Chapter Text
1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. Hecate took comfort in the repeated motion of folding her clothes into the trunk, repeating the mantra over in her head to slow her racing thoughts. Arm, arm, fold.
“Are you finished Hecate?” The cold voice from the doorway caused her to whip around to face her mother.
“Almost,” she muttered, reaching over to pull the trunk lid closed.
“Well hurry up for goodness sake, there’s not going to be this kind of room for error in a witching academy,” she responded with disdain, absentmindedly adding a lock charm to the trunk.
As Hecate lay her ill-fitting uniform over her desk chair for the next morning, her mother motioned two members of the household staff into the room. They picked up the heavy trunk between them and manoeuvred out of the room with some difficulty, taking the luggage to the transportation post outside.
“Come along, Hecate, into bed.” Her mother insisted, placing her hand on Hecate’s back to move her. Hecate almost felt a little warmth in her words, but this was quashed instantly. “You have a long flight tomorrow and I won’t have you embarrassing us because you’re tired. Hardbrooms do not crash”.
She marched out the door as soon as Hecate had climbed into bed and waved her hand behind her as she left. The charm pulled Hecate’s duvet up to her chin and closed the door behind her, leaving Hecate alone in the darkness. Despite her mothers’ orders she sat up and got out of bed, drifting over to the window. Her long nightgown whispered against her ankles as she walked and the slight breeze coming from the autumn evening ruffled her hair. She stood there, her bare feet absorbing the icy chill from the flagstones, watching the moon rise over the woods. Her fingers traced the stiff folds of her uniform as the full moon cast an ethereal glow over the landscape. Only when the soles of her feet were numb with cold, and she could hear her parents coming up to bed did she finally patter back over to her own duvet. She curled up small underneath the covers, trying to shiver some warmth back into her extremities. It didn’t take long before she managed to drift into a troubled sleep, nerves colouring her dreams.
She was roused only a few hours later by the housekeeper bustling around lighting candles. The sun hadn’t even risen.
“Good morning Miss Hecate,” she whispered as Hecate turned over and sat up.
“Good morning Miss Alberta,” she whispered back with a smile.
When Hecate was small she hadn’t understood why her parents treated the people who helped them around the house so badly. In protest she started addressing them as Miss and Mr to demonstrate her disapproval. It had earned her a week and a half of silent treatment, but the smile it brought to the housekeepers’ face was worth it. With a yawn she swung her feet out of bed and started getting dressed, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her stomach. She made sure her plaits were neat and symmetrical, her shirt pressed and her skirt precisely knee length- no longer, no shorter. When she felt like she looked as perfect as possible, she went down to the dining room to have breakfast, but was met by Alberta again. Instead of the large plate of toast and eggs Hecate was used to being greeted by, Alberta was holding a small shoulder bag, her cloak and her broomstick.
“I’ve packed you some breakfast to eat on the way, Miss Hecate. There won’t be time to sit down” she told her and handed her the shoulder bag, which she put on obediently.
Alberta helped her into her cloak and walked her out before handing her broom over. Hecate hadn’t been helped into a cloak for a long time, even when she was young her mother had left her to fumble clumsily with the buttons.
“Aren’t mother and father coming down?” She asked with little hope. She knew the answer before she even asked the question. If they were planning on coming down, they would already be here. Hardbrooms weren’t late.
“They didn’t get to bed until very late last night,” Alberta began to explain but Hecate cut her off in a rare show of rudeness.
“Of course, it wouldn’t be practical,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anything else. She began fussing around, getting her broom to hover, readying to mount.
“Be careful dear, it’s a long way to go,” Alberta said, forgiving Hecate’s snub and pulling her into a hug. Hecate allowed herself the comfort for precisely 3 seconds before pulling back and mounting her broom.
“Good luck.”
“A good witch doesn’t need luck, Miss Alberta,” she whispered back. Even though her words were short, her voice shook as she said them.
