A/N: I do not own The Worst Witch nor am I Jilly Murphy (sadly)
Firstly I would just like to say a big thank you to everyone who gave me such wonderful reviews and feedback on Return to Cackle's. Without you I probably wouldn't be writing this story now. It's inspired by and based on (and will probably do a small rewrite later on of) Chapter 13 of Return to Cackle's. Trigger warning for some of the flashbacks here. Apart from that, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of A Time to Try.

"Father," she whispered, "Father?"

She stood in the doorway of the dining room, watching the broad man before her. He had turned his back to her as he stooped over the dining table, running his finger along the rim of his whiskey glass.

"Father?"

Her father sipped the sickly golden nectar that he craved so badly. His bald-patch was shimmering with sweat as his daughter approached him. She sat down beside him, trying to look into his bloodshot eyes. He had always avoided eye contact with his daughter.

"Please... talk to me. I can't help you unless you talk to me."

He snorted, watching as the liquid in the glass he was holding rocked from side to side in his shaking hand, "I don't need your help," he spat.

The girl sat watching as her father reached across the table for the bottle of whiskey and began to pour himself a fresh glass. He had been nursing his current drink for about ten minutes; it was time for a top-up.

"It's your fault." Her father croaked, "I never wanted you. You took her away from me."

He glanced over at a wooden photo frame containing a picture of a young woman with long, dark hair. She was smiling brightly, embracing a handsome man who was kissing the side of her head. The photograph was quite possibly the only thing in the room that wasn't covered by a thin layer of dust.

"My beautiful wife... And you killed her." He choked back a sob with another mouthful of whiskey.

The girl sighed deeply, closing her eyes.

X

Constance Hardbroom was lying in her bed, her eyes firmly shut, trying to force herself to sleep. The bright sunlight that was streaming through her window wasn't helping her and as she rolled over she glanced at the alarm clock. It was five o'clock. Her alarm would be going off in two hours and she would be getting ready for her graduation.

She had been waiting for this day for three years. She couldn't wait to be free of this freezing cold college. She couldn't wait to be able to pursue a career but most of all she couldn't wait to get away from her personal tutor; Mistress Hecketty Broomhead.

Constance rubbed her hands over her face as she tried to rid herself of the thought of Mistress Broomhead. As she rolled over she felt like her tutor was standing over her. She closed her eyes tight shut but all she could think of was Hecketty Broomhead; her stale scent, her stern glares, her constant disapproval, her ice cold hands trailing across her flesh...

X

It was obvious that Mistress Broomhead had never liked Constance. She had picked her out of the crowd of new students the moment she had set foot in the great hall of Weirdsister College; with her long hair, her translucent unblemished skin, her big brown eyes. She was the image of innocence. She stood before the All-Seeing Eye, which had turned green allowing her unchallenged passage into the school. She did not smile like the other students; there was an air of sadness, vulnerability about this pure girl that Hecketty Broomhead had picked up on, almost sniffing it out with her thin, beak-like, nose.

Constance had been placed in Mistress Broomhead's personal tutor group. At first she thought it was a blessing; having the strictest teacher in the whole college on her side could only be a good thing, couldn't it? She couldn't have been more wrong.

Broomhead had made sure that Constance remained just as broken as she was the day she had arrived at the college. She had embarrassed her in front of the class by reading out some of her poorly written essays. Constance had argued that they were only drafts but Broomhead merely smirked and continued to shame her least favourite pupil.

The one ray of happiness in the gloomy college was the bats that had nestled on the picture rail above Constance's bed. She had named them Jonathan and Mina.

Jonathan and Mina were Constance's pride and joy. She loved them with all her heart as they were the closest thing to a loving family that she had ever known.

One night during her second year at the college, Constance was lying in bed telling the bats about her day, not noticing the figure in the pitch-black corner by her dressing table. The next morning, Constance woke up to find a small cardboard box at the foot of her bed. She had not placed it there herself. Unknowingly, she opened the box to see that there were two shrunken, dripping wet bats laying broken inside of it. She had dug Jonathan and Mina's graves that morning.

Inside the box, there had been a note in Hecketty Broomhead's elegant handwriting, "See me."

