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It was official.
Agatha despised school.
Perhaps it was the fluorescent lights that got to her— all too bright and too loud to be natural; Or maybe it was the pre-pubescent boys on their way to middle school that refused to wear deodorant every day.
She could definitely do without smelling that.
Though after a while, her nose seemed to ignore it all.
Maybe she just hated kids.
The absurdity of that thought… Everyone in her coven knew how she had a soft spot for any and all tiny-tots (and Billy), and she wouldn't be surprised if the rest of Westview didn't already suspect the same.
No thanks to Sharon.
The old coot had grown on Agatha, smashing down every single wall with practiced precision… and probably a lot of dumb luck, too; With a side of well practiced empathy and sweet words.
Only, despite the niceties, Sharon was also a talker.
No one was safe from her then.
Including the woman's oh so impressionable students, a sweet kindergarten class that Sharon deemed her favorite— though she said that about all of them…
But maybe the woman had a point. For a room of snotty gremlins, they all sat quietly, nestled in their spots on the overly-colorful pencil rug of Mrs. Davis' classroom. They blinked up at her with their chubby little faces, all wide eyes and slacked jaws— completely taken by her presence.
Just like her Nicky.
Oh.
The tears snuck up on her.
"Miss Agatha?" A small hand pressed against her knee. Agatha hurriedly wiped at her eyes, but her hand made its way to rest over the child's.
"Hm?"
"You're sad." Not a question, but an observation.
A fondness gathered in Agatha's bosom, mingling with the dulling pain of loss. "Not sad." She whispered. "Just…" Her voice died off. "Feeling."
It was a better conclusion than most, she decided.
"Mrs. Davis said you saved the town?" The child— a young, brown-eyed boy— sunk down to his knees, his chin leaning against his hand.
"What?" Agatha turned to Sharon; The woman had reclined in a plush chair away from the group, leaving her front and center of class to fend for herself. "What all have you been telling these little brats?"
The children burst into a mixture of squeals and gasps, scattering like roaches. Except for the boy at Agatha's leg, whose giggles pulled at every heart-string. "You can't say that—"
Agatha pursed her lips in thought— though a grin overtook it. "And why is that, hm?" She patted the boy on the head a few times, scrunching her nose teasingly. "Did I miss the 'bad word' list when I walked in?"
"Probably harsher language to them, dear." Sharon called. "They live in the realm of stories… and 'brat' is for bad kiddos." The woman eyes shifted to the notebook in her lap. "Unless you're prepared to prove them wrong."
Ha. No.
Wouldn't that be the banter of the century?
"Well… I can't do that, now can I?" Agatha mused.
The children were looking at her again, and slowly settling down at her feet. "How did you save the town?" One meeker girl in glasses spoke up, her hands fiddling with a strand of hair.
Sharon gave a thumbs up from across the classroom.
Agatha shifted in her seat, "I'll tell you what," hands slapping against her knees, she leaned forward. "If you can promise me one thing…"
A chorus of jumbled agreements cut her off.
"One thing— you come up for another word to replace 'brat,' and you'll have your story." She crossed her arms with a satisfied grin. "Can you do that for me?"
"YES!"
"Alright…" Agatha hummed to herself, "It's quite the story though… you think you can handle it?"
The heads bobbed excitedly.
"Well, then— it all started with one curious witch…"
She jumped into the tale, highly exaggerated, of the nosy neighbor and the big bad witch, though Wanda really was tame. Confused, maybe, untrained, certainly. Naturally a much better person than she was… but three years down the drain had Agatha really feeling a certain way—
And Sharon's class listened on like they would at any superhero tale. It was easy to fall for the fanfare, no matter how falsified.
The same girl from before bounced in her spot, wearing a different air of confidence than Agatha expected from her. "You have magic?" She asked, wide eyed.
Magic.
She shot Sharon a cautious glance, head tilted in a way that betrayed her curiosity.
"It's the final class before summer, Agatha." Sharon pinched two fingers together, leaving a little bit of space in between them. But then she winked, pressing a finger to her lips.
It was all the confirmation Agatha needed.
With a flick of her wrist, the lights dimmed, showing off the deep purple spark in the center of her palm.
"It's my purple…" She murmured, eyes catching the awed expression of each child. "But magic is not without knowledge— and you have to study up to control even the smallest bit."
The tiny spark felt more monumental than any spell she'd cast in years, Agatha discovered, all under the watchful gaze of a bunch of tots.
Maybe she didn't hate school as much, then.
Overhead, the lights flicked back on. Sharon had moved to her side, hand resting on Agatha's shoulder; But all attention was on the children.
"Time to pack up! Let's all hop to it."
The class exploded into a flurry of movement.
"They'll be busy for a few minutes— gives us enough time to straighten ourselves up." Grey hair fell against Agatha's cheek. "Are you alright? Got a lot of thoughts up there?" Sharon asked.
"When do I not?" Agatha countered.
She was met by a simple shrug.
A tug pulled Agatha's attention downwards— the brown-eyed boy stood in front of her. "I figured out what we could be!" He grinned, before hopping in place.
"And what's that?" She crouched down at his level.
"Bunnies!"
Bunnies.
How fitting.
Sharon seemed to agree. "Well let's get hoppin' then, shall we? To the busses!"