Chapter Text
The first person Mildred asks is Miss Drill. She figures Miss Drill has known Miss Hardbroom for a while and might have the answer, so she offers to stay behind and help clean up after class.
“Do you think Miss Hardbroom has a favorite kind of flower?” Mildred asks, huffing and puffing as she lugs an armful of hurdles after Miss Drill.
Miss Drill gives her a puzzled sort of look and shrugs. “Dunno, maybe some sort of potion thing? You can put those hurdles in the equipment shed and be on your way. Good work today, that’s the kind of effort I like to see.”
“Thanks, Miss Drill!” Mildred grins and hauls the hurdles to the shed, dashing away the moment the equipment shed door swings shut and making a mental note of what her teacher said.
She asks Mr. Rowan-Webb next, running into him in the hallway on her way to Chanting.
“Tadpole! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Mr. Rowan-Webb asks as she darts past him in the hallway.
“Hi, Mr. Rowan-Webb,” she greets, slightly out of breath as she blows a strand of hair that had fallen out of her customary double plaits out of her face. “What do you think Miss Hardbroom’s favorite flower is?”
He hums thoughtfully and strokes his long beard, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he considers his options. “What kind of flower would Miss Hardbroom like?” He muses to himself, his eyes lighting up with glee when he finds his answer. “Water lilies! Who doesn’t like a good water lily? Good for potions, good for hiding!”
“Water lilies,” Mildred repeats slowly, thinking it over and shrugging as she accepts his answer, though she had hoped it would be more similar to Miss Drill’s. “Okay, thanks! I’ve got to get to Chanting, I don’t want to be late again.”
“Alright, I won’t keep you, all this talk of water lilies is making me a bit hungry. Just remember, you can always come to me if you ever feel a bit,” he looks around and leans in closer, tapping the side of his nose, “froggy.”
Mildred grins a tad bemusedly and heads to Chanting, leaving Mr. Rowan-Webb just outside his classroom. His gaze darts around for a moment before his tongue extends and snatches a fly mid-flight with a satisfied hum.
When Miss Bat finally dismisses them at the end of Chanting, having assigned an essay on the history of the Disillusionment Spell that didn’t fail to elicit a groan from the entire class, Mildred wanders up to the front of the class.
“Miss Bat?” She steps up to Miss Bat’s desk, hugging her Chanting books to her chest.
“Yes, Mildred? Do you have a question about your mark?” She fixes her mostly lucid gaze on Mildred with a faint smile.
“Er, no that’s alright, Miss Bat. I was just wondering if you knew what kind of flowers Miss Hardbroom likes.”
“Why would you want to know that?” Miss Bat asks in confusion.
“No reason,” Mildred assures her brightly, giving Miss Bat her most innocent smile, relaxing when Miss Bat seems to accept her answer with a distracted nod.
“Hmm, I suppose…Miss Hardbroom…” Miss Bat’s eyes flutter shut.
“Miss Bat?” Mildred prompts, shifting her books to one arm, not above waving her hand in her teacher's face.
“What? Oh, yes…favorite flowers.” Miss Bat’s voice drifts off again and her head drops to her chest. Mildred gives up and leaves her to enjoy her nap, Miss Bat gently snoring with her hands folded in her lap.
Mildred has potions next and puts the question out of her mind as she struggles to keep up with Miss Hardbroom’s rapid-fire instructions. Soon after they're released to dutifully complete the assigned potion, however, Mildred’s attention begins to wander. When she absentmindedly begins to add her ingredients, having missed what page to turn to, she feels a cool hand wrapping around her wrist and pulling it away from the cauldron.
“Mildred Hubble,” comes the familiar disapproving drawl, every syllable of Mildred’s name lengthening as Miss Hardbroom no doubt ponders what the consequence will be this time.
Mildred cautiously meets her intimidating teacher’s gaze and offers up her most innocent smile, though it's never stood a chance with her formidable form mistress.
“I see you are attempting the potion without the book. Do you feel you are too advanced for it? Would you, perhaps, prefer to be teaching the class?” Miss Hardbroom asks silkily, her brows arching.
