#would have been interested to see a more friendlier/someone who actually respects lesser beings from the Continuum

[yourbuerokrat2]

Other Q: Hey, I haven’t visited my old friend, who goes by the name of Guinan these days. Maybe I should pay them a visit. 

Q: No.

[bonnissance]

did this fun post (via @fortytworedvines) lead me down a fun plot!bunny path of Hecate winding herself up in knots about Dimity excluding her from staff nights, when in reality our beautiful sporty bi has simply been trying (and failing) to ask out the newest useless lesbian in Cackle’s staff aka Marigold Mould?

The answer is yes, so please enjoy.  

pre-ship Dimity Drill/Marigold Mould, Hecate Hardbroom (Hackle and Hicsqueak both visible-ish and open for romantic or platonic readings) (TWW2017) teen, 2k+ CW: Feelings of isolation and unwantedness. Hecate needs some damn therapy but nothing heavier than the show. 

Hecate knows she’s not the most likeable person in the world. Knows her focus and dedication to the Craft often come off as snobbish or self-centred and uncaring. That many wish she were softer, kinder, less prickly or hard to swallow.

She knows people wish she were different.

But she knows why she is the way she is, and truth be told, other people’s opinions don’t really matter to her (they used to, a long time ago, before she let hate-filled words spoken ring louder than reassurances from those with her best interests at heart and caused so much hurt in the fall out. She shut herself off, after that, and it served her well enough for most of her life; it is only now, only recently, that Hecate has truly learnt the lesson of not listening to those who simply do not care: be it the voices of others, or her mind’s own making. She will not make the same mistake again).  

She also knows she isn’t the easiest person to work with, that many simply don’t see the same need for rigorous study and discipline she believes the Craft warrants, and so find her ways off putting. But she also knows she is right, that her methods help their youngest girls become the best witches they can be as they grow. Especially when paired with the softness of Miss Cackle and Miss Bat—which let their girls breath, regain their strength lest it be sapped away and leave them all brittle and easily broken—and Miss Drill’s focus on physical exertion—essential to the fitness of any witch wanting to fulfil their own potential.

She knows her ways have a place, here, at Cackle’s. Just as she knows she has a place, here, too. That within their somewhat eclectic band of educators who appreciate her talents, respect her  and her abilities, and give her a space in which to use them, she has found her place in the world, finally found her home.

She thought that she had found her home.

It’s why it hurts so much, to hear she isn’t wanted here anymore. That the others don’t want her around anymore. That Dimity didn’t even want Hecate there to help celebrate her birthday.

And she can’t understand it. Because she’s sure she hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary to bother Dimity. In fact, in the aftermath of Agatha’s annihilation spell, in the wake of her and Gullet’s many, many betrayals, Hecate actually thought they were becoming quite close; that they might even have begun to bridge the space between friendly colleges and actual friends.

They’d spoken about it, over the break, when Dimity stayed put to help rebuild the castle. Spoken about what Dimity had done in their absence, and Hecate was impressed. With how strongly Dimity fought for the girls, how she kept the castle standing long enough to get everyone out, how she very nearly sacrificed herself in the process.

Dimity had played it off, pretended it wasn’t that big a deal, that any of the other teachers would have done the same. On the last point, Hecate conceded: many of their number would have done the same, if put in that position. But she also knew just how much power it took to do what Dimity had (knows what it would have cost her, has she been the witch casting, instead of trapped and helpless in that wretched painting along with Ada).

‘None of us would be here if it weren’t for you,’ she pointed out, voice clear and precise, as if she weren’t chocking on gratitude and just a hint of shame. ‘We owe you a great debt. One that I hope we may, in time, come close to repaying.’  

Dimity had shrugged, looked a little speechless, her eyes a little wet; Hecate had left her to her thoughts with a heartfelt, ‘Thank you.’

Things had been decidedly warmer between them, after that, definitely friendlier (not that they’d ever been unfriendly, just more than they used to be). Which is why is actually hurts, to hear Miss Mould admit that Dimity had left her out.

