The Maple Witches (Worst Witch Spin-Off)

Chapter Eight

That evening, Sephy found herself alone in the library again. She and her friends had tried to complete their allotted tasks whilst sat together in an empty classroom, but after an hour had passed and a grand total of ten lines had been written between the four of them, they had decided it was best to go their separate ways.

Her lines were taking way too long. It had taken her 5 minutes alone to list the numbers 1-300 as bullet points so that she could more easily keep track of where she was up to. It had been a good instinct too, because she felt as though she might fall asleep at any moment. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why she was so tired. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the tingle that had started in her fingers earlier was spreading, flowing through her. It felt as though it was draining her. Was magical exhaustion a thing?

She returned her focus to line number 283. After writing "a classroom is no place for a pantomime" so many times, she wondered whether she could stomach a pantomime again. Ironically, the day itself had felt like some kind of slapstick comedy, what with all that had gone wrong. And catching sight of the to-do list she had made herself and being reminded that nothing was crossed off yet only confirmed this, inciting yet more frustration. The only plus side was that her anger was helping her power through the remaining lines.

She knew the lines were supposed to be a punishment, but what was all of it really achieving other than further disruption? If Miss Hardbroom really cared about her students' success in their WHCs, surely she could come up with a more productive disciplinary method?

300) A classroom is no place for a pantomime.

Sephy exhaled sharply, and violently etched "lines" from her to-do list. It was only a slight relief though. After stapling her lines together and scrawling her name across the top, she pulled yet another piece of parchment from her file to begin the essay on punctuality. Typically, Miss Hardbroom was the only teacher who still requested written work to be handed in on parchment rather than paper.

She had only written the title when someone behind her spoke.

"You seem very eager, lovely," a bright, musical tone chirped.

Sephy turned to see the librarian, Miss Alabaster, behind her.

"Quite the opposite, actually," said Sephy, pushing her lines and the titled parchment of what was to become her essay across the table so that Miss Alabaster could see. "I'm not really a model student, and lines have kind of killed my enthusiasm."

"Had a few run-ins with HB have we?" Miss Alabaster said, smiling kindly in understanding.

"Long story short," Sephy replied. "Things just keep going wrong."

"I can see that," Miss Alabaster answered, gesturing to the paper on the table. "How, may I ask, did all this happen?"

"I was late and I laughed in class."

Miss Alabaster laughed, but not in a malicious way. "HB hasn't changed a bit ever since I've known her, and I used to be a student here."

"That bodes well," Sephy muttered, casting her mind back to all the stories her mother had told her about her own time at Cackle's.

"But you don't seem like a trouble-maker to me," Miss Alabaster continued. "You just need a little time to adjust to a new schedule and get to know HB's... ways a little better. What's your name by the way?"

"Persephone," Sephy supplied. "But most people just call me Sephy."

"Persephone..." Miss Alabaster looked down at the log-book she was holding. "Stormbringer?"

"That's me," Sephy confirmed, smiling weakly.

"Well, judging from how many books you have already borrowed, you are very self-motivated, dear," Miss Alabaster assessed. "Those are some excellent reads."