Mildred gulps and shakes her head quickly. “No, Miss Hardbroom.”
“Good,” Miss Hardbroom remarks briskly, turning away. “Page 58, the Enlarging Potion.” The terse instructions are the last thing Mildred hears from her as Miss Hardbroom silently stalks away to survey the rest of her students with a dissatisfied frown.
With a small grin, Mildred flips to the aforementioned page and begins her potion anew, her smile lapsing into a look of intense concentration. This is exactly why she’s doing what she is. Ever since the Spelling Bee (and reunion with a certain pink witch), Miss Hardbroom has been more willing to help and slower to condemn Mildred’s faults, seemingly becoming aware that Mildred’s non-magical background is of no fault of her own.
When Miss Hardbroom deems their attempts at the Enlarging Potions (even Mildred’s) acceptable and dismisses them, Mildred quickly packs her bag and grabs Maud and Enid on her way out, linking arms with the two of them.
As they walk down the hallway, she reckons they’re far enough away from Miss Hardbroom and repeats her question. “Do you think HB has a favorite kind of flower?”
“Why would you want to know that?” Enid asks in confusion. “I bet she doesn’t even like flowers.”
“I was just wondering,” Mildred replies, perhaps a tad too defensively.
“Oh no, what have you got planned this time, Millie?” Maud asks nervously, already envisioning what kind of mess she’ll get dragged into.
“Nothing, honest.” Mildred does feel a bit guilty for lying to her best friends, but she knows them; they might not take it as seriously as she would need them to.
“Well, I’ll bet she likes something spiky,” Maud says, satisfied enough with Mildred’s answer to play the game.
Enid giggles. “Good one, Maud. But are we sure she even likes flowers. What if she’s never seen one ‘cause they just shrivel up under her gaze,” Enid dramatically acts out a withering flower, and Mildred sighs, but not without a quick look around to see if Miss Hardbroom and her eerie ability to hear her name spoken from anywhere in the school had appeared.
“Never mind. See you guys later.” Mildred turns and begins the trek back up to her attic room.
“Where are you going?”
“Yeah, where are you going,” Enid parrots. “Maud and I were going to see how high we can bounce one of Miss Tapioca’s jellies. Want to come?”
“Nah, that’s alright. I still haven’t finished my essay for Spell Science.” Mildred turns, walking backward.
“The one that was due today?” Maud asks, aghast.
“Yeah, but it’s alright, Mr. Rowan-Webb said I can turn it in on Monday,” Mildred assures her, stumbling on the heel of her boot and turning back around. Maud and Enid exchange a look but continue down to the kitchens, one considerably more excited than the other.
Later that evening, hours after giving up on her essay for Spell Science, Mildred sits at her desk, diligently coloring in the quick sketches she had done last Potions class. The idle scratching of pencil against paper, lit only by the dim lamp perched on the edge of her desk, puts her mind at rest. As she glances between the Potions book she got from the library and her messy notes, she has an epiphany, her eyes lighting up. She grins and sits up straighter, settling back into her drawing.
The next day is a Saturday, and Mildred wakes up bright and early, eager to begin her search. She hurriedly packs her already messy bag, stuffing the thick Potions book into it along with the pair of garden shears she had asked her mum to send, having made up a Potions project when her mum had asked why.
Running down to breakfast, Mildred plops down in between Maud and Enid, the two bickering about their adventure of the previous day. Evidently, it hadn’t gone to plan.
“Do you two want to help me with something?” Their attention turns to Mildred, and she pushes away the unappetizing sludge they were served.
“With what?” Maud asks cautiously, regretting agreeing to Enid’s plan the day before, though, to be fair, she had thought it was the only way to keep Enid out of trouble. That did not turn out to be true.
“Oh, look. It’s the worst witch and her posse of disappointments.” Ethel sits down primly across from them, Felicity at her side. “Shouldn’t you be revising or at least finishing your essay for Spell Science so you don’t come bottom of, well, every class again?” She asks, curling her lip. “Honestly,” she scoffs, “and you wonder why you’re the worst. You can’t do anything right. It’s pathetic.”
