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She’s in the staff room flipping through her lesson plans for the week when Dimity comes in, grabs a cup of tea and says, without preamble, “So’s Pippa coming to the Beltane ball next week or are you going to Pentangle’s?”
Hecate does her best not to choke on air, and affects disinterest, barely looking up from her papers. “Why would I go to Pentangle’s?”
“I just assumed you’d want to spend the holiday together.”
Hecate frowns, unsure where or why Dimity would gather that impression, but if she’s honest with herself, she’s a bit afraid to ask. It hasn’t quite been a secret that she and Pippa have become friends again over the past two years, but she thought she’d been subtle about it. Thought it hadn’t been anyone’s business but her own.
“Miss Pentangle and I will both be occupied with our own celebrations,” she says after a pause.
Dimity shrugs. “Okay,” she says, picks up her tea, and doesn’t say another word about it.
—
She’s overseeing the third attempt at a Lammas bake—thanks to Mildred Hubble and an expansion spell that nearly covered the entire room in fast-growing yeast—when Pippa arrives, slightly ahead of schedule, with a basket over one arm.
“Sorry I’m early,” she says, smiling a bit self-deprecatingly. “We finished a bit ago and I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
Hecate isn’t quite sure what that means, but she nods and looks back at the girls in the kitchen, Mildred, Maud, and Enid, as usual, bickering about the best way to roll the loaf to look like a goddess. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, and instead turns to Pippa.
“It’s not a problem,” she says. “But I’m afraid I’ll be needed here until my third year students can adequately bake a simple bread as well as the first years.”
Pippa snorts quietly behind her hand, and Mildred and Maud, at least, have the grace to look sheepish.
Enid, on the other hand, glares at her, muttering, “It’s not Mildred’s fault Ethel added bat spit to her yeast. Again.”
Hecate knows that. She knows, and it’s the reason why she’s still here, guiding them along rather than throwing the lot of them in detention for the afternoon.
“Fold it under, not over,” she corrects absently, and Mildred frowns down at her bread in concentration, dutifully following the instruction. She smiles when it works, and Hecate bites back a smile of her own.
Ada appears a moment later, looking unsurprised to see Pippa, and nods at her. “Well met, Miss Pentangle. I hope your journey was easy?”
“Well met, Miss Cackle. Very—the weather is lovely today.”
“Indeed.” Ada smiles, then turns to Hecate. “I’ll supervise the rest,” she says, “You two go on.”
Hecate frowns. “That won’t be necessary, I’m—”
“Happy to stay, I’m sure you are. But I know you’ve been looking forward to Miss Pentangle’s visit, and I’d hate to have that interrupted.”
Hecate flushes slightly, uncertain where Ada got that impression from, but Pippa beams and Hecate feels her heart flip flop a little, and decides it wouldn’t hurt to take Ada up on the offer. She thanks her, and raises her hand to transfer the two of them, hears just as she disappears, Enid’s pointedly,
“So are they a thing now?”
She doesn’t hear Ada’s answer, but her ears turn red and it’s almost half an hour before she can look Pippa in the eye.
—
The Autumn Equinox is one of her favorite times of year, a time for giving thanks for their blessings and magical gifts. It’s also one of the most stressful times of year, save Samhain, when there’s much to coordinate, letters of invitation sent to parents to attend the party, decorations to hang and entertainment to hire. Miss Tapioca makes herself near sick every year with food preparations, and Hecate finds the weeks leading up to the festival both invigorating and full of calamity.
It doesn’t help that her favorite trio have somehow managed to trash the great hall three hours ahead of arrivals, after Ethel “accidentally” turned her sister into a bat. They’ve been trying to catch her, and apparently everything is upturned—tables and chairs and an assortment of Miss Tapioca’s hard-earned bakes spread out over the floor. Hecate herself hadn’t been on the grounds—she’d been out gathering last minute supplies, a strange, welcome change of her usual duties, still odd, to not be confined to the grounds 24/7. She’d returned to find Miss Tapioca in front of her door, the poor woman is nearly in tears, screaming at her about the state of her culinary masterpieces, and Hecate resists the urge to pinch the bridge her nose.
She’d planned on leaving before the festival began, to take up Pippa’s offer of attending Pentangle’s Mabon celebrations, but now, hearing Miss Tapioca’s description of the state of things, knows that won’t be possible. She glances longingly at her broom, and removes her hat, squaring her shoulders and transferring both of them into the great hall.
She expects catastrophe. Expects the disarray Miss Tapioca had promised, but instead, half the staff are there, sweeping and redecorating and rearranging tables and chairs. She’d assumed she’d have to do it herself, as planning the party is her responsibility, but Algernon and Miss Bat are there, directing everyone, and the hall almost looks... fine.
