.
A man she presumes to be their leader steps forward, trying to match her stare but failing. Hecate grits her teeth.
“There’s a girl oo‘s run away. She’s real dangerous, see. Don’t suppose she’s come by here?” he snarls. There’s a distinct odor to him that makes Hecate hold her breath as he speaks.
“Hmm,” she pretends to think, “Not that I recall. It has been a while since my last meal, so I think I’d remember?” she says with frown.
The man before her blanches, taking an unsteady step back towards the group.
“Witch!” one of them calls out, like it should insult her. Hecate merely lifts a brow in challenge.
“Is that all you’ve got? Pity.” She clicks her tongue. “I thought we might all have a girls’ night in. Oh well. I suppose I’ll still need someone for dinner, since apparently I missed a child coming through.” Hecate’s barely lifted her hand in threat before they’re dispersing, screaming as though on fire as they tear through her swamp, disrupting some pondweed she’d been planning to harvest later. She frowns mournfully at it, waiting until she’s sure they won’t come back, then returns inside and shuts the door behind her.
For a moment, Hecate closes her eyes and leans back against it, allowing the fear she’d pushed aside to wash over her—allowing her legs to tremble. She’s done this a hundred times, but she’s never without the risk that one day, they might challenge her threats. They might truly try and do her harm, might force her hand to fight back against them.
As it is, speaking is hard enough. She can’t recall the last time she’s said something kind, the last time there’s been anyone to say something kind to. She talks to the frogs sometimes, but they’re wretched company. Her own voice sounds weak upon her ears, quiet from the years, if not a bit chilling.
A shattering thump echoes from inside her closet, and Hecate’s eyes snap open as she remembers the child still hiding inside. Tiredly, yet guarded, she steps a few feet away from her door and flicks it open.
In the few minutes stuffed inside, the child has well and truly made a mess of her supplies. There are smashed jars all over the floor, brooms hanging every which way, and in the middle of it stands the girl with the untied shoes, fiddling with her braids. Hecate sighs deeply and beckons her forward.
“Carefully, don’t cut yourself on the glass,” she warns tightly, waiting until the child is trailing something green and slimey all across her floor before going over and inspecting the damage herself. She cringes at the sight. “It’s going to take me weeks to repair the stores you’ve ruined.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles quietly, at least properly ashamed of herself. Hecate makes quick work of it, muttering a spell to make sure the cleaning is done thoroughly. Mixing potentially volatile ingredients all across the floor is not a risk she takes lightly. Her gaze shifts to the girl, and the mess her shoes are making all over the rest of the place, and does another quick cleaning spell.
Then, as a final touch, she wiggles her nose and watches in satisfaction as those blasted shoe laces tie themselves.
Finally, Hecate can breathe.
“Well then—“
“Mildred. Mildred Hubble,” the girl supplies.
“Mildred Hubble,” Hecate repeats, finding the name odd on her tongue but nodding. “What exactly have you done to make such angry men wish to hunt down a little girl?”
Mildred looks forlorn at this, and were she not currently invading Hecate’s home, she might feel a little sad for her.
“The thing is. Well, you see…”
“Today, Mildred Hubble.”
She takes a deep breath and stands a little straighter.
“Mrs. Olsen can’t afford to house me any longer, and she heard the crown was offering gold in exchange for magical creatures, so she brought me to market to sell me off,” Mildred admits.
“And how exactly did she propose to pass off a little girl as a magical creature?”
“Well, she may have lied a bit. She sort of told them I’m a witch. But I’m not a real witch.” She pauses to frown, and Hecate almost fools herself into thinking she’s actually sad she’s not. “At least, I don’t think I am. Mum would know better than I would.”
“And your mother is this… Mrs. Olsen?” Hecate asks, trying to put the disjointed pieces together.
Mildred shakes her head so quickly she almost crashes into Hecate’s clock.
“No! I don’t know my Mum. I mean, I guess I used to when I was little, but she had to leave me with Mrs. Olsen. I don’t think she meant to be gone so long, really. Mrs. Olsen said something bad must have happened, but I think she’s wrong. She’ll come back when she can.”
It’s unlikely, Hecate thinks, but she doesn’t want to quash the girl’s hopes. Not when she’s standing here in front of Hecate—in her home no less—like it’s perfectly safe and normal. Like she’s unafraid of Hecate and what she might do.
“I see,” Hecate says instead, sniffing and clutching at the timepiece around her neck. “And how did all of this lead to you being chased?”
