Chapter Text
Hecate twirls the brown package in her hands and she wonders, not for the first time, if she made a mistake in choosing such a plain, unassuming color.
If she should have chosen something a bit more colorful, perhaps. Or something more joyous to match the celebration that went along it. But it is close to striking midnight, and if she doesn't gather all the courage left in her, she’ll miss the opportunity to hand Miss Bat the package. Nobody likes receiving presents the day after their birthday, after all.
At least, that was how Pippa felt, back when Hecate was privileged enough to celebrate her birthdays with her, back when her days were filled with easy smiles and long hugs. Pippa was a spoiled child, Hecate remembers well. But compared to Hecate’s home life, everybody must have been very spoiled indeed in her mind – none more so than Pippa. Gifts and ribbons and sweets and hair clips and cards and charms and tea and bracelets and letters all strewn over Pippa’s bed as she shared her candy with a wide-eyed Hecate. She never knew anybody could receive so much.
But one year, after a categorically ugly weather related incident, Pippa’s gifts from home came the day after her fourteenth birthday, and she refused to open them until Hecate had spotted a pink ribbon with white embroidered lace, and twirled it straight out of the box and around her own hair for Pippa to see. It had taken minutes, and then hours, and then a whole afternoon for Pippa to uncross her arms, sniffle and say “I’m being rather silly, aren’t I?” and steal the ribbon right out of Hecate’s hair.
Hecate doesn’t know why that particular birthday memory pops into her head, but she supposes it has to do with the fact that her feet have carried her straight to Miss Bat’s quarters and her hands are sweating slightly. The last person she gifted something to was to Ada, as has been tradition since she’s begun to teach at the school. But with Ada, it’s different -- it’s easy. A quill to replace the one the first-years vanished. A box filled to the brim with chocolates. A pin to decorate her sweater.
This is silly, Hecate thinks and almost turns right back around. Why did she ever think this was a good idea? It’s not as if Miss Bat has been particularly kind to her this year. She has suffered quite a bit of scares since Mildred Hubble’s begun to sleep under their roof, but Miss Bat and Hecate have never developed the type of relationship to exchange birthday gifts.
So why, why is she here, in the dead of the night with her fist raised to knock on Gwen’s door?
Is it Gwen’s birthday, already? Oh, I had hoped to give her something special this year. She always was one of our favorite singers as children, don’t you remember, Hiccup?
And of course.
Of course she knows why she’s here.
The long nights laying on the cobblestone, feet propped up against the wall as Pippa charmed the ceiling to look like the evening sky, just as the sun was about to set. The way her eyes drooped and her cheeks hurt from smiling, the heavy weight of Pippa’s hand in hers. The red and orange and pink of the sky behind her eyelids, and Esper Vespertillo’s calming voice drifting through Hecate’s small room.
Did you get her something? I hope you did, Hiccup, they’re such good friends to you.
Hecate takes a nervous breath, remembers Pippa’s kind and open face, and knocks once.
Twice, when there’s no answer.
Thrice when she hears a loud bang inside the room, feet shuffling. A sharp ‘Quiet, it’s HB!’ and the door opens to a very flustered, red-cheeked Gwen. Holding a goblet in her hand, and multicolored string decorating her hair and shoulders.
“Hecate!” She leans heavily on the door, and tries to keep it as closed as she can, but not before Hecate peers in and sees goblets and plates and bottles of witch’s brew and the tail-end of Dimity’s blue robes. “Is there a problem?”
The hand gripping the package twitches uncomfortably, and Hecate makes a split second decision. Gwen won’t miss a silly hair pin, anyways, not when she’s surrounded by such lively company.
“Not at all,” she sniffs. She vanishes the package in her hand, curses herself for how tight her voice sounds, and takes a step back. “I heard a noise, is all.”
Gwen claps her hands below her chin, and something dark splashes out of her goblet. “We- we we’re just –“
“Celebrating. Yes, I can see,” Hecate takes another step back, wants to be away from Gwen and Dimity and whoever else has been invited to yet another party, to whoever else knew about it and didn’t want mean, old, strict Miss Hardbroom to know. “Carry on. Have a goodnight.”
She turns on her heel and feels her face redden without her permission. Hears Gwen sputter and stutter behind her but can’t quite fault her because really, who would want boring Hecate Hardbroom at a celebration of life.
Silly, silly, silly.
Her face is red and her hands are shaking when she finally makes it to her quarters, and she doesn’t know how to handle the feeling burning up her throat and licking away at her chest, so she expands a great deal of energy on burning up a fire and changing out of her clothes, tidying up her already clean room, and casting a silencing spell just to get rid of some of her magic that’s swirling in her chest. She is not going to cry.
She is not going to cry over not being invited to a silly party, as if she’s fifteen years old and still sensitive about these things. Hecate glances at the brown package sitting on her vanity, wrinkled by her nervousness, and closes her eyes tightly against the feelings that she can’t stop surging forward.
Goddess, she’s been so silly.