“Right you are, Miss Hecate,” she affirmed with a smile. Alberta was instantly struck by the young girl's wide eyes and trembling lip. Eleven seemed awfully young to be sent off on this long trip all alone. She continued smiling regardless, not wanting to unnerve her charge. Keeping that smile in mind Hecate moved off to begin the long flight to her new school, pretending the butterflies she felt were just from being hungry, not from being nervous.
—
Hecate knew she had messed up by the time she got ready for bed that night. When she touched down that morning, she looked around and realised her pin neat appearance was not the best choice to have made. She had planned to go and find a nice area on the grounds to eat her packed breakfast when she arrived. However, she’d been so uncomfortable, she’d run to her room and focused instead on unpacking. All the girls looked bright and backcombed; like a flock of exotic birds. When Hecate had landed they had all turned and stared, muttering about her pin neat French plaits, her baggy jumper, her knee length skirt. They had all backcombed their hair, their jumpers were tight, and their skirts had been hiked up at least three inches. Hecate didn’t know that all of the girls would have decided on a new uniform before they’d ever even met each other. It didn’t occur to her that her own solitary childhood was not the norm, that they had written letters back and forth to one another all summer detailing this moment.The whispers and laughter followed her up the stairs, seeping into her body and making her feel sick.
When she reappeared at dinner everyone had already made up their mind the Hardbroom girl was weird, but it only got worse when the welcome feast was brought out. Hecate wasn’t used to such lavish food; her parents ate simple meals when alone in respect of the craft, and Hecate never went to the indulgent parties and dinners they were invited to. The only thing she recognised was the tureen of vegetable broth, so she had helped herself to a bowlful, which had only made them all hate her more. Now the Hardbroom girl wasn’t just odd, she was a standoffish snob, above gorging herself on the feast with everyone else. That night Hecate huddled under her thin blanket, missing her thick duvet at home and allowed herself to cry. She cried for all the mean names already being passed around, for the stares and the sniggers, for having messed everything up within a few hours. She curled up around her grumbling stomach and shivered her way to sleep, already wishing to leave.
The next morning, she washed her face and refused to give in. They didn’t just hate the way she dressed, and changing to look like them wouldn’t undo the damage. She kept her skirt the same length and plaited her hair the same as yesterday. At breakfast, while all the other girls her age came to the table weighed down by piled high plates she sat quietly and ate her small bowl of porridge slowly. She wished breakfast to be over, so they could just go to charms, all the chatter was making her feel queasy.
—
“Right, girls. I don’t know how many of you have already learnt some magic before, but if you have,” the teacher paused to peer around the room, “I have one piece of advice for you: forget everything! Most of the techniques used to teach children control over magic won’t work after puberty so it’s best you don’t try. Today we’re going to learn a simple sparking spell.”
All the girls stood in an empty room, dotted around a few feet away from each other. The teacher was a young, red headed woman named Dorothea whose enthusiasm infected the whole room. She weaved in and out of the girls as she gave instructions, her hands gesticulating wildly.
“So, I want you to hold your hands in front of you and concentrate really hard on your magic. When you focus on it you can feel it flowing in your veins- but be careful, I don’t want any fires! When you’ve concentrated it in your hands I want you to say ‘scintillam’.”
She held her hands in front of her and demonstrated, deliberately articulating the syllables. A shower of golden sparks shot out of her hands and rained down over the now gasping and chattering girls.
“Okay your turn!” She clapped her hands together and stood to watch them.
Hecate held her hands in front of her as instructed and closed her eyes to focus in on her magic. She could truly feel the raw potency of it zipping around her body, as hot as the sun, as powerful and untameable as the ocean. She focused hard on sending it to her hands, feeling it pool in her fingertips like ink. When she opened her eyes, she could see her hands had an ethereal glow that made them look like she’d borrowed them from an angel. She muttered the incantation under her breath, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and an impressive shower of sparks shot upwards and ricocheted off the ceiling. Hecate gasped in wonder, a wide smile spreading across her face as the sparks cascaded down around her, she could feel them fizzing as they landed on her skin.