She had gone to Hecketty's office after she had dug the bats' graves to be greeted by her tutor; she was wearing one of her black velvet dresses and she was wearing her mousy hair in a bun at the nape of her neck.

"You've finally arrived, girl," She said in her icy voice, "Do sit down."

Constance took the seat opposite Mistress Broomhead warily. She had been called to this office once before. It was a dark room, almost like a padded cell, with overfilled bookshelves covering most of the stone walls. Broomhead's desk was placed beneath the high window which had been draped with heavy, black curtains.

"I expect you're pleased that I have disposed of those flying rats for you," Mistress Broomhead sniffed, "At least I thought you would have been," she noticed that Constance's eyes were red and puffy from crying as she dug the poor bats' graves in the college's communal garden.

"They... they were my friends..." Constance fought back a sob, avoiding eye contact with her tutor.

"Bats?! I've never heard anything so ludicrous!" She scoffed, folding her hands in her lap, "Constance Hardbroom, you really are a very silly girl. Those creatures are a distraction to your studies," Broomhead took a deep breath and continued, "And needless to say, they spread all kinds of diseases. You should be glad that I disposed of them for you."

X

Twenty five minutes had past as Constance lay glaring angrily at the alarm clock.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

It almost felt like time was standing still as she watched the second hand move slowly around the clock face.

X

Today, Constance wore her hair in a braid. It had been flopping in her face and had been irritating her. She was in the middle of her potions practical test when her teacher, Professor Shakeshaft, a very old wizard with wild grey hair, had announced that Hecketty Broomhead wished to see Constance in her office immediately. How the message had gotten to him she did not know, but Constance followed orders and before too long she was stood outside her tutor's office waiting to be called in.

She sat down opposite her tutor, wondering why on Earth she had been called to a meeting during such a crucial exam. Broomhead poured herself a cup of tea and watched her confused student. She ate a few biscuits and sipped her tea again.

"Why am I here, Mistress Broomhead?" Constance asked sharply, irritated that she had been called away from her favourite lesson.

Broomhead raised a thin eyebrow at Constance's tone and began to observe her pupil across the desk. She opened a desk drawer and shut it again very quickly. Her gaze returned to her pupil as she fiddled with her sleeve.

"How long is your hair, Constance?" Asked Mistress Broomhead, sounding almost kind as she stood up, moving to stand behind Constance.

Constance furrowed her brow, "It's down to my waist." She could feel her tutor's hands gently caressing the long braid that hung down her back.

"Oh how lovely," Broomhead simpered, still stroking Constance's long braid. She stopped for a moment and then started again, coughing slightly as she continued, "I've always wanted long hair. How long did it take for you to grow it?"

Why was she so interested? What could Hecketty Broomhead possibly want to know about her hair? She fought the urge to ask the questions that filled her mind and pondered on the question she had been asked.

Her father had never allowed her to have long hair so the moment she had been free of his home and able to go to boarding school she had started growing it, "I think it has taken about six years."

"And how long was it before you started growing it?" Coughed Hecketty.

"It was to my shoulders."

"You mean like this?" Hecketty stopped stroking Constance's hair and moved a long, dark rope in front of her face. It was shining brightly in the light that was coming through the window and appeared silky and soft...

Constance grasped for the braid that had been cascading down her back- but it wasn't there! Hecketty Broomhead's eyes narrowed as she looked at the braid in her hand and then back at Constance. She looked at the pair of metal scissors in her other hand and then said in a scathing voice, "Smarten yourself up, girl, and get back to your lesson."

She threw the braid in the bin beside her desk as she sat back down again, nonchalantly. Constance's eyes were swimming with hot, salty tears that were already running down her scarlet cheeks. She grasped for the ever loosening remains of her braid as she walked back to Professor Shakeshaft's classroom, her shoulders shaking as she fought off the wailing sob that was threatening to escape her lungs.

X

She grasped at her hair; it had been returned back to its original length with the help of a potion she had found in one of the books in the library and had prepared with the aid of her potions teacher, Professor Shakeshaft. She never wore it down again after that encounter. It was always pulled back into a tight bun on top of her head.
The clock on her bedside table had moved only by a few minutes as she blinked, trying to force her eyes to stay shut for a few moments.

X

"What do you call this?!" Mistress Broomhead barked from her desk in front of the whole tutor group, waving around Constance's purple ring-binder, "You call this an essay, girl?!"