“Go away, Ethel.” Mildred brushes her off, her mood spoiled, tiredly dropping her head so it was supported by her palm. She’s heard it a hundred times before, she doesn’t need to again.
Ethel gives her a contemptuous look and picks up her food. “Like I’d want to sit with you anyway.”
When she stalks away, Felicity lags behind for a moment. “Sorry, Mildred. She’s just…you know…her mother just mirrored.”
“Why are you friends with her?” Enid demands, her brow furrowing.
“She’s not…that bad. She’s under a lot of pressure,” Felicity tries to defend Ethel, but her audience is skeptical.
“She’s horrible!” Enid exclaims.
“You’ve just never really gotten to know her,” Felicity protests.
“Yeah, because she’s always mean to Mildred,” Maud puts a protective arm around Mildred and channels their Potions teacher, fixing Felicity with her best disapproving glare.
“Fine. She’s good for me and she’s good for the Bubble. Check out our newest post; an interview with the Star of the Sky.” With one last plug for her blog, Felicity breezes away, presumably to wherever Ethel went.
Mildred stands and moves to grab her bag, but it catches on the bottom of the seats.
“Where are you going?” Enid twists in her seat to watch her friend’s struggle.
“Ethel’s right,” Mildred says glumly, tugging at her bag. “I’m always going to be the worst if I don’t spend all of my time catching up to you. This was a stupid idea!”
She groans and yanks at her bag one last time, the bag’s flimsy fabric catching and splitting with a tearing sound that makes Mildred cringe. Her things are spewed across the tables behind her, students screaming and ducking as colored pencils, erasers, and loose papers down on their heads. Luckily the actual dangerous items in her bag are too heavy to be flung far.
“Why am I unsurprised to see you at the centre of this, Mildred Hubble?” Miss Hardbroom materializes in front of Mildred, looming menacingly over the young witch. Mildred flushes and mumbles a quiet apology as Ethel snickers from her place a few seats over.
“Her bag got stuck. She didn’t even try to unhook it from whatever it got caught on,” Ethel leans over the table and informs Miss Hardbroom smugly.
“I was not speaking to you, Ethel. A witch does not condemn a sister, much less the leader of her own coven, to unknown consequences for her own amusement. I expect you to know better.” Miss Hardbroom fixes her attention on Ethel, the self-satisfied young witch gaping at her teacher’s reprimanding tone.
With a wave of Miss Hardbroom’s hand, Mildred’s bag is atop the table, newly mended with all its contents returned to their proper places. “Do try to keep your things to yourself in the future,” Miss Hardbroom comments dryly before transferring away. “50 lines. I must think before I act.”
Too stunned by what could be considered Miss Hardbroom defending her (though she still has lines to write), Mildred barely registers Enid mocking Ethel and Ethel’s fired back, ‘shut up’, also stunned beyond eloquence. Shouldering her bag, Mildred trudges away, feeling Ethel’s heavy gaze burning into her.
Back in her room, Mildred tries to focus on her essay, but her heart is heavy in her chest. She had just wanted to do something nice for her teacher, but Ethel was right. She ruins everything. She finishes the essay but can’t bring herself to be proud, though she knows it’s one of her better ones.
Sometime around noon, Maud and Enid join her, one mischievous, the other guilty, and settle on her bed, Enid idly stroking Tabby’s thick, bicolored fur.
“You shouldn’t listen to her, you know,” Maud tells Mildred with a small smile.
“She’s right, isn’t she? I’m always bottom,” Mildred replies despondently, keeping her eyes on the chanting sheet in front of her.
“But that’s not your fault, Millie,” Enid pipes up, “you didn’t learn the same stuff we did when we were little.”
“I know.” Mildred nodded. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to catch up. None of the teachers help me with the stuff I’m already supposed to know, just the stuff from class!” She exclaims in frustration, turning and flopping on her bed beside her friends.
“I’d help you, Mil,” Enid volunteers, “but I’m the second worst witch and I learned magic when I was little.”
