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Miss Hardbroom’s voice cut sharply through the usual noise of the potions classroom. “Today’s assignment is simple. You will be creating a Truth‑Revealing Potion. Its purpose is to detect lies in objects. A basic, but important skill.”
Mildred Hubble sat on her stool, nervously twisting a feather between her fingers. She glanced at Ethel Hallow across the table. Ethel was already lining up her ingredients with perfect precision. She always looked so calm, so confident. Mildred felt like the complete opposite, like one wrong move away from disaster.
“The potion reacts only to deception in materials, not people,” Miss Hardbroom continued, her eyes sweeping over the class. “So keep your focus on the task. Any distraction will be met with… considerable displeasure.”
A chill ran down Mildred’s back. Miss Hardbroom’s displeasure was something she never wanted to experience again. This was supposed to be an easy potion. What could possibly go wrong?
Then came the sentence that made Mildred’s stomach drop.
“Miss Hubble, Miss Hallow. You will be working together.”
Ethel’s head snapped up, her eyebrows tightening in annoyance. Mildred felt her own irritation rise, followed by a strange flutter she didn’t understand. Ethel, the best witch in their year, working with her? This could only end badly.
“Oh, wonderful,” Ethel muttered. “Just what I needed. A partner who can barely manage a levitation spell.”
Mildred bristled. “And I needed a partner who thinks she’s better than everyone else,” she shot back. “Perfect hair doesn’t make you a better witch, Hallow.”
A faint blush touched Ethel’s cheeks. Mildred wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at her lips. And for a moment, Mildred thought, She actually looks kind of pretty when she’s annoyed.
As that thought crossed her mind, a soft warm light appeared around Ethel. It was small, like a candle flame, but it was definitely there. It highlighted the curve of Ethel’s cheek and the sharp focus in her eyes.
Ethel blinked. “What was that?”
Startled, Mildred looked away quickly, her heart pounding. “Nothing. You imagined it.” She grabbed the dragon scale dust, her hands suddenly clumsy.
Ethel watched her for a moment, suspicious, then turned back to her ingredients. She picked up a vial of moonpetal essence, her brow furrowed. She probably thinks I’m an idiot, Ethel thought, a tightness forming in her chest. She must hate being paired with me. I’m ruining her day.
As that insecure thought settled, the classroom lights flickered. Not much, but enough for people to notice. Miss Hardbroom’s eyes narrowed at their table.
“Miss Hubble. Miss Hallow. Is there a problem?”
“No, Miss Hardbroom,” Ethel said smoothly, hiding the anxiety in her voice. She glanced at Mildred, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she looked away.
Mildred tried to focus on the potion. She added powdered griffin feather, but her thoughts wouldn’t stop. Ethel’s staring again. She probably thinks I’m going to ruin everything. She probably thinks I’m useless. I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that. It makes me feel… strange.
A burst of golden sparks shot out of her cauldron. Mildred yelped and jumped back.
“Hubble! What was that?” Ethel demanded.
“I don’t know!” Mildred squeaked. “The ingredients must be reacting weirdly.” She could feel Ethel’s eyes on her, sharp but also… worried?
Ethel studied her, confused. Sparks? That’s unusual. She looked at the glowing potion, then at Mildred’s flushed face. Mildred looked so flustered, so unlike her usual self. It was almost… cute. A tiny smile tugged at Ethel’s lips.
As she smiled, a soft shimmer appeared on Mildred’s hands, glowing gently for a second. Mildred felt warmth spread through her fingers and quickly hid her hands behind her back.
“This potion is unstable,” Ethel said, her voice tighter. Why is she looking at me like that? Does she think I’m useless? She probably already knows I’m a terrible partner.
The lights flickered again, stronger this time. Students gasped. Miss Hardbroom’s eyes locked onto their table.
“Miss Hubble. Miss Hallow.” Her voice was low and dangerous. “Explain.”
“It’s the potion, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred blurted, her voice shaking. “It’s reacting strangely.”
Ethel nodded. “There may be an imbalance in the magical energies. It seems… sensitive.” She glanced at Mildred, concern softening her expression. She’s really scared. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.
As that thought formed, the glow around Mildred’s hands returned, brighter this time. Mildred felt warmth spread through her chest, making her breath catch. She hid her hands again, her heart racing.
She looked at Ethel. Ethel’s face was serious, focused, but her eyes were softer now. She’s not angry anymore, Mildred realised. She’s actually trying. Maybe she’s not as awful as I thought.