“Ahh, that part. Well I sort of tripped over this bucket of pixie dust and floated around a bit. It was an accident, I swear! But someone noticed and the next thing I knew, someone else was yelling about burning the witch. So I just sort of ran and I didn’t know where to go, but I saw the swamp and remembered hearing stories about you, so I hoped you’d be home and you were. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Hecate blinks anxiously, unused to being thanked, and by a child no less.
“You sought me out for… safety?” she asks, voice rising on the last word, finding it utterly improbable.
“Everyone says you have magic. You do, don’t you? That’s what you used to clean up, right?” Hecate begins to worry. Something’s wrong—Mildred looks positively excited at the prospect.
“Shouldn’t you be running away in fear of the child-eating witch?” she asks briskly.
Mildred simply rolls her eyes and then—in a complete moment of boldness that Hecate will strain herself over for years to come—makes herself right at home on Hecate’s couch. And giggles. “You don’t really eat children,” she says matter-of-factly.
Hecate purses her lips, tempted to refute the statement. She has a reputation to uphold, after all. Mind, a reputation she abhors, but at times it’s kept her alive at the very least, and she’s not apt to lose her protection. She can’t quite bring herself to take away the little semblance of trust she seems to have gained, though, and she doubts very much Mildred would believe her regardless.
“I do not,” she concedes. “However, it is foolish of you to be so certain. Has no one taught you not to enter the homes of strangers?”
Mildred shrugs at this. “Not really, no. Besides, you can’t be worse than them.” And really, Hecate cannot argue with that.
“Right, well.” Hecate clears her throat. “You can wait another hour, if you wish. They should have given up by then I should imagine.”
“An hour until what?”
“Until you take your leave, Mildred Hubble.”
She swears Mildred looks sad at this, but shakes it off. Even if the child is deluded enough to wish to stay in her presence any longer than that, Hecate is not a caretaker. She hardly has any practice around others, let alone children.
“I have to leave. Of course.”
Mildred looks close to tears, and it makes Hecate so uncomfortable she thinks she may try and claw her way out of her own skin. Then almost more frighteningly, Mildred’s frown turns to a mischievous smile, and suddenly those big brown eyes are looking up at her like a small animal might. It pulls at something odd, and she doesn’t like it.
“About that…” Mildred begins, playing with her braids again.
“I feel I’ll regret this deeply, but what about it?” Hecate feels a headache coming on.
“It’s just that, I think it’s the bats that you’re a real witch.” Mildred beams.
“You… do?”
“Oh yes! I only saw a little, but it’s like I can taste your magic. It’s so lovely!”
Hecate finds herself speechless, unused to anyone other than herself finding a positive side to her cursed nature.
“I know I’m not special like you, but I was thinking that maybe you could teach me? I could be your apprentice! I promise, I would try so hard.”
Hecate tries to still her face, but she’s sure some of the shock must slip through. “Hardly. Being a witch is the greatest honor the Goddess can bestow upon us. Do you even know what a witch is? What a witch does?” Hecate drawls with perfect enunciation, crossing her arms and looming over Mildred in a way that surely must be threatening, but the girl only flinches slightly.
“Well, magic. But I could learn potions! And, erm, gather stuff? And… sweep? Someone has to replace all the stuff from those broken jars,” Mildred tries.
Hecate can only scoff and tighten her face. “A witch makes things go her way. And right now, you are in my way. Do you understand?”
She thinks she’s finally settled the matter, possibly even succeeded at scaring the girl away from trying to return for good. But it seems she may have a penchant for underestimating Mildred Hubble.
“Then I’ll just have to make myself a witch!” she declares triumphantly.
Hecate truly wants to pull her hair out, and thinks she might, if only she hadn’t put it up in a bun this morning.
She’s never heard of someone born without magic being able to harness it, and Mildred doesn’t exactly seem like the sort to succeed even if it is possible. Yet, she can’t deny, it would be useful to have someone around to replace her stores. The stores Mildred broke, she reminds herself, wondering how many other disasters the girl might bring her way if she gives in and lets this actually happen.
“What about your family? Surely they would not approve.”
“I don’t have one, remember? Not that I can find, anyways. I’m all alone. I don’t have anyone.”