“I would too, but it didn’t go well the last time we tried. Can’t you ask one of the teachers?" Maud asks.
“I asked Mr. Rowan-Webb, but he said he couldn’t teach me ‘cause he’s a wizard and he only knows wizard things,” Mildred replies with a shrug.
The three girls lapse into silence. After a long moment, Enid asks, “what was that thing you wanted help with before?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just going to go look for some potion ingredient type things.”
“We can help if you like,” Maud offers, and Enid nods.
“Er,” Mildred hesitates, unsure if her friends, as much as she loves them, will take it as seriously as she wants, “sure. Here.”
She hands them a list she was working on, and the two huddle over it. “We could probably get most of these from the Potions Lab,” Enid comments. “I’ve got some left-over invisibility potion somewhere.”
“We can’t get them from the Potions Lab," Mildred says firmly, shaking her head. "I was going to go check the garden and then maybe Hollow Wood.”
“You want to go to Hollow Wood?” Maud asks, her eyes wide.
“Yeah, why not?” Mildred gives her a bemused look.
“Well…it’s Hollow Wood.” Even Enid looks nervous.
“I don’t get why everyone’s so afraid. No one said we can’t go in, so what could there possibly be that would hurt us?” Mildred reasons, though her friends don’t look entirely convinced. When they begin their search the next day, however, they do end up having to venture into the woods, Mildred bounding in, her friends trailing behind more hesitantly.
They don’t find everything on Mildred’s list, but when they’ve gathered enough for what Mildred is planning, they turn back. Mildred enacts the second part of her plan alone, finding a spell and chanting it with as much intent as she can muster just before she goes to bed.
When she pulls the covers up to her chin that night, she still has a wide grin plastered across her face. With a happy sigh, she rolls over and turns out the light.
Phase One is complete.
Settled in an armchair beside a roaring fire with a cup of tea at her side and a thick tome regarding the properties and correct preparation of the shell of the rare blue-crested beetle on her lap, Hecate hears a quiet knock on her door and barely contains her irritable sigh. Setting the book aside, she strides to the door and pulls it open, her brows arching when she doesn't see anybody there.
She glances down the hallway with a glare that promises whoever disturbed her evening trouble but still sees no one. As she’s closing the door, something catches her eye and her gaze drops to the ground. Just outside the doorway lies a small bouquet, a strange combination of potion ingredients held together by a fuchsia bow.
Hecate crouches and picks up the bouquet, bringing it to her nose to sniff and wincing at the sickly sweet smell. Spinning on her heel, she strides back into her rooms and closes the door with a sharp snap of her fingers.
Once inside the safety of her rooms, Hecate considers the bouquet with an appraising eye, fingering a smooth petal. The only person it could be is Pippa, Hecate decides, but that raises the question of why. As she mentally categorizes each plant in the bouquet, her cheeks are tinged by a pale dusting of pink.
Why would Pippa leave a bouquet, never mind one whose elements carry a decidedly romantic message, at her door?
Hecate’s gaze is drawn to the sprig of purple tucked behind a spray of white. She purses her lips and barely curbs the urge to curl her lip, remembering exactly who the gift is from. Once upon a time, Pippa had known Hecate’s…opinions of the oft overrated plant, whose purpose could easily be fulfilled by a different, more potent herb that does not produce the same sickening, floral scent. For it to be present in the bouquet significantly lowers its worth to her, to say the least.
It has been almost three decades, Hecate reasons. It would certainly make sense for Pippa to have forgotten one of Hecate’s more frivolous sentiments.
Hecate summons a short vase and tucks the flowers into it, placing it on the corner of her desk and settling back into her reading. Every once in a while, however, she glances up to see the bouquet bathed in the warm light, the smallest of smiles upon her lips.
She has no need for the ingredients, but, well, if it truly is from the pink witch, she will endeavor to better appreciate the gift as much as deserves the provider. Though, admittedly, its beauty pales in comparison. Hecate’s cheeks redden, and she hurriedly turns her attention back to her book. She doesn’t dare peek at the bouquet again, but that bare hint of a smile stays with her through the night.