The sparks burst from the cauldron again, louder and brighter. Students shrieked. Miss Hardbroom let out a long, furious sigh.
“Enough!” she snapped. “This potion is clearly not functioning as intended. Clean this up immediately. Then report to my study. Together.”
Mildred and Ethel exchanged a panicked look. Miss Hardbroom’s study was never a good sign. But beneath the fear, something else passed between them. Something nervous. Something warm. Something neither of them could name.
Ethel looked at Mildred, really looked at her. Mildred’s hair was messy as always, and there was a smudge of something on her cheek. But when their eyes met, Ethel saw something she had never noticed before. There was a softness there, a kind of honesty that made her chest tighten. She’s not just clumsy, Ethel realised. There’s something else. Something I never bothered to see.
As that thought settled, the flickering lights in the classroom steadied, and a single beam of sunlight fell across Ethel’s face, making her look almost unreal, almost glowing.
Mildred felt the warmth of that sudden light and looked back at Ethel. For a moment, Ethel’s perfect composure slipped. Mildred saw worry in her eyes, real worry, and it made her blush. She’s worried about me, Mildred thought, surprised. She actually cares.
A soft, steady glow spread from Mildred’s body, warm and gentle, wrapping around Ethel like invisible arms.
The rest of the class stared in stunned silence. They didn’t understand the lights or the sparks or the strange glows. But they could feel the tension between Mildred and Ethel, the way their eyes kept finding each other, the way the air seemed to hum around them. This wasn’t a normal potion failure. It was something deeper, something neither girl had meant to reveal.
The potion storeroom was nothing like the bright classroom. Dust floated in a thin beam of light, and shelves were packed with vials of every shape and colour. The air smelled of herbs, minerals, and something metallic.
Mildred and Ethel stood awkwardly in the cramped space, the unstable potion simmering on a small burner between them. Everything that had happened in class still clung to them, the sparks, the lights, the strange glow that seemed to follow their thoughts. And Miss Hardbroom’s order echoed in their minds: clean up the mess, then report to her study. Together.
But first, they had to deal with the potion.
“This is all your fault, Hubble,” Ethel said sharply, pushing the potion away from Mildred.
“My fault?!” Mildred snapped. “You’re the one who acts like you know everything!” A burst of golden sparks shot from her fingertips, zipping past Ethel’s ear.
Ethel flinched. “See? Look what you’re doing!”
“I’m not doing anything!” Mildred cried, clenching her fists. More sparks flew, brushing Ethel’s sleeve and leaving a tiny scorch mark.
Ethel yelped. “You almost set me on fire!” Blue electricity crackled around her hands, small arcs of energy dancing between her fingers. The air grew warmer, charged with their rising emotions.
“It’s not me, it’s the potion!” Mildred insisted. “It’s reacting to us!”
Ethel glared. “And how do you expect us to fix it? By yelling at it?” The blue sparks around her fingers grew brighter, swirling like tiny lightning bolts. The potion hissed and bubbled harder.
Mildred stared at Ethel’s hands, fascinated despite her frustration. The crackling energy was beautiful, almost hypnotic. She stepped closer without thinking. It’s like a storm, she thought. A storm made of us.
A warm light bloomed around Ethel again, soft and glowing in the dim room.
Ethel saw it and panic tightened her chest. She thinks I’m dangerous, she thought. She wishes she had anyone else as a partner.
The lights in the storeroom flickered violently, plunging them into darkness before returning to dim light.
“What was that?” Mildred whispered. She could feel Ethel’s fear like a cold wave. Her own hands glowed softly in response, a warm golden light pushing back the shadows.
Ethel stepped back and bumped into a shelf. A vial tipped over and shattered on the floor, releasing a cloud of shimmering mist.
“Oh, great!” Ethel cried. “Now look what you’ve done!”
Mildred jumped at the sound, panic rising. Sparks burst from her hands again, hitting the spilled potion and making it fizz and smoke.
“Me?!” Mildred shouted. “You knocked it over!”
Their magic clashed in the air, Mildred’s sparks and Ethel’s blue electricity twisting together into a small, crackling vortex. The potion on the burner boiled wildly, swirling faster and faster.
Then, with a loud shock, it exploded.
A blinding flash filled the room, followed by heat and thick smoke. They covered their faces, coughing.