And damn it, Hecate doesn’t know how she got herself into this position, but she knows that face, knows those feelings. She’s been that child alone in the world, just trying to be herself, to stay alive long enough to learn how. She may not know children, and she thinks Mildred will likely make a horrendous witch, but she knows turning her out on her own crosses a line. It’s cruel, and Hecate is many broody, huffy things, but she is not a cruel witch.
Hecate knows she will grumble and curse herself to eternity for every day she is stuck with this child under her care—she hardly chose for her to come here, of all places—but there’s really only one answer that doesn’t make her a monster.
And contrary to what everyone else seems to believe, she is no monster, and never will allow herself to become one.
Hecate grits her teeth. “Fine. You may stay here as my apprentice… on a trial basis only. One misstep and I will personally see to it that you end up in the nearest orphanage I can find. Is that clear?”
She thinks she’s been properly firm, that Mildred will be just frightened enough to stay out of her way while she figures out how this can possibly work.
She thinks very wrong.
Suddenly two lanky arms are tight around her waist, the force of the child suddenly upon her nearly knocking Hecate off balance. She freezes, unsure what do so as Mildred hugs her. It’s so appalling, she can’t think. Finally she manages to grasp her shoulders and yank her back a proper distance away. She’s fuming, but Mildred hardly seems to mind.
“I promise I’ll be the best apprentice, I won’t let you down!”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hecate quips. “Let’s begin with rule one—there will be no hugging of any kind.”
Mildred still smiles up at her. “I won’t. Thank you, Miss…”
She stares up at Hecate, who for her part stands and blinks down at her, giving nothing.
“Erm, what’s your name?”
Hecate sighs. She’s been ‘the witch’ for so long, she’s unused to people asking or caring to find out. Only a handful of people probably even know it now. But she supposes she needs to give her something.
“You may call me Miss Hardbroom.”
“Then thank you, Miss Hardbroom! I really do mean it. You’ll hardly even know I’m here—I’ll be such a good apprentice, and I’ll work hard.”
Hecate’s right in assuming she’d come to regret her decision, but she never assumed that regret would come so quickly.
By dinner time, Hecate’s already at her wit’s end. Contrary to Mildred’s assertion that she’ll hardly be noticed, she never stops chattering, and asking questions, and in her rare moments of silence, knocking Hecate’s things all over the place. She finally confines her to a chair, assigning her the relatively simple task of peeling potatoes for their dinner.
“Why do you live in a swamp?” Mildred asks, the hundredth of a constant stream of questions about Hecate’s life.
She fights down the urge to snap steadily building inside her and continues cutting carrots, considering just how much she’s comfortable revealing about her living situation. “The best potions ingredients are here. You’ll learn how to collect them soon enough, so long as you do so with care.”
“Cool!” Mildred exclaims, dropping another potato to the floor. Hecate sighs deeply, finishing up her carrots and moving over to help the child with the rest.
“I suppose. It’s also quiet.”
“It must be nice to be away from everyone,” Mildred says dreamily.
“It’s necessary.”
Mildred looks up at her thoughtfully, and Hecate feels herself regretting the admission. She does like her swamp. It’s a comfortable, safe part of her routine. She wouldn’t give it up now, even if she could. But that doesn’t mean she’s always felt the same about it.
“You’d rather live in the village?” Mildred asks innocently.
Just as Hecate’s about to tell her in no uncertain terms that she’d rather do anything but live near the insufferable village fools, there is a loud bang and a whoop of glee outside.
“So much for quiet,” she grumbles. She thinks this interruption must somehow be Mildred’s fault. She doesn’t yet know how, but it feels too strange to be a coincidence.
“What in Merlin’s name?” Hecate says to herself as she looks out the window. Her entire swampy lawn is crawling with young witches, most zipping about on broomsticks, a few setting up tents and fires.
She thinks she might be overdue for a stroke.
“Cool!” Mildred exclaims from beside her. She’s not sure when the girl followed, but she doesn’t stop her from running to the front door and throwing it open.
“Oh, hello dear!” a familiar warm voice rings from the doorway. Hecate doesn’t have to look to see who it is—which is a small blessing, considering she feels rooted to the spot, watching all the little witches run amuck and destroy her cattails. “Is Hecate in?”
“You mean… Miss Hardbroom?” Mildred asks.
“Ahh, yes, that would be her. And you are?”
“Mildred Hubble. I’m her apprentice!”
“That’s wonderful! Is she around by any chance? I’m afraid I have some pressing matters to attend.”