Constance shrank in her chair, covering her face.

"Well?" Broomhead marched over to her desk and slammed the ring-binder down onto the table, "You only have six months until your work is sent to the awarding body and this is the kind of coursework you are producing for me to mark!"

She remained silent, her brown eyes glancing up at Broomhead's cold grey ones.

"Perhaps I should read this shameful excuse of an essay out for the rest of the class?" Broomhead cleared her throat and began to read Constance's work. She sat in her chair, covering her scarlet face with her wide sleeves as Broomhead stood over her, reading out the words she had laboured over. As the bell for the end of lesson rang, Constance went to stand up. Her classmates barged passed her as Mistress Broomhead called, "You stay here."

Constance sat down in her seat again. Broomhead leant over the table to look deeply into her student's eyes.

"This work is unacceptable for such a promising student," Her tutor stated in her crisp voice, her nostrils flaring as she waved a hand at the purple ring-binder on the table.

Constance pursed her lips, angrily, "How is it unacceptable?"

The corners of Broomhead's lips drooped into an ice cold, disapproving frown, "It isn't to a high enough standard."

"That doesn't answer my question, Mistress Broomhead."

Broomhead raised her eyebrows, her pupils narrowing to pinpricks, "How dare you speak to me in that tone, you insolent creature." Without a moment's notice, she had grabbed the collar of Constance's blouse, bringing their faces so close together that they were only millimetres apart. Broomhead's breath smelt of breath mints and stale coffee, "Do you want to know what happens to girls like you when they speak to me like that?"

Constance shook her head slightly as she looked nervously at Broomhead. Her tutor let go of her collar, throwing her back into the chair. Constance rubbed her neck as her tutor began to pace around her.

"Now..." Broomhead hissed as she drew a long, thin object from within her robe, "I want you to do as I say, girl," she stood to the side of Constance now, looking down at her, "Take off your blouse."

Constance's eyes widened. She remained motionless as she felt Broomhead's breath on the back of her neck.

"I said," Broomhead smacked the object, a riding crop, off the dark wooden table, "Take off your blouse."

At the sound of the cracking whip, Constance began to unbutton her blouse. She watched as Broomhead began to cup her own breasts, hissing as she bit her lip. She placed the item of clothing on the chair beside her and looked up at Broomhead who was beginning to look quite flushed at the sight of the terribly thin, pale girl before her.

"Now bend over the desk. That one, over there," she gestured to the desk at the front of the classroom beneath the chalkboard with the riding crop. Constance did as she was bidden, protecting her breasts from the cool air. Even though she was wearing a bra, she still felt exposed as Mistress Broomhead's eyes followed her every move.

She bent over the desk, resting on the side of her head. With a sudden tug to the scalp, Broomhead had moved her so she was face down on the wooden desk. Cool hands traced her back, removing the final protective layer that covered her round breasts. Mistress Broomhead hooked the straps off her arms and threw her bra on the floor.

Constance could feel a cool breeze as Broomhead lifted her long skirt. Her tutor moaned as she ran the riding crop over her student's thigh and with a sudden, sharp twitch of her wrist Constance cried out, her knees buckling. Flames of agony seared across her flesh as again and again Broomhead struck her with the riding crop. Constance tried to move but Broomhead was having none of it. She dug her talon-like fingernails into Constance's backside to keep her in place. The young woman shrieked in pain and the more she begged for her to stop the more powerful Broomhead became, relishing in the girl's strangled screams. With a final crack of the whip, Broomhead stopped and looked at Constance, who had forced her eyes shut.

"Have you had enough?"

Constance remained motionless, panting.

"I asked you a question!" Broomhead smacked her with the riding crop once more and she screamed in pain.

Constance complied silently, nodding her head. She heard Broomhead place the riding crop on to the table behind them but she did not tell the girl to stand. She could feel her tutor's eyes on her as she lay there bruised and terrified and she could hear Broomhead's hobnail boots edging ever closer.

A cold hand brushed up her inner thigh and Constance gasped, her stomach tightening sickeningly.

"Turn over."