Because she had never done that before. Had, in fact, gone out of her way to get Hecate to join in on a few occasions. Never talking around it like she had with Miss Gullet (It had been quite nice, actually, to not be the one left out, to know she wasn’t the last on everyone’s list. She thinks that’s the only thing she misses about Gullet: having proof that she isn’t the most hated teacher in the school. The one the girls are most afraid of, certainly. That, she knows, and doesn’t mind: a well-developed sense of respect always looks like fear, in her experience).

Because her colleagues, she was sure, appreciated what she brought to the school, what she contributed to their collective. And she doesn’t like being left out, not now she knows what it feels like to be included. She thought she’d left all this behind, but she was wrong.

It hurt more now than it ever has.

It Sticks in her throat when Miss Mould tells her; when Dimity brushes her off, pretending it was for Hecate’s benefit, not at her expense.

But she handles as best she can, manages it quite well, in fact. Until she hears it again, in the common room: her exclusion the stuff of gossip.

‘Yes, Dimity was saying during staff drinks last night—’

She stops listening, doesn’t hear the low rumble of confused whispers; looks away, doesn’t see the odd looks everyone else shoots Marigold, then Dimity. Doesn’t see the confusion in everyone else’s eyes about the staff outing that none of them were invited to either. Doesn't realise it isn’t just her.

Has no idea it’s not just her for weeks—almost a month—of Marigold’s happy voice recounting all the fun she’s been having, outside of work, with Dimity (‘What a shame everyone is always too busy to join,’ she muses one day. ‘Everyone works so frightfully hard, I hope they get a chance to join in some time.’)

If she’s heard, she might have thought harder about the frequency of these outings, about the others never attending, about Ada never mentioning anything about it; she doesn’t. Hecate has long since stopped listening.

Until Marigold spends a solid half an hour recounting the night before—her and Dimity stargazing by the North tower—and ‘isn’t it such a shame everyone has so many papers to grade and couldn’t join! It was a wonderful clear night, I’m sure you would have all had a wonderful time.’

Hecate stands silence and stiff while the rooms hums a gentle agreement (doesn’t see their shared glances, doesn’t hear the faintly whispered, ‘Bless, what a useless lesbian,’ a fond and disbelieving hush: ‘She hasn’t a clue yet, has she?’). Sneers at the fact that her colleagues would organise an evening of stargazing, an evening devoted to one of her specialties—a lesser focus that potions, she knows, but an area of expertise all the same—and not think to include her, before turning away and walking out of the room in a storm of disgust.

It’s an insult she wasn’t invited—not an oversight, or it slipped someone’s mind, and they thought she wouldn’t enjoy herself—an actual insult, to be excluded from her own specialty, something they all knew she would enjoy. She won’t stand for this anymore.

She hasn’t spoken to Miss Drill about it, not since the first time—she knows when she’s not wanted—but she resolves to now—because she doesn’t know why.

She finds Dimity walking along the tree line, accessing the perimeter for possible flying drill obstacles.

‘Miss Drill, might I have a word?’ she asks, clipped tones covering the raw emotion in her voice. She should have taken a moment to calm down.

‘Sure, what’s up?’ Miss Drill asks, light and breezy. Like she hasn’t a care in the world. Like she’s done nothing wrong. Like she hasn’t been cruel since term began.

‘It’s about these staff nights.’ She almost sneers when Miss Drill frowns at her. Like she doesn’t know what Hecate is talking about. Like Hecate has nothing to talk about. Like there’s nothing here to be talked about. ‘I understand I’m not the most social of witches, but whether or not I participate in staff related activities is for me to decide and no one else.’ The other witch opens her mouth—to rebut, deny, pretend it’s all in Hecate’s head, she’s sure—Hecate doesn’t let her speak. ‘As Deputy Head, I deserve an invitation, irrespective of my suitability for the event, or whether the rest of the staff want my attendance.’