“Well done, Hecate!” Dorothea called from the front of the room, clapping as she wove around the room towards her “be careful though, you don’t want to burn anything, sweetie”
“But she did it wrong,” Ursulla Hallow sneered from the other side of the the room, “the sparks are meant to be gold not green,” she finished triumphantly, nodding her head for emphasis.
“Golden” Dorothea corrected quickly “and you should know, Ursulla, this is a colourless incantation, your gift dictates the colour. Don’t try to mindlessly copy me or you won’t get very far.”
Ursulla was right, Dorothea’s sparks had been as golden as the sun, but Hecate’s were the deep green of tree canopies in late summer. Not even the eye rolling and teasing could dampen her smile though. Ursula had been cut off mid-rebuke by a spray of bright pink sparks from the back of the room and Hecate spent the rest of the lesson making her ‘depressing’ sparks dance and swoop around her hand. Dorothea liked her .Dorothea had said well done, like Hecate’s untameable gift was something good. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had even acknowledged her doing magic, never mind praising her for it. She’d almost had to stop herself skipping out of the lesson. She might even try to talk to someone at dinner tonight, she thought happily. Unfortunately, she was rapidly brought back down to earth by a chattering gaggle of girls rushing past her. One of them bumped into her and Hecate was painfully pushed into the wall, her books crashing to the floor. She thought she saw a blonde girl in the centre of the group look back to see what happened, but she must have been imagining it; even if she did turn around, she didn’t try to help.
On the way to the dinner hall that night, Hecate took an impulsive turn towards the library and decided to go and do her homework instead. She couldn’t face the chatter and laughter, the stares and mutters. The whispered conversations they didn’t really try to hide, that she was supposed to pretend she didn’t notice. She’d honestly rather go hungry she decided, and allowed herself to be absorbed by the craft. She stayed there studying until long after she heard the clatter of her peers coming out of the dinner hall and finally crept back to her room minutes before lights out. She was so exhausted she crawled straight into bed, the deep feeling of hunger becoming a comforting normalality as she slipped into sleep.
Hecate has always liked a routine, it appealed to her precise nature, so it came to no surprise to her that a pattern emerged in her behaviour. Hecate would arrive 10 minutes before the end of breakfast, excel in her lessons, pick at lunch, try to avoid interacting with her classmates at all costs and then skip dinner to study. She barely noticed her skirt slipping down to her hips, or her jumper becoming looser. She did notice her marks climbing though. As she packed to go home for October half term, she slipped her perfect report into her shoulder bag carefully, excited to finally have something to brag about at home.
—
As soon as Hecate’s boots touched the gravel of the sweeping driveway at home she handed her broom straight to the broom hand, barely stopping to gabble “thank you, Mr Edwin” before she rushed inside. She didn’t bother to remove her bulky winter cloak or boots before shooting upstairs, straight past a befuddled Alberta and into her father’s study.
“Mother, Father, I’m home!” She said loudly enough for her parents to flinch slightly.
“Yes, we can see that Hecate,” her father said as he stood up to greet her.
“Hecate why on earth are you wearing your cloak indoors?” Her mother berated as she turned around to also acknowledge her daughter.
Hecate had been so starved for human connection not even their cool welcome was enough to deter her.
“Sorry mother, I just wanted to show you this as soon as I got home.” she explained and rummaged in her bag to pull out the report, handing it over with barely suppressed glee.
Her mother took it slowly and both her parents peered down at the grades, taking an age to read.
“Your potions are good, Hecate,” her father said in as close to praise that she could ever remember receiving.
Her mother simply tsked her 89% in chanting, reminding her that just because it wasn’t an academic discipline it didn’t mean she could underachieve.
“Now come along, Hecate, off with your silly cloak and boots, you look ridiculous,” her mother insisted.
She shrugged off her cloak and bent down to untie her boots. She could feel her mother surveying her uniform as she hung the cloak up and neatly stowed away her footwear. Hecate stayed stock still as her mother approached her and for one wonderful, stupid moment Hecate thought her mother was going to hug her. She was wrong. Her mother pinched the spare fabric of her jumper and ran her finger around the waistband of her skirt easily.