She frowns, and Miss Tapioca quiets, also confused. Miss Bat bustles her way across the room toward them, a smile on her face.
“Much better, don’t you think?” she says.
“I—” Hecate starts, and Miss Bat shakes her head, touches Hecate’s arm briefly.
“You have plans,” she says. “Miss Cackle told me. We’ll take care of this.” She smiles, and it’s too conspiratorial, her voice lowered. “Go see your lady friend.”
Hecate opens her mouth to protest—Pippa is not her “lady friend”—but Miss Bat just tuts and turns her, pushing her softly out of the room.
—
Samhain has never been easy for her. It’s the time of year she misses her mother the most. It’s the time the school froze, and she still has the occasional nightmare, locked in a room, unable to help anyone, Ada, her girls.
Though she always insists on helping with preparations, she always takes Ada up on her offer to forgo the festivities, to return to her quarters for quiet contemplation, for her own prayers and reflection. She’s long since given up trying to contact her mother from beyond the veil, but she still allows herself the time to remember her, and Ada has always been supportive of her need for time alone.
This year, however, she’s not alone: Pippa appears about half an hour after the festivities have begun, and mingles with everyone, talking to Miss Cackle and Miss Drill, Mildred and other students. They all seem to love her, and Hecate watches fondly as she joins Enid in bobbing for apples.
She’s a bit distracted, watching the way Pippa laughs, her hair a bit wet, her smile wide, that she doesn’t notice Algernon’s presence until he clears his throat, says,
“Oh, I missed this when I was a frog.”
Hecate glances over at him, his calm demeanor strangely rather soothing amidst all the chaos. “It is... tolerable,” she agrees, still annoyed by the “Happy Halloween” banner and the lack of solemn reflection, but Algernon just chuckles when she points out as much.
“Better when there’s company, though,” he says, and when she looks at him, he’s staring at her fondly, almost parentally. “You must be glad Miss Pentangle’s here.”
Hecate isn’t certain what to say to that: of course, she’s glad for Pippa’s presence, looking forward to a quiet night of tea and chess. But Algernon is looking at her knowingly, and she doesn’t understand what it is he thinks he knows.
She doesn’t get a chance to ask, because Pippa joins them, a bit flushed and still smiling, and Hecate has to tamp down the urge to brush her wet hair behind her ear.
“Alright, that’s about enough apple bobbing for me,” she says, before she greets Algernon and he smiles back at her, takes her hand and pats it gently.
“You two behave,” he says, and Hecate frowns and Pippa laughs, and he walks away, leaving Hecate a bit bewildered.
But then Pippa looks at her, all bright eyes, and says, “Tea?” and Hecate can’t think of anything better.
—
Hecate does her best not to stress over minor things, but she has to admit that choosing a gift for Pippa for Yule has been no easy feat. She’d wanted something special, something personal, but not anything that would give away the feelings that have been slowly growing over the last few years. She wants to find a way to thank her, for her friendship, her support, her unending compassion, but she doesn’t quite know how a gift could encapsulate all that.
Reluctantly, she’d told Ada that—not about her feelings, but about her difficulty choosing an appropriate present, and Ada had simply smiled at her over the rim of her cup and said,
“What does your heart tell you?”
It hadn’t been the concrete advice she’d been looking for, but it had helped, in a way: she’d thought about it, tried to be a bit less clinical and a bit more spontaneous, and had eventually decided on a delicate bracelet, gold with three small stones: one for protection, one for happiness, and one, though she somehow hopes Pippa will and will not realize, for love.
Pippa adores it, tears up a little and crushes Hecate to her in a warm hug. She returns the gesture in a book, an old, antique volume on potions Hecate has been eyeing for months, but it’s the inscription that makes Hecate pause, in Pippa’s slanted hand,
To my best friend, my person. May we always be more than what we seem. Love always, Pippa.
—
Imbolc is a time for renewal, anticipating the new year and making resolutions, for reconsidering the last year and making changes and amends.
She’s been thinking a lot lately, about things she wants to change—aspects of herself that need reconsideration, especially on the heels of her new-found freedom. She’s been thinking a lot about Pippa, about what she means to her, about how they could move forward. But she’s been so terrified of the perspective, she hasn’t allowed herself to contemplate it as much as she should.
She’s in the staff room, reading an old potions textbook and making margin notes of things she wants to correct for her own lectures when Dimity comes in, begins making small talk. Hecate isn’t fond of small talk, but Miss Drill has been... good to her. Always kind. Always supportive. She was there for her in the aftermath of Indigo, and Hecate hasn’t forgotten that, and has tried her best to be a bit less derisive towards her attempts to make conversation.
She engages with her for a little while, until a comfortable silence falls, before she returns to her book. She’s just taken a sip of tea when Dimity says,
“So how’s your girlfriend?”