When the smoke cleared, the burner lay on its side, its contents spilled across the floor. But something else was wrong.
The heavy storeroom door had slammed shut. And it was locked.
Ethel rushed to it, pulling at the handle. It didn’t move. “No! No, no, no!” she shouted, pounding on the wood. “Let us out! Miss Hardbroom!”
Mildred stared at the door, dread settling in her stomach. They were trapped. Alone. In a room full of unstable ingredients, with a potion reacting to their emotions, and their magic spiraling out of control.
She looked at Ethel. Her face was smudged with soot, her hair messy, blue sparks still flickering around her fingers. Ethel looked back, her eyes wide with fear and something else. Something that looked like reluctant worry for Mildred.
And in that moment, surrounded by smoke and the hum of wild magic, Mildred realised this was going to be a very long detention.
The air stayed thick with smoke and dust. The door stayed locked. Ethel turned away from it, her panic fading into frustration, her expression cold and controlled again as she faced Mildred.
“This is ridiculous,” Ethel said sharply. “We’re trapped here because of your… your out‑of‑control magic.”
Mildred, still shaken from the explosion and from being so close to Ethel, felt her defensiveness rise. “My magic? It’s our magic! The potion was reacting to both of us!” She stepped toward Ethel, frustration in her eyes.
Immediately, the spilled potion on the floor began to glow softly, spreading a warm, rosy light around them.
Ethel froze. The glow made her composure slip for a moment. She quickly stepped back, putting distance between them. As she moved away, the glow faded again, shrinking back into a dull shimmer. Her jaw tightened. It’s just leftover magic, she told herself. It means nothing. But a small tremor of fear ran through her. What if it means she… no. It’s just a potion.
The potion pulsed faintly, as if answering the thought she refused to say out loud.
Mildred saw the way Ethel pulled back, the tight line of her mouth. It stung more than she wanted to admit. She really does hate me, Mildred thought, sadness settling in her chest. She wants nothing to do with me. The potion pulsed again, stronger this time, echoing her unspoken hurt.
“Look, Ethel,” Mildred said, trying to sound light, trying to hide the ache in her voice. “We’re stuck. We might as well figure out how to open the door. Or… I don’t know… make friends with the dust bunnies.” She gave a weak, shaky smile.
Ethel turned fully toward her, eyes sharp. “Make friends with dust bunnies, Hubble? Is that how you deal with everything? By joking instead of facing anything real?” Her gaze lingered on Mildred’s face a moment too long, and the spilled potion flared again, filling the room with warm, intimate light. The air felt still, like it was waiting.
Mildred’s breath caught. Ethel’s eyes, usually cold and critical, held something softer now, something that matched the glow around them. She doesn’t hate me, Mildred realised, dizzy with the thought. She’s scared too. Scared of… this. The glow brightened, wrapping around them like a warm blanket.
Ethel felt the warmth, felt the steady pulse of the light, and she knew it was connected to Mildred. She looked at her, really looked, and saw the worry in her eyes, the vulnerability she wasn’t hiding anymore. She cares, Ethel thought, the truth settling deep inside her. She doesn’t see me as cold or perfect. She sees… me. The light pulsed again, steady and gentle, like a shared heartbeat.
But the potion was becoming unstable. The pulses came faster, the glow brighter, almost blinding. The air crackled with everything they weren’t saying. The magic was building toward another explosion.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Ethel whispered. Her perfect mask was breaking, her voice trembling. “It’s too much.” Her eyes glistened, and the blue sparks around her hands faded into a soft, frightened shake. “I’m… I’m scared of this. Of what it’s showing.”
Mildred’s heart twisted at the raw honesty in her voice. The jokes felt useless now. “I know,” she said softly. “Me too.” She looked at the glowing potion, then at Ethel’s trembling hands. Something inside her knew what to do. “We have to calm it down. Together.”
Ethel looked at her, hope flickering in her eyes. “How?”
“We have to stop fighting it,” Mildred said gently. “We have to… breathe. Together.” She slowly sat down on the dusty floor, leaning against the cold stone wall. She looked up at Ethel, her voice soft and steady.
“Come here, Ethel.”
Hesitantly, Ethel lowered herself to the floor beside Mildred. Their shoulders brushed, and the small touch sent a sharp jolt of awareness through both of them. The potion’s bright, frantic glow softened at once, settling into a warm, steady light that pulsed gently, like a calm heartbeat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Their breathing filled the quiet room, slow and deliberate. Mildred focused on the soft glow of the potion and the warmth of Ethel’s shoulder against hers. Ethel, for the first time, allowed herself to sit without the weight of perfection pressing down on her.