“Well some hard work on the craft has certainly done you some good. You’re finally dropping your puppy fat,” she said with an actual smile, well a thin-lipped smirk, but a smile all the same. “Go and tell Beatrice she needs to take all your uniform in, we don’t have time to order new,” she finished, dismissing her.
Alberta was worried by Hecate’s startling weight loss. Worried enough to deliberately make her favourites all week long. Cooked breakfasts graced the table every morning, despite the chastisement from Helen for the lavish spread. After the third day in a row of toad in the hole and roast potatoes for lunch, Hades made a point to tell Alberta she did not need to pander to Hecate all the time. However, she wasn’t perturbed, and proceeded to prepare fish and chips for dinner (made with haddock, of course) and a hearty apple crumble for pudding. Hecate wolfed down every mouthful placed in front of her with glee. Her growling stomach commanded her to continue eating after months on such minimal food. After a week of eating three times a day, Hecate had noticeably bloated a little. She pretended it didn’t hurt when her mother pinched the extra inch with disappointment.
—
When she returned to school it felt like her body had betrayed her. It had gotten used to the few calories being put into it and, by the end of term, Hecate rarely felt hungry. But in the library at dinner time on the first day, the smell of roast dinner in the air, she couldn’t help herself. Her hobnailed boots conspired against her, frog marching her towards the devilish smell in the dining hall. When she sat down in front of a free plate she could see all the other girls stop talking and turn to look at her
“Oh, girls, quickly!” Ursulla began loudly, making Hecate wish she hadn’t bothered in the first place “sit up straight, hold your cutlery properly. Lady Hardbroom has graced us with her presence,” the whole table sniggered around her, and suddenly her empty stomach seemed like a badge of honour.
She felt the adrenaline surge around her body, she wasn’t hungry, she was strong. She got up quickly and floated out of the room, lighter than air. I don’t need their sustenance or their approval she decided, and went back to the library, interested to know how many calories they had just eaten that she had been strong enough to refuse. Later that night in bed, she allowed herself to relive the humiliation to keep herself steel ribbed and brave. But the more she thought about it, the more she could swear she heard that blonde girl telling Ursulla to shut up.
Hecate was a quick study and soon she had transformed her mind into an abacus. Breakfast: porridge with brown sugar click click 156+15=152. Acceptable. But one day, when she was thinking, she realised she couldn’t guarantee the cook made the oats with water. She made an invisibility potion (17) and snuck downstairs early one day to observe the food being made. She was horrified to see gallons of whole milk being pitched into the vat of porridge. The same vat of porridge she got her breakfast from every morning. Click click click 156+221+15=392. Tears dripped down her invisible face as she hurried away, conscious that they would be visible as soon as they hit the floor. She decided she would have to drop the sugar and half her portion to make up for the blunder, and chastised herself for being so thoughtless. Lunch: 1 portion of smoked salmon for protein and 1 slice of bread to stop anyone catching on. Click click 300+140=440. Disgusting.
Dinner: nothing. The best meal of all. Instead of dinner she would sit in the library, filling her mind with information rather than her stomach with empty calories. One day, near the end of summer term, Dorothea came into the library late to find a book. Hecate was shocked, nobody ever came into her little back alcove this late but there Dorothea was, beautiful, engaging, thin.
“So, this is where you hide away at dinner time,” she said, pulling the book she came for off the shelf and holding it against her front.
Without even attempting to hide her nosiness, Dorothea wandered around to Hecate’s back reading over her shoulder.
“Wow that’s some advanced stuff,” she commented, moving to sit down next to her, “but you don’t need to skip dinner every day to read ahead. I’d bet you were still top of the class even if you ate something.”
Hecate saw what was happening immediately and the lies came out of her mouth like she was a well-oiled machine, saturating the room with placation.