Hecate chokes. Dimity looks torn between alarm and amusement as Hecate coughs, before remembering a spell and waves her hand to calm the tremors.
“Excuse me?” she manages.
Dimity smirks. “Miss Pentangle. Any plans on tying the knot anytime soon?”
Hecate stares at Dimity, the words barely making sense. Girlfriend and tying the knot ring in her ears, but the rest of it sounds like static.
“I—”
Dimity laughs. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” she says. “It’s nice to see you all... happy. Well, happier,” she amends with a smirk. “You’re certainly yelling at me less.”
“Perhaps I should make up for that,” Hecate says, though her voice lacks sharpness—it sounds hoarse to her own ears, and Dimity just laughs.
“Not my fault you’re still in the honeymoon phase.”
Hecate swallows, doesn’t quite want to contradict her, but she can’t imagine what Pippa would think, if she knew. If she’d bee upset. Horrified.
“Miss Pentangle and I are not—” she can’t bring herself to say girlfriends. “—partners.”
Dimity snorts. “Honestly, HB, it’s not a big deal. I’m happy for you. You make a good pair.”
Hecate feels a lump in her chest. She wants Dimity’s words to be true, but they aren’t, and they can’t be, and she shakes her head.
“I am not lying.”
Dimity starts to laugh, then looks at her, and there must be something on her face, because she quiets, frowns. “You’re... not lying.”
“Of course I’m not.”
Dimity shakes her head. “But—you’ve been together for almost a year.”
“A year?” Hecate parrots dumbly.
“Since before last Beltane.”
“You are incorrect,” she says stiffly, suddenly embarrassed, and it hurts, and she rises quickly, slamming the book on the table. “And I’d appreciate it if you said nothing else of the sort.”
“I—” Dimity starts, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she says earnestly. “I really thought—we all thought—”
“All?”
Dimity nods. “I mean, not that anyone would ever say anything. The staff, we just—with Miss Pentangle’s visits, and you going there, we assumed...”
It makes sense, abruptly, all the little comments she’s received in the last year, few and far between but there, pointed. The kindness she’s received from people during Pippa’s visits, the discretion, the knowing smiles she receives whenever she mentions Pentangle’s in passing.
Hecate’s chest aches and she sniffs, squaring her shoulders. “Well, you assumed wrong. Miss Pentangle and I are not together.”
“Yeah,” Dimity says, and she looks upset, for some reason, looks sad. She hesitates, then looks up at Hecate. “But you want to be, don’t you?”
Hecate stares at her, wide eyed and embarrassed and her shoulders are tense and her spine straight and she can’t deny it, but she can’t confirm it either and Dimity is looking at her with such sympathy, it makes her bones ache.
“Look, I’m not—I’m not an expert in these things,” Dimity says, in a bit of a rush, “But...you’ve been through a lot. And it’s pretty obvious that Pippa makes you happy. So... if it is something you want, you should... you know. Let yourself have it.” Hecate blinks, doesn’t know what to say, and Dimity stands up, smiles at her gently. She turns to leave, then stops by the door and looks back. “Cause I’ll tell you what. I’d bet my broom Pippa feels the same way about you. And I’m definitely not wrong about that.”
—
Dimity’s words echo in Hecate’s mind for weeks, She avoids Pippa in that time, avoids everyone, is a bit more snappish than usual and even her students give her a wide berth. She doesn’t want to be this way, but she can’t shake Dimity’s words, the implication that people think something about her that isn’t true, that she wants so desperately to be true, but it’s a risk she isn’t certain she can take. Knows that she can’t lose Pippa’s friendship, the very idea of it makes her feel sick and cold.
But there’s another, quiet part of her that wonders. What other people have seen that she hasn’t. If there’s any reality behind Dimity’s parting words that mean maybe, perhaps, Pippa does feel the same. That through all their mirror chats and all their visits, Hecate has somehow been oblivious. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s missed some element of emotional interaction, but it’s the first time she wishes it were something else. Something more.
She goes back and forth with herself in the weeks leading up to Ostara, conflicted and sleepless and terrified of making a mistake, the wrong move, of pushing Pippa away. She knows she’s already starting to do that, and she needs to speak to her, needs to at least somehow explain why she’s been so distant lately, or come up with an excuse for it.
She’s sitting in Ada’s office having tea, and they’re going over the assembly for Spring Equinox when Ada says, off hand,
“I love Ostara. Everything in balance, good things on the horizon. Light on the rise. It’s a time of renewal, don’t you think?”
Hecate hums in agreement.
“New beginnings,” Ada says, and there’s something about her tone that makes Hecate look up, but Ada is looking at the paperwork in front of her, deceptively casual. “We should teach the girls that it’s a time to take chances, take risks. To go after their dreams and the things they love.” She looks up then, and gives Hecate a soft, knowing smile. “What better time to ask the universe for what we want than when we’re halfway out of the dark?”