She did as she was told, twisting to look at Broomhead whose eyes were gleaming as she drew circles on Constance's inner thigh with her index finger. She moved slowly and Constance hissed as she felt her tutor's hands stroking her. She moved her leg, trying to push Broomhead away but her tutor was stronger as she forced Constance's legs apart, digging her nails into the back of her left thigh which was very red and tender.

"Don't fight against me, girl," Broomhead whispered very softly.

Constance was shaking, her forehead gleaming with beads of sweat, forcing herself not to cry out as Broomhead finally pulled away from her half an hour later. She propped herself up on her elbows, pulling her skirt back down. She stood up very carefully, watching as Broomhead washed her hands in the sink at the back of the classroom.

"You can leave." She barked and after dressing herself again Constance left the classroom, running to her bedroom.

She ran the bath as soon as she got to her room, wishing to remove any trace of Hecketty Broomhead that had been left on her. The water was hot as she stepped into the bath, her bare skin quickly turning pink as she sank gently into the tub. She grabbed a worn down, green bar of soap and began to lather it between her hands, scrubbing the skin on her thighs and on her breasts. She rubbed until her flesh was raw. Regardless of how hard she scrubbed, she could still feel her tutor's hands on her. Constance took the sponge from around the shower head and began rubbing it against her skin. She could feel tears forming behind her eyes. Beads of blood began to trickle down her thigh as her flesh began to split from the abrasive rubbing of her sponge. The water stung as she splashed it over her legs, hoping that it would make her feel clean again.

"Please, please!" She pleaded, persisting with her rough scrubbing.

X

The alarm clock rang loudly in her ears and her eyes opened wide. She switched off the alarm and began to get ready for the graduation ceremony. She dressed in the gown that had been given to her by Professor Thunderblast, the headmistress of Weirdsister College, and decided that today she would wear her hair down. She brushed it gently with her boar bristle brush, indulging in the relaxing sensation as it glided over her hair. It shone in the light that was streaming through the narrow window. She allowed herself a slight smile as she admired her reflection, "I'm finally going to be free."

She looked at the small suitcase that was sat at the foot of her bed. Constance didn't have too many personal belongings; a few books and her clothes were the only things she brought with her to college. She had no photographs of her family, well her father... Her mother had passed away an hour after she had been born. She had been very slim, like Constance, and her mind and body were just not strong enough to cope with the stress of child birth. Her father had always blamed Constance for his wife's death. Even though she didn't have any pictures of her living family, who she scarcely saw when she was at home, anyway, she did keep a small photograph of her mother in the back of her favourite book; Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

One morning when she was four years old, Constance had walked to the local library all by herself. The librarian was shocked to see such a young child walking the streets alone so she offered to walk her home. Constance refused and picked up a book. She sat down in one of the red plastic chairs in the corner and read the book over and over again. After the fifth re-read (over ten hours later) the librarian patted Constance on the shoulder and said she could keep the book. The book was now battered, its spine bent and its pages yellowed with age, but it was her favourite.

The bell rang and Constance folded her arms, thinking of the school entrance hall. With a rush of air, Constance felt like there was a hook behind her navel as she was pulled through a compressing dark tunnel of rushing wind. She opened her eyes and saw that she was stood in front of Professor Thunderblast.

The headmistress was a tall, well built woman, with thick grey hair that was often clipped back to stop it from falling around her face. She could be quite stern at times but most of the time she was approachable, especially if you came to her office bearing a cream slice or two bought from the café that was next door to the college.

Constance had worked at the café for three years; cleaning tables and brewing coffee, trying to save up enough money so she didn't have to go back to her father when she left the college. She had managed to save up enough money to place a rental deposit on a small cottage in a village near a historic site called Overblow Castle. She had never visited it herself, but she had heard stories from the locals that witches lived there. She could hardly believe it, she knew what people from non-witch backgrounds were like when it came to blaming unexplainable occurrences on witches and aliens, but perhaps she would investigate once she had settled in.

Professor Thunderblast smiled as Constance walked towards her, "Ah, dear! How are you this morning?"

Constance's face remained impassive as she saw the woman stood beside the headmistress, "Very well, thank you."

"All set to get your diploma, Constance?" Professor Thunderblast asked happily.

"That's if she has even achieved her target grade, Alicia." Sneered Mistress Broomhead, looking down her long nose at the young woman before her.