“Mother and Father don’t approve of lavish food, so they send me parcels with our owl. I prefer to eat alone,” she smiles a reassuring grin, knowing Dorothea would believe her. How could she not? Tall, precocious Hecate, sat straight as a rod, studying after hours. The negative space of her body making her look delicate and perfect. She looked like the model student. She was a model student. Dorothea would have no reason to believe she would lie.
That night when she went to bed, she smiled to herself and swore she would break into the nurses’ room tomorrow to use the big weighing scales.
—
When she gets home for the long summer holiday that year, her mother greets her outside, asking to see her final report right away. She hands it over immediately, delighting in the slight smile she can see brewing.
“95 in chanting, 98 in charms, 100 in potions, Hecate this is a big improvement on last term.” She pauses slightly, looking straight into her daughters’ face, “I’m proud of you,” she said and promptly spun on her heel to go and show her husband.
Hecate couldn’t contain herself, the massive grin on her face dissolved into a pleased giggle. She ran her thumb along the inside of the waistband of her skirt, checking there was still the same amount of space as yesterday. Next, she wrapped her hand around her bicep to see if she was any closer to her goal. When her thumb brushed the very tip of her middle finger Hecate decided she’d never been happier in her entire life and wouldn’t let the abundance of food make her weak. She was going to lose even more weight this summer, she vowed. When she went back to school in six weeks, everyone would stare because she was so thin and elegant, not because she was the Hardbroom girl.
—
September arrived all too soon and Hecate was in a terrible mood. She had grown several inches over summer, meaning her acceptable weight range was no longer accurate, and she hated inaccuracy. She weighed more than she ever had before, and in response she’d eaten next to nothing over the last week before school started. She could no longer tell if it made a difference, it was like her eyes didn’t work properly anymore. On the first day of second year she had skipped both breakfast and lunch, hiding away to try and stop attention being drawn to herself. After a summer spent swimming, starving and napping, having 5 lessons one after the other had exhausted her completely. She had potions last, but as she walked through the door black spots danced across her vision, unconsciousness trying desperately to drag her to the ground . Just as she was convinced she was going to pass out in front of the whole class, and be the laughing stock all over again, she spotted a chair through the haze and made a beeline towards it, flopping down heavily. She was pleased when her vision cleared along with her head. The girl sat next to her leaned over and placed her hand on her shoulder, looking straight at her.
“Are you okay?” She asked, concerned she could feel all the bones in Hecate’s shoulder under her thin shirt.
When Hecate just stared at her blankly she tried again “It’s Hecate, right?” Hecate nodded “I’m Pippa,” she finished.
Pippa really didn’t like the glassy look in Hecate’s eyes, so she reached down into her bag and pulled out a bottle, “here, drink this, it’s only water,” she assured, handing it over.
“Thanks,” she said carefully, taking a sip and passing it back.
“I’m really tired too,” Pippa said, trying to empathise.
Hecate couldn’t imagine how Pippa would look normally if this was her tired. She was a bright eyed, bushy tailed picture of health. She looked like she was an advertisement for living in the countryside, Pippa positively glowed, with her rosy cheeks, golden hair and shining, chocolatey eyes.
“I got too comfortable with lie ins over the summer hols and I’m paying for it now.”
Hecate was so close to saying something back, to smiling and allowing herself this connection, when a shadow fell over her. Ursula stood, looking down on her with disdain.
“You’re in my chair, Freakbroom,” she stated, motioning for Hecate to leave.
Just as she was about to move to another desk, their new potions teacher swooped in, an incredibly strict witch named Adelaide.
“Get to your desk Ursula. You’re here to learn potions not harass Pippa.”
Ursula jumped and immediately scurried off to a different free chair at the back, leaving Hecate and Pippa alone.
“Thank god,” Pippa whispered to Hecate, “I’ve never been able to stand that silly witch.”
For the first time in over a year, Hecate looked at another human being and didn’t think about her weight, or her worthiness, or the other girls’ agenda. She looked into the bright, open face of a girl at least pretending to be nice, and just smiled.