—
It takes her another two months to work up the courage. It’s Beltane eve, and Pippa had invited her to Pentangle’s for their celebrations. She’d barely managed to ask Ada if she could take a few hours before Ada had approved, smiling widely.
It irks her a little bit, Ada and Dimity’s knowing glances, but she tries to put them out of her mind. Tries to concentrate on the music and dancing and Pippa, in a emerald green dress, a crown of white flowers in her hair. She looks stunning, and Hecate has a hard time taking her eyes off her.
They’re standing in a corner speaking quietly when Pippa’s potions master comes over, a short man with a soft smile and kind eyes who takes in Hecate with delight.
“Finally!” he says. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages, but kept missing you on your visits here. He introduces himself as Alfred Pennycopper, expresses his appreciation for and fascination with Hecate’s potions articles, and they talk for a bit about ingredients and while has magical preferences are undoubtedly modern, he has an appreciation for old magic that Hecate respects. Pippa says little, interjects every so often, but mostly listens to them speak, and it’s almost ten minutes later when Mr. Pennycopper flushes faintly and adjusts his spectacles, apologizing for intruding.
“I’m sure you’d much rather spend time together than listen to an old goat like me,” he says, with a self-deprecating smile.
Pippa waves him off with a laugh. “Nonsense, Alfred, you’re delightful company.”
“Ah, yes, but not as delightful as one’s love, eh?” He looks at Hecate. “You know, you’ve made our Pippa very happy these last few months. I hope to get to know you better as the years progress.” He grins. “You two enjoy the party.”
With that, he disappears, and Hecate sneaks a glance at Pippa out of the corner of her eye. She expects her to be rolling her eyes or quickly correcting him as he walks away, but she does neither. Instead, her face is ashen and she’s wringing her hands together, already mid-apology by the time Hecate’s mind catches up.
“—we’re a couple and I haven’t been able to convince anyone otherwise and I hope you know I haven’t been spreading rumors, darling, it wasn’t my intention to—”
Hecate shakes her head. “I—it’s fine,” she says, trying to process the idea that not only has her own colleagues assumed they’re a couple, but evidentially Pippa’s have as well. And rather than look angry or humiliating by it, Pippa just looks a bit... sad. Melancholy.
She tries to smile at Hecate, but it fractures, and a second later she excuses herself and disappears out of the hall.
Hecate hesitates, thinks, for a moment about staying here. About going home. About letting it go and leaving things as they are, but she thinks of Dimity’s words and Ada’s words and they’re gentle pushing, their kindness.
You’ve made our Pippa very happy.
It’s all she’s ever wanted, so with a wave of her hand and locator spell, she finds Pippa a few hallways away, leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“Pippa.”
Pippa startles, looks up, and there are tears in her eyes and Hecate doesn’t know why, but she hopes, and steps closer.
“I—I’m sorry for running, I just needed a moment to—”
“Your inscription,” Hecate interrupts. “At Yule.”
Pippa freezes, looking at her with wide eyes.
“What did it mean?”
Pippa doesn’t answer, looks at her with faint alarm, and Hecate gathers her courage, enough to step a bit closer again, to say,
“Everyone at Cackle’s thinks we’re dating.”
Pippa swallows. “Everyone here thinks that, too.”
They stare at one another for a long moment, and Hecate takes a deep breath, says almost too quietly,
“Is there a reason why we aren’t?”
Pippa blinks, clearly startled. “I—” she starts. “I didn’t think you liked me. Like that, I mean.”
Hecate steels herself. “And if you were wrong?”
Pippa looks at her, and for a long moment it’s quiet, too quiet, just the dull murmur of the festivities from the great hall. Hecate can hear her own breathing, and hear Pippa’s, slightly trembling.
And then she smiles, tentatively. “Then I couldn’t think of a reason why we shouldn’t.” She pauses, adds, “Be dating, that is.”
Hecate nods. “I... cannot think of a reason either. Other than Miss Drill will be insufferable.”
Pippa laughs, a bit watery, and steps closer, so they’re almost touching. “Is that something you’re willing to risk?”
Hecate’s hands are trembling, but she takes a breath, says, “For you? I would risk anything.”
Pippa shudders, and Hecate reaches out, gives into the desire she’s held for so long to brush her fingers against Pippa’s cheek. To her relief, Pippa leans into the touch, closes her eyes.
“Hecate...”
Pippa’s eyes open, and she smiles, so brilliant, so blinding, and settles a hand at Hecate’s hip. The touch makes her feel warm, makes her shiver.
“Pippa,” she whispers.
And then Pippa kisses her, soft and tentative and slow and it’s everything she’s ever wanted, right here, her hand slipping into Pippa’s hair, the other curling around Pippa’s arm.