“Miss Hardbroom!” Mildred yells, as though she isn’t several feet away. She flinches, but it pulls her out of her reverie, and Hecate manages to stomp her way to the door.
“Well Met, Ada,” she says sharply, bowing in greeting to her old mentor.
“Well Met, Hecate,” Ada returns.
Truth be told, Hecate has enormous respect for Ada Cackle. A slightly older witch, there had been a time when Ada took Hecate under her wing, helped her hone in on her powers and skills as a witch when she was not much younger than Mildred and found herself alone in a swamp. She’d gone on to start a school for witches like Hecate, to give the young girls a safe place to learn magic.
A place, she thinks, she might be able to pass off Mildred Hubble to.
A place Mildred will love much more than Hecate’s swamp.
Hecate’s mood instantly lightens and she smiles. “What can I do for you, Ada? Would you like to come in?”
Ada smiles gratefully. “Mind your manners, girls, I’ll only be a moment!” she calls outside, before following Hecate and Mildred to the seating area by the fire.
“Tea?” she offers, already magically heating the kettle.
“Yes, please. And a biscuit, if you have any.” Ada smiles.
“Mildred?” she asks, because she’s suddenly feeling generous.
Mildred nods eagerly, and soon all three have tea in their hands, two of them supplied with small plates of oat biscuits.
“I assume you’re responsible for this… frivolity terrorizing my swamp?” Hecate asks, cutting right to the chase.
Ada blushes and nods, swallowing a bite of cookie. “I do apologize for that—I promise to repair any damage they cause.”
“Are you all witches?” Mildred asks, a gleam in her eyes.
“Yes, dear.” Ada says, smiling warmly down at her. “I must say, Hecate, I think it’s wonderful that you’ve taken on an apprentice. I always have said you have the gift to teach. It’s a shame you won’t reconsider my offer to come work at Cackle’s.”
“Yes, well, I’m quite busy here with Mildred. She’s shaping up to be an excellent young witch,” Hecate lies, shooting Mildred a look to stay silent. If she wants Ada to take her off her hands, she needs to fudge a few details. It’s not really lying—for all she knows, maybe Mildred really will manifest magic from sheer force of will.
Ada looks positively tickled by the news. “Oh, Hecate, I’m so pleased to hear that! It’s never done you good to spend so much time alone.”
Hecate frowns at this, pointedly ignoring Mildred’s muffled giggle, and is about to say something when another loud bang sounds from outside.
“Girls!” Ada yells, but it’s too soft. “What have I told you?” She sighs and sinks further into her chair. “I’m sorry, Hecate. It’s been rather hard on them, I’m afraid.”
“What exactly is going on, Ada?” she asks, feeling her patience dwindle further at the thought of the newest damage she doesn’t wish to see.
“Lord Hellibore finally managed to get us evicted from the school castle. I don’t know what to do! Some of the girls could be sent home, but most have nowhere to go. I promise, we won’t impose on you for long, Hecate.” Ada looks close to tears.
“You plan to stay here?” Hecate is almost certain her eyebrows have reached her hairline.
“Just for now. We’ll leave as soon as I figure out what to do. I couldn’t think of anywhere else safe enough to take them all. You don’t mind, do you, Hecate? The remainder of my staff should be arriving shortly with the rest of our things—once they’re here, I’m sure the girls will be much better behaved.”
Hecate strongly doubts that, but there’s little she can argue with. Ada Cackle is the closest thing she has to family, and she knows she’d never turn Hecate away if she sought shelter.
Another smashing sound makes Hecate jump, jostling hot tea over the rim of her cup.
Just as she cannot turn Ada away, she also cannot live this way. One addition to her life is already too much.
“Right, that settles it. You may set up your camps and spend the night, Ada. One sleepless night won’t kill me. In the morning, Mildred and I will go to Lord Hellibore and get your castle back,” Hecate insists matter-of-factly.
“We are?” Mildred asks, bouncing in her seat rather nauseatingly. “Cool! How are we going to do that?”
Hecate has absolutely no idea.
“As I told you, Mildred. A witch makes things go her way.”
Mildred nods, like she’s in awe of Hecate, as though she’s the moon and stars herself. She tries not to flush at the feeling. It’s unfamiliar, and she won’t do well to get used to it.
“Hecate, if you truly mean that, I will be in great debt to you for it,” Ada says. Hecate thinks happily that she knows exactly the favor she’ll call in, and by the next moon she’ll have her solitary life back to normal.