“I don’t hate you,” Ethel whispered. Her voice cracked, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, cutting through the dust. The words felt frightening and freeing at the same time.
Before she could pull away, Mildred’s hand moved on its own, gently covering Ethel’s, fingers intertwining. The touch wasn’t explosive or chaotic, it was warm, steady, and full of quiet meaning. The potion’s glow shifted from gold to a soft rose pink, filling the room with a tender, peaceful light. The tension between them didn’t disappear, but it changed, becoming something fragile and honest.
The storeroom, once filled with smoke and fear, now felt charged with a different kind of energy. The locked door still loomed behind them, but neither girl was focused on escape anymore. The spilled potion glowed softly on the floor, its warm pink light reflecting the vulnerability they had finally allowed themselves to show.
Ethel met Mildred’s gaze. Her usual coldness had melted away, revealing raw emotion that matched the glow around them. “I… I don’t hate you, Mildred,” she said again, her voice thick with unshed tears. The words trembled in the air, delicate and real.
Mildred’s heart tightened. She looked at Ethel, not the perfect witch, not the rival, but the girl beneath all of it. The girl who was scared, who tried so hard, who felt more than she ever admitted. “I don’t hate you either, Ethel,” Mildred said softly. The words felt like a spell of their own, honest and long overdue.
As their confessions settled between them, the potion brightened, filling the room with a deeper, richer pink. It was as if the magic itself understood what had changed. The light wrapped around them gently, turning the dusty storeroom into something warm and intimate.
Mildred noticed Ethel’s other hand lying open on the floor between them, trembling slightly. It was an unconscious gesture, a quiet invitation. Mildred reached out, brushing her fingers against Ethel’s. Ethel’s hand curled around hers instantly, holding on with a soft, desperate strength. The warmth that spread through Mildred was deeper than any spark or flare, steady, grounding, and full of unspoken hope.
Ethel’s breath caught at the touch. The cool mask she always wore melted completely, replaced by a need for closeness she could no longer hide. Her fingers tightened around Mildred’s, and the potion’s glow deepened again, shimmering with a new intensity.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped, breathing together in the warm pink light. The potion’s pulse matched the rhythm of their hearts, no longer wild or dangerous, but calm and steady. The locked door, the spilled potion, the chaos—it all felt distant now. What mattered was the quiet understanding forming between them, something gentle and new.
Slowly, the potion’s glow began to fade, its bright pulse softening into a faint shimmer. The air held its breath. Mildred and Ethel stayed close, their hands still joined, the warmth between them stronger than the magic around them.
Their eyes met, and something shifted. The unspoken words, the shared fear, the trembling honesty, it all led to this moment. Mildred leaned in, drawn by a pull she couldn’t fight. Ethel tilted her head slightly, her breath catching. Their faces were close, their lips only inches apart, the air between them warm and full of quiet longing.
The potion gave one last soft pulse, as if acknowledging everything it had revealed, then settled into a faint glow, leaving behind only the warmth of what had just passed between them.
The spark, however, remained. It hadn’t faded with the potion’s magic; instead, it seemed to have solidified, a vibrant current that now flowed undeniably between them. Ethel, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, was the first to break the spell of the near-kiss. With a sudden surge of resolve, she pulled her hand away from Mildred’s, not in rejection, but in a deliberate, decisive movement. She looked at Mildred, her eyes shining with a mixture of apprehension and burgeoning boldness.
It was Ethel who moved first, her hesitation fleeting, replaced by a sudden, fierce resolve. She pulled her hand away from Mildred’s, not in rejection, but to frame Mildred’s face with her own palms. Her touch was initially hesitant, a gentle tracing of Mildred’s cheekbone, then it firmed, her fingers sinking slightly into Mildred’s hair at her temples. “Mildred,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Then, she leaned in and kissed Mildred. It was a soft, tentative press of lips, a question asked and answered in the tender brush of their mouths. Mildred gasped softly, her surprise quickly melting into a wave of pure bliss. She responded, her own lips moving against Ethel’s with a growing assurance.
Ethel’s kiss deepened, becoming more certain, more searching. The tentative exploration blossomed into a hungry seeking, their lips molding together with a surprising intensity.