Dimity does a very good impression of a goldfish when she’s caught out. ‘No, Miss Hardbroom, it’s not—’

‘Rest assured, I have no intention of including myself in situation where I am clearly not wanted.’

‘That’s not—’

‘But,’ she interrupts, again; finger raise in a sharp point. ‘To not even invite me is frankly rude, and I would appreciate it if you stopped excluding me from such things.’

Miss Drill looks at her like Hecate has two heads. ‘What? No! I haven’t been excluding you, I’ve just been inviting Marigold.’

Hecate sniffs, and sneers. There it is, the crux of the matter: they have a new teacher—kinder, softer, nicer—and now they don’t want her at all. It hurts far more than it ought to, and she hates herself for caring so much.

But she is, above all, Deputy Head. She has a duty to her staff, no matter what it costs her.

‘She is, I suppose, a positive addition to our collective. I’m glad she is finding her place with the rest of the teachers.’

She wonders how quickly she can transfer away without it looking like a tantrum.

‘No, Hecate,’ Miss Drill starts, taking a step forward. Hecate is thrown by her first name, by the fondness of Dimity’s voice when she says it. ‘I mean I’ve just been asking Marigold.’

Hecate blinks, incredulous. A moment ago, she was upset and self-righteous; now she’s just confused. Dimity looks at her imploringly—willing her to understand—and she doesn’t know what to say. Eventually she settles on, ‘But all those staff nights…’

‘There haven’t been any,’ Dimity says with a shrug. ‘Every time I ask her out, she assumes it’s a group invite. I went along with it the first time because she caught me off guard, but it keeps happening and I don’t know how to tell her these aren’t staff outings without actually telling her.’

‘Why don’t you do that?’ she asks without thinking, frowning and more confused than ever.

Dimity sniffs. Flashes Hecate a smug, disbelieve smirk. ‘You ever admitted you fancy someone to their face?’

For a moment, Hecate feels ten inches tall. She pouts, lips tight, and swallows. ‘Point taken.’

Dimity chuckles, then huffs out a sigh. ‘See thing is, I’m positive she’s a bit keen on me too— otherwise I’d have stopped asking ages ago—she’s always so happy to see me, and then she gets this light in her eyes when no one else arrives, but then there’s nothing after that,’ she explains dejectedly. ‘Either we have to head back to the castle which breaks the mood, or time get away from us and then it’s late and there’s class in the morning. I mean, I tried offering to walk to her to her door once, but it was hardly a sensible suggestion and it didn’t get me anywhere.’ She huffs again, looks at Hecate with a face like a kicked puppy. ‘I’m getting to my wits ends.’

Hecate doesn’t know how to handle situations like this—if she were Ada, she might offer a reassuring squeeze to the shoulders; Pippa would offer donuts or some other terribly sugary confection and find a way to make Dimity laugh—but Hecate doesn’t know how to offer reassurance, not for things like this.

She does, however, know how to solve a problem. ‘Have you considered asking her for private art lessons?’

Dimity double takes, wide eyed and happily startled. ‘No, I—I hadn’t thought of that,’ she mumbles, her face lighting up as she beams. ‘Goddess, Hecate, you’re a genius!’ Dimity yells, and pulls Hecate into a brief and startling hug.

Hecate yelps slightly, arms up and fingers tensed, and feels a laugh bubble up her throat: it shifts into a smile as Dimity lets go almost as quickly, when she sees the look on her face.

‘Thanks pal, you’re a lifesaver!’ she yells over her shoulder and she races towards the castle.

Hecate watches Dimity scurry away with a gentle smile that grows with each passing moment. Grows with the satisfaction of being helpful bubbling in her heart, the delight of having helped a friend warming her cheeks, the happiness of having a friend lighting up her whole face.

She lets herself smile a few moments longer, filing details away to recount to Pippa during their next mirror call. She wonders briefly if this feeling is why people gossip the way they do as she transfers herself outside Ada’s office door; thinks she may yet come to understand as she knocks gently and is bidden ‘come in,’ with a smile still curling at the corner of her lips.