hicsqueak sharing candy 🎃
Miss Hardbroom never attends Halloween celebrations. Her first year, Mildred looked around, her austere potions teacher nowhere to be found, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. It had been the first time in so long she didn’t feel like she was being watched at every turn (even when she managed to upend the entire bucket of bobbing apples on Ethel Hallow).
Her second year, the school froze. It was hard to ignore the lingering chill in the air, even the warmth from the candles not quite enough; but her mum had been there, dancing and laughing, and everyone was fine, everyone was safe, and even Miss Hardbroom, before she left, seemed...well, Mildred thinks “impressed” might be going too far, but she had been softer than usual, almost, almost, smiling.
(Mildred isn’t certain she’s ever seen Miss Hardbroom smile. She imagines she must, sometimes - or else, she thinks, how horribly, horribly sad.)
Her third year, Mildred was so obsessed with the wishing star and her Mum and angry, always so angry, furious with Miss Hardbroom for the way she treated her mum, for the way she treated her and her friends and everyone, and she hadn’t cared in the slightest that Miss Hardbroom wasn’t at the festivities, said, when Maud brought it up, good, I hope she’s miserable somewhere else and hadn’t felt bad about it, not then, not for months after, until magic and Indigo and Joy.
Mildred thinks about it more than she would like - that her name used to be Joy, that she used to have joy, that maybe, if someone had helped Joy like Miss Hardbroom helped her—
Mildred shakes her head and sweeps her eyes around the great hall, full of students and teachers and even a few parents, looking for Maud and Enid. Instead, there’s a flash of pink and she looks back abruptly, finds Miss Pentangle at a table near the back, talking to Miss Drill, a glass of punch in her hands.
Continuing her scan, she doesn’t see Miss Hardbroom, and wonder if she knows. She has half a mind to go get her, but then Enid appears at her side, and apple between her teeth muttering something about Miss Bat doing face painting and there’s Maud with icing on her nose and Mildred forgets for a few hours about everything except her friends and bright magic and sweet foods and laughter.
It isn’t until later, mich later, when the crowd has started to thin, that Mildred remembers Miss Pentangle, and wishes she’d gone up to say hello. She scans the room but can’t find her, and thinks perhaps she’s gone home, back to her own school and her own pupils.
She thinks this, until she bids Maud and Enid goodnight, her eyes heavy, and makes her way back to her room along the low-lit corridors.
“I’m just saying,” she hears, a soft, familiar voice, “there’s nothing sinister about apple bobbing.”
Mildred stops just before the corner.
“It’s hardly the apple bobbing that concerns me,” Miss Hardbroom replies, terse as always, and Mildred puts her back to the wall and, after a few tries, summons a small mirror. It’s a trick Miss Hardbroom, of all people, taught her during their last catastrophe, a way to peer around corners without being seen.
Angling the mirror, she’s unsurprised to see Miss Hardbroom and Miss Pentangle, but is a bit curious to see them sitting side by side in the stairwell, Miss Pentangle, as always,
leaning slightly into Miss Hardbroom’s space, Miss Hardbroom, as always, straight spined, her hands folded together in her lap.
“So what does concern you?”
There’s a long pause, and Mildred watches in the mirror as Miss Pentangle waits patiently, eyes never leaving Miss Hardbroom’s face.
“It’s Samhain,” she says eventually. “It’s tradition.”
“Not at the expense of our magic. Candy and costumes are nothing but distractions. Half the girls don’t know why they’re celebrating in the first place.”
Miss Hardbroom glares at her. “It is not our responsibility to educate witches on their own holidays.”
“What about witches like Mildred?” Miss Pentangle asks, and Mildred has to resist the urge to look properly around the corner. “Does she even know about the Veil?”
Miss Hardbroom’s jaw clenches. “Not unless her friends have informed her, though I doubt Miss Nightshade is an expert on the crossing.”
“So…” Miss Pentangle prompts, and Miss Hardbroom arches an eyebrow. “So teach them,” she says, bumping Miss Hardbroom’s shoulder. “You can hardly expect any girls to show reverence for tradition if they don’t even know what those traditions are. And who better to teach them than the mistress of traditions herself?”
Miss Hardbroom glares at her again, but Miss Pentangle just laughs. She drops the subject, turning instead to rifle through her bag, saying, “Speaking of which…”
When she turns, she holds out a bag of what look like sour candies and offers it to Miss Hardbroom.
Miss Hardbroom eyes it disdainfully.
“Oh come on, Hiccup. Just try one. I promise you’ll like it.”
“You said that every year.”
Miss Pentangle bats her eyelashes and Mildred expects Miss Hardbroom to vanish the offending candy away. Instead, she seems to soften, a strange look on her face before she relents, selecting a piece of candy from the bag between her nails, eyeing it suspiciously.
Miss Pentangle smirks. “I promise it won’t bite. This time.”
Miss Hardbroom huffs, but gingerly takes a bite, her face contorting slightly. “Delicious,” she says, and Miss Pentangle huffs, waving away the candy.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Miss Hardbroom looks a bit guilty. “I’m not one for sweets, Pippa. You know that.”
“I know,” she says, and then, leans in and busses a kiss to Miss Hardbroom’s cheek. “But thank you for trying anyway.”
Miss Hardbroom pinks, but doesn’t pull away. “Yes, well,” she says, “It’s tradition.”
Miss pentangle beams, and takes her hand, and Mildred slowly backs away, decides she’ll take the long way around, so as not to disturb them.
She makes it back to her room just after midnight, and finds, on the center of her bed, a familiar bag of candy, tied with pink ribbon.
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