Mildred’s hands found Ethel’s waist, pulling her closer, the initial spark igniting into a consuming flame. The kisses grew harder, more urgent, their tongues entwining in a desperate dance of discovery. Ethel sighed, a soft sound of surrender, as Mildred’s arms tightened around her, pressing her body flush against Mildred’s. The tension that had simmered between them for so long finally erupted, consuming their carefully constructed defenses.
Mildred’s touch grew bolder, more insistent. Her hands traced the curve of Ethel’s back, then moved lower. She wanted to convey everything she felt, to show Ethel that she wasn’t just a clumsy witch, but someone who could offer genuine connection, unwavering support, and a depth of affection Ethel had never dared to imagine.
She kissed Ethel with a fierce, protective tenderness, her touch conveying a silent promise: You are not alone. You can have this. You can have me.
As the kiss deepened, their bodies molding together with an unspoken need, Mildred gently guided Ethel backward. They stumbled slightly, but Mildred’s grip was steady, her intention clear. Ethel found herself pressed against the cool, smooth edge of a large worktable, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Mildred’s lips trailed from Ethel’s mouth, down her jawline, to the sensitive skin of her neck, eliciting a soft moan from Ethel. Ethel’s hands, which had been resting on Mildred’s waist, tightened, her fingers digging into the fabric of Mildred’s uniform as she arched into Mildred’s touch.
“Mildred…” Ethel breathed, the name a desperate plea and an invitation all at once. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet hum of forbidden desire.
Just as the kiss deepened further, as their bodies pressed together with an undeniable urgency, and the promise of more hung heavy and thrilling in the air, a sharp, ice-cold voice sliced through the charged atmosphere.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Both Mildred and Ethel froze, their bodies suddenly rigid. They broke apart, their eyes wide with shock and dawning horror, to find Miss Hardbroom standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression one of utter thunderous displeasure. The storeroom, moments before filled with a passionate glow, now felt suffocatingly small.
“Miss Hubble. Miss Hallow,” Miss Hardbroom’s voice was dangerously low, each word a precisely aimed dart. “This is hardly appropriate behavior.”
Mildred, her mind a frantic scramble for an excuse, stammered, “M-Miss Hardbroom! We… we were just… the potion! It… it wore off, you see. It’s gone now. So… that’s… that’s a good thing, right?” She gestured vaguely at the now dull, unremarkable spill on the floor.
Miss Hardbroom’s gaze swept over them, lingering on their disheveled appearances, the flush on their cheeks, the unmistakable evidence of their recent intimacy. Her lips thinned into a severe line. “The potion’s efficacy is entirely irrelevant. This… display… is not.” Her eyes narrowed, fixing on them with an intensity that made Mildred’s knees feel weak. “OUT. Both of you. Now.”
Without another word, Mildred and Ethel scrambled to their feet, their movements jerky and uncoordinated. Ethel looked mortified, her face flushed a deep crimson, avoiding Mildred’s gaze. Mildred, however, felt a strange giddiness bubbling beneath her fear. The sheer audacity of their interruption, the sheer relief of being caught after their moment, gave her a perverse sense of triumph.
As they stumbled towards the door, Ethel muttered a choked, “Goodbye, Mildred.”
But Mildred wasn’t ready to let the moment end, not entirely. Grabbing Ethel’s arm, she pulled her back, her body pressing firmly against Ethel’s. Ethel gasped, surprised by the sudden, bold move. Mildred’s eyes, however, held a glint of defiance and a lingering heat. “Where do you think you’re going, Hallow?” she whispered, her voice husky, her gaze dropping to Ethel’s lips, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air,
Ethel’s voice, still shaky from the encounter and Miss Hardbroom’s wrath, caught in her throat. “I thought that…” she began, her mind reeling from the whirlwind of emotions, the fear of discovery, the lingering thrill of Mildred’s touch, the lingering heat of their near-embrace.
Mildred’s eyes, however, held a mischievous glint, a refusal to be deterred by a mere stern word. She leaned closer, her lips brushing against Ethel’s, her voice a low murmur that sent shivers down Ethel’s spine. “I thought what, Hallow?” she teased, her thumb tracing the line of Ethel’s jaw. “That we were done? That that was all? Oh, Ethel, we are far from done.” A slow smile spread across Mildred’s face, a promise of defiance and shared secrets. “Come with me.”
A look of promise and stolen moments that are yet to come.