"No need to be so harsh, Hecketty. She's got the highest grades in your group."

Constance sighed, looking at her feet as the other graduating students arrived, forming an orderly line. They were silent as Mistress Broomhead's narrow, beady eyes scanned the crowd, pacing backwards and forwards.

"Right, everyone is here. Let's get this show on the road!" Announced Professor Thunderblast, rubbing her hands together in a business-like fashion.

The students were herded into the great hall by Mistress Broomhead and took their allotted seats, Constance sat near the front beside the grand piano that was used during the chanting lectures. She had never seen the piano before, given that she saw chanting as a pointless subject but she did enjoy singing, even if it was under her breath so no-one could hear her.

Constance had overheard some of her classmates saying that they had invited their parents to the graduation ceremony. She wondered if perhaps her father would be there to greet her and say how proud he was of her for receiving her degree, to hold her in his arms for the first time since she was an infant. Even though they couldn't stand each other, she thought perhaps her father would try to make amends for the relationship he had missed out on with his daughter.

The teachers took to the stage; Mistress Broomhead and Professor Shakeshaft standing either side of Professor Thunderblast. Professor Shakeshaft beamed down at his beloved students whilst Broomhead glowered, making each of the pupils her eyes fell upon feel about two inches tall.

"Perhaps it would be best to start off by saying that I am proud of all of you for doing so well in your final exams," Professor Thunderblast began as she approached the podium, her voice echoing around the tall, stone hall,"It gives me great pleasure to see you all as you are now; ready to go out into the world, leave these hallowed halls and experience life. Just remember that your time on this planet is limited. Live your life to the full and never let anyone else's opinions suffocate you. Do what you want to do, not what others expect of you."

The crowd of students applauded which brought a smile to Thunderblast's long face. Constance was watching Broomhead who was stood next to the leather case that the diplomas were stored in.

As Thunderblast finished her speech, she began to call out the names of the pupils in alphabetical order. Each student approached the stage, a round of applause from their classmates ringing in their ears. They shook each teacher's hand and took their scroll from Broomhead. It was going to be easy, Constance didn't know why she was panicking as her name grew ever closer. All she had to do was pretend to be civil with her tutor for one last time.

"Constance Hardbroom," called Professor Thunderblast.

Constance rose from her seat, her legs shaking. Her legs were like jelly as she walked up to the stage. She felt her foot snag on something and she began to fall. She reached out to steady herself on the piano in front of her but her hands landed on the ivory keys and the clattering sound of the piano filled the hall. Her classmates laughed, rather than cheering for her, as she approached the stage with a brilliantly crimson face. She shook Professor Shakeshaft's hand first. He smiled broadly at her and patted her on the back, "Well done, kid. I knew you could do it."

Professor Thunderblast took her hand and pulled her into a hug, "I'm so proud of you. You will go on to do great things with your skill," she pulled away, relinquishing her hold on her student, "Mark my words."

Finally it was time to greet Mistress Broomhead. Mistress Broomhead held out a bony hand and Constance winced as she looked at it, stretching out her own. They touched briefly before Broomhead thrust the scroll into Constance's hands with a snort. Constance stared at it with mesmerized eyes as she returned to her seat. She was glad her tutor had said nothing, she could do without her bitter words to ruin this moment for her. It was bad enough she had already made herself the laughing stock of the ceremony by nearly falling over the piano.

As the ceremony drew to an end, the students got to their feet and cheered, waving their scrolls in the air as they ran out of the great hall. Constance walked behind them sluggishly, watching as her classmates embraced their parents who had been waiting in the wings of the hall to congratulate their children. Constance looked around hopefully but couldn't see her father anywhere.

With a sinking heart, she stepped out of the doors of the college, walking towards the crooked cherry tree that stood alone on the square patch of grass in the centre of the stone courtyard.

She summoned her broom which arrived quickly, her suitcase hooked over the handle. She unzipped the suitcase and carefully placed her scroll inside as she ordered her broom to hover. She took off into the brilliant blue sky; her graduation robes billowing in the rushing wind, her long dark hair streaming behind her. She flew beneath thick white clouds, looking below as the concrete structures of the city began to fade into the distance, flying over a patchwork quilt of yellow and green fields. She headed north, towards her new home and her new life.